#and you’re pitching 25+ year olds

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

People online fancasting live action Rapunzel: Sabrina Carpenter, Taylor Swift, Florence Pugh, Simone Ashley 🥺

Me: THE DISNEY VERSION OF RAPUNZEL IS 18 ONE EIGHT EIGHTEEN A TEENAGER!!!! (the og version is 12 but ya know that’s a whole separate story)

[its-time-to-write]

i know now it’ll pass - ch. 3

This chapter talks about SA! It does not go into explicit detail, but it is there and it is unmistakable. Just be aware!

haunted house nobody lives in

You and Isaac are deciding if the coffee in the café is actually coffee or if it’s just heated-up mud, when Jamie comes bursting in like a tornado. 

“You alright, mate?” Isaac asks. The words are barely out of his mouth when Jamie says, “Fuck Richard,” with so much vehemence that you physically step back. He takes note of the slight burst of fear in your eyes and tones it way down. He blows out a breath. “Sorry,” he says, “he’s just a prick.”

Isaac shrugs. “Pretty sure that’s your own fault, bruv.”

You’re confused, but Jamie must know what he means because he deflates a little more and says, “Yeah, alright man.”

Isaac claps him on the shoulder and walks away leaving you and Jamie alone.

“Shouldn’t you be on the pitch?” you ask.

Jamie shakes his head. “Nah, the lads are still changing. Plus Ted’s doing something with the strikers and won’t be ready for another fifteen.”

You sip the coffee and shudder, making Jamie realize what’s in your hand.

“Oi!” he says, “You’re not supposed to be drinking that!”

You shrug. “No one stopped me so it’s fine.”

Jamie isn’t having it. “It fucks up your brain. Give it here.”

“One more sip,” you plead.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Jamie replies. “You said I’m allowed to knock it out of your hand, so you’ve got three seconds before I do that.”

He’s got you there. You did say that. You love coffee, but it does not love you. Jess, Evelyn, and Sarah used to keep an eye on you when you all shared a flat, but since you’re on your own… well, restraint is not your strongest quality in this area.

“Fine,” you reply. “Here. Tastes like dirt anyway.”

You hand him the cup and his finger brush yours, but he’s not moving to actual take the cup; he’s just resting his hand on top of your fingers. 

The words, “What are you doing?” get stuck in the back of your throat because Jamie is tentatively reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. He’s leaning in ever so slightly and you’re pretty sure he’s going to kiss you, when he abruptly pulls back and clears his throat.

Ah, shit. This is absolutely embarrassing. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss you.

You laugh nervously. “You alright there?”

“You want to come over for dinner?” Jamie blurts out.

Oh.

You say, “Yes!” before he has a chance to change his mind.

“Richard will not like that,” says Dani. You and Jamie both jump a little bit. You hadn’t noticed him in the room, but he must of been there the whole time. He’s beaming at both of you. “I am so happy you two have found love. It is a beautiful thing, no?”

You think it’s too early to label it love, but Jamie nods and gives your hand a squeeze before heading to the pitch.

—

Jamie’s flat is not a flat, it’s a proper house. It’s like three times the size of yours, and you wonder if maybe you’re underdressed. Yeah, you’re wearing a dress, but it’s a day dress. You shiver and ring the doorbell.

The door swings open to reveal Jamie, nicely dressed in a button-up and slacks. He’s not wearing shoes, just socks, so you slip yours off in the entryway and follow him as he pulls you into the kitchen.

It smells amazing, and you’re a little surprised that Jamie can even cook. Not something you would have expected from a 25 year old Premier League striker, but it seems like Jamie is full of surprises. He explains each dish he’s making as well as what he’s put in the salad, and you can’t help yourself; you grab his face and pull him down for a kiss. 

He breaks away with a smile. “Oi, what was that for?”

You grin back. “I just like you a lot.”

“Thank fuck,” Jamie says, “otherwise this date would’ve been fuckin’ awkward.”

Any tension you were feeling before is gone as you laugh and settle into comfortable conversation. You pass a pleasant, giggly evening together full of lingering touches and brushing feet under the table. You decline the wine Jamie’s brought out under the excuse that you haven’t had enough water. He doesn’t seem to mind, just grins and pours himself a glass saying, “Don’t tell granddad, ey?”

There’s a lull in the conversation, and you decide to fill it with a burning question.

You ask, “Why do you wear two headbands?” and Jamie gives you a strange look. 

“How the fuck did you notice that? No one’s ever asked me that before.”

You shrug. “I dunno, I noticed during one of your post-match interviews. Thought it was funny.”

Jamie’s still looking at you weird and you’re worried that you’ve said the wrong thing, but he bursts out laughing. 

“Fucking hell,” he says through gasps, “You really are something else, ain’t ya?”

You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing and the worry must show on your face because Jamie controls his laughter and pulls you in for a kiss.

Altogether, it’s- surreal. Surreal to be sitting here with Jamie Tartt in his house as he looks at you with those blue eyes and twirls your hair so softly between his fingers. You wonder if someday you’ll get used to the way he can switch back and forth between cocky self-assurance and the quiet, thoughtful boy you have sitting in front of you. You’re not really sure which side of him you like better.

As far as first dates go, (or any dates, really) it’s a hit. It’s calm and silly and comfortable, and it’s exactly what you need. Jamie walks you to your car and kisses you against the car hood, one hand settled on your hip and the other tangled in your hair. You vaguely notice he’s not really grabbing you, just resting his hand, which makes you kiss him even harder. 

Later, you fall asleep faster than you have in a long, long time.

—

Jamie takes you on six dates in two weeks and you’re not entirely positive where he’s found the time or the energy. You’re not complaining. He stops by your flat on his morning runs and kisses you if you’re awake on the porch. If you’re asleep on the steps, he’ll make Roy wait outside while he carries you to your bed. Roy, god bless him, never makes a comment outside of a grunt or the occasional, “For fuck’s sake,” which you know he doesn’t mean. 

But now you’re on date seven, and you’ve stumbled your way up your stairs and onto the bed. It’s cold outside, which means you’re in a thick navy turtleneck and trousers. His kisses, however, are warm against your mouth and he’s shed his shirt and trousers, with your help of course. You’re straddling him on the bed and absolutely devouring him when he slides a hand under your shirt to touch your ribcage.

His hands are cold, freezing really, and it makes you gasp and then go completely still, forehead pressed to his.

Jamie’s hand is out from under your sweater in an instant and he’s using them to brace himself in a sitting position, careful not to touch you.

You on the other hand, are taking in ragged breaths as your heart beats a different erratic pattern. The bad kind. You’re not sure you can move because all you can feel are the sheets and the cold and the fact that you can’t breathe. 

“Babe?” comes Jamie’s voice, “you alright?”

You’re sure your eyes are vacant, but you can’t bring them into focus. Everything’s just too cold and too much and it doesn’t matter that it’s Jamie in your arms, all you can feel is another set of hands. Less forgiving ones.

Jamie’s sliding out from under you but has a gentle hand on your arm like he’s afraid you’re going to tip over. It’s not entirely unreasonable.

Jamie’s touch is soft and so fucking kind that it breaks something in you. His blue eyes are far too sweet and far too earnest for the fact that he’s almost naked on top of the sheets while the only skin you’re showing is from the neck up.

He asks, “Do you need to go back downstairs?” and you shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

He’s just sitting there and looking at you so sweetly that you think maybe you can do this. 

You open your mouth to tell him that you can do this, but instead what comes out is, “It’s why I can’t sleep.”

This was not how this was supposed to go.

Jamie doesn’t seem to mind, because he’s still just looking expectantly, in no hurry to resume prior activities. So you keep talking because the night’s already fucking ruined, so why not ruin the beginnings of this relationship as well?

“We were dating,” you say, voice flat. “So it’s not like there was much I could do about it. And it was so cold. His hands, I mean. They were cold. And I felt like I couldn’t breathe because of the pillow. Nothing-nothing even really happened because he finally heard me say no, but… I mean, there were still things. I dream about it every night and it’s complete shit.”

You’re not crying. There’s no point.

Jamie slowly gets up, disgust in his eyes. 

It’s ok, you tell yourself, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.

It’s not ok because you can’t stand the way he’s looking at you, all repulsed. He probably can’t wait to go home and take a shower and scrub off all traces of you.

You think you should just let him go, but you’ve apparently lost control of your own will because you reach for his hand and beg, “Don’t go, please” in a small, sad voice.

Jamie’s eyes shutter through several emotions at once before he sinks down on the bed.

His face has gone soft again, but his eyes are still stony.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice still small. “Please, I’m sorry. I- you can shower here, if you want. I know it’s gross and- I understand that you don’t want to stay. I really, really do because I’m all disgusting-”

“You’re not.”

Jamie’s voice interrupts your plea. It sounds like yours, oddly. Like it’s breaking. 

“You’re not disgusting,” he continues. “Whoever the fuck made you think that way- fuck them. They’re the disgusting one. Wasn’t leaving anyway. Just thought you’d like me to put on a shirt.”

Despite yourself, you let out a little laugh. “You don’t have to be so kind, Jamie,” you say. 

He jerks a little. “I’m not being fucking kind,” he says. “It’s basic decency and whatever fucking twat made you think that’s the same as being kind doesn’t deserve you. Or anything.”

It’s interesting. He’s saying everything that your brain had been wired to disbelieve. Everything you were taught was a fantasy. It’s interesting that he’s saying it all with the same calm, gentle tone and that you’re not afraid of him actually, but of losing him.

“Babe,” he says, “I love you so you’ve got understand that this comes out of love, but you have got to get some fucking therapy.”

You shrug and he says, “No, I’m serious. Dr. Sharon is on staff for shit like this and you don’t even have to pay for it. It gets scheduled into your regular hours and she’s fucking brilliant.”

“Yeah,” you reply, “right. I’ll- I’ll see about it.”

Jamie nods. He’ll take it, for now. Not fair that you should be here, all snapped while the bloke responsible is out walking somewhere without a care in the world. He can’t think about that now, otherwise he’ll get the murderous look in his eye again and he does not need to scare you like that. So instead he asks, “What do you need from me?” and accepts as you wordlessly fold his arms around you as you sit back against his chest. 

You fall asleep like that.

Table of Contents

[stormingfrost]

Rating ROTG/GOC characters! 

I have so many opinions about these guys so I decided to rate them. Starting from the bottom to the top, these are my opinions on each character of this world. 

27. Monkey king/ lampwick iddock of the               many legs

I hate him. I hate everything he represents. Stinky bastard man. The story doesn’t make sense to me: if he had all his greed taken away from him why’d he be like that? Also his title “The Monkey King” makes me think of Sun Wukong, which is nothing like this character. I also don’t like his redesign of the many-legs thing and I just hate him. Die stinky bastard man no one likes you. 

26. Man in the Moon (book ver)

The description of him looking “kind” and “good” makes me want to throw something. Why are we assigning morality to appearance? Also, why is this random guy the unquestionable source of moral goodness? Dude was raised by mice. Other than that he’s really only in the books for like three pages so idc. 

25. Mr. Qwerty

I forget he exists.

24. Jack Frost (book ver)

I don’t like him. He’s supposed to be this lonely rebel but he spends the whole book hanging out with socialites and going to pompous parties IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION? like hey man there are starving kids right outside the party you’re at with literal royalty. He’s also supposed to be a teenager (range of age manipulation powers: 11-18) but acts like a 50-year-old man. He does nothing but hang out with a bunch of politicians and old authors. He also only uses ice magic like once in the books and is just self-important. Everything is about him even when it shouldn’t be. Easter being called Easter was Jack’s idea. Katherine has powers because of Jack. Everything is his idea, or because of him, and it’s weird. Also, not everything has to be a thing. The hoodie is apparently just under the nightlight armor the whole time and his adopted siblings embroidered the white patterns on it (again, book!Jack only uses his icy powers like twice) and it becomes a thing (also hoodies being a thing BEFORE it was invented is frustrating to me on a nitpick evel. Did the Golden age have hoodies? Their fashion looks vaguely Edwardian. Where did the hoodie come from?). Jack’s staff is alive (???). The staff also has magic scratching powers (???????). Jack can talk to every tree including firewood, and then it’s not brought up again (???????????). Not everything has to be a thing. The attachment to historical figures is weird as well. It’s not educational, it’s not respectful, and it’s not anyone who kids would recognize. It’s just strange. 

23. The Man in the Moon (movie ver)

Revived a random teenager and let him loose like a stray dog without any guidance. Other than that, we don’t know that much about him to actually know what he’s about. We don’t even know if he’s a person or not.

22. Lermantoff Serpent

The thing that hurts most about this character is the sheer potential that goes unrealized. That’s a complex backstory that could lead to so many things, and he dies in his first appearance despite being important and having a cool backstory. 

21. Twinetender

Weird concept. The stick is alive. Okay. Sure. He’s like Jack’s personal Jiminy Cricket but 1000 times more creepy. The souls of hundreds of Viking warriors (previously Native American via Instagram post but that was changed thank god the implications of that were horrific.) make up what is essentially a stick that a teenager waves around and acts as a weapon/servant. I think Joyce straight-up forgot halfway through that he was alive because he just isn’t in there anymore despite Jack always carrying the staff around. I like the character design tho, but besides that, I’d rather have the stick not be a person thanks

20. Pitch Black (book ver) 

I think the fandom puts so much emphasis on his backstory, reasonably (it’s a good tragedy), but we don’t even see Pitchiner from before, just accounts from other people. Kozmotis isn’t a character - we only hear about him through other’s exposition. The theme of grief that is intertwined with the story is tragic knowing Joyce’s life. Besides the tragic themes, he’s a stereotypical villain who evilly plots. More cliché, but then there’s a line from him that digs into hearts and stabs wounds.

19. Ombric

Wizard man. That’s pretty much all of his character. He’s written as a wise old wizard but just is standing in the background half of the time until he does something overpowered. I also don’t understand why he and Katherine aren’t literally father and daughter. Didn’t he adopt her? Why does she feel like he’s not her father? Why does he act like he isn’t her father? He adopted her

18. E. Aster Bunnymund (book ver)

I love his design and I like nerdy dork characters who repress their feelings but sometimes his dialogue is annoying. 

17. Toothiana (book ver) 

Oh, Tooth, you deserve so much better. Her character, her book, her backstory, everything was affected so much by Orientalism. Everyone else gets a role, a personality, an in-depth description of their homes and lives but she gets nothing. There are aspects of her character I like (the grief is very heart-wrenching and I just love her as a character in general) but there are just too many things I have issues with. She’s the only POC in this cast and she is a BIRD. She’s Asian but wears white clown-like makeup? The only people to are violent and greedy over magic are the village people. Not the white rich socialites who colonized and maimed for power and money. No, not them, but the village people in India are the only ones who do get greedy and VIOLENTLY KILL Tooth’s parents. She (and the representation that could’ve been so awesome) deserves better.

16. Sanderson Mansnoozie (book ver)

I love his relationship with Emily Jane. But he doesn’t get a lot of time in the books. Just maybe a few chapters? He’s great tho and I like that he was a space cowboy. 

15. The Spirit of the Woods

Underrated! I love her! She tries so hard and I just love her so much. I love her description and her personality, even if she’s only a minor character. (The day William Joyce makes art of her is the day my life will be complete)

14. Nicholas St. North (book ver)

North slays in the sleigh. I like that he has a little redemption arc and has to figure out what he wants in his life and what he wants to be. For me, it makes the movie scenes where he’s taking a mentor figure role to Jack even more meaningful, because he was in Jack’s shoes at one point, despite now being sure and confident in himself. Despite me not connecting the books to the movie, this one is the closest for me to being a part of the movie’s ‘canon.’ North is very consistent and I like his character a lot. 

13. Katherine

Teen girl protagonist with a knife! I do wish she had a little more agency as a character because it seems like every decision she makes is about the male characters. I like that she sees herself in Pitch. In the fifth book she gets older (25 yrs with kinda age manipulation with a range of 12-25. I’d say it’s closer to regression than true manipulation as it only happens under certain conditions) and she and Jack are soulmates and then she is defined by him? Even her powers are because of him, or at least the ones that are talked about the most. Second to those powers, the mythosphere was a cool concept. But what her character represents is the most significant thing about her. She is a ghost in a book, living again within the words and text every time the book is read.

12. Nightlight

Wish he didn’t turn out to be Jack. Or at least in the way that it is. I’m not opposed to Nightlight being Jack but I just don’t like book!Jack so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ he’s a little adorable critter I love him and his relationship with Katherine is adorable

11. Pitch Black

My least favorite character from the movie. I don’t like his design (or any of his canon designs really. He looks like a bull terrier to me. I think the one in the comic is the best) He’s interesting as a selfish villain who is conceited and doesn’t like to share. He’s more interesting as a terrible person who likes hurting people. I love how he’s a foil for the Guardians, especially Sandy, and how he’s a mirror to Jack. I don’t get the fan interpretations of him where they woobify him and make the guardians ‘big bad bullies’ the man says with his mouth what his motives are. why are we pretending he said anything about fear being necessary and balance because he is not doing any of those? He is actively trying to take over the world with darkness. He doesn’t want balance. I’m not trying to judge anyone having fun, you do you, but I just don’t get it. I do think he’s a bit of a cliché, but it works for the movie. I also think he’s ugly (bull terrier looking mf)

10. Emily Jane

Oh, the drama! The tragedy! She’s great, and the build-up to meeting her character is masterful. I do wish we got to see her being just chaotic like how she’s said to be. Joyce tells a lot, rather than shows. 

9. Skreeklavic Shadowbent

Unironically this funky werewolf guy is my favorite character from the books. He’s got so much potential for more, the potential man! He and Pitch should’ve had more beef. Shadowbent knows all his secrets (that’s why his hair is so big) but is never utilized. 

8. Jack’s sister/Mary/Flee

I wish she was given a name. We see so much of her character and personality just from the flashbacks and she’s just so underrated. She’s more careful and nervous than her brother and needs a gentle push to have fun. She does only exist for Jack’s development which sucks. All the other kid characters get names, even if they aren’t said within the dialogue, but we never get one for her. (I’m not counting Joyce’s words as he isn’t consistent with them) However, this part of the story looks back on Jack’s past life is way too idealistic for what is a literal colonization. Her, Jack, and the rest of Burgess are literal colonizers. They weren’t good people. They were vile people who stole and maimed for land and money. While I adore this movie and its characters, this is one of my main issues with it. (Along with the weird racial coding of Bunny+Tooth, and the sexism and ignoring of female characters. The romanticism of colonization within the fandom is also worth discussing and criticism) 

7. Burgess Believers

I debated on putting Jamie in his own category but decided against it (they are tied). Jamie himself is this stalwart little believer who fights for light and hope and refuses to stop believing in goodness. They all have a battle with darkness and all win. We see their personalities! They’re great. They all have names too, even the ones that don’t have them said in dialogue. 

6. Baby Tooth

Shes so sassy I love her. I like the fan theory of her being Jack’s sister, or at least somewhat related to her. It’s fun. She’s incredibly passionate and such a fun character in this story. 

5. Bunnymund

He’s a grumpy dork with a heart of gold. I really like how they made him this gruff and badass guy who is nurturing and proud of making pretty and delicate things. It’s such a wonderful angle for a ‘gruff and rugged’ male character. He also looks up to and respects Tooth, the Smurfette (ugh) of the movie, and it’s truly one of my favorite ways this movie subverts common tropes I see in movies all the time. He’s a dork. I love him. 

4. North 

#1 dad of the year (and all years since 2012) without ever actually (technically) becoming a dad or a father figure to anyone. I adore this version of Santa. In a lot of Christmas/santa movies there is this… emptiness that I see. Because they aren’t given a reason as why they are Santa. Why did they deliver presents? Why do they care? With North, the why is answered: because he cares and loves the children of the world and wants to help protect their wonder. I think North, Klaus (2019), and L. Frank Blaum’s Santa are probably the best examples of a good Santa. (Tim Allen’s the worst. The beef I had with that man as a seven year old was insane.) They are all properly shown to why they do what they do and how important it is to them. I love how they made him crazy and sincere and caring and badass. The way he immediately steps up and becomes a mentor towards Jack is just ahshdiifska

3. Sandy

He’s such a cutie patootie. He would beat anyone up at the slightest opportunity to. I love him. I do wish he got more screen time. He could’ve came back when Jamie touched the dreamsand for the first time, or “died” later in the movie. I love how he’s characterized. The jumbled ‘words’ when he gets excited, the playfulness and gentleness. I think he’s neat and I do blame him for my insomnia. 

2. Tooth

I love her! She’s so badass and cool and awesome! I love her character design! It’s so fun and unique (although it would not hurt if they actually committed to her being Asian - there was an edit of what she would look like with darker skin and oml she looked so gorgeous). She’s kind and sweet and a bit of a manic pixie dream girl but then punches people and tears her enemies apart with her wings!!! (Unpopular opinion here but I genuinely love that she uses her wings to fight that is so cool - much cooler than a sword - I like that she is the brawler. Yes punch him!) She’s also unabashedly weird I just love that she gets so excited about teeth of all things. The sweet moment of her realizing that being out ‘in the field’ is what she’s been missing is just so great. She does tend to get ignored within the movie and the fandom, which sucks bc she’s such a great character, and she’s the only female character so it’s a big yikes (although the books nearly ignore her completely. She does like two things across the whole series) I may or may not have the tiniest crush on her. 

Jack 

I may or may not have based my entire personality around this little shit. He is ultimate Blorbo. He’s sensitive and annoying but genuinely cares and loves what he does. I love how resilient he is as a character (if I was in his position I’d go crazy) and how he’s just so genuine about what he cares about. His character arc was super relatable (where’s that interview Ramsey did where he said autistic kids related heavily to Jack?) and I just adore this version of Jack Frost. I love how even from the beginning, we see who he is- a fun loving guy who loves what he does. He genuinely cares about the children and wants to make them happy and loves his role in the world as winter. He’s such a goofy little guy I love him. 

[jhutch-girl]

Jhutch Promptober day 20: night shift

Mike x autistic!reader! CW for internalized ableism and description of a sensory overload

Mike couldn’t do nights. For entirely separate reasons, neither could you. So why were the both of you working a night shift? Simply put, there was no other option.

While Mike’s reasons were more external, given his babysitting situation, yours were more internal. You needed your internal clock to be working properly. If you weren’t sleeping when the sun and your body told you to sleep, your anxiety would skyrocket, making you overwhelmed way easier. You really hated that this was your only option, but how else were you going to afford rent?

Mike usually just came in and dozed off. Being as tired as he was, he didn’t find it hard. You tried, but your brain wouldn’t shut up. You weren’t in your bed, you were laying on a blanket on the cold floor of an abandoned pizza restaurant. This wasn’t a bedtime place, meaning your brain couldn’t go into bedtime mode. You tried melatonin, it didn’t work. You even brought your childhood stuffed animal which, although it lessened your anxiety, didn’t help you sleep better.

It was around 4 AM and you were finally drifting off just a little bit. You weren’t asleep, but you were spaced out enough to not fully be considered awake. Cuddled up under the blanket you brought, you hugged your stuffed animal close to you and focused on the familiar feeling of the fur.

Screeching. Loud, high pitched screeching, the clatter of a chair on the floor, and Mike swearing under his breath. You didn’t know what was going on, your hands flying to your ears. Then it was dark. Completely dark and quiet.

When Mike flipped the breaker back on, the speakers had thankfully stopped blasting static and interference. He rubbed a hand over his face as he woke up, noticing the small noise coming from behind him. “Yeah, sorry, the speakers go wonky sometimes. You just have to-…hey…” Mike blinked as he turned to face you.

You looked a lot smaller now. Curled up tighter than you had been before and hands tight over your ears, it was clear the noise had startled you. Mike watched you try to catch your breath, his face softening a bit in sympathy. He’d seen a similar look in his sister’s eyes before, and while you were no 10 year old girl, he could still try his best to help.

“Hey…” Mike spoke softly, kneeling in front of you. He groaned as he sat cross-legged, hating how much he ached at only 25. You weren’t responding. He gently slid a hand to the floor and tapped it in front of you to get your attention. When you finally looked up, he could feel his heart clench a bit. You looked a mess, but he could clearly pick apart every thought going through your mind.

Too loud, too much, now he thinks I’m a freak, loud, afraid, please don’t let him see me like this-

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s done now.” He kept his voice low. “The speakers just went a little haywire. I know it was loud, I’m sorry…” Mike watched as you quickly wiped your eyes and sniffled, failing to hide any evidence of how upset the sudden sensory onslaught had left you. “You’re alright…” he mumbled, getting a better idea.

Mike shifted down and laid on his side, facing you so he was at your level now. He didn’t say much else, he didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, though, the silence seemed to be enough to calm you down. He just kept you company while you rode it out.

When you had finally come down, the room sat in a thick silence, save for the fan and buzz of the monitors. One thing that Mike had noticed was the way you laid shriveled up, like you didn’t want to be perceived. He noted the lack of eye contact from the beginning, but you hadn’t even looked past his knees once since the speakers went off.

“Hey…” Mike tapped the ground again, his voice more of a hoarse whisper than he’d anticipated. “Don’t overthink, okay? It was loud, I get it, you don’t have to worry about how I see you.”

Mike reached to put a hand in your hair, stopping when he saw how you struggled to brace yourself for the contact. “Not yet? Mmkay.” He looked to his side and saw the stuffed animal laying by your head. “Can I…? I’m just gonna move him closer to you, that’s all.”

You nodded, watching Mike carefully as he picked the toy up and laid it in front of you. When he moved his hand back, he watched you move your arm out quickly to hook the plush into it and curled your arms back into your chest.

“…Thanks for being gentle with him…” you mumbled quietly.

“My sister would kill me if I ever manhandled a plushie.” He chuckled. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he saw you smile back.

You didn’t talk about what happened. Why would you? You just let Mike ramble quietly with minimal input on your end. After a while, he looked down to see you had finally actually fallen asleep. His heart melted further when you curled closer to him and nuzzled your head into his shoulder with a soft sigh. Mike finally got an arm around you and held you gently for the remaining hour or so of your shift.

You were awoken to a high pitched beeping. Mike quickly hit the snooze button on his watch and scratched a little circle into your back. “Hey…it’s 6…”

He chuckled when he saw you curl up more, as if trying to hide from the daylight in his jacket. “C’mon, let’s get you to your place and you can sleep more.”

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Beast Wars - Second Chances - Page 1

Originally posted on February 2nd, 2011

Story - Shaun Flaherty Art - Cory Holmes Colours - Roy Stiffey Letters - HdE

deviantART

wada sez: Like many Mosaic strips, and official tie-in media from 3H Productions, Beast Wars - Second Chances aims to show the fates of various characters who were left on Earth at the end of the cartoon. Tarantulas was presumed destroyed in the episode “Other Victories”, but clearly some vestige of him remains! “Operation: Ninth Eye” was reportedly an idea of Mike Priest’s, a reference to Tarantulas oddly having nine eyes instead of eight in beast mode. See below for Shaun Flaherty’s original script, which was dated to April 21st, 2009. In addition, each of the writers on Beast Wars: Second Chances contributed a personal bio explaining their history with the franchise; you can find Shaun’s “Writer Spotlight” below as well.

PAGE ONE (six panels)

Panel 1.  Prehistoric Earth, as seen from space.

CAP: Earth.

Panel 2.  Outside a cave.  It is surrounded by quiet, desert terrain.

CAP: Four million years ago…

CAP/COMPUTER VOICE: “…Three --

CAP/COMPUTER VOICE: “-- Two --

CAP/COMPUTER VOICE: “-- One --”

Panel 3.  Inside the cave.  It is one of Tarantulas’s abandoned laboratories/lairs.  It is dark, but just enough sunlight spills in from outside to see that it is filled with deactivated equipment.  A monitor glows green, but what is on its screen is not visible.

Reference: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cssWMayeniQ (1:29) wada sez: dead link Tarantulas’ lair

COMPUTER VOICE (OP): -- Zero.

COMPUTER VOICE (OP): Countdown sequence complete.

COMPUTER VOICE (OP): Initiate Operation: Ninth Eye.

Panel 4.  Equipment comes to life.  Lights come on.  An arachnoid skitters.  On a monitor is a body of text; it reads as follows in Cybertronix (Predacon characters):

OPERATION: NINTH EYE

FRAG IT. TORCH THE SLAG OUT OF EVERYTHING.

Reference: Arachnoid Cybertronix

COMPUTER VOICE (OP): Initiating.

TARANTULAS (OP): Hm-me-he-hee…

Panel 5.  More equipment comes to life.  More lights come on.  More arachnoids skitter.  On a monitor is a wire-frame schematic of Arachnid (beast mode).  On another monitor is a wire-frame schematic of Transmetal Tarantulas (robot mode).

Reference: Arachnid Tarantulas

TARANTULAS (OP): M-ma-ha-ha-ha!

Panel 6.  An extreme close-up of the monitor from Panel 3.  On its screen is an extreme close-up of a green, digital representation of Tarantulas’s (robot mode) face; he laughs maniacally.

Reference: Tarantulas (Seibertron) Tarantulas (TFWiki)

TARANTULAS: Mah-he-hee-ha-ha-ha!!!

Believe it or not, the project that became BEAST WARS: Second Chances began over a year ago. In September 2008, Josh van Reyk, one of the creative minds behind Transformers: Mosaic, pitched the idea of a Beast Wars one-shot to a handful of us writers and we ran with the idea!  Hundreds of email messages ensued as we hammered out the story.  A lot of great stuff ended up on the "cutting room floor" as we tried to cram as much Beast Wars awesomeness into 22 short pages as possible. So, that's the beginning of how this baby came together, but what about me?  What's my story?  In case you're wondering, here's a taste: My name is Shaun Flaherty.  I am 30 years old and newly married.  I went to school for acting and currently manage a health club. But before all that, there were Transformers. Being born at the very end of the Seventies, I was a Star Wars kid, but soon after the Jedi returned, I discovered something else.  On my first day of kindergarten in 1984, my father presented me with Optimus Prime and 25 years later I still love robots in disguise. Fast-forward a decade or so, past weekday afternoons and a Movie, past reruns and Generation 2.  I discovered Beast Wars late one Saturday morning on a crappy little TV with terrible reception and it was love at first sight. Five delightful seasons (including Beast Machines) and then it was gone. DreamWave promised more, but delivered only one short story.  IDW promised more, but delivered something that wasn't quite the Beast Wars that I had in mind. Our goal with BEAST WARS: Second Chances is to recapture magic, even if only for a moment.  Our goal is for Second Chances to feel like Beast Wars to you. Although the finished product is still a way's away, we hope you'll like what you'll see. -- Shaun Flaherty

[awooghan]

24 to 25 ✧.* y.ji (part one)

❄ PAIRING: jeongin x fem!reader

❄ GENRE: fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, christmas

❄ WARNINGS: mild language, mentions of food, long as hell, i put the ‘slow’ in slowburn (in my defense this trope does not work without it), i’ve checked like 1922847473 times for inconsistencies but if there are any pls be nice it’s my first long fic ;w;

❄ WORD COUNT: 47.7k (part one: 25.9k; part two: 21.8k) i'm so sorry

❄ SUMMARY: “stay for christmas?” was a phrase jeongin first uttered to you when you were both ten years old, but you had no idea how much those three little words would mean to you as the years go by. (inspired by “24 to 25” by stray kids)

❄ NOTES: IT’S FINALLY UP!! i’m so sorry for the wait, i really really wanted to get this right and it took me wayyy longer than i thought it would. but i love how it turned out and i'm so proud of it. i hope y’all enjoy :’)

i’ll include more to the note when i'm not in such a rush to get this posted but tysm to everyone who helped me in writing it! @crispy-chan jas thank you for beta reading (i’m so sorry it was so long) your comments were really sweet and really reassured me that i was doing okay <3 thank u @pearleechai and @gloseoks for helping me out with that one part i got stuck on for like a week lmaooo. to parker specifically, ty for all ur help and encouragement in the couple chapters i asked for help on :D i’m sorry it meant u had some of the fic spoiled for u tho ;w; lastly, @svtbabies hopie u have been my lifesaver from start to finish w this fic. thank u so so much for planning w me and for the multiple times u saved me from a huge writer’s block. i wouldn’t have been able to complete this without you, so ty for everything <33 also ty for the banner lol

➳ IMPORTANT!!! this fic is so long that i have to split it into two parts. i'd use the legacy editor but i can't toggle btwn the two anymore 😭 i did not intend for it to be this lengthy but anything for childhood friends to lovers i guess

[part one] | part two

network tags: @straykidsland

9 years old. (prologue)

“Come on, Y/N, you can’t cling onto my shirt forever,” your mother urges you with a small chuckle.

You stiffen up in your spot at the edge of the picnic bench, and your eyes bounce between the several children on and around the playground equipment. Mixtures of squeals and cheerful laughter ring above the Christmas song playing from the outdoor speaker your new neighbors, the Choi family, set up. You forgot if it was the one with the son older than you or the son your age, though—you didn’t exactly bother to learn their names when your mother introduced you.

“Go on, Y/N.” Her voice fills your ears again as she gently pushes you off the bench. Speak of the devil. 

Shoving your hands in your pockets, you kick the dust with your feet and you keep your gaze cast down on the ground. You didn’t want to socialize—why would you want to make new friends when you had perfectly good ones back in your old neighborhood? Why couldn’t you just go back there? Or just snatch your mother’s dingy old flip phone for a couple minutes to send them a message?

Besides, most of the children here don’t seem like ones you’d be particularly… compatible with. You shouldn’t be one to judge, but the majority of the ones doing laps on the playground equipment couldn’t have been older than five or six. At your big age of nine years old, there’s not much you would have in common with a literal kindergartener. Plus, it seems like they had all formed a friend group of their own, and you’re more than content just watching them chase each other around, gleeful, high-pitched squeals bubbling from their sticky mouths.

Turning your head slightly, you find a group of teenagers sitting around another bench several feet away from all the adults, two of which had their bottoms perched on top of the table as they faced their friends. You would approach them, but just like how you wouldn’t exactly favor befriending the five-year-olds with crayons up their noses, the teenagers likely thought the same of you. Closing your eyes in despair, you groan to yourself and resort to dragging your feet across the dirt.

Why did you even have to move?

As you let out a sigh, you perk up at the fact you could see it in the cold air. It sparks an insurmountable amount of joy for some reason. Perhaps it’s because of the timing of the puff of air with the line, ’Jack Frost nipping at your nose’ that rings from the speakers at the other end of the small neighborhood park, but it causes a giggle to slip past your lips. It’s almost like a new light under the already-dimming sky, the soft pinks and oranges slowly dissipating as the sun begins to dip behind the mountains and give way to the overcast above. 

However, you quickly get distracted by the sight of a boy your age—or at least, you assumed—and you hesitantly step closer.

And there he was.

He was short, upside down on the monkey bars, and wearing the most obnoxious shade of purple you had ever laid eyes on. You aren’t sure what hurts more: the sun in your eyes or staring at his sweater. 

Looking away from the light gray clouds that hung above the park, you let your gaze fall to the boy. He watches you quietly as he continues to hang upside down, and you notice the small smile that paints his slowly reddening face.

Here goes nothing, you guess.

“Um… hi.”

He stays silent, staring at you with his beady eyes. 

Gulping, you continue. “I’m Y/N.” 

He mumbles something back, but you can barely make out what he says and you tilt your head slightly in confusion.

“Huh?”

“My name is Jeongin,” he repeats, only the slightest bit louder. 

A smile of your own quickly forms on your face. You raise a hand up for him to shake, and he just stares at it for a second before moving one of his outstretched arms to meet you, his hand grasping yours at an awkward angle. You both can’t help but giggle as you give your best attempt at a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Jeongin,” you say, slowly pulling your hand away and letting his drop above, or rather, below his upside-down head. “I’m Y/N.”

“You said that already,” he says, and his bluntness makes you chuckle.

Slowly, Jeongin maneuvers himself so he’s sitting on top of the monkey bars instead of hanging upside down. Once he gets upright and steadies himself from the blood rushing down from his head, he stares back down at you. 

You stuff your hands into your pockets and heave out a sigh. “My mom says I need a friend,” you explain your current plight to Jeongin, and you find his soft gaze once again. It’s strange, really—you’ve only exchanged a few words with this boy, but you already feel comfortable enough to complain about your mother’s nagging to him.

You suppose that helps your next words spill out more easily.

“Want to be friends?” 

You watch Jeongin expectantly as he looks down, picking at a piece of lint on his hideous purple sweater. He ponders your question for a minute, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you when he finally nods in response. If your mom wanted you to have a friend so badly, there you go. You got one.

You stand there awkwardly, your eyes drifting back up to the sky for a moment. It occurs to you that you’ve never asked someone to be friends with you; it’s always just kind of happened.

And now you’re stuck, unsure what to do next.

You let out another huff of air, another smile tickling your lips as you watch the faint, white puff form in front of your eyes. Then you look back up at the boy in the obnoxious purple sweater, who seems just as amused by the cold air as you as he lets out his own breath, exhaling like a small dragon.

A chuckle escapes your parted lips as you watch him, kicking his legs lightly as he stares up at the sky. After another minute, you speak again.

“Can I sit up there with you too?”

Nodding his head, he mumbles a small “yeah” and the corners of your mouth twitch up as you hurriedly climb your way up onto the monkey bars. You dangle your legs through the same section as Jeongin’s, and you shift your position slightly as you steady yourself.

A gust of cold air causes you to shiver and as a response, you pull your puffy coat closer to you. This seems to make Jeongin chuckle fondly, and you feel his eyes linger on you for a second before he looks out at the horizon. Neither of you are tall enough to see much above the houses in front of you, but you figure you can use your imaginations to picture what lies beyond that. It’ll have to do.

You both remain silent for a while like this, allowing the chatter and Christmas music below to fill the air around you. It’s comfortable, it feels like a weighted blanket wrapped around your shoulders—which is funny to say because you’re sharing this moment with a kid you’ve barely known for ten minutes. You don’t mind, though. By the looks of it, and the friendly glances you exchange with each other, Jeongin doesn’t seem to, either.

Suddenly, a cold, wet spot falls onto your nose, causing you to gasp and look up.

“Is that…”

Jeongin tilts his head up as well, and he chuckles when another wet drop lands on his face. Meanwhile, you’re in awe. You let your mouth fall open, and your eyes swirl with pure wonderment as you watch the white crystals above you flutter down. It sends chills down your spine, but wraps you up in a cocoon of warmth at the same time. 

“Snow…” is all you manage to mumble. 

Jeongin turns to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Have you never seen snow before?”

You glance at him once, shake your head, and look back up at the sky. 

The boy’s jaw drops. It almost mirrors your dazed expression, except his features are twisted in surprise. But it’s true—snow was something you had only witnessed in movies. As far as you were concerned, the fluffy, white particles only ever graced the stop-motion characters on the old-timey Christmas cartoons you rewatched every year, or the main couple in whatever cheesy Hallmark movie your parents decided to indulge in.

That is, until now.

You didn’t know at that moment what type of future you had in store, but you know one thing: the snow is beautiful. And as you follow Jeongin down the monkey bars and to your first snowball fight, you have an inkling that you’ll be sticking with him for a while.

Maybe this move won’t be so bad after all.

10 years old.

You let out a huff of air, letting your chin bore into the palm of your hand. Unfortunately, though, the air inside a school classroom doesn’t allow you to watch it come to life. Sure, you had a heater and the bulky coat your mother gave you to thank for warmth, but at what cost?

No matter how hard you try to focus on the math test that was laid out in front of you, you just can’t. Not when the outside seemed to beckon you like a siren, begging you to come out and indulge in the ever-approaching Christmas atmosphere. 

It’s all tempting. So, so tempting. Everything else seemed to be falling into place—the air has started to get colder, Christmas music has been playing 24/7 in the stores since November, you’ve worn every ugly Christmas sweater you could get your hands on at least once in the last two weeks, and you’ve begged your mom for a cup of hot chocolate every chance you could get. 

Now you just need it to snow, and you need it badly. 

After you scribble a random answer for the question you’ve been stuck on for five minutes, you throw your pen onto the table and lean back in your hard, plastic chair in defeat. This was too much mental torture, espically when you could hear Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer faintly playing in another room. 

You can’t take it anymore. 

Hopelessly, you stare at Jeongin, who somehow sleeps peacefully next to you. You’re sure he’s been asleep since he sat down in his chair. His head lays on his arm, which is covered by his purple sleeve. You snicker at the sight and pray that one day he grows out of that abomination of a sweater. 

Your eyes drift back to your stupid math test, silently praying again that the torture won’t last for much longer. You were just one step away from greasy pizza and store-bought sugar cookies until your stomach hurt while The Polar Express filled the dim room. Well, one step away is technically two more questions, but it still feels so far.

You begrudgingly answer one of the questions then slump back into your seat, burying your head in your arms. You’re so close to freedom, but you still feel held captive by the test, like it’s shackled your arms and legs to your desk while Rudolph down the hall taunts you, dangling the coveted Christmas cheer over your head.

You don’t even care if you get the questions right anymore. You just scribble down some scratch work that seems somewhat coherent and circle whatever answer is closest then shove your test in your teacher’s hands, eager to get that nasty piece of paper away from you. Then you’re left to wait… and wait… and wait.

It’s unfair. You weren’t meant to be doing a math test the last day before winter break. You weren’t built to be suffering silently at your desk because some people didn’t know how to do long division. (Well, neither do you, but that’s besides the point.)

But nevertheless, you wait… and wait… and wait.

And then, finally, the last student turns in their paper.

The second the teacher plops the pile of tests on her desk, you practically spring up from your seat. You revel in the sweet, sweet freedom, but although your classmates seem just as relieved, they also seem painfully slow. That might also just be all the candy from your teacher’s goody bag pumping through your veins, but it made no difference to you.

Acting as self-appointed leader, you hastily motion for other kids in your class to move the tables to either side of the room, forming a sort of tetris with the desks, while others line trays of food across them. The pizzas are laid out next to different bowls of chips and festive little chocolates in the shapes of snowflakes and snowmen. Small Christmas-themed cups sit at the end of the table with giant bottles of bright, sugary drinks for you to choose from. Like, the ones that are bigger than your face. That’s how you know it’s good.

Hushed whispers of excitement make their way around the classroom as everyone settles down, wrapping themselves in the blankets they had brought to school for today. You take a seat next to Jeongin on the carpet right as the teacher switches the projector on, placing your paper plate filled to the brim with junk food in between you two as you get comfortable.

“How many cookies did you grab?!” Jeongin gawks, marveling at the sight. Whether it’s from amazement or concern is unclear.

You smile smugly at him. The light from the projector as your teacher sets up The Polar Express illuminates his baffled stare. “Not enough.”

He blinks once. “We’re not gonna split it?”

You giggle and push the plate closer to Jeongin, but not without swiping a Santa-shaped cookie from the pile. “I never said we weren’t.”

Jeongin just laughs at you and shakes his head, but the fact that he takes not one, not two, but three cookies from the plate tells you he’s just as excited as you. He attempts to remain nonchalant, though, as he wordlessly pushes a plate stacked with pizza towards you.

Grinning at him, you pick up a slice, the grease glinting in the low light. “Thanks,” you mumble as you take a bite. 

Rolling his eyes, he continues to laugh. “Don’t mention it.” 

There’s something about being next to Jeongin as you watch The Polar Express together, fluffy throw blankets draped around your outstretched legs that catch the crumbs from the snacks you two share, that brings you a sense of comfort. Excitement courses through your body, but somehow, you also feel oddly at peace.

It even seems to transport you to another world, and you forget you had even painstakingly suffered through a math test leading up to this in the first place. Eventually, your mind stops paying attention to the movie—it’s okay, though, because you practically know the story front to back. Instead, you find yourself daydreaming about being awoken in the middle of the night like the boy in the movie, and finding yourself on the fantastical train with Jeongin. A small smile decorates your face as you ponder, imagining all the chaos you could get yourselves into as you made the magical journey to the North Pole together.

However, when the other kids start to gasp and point towards the window, you’re brought back to the real world. Looking over to where they were pointing, you’re greeted with a powdery blanket covering the grass outside, and a grin instantly spreads across your face in delight. 

Finally. It’s snowing. 

You aren’t the only one to jump up from out of your seat in hopes of rushing outside to experience the first snowfall of winter. And you aren’t the first one out of the classroom door either. The calls from your teacher fade into the background like white noise as you scramble out from under your blanket and make a dash for the door as quickly as you can.

“Y/N,” Jeongin calls right before you can run outside, and you turn on your heel.

He speed-walks, then speeds up to an awkward half-jog to where you stand as he digs his hands through his pockets, and you can’t help but chuckle. It takes him until right after he stops in front of you to fish whatever this thing was out. Was it an early Christmas gift? The dreaded cheese touch? You are about to find out.

A crumpled piece of paper falls out of Jeongin’s coat, grazing his hand as he yanks it out of his pocket. He picks it up and unfolds it carefully, squinting at the note.

Leaning over, you peek over his shoulder and furrow your brows as you try to decipher the writing scrawled on. “’Ask Y/N about Christmas’?” You turn your head to the boy. “What about it?”

Jeongin eyes widen for a second as he tries to remember the context of the note. “My parents wanted me to ask if you wanted to…” 

You tilt your head. “Wanted to…?” You repeat.

“What was it that they said?” He mumbles to himself. He looks up, his eyebrows furrowed, and then something seems to click. “Was it… stay? Stay for Christmas?”

You blink, watching the boy with inquisitive eyes. “Stay for Christmas?” you question. 

“Yeah, stay for Christmas.” He hums, and his voice grows more confident as he continues. “Yeah, that’s what they said to ask!” He’s now grinning, and his movements become more animated. “Yeah! Stay with us for Christmas Eve! You have to come, Y/N, it’s a Christmas sleepover! It’ll be fun!”

You light up like a, well, Christmas tree at the idea. You could already picture the absolute blast you’re going to have. Chasing each other around in your pajamas as Christmas music rings in your ears? Eating the cookies his mom laid out for Santa until you're sick? Finding the jolly man himself? And imagine playing in the snow in the morning after ripping your presents open!

“That sounds so fun!” You squeal, beaming from ear to ear. “I'll have to ask my parents, but I'm sure they'll let me go!”

“Y/N, Jeongin,” your teacher interrupts your enthusiasm, her arm propping the door open. “You can’t stay inside by yourselves, come on!”

“Coming!” you two call back in unison, and then you glance at each other. You catch a mischievous glint in Jeongin’s eyes before he bolts for the door, outstretching his arm in front of you before you can react and outrun him.

“Race ya!”

“Hey!”

…

“Mommmm! Daddddd!” you drawl out, a frown stretched across your face as you bounce on the balls of your feet. Your finger impatiently hovers over the doorbell, and if your parents took any longer to grab… whatever they brought for Jeongin’s parents, you would just mash the white button yourself. Or you’d teleport yourself inside; forget the doorbell entirely.

You follow their movements attentively, your fists balled around your backpack straps and teeth pressed against your tongue to keep yourself from complaining more. You had already gotten an earful in the car, not to mention some confused glances when you mentioned the long-anticipated sleepover you had stayed up until the ungodly hours of 10pm preparing your backpack for. If they thought that was late for a fourth-grader, imagine their horror if they knew of your and Jeongin’s plan to stay up all night and see Santa Claus! 

Regardless, you couldn’t pinpoint why your parents raised their eyebrows and snickered at the idea of you sleeping over at Jeongin’s house. Maybe it was the fact that you had your hair messily thrown up into a ponytail and that your light-up Christmas sweatshirt was maybe a size too big—I mean, say what you want, but you’re perfectly dressed for the occasion.

You were sure that was the reason. And certainly not the fact you were practically jumping out of your skin—maybe acting a little bit too excited—to get inside to see your best friend.

Your parents just didn’t understand that this was a pivotal moment. Plus, you’re getting cold. One can only stand outside for so long.

After what felt like hours of waiting, the door finally swings open to reveal Jeongin’s mother, welcoming you and your parents inside. You release your backpack straps from your grip and sprint past your mother, shouting a “Hi, Mrs. Yang!” as you rip your shoes from your feet.

Shaking your backpack off your shoulders, you make a beeline for Jeongin, who puts down his video game controller when you come into view.

“I made it, Jeongin!” you grin from ear to ear, tossing your backpack aside.

“Yay!” he breaks out into a grin and scoots over.

You plop down at the spot next to him, grabbing the spare controller as you watch the mustached man on screen walk right into a brown mushroom and die. And in World 1-1, you may add.

“Let me on! Let’s get this sleepover started!” you mash the ‘A’ button repeatedly, hoping it somehow speeds up Jeongin getting back to the main menu. Oh, were you ready to kick his sorry butt.

Suddenly, you hear bouts of laughter echo from the hallway. You tear your eyes off the screen, finding your and Jeongin’s parents entering the living room. If it weren’t for the wall that your father leaned against, he would have collapsed to the floor from how hard he was laughing.

“Jeongin, you told Y/N there was a sleepover?!” Jeongin’s mother exclaims in between giggles.

Jeongin looks up from his game, his eyebrows drawn together. “Yeah?” He blinks, his voice laced with confusion. “That’s what you said to ask?”

His mom laughs even harder at his reply, her hand over her mouth. “Honey sweet, no!”

Jeongin‘s mouth twists into a frown. He opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again.

Mrs. Yang takes a minute to regain her composure before explaining to the boy, “I meant to ask her to stay for the evening, not the whole night.” She tries to keep a straight face, but another giggle slips out. “There’s no sleepover.”

Jeongin looks down, avoiding eye contact with the four adults laughing at his mix-up as heat rises to his cheeks. Dropping his game controller on his lap, he covers his face with his hands, and lets out a nervous chuckle as his face slowly turns red.

You would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t disappointed that you couldn’t try to see Santa with Jeongin, after all. Despite this loss, you try your best not to laugh at your friend, covering up your giggles with awkward coughs to save Jeongin from more embarrassment. You know both his and your parents will never let him live this down.

And frankly, neither will you.

11 years old.

“You son of a nutcracker!” You cry in unison with Buddy the Elf, your mouth stuffed with an audaciously big chunk of cookie. Maybe you got a bit carried away, but you couldn’t help it if someone was kind enough to bring a platter of fresh-baked cookies to the annual neighborhood Christmas party. It might have been the Choi family—the one with the son your age—which makes sense since they’re hosting the party this year.

Looking up from the gingerbread house he was carefully decorating, Jeongin stares at you with a disgusted frown as you struggle to break down the cookie. 

You look back at him innocently, trying not to laugh. “Hi,” you wave, your mouth still full.

Jeongin shakes his head at you. “I worry about you sometimes.”

“You should.” You swallow most of the bite, wincing as you feel it go down.

Gulping down the rest of the cookie, you prop your chin in the palm of your hand as you pull your attention away from the tv and watch Jeongin. He bites his bottom lip lightly, glancing back and forth between the gumdrops and peppermints around the island and the gingerbread house. He squeezes out some icing, poking his tongue out in concentration, and sticks a peppermint window to the food structure.

Smiling at his little creation in progress, you gently poke one of the small candy canes that stand around the house. Jeongin quickly pushes your hand away, letting out a small whine.

You chuckle at his reaction and do it again, and he swats your hand away once more. “Stop itttt~”

You giggle and hold your hands up. “Okayyy, okay.”

You silently follow his movements with your eyes before they flick down to his sweater. It’s hideous, as most holiday sweaters are. The cartoon reindeer with a head too big for its body taunts you, but at the same time it just screams Jeongin. But there is no trace of that obnoxious shade of purple, and you thank whatever deity is above you for it.

Jeongin studies the gingerbread house for a moment, gently turning the brown building around. He takes a yellow gumdrop in his hand and hovers it over a spot on the roof, squinting ever-so-slightly as he imagined how it would look in the final product, whatever he imagined it to be. You stay quiet and just let him go—you know better than to interrupt Jeongin’s creative process.

“What if you did rows of gumdrops on the roof?” 

Mrs. Choi, on the other hand, doesn’t know better. The one with the son your age, that is—he tagged along with you and Jeongin for lunch a couple times. What was his name again? Beomgyu, right? 

You notice the corners of Jeongin’s mouth twitching downward before he catches himself. “I don’t know,” he says, putting the gumdrop down. “I’ll figure it out.”

Mrs. Choi shrugs and just lingers around, mumbling something about how it reminds her of Hansel and Gretel. You thought she had a point… kind of. You had always heard of the tale of Hansel and Gretel and the house made of candy, but considering it wasn’t much of a Christmas story, you tended to ignore it. 

“Oh, that reminds me…” she says to herself after a minute, walking over to the dining table where all the parents sat around. You lean over in your seat and listen closely. 

“Beomgyu keeps bugging me about having a sleepover with Jeongin,” Mrs. Choi says as she approaches Jeongin’s mom, her voice carrying over the rest of the chatter enough for you to eavesdrop.

Mrs. Yang nods, a small smile playing at her lips. “That'd be fun for them, when can he come over?”

You blink. It’s… it’s that easy for him?

The two mothers begin talking about schedules or appointments or some other boring adult thing. Whatever it is, you tune it out and turn back to Jeongin, who has opted for an array of different colored gumdrops carefully spread across the roof. 

“You’re,” you hesitate, “You’re allowed to sleep over with Beomgyu?” 

“Yeah,” Jeongin hums. ”I’ve slept over at his place and he’s been begging to come to mine.”

He chuckles, gluing on another gumdrop, until his words sink in and he fully processes them. His eyes then widen in realization, and he lets the tube of frosting drop from his hand before marching over to his parents.

“Mom,” Jeongin taps on his mom’s shoulder until she turns to him. “Why does Beomgyu get to sleep over but Y/N doesn't?”

You lean over again, hoping to overhear an explanation from Mrs. Yang. All you hear is laughter.

Laughter? That’s it?

You squint as you lean further in their direction, as if squinting would increase the volume of the conversation. All you could observe was a confused look from Mrs. Choi, and a fit of giggles from Mrs. Yang. How helpful.

“Did I ever tell you what happened last year?!” your mom practically shouts to Mrs. Choi, proving your efforts unnecessary. 

“Oh my god, you have to hear this! It’s a good one, it’s so cute,” Mrs. Yang gushes, glancing at a flustered Jeongin. 

The boy frowns and buries his face in his hands, growing more frustrated. “Mommm!”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flicker between the now-insanely-embarrassed Jeongin, and his parents’ delight at retelling the account of ‘stay for Christmas’. As Mrs. Yang continued, Jeongin sinks deeper and deeper into himself, and you could practically see a little pinkish-red aura surrounding him. 

“And so he tells her…” Mrs. Yang's voice fades into the background when you look out the window and gasp.

Snow.

Before you can register it, your legs are already pushing yourself off the stool, and then you’re running and shoving past other partygoers as you make your way to Jeongin.

“Jeongin.” You tug on his sleeve as you try to get him to move his hands away from his face. However, he swats your hand away. 

“Shut up,” he whines. 

“No, look,” you try again, tugging more. “It’s snowing!” 

Hands instantly falling from his face, he looks out of the window you were motioning at and gasps as well. “Snow.” 

Quickly, you glance at Mrs. Yang, making sure she’s still in in-depth story mode before you grab onto Jeongin’s hand and pull him outside into the cold. You shiver lightly as the winter air nips at your nose, but welcome it nonetheless.

“Wanna make a snowman?” you suggest.

Jeongin shrugs.

“Suit yourself.”

Humming to yourself, you squat down at an empty spot and begin to pile some snow together. A small smile decorates your face, perfectly pairing with your rosy cheeks.

I mean, how could you not be happy right now? It’s the first snow of winter. It may be your third first winter, but you swear each one gets more magical than the last. You know Jeongin would agree, no matter how cranky he may be right now.

“That’s like the fifth time my mom’s told that story this month,” the boy huffs after a minute, kicking at the snow in front of him. “It's not even funny anymore. I was a stupid ten-year-old.”

Looking up from the small base of the snowman, you let out a laugh. “I mean… you were ten last year.”

“Y/NNN,” Jeongin whines.

“And it was kinda funny—”

“Y/N!”

You feel a sudden blast of cold hit your side and you let out a yelp, shielding your face with your arms. Gasping, you look back up after a second to Jeongin preparing more ammunition. Suddenly, you’re in the mood to wipe the shi—sorry, poop-eating grin from your best friend’s face. One nice, cold wipe.

“You ass!” you shriek, gasping and covering your mouth once you realize what you had just said. Thank goodness your mom didn’t hear you or she would’ve brought out the bar of soap.

“That’s what you get!” Jeongin cackles back, hurling another snowball your way. This one also hits your coat, splattering into pieces once it collides with your stomach.

“Oh, it’s on!”

12 years old.

The final bell rings across the school to signal the start of winter break. Students of all types make their way out of the main entrance, leaving you and Jeongin in a rather quiet hallway with your locker still open. 

Whilst you clear it out, the fruitful voice of Jeongin’s new club buddy fills your ears.

“‘Sup, babies.”

You and Jeongin jump at not only the sudden voice, but also the feeling of an arm going around both your shoulders. A year older than you, Jisung, whom Jeongin had met through the middle school’s anime club, sports round glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose. His hair is a chestnut brown, split right down the middle to frame his face. 

Jeongin shrugs Jisung’s arm off of his shoulders, but his other arm stays around you. “How are my favorite underclassmen?” Jisung coos, reaching around to ruffle Jeongin’s hair.

Jeongin jerks his head away from Jisung’s hand, a groan escaping his lips. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope!” Jisung says, flashing the younger boy a dopey grin.

Chuckling, you duck under Jisung’s arm to grab your backpack as Jeongin scrambles to fix his messy hair. You aren’t sure when or why Jisung started referring to you two as ‘babies' when he was only a year older. He once said something about “taking Jeonginnie under his wing” when you first met him, but that’s the closest thing to an explanation that you got.

Once Jeongin manages to tame his hair, he looks at Jisung with a shimmer in his eye. “Did you pick what we’re going to watch next?” he asks, referring to the next club meeting. It wouldn’t be until after New Year’s, but you figured they’d want to plan ahead now while they’re technically still in school.

“Not yet, but I was thinking of going with a classic,” Jisung muses before turning to you. “You should really join us, Y/N.” 

You hum in response, pushing your lips into a line as you ponder it. Of course Jeongin had tried to get you to watch anime with him before, but it was just something you found difficult to get into. “Maybe,” is all you say, mostly to make Jisung happy. 

“Yeah! Anyway,” Jisung quickly moves the conversation along, slinging his arms around both your shoulders again and pulling you two closer to him. “What are you guys doing for Christmas? We should do something!” He gleams, glancing back and forth between you two. “With our parents’ permission, of course.” 

As Jisung gazes longingly at a dog passing by, yours moves to Jeongin and you giggle at the sight of his cheeks tinting pink. He says nothing, but when he looks up and notices you staring at him, he rolls his eyes.

At the silence, Jisung finally tears his eyes away from the dog, who stops at a street pole for a sniff, and looks between you and Jeongin again. “What's up with you two?” he gulps. “You’re acting weird.”

Jeongin makes a sour face. “You’re acting weird,” he tries to rebut, but he only proves Jisung’s point. 

Jisung stops suddenly on the sidewalk. He tilts his head at Jeongin and squints, searching the younger’s face. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jeongin deadpans, turning his heel to continue the walk home.

“Noooo.” The older boy pulls him back by the hoodie before he can walk away. He gets all up in Jeongin’s face, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows suspiciously. “There’s something going on, isn’t there?”

Nosily, you watch as Jeongin opens his mouth to speak before quickly closing it again. He seems to want to shrink into himself, and you both know why. To his dismay, you find it wholly amusing.

“Baby, come onnnn,” Jisung bounces in place as he chants, “Tell me, tell me, tell me…”

Deciding to ignore the boys’ shenanigans, you look up at the clouds and begin to think about your own plans for Christmas, a small smile forming on your lips.

You’ve always loved the holidays, but after settling into your new neighborhood, it grew on you and swept you off your feet like never before. It’s way more than just the snow—it’s the joy swirling in the air when Christmas music finally begins to play on the radio. It’s the sparkle in the night sky when the whole town shows off their colorful lights. Maybe it’s also the inhuman amount of hot chocolate and sugar cookies coursing through your veins. You’re not hyped up on sugar right now, but Jeongin would be hopelessly shaking his head at you if you were.

It’s way more than just beautiful snow, but it seemed to add a magical touch to Christmas that you never felt in your old neighborhood.

It came like clockwork, too, just like the Christmas party, and you’re eagerly counting the days until both come to life for the first time this season. Especially the Christmas party. Your and Jeongin’s schedules only matched up for lunch this year, and you’re in dire need of some quality time with your best friend.

“Y/N?” Jisung gently shakes your shoulder, interrupting your train of thought.

You blink a few times. “Huh? Yeah?”

“What are your plans for Christmas?”

You look back up at the sky, your lips curving upward again. “I’ll be with my family on Christmas. I'm not doing anything much for Christmas Eve, though,” you say with a giggle, emphasizing the ‘eve’. “It depends.” 

Jisung continues to look at you—and Jeongin—with an eyebrow raised. “On what?” 

You have to take a breath to try and compose yourself before you continue.

“On—” 

“Can’t you let it go?” Jeongin cuts you off with a whine. “It was basically two years ago!”

“‘Cause it was two years ago,” you continue to giggle. 

Jisung blinks, trying to figure out this inside joke you two are bickering over, but the poor boy is just as confused as when the conversation started. “What was two years ago?”

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Jeongin grumbles, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s failing miserably trying to hide a smile. You just flash your brows at him, and he slides out from under Jisung’s arm and heads straight for you. 

A teasing grin grazes your lips, and you gently push Jisung’s arm off of you so you can run away. 

“You do this every year!” Jeongin cries out, attempting to reach for your backpack.

“‘Cause it’s funny!” you shout back.

You can feel Jeongin’s fingers brush your shoulders every now and then as he chases after you. Giggles bubble from your throat as you try to make a break for it, tricking him by going the opposite way to where he is. However, he catches on to your attempt to escape and grabs you quickly. His arms wrap securely around you and pull you back as he hugs you, his laughter loud in your ears. 

You let out a surprised squeak as you try to wriggle your way out of Jeongin’s grip. “Jeongin, I was kidding, I was kidding!” you cry out in between giggles.

“You always do this!” he giggles too, refusing to let you go.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” you squeal. Tears start to prick your eyes from how hard you’re laughing. 

Jeongin lets his arms fall and his lip juts out into a pout. You turn to him and quickly match it. 

“Sure, you are,” he mutters, enhancing his frown. 

“I mean it, Jeonginnieee.” You lean closer and let your arms slip around him. “I'm sorry.” 

He stays stiff for a second before he wraps his arms back around you and smiles. “It's okay.” 

A high-pitched squeal from Jisung makes you both jump in surprise and let go of each other. You both stare back at Jisung, who wears a giddy grin stretching from ear to ear. His hands are balled up in tiny fists together, flying up to his mouth as he bounces a little in place.

You blink a few times, stunned to silence for a few seconds before finally speaking. “You okay, Jisung?” 

“Y-You… the…” Jisung stammers excitedly before trailing off.

He points between the two of you, then to the sky, and as you both follow his finger, a cold wet drop lands on your cheek, and another on your nose. Jeongin lets out a squeak at one hitting him in the eye, and he scrunches up his face at the impact.

You looked back at Jisung, gesturing upward. “The snow?” you finish his sentence.

The older boy nods eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, the snow!”

You want to smile, you really do—it is the first snow of winter, after all. But it seems like he has a different reason for his exuberance than you do.

You exchange a glance with Jeongin, and he seems just as lost as you are. At this point, you might as well just ask. “What about it?”

Was it because the snow was pretty as it dotted the earth below you? Was it because it marked the start of only the most beautiful time of the year? This could really go any direction.

“You know, like the movies?” He rambles. “When the boy and the girl witness the first snowfall together and…”

Oh no, no, no. Not that direction.

Briskly stepping away from each other, you both frantically shake your heads, the tips of your ears glowing red. Jeongin argues back with a string of flustered protests that you could only nod along to, as you were at a loss for words yourself.

You wonder what was in the snow that had fallen on Jisung to make him think this way. It was insane, he was insane. You and Jeongin? Jisung must’ve gone mad.

Jisung deflates a little, a pout pulling his lips downward. “Aww. That would’ve been cute though.”

You force out a chuckle before continuing your route home. Jisung parts ways somewhere halfway through, but an icky feeling persists in your stomach for the rest of the walk.

It truly baffles you how he saw you and Jeongin having an inside joke, you know, like best friends do, and somehow morphed it into some coupley thing all because of a little snow. The snow is beautiful, of course, but throwing that sappy stuff on top of it? Jisung’s watched way too many movies. And anime. An alarming amount of anime. 

“I’ll, um,” Jeongin clears his throat as you both approach your front door. “I’ll see you at the party next week.”

An awkward tension still hangs above you from earlier, but you manage to muster a small smile. “Yeah. See you then.”

He smiles back and gives you a little wave before he begins the five-minute walk to his house. But before you knock on your door…

“Wait!” you blurt and reach out for him. You wrap your fingers around Jeongin’s wrist, prompting him to turn around.

“Yeah?”

“That, um, that thing Jisung was saying,” you hesitate, stumbling over your words. You force out another chuckle in hopes to relieve the tension that’s making your stomach twist into knots. “That’s— that’s not gonna happen to us… right?”

Jeongin lets out a scoff, waving you off reassuringly. “Of course not, Jisung’s just being Jisung.” He smiles a little. “We’re best friends, remember?”

His words fill you with relief, and you smile back. “Yeah. The bestest of friends.”

“That’s not a word.”

“You know what I mean, Jeongin.” You chuckle genuinely this time as you roll your eyes, turning back to your front door. “I’ll see you at the party.”

It’s ridiculous that you have to even ask, but apparently it’s necessary. You’re just lucky Jisung listened to Jeongin in the end, or this whole shipping fiasco would’ve been much more difficult than it needed to be.

Especially since several of your classmates who witnessed the interaction in front of the school parking lot actually seemed to believe it. 

13 years old.

You nibble at your bottom lip and run one hand up and down your forearm. Jisung has been glaring rather unamused daggers at you for five minutes now, his round eyes perpetually locked on you as you try to focus on the TV. It makes you feel like there was something crawling all over you, and you have the overwhelming urge to itch every bit of exposed skin you had—which isn’t a lot, but still. 

Part of you was tempted to turn to Jisung just to try and poke his eyes out. You wouldn’t actually do it, but with his eyes boring into your head like this, it’s hard not to think about it. You just wanted to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas in peace.

“...Are you gonna talk to him? Like, at all?” Jisung speaks. 

A small pout plays at your lips and you cross your arms over your chest. “How can I?” you start. “He hasn’t spoken to me since the start of the year.” 

The older boy lets out a sigh. “Have you tried to speak to him?” 

You nod once. Finally, something he can’t get on your case for.

Jisung blinks. “…Besides at lunch back in April?”

You huff, looking down at your lap. Your knuckles turn white as you ball the fabric of your sweater in your fists. "Well, it was kinda hard to do when he’s always with Beomgyu.”

Jisung leans forward to get a better look at you, whilst he rests his chin on his palm. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound jealous."

You can’t tell if you want to scoff or to laugh. Jealous? You? Of course not. You just wanted to be around your best friend again. To be able to hang out with your best friend of three years without some stupid kid in your grade teasing you about dating or about how ‘oOOoH, yOu’RE sO iN lOvE’. Ever since winter break ended, it was all you ever heard when you were around him.

"I’m not jealous." You raise your voice slightly, pushing him away without moving your gaze away from the cartoon. "He was my best friend first."

"Can you hear yourself when you speak?"

“Can you hear how annoying you are right now?”

Jisung blinks at you again. He pushes himself off the couch and stands in front of you, his gaze more gentle this time. “You know he asks me about you too, right?”

You sigh. It’s probably the fifth time this week that Jisung has reminded you of this. It’s not that you don’t want to believe him, but with the way Jeongin stared at you with hollow eyes the last time you tried to talk to him in the cafeteria eight months ago, you’re not sure if you can.

“Plus, he’s literally…” Jisung continues, spinning you around to where Jeongin sat in the kitchen with Beomgyu. Right where you two sat at the Christmas party two years ago. “…right there.”

“I know,” you huff.

Of course you knew that, and you knew he knew you knew. Jeongin was the first one you recognized when you stepped foot in the Choi house for the party. Sure, part of it was because Jisung frantically shook your arm and pointed him out, but even if he wasn’t there you would’ve spotted the top of his head from a mile away. You would’ve known he hadn’t left his gingerbread house in the kitchen all afternoon, whether or not the coconut-haired boy was there to pester you about it.

”Then gooo,” Jisung chides, pushing you to the kitchen island by the shoulders. “Talk. To him.”

Oddly enough, talking to him is the last thing you want to do. At least, not here. Not when there’s a bunch of adults that, frankly, are nosier than your typical middle schooler. Luckily, the only adult there when you approach the kitchen island only glances at you for a second before stepping past you. No one else is watching, but it still feels like a hundred pairs of eyes are piercing into your skull.

You suck in a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Hey.”

Jeongin pushes his lips into a thin line when he looks up at you. “Hi.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see Beomgyu raise his head and look at you both before going back to what he was doing. Rocking on the balls of your feet, you take another deep breath. “How’ve you been? It’s been a while.”

You’re not sure how long Jeongin goes quiet for, but every second of silence makes you feel like your insides are trying to escape from you. You purse your lips as your gaze casts down to your feet, unable to look him in the eye. Why did the friendship between you and Jeongin have to change? Why couldn’t people just keep their mouths shut?

“I’ve been okay,” he mumbles. “Just busy, you know?” 

You hum in response. He was right; this year had been a lot school-wise, especially when you counted how everyone watched you like hawks, ready to strike at the first opportunity for a ‘ship moment’, as some people had started to call it. 

“Yeah.” You try to laugh, but anyone can tell it’s fake. “Me too.”  

Jeongin stays silent again, just nodding at your words. You weren’t sure what heartbreak was and of course, you weren’t in love with him. He is—was—your best friend. But if you had to guess, heartbreak probably feels something close to what you’re feeling right now.

You gulp, and take one more shaky breath. Your bottom lip wavers as you try to get your next words out.

“I…” miss you. 

You want to say it so bad, but you stopped yourself as soon as you started. When Jeongin doesn’t turn his head, you feel your heart sink to your stomach, or whatever the equivalent of that was when your best friend completely ignores you, effectively declaring the end of your best-friendship. 

You hate this so much. Screw the other kids for getting in the way of your friendship, screw Jeongin for letting them, screw yourself for not doing more to stop it, and screw Jisung for pushing you over to talk to him. 

You don’t say anything more as you turn away and solemnly make your way back over to where Jisung is still standing. When you feel tears pool in your eyes, you make a sharp turn for the bathroom, and the older boy worriedly trails after you.

“Baby…” he calls as he follows, quickening his pace to catch up to you. “Surely it wasn’t that bad.” 

You stop in your tracks, suddenly causing Jisung to bump into you. He leans forward and around your shoulder before taking a step into your view, instantly frowning when he sees the sadness apparent on your face. “Baby…” 

“It’s over, Jisung.” You blink rapidly. “We’re never going to be friends again, not after this.” 

Furrowing his eyebrows together, Jisung sighs. He places his hands on your shoulders to try and get you to look at him. “Don’t say that, you guys will get past this. You guys are best friends for a reason.” 

“No, we won’t.” Your voice shakes as you speak. “You saw how awkward it was back there! There’s no way he wants to be friends anymore… let alone best friends.”

You continue to blink your tears away, but one manages to slide down your cheek. Your breathing becomes ragged as your world feels like it’s crashing down on you, and all you can do is helplessly step closer to Jisung as you hiccup.

“I just want my best friend back.” 

Pulling you in, Jisung wraps his arms around you in his attempt to comfort you. He sighs quietly, his own frown on his lips as you choke out a sob.

“I know you do.” 

14 years old.

Well, your last year of middle school was off to a surprisingly pleasant start.

After years of being told where in the classroom you could sit, your 1st period teacher nearly had you jumping for joy when she said you were free to pick your seat for the year. It was such a minute detail to be in control of, but it felt so freeing to your adolescent self.

The only problem: you don’t know anyone in this class. You vaguely recognize two or three faces from last school year, but even they had gravitated to other students in the class, clustering into their already-established friend groups. It’s like the galaxies in the night sky that you learned about last year, and you’re a lone star, floating around in the abyss called your new English classroom. 

Shrugging to yourself, you scoot past some students in the aisles and pick a seat in the middle of the room in between two other empty desks. You had counted ten or so desks that had yet to be filled, so you figured you should take your chances. You don’t know anyone… at least, for now. Maybe someone will show up later.

Sliding your phone out of your pocket, you plug your headphones into your ears and listen to music for the last few minutes of passing period to relax a little. It quickly feels pointless, though, as the chatter in the classroom overpowers the song blasting right by your eardrums. 

However, one voice seems to ring above all the others.

“Um… is this seat taken?”

You take an earbud out, lifting your head to find the source of the voice. Jeongin stands over the chair to your left, adorning a god-awful purple sweater that reminds you of the one he wore when you first met. It almost brings a smile to your face… almost. It probably would have if things had ended differently between you two.

This is the first time you have spoken to him since The Most Awkward Conversation Of Your Life™. Maybe you were being slightly dramatic, or at least that’s what Jisung had told you for weeks after the incident, but you still stood by what you felt. You weren't sure if you and Jeongin could ever get back to the way you were—not having spoken since that moment kind of proved to you that you couldn’t.

Yet here you are. You’re not sure if this will just be a one-off conversation or a second chance of sorts. But after a moment, you decide to take that chance.

“Go for it.” You gesture to the seat.

Jeongin smiles awkwardly, the tips of his ears pink as he sets his backpack down on the floor. He doesn’t move to get any of his things out of his bag, and just sits there with laser-focus on his hands that rest on top of his desk.

You’re not sure how long you two sat in silence, but thankfully, it feels nothing like the last time. It actually feels…. comfortable. Welcoming, even. Almost like when you first met him at the monkey bars.

Jeongin looks over at you after a few moments, still rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. “So… how are you?” he finally speaks.

It’s then that you notice just how much deeper Jeongin’s voice has gotten since the last time you spoke. You figure it would make sense; you hadn’t seen each other in almost a year, and a lot can happen in said year. It’s still odd, however—seeing him change, but not being there to experience it with him.

You nod, looking down at your own hands, but you let a small smile slip out. “I’m okay.”

You are okay, really, at least for the moment. But now you knew you would be, for sure.

…

“Who wants the last cookie—” Mrs. Yang calls from the kitchen, but she’s quickly cut short.

“ME!”

You and Jeongin spring up from the couch at the same time, giggling as you push past each other and race to the kitchen. At the last second, Jeongin sticks his arm in front of you just as you come in reach of the cookie, barring you from the baked treat as he swipes it with his free hand.

“Hey!” You cross your arms, biting your lip to stifle more giggles from coming out. “You cheated!”

Jeongin doesn’t even try to hide the cocky smirk on his face. “Oh, you love me anyway.”

You narrow your eyes at the boy. “Do I? Do I really?”

Jeongin only stares back at you, blinking a few times before he bites into the cookie. Right. In. Front of you.

Your jaw drops in betrayal. What an asshole, he knew you loved those cookies more than life itself! If you had to choose, though, you highly preferred this over where you two were a year ago. He may be stealing your cookies like the pubescent raven-haired crook he is, but since it comes with being best friends again, you’ll learn to live with it.

You keep your eyes trained on him as you calculate your next move. You know exactly how to get him back for this, but is it worth it? Was waiting only a few months after recovering your friendship enough time?

Oh, who are you kidding—of course it was.

“Two can play that game,” you state, taking a piece of cookie from his hand.

The boy scoffs. “Oh, really?”

Your eyes widening ever-so-slightly, you bite into the cookie. You keep your gaze on him as you chew, not looking away even for a second, and you say the three magic words—even more magic than ‘please.’

“Stay for Christmas?”

His smirk immediately drops, and one of your own plays at your lips. You know you got him.

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” he grumbles.

You just swipe another piece of cookie from his hand, still grinning triumphantly. “To be fair,” you swirl the cookie in your hand for emphasis, “you walked right into it.”

Jeongin sighs, watching you toss the last bit of the cookie into your mouth. “There's nothing I can do to make you forget it, huh?’

“Nope,” you say with your mouth full. “Not unless you do something more quote-worthy.”

“Fine, then stay.”

You freeze, your cheeks still full of chewed-up cookie. “What?”

“You heard me, Y/N.” Jeongin steps closer, not breaking eye contact. “Just stay for Christmas. It’d be fun, and at least then, you’d have nothing to try and tease me with.”

You swallow the dessert in your mouth and stare at him, speechless. All this time, you had been just playing along with the line as a joke. Was it actually possible to have a sleepover with him? You almost smile as you ponder it over in your head. Being all cooped up in his room and kicking his ass at Mario Kart, then scrambling to be in bed by midnight as if Santa would actually appear the second the clock strikes twelve? You don’t have to think twice.

“Honey sweet, you and Y/N are still on that?” Mrs. Yang says, turning her head to look at you two from the sink.

Jeongin groans. “Yeah, mom, and why do you still call me that?!”

His mother just chuckles and turns back to the dishes she’s rinsing. From what you could gather, she doesn’t seem opposed to you sleeping over. It wasn’t a yes, but it certainly wasn’t a resounding no, so you jump to make a beeline for your parents and beg them to let you stay overnight.

Unfortunately, your parents have a more straightforward answer for you. Not even the growing piles of snow outside could save you from going back home at the end of the night.

You also receive quite the lecture about “the dangers of staying over at boys’ houses” on the way home. Their words fly in one ear and the other for you. If this was anyone else, it’d be different, but this is your best friend that they’re talking about.

The only time Jeongin ever laid a hand on you was during the grand battle of Rainbow Road when you were eleven. In his defense, he didn’t mean to push you so hard that you fell off the bed and nearly dislocated your shoulder, but that’s what happens when two of the most competitive people you know go head-to-head in a battle of Mario Kart.

You huff. At least you know actually staying for Christmas might be an option one day.

15 years old.

You peek around the edge of your locker door every so often as you shove various notebooks into your bag. Even when you finished packing up, you busy yourself with pretending to wipe specks of dust off your binder, and checking that you chose the correct textbooks to bring home with you for the fifth time in three minutes.

Another minute or so passes and you check the clock on your phone, then you look past your locker door one more time, slowly leaning over until one eye peeps past the edge. You find Jeongin speaking to one of his teachers as they exited their classroom, waving goodbye as he heads closer to you. 

You smile to yourself, then scan the area around you one more time. The coast seems clear, but you decide to give it one more minute before going over to him, just to be safe.

“You’re doing that again?”

You jump and turn on your heel, nearly hitting your head against your locker door. Jisung stands behind you as he watches you incredulously, backpack slung over one shoulder as he leans against the wall of lockers. His arms are crossed as he raises an eyebrow at you, and his features are twisted into an odd mixture of concern and confusion.

You look back at the main hallway, then back at Jisung. “Um… yeah,” you state, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Is there a problem?”

Jisung just snickers at your confidence. “Babe, honey, sweetie,” he says. You roll your eyes at the endless string of nicknames. “You look ridiculous.”

“I do not!” you scoff defensively.

He leans closer to you, his wide eyes boring into yours. “Is this about a booooy?” he teases jokingly.

You grimace in his direction, delivering a flick to his forehead as you pretend to rummage through your locker again. “You know what it’s about, Ji,” you grumble.

He’s technically not wrong. It is about a boy, but it’s not about a boy. There’s a huge difference—especially when the boy in question was Jeongin.

“You still look ridiculous.” He props an arm against the locker wall. “It’s like you want people to think you’re dating.”

You sigh, slamming your locker shut. “You don’t get it, people will stare if we don’t do this. Plus, our system’s worked for almost a semester already.”

“Y/N, this almost looks more suspicious than if you two just acted normally.” Reaching out a hand, he turns you by the shoulders to face him. “Is this peeking thing really necessary?”

You let out an agitated huff at his constant questioning. The nearly-unreadable grimace makes a return to Jisung’s face, and you know it is there to stay until you explain yourself. It seems pretty simple to you, though. 

You see, once middle school came to a close, you saw a window for a fresh start in high school. Any indications of The Incident™ (the former name had become a mouthful for you to repeat every time) were to die with the remnants of your braces phase and short-lived obsession with rainbow loom bracelets and 5 Seconds of Summer, as far as you were concerned. So, accordingly, you and Jeongin had devised a plan to prevent those dreaded “ship moments” from repeating themselves in high school.

Since most of your time together at school wasn’t in actual classes, you and Jeongin agreed to sit separately for bus rides to and from school, sometimes even opposite ends of the bus if necessary. On the way to school in the mornings, you two figured it was safe to walk together to the bus most days. Your neighborhood was one of the first stops and the few kids on the bus when you get on are usually snoring in the back. As long as you and Jeongin sat across from each other near the front and didn’t wake them up, you figured you’d be fine.

However, after school, you had to be fast. Ideally, you’d meet up with Jeongin when the hallways were less crowded than right when the final bell sounds, but when enough students were still hanging around the corridors that it wouldn't raise eyebrows with the school staff. You’d meet, speed-walk to the buses together, and enter separately. Once you pulled up at your stop, you two would depart and walk separately—until your bus turned the corner, then you’d walk each other home. It sounded like a lot, yeah, but after a while you get used to it.

After months of practice, you found that the most optimal time to pull this off was around five to eight minutes after the bell. Eight minutes was pushing it, but as long as you and Jeongin made a run for it, you wouldn’t miss your ride home. You had it down to a science. Jisung had no reason to worry, but he always seemed to find one.

Despite this, you don’t want to bother explaining the system you and Jeongin had perfected over the semester, again—the last time you did, it only raised more questions. So this time, you simply wave a hand in dismissal. “Yes, it’s necessary,” you deadpan, “you wouldn’t understand.”

Jisung blinks, then lets out an exhausted sigh. “If you insist…”

The older boy trails off, just in time for the younger one to appear at your side. “Hey, guys,” Jeongin chirps, waving at you both.

You smile at him briefly before turning to Jisung. “Do you have any other questions before we go?” you ask, your voice dripping in (mostly) feigned annoyance.

“No, but I probably will later.” The older brunet waves at one of his friends from anime club before looking back at the two of you one more time. “You two should go catch your bus, get home safe, yeah?”

You both nod, giving him a thumbs up as he jogs over to his friend, and you and Jeongin make your own jog for the front doors of the school.

You’re immediately greeted with a gray cloudy sky and you instantly feel the cold swirl around you. There are crowds of people littered around each section, waiting for their own respective buses. It doesn’t faze you in the least, though.

You had months of practice under your belt—years, actually, if you included shoving past couples in the school hallways who seemed to walk like they were floating on the moon. To this day, you never understood the appeal of holding up foot traffic for your fifth kiss goodbye of the hour, but whatever. Just like how other teenagers always mysteriously seemed to stop right in front of you just as you were dashing full speed for math class, you always seemed to find a way through the crowd.

It was simple, really. Like, actually simple compared to your aforementioned plan. Just keep your eyes straight ahead, and somehow, people always seem to clear a path for you. Despite your current plight, you and Jeongin have yet to miss your bus since the start of high school.

And that’s what you do. You take the lead in pushing through the masse of students, most of which are chatting amongst their friends as they meander to their ride home. Normally, you and Jeongin would talk a bit on the way, too, but you had hit the eight-minute mark thanks to your encounter with Jisung, so you had to book it. 

You keep your gaze locked in front of you, only turning back occasionally to make sure you didn’t lose Jeongin in the crowd. As predicted, students who aren’t otherwise in a hurry move out of your way. You let out a small sigh of relief at this; it’s one less thing you needed to worry about as you got closer to your bus.

Next: enter separately.

By the time you and Jeongin navigate your way out of the crowd and to bus #143, you find a line of students waiting to board that stretches the length of the bus itself. You groan, but at least you wouldn’t be stranded at school, so you consider this a win.

But still, you keep your unwritten pact in mind and you gesture for Jeongin to line up. “You go first,” you mumble, gently pushing him to the end of the line and you step back to wait another minute.

Jeongin turns back to you. “Aren’t you gonna get in line too?”

You stuff your hands in your pockets and quickly scan the line. You recognize the girl in front of him from math class, and two kids from the group of boys that just got behind Jeongin used to tease you two in middle school. “Not yet,” you shake your head. “It’s not safe.”

He furrows his brows together, his lips pulling downward. “You’re shivering,” he deadpans.

Now that he mentioned it, you realize you’re jumping in place in an attempt to warm up. It’s cold outside and you’re eager to leave, but you don’t mind waiting a little longer.

After moments of hesitation, Jeongin removes a hand from his hoodie pocket and grabs your forearm, making sure your hands stay in your own pockets as he pulls you to him. “Just get in line, Y/N,” he mumbles, “the sooner you get in line, the sooner we can get out of the cold.”

With wide eyes, you immediately step back. “Are you crazy?!” you hiss. “People are gonna talk!”

“So? Let them.”

Jeongin’s words ring in your head as he pulls you back towards him one more time.

You let out a gasp when you feel your body collide with his. You blink a few times to recompose yourself and stare up at him, your mouth agape. “What’s gotten into you?” Jeongin makes a face to himself as he responds, “What’s gotten into you?” 

“You know what got into me.” You give him a dubious look. “The agreement, the one we both agreed on?” 

Jeongin hums, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks back over to watch the line. “Who cares?”

“I thought you did…” 

His gaze burning into your skin makes you want to shrink away. Only a few months ago, he was dead set on this agreement, but now? What changed and so suddenly, at that? 

“Why should we let them try to ruin our friendship?” Jeongin asks after a beat of silence. “They already tried once, and look what happened. We shouldn’t let them again.” 

You freeze yet again at his words, so much that the boy has to drag you onto the bus with him. His hand on your forearm is enough to snap you out of your haze, and for some reason, it’s all you can focus on. 

You feel him let your arm go after a minute, and you look over at him. He slings his backpack off his shoulders and places it by his feet as he settles into the window seat, then looks back at you. “Aren’t you gonna sit down?” he says in a similar tone as earlier, patting the empty spot next to him.

“Um…”

Jeongin looks at you expectantly. It was tempting. it really was. But you catch a familiar wisp of curly hair as the group of boys from behind you two turn the corner and strut down the aisle.

You hesitate, before sharply turning on your heel. “I’ll just sit a few rows back,” you mumble.

“Oh my god, Y/N.”

Another surprised yelp leaves your lips as Jeongin pulls you out of the aisle. He tugs you by your hoodie sleeve this time, and when the group of boys walk past you, he lets his grip loosen and you feel his palm rest on your forearm again. It’s warm against your skin and you almost don’t want him to move it, but you wouldn’t dare say it out loud.

The boy glances at the seat next to him, then back at you, his eyes almost weary. “Just sit, please.”

You peer over your shoulder as the group of boys collectively take their seats in the last two rows of the bus. Sighing, you supposed that it’s far enough that you would be safe, and allow yourself to plop on the torn blue leather.

“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” Jeongin smiles at you reassuringly. “No one’s gonna talk, we’ll be fine.”

He pats your forearm twice before bringing his hand back onto his lap. You almost frown at the move.

The last of the students file in after a couple more minutes and the bus slowly pulls onto the road. Jeongin leans his head against the dirty window as he plays Doodle Jump on his phone, and you mindlessly watch him try to beat his high score. 

You don’t know how much time passed when the bus abruptly stops, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. The two of you are thrown forward as the driver suddenly slams the brakes, and Jeongin instinctively grabs your arm to keep you from falling. You don’t, luckily, but you do bump into him.

“Ahh, sorry!” you exclaim.

Jeongin shakes his head, as if to say it’s okay. “Are you okay?”

He gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before letting go. You follow his hand as it falls back on his lap, before meeting his gaze and nodding slightly. “Yeah–” you hesitate for a second, looking down at his hand again then back at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

You nod once, giving him a tight smile before settling down properly. That is, until you catch white flecks falling outside from the corner of your eye. It takes a second to click, but once it does, you turn to the window in a flash, eyes sparkling at the view outside.

“Jeongin,” you squeal, shaking him by the shoulder and you point to his right. “Look!”

The boy slides his phone in his pocket and a grin of his own appears as he looks out the window, seeing the snowflakes blanket the outside world for the first time this winter. Leaning past Jeongin to peer outside, your smile grows even more cheerful. All you need now is a mug of hot chocolate filled to the brim with whipped cream as you curl up on the couch and put on one of your beloved Christmas movies. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be home for a while, so this would have to do for now.

“I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed, but,” Jeongin starts after a minute, a chuckle escaping his lips, “the snow always starts when we’re together.”

“Really?” you question. 

He nods, his eyes focused on what seemed to be the most interesting bush in the world to him, and he smiles. “Yeah.”

You’re not sure if it was instinct or the cold that made you want to sit closer to Jeongin. You try not to think about it. 

“It's just a coincidence,” you attempt to laugh. “You can’t really predict the weather.” 

“I don’t know,” Jeongin muses, clicking his tongue. “If Jisung was here right now, he’d be losing his mind.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “That boy lost his mind ages ago. We just spend a lot of time together, of course we’re gonna see the first snow together at least once.”

Jeongin shrugs his shoulders beside you, then it goes silent. You aren’t sure how long for, and you just quietly watch the white crystals of snow hit the glass window. 

You feel Jeongin lean into you slightly after another moment. “That reminds me…”

You hum, looking over at him.

His smile curls into a playful smirk. “Stay for Christmas?”

You gape at him with an amused grin. Jeongin? Saying the line himself, unprompted? Who was this boy in front of you? “I thought you hated that line.”

Jeongin shrugs again, a smile still playing on his lips. “Eh, it kinda grew on me.” He pauses for a moment then speaks again. “But seriously, do you want to?”

Your brain goes static for a second. “As in, stay for Christmas? Like, for real?” He nods, and you deflate, slumping in your seat. “You know they’ll just say no.”

The hopeful smile on Jeongin’s face also fades, recalling your failed attempt last year. “I know,” he said, “but maybe it’s worth another try?”

You press your lips into a thin line, keeping your gaze down as you shrug. “We can if you want.”

Once the bus pulls up at your stop, Jeongin walks you home, but not without going inside with you to find your parents. With a reassuring hand on your back, he helps you plead your case to your parents, but as you feared, they shut you down quicker than last time.

Jeongin sends you a sad smile as he heads home that day, leaving you to mentally prepare for the hell you’re about to receive from your mother the minute the door clicks shut behind him. 

16 years old.

“One, two…” your mother counts slowly as she tries her best to fit the both of you on her screen. “Get a bit closer together, guys,” she ushers you with one hand. 

You huff but follow her order, and step closer to the boy next to you. “Mom, don’t you have enough photos?”

A chuckle leaves your mom's lips as she continues to take more, now at different angles. “There’s never enough photos, sugarplum!”

Jisung snorts from beside you at the nickname and you send your elbow right into his ribs to get him to shut up.

“Y/N!” your mother scolds. “Don’t be so mean, he’s being nice and taking you! Heaven knows he didn’t need to.” 

“Mom!” you gasp in surprise.

“Yeah, sugarplum,” Jisung says mockingly, faking a pout as he looks down at you. 

You glare up at the older boy and silently hiss. You knew this would be a bad idea, but this is still better than what you were originally going to do: go to winter formal on your own. Especially since Jeongin had his own date. 

“Okay, okay,” your mother says as her gaze focuses back onto her phone. “Last ones.” 

“You have plenty,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

Your mother finally lowers her phone and slips it into her oversized cardigan pocket. “Bring her home by midnight, okay? No funny business!” She borderline-chastises Jisung, and you give her a look. She’s known Jisung for years at this point, it was almost as bad as if she lectured Jeongin himself.

Luckily for you, Jisung plays along, drawing two fingers to his brow and flicking his wrist to salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Okay,” you start quickly as you hastily grab Jisung’s wrist. “We gotta go, bye!” 

With that, you drag Jisung out of the door and to his car before your mother can get another word in.

“Whoa there, sugarplum, calm down,” Jisung sings, “we have all the time in the world.”

“Would you let that nickname go, please?” you groan. 

Jisung unlocks his car as he walks around to the driver's seat, laughing loudly. “Never, baby.” With the car open, he stares at you and taps his temple. “That puppy is locked into the memory banks for life.” 

You roll your eyes for the nth time, open the door, and let it slam behind you as you plop onto your seat with crossed arms, Jisung’s laughter filling your ears as he follows your actions. Igniting the engine, he turns the heaters to full blast and rubs his hands together to try and gain some heat. 

“You good?” you ask, watching him blow hot air onto his hands. 

He hums and nods his head, and turns the heaters down shortly after. “I like the car to be toasty, okay? I want to feel like a marshmallow.” 

“...A marshmallow?” 

Jisung nods again affirmingly. “A marshmallow.” 

“I don’t even want to know,” you shake your head in amazement and look away from him. 

“We’re picking Innie up first, right?” Jisung asks, his attention now on the road as he backs the car out of your driveway.

“Yeah,” you hum. “His date is meeting him there.” 

After that it goes silent, partly because Jisung needs his full attention to drive, but also because there just isn’t much to say. You’re surprised Jisung hasn’t taken this time alone with you to grill and interrogate you, but maybe he had turned over a new leaf, changed his ways.

It seems more likely, however, that you just thought too highly of him, especially when he asks you about it in the next moment.

“So, how do you feel about Jeongin having his own date?” 

You turn your head to look at him. “Don’t you have the road to focus on?”

“Don’t deflect, baby,” he hums. “You can’t answer a question with a question.” 

“You can’t answer a question with a question,” you mimic, tightening your arms around your chest. 

“Now you’re just being obnoxious,” he says, which causes you to whine and throw your head back.

“Why are you even asking me? It’s fine, so what if he has his own date? I don’t care.” 

“Kinda seems like you do,” Jisung sings. 

“I don’t,” you spit back a second too quickly. 

“Look at my face.” Jisung takes one hand, motions around his face, and sends a look towards you before focusing back on the road. “Does this face look like one that would believe your bullshit?” 

“Your face looks dumb and like you’d believe any type of bullshit,” you mutter, your arms still crossed. 

“Now, I know you’re only saying that because you’re annoyed at me for pointing out the obvious.” Jisung laughs. “It's okay, I forgive you and I know I’m the most handsome guy you’ve ever laid your eyes on.” 

“You need to get your ego checked.”

Pulling up at the corner of Jeongin’s street, Jisung places the car in park. “The things I do for this friendship,” he sighs dramatically as he pulls out his phone to text Jeongin.

You shake your head, keeping your gaze out the window. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I think you misspelled the word ‘genius’, sugarplum.”

You side-eye the older boy, whose smug smile is illuminated by the light emitting from his phone. “I wasn’t spelling anything.”

“Misspoke, then.” Jisung locks his phone and looks at you innocently. “Same thing. Jeongin’s on his way.” 

“Not the same thing,” you mumble before you nod your head. “Okay, but how is he going to sneak out in a suit?” 

The sudden thought came to your mind. Jeongin had family come in from out of town for this large family party, which admittedly, he didn’t want to be there for. However, his family would definitely notice if he just walked out of the house in a tux. 

“That's where my genius comes in,” Jisung smirks and points to the back seat. “Emergency tux.” 

You look back and there is, in fact, a tuxedo folded neatly on the middle seat along with a belt to match, ready for Jeongin to wear for the formal. You stare at it for a moment too long before your gaze settles on Jisung. “What emergency is there where you need a tux?” 

The older boy shrugs and makes a face. “A fancy one?” 

You blink as you look at him, but you couldn’t stop the side of your lips turning up into a smile. “I really don’t get you sometimes.” 

His confident grin makes your own grow wider. He leans forward slightly and ruffles your hair with one hand, causing you to groan before flipping down the sun visor and looking in the tiny mirror on the back of it as you try to fix it.

Jisung laughs as he watches you. “It's okay, you can say how amazing I am and how much you love me, you don’t have to pretend.” 

Whilst fixing your hair in the mirror, your mouth twists into a disgusted frown and you send him a glare. “I repeat what I said earlier, you need your ego checked.” 

“You’ll admit it one day,” he jokes.

You close the visor back up. “Not gonna happen.” 

Before Jisung has the chance to say anything else, the right back door opens up. Jeongin throws himself in and sighs contentedly at the warmth that surrounds him. After a moment, he opens his eyes and smiles at the both of you sitting in the front. “Hey, guys!” 

“Hi,” you smile. 

Jisung smiles too and points to the suit behind him, which makes Jeongin clap his hands in delight. “Emergency tux?” he says.

Jisung clicks his tongue, sending a wink and a finger gun the younger boy’s way. “Emergency tux, baby.” 

With furrowed eyebrows, you blink at the boys. “What is it with you and emergency tuxes? Seriously, what would you even need an emergency tux for?” 

“A fancy emergency,” Jeongin answers matter-of-factly, which causes Jisung to point at him and nod.

“See, he gets it!” he agrees. “Hey, without that emergency tux, Innie would be going in sweats to the formal. Wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” 

You roll your eyes and look away from them. “Guess not.” 

“See, Y/N?” Jisung reaches over to ruffle your hair again, and you successfully duck your head away this time. He chuckles and draws his hand back, shifting the gear to drive and bringing his attention back to the road. “There's a method to my madness.”

You just huff, slumping back in your seat in defeat as he turned the car around. 

“Wait,” Jeongin pipes up as Jisung straightens out the wheel, “how am I supposed to change?”

“As I said, there’s a method to my madness.,” Jisung says, perhaps a bit too confidently as he pulls out of the street. “Just give me a minute.”

You narrow your eyes at Jisung, who keeps a straight face as he drives. You almost hate it more than his smug smile from a few minutes ago. At least then, you had the slightest clue to what he was thinking. The fact that the car is silent, save for the quiet Christmas music on the radio, does nothing to calm your worries.

Unfortunately, it looks like your gut feeling was right as you realize Jisung is pulling into a stop just right outside your neighborhood. 

“Here you go,” Jisung announces proudly, placing the car in park again. “Changing time!”

Your eyes bulging out of your head, you snap your head to Jisung. “Are you insane?!” you hiss. “We’re in public!”

The older—but you were very hesitant to say wiser—boy shrugs. “He’s gotta do it somewhere! It’s either here or the school parking lot.”

“You didn’t think about a gas station?!”

“Guys, it’s fine,” Jeongin says, his voice wavering slightly as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Just... just don’t look, please.”

You cover the sides of your eyes as you keep your gaze out the window. Every now and then, you hear Jeongin hit something in the back, causing him to groan in pain and Jisung to holler at his misery. 

This goes on for almost a minute before you hear the gear shift click. Keeping your hands around the sides of your eyes, you glower at Jisung, who smirks deviously as he pulls the lever to drive. “Don’t. You. Dare,” you grumble.

“Oh, watch me,” Jisung snickers, tapping his foot on the gas.

“Hey! I’m not done yet!” Jeongin shouts as the car inches forward, sending Jisung into another fit of laughter.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

Jisung abruptly hits the brake, causing Jeongin to shriek as he thuds against the back of your seat. The older boy lets out another cackle at this, clapping his hands as he throws his head back. He glances at you in hopes that you’re just as amused, but you only glare at him.

He lets out a drawn-out but satisfied sigh, and puts the car in park again. “Ahhh, that was fun.” 

You stay silent, maintaining your pointed stare.

“Chillax, Y/N.” He nudges your shoulder, but remains overly cheerful even though you don't budge. “Ooh, look! Snow!“

You blink. As tempting as it is to take your eyes off of him, something in your gut begs you not to.

“I’m serious!” Jisung cries again, pointing fervently in front of him. 

You sigh and turn your head slightly. At least he wasn’t lying about the snow, although it does seem lighter this year. A few snowflakes trickle down here and there, but it’s nowhere near enough to obstruct the view outside. And it definitely isn’t enough to keep Jisung from starting and stopping the car one more time, sending Jeongin crashing into the back of your seat again and proving your worries correct.

“I’m gonna kill you,” the younger boy scowls, and you lean over to flick the older one on the forehead.

“Agh!” Jisung slaps your hand away, stifling a giggle. “Okay, okay! I'm done now!”

“You better be,” Jeongin grumbles. 

After a few minutes, he gasps. “Done,” he says, and you drop your hands from either side of your eyes. 

You look in the rearview mirror, Jeongin in full view as he adjusts his tie. Sure, the suit was a size too big, and the jacket almost slipped off the ends of his shoulders, but he somehow seemed to make it work. You couldn’t explain how, it just has this charm that perfectly complements the sweet but awkward boy you’ve grown so fond of. It’s so incredibly Jeongin, and it makes you smile like a dope.

But as he runs his hands through his hair, in desperate attempts to fix it, you feel your breath hitch in your throat. That… was new. And different. By now, one would look away, but for some reason, you can’t.

That is, however, when you notice Jisung’s eyes are locked on you, his eyebrows ever-so-slightly raised in amusement. You look down at your hands as you feel your cheeks get hot. Now that was another thing you’d have to explain to the older fool. Great.

Snow continues to fall from the sky as Jisung resumes the drive to school, but it never goes past a light sprinkle. It wasn’t even enough to coat the ground in that fluffy, white blanket you had grown accustomed to in the last few years. Every so often, the older boy glances over at you, catching you lingering at the rearview mirror as Jeongin uses his phone camera to fix his hair. It only makes you sink lower and lower into your chair, and you resort to keeping your eyes on your lap for the rest of the ride.

You don’t look up again until you feel the car stop and hear the gear shift click back into park.

“We’re here,” Jisung announces in a singsong voice.

“I can tell,” you grumble, recognizing the dimly lit courtyard in front of you.

“There she is!” Jeongin seems to have spotted his date and he squeaks, checking himself in the rearview mirror one last time. “Do I look okay?” he asks, a hopeful smile on his face.

You both turn back to look at him. You open your mouth to speak but can’t get anything out, and you find yourself stupidly staring at him again.

“You look great, Jeongin.” Jisung smiles over his shoulder. He glances at you for a second, flashing his eyebrows at you, and you turn back around in embarrassment. “Now gooo, she”s waiting!” He winks at the younger boy, ushering him out of the car.

Jeongin chuckles, smoothing out his oversized suit once more before he leaves. You keep your gaze out the windshield the whole time, staring at nothing in particular, but you notice that the snow stops entirely once Jeongin wraps his arms around his date and escorts her inside.

You feel your breath get caught in your throat again. “We–” you start, then pause to clear your throat. “Yeah, we should get going, too.” 

Keeping your eyes locked in place, you blindly reach down to unbuckle your seatbelt. You’ve never felt more suffocated in a vehicle in your life and everything inside you was screaming at you to get out.

But Jisung, ever-persistent, seemed to be working against you all evening. He reaches over, gently grabbing your arm before you can touch the door handle. “Uh, uh, uh, you’re not going anywhere.”

You silently groan in your mind as you turn to face him with a sour look. “What do you want?” 

His mouth curls up into a smirk. “What was that just now?” 

“What was what just now?”

You tilt your head, your eyebrows furrowed with your lips pursed together. No matter how hard you try to keep a straight face, it only seems to egg him on more. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” Jisung nudges you repeatedly, his smirk growing wider. “That whole staring at Innie thing! It’s almost like you just realized how in love you are with him.” 

A scoff escapes your lips almost instantly. Seeing Jeongin in that suit was… an experience, to say the least, but to go as far as to say you were in love with him?

That said, it doesn’t surprise you that this all came from the guy who genuinely believed his crush would ask him out at midnight if he made a wish and forwarded a poorly-formatted copypasta to seventeen people. Bless his heart, but you’re smarter than that.

Really, you couldn’t pinpoint what sucked the breath out of your lungs when you laid eyes on Jeongin in the rearview mirror. All you could caulk it up to was some ill-timed coming-of-age epiphany: you two were sixteen now, and you could do things the sixteen-year-olds in movies do all the time. It’s a strange pill to swallow, but unlike Jeongin, it didn’t even occur to you that you could’ve asked someone out to winter formal. Everyone else your age seemed to jump at the chance, but a small part of you figured you and Jeongin would’ve gone together—as friends, of course.

Of course, you know Jisung wouldn’t buy that answer, so you had to think of something else. Something more his style.

“That’s— that’s not what happened.” You take a breath then wave him off with your hand as you continue. “It's just the tuxedo effect, it’ll be gone in the morning.”

You turn to get out of the car (again), hoping Jisung would leave it at that, but he leans over (again), grabbing your hand this time. 

“No, no, no, sugarplum, you aren’t getting away that easily.”

You want to scream. Praying for the earth to swallow you whole sounds good, too. Anything over facing Jisung, whose eyebrows are raised as he nosily rests his chin on his palm.

“Spill.” 

You lightly push him away from you as you sigh. “What is there to spill? It’s…” You pause, before continuing in a rushed mumble. “It's when you find someone attractive because of the fact that they’re wearing a suit.” 

Jisung blinks a number of times before he bursts into laughter.

“That’s so bullshit! Finding someone attractive just because they’re wearing a suit?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “That's insane.” 

“Oh, so magical snow makes complete sense, but finding someone attractive because of a suit doesn’t?” 

“It’s not magical snow, it’s fate and romance all twisted into one!” 

“Whatever, you’re hopeless.” You throw your hands up in defeat. “My point still stands: it’ll be gone by tomorrow.” 

The main doors capture your attention and your eyes linger on it as multiple other students filter in and out of the formal. Your shoulders tighten and an unexplainable uneasy feeling makes a home for itself in your chest. 

“I thought this was what you wanted…” Jisung starts, his gaze following yours, “for people to not think you guys were dating.” 

“It’s not that,” you respond quietly. 

“Then what is it?” he asks, matching your tone.

“It’s just…” you begin. “It’s weird to think he’s at the age where he’s actually thinking about liking someone and dating people.” 

“But you know what that means?” Jisung asks, prompting you to break your staring contest with the school doors and look at him. “It also means you’re old enough to do the same thing: date and move on.” 

You scoff, open the car door, and put one foot out, ready to leave. “I don’t know what you’re on about, shut up.” You get up and let the door swing closed behind you. 

Jisung quickly follows suit and makes his way around the front of his car and over to you. He places one hand on one of your shoulders, as the other delicately moves some of the hair that had fallen in your face behind your ear. 

“I’ll stop bothering you about this, yeah?” he says, his voice more gentle than teasing this time. You could count the number of times he’s spoken to you like this on one hand. “At least, I’ll stop for now. And if Jeongin won’t tell you, then I will—you look absolutely beautiful.” 

Gently lifting your chin with two fingers, Jisung leans over and places a light kiss upon your forehead. You swear that for a minute, your heart stopped beating. Even with all of the overly sweet nicknames and the babying, Jisung had never gone so far as to do something so physically affectionate with you as this. However, you like it. You like it a lot more than you thought you would. 

His lips linger there for a moment longer before he pulls away with a smile. “You’re more than capable of going after what you want. But don’t let him cloud your judgment tonight. Have fun, make memories.”

The older boy steps back from you, but offers an arm for you to take. Once you do, he leans in slightly and chuckles. “And try not to let this so-called tuxedo effect get to you too much,” Jisung adds as an afterthought. “You might fall in love with me by the end of the night.”

Using the arm linked around his, you deliver a light smack to his chest.

“In your dreams, asshole.”

…

Spending the night with Jisung as your quote-unquote “date” was more of a blast than you thought it would be. From the flavorful fruit punch and the obviously bulk-bought snacks, it truly was a night to remember. 

You made sure to catch plenty of Jisung’s dad-dancing on your phone—for blackmail purposes, of course. And when it got to that normally awkward slow dance section of the night, Jisung did what he did best and made it anything but that. Sure, you stood on his toes once or twice, but he didn’t complain, at least verbally, and all-in-all, the night seemed to be a success.

From the few glances you stole during the night, Jeongin also seemed to enjoy his time with his date. The feverish look he had in his eyes when he hopped in the back of Jisung’s car paired with the hint of lipstick on his cheek confirmed it for you. You decide not to dwell too much on it, taking Jisung’s advice, and just hand Jeongin a makeup wipe before he could stroll home with crystal clear evidence on his face that he was ever gone.

The car might as well have been a fridge as you’re sitting there, hands rubbing together so quickly you could start a fire in your attempt to gain warmth. Jisung had started the car already, but his heaters are taking much longer to kick in compared to earlier. Jeongin, now laid out across the back seat, gushes about how the night was and how breathtaking his date seemed to be in her off-white dress. (You don’t know who would wear white to a school dance, but you try your best not to judge.) 

His rambles, however, are soon cut short by Jisung, who looks at him through his rearview mirror. “Sorry, buddy, but you need to change before you get home, remember?” 

Jeongin huffs as he pulls himself up into a sitting position and nods his head. He looks at you, to Jisung, back to you, then Jisung again. “You’re not going to do that stop-start thing again, are you?” 

“Nah.” Jisung waves him off with one hand. “Wouldn’t be as funny the second time. Plus, I feel like sugarplum here would kill me.” 

Jeongin’s eyebrows furrow together slightly. “‘Sugarplum?’” 

“Don’t ask,” you say hollowly, and send Jisung a stern look to not answer Jeongin either. But in all honesty, if ‘sugarplum’ was the main thing the older boy took from tonight, you’d be completely fine with that.

“Just hurry up and change, nimrod,” Jisung says as he once again looks in the mirror.

You stare at him blankly. “What the heck is this? The eighties?” 

“Just say you’re jealous and go, okay, sugarplum?” Jisung makes a face, and you throw your hands up dismissively. 

“Did someone spike the punch?” Jeongin asks. “You’re both acting weird tonight.” Every now and then, you hear bumps and noises as he attempts to get back into his sweats in an orderly fashion. 

“We’re not being weird,” you respond flatly, your eyes locked on a shallow puddle on the sidewalk from the snowfall, if you could even call it that. You try your best to change the subject and keep Jeongin from questioning you more. “Are you done yet? Can we go?” 

With one last grunt, Jeongin succeeds in getting his head through the hole of his sweatshirt. “Yep, you can drive, Jisung.” 

That was enough for Jisung to pull the car into drive and to get on the way. 

You drum your fingers against the dashboard as Jisung drives, using everything in you to not pluck off the acrylic nails that took you an hour to stick on. You’re pleasantly surprised with how little this whole operation had gone wrong, and you could only hope that the rest of the trip would stay this way.

You don’t even allow yourself to relax into your chair until you three pull to the corner of Jeongin’s street for the second time. Jisung nearly laughs at you for this, but you quickly silence him with another smack to the chest.

“Owie! Looks like sugarplum’s feisty tonight,” Jisung cries, flashing you a fake frown.

You wince at the nickname and turn around, ignoring him. “Jeongin, do you have everything?”

Jeongin haphazardly tosses the bunched-up tuxedo on the seat beside him as he nods. He slides across the back seat and reaches for the door handle before you stop him in his tracks. 

“Wait.” You lean over the back seat and quickly wipe at his cheek, and he attempts to back away. “You missed a bit of lipstick, idiot,” you state flatly, ignoring the sudden heat you feel creeping up your neck. “You’re basically asking to get caught.” 

Jisung sits and stares as he watches you wipe away the little remnants of lipstick on Jeongin’s cheek, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way the tips of Jeongin’s ears turn a subtle pink color at your touch. 

“Ah,” Jeongin chuckles awkwardly, “thanks.”

It is when Jeongin exits the vehicle that you finally take a closer look at what he was wearing. He wasn’t just wearing any sweatshirt—it was purple. Suddenly you remember your plight from earlier and your breath catches in your throat for the third time tonight.

“Wait, Y/N.” You hear Jeongin knock on your window, snapping you out of your daze. 

You turn over and lower the glass, Jisung snickering under his breath all the while. “Yeah?”

A stupid grin comes over Jeongin’s face as he utters his next words.

“Stay for Christmas?”

You scoff and suppress a laugh. Maybe if he wasn’t still on a high from the formal, you would've considered asking your parents again this year. But what’s the point if they’ll just say no?

“Not a chance, now go home.”

After making sure Jeongin climbed into his bedroom window, Jisung turns the car around and takes you home. As he pulls into your driveway, you quickly notice how all of the lights are off in your house, minus the porch light. You let out a sigh of relief—your parents must be asleep. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to Jisung with a smile. “Thank you, Jisung,” you hum. “Tonight was fun.” 

“That's alright, sugarplum, glad to be of service,” he shoots you a toothy grin and salutes. 

You once again wince at the nickname, but decide to let it go this time. You quickly lean across the dashboard and place a kiss on Jisung’s cheek. “And thank you for what you said earlier, it meant a lot.” 

Jisung chuckles as you pull away. “You’re not falling for me, now, are you?” he quips.

“Don’t ruin the moment.” You slap him on the arm, and pause for a moment before opening the car door. “Just, thank you for tonight, seriously.” 

“Y/N, it’s fine, I had fun too.” Jisung smiles. “Just make sure to get inside, it’s cold.” 

You smile back and hum once more. Shutting the car door behind you, you rush your way up to your front porch before turning back to Jisung with a final wave. Then, you’re met with warmth, welcoming you after a long trip away as you get ready for bed.

The next morning, however, you’re greeted by two very angry parents.

By the time you got home last night, both your parents were already asleep, so you thought you had successfully gotten away with everything. Even if they were awake, they had no way to know what you did. But it turns out Jeongin’s cousin, Jungwon, caught him sneaking in and immediately snitched to his parents, who, in turn, texted yours, and probably Jisung’s as well.

Let's just say that you are now grounded well into the new year. No going out for a whole month, except maybe the Christmas party next week, if your parents are feeling generous.

You know it’s going to suck being confined to your house for the entirety of winter break, but you suppose that’s the price you pay for being a loyal best friend. If anyone was going to help Jeongin sneak out to a school dance, it’s you—even if you wouldn’t be the one to go with him in the end.

You’d do it again in a heartbeat.

17 years old.

“Can I open my eyes now?” you whine.

“Nooo,” Jeongin drones from behind you, “just be patient. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

You sigh impatiently as he guides you by the shoulders to… somewhere. The December cold swirls around you, biting at your cheeks as you attempt to swivel your head and look around. You don’t know why you even bothered trying, though, as Jeongin had tied a black cloth over your eyes before he drove you off to this mystery location. 

Despite this, he still instructed you to keep your eyes shut. It felt excessive, but you obliged to make him happy.

“Fine, but do I really need the blindfold?” You bend your head up and over, looking to your best guess as to where Jeongin is. You can feel his hands on your shoulders, so wherever you’re staring couldn’t have been far off.

“Yes— well, not really.” Jeongin laughs sheepishly and he helps you onto what you assume is a crosswalk. “It was Jisung’s idea.”

You snort, shaking your head to yourself as you try your best to walk in a straight line. “Of course it was.”

Upbeat chatter and Christmas music dances around your ears as you near the still-unknown location. You can’t see a thing, but you can already feel the aura of holiday cheer everywhere around you, just waiting to sweep you off your feet. It is just a week shy of Christmas, after all.

Soon Jeongin comes to a stopping point, and you feel his hands leave your shoulders. “Can I take off the blindfold now?” you frown, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Yah, just wait!” Jeongin scolds, but you hear a light chuckle quickly follow. “Patience, Y/N.”

You feel his fingers gently graze your hair after a moment, finding its way to the knot on the back of your head. He gets it undone quickly, but holds the cloth around your head as he counts down.

“Three… two… one…” he says softly, slowly removing the blindfold from your eyes and unveiling the scene in front of you.

The glinting lights make you wince for a moment before your eyes get used to the new sudden brightness. You gasp at the sight in front of you, almost jumping out of your shoes in joy. Thousands of Christmas lights are hung up around trees, swirled around lamp posts, and hung overhead for people to walk under. It is breathtaking, truly breathtaking. 

You spin around to face Jeongin in an instant. His smile almost puts the lights out of business. “You brought me to the lights?” 

“No, I brought you to the desert.” The boy rolls his eyes, his words coated with sarcasm—but still, he smiles. “Yes, I brought you to the lights, dummy.” 

His warmth soon overtakes yours as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in close. He freezes for a moment, but soon lets his arms wrap around your waist. He squeezes you tight one final time before he pulls away, looking at you with a tender smile. 

“We should go, don’t want to miss out on the lights, do you?” 

You aren’t sure if he meant to grab your hand as he drags you away, but you don’t do anything to let go, either. You just stare down at your enjoined hands as you follow him, the background noise blurring away into nothing, overtaken by your heartbeat ringing in your ears. 

Minutes seem to tick by before you can bring yourself to look up again. Your gaze lands on the back of Jeongin’s head, and it only seems to intensify when he swiftly turns his head. Something about the way his hair flowed with the quick action almost makes you dizzy, and you have to look back down to shake yourself out of it. 

You finally have the courage to let your eyes trail back up again a moment later. Immediately, something in the air feels different. Jeongin had turned back to check on you, and a cluster of yellow and white lights seemed to give him a halo-like ring above his head. The music and chatter blurs around you once again, fading into a quiet buzz as your body stiffens and you nearly lose your breath. It’s like you’re the main character of one of those animes Jeongin tried to get you to watch, like the one where the boy and the girl stumble upon a field of fireflies together in the middle of the night. Here you two are, a mere speck amongst the thousands of lights, yet the boy in front of you seems to shine brighter than them all.

It’s strange to think about. You are here for the Christmas lights—no, Jeongin brought you here for the Christmas lights—but all you can focus on is him.

“Are you okay?”

The three words and a light squeeze of your hand pull you back down to earth. You didn’t realize Jeongin stepped closer to you, and you feel yourself exhale shakily, your hand slowly slipping from his grasp.

You stare back with wide eyes, and something inside you compels you to step closer to him. “Y-Yeah,” is all you manage to get out.

The colorful lights seem to flicker as you look around. For a second, they do feel like little fireflies, floating around you as they emit their warmth. And when your gaze lands back on the boy in front of you, the warmth seems to encircle you even more. You nearly forget about the cold nipping at your cheeks, and a rosy glow fills them instead. 

“It’s just… I…”

As your eyes meet Jeongin’s once again, you can’t help but notice a slight redness in his cheeks as well.  His lips curve upward slightly, and he gently takes your hands in his.

“I know. It’s beautiful.”

You smile up at Jeongin and notice something moving behind him. You squint, looking past his ear, and find those all-too-familiar fluffy crystals fluttering down. Immediately, your jaw drops and your smile grows wider. 

“Jeongin, look!” You let go of one of his hands and point to the snow surrounding you. 

The scene unfolding around you leaves you awestruck. The colors from the lights bounce off the falling snowflakes, and the music seems to chime more vividly as the snow whisks around, making everything feel brighter and more alive. You feel like your head is spinning as you swivel around, sparkles in your eyes that could rival the spectacle in front of you.

A shaky breath leaves your lips as you take one more step towards Jeongin. Your hands slowly find their way up his shoulders and around his neck, and you let his body heat swaddle you, wrapping you up in a wintry glow as you take it all in. It truly feels like you’re in a dream.

Jeongin follows your gaze and chuckles, a fond smile on his face as he gently pulls you closer. “Yes, Y/N, I know what snow is. Is snow bad?”

You look at him again, your wide, shimmering eyes meeting his warm ones. In that moment, nothing else mattered: just you, the snow, and the boy in front of you.

“It's perfect.”

And like the blonde girl in the firefly scene, you’d give anything for the moment to last forever.

…

“Where were you?”

Your mother’s words nearly make you jump out of your skin the second you step in the house, and you hiss to yourself. Your time with Jeongin at the light festival had swept you off your feet so much that you forgot you weren’t even supposed to be there.

After the events from last year, your parents had grounded you for a whole month, effectively barring you from even stepping foot outside of the house unless it was to school and back. Even worse, they grew so concerned about your so-called “excessive time with this boy” that they placed a strict curfew on you once your grounding sentence was lifted. No seeing friends—read: no seeing Jeongin—after 8pm, lest unspeakable things happen to you. It was ridiculous, not only because you’re seventeen, but because, somehow, your best friend since you were nine was now this supposed threat.

The only way you had been able to skirt around this was to lie, usually about studying at a coffee shop with an unnamed friend. You can’t remember what excuse you gave this time, but at this point, it didn’t matter much.

Your mother crosses her arms, a look of disapproval etched on her features. “Where were you, really? And don’t say the school library this time.”

You curse to yourself, your mistake dawning on you. Why'd you pick a Saturday night to say you were meeting up with some friends at the school library? Did your excitement over Jeongin and his ‘mystery surprise’ really mess with your head that much? It couldn’t have been him… could it?

After a minute, you conclude that you just slipped up after exhausting your list of excuses over the course of the year. It was bound to happen.

“Well?” your mother says expectantly.

You just sigh, throwing up your hands in defeat. “I was with Jeongin.” 

Your eyes flick up, waiting for her next frustrated ramble about how you’ve been spending too much time with him. Instead, you get a throaty chuckle as she shakes her head at you, a smirk taking the place of her frown.

“Of course you were.”

Blinking, you stare at her in shock. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! It means nothing.” She turns around, busying herself with wiping some crumbs off the dining table. However, after closer inspection, you see that the table is spotless.

“No, it means something,” you protest. What happened to all her complaints about how much time you’ve spent with Jeongin? Why the sudden change of heart?

“I didn’t say anything, sweetheart,” your mom says. “But did he?”

“Did he what?”

“You know, the three words,” she looks up, sending you a wink and imitating Jeongin, “‘Stay for Christmas?’” 

Mortified, you feel heat rush up to your ears as your mother lets out another laugh. “Mom!”

You refuse to admit it to her, but you actually said it first this year.

It was just half an hour ago. Jeongin walked you to your car, a gentle hand on the small of your back as he followed you down his driveway. He wrapped you up in a strong embrace before you could even unlock your car, and you looped your arms around his neck in return, smiling into his shoulder.

The hug was sweet—Jeongin’s hugs, which seemed to increase in frequency lately, always were. But he held you for a second longer than normal in this one, and when you tried to let go, he let out a small whine and held you closer to him for one more moment. The move took you by surprise, but you hugged him back nonetheless.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you melted into his hold, letting your head fall against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat could’ve lulled you to sleep if you let it, and the light snowfall twirling around you two certainly didn’t help matters. Gradually, you relaxed your arms, letting them hang loosely around his neck, and you let out a contented sigh. You truly never felt more at peace.

Maybe it was safe to say something in the air shifted while you were wrapped up in each other’s arms. Usually, he’d give you a fond chuckle and a curt pat on the back right before he pulled away and took off. But when the two of you finally let go, you opened your eyes to find him smiling down at you. Something akin to affection swam in his soft irises as he slowly pulled back, his hands gently resting on your waist. It was… different, for sure, especially coming from him. 

You smiled back warmly, linking your hands together behind his neck. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeongin nodded his head, an adoring smile still tugging at his lips. “Just… got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

Something seemed to swirl in his features that you couldn’t quite pick up. You registered the return of the light pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as you stood under the streetlight together, but nothing else. It was probably just the cold that stirred this up, so you decided not to ask.

You could only stare back at him as you tried to think of something else to say. Something about the position you two were in—arms wrapped around each other under the moonlight—felt too close to lovers in the movies. You couldn’t explain why, but it made your brain go static. And in your attempt to relieve the tension, you gulped once and spat out the first stupid one-liner that came to mind.

“By any chance, are any of those things ‘Stay for Christmas’?”

Of course it had to be that.

Jeongin let out a light scoff, rolling his eyes playfully as he dropped his hands from your waist. You giggled at his disappointment, but you instantly missed the warmth that radiated from him. Luckily, you had half a mind not to say that out loud.

“Okay, moment over,” he mumbled, gently pushing you towards your car. “Get home safe, Y/N.”

“I’m just kidding!” your mother cries in exasperation, bringing your focus back to her. “I know I can’t stop you from seeing him. He is your,” she pauses to make air quotes, “‘best friend’, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “He’s my best friend. No air quotes needed.”

Your mother nods, clearly not believing you. “Right… for now.”

Feeling more blood rush to your face, you roll your eyes and unceremoniously march upstairs. “Goodnight, mom.”

She’s crazy, right? Absolutely. You know yourself and you know your friendships better than anyone. You and Jeongin are best friends for a reason—nothing more, and certainly nothing less. The way you felt like you were on cloud nine just hours ago? It was a one-time thing, you were just fascinated by the lights.

Jeongin had nothing to do with it.

18 years old.

Your scarf is wrapped tightly around your neck and face in attempts to shield yourself from the cold. You jump on the balls of your feet in place as you wait for one of the Yang family to open the door and invite you into the familiar warmth. It’s pretty much tradition at this point to spend at least part of Christmas Eve with the Yangs, but they’re hosting the Christmas party this year so it’s just another reason to stop by.

Shoving your hands into your coat pockets, your eyes brighten when you see movement through the front door window. Soon enough, Mrs Yang opens up the door with a smile of her own. 

"Y/N!" She sings, ushering you in before she pulls you into a hug. "I think Jeongin's still asleep, so you can do those honors?" She chuckles. 

You pull away, slip off your coat and scarf, and hang them up before you rush up the stairs. "Leave it to me, Mrs. Yang!" 

Once you’re up the top of the stairs, you creep down the hallway and knock on the door. When you get no response, you just let yourself in.

The scene in front of you is something you expect, but it brings a fond smile to your face nonetheless. Jeongin is spread out across his bed, his blanket bunched up around his chin. His hair is all fluffy from a good night’s sleep and his face looks peaceful as he snores lightly, like nothing in the world could ever hurt him. 

Going over to his bed, you let yourself fall onto it and your head rest on the pillow next to him. Examining his face, you notice how his eyelashes lay against his cheeks and how his lips part slightly as he breathes.

"I can feel you staring at me," Jeongin says, his eyes still closed.

You clutch your chest in surprise as you roll onto your back. "Oh my god, why do you have to scare me like that?” you cry, staring at the ceiling. "You could have said you were awake." 

"But then you wouldn't get your chance to admire me," he chuckles as he finally opens his eyes. 

"Shut up, no I wasn't!" 

"I don't know, your stare felt pretty heavy to me."

You glare at him, flying up and off of his bed before ripping the blanket off of him.

"Y/N! What the hell?!" Jeongin gasps, shooting up so he’s sitting. "What if I was naked?!" 

"I know you too well, you don't sleep naked." You bend down to stare at him. "You'd be too scared to sleep naked," you add as you throw his blanket back onto his bed. 

Jeongin rolls his eyes, grabbing the blanket before he wraps it around himself like a burrito. "What are you doing here anyway?" he mumbles. He runs one hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it, but all it really did was make it even more fluffy. Something about it makes your heart quicken its pace. 

"Don't you remember what day it is?"

Jeongin blinks slowly, his tiredness showing. "Friday?" 

You groan, sitting down on his bed again before quickly grabbing his pillow to hit him with it. "It's the Christmas," hit, "party,” another hit, “you idiot!"

You attempt to hit him again, but he catches the pillow with his hands and pulls it away from you. 

This only causes you to stumble into him, also making Jeongin fall back in the process. A gasp escapes your lips and you use your hand to stop yourself from head-butting the groggy boy. You blink quickly, his eyes gazing into your own. His nose brushes up against yours ever-so-slightly, and you clear your throat, your cheeks flushing. 

"This is your fault,” you attempt to joke. 

"Me?!" Jeongin scoffs. "You hit me first!" Mimicking his words silently, you roll your eyes. "Uh, but can you move, you're a bit heavy." 

Your eyes widen and you scoot away with lightning speed. "Sorry.” You blink, staring down to play with your fingers in your lap. 

"By the way," Jeongin says, "I didn't forget today was the Christmas party."

“Well, that’s why I’m here early, to help out,” you mutter, your face still down. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Jeongin gets off of his bed, goes over to his drawers and pulls out the first shirt he finds before pulling his pajama top over his head. You jump and turn in the opposite direction, your cheeks fully flushed.

“Jeongin!” you whine, holding the backs of your hands to your cheeks in an attempt to cool them down. “You could have warned me or told me to leave.” 

“Aww, you blushing?” Jeongin snickers. “Never seen a boy undress before?” 

Without looking back at him, you try your best to chuck his pillow in his direction. You hear it thump against the wall instead.

“You missed~” Jeongin sings, which makes you scoff.

“And I wasn’t blushing, asshole, just didn’t want to get scarred for life.”

Of course you’re blushing. Especially when he nonchalantly stood and started to strip off his top. And of course you had seen men undress before… in the movies. But there’s no way you’d utter a word of it to Jeongin, not when it would send his already-soaring ego to new heights. 

“We both know that your life would actually be improved,” Jeongin chuckles to himself.

He walks across his room and when he comes into your peripheral, you instantly move to cover your eyes. It doesn’t help your reddening cheeks when the sound of Jeongin’s laughter rings out louder.

You feel his fingers wrap themselves around your wrists as you try to fight him from pulling them away from your face. “I’m dressed, idiot, stop being so shy.” 

“Stop making fun of me!” you cry and he guides your hands away from your face. 

Your eyes meet his and you notice the cheeky smile playing at his lips, which only turns yours into a pout. You only wish he’ll soon forget about this and move on to something different to make fun of you with. However, when you note the playful twinkle in his eyes, you know your prayers won’t be answered. 

“Look, you’re blushing so hard!” He continues to smirk. 

“I told you, I’m not blushing!” 

You attempt to hit him, but with his fingers still wrapped around your wrists, you fail to do so. His grin seems to only grow wider as you roll your eyes and try to pull your wrists from his grasp. 

“By the way, Jisung said he was going to stop by later for the party,” you mention.  Jeongin’s smile seems to drop slightly at the sound of the older boy’s name. 

“Why? He doesn’t live in the neighborhood.” 

You shrug as you look at Jeongin with a blank expression. “How am I meant to know how Jisung’s brain works? He's in a world of his own.” 

Jeongin hums, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

“But in all seriousness,” you start, “he said something about missing us, and that, like, his college just isn’t the same without us?” you suggest. “Also, there was something about this girl he really likes and magic snow and shit,” you add, which causes Jeongin to snort.

“Did he actually say this or you making it up?” 

“It’s more like reading between the lines, if you will,” you giggle. 

“So he didn’t say shit, you’re just making it up as you go along.”

Jeongin crosses his arms over his chest as he stares at you, waiting for you to formulate your next response. But when the only one he gets is you playfully hitting his arm, he rolls his eyes for the nth time. 

“Don’t we have to help set up the party or something? Or a movie to watch?” 

“Right, yeah. We should do that.”

Jeongin laughs and as soon as he grabs your hand, flashbacks instantly flare up in your mind from the year before, of the Christmas lights he took you to see—of the way he seemed to shine under them all. You make sure to wish again that he won’t notice the new blush that presented itself as you thought of that time.

You keep quiet, not wanting to give yourself away as Jeongin gently pulls you out with him. You let your eyes gloss over his room once more. You’ve been in here a thousand times before and it seemed to grow with him over the years, and in a way, it grew with you, too. You remember the days when his bed was adorned with Toy Story bedsheets, Woody’s face front and center on his comforter (but you knew Rex was his favorite character). It had long since been traded in for sleek, black sheets—arguably more fitting for someone who is waiting for his first choice university, at the other side of the country, to respond with his admission decision.

And although you’ve been here a thousand times before, something new on his dresser catches your eye.

“Wait, is that…?”

Letting go of his hand, you make your way to the dresser, moving a crumpled up piece of paper out of the way to reveal a photo. It’s from when you were both ten years old; nearly a year after you had first met on the monkey bars, about two weeks before that classroom Christmas party. Mrs. Yang had taken Jeongin to a lights festival one December weekend, like the one you went to last year, and she happened to invite you and your parents along. You and Jeongin stood together in the center of the picture, and a giant Christmas tree towered behind your small frames. The mirthful glow of the tree enveloped the two of you as you posed for the photo, jolly smiles plastered on both of your faces.

Gasping in surprise, your lips part slightly as you take the photo in your hands. “No way…” you murmur softly, and you look up at Jeongin as he makes his way to you. “How… how did you find this?”

Jeongin peers over your shoulder. He gently holds the frame in one hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he smiles fondly. “My mom stumbled across it a couple months ago. She was digging through old photo albums and found this tucked in the back of one of them.” His thumb grazes over the glass. “She framed it and gave it to me, I guess she knew how important it was.”

You blink several times, hoping he doesn't catch the way your eyes briefly well with tears as you take in the details of the picture. You remember that night vividly and all the memories from it seem to come flooding back all at once. 

It was your first ever Christmas lights festival, and it was nothing short of magical. The vibrant holiday lights glistened all around you, rivaling the sparkles in your wide eyes. The bells in the soft Christmas music gently tinkled in your ears, as if Santa himself was reminding you he would be on his way soon. The gooey, fresh-baked (and rather expensive) chocolate chip cookie you had split with Jeongin, paired with the rich (and also questionably pricey) hot chocolate you had begged your mom to buy along with it, brought even more warmth pooling in your belly as you leaped down the lit-up aisles with your best friend. 

Looking back, perhaps that was what sparked your ongoing Christmas obsession. Sure, it didn’t snow that night, but seeing the bright bulbs all around you twinkling like stars in the sky captivated you wholly, wrapping little ten-year-old you in a warm, merry glow. It calmed the impatience for Christmas bubbling inside you by the day, but lit the fire inside you for the awaited day like never before. And best of all, your best friend was right by your side, being pulled into the evening’s embrace with you.

You notice one very important detail in the picture, though, that breaks your bubbling sentimentality, and instead makes you giggle.

“Oh my god, it’s the sweater.”

The fact that the picture was taken at night and the lights added a yellow glare to the photo made it difficult to spot. But one could take a closer look and see that, indeed, Jeongin was sporting that obnoxious purple sweater under his puffy blue coat.

Jeongin lets his hand drop, leaving the frame in yours as he frowns in offense. “Heyyy, it was comfy!”

You stifle another laugh. “Doesn’t change the fact that it was ugly as hell.”

He sneers at you, “Oh please, like you didn’t wear hideous clothes when you were ten!”

You shrug as you pull the frame up to eye level and continue to giggle. “Maybe, but nothing will beat that sweater.” 

You lunge out of the way as Jeongin tries to wrap his arms around you and grab the photo from your grasp. However, a giggle escapes your lips as Jeongin’s fingers graze your side, which causes you to jump away from him. 

A knowing smirk appears on his face. Your eyes widen. 

“Don’t you even think about it.”

Jeongin doesn’t listen to you though, and his hands are already at your sides. Your grip on the photo tightens in an attempt to not drop it as your eyes prickle with tears. Jeongin’s fingers run up and down your sides as he tickles you, and causes a mix of gasps and laughter to escape your throat. 

“Jeongin!” You continue to laugh as you try to step away from him.

Jeongin thinks quicker. Instead of torturing you more, though, you’re surprised that he chooses to pull you closer to him instead, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I got you now!” His giggle rings in your ears as he wiggles you like a rag doll. You halfheartedly try to push him away, protesting in between your own giggles.

“Stop itttt, you asshole!”

He seems to listen to you this time, too, and lets you go. However, an evil grin lingers on his face.

You inch back cautiously, keeping a careful watch for his next move. He responds by slowly leaning closer, his smile stretching wider and wider. You slowly move your hands up to your sides to protect yourself from another tickle ambush, a nervous giggle slipping out.

He seems to inch closer and closer to you, and he stops right before your noses can touch, a shit-eating grin on his face. Then he mumbles, flashing his eyebrows:

“Stay for Christmas?”

You groan exasperatedly and lightly push the cheeky boy away from you.

“Oh my god, Jeongin!”

Jeongin breaks out into shy giggles as he steps closer to you, poking you playfully. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from doing the same whilst you try and swat his hands away.

“Come baaaack!” He chuckles after a moment, stepping close enough to wrap his arms around you again.

“Get me out!” You cry out as you try to break free. Your giggly demeanor completely breaks, however, when Jeongin just hugs you closer to him, taking you by surprise one more time.

“No,” you feel him hum through your shoulder, tucking his head in it when you try to step away. “Don’t move.” 

You fight and lose to the smile that appears on your face as you wrap your own arms around his shoulders. 

You can’t explain how in moments like this, he easily causes your heart to race by doing the littlest things. It makes you wonder if he can feel your heartbeat right now as you’re pressed up against him. If he can, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Ahem.”

A familiar voice breaks the silence hanging around you two. You both break away from the hug, keeping your gaze cast downwards as you turn to face Jisung. He had swung the door open at some point and was now leaning coolly against the doorframe as he watches you two.

Seeing you both cower under his gaze seems to amuse him greatly, and a smirk makes its way onto his face. “What was that?” he says, failing to hide the chuckle threatening to spill out.

You stuff your hands in your pockets as you sputter. “It– it’s not what it– we were just–“

“We were just reminiscing, Jisung,” Jeongin grumbles from beside you, his arms crossed over his chest. His cheeks seem to burn red as Jisung grins wider.

You simply nod along with Jeongin. “Yeah, reminiscing. What he said,” you murmur.

“Oh, you keep telling yourself that, baby.” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, which he had seemed to let grow out during his time away.

He lets out a satisfied sigh before he continues. “Ahh, I knew this would happen! It was snowing by the time I got here, so I figured you two were up here together,” he wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis, “alone. And you called me crazy!”

You want to roll your eyes at his antics, but you can only chuckle fondly. Sure, it seems like the now-college boy still believes in magic snow, but you have to admit: you did miss hearing him gush about it all the time.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, “why’d you come up here anyway?” You seize the opportunity to wiggle your eyebrows back at him. “Did you miss us?”

It’s now Jisung’s turn to roll his eyes at you. “Mrs. Yang was looking for you two so she sent me up here,” he says, dodging your question.'' You know the party started already, right?”

Your eyes widen, and you and Jeongin flush in embarrassment again.

“Oh, right,” Jeongin mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he exits the room. “The party.”

You place the framed photo of you two on the foot of Jeongin’s bed before following him out. Jisung holds the door open for you two, his smirk getting cockier by the minute.

The older boy pokes both your and Jeongin’s cheeks as you step out of Jeongin’s room. “For the record, I did miss you two.”

You snort, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair before the three of you make your way downstairs. “I know.”

19 years old.

“You’re cheating!”

Hyunjin’s voice nearly makes your ears ring. He really has no need to be speaking so loud, as you’re literally right next to him.

You grip your controller tighter as he tries to swipe it from you with his hand, and you lean away from him. 

“Am not!” You yell back, your eyes focused on the tiny Nintendo Switch screen. “You just suck at this game.” 

At the same time as Hyunjin gasps, Felix and Seungmin burst into laughter at your response from the other end of Jisung’s bed. At the corner of your eye, you notice Felix fall to the ground amidst his fit of giggles.

“Just get better, Jinnie,” you quip, a confident smirk tugging at your lips.

Even with Hyunjin trying to swat you like a bug, you still manage to keep your eyes locked on the game. Your chosen character, Toad, remained in first place, and after getting a green shell from a lucky box, you send it backwards, causing Hyunjin’s Princess Daisy to spin out. 

He gets passed by multiple NPCs, landing him in 10th place with one lap to go. The way he grumbles and glares at the screen only increases yours and the other two boys’ laughter. 

You’ve successfully maintained your first place title as you raced around Moo Moo Meadows. That is, until halfway through the last lap, when a voice pulls your attention from the game. 

“Why are only two of you playing?” Jeongin says, entering the room with a bowl of popcorn in his hands. At the sound of his voice, you shoot up out of your seat and look at him with a smile. 

“Jisung only has two controllers and Felix was dumb and forgot his,” Seungmin snorts, which causes the blonde boy to pout. 

“Hey!” 

Hyunjin goes silent, his own eyes narrowed on his half of the screen as he slowly creeps up the positions. 

“About time you showed up,” you giggle, “thought you weren’t going to come.” 

Jeongin laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, had a few things to do first, but I’m here now.” 

Gasps erupt from Seungmin and Felix, and Hyunjin cries in triumph as he throws his hands and the controller into the air. Your head snaps to the game and your mouth falls open as you find Princess Daisy listed as first place, dancing in her car as she continued around the track—whereas Toad, in your distracted state, had been passed by all of the NPCs and was in dead last, “DNF” flashing on your half of the screen and on your 12th place ranking in the middle. 

“You cheated!” You gasp at Hyunjin, throwing yourself back down onto the couch as you mash the ’A’ button. 

“Just get better Y/Nie,” Hyunjin remarks as he grins mockingly, using your own words against you. 

“You guys did this on purpose,” you huff, glaring at the boy who just ruined your five-game-win streak. “Rematch, now.” 

“But it was meant to be our go next!” Felix cries, his pout exaggerated. 

“Maybe Hyunjin shouldn’t have cheated!” 

“Maybe you should have stayed focused!” Hyunjin fights back. 

“Where's Jisung?” Jeongin asks out of the blue, and you motion to the door without saying a word. Jeongin snorts, nodding his head. “Thanks.” 

He leaves the four of you in the tiny dorm room to join Jisung wherever he was outside—you assumed the convenience store by the dorm lobby. Your attention gets caught once again when your phone lights up, a message notification greeting you on your lockscreen.

baby: outside :)

you: be right there :)

You chuck the controller to Felix, and he jumps in surprise. “You can play now, I need to go get someone,” you state simply, but the grin on your face seems to give you away.

A single “huh?” escapes Felix’s mouth as the other two boys watch you with curious eyes. Not letting their gaze disturb you, you head to Jisung’s front door. 

You open it swiftly to be met with your fairly new boyfriend, Heeseung. you met him after starting college this past semester through a mutual friend, and have been dating for around two months now. you don’t remember what drew you to him in the first place, but one thing is clear—he’s so damn cute.

Your cheeks heat up quickly at the sight of him. His fluffy brown hair was hidden underneath a hat and the bits of his fringe that did stick out fell against his forehead. 

“Hey.” you smile, taking a step towards him.

“Hi,” he responds, wrapping his arms around your waist which you reciprocate. “Sorry I’m late.”

“All good,” you hum into his shoulder. “All the boys are here. I’d say they’re not crazy, but I’d be lying.” 

You feel Heeseung’s chuckle vibrate through you. “It's fine, you’ve met my friends, how much worse can they be?” 

Pulling away slightly so you could look at him, you push your lips into a thin line and feign a concerned look. 

“Eh, they’re something, alright,” you drop the fake look, chuckling. 

“They finally have those snacks downstairs~!”

Jisung swings the door open, prompting you to turn around. He’s beaming and there’s a bounce in his step as a bag of chips sways in his hand, but it all dissipates into an inquisitive, perhaps even nosy, stance once he sees the boy whose arms are wrapped around you.

“Who's this?” The chestnut-haired boy tilts his head, his eyebrows drawn together.

You can’t help the smile that adorns your face. “Jisung, this is Heeseung, my boyfriend.”

You gesture one hand towards Heeseung himself, and you grin wider as he pulls you closer, nuzzling your nose against his shoulder. When you settle your head against his chest, you look back at Jisung and his jaw is practically on the floor. 

“Boyfriend?!”

Oh boy.

Heeseung chuckles again, shyly this time. He glances down at you, unsure of what to say, and you take that as your cue to do most of the talking.

“Yeah?” you affirm with a nod, but your statement sounds more like a question. “Is… is that bad?”

Jisung, still in a shocked state, opens and closes his mouth like a fish. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously. “Oh, no, of course not! I’m happy that you’re happy, it’s just…”

Heeseung cocks an eyebrow at the older boy. “It’s just…?” He repeats, trailing off at the end like Jisung did.

You want so desperately to pretend you don’t know what Jisung meant by that last bit, but the fact that you catch three heads peeking from around Jisung’s bed only seems to prove your suspicions correct. Looks like Seungmin wasn’t exaggerating when he mentioned that “Jisung has told us so much about you!” when you met him and the others an hour ago. From the way Jisung glances fervently between you and the door, though, it’s safe to assume the majority of what he said involved Jeongin in some context.

Maybe you should’ve told them ahead of time the “plus one” you were bringing to the Christmas hangout was, in fact, your boyfriend. In hindsight, it was foolish of you to assume they’d get the memo from the mere mention of “plus one.” And by someone, you meant Jisung—the main man on the “Y/Ninnie train”, as he liked to call it. 

Funny enough, you were just following his advice from that winter formal back in high school: date and move on. Sure, it was three years too late, and there wasn’t anything in particular that you needed to move on from, but advice is advice.

Still, you send the flustered boy a stern glare. You were not getting Heeseung involved in his shenanigans if it’s the last thing you do.

But you notice Jeongin stumble in the room, bag of gummy bears in hand, and Jisung’s eyes grow wide. Your voice nearly strangles, but you quickly snap out of it before Heeseung can notice.

“And this is Jeongin,” you gesture to the hooded boy, “my best friend.”

You don’t notice the way Jeongin’s smile falls slightly as his eyes land on you, though your eyes trail after him as he wordlessly shuffles past you two and plops on Jisung’s bed. 

Jisung seems to recompose himself, and he steps closer to you and Heeseung, holding out a hand. “Heh, I’m sorry about that,” he laughs nervously, but Heeseung smiles curtly and shakes his hand. “Make yourself at home, we’re happy to have you here.”

“No worries, man.”

Jisung leaves you two alone, but you don’t miss the look he gives Jeongin. It’s full of concern, and you can’t pinpoint why.

Blinking, you shake off the sinking feeling in your chest, and take Heeseung’s hand as you two move to a spot on the floor by Seungmin’s feet, as the bed was all occupied.

Heeseung snakes his arm around your shoulders as you both focus on the tiny console screen. Felix and Hyunjin were on their last lap of Cheep Cheep Beach, neck-in-neck with each other, and you both chuckle at the boys’ chaotic screams as they pass each other back and forth.

You notice throughout the evening that Jeongin will occasionally meet your gaze when you glance his way. Each time, he opens his mouth to speak and there’s this look pooling in his eyes—some mix of longing but urgency that you can’t sense the reason behind. Regardless, your chest tightens at the sight.

You observe Jeongin whisper something to Jisung, ignoring and trying to filter out the screams of the other three boys as they argue over who gets to be Yoshi, but it’s no use.

“Are you okay?” Heeseung asks softly, the hand around your shoulders gently rubbing your arm.

You gulp but nod, not taking your eyes off of Jeongin but leaning into Heeseung’s side. “Yeah.”

An hour or so passes, and it seems like the awkward glances have only increased in frequency—not just from Jeongin, but between the other boys, too. It eats at you inside not knowing why. All you have gathered so far is that it definitely involves you and Jeongin.

“Hey, Heeseung, is it?'' Felix suddenly pipes up. Both you and Heeseung look up to his spot in the middle of Jisung’s bed, his legs criss-cross applesauce.

“What’s up?” Heeseung responds.

Felix smiles and hands Heeseung his Switch controller. “Wanna play a round? You haven’t had a turn yet.”

A smile of Heeseung’s own forms on his face as he takes the controller in his hands, slowly moving his arm from your shoulders as he hops on the bed. “Oh, bet!”

You’re happy to watch your boyfriend get along with Jisung’s friends as if they were your own—in a way, they kind of are. But one look at Jeongin and all that comes crashing down, seeing the longing look in his eyes.

You still don’t know what’s wrong. Is it because of Heeseung? Does he have some unspoken beef with him? If so, why were all his gazes targeted at you and not him?

Jeongin looks back at Jisung hopelessly, and you attempt to eavesdrop as they whisper amongst themselves. Again, the other boys in the room are too loud for you to get anything useful.

That is, until you glance back at the screen as Seungmin and Heeseung go head-to-head on Rainbow Road, and Jisung scolds Jeongin out of the blue—probably louder than he intended to.

“You need to tell Y/N. Now.”

Your head snaps their direction. Your gaze lands on Jisung for speaking so loud, but slowly shifts to Jeongin. The other boys seem to fall silent, too.

“Tell me what?”

You’re already driving yourself crazy trying to figure it out. All you want is an answer.

Jeongin sighs and sits next to you on the floor. You carefully follow his movements with your eyes. He clasps his hands together, resting them on top of his knee. He opens his mouth to speak, and you nod expectantly.

And… nothing.

After a minute of strangled silence, Jeongin sighs in defeat and drags his feet as he shuffles back to Jisung. The older boy gives him a look you can’t quite read and quietly scolds him some more. The other boys just exchange glances with each other and continue to play Mario Kart quietly, making for the worst awkward silence of your life. So much for your first college hangout.

At least you’re able to pick up some information now. You can barely hear Jisung and Jeongin’s hushed whispers even though the room is largely silent, but you do hear the word “college” over and over.

You guess it makes sense. After months of patiently waiting during your senior year of high school, you remembered Jeongin’s dispirited form when he found out he had been waitlisted for his top choice school. Following that, he’s been going to the state university in your city with you, but he mentioned something offhand about re-applying for the spring semester. Maybe he’s stressed about that, but it seems like Jisung has it covered for now.

Still, they both look over at you with those concerned, longing stares, and it’s not hard to miss.

Even after you get another turn on the Switch, you’re still left with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach by the end of the night. Yes, you won another cup and got your sweet, sweet revenge on Hyunjin for earlier, but it does nothing to tell you why Jeongin hasn’t spoken a word to you all night. Well, he tried to, but look how well that went.

It seemed like everyone around you knew except, well, you. You hate that feeling, but at least, whatever it was, Heeseung wasn’t involved. He doesn’t need to be thrown in whatever drama had concocted under your nose, especially not during his first time meeting them all.

By the time the boys start heading out, with Jeongin being the first to go, you’re practically squirming in your spot. You can’t take this anymore.

You give Heeseung a goodbye peck as he slips his coat on and leaves the dorm. “Thanks for inviting me, I had a great time.”

You smile. “I’m glad. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Heeseung nods, leaning down to kiss your cheek once more before exiting the dorm. That left just you and Jisung, and you turn towards the wide-eyed boy the second the door clicks shut.

“Okay, what is going on?” You don’t mean to snap, but your pent-up emotions get the better of you as you storm toward Jisung. “You and Jeongin have been acting weird all night. Actually, all of you have! What the hell, Jisung!”

“Y/N—” Jisung tries to speak, but you cut him off quickly.

“Was it Heeseung? He didn’t even do anything wrong, he was the quietest one here besides Jeongin!”

“Y/N—”

“And you think I’m not gonna notice you and my best friend staring at me like you two just did?” You stop to take a breath, and you feel heat rush to your ears the more you think about this. “How do you think Heeseung felt?! Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“Y/N, listen.”

Jisung’s soft voice makes you step back. It’s the same tone he gave you in the school parking lot when you were sixteen.

“Jeongin got into the school he wanted for spring semester. He’s been trying to tell you for weeks, he— he just didn’t know how. He leaves tomorrow morning.”

You freeze, and your heart sinks to your stomach. It’s like everything around you comes to a stand-still and the world goes deathly silent. All your attempts to speak go unheard as all you do is open and close your mouth, unable to formulate a sentence, let alone a single thought. 

A long list of questions fly through your mind at rapid speed. Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t you push him to say something? Why did he not want to tell you when Heeseung was there? Why couldn’t you have just stayed with him instead?

“What?” 

You feel Jisung gently place a hand on your shoulder as he frowns. He pulls you in close and wraps his arms around your shoulders. That's when you notice tiny dots dampening his shirt and you finally realize you’re crying.

[go to part two HERE]

[softsnzstuff]

OF/MD College Rowing AU

Hi guys, this has been in the works for MONTHS and I finally finished it. It’s my new AU based on my own experience from college 😁 special shout-out to @peach-plumb-pear2 , @softersteve and @sniffles-and-tickles for letting me brainstorm with them! I really hope you like it. I have the whole AU fully flushed out and have more coming hopefully.

Summary: Ed gets sick but comes to practice anyways. Stede tries to usher him home and get him the rest and meds he needs. ((Originally for Sicktember prompt - the only place we’re going is the pharmacy))

OH! And also Stede has the kink 😈

Word Count: 1.85k

*~*~*~*~*

The annoying yet rhythmic quack of Apple’s “Duck” alarm tone pierced through the air, awaking 22 year old Stede Bonnet from his sleep. He didn’t need to look at the clock to know it was 5:15am - the same time his alarm went off every weekday.

He groaned, desperately wanting to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but the guilt of his teammates practicing without him won once again. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and rubbed at his head before walking over to his dresser. He pulled out some basketball shorts and a tattered old tee shirt to put on under his jacket.

He opened his door a crack and called out, “Lucius?”

“Yes yes, I’m up…” came a grumbled reply from his roommate, who emerged from the bathroom, also wearing workout clothes and a jacket.

“Oh good! Thought I’d have to wake you again.” He smiled, bending down to lace up his athletic shoes.

“Tell me again why you got me to sign up for this.” Lucius quipped sarcastically.

The younger man liked to complain about the early morning wake up calls and physical labor, but he was actually quite good at the sport, teammates not letting him leave.

“You know you like it Lucius. Let’s go.” Stede grabbed their apartment key off the table and the two boys headed out the front door.

Lucius shivered as the cool autumn air hit his bare legs. The turning of the seasons meant a crisp chill in the mornings and evenings. It was still dark out, stars speckling the sky.

It was roughly 5:40 now. Practice started at 6am and they had a ten minute walk to get there. The college was nice enough to let the rowing team use the abandoned basketball stadium for practices (since the basketball and volleyball teams got a newly renovated one on the other side of campus). When they weren’t out on the water in the reservoir, they were doing land practice here at this ungodly hour.

The two walked in content silence, both still waking up. When they got inside the court, Lucius almost immediately split off from Stede to go and sit with Pete, who was fixing his shoes in the corner. Most other teammates were either talking or stretching, waiting for the clock to hit 6 for morning warm-ups.

Stede scanned the room before a voice came out behind him.

“If you’re looking for Ed, he’s on the bleachers. Pretending not to be under the weather.”

It was the team’s coxswain, Izzy, a 25 year old grad student and Ed’s good friend and roommate.

“Oh! Good morning, Izzy!” Stede chirped, “Under the weather??”

Izzy rolled his eyes and walked away, Stede growing more concerned as he spotted his friend sitting on the bleachers.

Ed was normally full of energy, bouncing around the room and giving people shit. But today, he was in sweatpants and a hoodie, leaning his head in one hand and scrubbing at his nose with the sleeve of the other.

Stede looked at his watch. 5:55. They had a few minutes before the co-captains had to start practice. The blonde walked over and plopped himself down next to Ed. Up close, he noticed the older man’s eyes were red and wet, in a similar condition to his nose.

“Ed have you been crying?” Stede asked.

“No, but I have been snFF! sneezing…” as if on cue, he brought the sleeves of both his hands up over his face. “T’sssSHIEW! Hh- h’tschIYUE!”

Stede’s heart fluttered. He always sneezed a bit dramatically like this - higher pitched at the end in a way that was very fitting for Ed. But these seemed more desperate than usual.

He pulled a tissue out of his hoodie pocket and blew his nose into it. When he noticed Stede eyeballing him, he paused, mumbling over the tissue. “Grown’d men can carry tissues Stede.”

“I know!” Stede felt bad for staring, “Are you under the weather?”

“N’do. Who told you that? Izzy??” Ed spotted the man across the court and flipped him off. “I’m okay Stede.”

Stede wasn’t quite buying it but knew Ed could be stubborn when he wanted to be, so he chose to let it be for now.

“Alright gang, it’s 6! Let’s hit our 3 laps and then warm ups!”

They all looked on, waiting for Ed to say something as co-captain.

“You heard the man! Fucking move it!” Ed added before hopping down and joining them in the laps around the court.

When they’d finished running, they formed lines. One behind Ed and one behind Stede. They took turns going back and forth across the court, doing high knees, crossovers, lunges, and other stretches.

By 6:10 they’d heard announcements from the coaches and were onto the meat and bones of the workout. Ed’s group was starting with body weight workouts on one half of the court and Stede’s group started off on the ergs. At 7am they would switch.

This was something they did every day - it wasn’t new by any means, but today Ed just felt bone tired. By the time 7 rolled around, he just wanted to lie down.

He grabbed his water bottle and took a sip before coughing into his elbow and patting his chest. Stede walked over, having just hopped off the erg. “Okay there?”

Ed cleared his throat, “M’okay. Probably just tired - eht’schYUE!”

“Bless you.” Stede choked out as casually as possible.

“Thanks mate.” Ed clapped a hand on Stede’s back as he made his way to the ergs as they switched.

When the second round of workouts ended, the team gathered together to do their 1 minute of jump squats before practice officially ended. Ed looked pale and sweaty, slowly making his way over to collect his things.

“Think you’re right Stede. I feel sick.” Ed rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes. “Might skip my classes today.”

“You’re missing the fundraiser tonight?”

“Pfff! No! When did I say that?” Ed chuckled, remembering the annual fundraiser dinner that the team had scheduled today.

“Ed, if you’re too sick for class you shouldn’t be at the fundraiser.” Stede said gently.

“Then I think I’m feeling better actually. Save me a seat in Economics yeah?”

Stede nodded, feeling bad for mentioning the fundraiser. Now Ed thought he had to power through the day if that meant he could make an appearance at the event.

---

Stede was thankful that he had time to go back to the apartment and shower before he had morning classes. He was also feeling thankful that Ed was able to do the same. Both of their first classes of the day was Economics 400.

As usual Stede was there early, having had time to pick up two teas at the campus cafe on his way there. He sat towards the back with his backpack in the seat next to him.

A chesty cough made Stede (and a few others) look up and towards the door. Ed walked in, showered and in a different hoodie and joggers. He waved to Stede as the younger man moved his backpack for Ed to sit.

Ed slumped into the seat, dropping his bag on the floor and resting his head in his arms. Stede frowned as he coughed again.

“How are you feeling, Ed?”

Ed groaned in response. “I feel… hih! N’xxTCH! T’schiew!” He turned his head slightly to muffle the sneezes into his hoodie. “Feel like shit mate.”

“Bless.” Stede held out the second paper cup to his buddy, “Brought you a tea with seven sugars. Might help your throat?”

Ed picked his head up slightly and smiled, “Thag’ks.”

As he was taking a sip, Stede noticed the haze to his eyes and slight flush spread across his cheeks. Before he even knew what he was doing, Stede had leaned over and pressed a gentle yet firm hand on Ed’s forehead.

“Ed. You have a fever! You should be at home resting.”

Ed shrugged, “No, I need to be here so I can go to the fundraiser tonight.”

“The only place you’re going is the pharmacy.” Stede stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder, “Come on. I’ll take you.”

The older man was skeptical at first, but eventually stood up, grabbing his own bag and his tea before following Stede out of the classroom.

They were lucky there was a small grocery store right across the street from campus, by the duplex Ed and Izzy were renting out. Stede grabbed a small basket as they strode through the pharmacy section.

Stede stopped in the cold and flu aisle, perusing the different options. Ed stood next to Stede, leaning his head on Stede’s shoulder.

The younger man glanced over, gently tapping his head against Ed’s. “I got you daytime and nighttime meds. Cough drops. You need anything else?”

“Eh’tszzsh!” Ed snapped forward with the first sneeze, instinctually curing into Stede with the second, “K’itssch!”

Stede jumped from the shock. “B- bless you.”

Ed’s sneezes we’re becoming more tired sounding and less dramatic in nature. A sure fire sign that he really wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m so sorry Stede.” Ed started apologizing for sneezing against Stede’s chest. What Stede couldn’t say in the moment was that he actually liked it. A lot.

“It’s okay Ed. Let’s maybe grab some tissues?” He suggested, “And then we can get you home.”

Ed nodded and swiped at the underside of his nose. As Stede checked out, he thanked god for Ed living so close. The older man was very quickly taking a turn for the worse.

“I’ll pay you back for that stuff.” Ed mumbled weakly on the walk back towards the duplex.

“Don’t worry about it, Ed. I just want you to get better.”

When they got to the apartment, Ed dropped his backpack on the floor by the dining room table. Izzy’s stuff was gone. He was probably in class still.

Stede set the bag on the counter and started taking all the different medications out. When he turned around, Ed was face down on the couch.

“Ed. I really think you should take this before you pass out.”

Stede had been to Ed’s enough times to know where he kept his water cups. He filled up a glass of water and brought it over along with the daytime medicine.

“Shits fucking disgusting…” Ed grumbled into the cushions before propping himself up on an elbow to knock back the medicine and take a sip of water.

“Good job, now you can get some rest. Don’t worry about the fundraiser okay? I’m telling Izzy you’re staying home.”

Ed groaned behind closed eyes, already letting sleep claim him for the day. Stede smiled and draped the thin throw blanket over his crush.

“Sweet dreams, Ed.”

[writer-darling]

Are You Ever Dreaming of Me?

Chapter 2: Clean | Read Chapter 1: Bad Blood!

I NEVER USE Y/N OR ANYTHING LIKE IT THANK YOU SO MUCH :)

Rating: M - MATURE ((for now, but there WILL BE explicit stuff later sooo (18+ MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x F!Reader

Warnings: STRONG WARNING: Voyeurism under threat of violence (not Ezra). Good old enemies-to-lovers trope. age gap (10 years). Nothing super descriptive for Reader but they are described as having hair. Tension, ofc, especially sexual tension out the wahzoo. Adult language. Alotta feelings and things of that nature. Banter. Fighting. Insults, Flirting. It’s E-to-L, you know where this is going. Feral Ezra (he’s about at 75.4% in this chapter). If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary!: The morning after your realization about your feelings for the prospector, you decide to take some time to yourself to get your thoughts in order.

A/N: REWRITTEN & REFORMATTED ON: 12/25/23

******

“The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud

But no one heard a thing…”

The next morning, you’re up earlier than usual. None of the prospectors should be awake. Only a damned fool would be up before the shift starts. Which you suppose, you are right now. Still, you suit up and put on your glass helmet, charging your thrower and checking that your radio signal is working.

Your mind is still reeling from the interaction between you and Ezra last night. And even more so from your realization. You don’t hate Ezra. You like him. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Yet, you can’t deny it. Not after last night.

You leave your tent and take a quick look around to make sure no one’s up and about before you walk away from the campsite, being quick and quiet. The sky above you is still pitch black, the two suns only beginning to kiss the horizon. The cool of the night and quiet of the forest makes for a perfect opportunity to sneak away while your colleagues are still sleeping away in their tents.

You have no idea where you're going, and you don't really care. You just need some time to think. After last night, you're suddenly afraid of what you might say or do if you see Ezra again. So the best decision you can make right now is to just get away. You’re good with hostile confrontations with Ezra, that’s been made clear, but this one you truly are ill-equipped for. You know you feel this way. But is it possible Ezra knows too? You’re honestly not sure and you don’t care. Right now you just need some time to think. 

Alone.

So you make your way through the woods and find a site that’s isolated but still close enough to camp. You don't have to go far to find a small clearing with a sturdy-looking tree. This is a perfect spot, one that will leave you undisturbed. You can already feel a certain level of peace wash over you now that you've put a significant distance between yourself and the others. You lean against the tree, allowing its sturdy bark to provide you with support for your weary body. The silence fills the air around you, calm and peaceful.

You're still not sure why you feel so drawn to Ezra. He's hardly been civil to you. He's arrogant and insulting and… likable. You frown and try to make sense of why you feel so drawn to him when you shouldn’t! You’re not friends, hardly acquaintances. He’s smug and annoying and completely irritating.

But still, you couldn't help but feel something last night when he got close to you. You could feel your pulse race. Something unlike anything you've ever felt before, and it was… good. Even now you can still feel your pulse beating out of control, the blood rushing through your veins from just thinking about it. What is this? You two are enemies. The idea of having feelings for him goes against everything you’ve become comfortable with in all your time as part of this crew. You try to calm your thoughts but it’s not working. You need to get your mind off of all this. You get up and decide to keep walking.

After some minutes, you’re much farther from camp, your preoccupied thoughts carrying you with more haste than you realized. You’re already sweating in your suit, even with how dark it still is out. Even at night, there’s little relief from the heat of this planet. It's almost like a vacuum for it. This environment was notorious for droughts, and even with the cooling apparatus in your suit, the heat and drought have been the worst parts of this expedition so far, absolutely brutal. 

There’s a rock formation you’re approaching and you charge your thrower and aim it carefully in case there’s anything behind it, walking around the formation with great caution. On the other side, you find a pool of water. Freshwater. It’s a natural body, and the dark water is almost like a mirror as you approach it. Using your toxicity meter, you find that it’s pure, without any toxic chemicals. You’re not one for public indecency but this area seems closed off, hidden. 

So, you strip down to your undergarments before you can think twice about it, suddenly desperate for relief from the heat and your racing mind. You dive into the water, the cold of it being just the shock you need to get all your thoughts to stop. As you break through the surface with a quiet gasp, your body instantly contracts as a reaction to the frigid temperature but by the time the initial shock wears off you can already feel it helping clear your head and calm your nerves. You feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, at least for a moment. 

Nothing else seems to matter, and when you open your eyes to look up at the sky, you realize how beautiful this little corner of the forest is. It's a reminder that you've never been anywhere so peaceful. There’s no rush, no danger. You wish you could stay here forever. You let your body float on top of the water as you enjoy this moment of peace and silence. The only sounds are those of forest life and your own heartbeat. It’s such a drastic change from the constant thrum of the prospectors. You find yourself enjoying the solitude. For a few minutes, you really feel completely relaxed.

That is until the sound of something rustling in the bushes behind you fills the silence. Your heart stops in your chest. You turn around carefully, and as you suspected, someone's there. Someone or something. You look for your thrower but of course, it’s back on the grass along with your clothes, piled a few feet away. All of a sudden you feel extremely vulnerable. You can only let your body dip under the water, only keeping your head above it as you tense and prepare to fight with your hands if need be, your eyes fixated on where the sound came from.

Your instinct proves to be correct, and seconds later you see a figure slink out of the darkness.

Your heart jumps into your throat, the fear on your face surely visible to your attacker. But something makes your pulse slow for a second and your eyes suddenly go wide as recognition washes over you. He's right in front of you, and you get a better look at his face through his glass helmet. Ezra. He looks at you calmly, and as he steps closer the expression on his face turns from pensive indifference to one of playful amusement instantly.

“What the hell?” You hiss. “Ezra, what in Kevva’s name are you doing here?” You snap, keeping your body under the water and out of his view as you grow hyper-aware that you’re very underdressed right now. Ezra shrugs his shoulders, his face still betraying no fear or concern whatsoever.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Ezra says as if your sudden profanity is the most normal thing in the world. Which, when it comes to him, it is. He crosses his arms and steps a little closer, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What are you doin’ out here at this time of dawn? Shouldn’t you be sleepin’, just like all our other comrades?”

“It’s almost sunrise, jagoff.” You retort. “Did you get so drunk last night that you’ve lost track of time?” You ask him. “It would certainly explain your weirdo behavior last night.” He obviously wasn’t drunk, but how else to explain how he was acting? Besides, now that you’ve seen the cigarettes, you’ve no doubt that he’s likely got other contraband he shouldn't have somewhere in his tent. Ezra’s smile grows wider, and you swear he’s holding in a laugh. He steps closer, coming within less than a foot of you. Your face is hot and you’ve never felt so exposed and vulnerable.

“Does it look like I was drunk?” he asks, his smile still playing at the corner of his lips. He tilts his head to try and get a better look at you, his gaze lingering on your body for a few seconds. There’s a shift in his eyes as he does so and your body grows burning under his stare, despite the chill of the water. “Not to mention this is hardly normal,” he says, gesturing to your less-than-ideal state of undress. You glower at him, dipping your body even lower under the water keeping your chin just above it, as if that would help at all.

“Well, you could’ve fooled me.” You respond, snark, but it doesn’t have that same bite your responses usually do, as he clearly has you one-upped right now. Ezra's smirk only grows to an infuriating degree.

“Is someone embarrassed?” He asks, his face betraying only a brief glimpse of amusement before he manages to collect himself and go back to the way he was before. You’re trying to be angry but you just can’t help but feel a little bit flattered by a look from Ezra. You shouldn’t feel this way, you know you shouldn’t. You’ve never met someone who speaks and carries themselves so well. As if he were above everyone else. But why do you kind of like that?

“Embarrassed??” You say with a sudden burst of bravado you don’t actually feel. “Why the hell would I be embarrassed around you?” You ask him. Ezra nods and smiles slightly as you put up a more confident front.

“Because you should be embarrassed,” Ezra says bluntly. “You look like you’re about to slip out of your underwear.” He gives you a little wink and a smirk, his voice dripping with an air of confidence. He speaks with a cadence that makes every sentence sound like a flirtatious invitation, a taunt made to make you feel small. And for some reason, it always works on you.

“So what?? What are you, 14??” You ask. “Or have you just never seen a naked woman before?” You ask mockingly. Ezra rolls his eyes now.

“No, I’ve certainly seen women before, but usually in much more… pleasurable circumstances.” He smiles, letting that little add-on at the end linger for a beat before he continues, “Plus, most of them don’t like to be seen naked, especially by someone they barely know,” Ezra says, raising an eyebrow at you. You feel embarrassed as he gives you a knowing look, the corner of his mouth turning up at the corners. It’s clear he’s enjoying his ability to make you feel flustered. But… the feeling you get in return is somehow both infuriating and addictive. You want to slap him. You hate him. 

“Yeah well, you’re not the first prospector to see me naked. And I don’t get intimidated by men who mean nothing to me.” You respond, letting your shoulder rise above the water. “Now, how about you turn back the way you came and let me finish my swim in peace, hm?” Ezra’s smile grows even wider as he takes a step back and raises an eyebrow again. 

“Better yet, how about this, rook? How about I join you?” He asks, the hiss of his helmet releasing its airlock as he removes it from his shoulders interrupting you. You stop and turn around to face him.

“What?? No, this is my watering hole. I was here first!” You protest.

“And so?” He scoffs, already unlacing his boots. “I don’t exactly see your name on it, rook, and even so, nature belongs to no one individual, ain’t that right?” He asks rhetorically with a smug grin that makes you want to slap him. You can’t argue with that, so you don’t, just glaring at him and watching as he strips down to his boxers. This is the barest you've ever seen him, so used to seeing him in his suit or just in lounging clothes on your days off, the few you have out here. He’s actually not bad-looking. Not at all. You don’t realize you’ve been ogling him, but he notices just as he stands upright again. He grins.

“Enjoyin’ the view, rookie?” He teases, walking over to the pool’s edge. You snap out of it and roll your eyes immediately, swimming further away from him, both to make room and also to keep a good distance between you two.

“Please,” You respond. “Like I said, vet, you mean nothing to me, just like those other jerks who took a peek at me.” You mutter back as you turn to face him. He grins and does a smooth dive into the pool, no doubt feeling the same freezing cold you felt. When he rises, he’s closer, but still keeping a good distance from you as he grins.

“Tell me somethin’, rookie.'' He says, his voice dripping with smug arrogance. “I would love to know the names of these men who saw you naked and lived to talk about it,” Ezra says, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Piss off.” You mumble. “They were just a few assholes.” Ezra chuckles.

“Yes, you established that already,” he says sarcastically before laughing to himself. “But let’s make this interestin’. Give me a name or your swimmin’ session is over,” he says, leaning in again and staring into your eyes intently. There’s a new level of intensity in his eyes, a deep hunger that makes you think he might actually follow through with his threat. Why is he pushing this?

“Why do you want a name? What does it matter that one of those other jerks saw me naked, hm?” You ask.

“Oh, it certainly matters,” Ezra says with a low chuckle as he swims a little closer to you, about an arm’s length away. He stays quiet for a long moment as his eyes bore into yours. You almost think he’s not going to elaborate. But then he speaks, “Because I’m a jealous man,” he says slowly, his voice full of power and authority. The way he looks at you right now, the way he needs you right now, fills you with a strange combination of both fear and excitement. “And I don’t like the idea of some nothin’ jerk gettin’ to see you in such a vulnerable state,” he says, almost daring you to argue, even as his voice seems almost… sheepish to say this all.

His words shock you. He’s jealous. And he’s just said it out loud.

Your entire demeanor drops, that irritation and arrogance you feel always flare up around him is now replaced by shock. You can’t even respond to him, completely floored by his admission. Ezra smiles triumphantly, almost reveling in the power he has over you in that moment as his earlier sheepishness fades away. You have never seen him look so… relentless. He’s like a dog with a bone right now.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says slowly, his voice turning soft and sweet as he takes another step closer to you. “Who was he, rookie? What’s his name?” The intensity in his eyes is unnerving, more like the predatorial stare of a lion. This is the most you’ve ever seen him want anything, and right now he needs you to tell him. He’s not gonna let it go.

You sigh and move away from him, swimming to the other end of the pool, letting your upper body come out of the water, your undergarments clinging to your skin. Thankfully, you can stand upright in this shallow pool easily.

“It was a group alright?” You snap, annoyed as you begin to remember. You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger. “I had just graduated from the Ephrate, only a few days as a prospector and I was finishing up my basic training at one of the apprentice camps on Central. This group of assholes ambushed me one morning while I was getting dressed for my shift.” You say, frowning and suddenly vulnerable as you open your eyes to glare at the water in front of you.

“They ambushed you?” Ezra asks, raising an eyebrow at you. The look on his face is almost impossible to describe. Part anger, part protectiveness. You’ve never seen him this way before. “What exactly did they do?” Ezra asks, his tone growing dark and demanding as he leans in closer.

You sigh again. “It was really in the morning… I had just gotten up. I was half asleep, my thrower was in its holster… I was just getting out of the refresher. I came out of there naked because I figured maybe I had just forgotten my clothes back in the main space. But when I come out… they’re all just sitting there… a group of about 3. One of them’s got his thrower aimed at me. But they never spoke, never moved. They just… watched.” A ripple of disgust goes through you at the memory. Ezra’s face twists into a snarl.

“Those sick bastards,” he says, and all the playfulness and arrogance is gone from his voice, instead replaced by a dark, grim seriousness that’s new to you. “And you didn’t even have a chance to defend yourself.” He shakes his head. The look on his face is also something you've never seen before. It almost looks like a combination of anger, sadness, and guilt. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and it looks like he's weighing his words very carefully as he looks off into the distance, as if still processing what you’ve told him.

“Did they hurt you?” he asks, his voice full of concern as his eyes meet yours again.

“No.” You respond honestly and there’s clear relief in your voice. “I couldn’t do anything, I just begged them to not hurt me, to not... you know. To please leave. It took…” you take a deep shuddering sigh as your eyes close, a clearly painful memory. “It took a lot of pleading. I was half-convinced they’d kill me. But eventually… they left.”

“Damn bastards,” Ezra snarls, a look of pure hatred on his face. “They’re lucky I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice full of determination. He takes a deep, steadying breath. It’s clear he’s trying very hard to contain himself right now. “Who were they?” he asks, his voice cold and sharp. He looks at you, his eyes full of a mixture of concern and anger. “Tell me. I’ll make sure they never hurt you again.”

“I don’t know.” You say. “I’ve never seen them again after that day. It’s like they just disappeared and it was so dark in the tent, I couldn’t make out their faces.” You add. “Believe me, I’ve committed that morning to memory, if I had gotten a good look at them and seen them out here, they’d be dead.” You say. Ezra nods slowly and you know he believes you, but he’s still stuck on this.

“They may be gone now, but do you remember anythin’ about them?? The way they spoke, the way they looked, anythin’ that would help me track them down?” His eyes are full of determination as if he's not going to rest until he finds these men and makes them pay. You've never seen this side of him before, and it's almost intimidating in its intensity.

“Track them down?” You ask, looking at him. “For what? It was just a few idiots who got a peek at me, it doesn't mean anything.” You say dismissively, though the pain in your eyes is obvious. Ezra scowls.

"'It doesn't mean anythin', my ass. No one gets away with somethin’ like that. Not on my watch." He leans in again, his face inches from yours. He looks almost frightening as he stares you down. You're not sure if he's serious or not, but he seems intent on finding these men. "Tell me anythin’ you remember about them. We'll find them, and I'll make them pay for what they did to you." You glare at him, suddenly angered by his attention to this. He may not mean it, but the way he’s acting, as if what happened was some sort of offense to him is infuriating you. 

“Listen to me, and listen to me good: No one gets to reopen my wound. No one. Not them, not me… and certainly not you.” Your voice is quiet and low, clearly a warning. You’re protecting yourself. You won’t go down that dark spiral again. You’re just barely getting over this incident and you won’t let yourself get pulled under it again. You’ve only just started to feel like you can be around men at all. Barely able to feel like you’ve got some semblance of control over yourself again. Ezra scowls, but he doesn't move. He stares at you angrily for a moment, as if weighing his options. Then, finally, he sighs heavily.

"Fine," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "If that's what you want. But they're still out there. What if they do it to someone else? Can you live with that?"

“You think I haven’t considered that??” You snap, your eyes blazing as you look at him. “That’s one of the many scenarios that keeps me up at night. That haunts me. But what do you want me to do, huh?? Spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder??” You ask, your tone furious. Ezra shakes his head, his expression full of frustration. Then, after a few moments, he softens.

"No… of course not," he says, his voice much calmer and softer. "But those men deserve to be punished. They can't get away with hurtin’ you like that. They just... they can't." His voice sounds almost pleading now as if he's asking you for some kind of favor. Your heart softens a little, despite everything. Even though you’re still angry, you can't help but feel a little bit moved by his concern.

“They already did, Ezra.” You say, feeling defeated. “Besides, you don’t even like me.” You say and begin swimming over to the edge of the pool a few feet away. You lift yourself out of the water and onto the grass, taking a moment to gather yourself. He averts his eyes. After a moment, you stand up and look for your clothing, finding it right where you left it along with your boots. Ezra turns to watch you go in silence. He seems almost sad that this is how the conversation has ended. But then, suddenly, his expression darkens. He follows you out of the pool, letting the water drip off of him as he grabs his clothes, clearly realizing that this interaction is over. But he’s not done with this yet. He’s dressed faster than you and as you turn to leave, he steps forward and blocks your path.

"And who told you I don't like you?" he asks, "I never said anythin’ of the sort." His voice is calm and measured, but there's an intensity behind it that makes your heart race. You're not sure what to make of that.

“Oh blessed mother, Ezra.” You say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t like me, I don’t like you, that’s how this whole thing works.” You say, gesturing between you and him. Ezra sighs loudly, his frustration obvious. 

"So you're just goin’ to walk away, then?" he asks furiously. "After I just tried to help you?" He shakes his head, clearly disgusted by the thought. "I don't understand you sometimes, rookie. You're always so closed off. Why can't you just be honest for once in your life?" He says, almost pleading with you. "Why can't you just let yourself be vulnerable?" 

You whip around to face him. 

“You want me to be vulnerable??” You snap, marching towards him. “Fine. Leave me alone!” You shout. “I don’t owe you any explanation. We’re not friends, we’re not partners, we’re not a damned thing.” You say finally as you glare at him. Ezra stares at you, almost shocked by what you just said. There's a mixture of anger, hurt, and surprise on his face. But there's also a flash of... understanding. He’s clearly struck a nerve, and he isn’t entirely sure how to dig himself out of the hole he’s just dropped himself into. He takes a deep breath and backtracks, speaking calmly and softly.

"You're right, rookie," he says softly, his eyes bittersweet. "We're not friends. And you don't owe me anythin’." He pauses for a moment, staring intently into your eyes. "But that doesn't mean I'm not concerned about you," he says, his voice growing more serious. "And it doesn't mean I'm ready to just give up on you."

“Well, you should.” Is all you can remark back as you put on your helmet last, your voice slightly muffled now but still intelligible. You walk away, rushing back to camp. Ezra scowls, watching you go. He wants to say more, but the words never come to him. And so, he's left standing there, ruminating with anger and frustration.

"That girl... that damn girl," he mutters to himself, unable to refrain from thinking out loud. "Why does she have to be so difficult?" He shakes his head, almost as if trying to clear his thoughts. Then, he lets out a loud sigh. "She makes me want to punch a wall," he declares loudly, almost yelling at the top of his lungs, "but she also makes me want to run to the very ends of the galaxy for her." He shrugs to himself, a small smile on his face as he lowers his voice down to a pensive whisper. "Oh, the life of someone who can't decide whether they worship a girl or despise her."

You hear his yelling but can't make it out from how far away you are now. After a good five-minute walk, you reach the site. You head to the camps and see the prospectors just beginning to wake from slumber, giving you a chance to slip into your tent and get ready for the day without interruption.

Meanwhile, Ezra glares down at the ground, trying to control his temper. He knows it's not good to let his emotions get the better of him. But still, there's something about you that drives him absolutely crazy. How do you make him so angry and so... attracted to you at the same time? He sighs to himself, shaking his head. You really have him wrapped around your finger, and he isn't quite sure how much longer he can take it before he finally just snaps and says something that might disturb the temporary peace you both have.

As you make your way to your tent there’s the smell of rain in the air, and as the sky lightens you notice that it's overcast ahead. Once you’re finally inside, the rain starts slowly. But, by the time you're ready to head out, it begins to pick up. When you're outside, it falls in sheets against your helmet. You sigh, knowing that the mud is going to make today a hard one, but it also feels good to finally have some relief from all the heat. You decide to still take it as a good sign as you join your crew at the digs, steeling yourself for the labor ahead.

******

Can I write just one character without trauma?? No, the answer is no. Sorry. So I was going to wait to upload this until tomorrow but I'm impatient so I just decided to do it now. I figure this is probably going to be a slow burn E-to-L cuz it's just more fun to torture myself (and in turn everyone who reads this muahaha). As I said in the last chapter this is my first E-to-L so I might just suck at it bUT I'm gonna try anyway because I am persistent, damnit. Anyway, that’s it, thanks a million, hope you all enjoyed, and see you in the next one!

Tag List: @pedrocentric @luz-introvertida @castleamc @moralesfish @klara-luise18 @supernaturalgirl89 @december-gal1 @pbeatriz @castleamcc @hillarymurray4 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @sherala007 @littlemisspascal @practicalghost @donnaa @scorpio-marionette @kayleezra @amandanik23 @maxpbxtch97 @mandy-sings @lowlights @shadesofnerdlygrace @harriedandharassed @carefulnowprincess @amneris21 @horton-hears-a-honk @xdaddysprincessxx @trickstersp8 @mswarriorbabe80 @permanentlydizzy @teddy2510 @bitchwitch1981 (hope it’s ok that I’m tagging you all!)  

Links!

Join the Tag List here

Ao3 link here

TikTok here

Story Playlist here

The Masterlist here

Read Chapter 3: Love Story!

[albatmobile]

The Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds Chapter 25

𓅪 After not hearing from Roy or Jason for five years, you suddenly find yourself taking in extra income as a babysitter for Roy and Jason's child.

𓅪 Rated: E | TW: graphic violence, blood | 14k  includes: motorcycle smut, squirting, public sex, boss battle

fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist]

Chapter 25: Born to Die | ao3 - wattpad

It’s pitch black when you slip from the manor and into the quiet of the inky, starless night.

Jason and Roy had long elected to go to sleep in favor of researching and, after hours upon hours of hunting for clues the past couple of days, you nearly joined them.

But even though your body aches with tiredness, you know sleep will only elude you. Especially when you’re this close to the end.

Your parents told you to go to Gotham Bay and, for once in your life, you follow their instructions.

Gotham Bay smells like fish and literal ass as you choke on the thick air surrounding the harbor. Your shoes squelch against the muck that liters the slick pavement, urging you to reconsider your choice, but you refuse. 

Up ahead, you see the final marker and turn the corner. “There you are,” you gasp at the voice, feeling your blood run cold. 

Yes, you’d come here to face the bad guys. That being said, you hadn’t really considered what you’d do when they ultimately came to collect.

“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jason’s familiar voice berates you from behind. “Walking into a trap like some sort of suicidal maniac doesn’t really seem like your forte, babe.”

You sigh in relief when you turn and see your two dopey white knights.

With the original panic gone, the sadness starts to set in. 

You’re not dumb. You know the end is in sight, but you don’t see a way out of this. At the end of the day, the only way to truly end this is to give your parents what they want by turning yourself in.

“I,” you pout, trailing off when you realize that your reasoning isn’t as sound as you’d previously thought. Especially not now that you’re actually saying it out loud. Nonetheless, you continue. “I don’t want anyone else to have to get hurt because of me.” 

Jason kicks lightly at the ground, seemingly leaving it up to Roy to talk you down.

“Well, too bad,” Roy replies. He easily steers you right back the way you came. You sigh, letting him guide you to Jason’s motorcycle that’s been hidden in a nearby alley. “We definitely would’ve been more than hurt if anything happened to you, princess,” he says as he gently rubs your back. “Lian included.” 

You turn to look at him, but he’s just focused on getting you settled on the bike. He climbs on behind you, nudging Jason to lift you up onto his lap. Jason lifts you with ease as he deposits you onto Roy’s jean-covered lap. 

Your stomach flips.

Jason glances back at you before mounting the bike with your body sliding forward against his broad back once he’s fully seated. You gulp, unable to keep your raging blush at bay as the engine revs to life. 

Jason takes off down the street. His speed leaves you clinging desperately to him and you can’t help but scream as the bike reaches a scary speed that even Dick would have to give him a ticket for, relatives or not.

They both help you slip off the bike and quietly lead you back to Jason’s old room. Halfway up the stairs, you’re met with a sleepy-looking Titus. You give him a good scratch behind the ears as you pass. 

“What were you thinking?” Jason asks angrily as he paces around his old room. “Even if you had just turned yourself in, it wouldn’t have solved anything.” His emerald eyes glare down at you like he can’t believe you would pull something so reckless. “Hell, all it would’ve done is give them the ability to move forward with their plan,” he says, crossing his muscular, scarred arms in subtle irritation. “Are you trying to get yourself killed or something?”

Roy places a gentle hand on his shoulder as he slumps on the edge of his queen-sized mattress beside you.

The last time you’d been in here had been a few months following the Joker accident. You know Jason’s upset with you, Roy too, but you can’t help but look around the room.

Nothing much has changed aside from a few new books on the shelves and new, bigger clothing. The stain on the carpet from Jason’s spilled whiskey is noticeably absent, though, undoubtedly thanks to Alfred.

“What Jason’s trying to ask is, are you feeling alright?” Roy looks genuinely concerned and you don’t want either of them getting the wrong idea.

“I’m not fucking suicidal,” you sigh, shaking your head. “They offered me an out. They said no one had to get hurt.”

“Just you, then,” Jason sounds disgusted. “You’re no fucking martyr,” he hisses your name out like a curse, banging his hand on his desk as he does so. Every object on the wooden surface jumps and scatters as he does so, causing you to inadvertently startle. “You’re…” Jason trails off. “What you mean to us…”

“Yeah?” you ask, suddenly filling with hope. Your eyes widen as you wonder whether or not he’ll actually come out and say it. Hoping he’ll come out and say it.

However, Jason’s eyes flash with remorse. You feel your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach as he makes to leave the room.

You won’t allow it.

“Jason, please,” you beg. He stops, so you continue, “I just thought I was doing what was right after I did you both so wrong.” 

“We already talked it over, remember? We’re all good,” Jason gently chides you, placing steadying hands on your shoulders. “Stop holding that against yourself.” He looks deeply into your eyes to further cement his point. It’s like he’s waiting for a response because once you nod, he releases his firm grip. “It’s just…” Jason trails off unsurely.

“We can't lose you, princess,” Roy starts.

Jason shakes his head, finishing Roy’s statement easily, “Not when we just got you back.”

Back?

You’re the only one who’s been here the whole time, waiting.

“I never left.” 

They gulp, looking at each other before descending upon you with fervor only five years of separation could cause. 

You don’t label it and neither do they. 

You decide to go along with what feels right and, holy fuck, does this feel right.

Standing on the precipice of battle, they hold you together, if only for tonight.

“Princess,” Roy sounds barely restrained as he eyes you up your nearly naked form with barely withheld restraint, “I need you.” It’s rushed as it falls from his mouth.

You aren’t used to being needed and aren’t surprised when a rush of arousal surges all the way down to your clit.

This time, the sex is slow and deliberate as they get to know each and every inch of your body intimately. They make you come undone in ways you never could’ve imagined, trapping you between their muscular bodies as they slowly fuck into your aching cunt. 

After they’re done milking your first orgasm out of you, they both take turns watching as the other one forces another one out of you.

Roy lets you take control, pulling at his red locks and fucking into him ruthlessly amazon-style until he begs for you to allow him to come.

“Please, baby,” Roy whimpers your name soon after as he ruts against your brutal pace. “Please, you gotta let me come. Please,” he says with a shake of his head. His fiery eyebrows are furrowed together like he knows he won’t last another second. 

Cute.

Jason’s grip around his leaking cock tightens. You take the hint as you slow your pace with a cruel smirk.

“No.”

“Fuck!” Roy’s voice cracks in his throat as he arches off the mattress to pound into you, nearly sending you off balance as he does. Jason quickly comes to wrap his calloused fingers around Roy’s thick cock before he can come. 

You bite your bottom lip, loving how Jason’s rough hand brushes against all the right spots. You glance up at his darkening emerald eyes while you grind against the delicious friction it offers.

“You fucking yourself against my hand, babe?” Jason’s voice sinfully coats around your name as he questions you. You absentmindedly draw closer to him in response until your wide eyes are staring down his predatory ones, “Answer me.”

You nod with owlish eyes, feeling the heat of a nasty blush smack across your cheeks. 

“That’s good,” Jason praises you, looking as if he’s ready to devour you right then and there, but instead, he lets Roy have his fun with you. 

He removes his hand, causing Roy to release a shaky groan as he does.

You don’t realize you’re pouting at the loss of contact with Jason’s sexy-ass hand until Roy smacks you on the ass. “Try not to look so disappointed, princess,” he winks up at you, panting slightly as he does. “’Specially not when my dick’s inside you, gorgeous.”

He deliberately places gentle pressure on your pubic bone as he shallowly thrusts inside you. You refuse to settle back onto your knees to give him the angle he’s really craving. 

No, not yet.

You grab a handful of his hair and use your grip to tug his face right in front of yours. His verdant eyes roll back in his head with an obscene moan you’ve ever heard. With how loud it had been, you’re pretty sure it’s the most obscene moan anyone at the manor’s ever heard; no, this entire block’s ever heard.

“Fucking, slut,” Jason grits around his teeth. He mashes against Roy’s chapped lips, tearing into them as you increase your pace again. 

Your hips stutter when his girthy length smashes directly into your g-spot. “Roy!” you salaciously clench down around him, forcing his cock against your inner wall again until you’re seeing stars. You’re babbling now, completely lost in the throws of this overwhelming feeling of arousal. “I need you to come inside me, please, Roy,” you beg him, throwing your head back with a wrecked moan.

Roy babbles back, easily just as clouded in lust as you are, “I wanna give you all my come, baby. So good; you fuck me so fucking good, baby- so good, I wanna- fuck!”

“Oh, damn,” Jason’s voice rumbles against the wet pants and moans that bounce around his childhood bedroom’s walls.

Jason joins the two of you on the small mattress again as Roy’s come leaks out of your sore slit and onto your folds. Jason then positions himself behind your to slurp it up and lap at your over-sensitive clit that jumps every time he plays with it. He spreads your ass as far apart as it’ll go before pressing a bruising grip into your soft globes.

“I’m so fucking spent,” you groan, face-planting into the mattress right next to Roy’s still half-delirious state. “I’m so fucking sore.”

“I’ll tell you when I’m done with you.”

You don’t even have time to settle into the mattress before Jason’s flipping you around again.

Roy seems to brighten up at Jason’s dark tone that drips with sex. He slinks beside you to whisper the dirtiest things into your ear. Meanwhile, Jason smacks his cock against your twitching cunt with a wicked glint flashing across his eyes as he stares down at the two of you.

Roy’s soft, freckled fingers trickle from your lower abdomen to circle around your painfully erect nipples. He briefly squeezes one before enveloping the other with a salacious twist of his tongue. 

They skillfully work in tandem to draw everything they can out of you. All of the moans, all the hushed curses, all the squelching noises from your pussy.

Jason takes in your lucid, fucked-out form with a wolfish grin. 

Roy’s hand lightly caresses your throat, as if testing the waters. When you give no complaint, he slowly strengthens his grip until you’re withering around on the mattress for more. 

“You want me to talk to you like the whore I know you are, baby?” he nods sweetly at you, though you can easily see the lust-ridden heat that lies behind it. “Tell you how Jason should punish you with his huge dick while I spank the rest of the badness out of you?” you gasp. “Would that make you come, baby?”

You’re a wreck. 

All you can manage is a tear-filled nod as Jason continues to tease your entrance. 

You don’t even know if you’ll be able to come any more than you already have, but Jason seems convinced as he draws every breathy whimper, every choked beg out of your body.

“Want me to spread her for you, Jay?” He doesn’t even wait for confirmation, knowing it’s exactly what he wants. 

He situates himself behind you with his sticky, flaccid dick pressed against your lower back as he bares your come-filled hole for Jason to ravage.

You’re so fucked. 

Literally.

You don’t even feel like you’re on the Earthly plane by the time they’re finally finished with you.

•••

The next day, you help Jason and Alfred with breakfast while the rest of the family lingers about in the kitchen and dining room, chatting amicably. 

You’re completely sore after your body had been so wonderfully used last night. You can’t help but walk with a slight limp. Personally, you don’t think it’s noticeable at all, but in a room filled with the world’s greatest detectives, it’s obvious as day. 

They shoot each other knowing glances, but Dick has the gull to openly stare in what you can only discern as disbelief.

Steph and Babs though, they’re content to wear shit-eating grins on their faces any time Jason or Roy so much as look at you.

You don’t realize making pancakes can be so messy until Roy’s smearing batter down your nose. Jason retaliates in your honor, splatting a spoonful into his fiery waves and drawing a disbelieving gasp from Roy.

From here, Dick leaps gracefully over the counter to grab the other bowl of batter straight from Alfred’s gloved hands. He grabs a fist full of the batter and wastes no time in catapulting it directly at Jason’s face. This, coincidentally, also smacks into the side of your cheek and even manages to splash Tim, Connor and Stephanie, who stand just a few beats behind the three of you.

It’s an all-out war with screams and giggles ringing out in the kitchen as the Bat Family attacks their own with any and every food-related item they come into contact with.

“FOOD FIGHT!” Roy screams, holding two cans of whipped cream like they’re automatic rifles as he sprays them across the chaos unfolding in the room. 

Dick and Barbara quickly team up to knock him off the counter while Stephanie attempts to throw strawberries at you through your human shield, Jason.

Bruce and Alfred can’t help but smile. Regardless of the mess, it’s good to see all of you acting like the kids you are. 

Connor somehow nearly breaks the refrigerator by falling into it after slipping on a banana peel that Stephanie had left on the ground thinking no one would fall for it, yet…

The dent he leaves on the stainless steel fridge from his body alone is enough for Bruce to call it all off.

After you all clean up the pancake remains, seriously, how did all the batter end up on the ceiling (???), you pack your things and meet everyone out front. That is, after changing.

You only really have one nice outfit, a skin-tight, thick-cotton, white v-neck and a plaid skirt. You elect to go commando as you skip down the driveway to where everyone’s gathered around, with Stephanie, Tim and Connor still in their pancake-covered PJs.

“And you’re sure it’s all fixed?” you catch the tail-end of Damian’s question to Bruce.

“They had your window fixed two days ago. The caulk needed to be set for a day or so for it to be completely secure again, though.”

Lian gasps when Alfred pulls around in the limo, stepping out to open the trunk for Jason and Roy to load all of your things. “Can I go in the long car?” Lian makes puppy-dog eyes up at her dad. “Can I, please?”

“‘Course, darlin’,” Roy ruffles her inky hair, helping her buckle into the back seat as she excitedly squirms around in the seat. “We’ll be following behind you on daddy’s motorcycle, okay?” she nods and obediently lets Roy finish securing her in her Superman car seat.

Damian and Jon hop in the seat facing opposite hers, still picking pancake batter out of each other’s hair with playful smiles.

Alfred gets in the limo and drives off. Soon after, he shuts the door and bids the rest of the Bat Family goodbye. Meanwhile, the three of you hop onto Jason’s motorcycle and speed off to catch up.

“Just like old times,” Roy winks and you just shake your head as his hands move to caress your thick thighs. It doesn’t take long for him to realize you’re not wearing anything underneath. You’re practically sitting in his lap, so you know he’s noticed when his dick twitches against your bare ass. “And here I was thinking you were still holding out on us, princess,” he mutters against your ear. Roy’s fingers stealthily slip between your slick folds, barely rubbing your clit as he releases a low chuckle, “Fucking whore.”

You arch against him, feeling your adrenaline spike as Jason revs his engine and speeds up on the back streets.

“Please,” you groan, grinding down into the redhead’s erection.

Jason seems to be picking up on what’s going on because he makes a sharp right turn, forcing you to cling tighter around his muscular abdomen.

The vibrations alone last time had been enough to make your eyes cross in pleasure, but this time was different. This time, they were both touching you, tormenting you in the best ways possible.

Roy’s deliberate flicks against your still-aching clit leave your eyes twitching. He holds you steady as your body seizes, preparing for the most insane orgasm of your life- in public, nonetheless.

“You’re gonna come for me and Jay right here.” Your breathing hitches in your throat in response, making it hard to swallow. “All of these people are gonna see what a slut you are, baby.” Roy’s words tickle against the shell of your ear, sounding even above the roar of Jason’s V8. “All for us.”

“Roy,” you warn shakily.

“Scream his name, princess.”

You hastily remove his helmet to reveal the satisfied smirk that lies underneath and he easily does the same for you, wanting to take in all of your little tells.

Your orgasm couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Jason finishes exiting the side street, coming to a stop at a red light when you’re overcome with a familiar, icy pleasure as it blooms across your aching cunt.

“JASON!” At your cry, he revs the engine again, causing you to double forward against him as Roy continues to rub your abused, sensitive nub. 

With your head thrown back against Roy’s shoulder, liquid erupts all across the back of Jason’s leather jacket. All the while, the dude and his friend in the pickup truck beside you stare with their mouths wide open in disbelief. 

Jason whips off his helmet, nodding his head their way as if to say, ‘sup.’ 

You’re panting, pushing Roy’s hand out of your skirt, feeling completely satiated. “What the fuck was that?”

“Pretty sure you just squirted all over our Jay.” 

Squirt?

You shook your head languidly in your after haze. “What, like piss?”

“I’m not 100% sure,” Roy rubs at the outside of your thigh with a smirk, “but even if it is, feel free to do it all over my face sometime, princess.”

“Seconded,” Jason says. 

His slitted eyes trail up your trembling form like he’s considering fucking you right here and now. He feels behind himself, dragging his rough fingers through the wetness you’ve left on his back and the seat. 

He stares at the dripping slick curiously before forcing his fingers down Roy’s willing throat. He swallows your come all while staring at you through his strawberry-lashed, half-lidded eyes.

A deep voice stirs you all from your lust-filled haze.

“I need to get me a motorcycle, bro.”

His friend nods dumbly in agreement.

You all put on your helmets back on just as the light blinks green, speeding off before the men in the pickup can pick their jaws up off the floor. You nearly come again, feeling the flipping feeling tickling stir below, but Roy purposefully keeps his fingers just out of reach for you to get any relief. 

Fucking dick. 

You’ll definitely make him pay later.

•••

Regardless of what happened on the motorcycle hours earlier, they’re gentle with every part of you as you prepare for the final battle.

You’re lying in front of the fireplace of Damian’s living room, with Jason stoking the fire as Roy cleans and redresses your wound.

“’S looking a lot better, princess,” the redhead says, patting lightly at your side as he peppers your face and body with gentle kisses. 

His intimate gestures draw a quiet smile on your face. You’ve never felt so happy in your entire life and, yet, you feel like you can’t even bask in it until you finally come face to face with your parents.

You arch into his hold, snuggling against his chest as his lithe fingers begin to play with your hair.

Gentle music warbles from the gramophone Damian has playing in the kitchen as he and Jon talk in hushed whispers.

Your eyes lazily trail back to meet Roy’s tired eyes. You’re honestly surprised he isn’t trying to take it any further with his lavishing touch, especially after last night. Though, it’s probably for the best, considering the lingering company in the adjacent kitchen. 

Roy slowly blinks back at you, his eyes lightly crinkling as he does, as if he’s the one who can’t believe he has you.

Lian had been put to bed hours before, though it looks like she might be sleeping alone tonight as Jason removes his shirt before cuddling around the two of you with a heavy blanket. Earlier, Roy had brought out a pile of pillows from the bed to prop you up on. Now, you use the pillows to create a sleepy little nest for your fam-… for the three of you.

Laying down with the two of them wrapped up in this fluffy bundle on the floor, they slowly begin to mouth at either side of your neck. You wriggle contentedly between them, returning chaste kisses of your own scattered along their chiseled jawlines. 

The music slowly ebbs as the needle catches. It slowly slips from the disc, leaving you with only the crackling roars of the fire in front of you.

Jason caresses your face before languidly drawing it to his lips for a slow, toe-curling good night kiss that Roy attempts to top as soon as Jason’s lips leave yours. 

You drift off somewhere in between the light tickles of their gentle lips against your warm skin.

•••

The logs on the fire come crashing down as they die out some odd hours later. 

You wipe blearily at your eyes, glancing at the clock in Damian’s kitchen to see that it’s nearly three in the morning.

Jason and Roy still seem to be dead asleep, even as you wriggle out of their overwhelming heat.

The hum of the refrigerator is all that greets you as you pad around the penthouse. You’re looking for something… Something you know was dumped on the living room floor but obviously isn’t there anymore. 

“Oh!” you accidentally exclaim out loud when you find what you’d been looking for a few minutes later in Damian’s office.

You look around the room suspiciously as if booby traps are going to pop out of nowhere and alert everyone to what you’re doing, but it doesn’t happen. You snatch your laptop from atop one of his filing cabinets before scurrying back to the living room. Roy’s curled around Jason’s midsection, with drool leaking onto his abs. You roll your eyes at the sight, opening the corrupted laptop. 

After the last time, there’s now a giant crack stretched across the screen, crackling across the glass like lightning. The display flickers between a blinking blue error, colorful popcorn static and, strangely enough, the password box.

Your fingers hesitate as the password box flickers back onto the screen before typing, "tonight." 

You shut the laptop again, making quick work to remove the hard drive before throwing it into the last raging flame that remained. You silently placed the laptop exactly where it had been before getting dressed for what’s to come.

•••

This time, Gotham Bay isn’t so daunting when you approach.

You know this area has to be under high surveillance for them even to suggest you come back to the same location as the previous night. 

So, here you are. Waiting.

The cold, misty wind bites at your exposed ankles while you peer around for any signs of movement. You’re completely alone with only the squeals of Gotham’s signature cat-sized rats pattering about in the shadows to keep you company. 

Your weather app said it’s supposed to rain at some point and, although the sky is its usual murky fog, the moon still shines brightly. 

After wandering around the lot for a bit, you come to your final location: a dead end of warehouse buildings on one of Gotham’s loading docks.

The hairs on your arms stir awake, prickling your sensitive skin as they become erect. 

The familiar weight of eyes has been on you the entire time, but now it feels entirely different. 

There’s shuffling from behind you, then in front of you. 

Your arms come out to steady yourself as you back into the one area you haven’t heard anything from, but it’s a mistake.

You gasp as cold fingers grip your forearms with a bruising hold.

“I can’t believe the broad actually came here alone!” the Joker’s familiar laugh trembles against your ears in disbelief. “No, seriously.” His face falls into a frightening deadpan glare as he makes his way in front of you. All around him, hundreds of henchmen swarm into the dockyard. “I don’t believe you.”

His wretched voice slithers through your veins, wrapping around your beating heart like an unforgiving cobra. He watches your every minute reaction for any telling signs, but you offer him the truth. After all, it’d be fruitless to lie to him.

“I was just listening to my family,” you say with a shake of your head, wondering if you’ve made a mistake; no, wondering if you’ve misplaced your loyalty. You’ve already made your bed, though, so now you’ll have to lie in it.

The situation becomes all too familiar as Joker’s men swarm in to restrain your squirming form. Beefy arms tug and squeeze at every limb as if they’re trying to rip them off straight out of your sockets. You can’t help the grunts and protests you spout all the while, but Joker remains eerily quiet as he takes in the scene in front of him. 

It’s as if he’s testing that you’re really alone- like he still doesn’t believe you. 

His green hair bobs finally as he surveys the area once more before nodding with an impressed face. “Guess the girl really isn’t too bright,” he snorts cruelly. “Maybe that’s why mommy and daddy want you gone.” His creepy smile catches your breath in your throat. “You truly are just a worthless disappointment now, aren’t you?” he giggles. “An orphan with parents! Who’d’ve thought of that contradiction?”

“I want to believe they’re my actual family,” you say.

“Them?” The Joker actually laughs, no theatrics, just laughs at your stupidity as he hitches a thumb over his shoulder at nothing. “And how does that seem like it’s going?” he asks in amusement and comes around to tickle his fingertips lightly across your cheek. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, but first,” he skips around his henchmen, clapping frantically in their faces all the while, “how about a little family reunion? Let’s give ‘em a hand, folks!” 

His cackles are genuine as your parents emerge from the shadows. Their faces are smug as they take in your overpowered position.

“Mom,” you look at her with pleading eyes, begging her not to do this, “Dad, please.”

They disregard you easily, shaking their heads as they do, “This is how it was always going to end. We’ll get what we’re owed.” Your mother’s wearing a full-length ball gown she undoubtedly stole. Her expensive heels click against the ground as she cooly addresses you, “You won’t ruin this for us. You hear me?” 

She’s using her ‘don’t fuck with me’ tone and you are more than happy to oblige. Though you’re not used to being reprimanded by them, it doesn’t mean it’s never happened. You know exactly what kind of response she’s looking for.

You automatically agree, “Yes.”

You flinch backward into the men when she makes to slap you but stops just before the contact and, instead, caresses your face with her soft touch.

“Good,” she says. You slink back at her familiar hostility and eye her cautiously as she continues to linger. “Do not forget blood is thicker than water.” You could scoff if you weren’t actually so terrified of your mother. Words jam in your throat, suffocating you all the while. “And do not mistake,” she glares at you as she releases your face with a jolt of her hand, “that for the lasting good of our family name, your blood will spill.”

“Mom,” you whisper, eyes staring after her retreating form in hopes that some semblance of sense will befall her, but it’s in vain. “Please, help me,” you beg. “Don’t make me do this, please,” you continue to plead, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Do what, exactly? Seems like you’re pretty tied up at the moment!” Joker pops right in front of your face with a wicked smile that has you startling backward into your captors. “Perhaps another introduction is in order,” Joker teases. “I think it’s time you met my other half,” his voice drips with amused malice. All the while, his manic eyes refusing to leave your pained ones. “Oh, Two Face!” Joker sing-songs off to the right of you.

The shuffling of men and their sniffles in the cold is all you can hear for the longest time, then scuffled steps.

There’s no way you’re actually going to meet Two Face, right?

Right? 

A twinkling metal sound reverberates as the aforementioned man strolls forward, followed by crowds of men. 

Shit.

Two Face’s normal side is bathed in the moonlight first. You squint to get a better look right as his wicked side emerges from the shadows into full visibility. You can’t help but gasp. 

The comic books could never do his veneer justice. 

His hand is nonchalantly tucked into the white side of his suit while the scarred hand flips a hefty coin over and over again. 

Two Face’s daunting voice grumbles out your name with half a smirk adorning his grotesque face, “I’m sure by now you’re in on our little agreement, right?” The coin continues to glisten as it’s thrown into the night air with practiced motions. “How mommy and daddy sold you out when you were born?” You shake your head ‘no.’ “Oh, you’re not in on it?”

You spit at him, “Fuck you.” 

“Newsflash, brat,” he snaps with a wretched venom as he grabs your face. Your eyes are wide with fear as he shakes your face, seeming to switch between ire and calm sporadically. “The only thing you’ve been good for is your social security number. You’re worthless. They’ve had this organization created with the financial backing of this loon while you were still in mommy’s stomach.” You were truly born to die by the very people who’d brought you into this world. You shake your head as tears form, refusing to believe it but knowing it’s true. “Cry all you want,” he taunts, “but you’ll be dead before the hour’s up.”

He motions for you to see the time on his silver Rolex. 

2:39 AM.

Joker snickers while the two of them circle around you like vultures closing in on roadkill. 

You’re completely vulnerable in this moment. 

“Go on!” Joker hypes Two Face up, “Tell the poor little thing,” he tugs at your cheek as if you’re a baby, “how she’s going to save Gotham!” He jumps up excitedly and, if you weren’t sure he was unstable before, you do now. Every movement is jerky and completely erratic, never flowing into each other so much as clashing in a grandeur fashion.

Your dad sighs, rubbing irritably at the space between his eyebrows, “Our organization was built with the backing of Gothamite’s with a vision for a Gotham. A Gotham with the right rich people, which, of course, means taking money away from those who don’t deserve it. Worthy Gotham families would funnel money into our insurance scheme and funded, well-”

“Our research,” Two Face supplies. He stops pacing and his mangled side faces you. “With plans as grand as this, enemies of our organization would need to be dealt with swiftly and justly. A culling of Gotham’s wealthiest, so to speak. Thus, you came into play again.”

“Oh, oh!” Joker raises his hand up and down enthusiastically like he’s answering a question in class. “Me next!” 

“Why do I put up with this clown?” Two Face groans, turning to his main henchmen for an answer he’ll never find.

His yellow teeth are on full display as he gets in your face again. “You, my dear, are the only reason your parents were even included in the deal,” he informs you, sickening eyes searching for any emotions on your face, but now you’re more focused on the missing pieces. “Only under the stipulations that, A.,” he holds up a finger in front of your left eye, “the organization would kill you when it came time to collect our spoils and, B.” Another pale finger, this time in front of your right eye. “That you’d be the test subject for our eventual enemies' medicine.” He nods with sinister delight as horror settles across your face. “That’s right. You’ve been a dead girl walking since birth,” he’s up in your face, practically spitting vile through his now gritted teeth. “A pawn.”

Joker looks over his shoulder and nods for someone to come forward.

From the crowd, a skinny man with Joker face paint walks forward with a bulky briefcase and hands it to Joker with his head bowed.

“For our vision,” the man says. 

Joker takes him in with a disgusted look and brings down a fist at the base of the man’s neck. You can’t help but gasp in alarm as the man seems to go from standing to crumbling to the floor before you can even manage to blink.

“Don’t worry!” Joker pouts with faux concern as he punt-kicks the crumpled man in his side, causing him to roll over at the sheer force with a resounding crack. “He’s just on break! You get it?” he erupts into a fit of laughter, eyes remaining insanely open all the while.

He wiggles his fingers greedily like he’s dipping them into some deplorable cookie jar. The case clicks open, causing you to flinch and tightly squeeze your eyes together.

You stare at the glowing green tubes embedded in the case in front of you.

You glare as you turn to your parents, wondering if they even cared you were about to die, but they’re facing the Joker.

They were the ones who originally created the account and scheme itself, and, hell, they were even the ones to get you to show up here, yet they seem to have forfeited control to the Joker. The way their eyes constantly flick to him and how they verbally defer to him on what to do next, how can they not see they’re the henchmen in their own plot?

They’re the real pawns.

And you? You’re just stuck in the damn crossfire.

“Why two?”

“Easy.” Two Face’s bald eyeball scours around in its socket as he eyes your chest up. “I like a nice, even two,” he offers.

Gross.

Since they seem content to spill all this information, you wonder if you can get them to divulge even more. You continue your questioning, “What does it do?” 

You’ve been injected before, yes, but you’re after anything that can get you one step ahead of them. 

“Oh, say no more!” Joker traverses around Two Face gleefully, cutting him off in the process. The split man appears entirely done with his business partner now as if he’s seconds away from capping the clown. “We wouldn’t want to spoil the fun, now, would we?” Joker asks, his voice turns menacing as he peaks around the black side of Two Face’s suit.

“Tell you what,” Two Face’s haughty proposition seems only to be coming from the smirking side of his mouth. “Heads we inject you, tails we forget about the whole thing.”

You raise a dubious brow at his blatant lie. These fuckers don’t know how many comic pages you’ve poured over since middle school. You’re already familiar with their little schticks and a motherfucker like Two Face isn’t about to fuck you over.

“Heads, I go free,” you say with a nod his way, calling him out on his bullshit.

His mouth hitches, squeezing out a growl from the rotted corner, “I’ve already made my deal. Accept it or get injected anyway, brat.”

“Well,” you roll your eyes, “that’s not exactly fair.”

He sneers as he rapidly advances on you. “YOU THINK I GIVE A DAMN ABOUT FAIR? YOU THINK LIFE IS FAIR? LOOK AT ME. DOES THIS LOOK FAIR?” he pants rabidly with an animalistic look in his already wild eyes. After a brief moment, he clears his throat, schooling his face as he wipes at imaginary dust on his color-blocked suit. Two Face seems entirely entranced as he flips his coin, holding his hand over it to prevent the result from being revealed. His voice is contrastingly calm and collected when he addresses you again, “How does it feel knowing your family doesn’t care about you?” 

Your parents may know you have Red Hood and Arsenal on your side, but they definitely don’t know you have the entire Bat Family, too. Though they remain concealed, every member of the Wayne family stands at the ready on the surrounding warehouse rooftops to take down this horde of goons. 

You smirk when you hear Batman give the ‘stand-by’ over the comms system.

“I wouldn’t know.” 

Two Face’s face contorts at your response and, before he can reveal the Heads that lay underneath his hand, you see multiple shadows flitting down from the sky.

From here, it’s a flurry of rapid-paced movement as everyone moves in at once.

Robin’s the one who whisks you off and hands you off to Arsenal. You quickly duck behind the barricade they’ve created for you on a nearby rooftop.

Below, the sounds of war cries, clanking and pained cries ring out into the bay, reminding you of the very real situation at hand.

Robin looks at you, grabbing your hand in his. “I need you to stay safe,” his voice shakes out. “It’s selfish, I know, but just say the word and I’ll take you far away from here.” The whites of his mask hide effectively hide his usual tells from you. “It’s what father instructed me to do.”

Your breathing hitches, “You’re not going to?”

He’s going against Batman?

“I know you can handle yourself,” he sighs. “I also know you’d only blame yourself if anything happened to anyone here without you having a way to stop it.” Robin stares down at your connected hands. “Just promise me you won’t make me regret this.”

“Promise."

He isn’t able to look at you after this and he releases your hand at once. Robin takes down two men before tackling another group of them back down to the ground, knocking them out with the landing.

When you turn around, Arsenal’s tugging his trucker hat low enough on his head that you’re only barely able to see the wicked glint in his eyes.

“Well, wasn’t that just fuckin’ special,” Arsenal doesn’t try to hide the jealousy lighting up his voice.

Roy… Jealous… of you??? 

That’s fucking rich.

“Oh, come the fuck on,” you say with a roll your eyes. All the while, he fires off round after round of rubber bullets into the crowd of goons. “We literally fucked last night.”

He can’t argue with your logic and, instead, reach over for a fist bump. You leave him hanging easily with an unimpressed glare. 

“Damn, tough crowd,” Arsenal says. When a few of Two Face’s men get too close, he switches to his specialty arrows. 

You watch in a panic as the men attempt to close in on your barricade from either side of the building. You don’t have to worry for too long, though, as Arsenal wastes no time in firing off shots from his prosthetic. The arrows appear to have heat trackers in them as they trail behind the screaming goons. The burly men trample each other down the stairs in an attempt to flee from the fury of Arsenal’s bionic quiver.

You can’t help but watch with wide eyes. “Woah,” you mutter in amazement. You absentmindedly go to feel up his weapon, regretting it instantly when you feel its radiating heat. “That’s fucking awesome, I can’t even lie.”

“New favorite superhero?” he teases while waggling his brows at you from under his trucker cap.

You roll your eyes at his shit-eating grin, “Focus.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes, princess.” 

The original barrage of arrows seems to have done their job, but soon enough more of Two Face’s men break away from Nightwing down below. Once again, your barricade comes under attack as the burly men attempt to breach it again. 

Suddenly, Spoiler swoops in to start chipping away at the back of the wave, mainly Joker’s men, until Red Robin joins her at her side. You watch as they swiftly eye each other up with barely contained amusement at their predicament. Without hesitation, the two of them work in well-practiced coordination to tackle more of the horde heading your way.

The moshpit on the ground steadily thins as each Bat makes their way through the throng of henchmen, taking on multiple men at a time. 

This is good, you think.

Another glance around proves the two Robins are squaring off with Two Face, but still, Red Hood, Batman and the Joker are nowhere to be seen.

That’s… definitely not good.

A quick look behind you proves Arsenal’s already thinking the same thing.

Arsenal screams your name and you duck on instinct, watching in horror as two bullets become embedded in the armor of his stomach. He grunts, then cries out in pain as their weight sinks into his flesh. He makes quick work of the offending gang member before stumbling over to you.

“I can’t,” Arsenal chokes out as he slides down the front of the barricade, stomach clasped in his hands. Thin streams of blood trickle onto his pale arm as they weave syrupy paths in between the spatters of freckles. “I need you, please.”

You gulp, thinking back to how different those exact words sounded coming from him just the night before.

“I’ll protect you,” you promise, taking the Uzi strapped to his thigh in the process. You check the chamber out of habit, keeping a steady eye on the advancing men all the while. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

A weak smile tugs at the corner of his chapped lips. “Go get ‘em, princess.”

You sigh, cracking your neck to either side and shaking out your arms as a mixture of Joker and Two Face's henchman clamor over the roof’s edge. They stalk toward you with disgusting, wanton looks in their eyes. 

You pump yourself up one more time, shivering as cold adrenaline settles across your entire body. They’ve got the wrong fucking one.

While they’re still some way off, you play crowd control.

You swiftly scatter the men with rubber bullets, only halting when you need to reload, but quickly realize you don’t have the time. Though you’ve managed to knock out 90% of the hoard, five hulking men remain.

You throw aside the empty gun with disdain as Arsenal fires off quick shots from behind. He manages to distract two of them well enough that you’re able to square up with the other three.

One of them scoffs as he takes in your battle stance, “I didn’t sign up to hit no fuckin’ bitch.”

“This bitch just took out Frankie and Tommy in seconds,” he reminds his friend. The man cracks his knuckles, grinning at you with a smile that's supposed to be terrifying but only causes you to roll your eyes. Henchmen always play into the same stereotypes, it seems, both in comics and in real life. “We’re takin’ her down. Then we’re takin’ her down,” he says with a wink. 

The other goons start howling with laughter as they close in on you like a pack of wailing hyenas. 

You’re ready for them as you steel yourself with the skills they’ve taught you that you didn’t have the first time around at the gala. 

Round two motherfuckers. Ding, ding! 

Your battle smile works its way onto your face, begging them to fuck with you.

They finally bite your bait and one of the men takes his swing. 

While they’re all large, bulky men, they’re entirely too slow for your speedy form. You dodge the haymaker easily, leveraging his uneven weight against him to send him sprawling straight across to the other edge of the roof. The remaining two men stare after him in shock. 

You use their distracted state to jump up and smash their skulls together. 

You waste no time in spinning around to help Arsenal with the two he’s been distracting. He’s already nearly at the ledge when you blindside the biggest goon by pummeling into him from the side like a bull, effectively knocking him away from Arsenal’s bleeding form. 

The other man is already extremely injured from Arsenal’s arrows and only takes a few swift hits before he’s knocked out.

The pleasant buzz of adrenaline feeds your ravenous hunger for vengeance, but it also blinds you.

You rush to where Roy is slumped over and panting in exertion. “R-” Even through his blood loss, he shoots you a glare and you correct yourself quickly, “I mean, Arsenal.” You shake your head quickly in apology. “Sorry. First day on the job and all, you know?” you try to joke, but the redhead is far too out of it to do anything more than gurgle around a small quirk of his lips.

While you’re tending to Arsenal, the first man you’d sent sprawling across the roof comes back to return the gesture. 

You’re airborne for what feels like a minute, though it can’t have been more than two seconds. 

You groan as your body skids agonizingly across the rooftop. The thick scratches you’ve just gained singe your skin, though the more pressing matter is that you’re currently halfway off of the rooftop. You blink, staring down at the battle below as you land in a way that leaves your head over the ledge. You blink again, realizing just how close you’d come to becoming sidewalk meat. 

Okay, no more looking down.

You hear thunderous steps advancing on you from behind, tussling through Arsenal’s barrage of firepower as they continue your way unhindered.

You pant, groaning as your scraped hands clutch around the ledge.

Now’s not the time to panic and it’s most definitely not the time to…

You look down again.

It’s a mistake.

You whimper, closing your eyes while praying that Arsenal can hold the dude off for just a while longer. 

You need to get back up. 

Though it’s not a technique the Wayne’s taught you, you pathetically wriggle backward like a snake, not even caring how ridiculous it looks so long as it gets the job done. Once you’ve backed up enough, you roll just in time to miss Joker’s henchman lunging to unleash a punch where you’d been trapped mere seconds ago.

“Holy shit,” you breathe with wide eyes as the humongous goon becomes momentarily preoccupied with nursing his mangled fist. “Oh, shit,” you curse, nodding rapidly to yourself as you scurry away from his distracted state and trip in the process. The goon hears your curse and his attention easily shoots your way like a shark sniffing out blood. He’s definitely angry this time as he slowly breaks into a full-on sprint your way. You scramble up on your wobbly feet, heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you race with a worried face back toward Arsenal. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy SHIT!” you screech as you duck and dodge blindly out of the goon’s reach. 

You distance yourself from the far ledge and close the distance between you and the dazed redhead.

When you know you’re about to run into the vigilante, you halt suddenly. Your feet skid backward across the dirty rooftop like a move straight out of the comics as you suddenly spin to face the assailant head-on. 

Your face shines with determination as you lean into your fighting stance. Milliseconds later, you’re ducking before popping back up to unleash an unforgiving fist upside the man’s chin. His jaw, or at least you hope it is, audibly snaps and the once intimidating man crumbles to the floor like a child. 

You drop to your knees before you can think otherwise, mind still completely absorbed in the attack. You gasp, feeling the tickling presence of emptiness meet your back as your calves slip from the ledge of the roof you’ve unknowingly found your way to.

Then, you’re falling, cutting through the signature thick, grotesque smog of Gotham.

“NO!” Roy screams your name with a raw pain you never want to hear again. With the way things are currently going, you won’t have to.

The rushing wind helplessly pushes its transparent strength against your body as you come closer and closer to your demise.

So, this is how you die.

Sorry, Damian, for breaking your promise.

You close your eyes, smiling, ready for whatever comes next.

Jason’s died before and he seems… Well, he’s… Who are you kidding? The kid’s still a mess, but, you know, now much less so.

It’s still comforting, regardless of Jason’s sometimes hostile disposition, that he has, in fact, died before. 

There’s no flashback of memories, there’s no words of wisdom, there’s no dramatic music. You’re alone with the beating of your heart and the wind.

The mere seconds tick on, feeling like minutes as you fall weightlessly into the unknown.

         |

                                   |

            |

 |

        Instead of splatting onto the pavement below, the wind is sucked out of you as you land hard against... You squirm around to find none other than Batman. He glances down at you, checking you over for injuries before setting you down in a cleared area behind Nightwing.

There’s no time to recollect, well, anything, as you’re forced right back into battle.

“We need to get you out of here,” his eyes and stern tone leave no room for argument, though Nightwing’s quickly overpowered. “You shouldn’t be here in the first place,” he reprimands you, leaving you to shrug sheepishly in response. 

Before Batman can go for the comms, he’s swept back up into battle. His black cape flutters, obstructing you from view as he joins alongside the blur of Nightwing’s signature escrima sticks. 

From in front of you, you as watch Red Hood meets up with Joker in the midst of the sea of swarming bodies. 

This isn’t good… 

Red Hood grows more aggressive with the assailants, allowing his fists to come down harder and kicks to connect with a sickening power. You wonder if he’s even using rubber bullets anymore.

Joker, a few yards ahead of him, prances around, using anything and anyone in sight as weapons. In his fucked up mind, you suppose they’re mere props to further his deranged performance. 

Red Hood continues forward in the same merciless manner, blazing a war path with his usual ruthless demeanor. A particular cruel shot has you scrambling for Batman as Red Hood comes face to face with the man who killed him for the first time since the gala.

You stumble backward, unable to take your eyes off Red Hood’s brute power with sickening amazement. 

This isn’t right, though.

The Joker throws a grenade Red Hood’s way, but he just picks it up and throws it back, shooting it in the air just before it’s set to hit the madman. The explosion shakes the ground but is only a brief roadblock as your vengeful lover pistol whips the Joker across both cheeks. You watch as he drags the madman up off the ground by his green hair.

The thunderous explosion is finally enough to get Batman heading Red Hood’s way, though not before their wily opponent can climb into a loading crane. 

Shit. 

Like the battle hasn’t already been fucking hard enough, now we’re bringing heavy machinery into play? 

This is so entirely fucked.

The crane stirs to life, unleashing a terrifying, beast-like roar while the man behind it cackles gleefully. His first move is to lift the cargo box already loaded onto the crane and swings it rapidly over the raging battle. The metal crate thuds over the few henchmen Batman and Nightwing weren’t able to save.

You hide, using the shadows for cover as more cargo boxes are wildly swung around in the air and dropped like bombs on the throngs of people below. The Joker obviously doesn’t care who he hurts, throwing caution to the wind as his men get tangled up in the bloodshed. 

So long as people are getting hurt, Joker’s happy.

Meanwhile, Two Face frowns as he takes in the fight. He searches around for his next move, hightailing it once he sets his sights on a nearby forklift to even the playing field. 

“Yeah,” he snickers, turning the key as the engine roars to life. “Now, this is more like it.” 

His first target is a distracted Red Robin, who, upon hearing another motor revving, has enough sense to jump up, leaving Two Face to mow down his own men instead. The psychotic man seethes as he throws the forklift into reverse with a displeased grunt. 

Red Robin wobbles unsteadily before he’s thrown to the ground as the machine shifts into drive.

Without hesitation, you leap forward, snatching him out of harm’s way and nearly getting yourself run over in the process.

Red Robin looks down at you, stunned. There’s not much time to dwell, though, as the two goons not under the forklift lunge toward the two of you on the ground. Red Robin rolls the two of you to the left, then right, dodging each punch before popping up and unleashing a flurry of fists. 

Meanwhile, you scramble to your feet and wobble laughably into your stance.

The man quirks an unimpressed brow at you before following suit. “You gonna be a good girl for me, sweetheart?” he teases.

You huff. 

Men are so fucking dumb. If he’d just charged you instead of humoring you, you’d’ve been a fucking goner, but no. He wants to play? 

So be it.

Let’s fucking play.

He spits blood from his previous bat family encounters on the ground with a smile before charging at you with his bulky body. You wait until the very last second before simply stepping out of the way, sending him barreling into the brick behind where you’d been.

Now for the boss man.

Two Face seems to have forgotten you and Red Robin and you watch with horror as he bulldozes straight toward a distracted Batman and Red Hood. 

Batman shoves Red Hood out of the way of the metal rods the Joker’s unloading from a drastic height. It seems like he’s getting a better hang of the dangerous machine and it’s definitely not a good thing.

“I’m really starting to like this baby!” He giggles with glee, though it’s effectively cut off by wide eyes as Batman carefully traverses the windshield, bursting in through the opened door. “Uh, oh,” Joker slides across the seat in an attempt to exit through the other door but bumps into a seething Red Hood who blocks the only other exit. “Now, Batsy,can’t we just talk this out over a nice cup o’ joe-?” 

POW!

Even from where you’re standing, you hear the sickening crunch of the Joker’s now broken face. You watch as Batman takes the key to the machine and bends the metal with his bare hands to prevent further usage.

Red Robin sees Two Face getting closer to his family and makes a mad dash for the duo. He doesn’t slow any as he grabs Nightwing by the forearm to drag him over to put a stop to the father-son quarrel, “Back me up!” 

Nightwing quickly falls into step with him, “Right behind you.”

They throw Two Face from the driver's seat and lunge out of its path, leaving the forklift to crash into a stack of metal rods. The heavy metal clatters and tumbles to the ground with a roaring might and your heart stops when you realize you’re directly in the line of fire.

A flash of red and you’re momentarily weightless for the second time tonight. A quick look to the side proves Red Hood’s ditched the Joker to come to your rescue. You’re rendered speechless as he uncharacteristically, not to mention roughly,drops you back down to the ground to face Batman.

“How dare you stop me from delivering justice when this is the carnage he still leaves behind?”

You can practically hear the pain behind his robotic impediment.

When Red Hood socks Batman, you can practically feel the pain as his heavy fist lands in between the flexible joints between his armor. Batman grunts at the contact, parrying without a second thought, “Justice or vengeance?” 

Red Robin seems nervous as he aids Nightwing in holding their brother back. Red Hood easily overpowers them, throwing the two of them off of his muscular body like rag dolls.

Red Hood gets in his father’s face and although you can’t see or hear any of the emotion, his actions ooze it. “Are they not the same?”

This is not a man you recognize, well, not since first meeting him, at least.

You can’t just sit by and watch him throw away all the progress he’s made over the years in the heat of the moment. You need to stop this before it escalates further and you all lose sight of the actual mission: getting everyone in the family out of here alive.

You can’t lie. Earlier on the rooftop, you'd experience the same blinding rage. Seeing Jason like this makes you realize that, no, they’re not the same.

“Gregor Samsa!”

His red helmet snaps toward you and you don’t waste a minute further as you come to his side. 

Batgirl and Spoiler are covering you guys. Meanwhile, Nightwing and Red Robin hesitate, not knowing whether to intervene in family affairs again just yet or not. 

“Kafka?” his warbled voice sounds confused even through the modulator. “The fuck does the book Metamorphosis have to do with anything?”

Batman’s eyes shift to you as he continues to let Red Hood hold him up by his chest plate.

“I understand your pain, love,” you scramble for what to say as everyone’s eyes land on you after the pet name. “No matter how much you grow your calloused exterior, you will always be that ostracized little boy. You don’t want vengeance like this.” 

“Fuck YOU!” he screams, causing your eyes to go wide.

Red Hood front kicks his father in the stomach, sending him sprawling into a rapid pack of henchmen. He then spatters the men with rubber bullets before grabbing Batman by the cape, thrashing him across the ground like a loose whip. 

You’re seconds from accidentally screaming out his actual name in horror. 

It’s looking bad and you know you need to reach him before it’s too late. 

Nightwing’s taken to warding off henchmen while Spoiler leaps from place to place, trying to knock down as many of the goons who are waking back up as she can, but everyone’s steadily slowing down.

“YOU WANT ACCEPTANCE. You want LOVE,” you can’t help but shout again, “AND YOU HAVE IT. All around you, look.” You motion to each member of the bat family from wherever they are in the battle and he easily follows the action. “You and I owe that monster nothing, not even revenge,” you sigh as the weight of your words fully settles over you, knowing it’s true. “It’s not worth it.” 

He glances at his father once more before dropping his limp body and storming up to you. 

Even when he’s mad and terrifying, he can’t help but be dramatic. 

“So, what?” Red Hood asks, getting right up in your face as he looks down at you. It’s almost like he expects you to back up, but you don’t. You hold your ground and glare right back up at his dumbass. “We lock him up; he escapes, he kills and tortures again. Is that what you want?” 

It’s pointed at you and you know it.

“Not that this isn’t an amazing, touching moment,” Nightwing pants as he backflips and kicks two men upside the face at the same time, “but we kinda need some backup.” Numerous goons and Two Face lurk menacingly closer to your worn-out group. The assailants charge forward with war cries and the hero looks back towards his family, “Like, right now would be good.” He doesn’t even need to turn around to know when to flip out of the way. 

Batman gets to his feet, catching you off guard. It’s enough distraction that Nightwing’s able to chuck you over his shoulder and hightail it away from the action.

“What are you DOING ?!” you scream. You beat your fists against Nightwing’s back as you watch your loved ones get overpowered by the surprise attack. “PUT ME DOWN,” you wail, kicking at his firm stomach before leaning right next to his ear with a terrifying, low growl. “Dick motherfucking Grayson, you take me back there THIS FUCKING INSTANT,”your gritted whisper steadily ascends throughout your sentence until it reaches a shrill screech.

You begin to kick again until he finally does put you down.

“Jesus, fuck kid,” he groans and leans over like he’s going to puke all while flipping you off.

You have half a mind to break his fucking finger while he’s busy rubbing at the ear you screamed into, but you’re more preoccupied with getting back to Red Hood. Ten steps forward and you realize this is going to be a harder challenge than you’d previously thought.

Your brain buzzes numbly, feeling overwhelmed by the constant onslaught of everything. Through the buzz, you hardly remember thinking about anything at all other than keep moving. 

So, here you are. On the ground, embedded in battle, dodging attacks, hoping Arsenal is still safe on the roof and not, you know, dead. All while knowing that you’ve gone and put Nightwing out of commission by spazzing when he was only trying to save you.

You’re effectively surrounded until said hero backflips over the group of men’s heads, knocking a few of them out with his sticks along the way. 

You hustle to his side, circling back to back like you had when you sparred with Damian and him in the manor. Back to back with Nightwing, you feel all those sparring sessions smack back into your brain. 

He glances over his shoulder and down at you. “You ready to kick some ass?” he asks with a light smirk.

You offer him an apologetic smile. “I promise not to kick you this time.”

He snorts at you as the men close in, “Good thinking.”

You waste no more time as you unleash the flips and twists he’d taught you all those years ago. 

You hope to fuck that your kicks to his stomach didn’t set him back too much because you need his full effort behind you. Especially when all the exertion’s gone and torn open your stab wound. The pain radiating from it is becoming increasingly harder to ignore.

The goons you’ve got talk to fucking much and it’s driving you crazy. Their words and hollers only spur you on further, knocking the majority of them down with the other men in less than a minute. 

You’re startled when Nightwing suddenly calls out to you, “Switch!”

Your body moves on instinct.

The new group of men have been completely roughed up by Nightwing and all they need is a few more hits each before they’re out. 

Easy, right?

The first two take you on at once, while the third waits eagerly on the sidelines, screaming and chanting all the while to throw you off. You don’t let it work. 

Once again, you’re completely focused as they make to charge you, but you duck and roll out of the way at the last minute. You watch from the ground as they barrel head-first into each other and slump in a pile to the ground. 

Your stab wound has already begun to leak through your shirt. The stabbing pain has become so familiar that it merely becomes another numbing sensation added on to your overwhelmed body.

That just leaves…

“Well, well, well,” the balding henchman drawls as he advances on you. You wobble to your feet, hand covering your wound in the process. “You have moves, I’ll give you that.” He eyes you up and down.

You try to steady your panting breath, but you can’t seem to get enough oxygen into your aching lungs, no matter how hard you try. Nightwing’s grunts and witty retorts sound somewhere in the back of your mind, but a high-pitched ringing takes over the majority of your hearing. 

You’re shutting down and you know it.

A static settles over your body, humming with your declining energy and adrenaline. Now’s not the time to give in to it just yet, though. 

“You wanna fuckin’ fight, ‘er wha?” you tilt your head at him, albeit unsteadily, with your words starting to slur. You spit, tasting metallic ooze as you do. You hate how the weight of your head seems to be too much for your neck to support at the moment, but, hey, work with what you got, right?

He advances on you without another word. His strong fists are calloused and they graze your slowed movements with a heavy, unignorable edge. One hit from him will definitely be enough to knock you out if you’re not careful.

He scoffs at your unconventional stance and, in the same breath, brings down his fist in the center of your chest. The wind is painfully knocked out of you even after having stepped partially out of the way of the hit, proving your earlier point true- you need to avoid his hits, or you’re fucked.

You shake your head, unleashing a front kick, then a roundhouse to create more space between the two of you. Based on his smirk, he seems largely unfazed by your attacks and charges forward, ruining whatever measly distance you’d gained. 

You don’t have the will to try any flips, nor do you have the confidence that any of them will land, leaving you with whatever fumes of strength you have remaining.

Your head spins as you dodge a haymaker thrown toward your stomach and retaliate with a fist of your own. You have no time to celebrate the broken nose you’ve just given him before he’s coming back for more.

You can’t keep going like this. 

Whereas your energy leaks to the ground like a broken spigot, his radiates like a raging nuclear bomb that’s ready to envelop you whole.

Another hit, another parry; more energy gone.

You’re comically slow at this point, but he’s not going any easier on you, as evidenced by his kick that nearly costs you your balance.

“Nigh,” you pant. “Nigh- wing,” you cough, heaving blood in the process. You watch, hypnotized, as it spills onto the last clean part of your shirt. What hit caused it? You have no idea only that, holy shit, it’s a lot of blood.

It’s pathetic and the volume of your dying voice is only loud enough for you and the goon to hear.

“I said you have moves, but,” you look up just in time to get punched again with the same ferocity, “it’s clear that you’re out of them.”

His kick lands right smack on your stitched wound.  

You throw your head back and howl as the pain stabs you to your core, “FUCK!” 

You’re thrown back by the force and watch as a sinister grin finds its way across his face. “I’m gonna enjoy this a little too much,” he winks and wastes no time straddling you. He puts an intolerable amount of pressure on the stitches that remain intact. You nearly puke when the rest of them burst apart at his action. “Good thing church is tomorrow, yeah?” he breathes a chuckle across your squirming form.

You ignore his odd statement in favor of lucidly squirming, but it’s in vain.

Nightwing calls out your name, but he’s got five assailants on him who show no signs of slowing.

You whimper and struggle against the man, but the movement quickly becomes unbearable. Your eyes go crossed in absolute agony when the henchman leans forward again. The sickly pressure builds until a blood-curdling scream unleashes from the depths of your being.

You black out and wake up in thin yet sturdy arms.

“The-, the fuggin’,” you slur through the pain and blood loss, “ztitchezz.”

“I know,” Robin’s familiar voice coos in a calming manner. 

You’re set down somewhere relatively quiet, all things considered, though you’ve yet to fully open your eyes since being on the ground. 

“What’s it looking like?” That’s Nightwing. At least you didn’t leave him for dead like you did Roy.

“Nightwing, Arsenal needs back up on the roof over there.” 

Your eyes blearily blink open, blinking through the blurred haze to see Arsenal slumped behind the barrier, giving it his all. It’s obvious, even through your blood loss, that he doesn’t have much left to give due to his own blood loss.

“Got it, baby bird.” Nightwing gives him a tiny salute before somersaulting across the large space between the warehouse rooftops to race to Arsenal’s aide.

Once he’s gone, Robin walks over to where you slowly push yourself into a standing position.

“What are you doing?” Robin hisses as he rushes over to support you. “Stay down and out of sight. I should’ve taken you away from here as soon as everything went to shit. You have no business being here,” he grumbles as if he’s repeating what Bruce told him earlier and tugs at his hair. “I think I messed up,” he says finally. You don’t know if it’s your half-delirious state or if Damian’s always been this indecisive, but you watch him pace back and forth. He comes to a halt in front of you as you regain as much of your bearings as you can. “We’re leaving,” he demands.

First, Dick rips you away from Jason and now Damian wants you to abandon Roy?

Not happening.

No way in hell.

“Fuggin’ delusional,” you flick his nose and saunter, well, at least you want it to look like a saunter, to the edge, “‘F you thing I’m leavin’ ah,” you wince at a particular tug of pain, “without them.”

“You’ll get yourself killed, you suicidal dumbass,” he spits in your face. “You’ll only bring us down. Your training means nothing.”

You thought you’d already felt the worst possible pain imaginable, but no. His words cut deeper into you than any sais ever could. You can’t help but remember this same sinking feeling when Jason and Roy gave you the SOS bracelet, but, hey, look how many times that actually did come in handy.

They’re all only trying to protect you, you realize, in the only way they know how, but it’s not going to work. You’re already too involved with the plan being too far in.

You smack yourself a few times on the cheeks, bouncing unsteadily from foot to foot and wincing all the while. You steel yourself for one final battle as you hurry to milk any and all of the few remaining dregs of adrenaline within yourself.

“You said it yourself. I can’t just sit by while my family gets hurt on my behalf,” your slur is mostly gone and you use it as an opportunity to plead your case. “You’d have no time to take me anywhere and, even up here, I’m a sitting duck,” you gasp and duck when a stray bullet whizzes past the two of you as if to cement your point further. “Whether it be ricochet, blood loss, or suicidal tendencies, I really don’t give a fuck,” your eyes burn into his. “You’ll have to kill me right here and now before I let you keep me away from the men I love.”

There’s a slight hitch in his breath. 

He eyes you warily as you slouch into a starting stance, albeit a weak one. “I won’t fight you,” he warns.

“We’re wasting TIME, D-ROBIN!” you exclaim. Alas, your desperate pleas fall on deaf ears. “Training means nothing, sure, but will is everything,” you spit his words back at him from all those years ago. “The will to act.” Your breathing is shallow as you face your friend down. “Well, I’m here and I’m ready to act.”

He glares at the near slip-up and swiftly approaches you. “You’re no fucking hero,” your name hisses out between the cracks of his gritted teeth. “If I have to knock you out to get you to safety, I will,” he closes the remaining space with ease and whispers the next part, “and I will do it all without hesitation.”

“Don’t make me do this, Dami,” you can’t help that their alias’ and their actual names have become jumbled in your pain-ridden brain as you slip up again. “‘M gonna make it easy. Turn away and let me go.”

His mouth shifts as he seems to fight off tears angrily. “Yeah?”

You know he’s not going to let you. At the very least, you had to give him the out.

You choke, “Yeah.”

Even in your slowed state, you know the hit is coming before he can even pull the punch. 

You reach expectantly for his right arm, using your strength and his light weight to send him sprawling off the rooftop when the inevitable hit comes. 

You know you don’t have long before he catches his bearings and swings back up with his grappling hook.

You shake your body off as you come to the ledge. 

Nightwing made the daunting distance between the rooftops look easy, though, up close, it seems impossible. You know Robin’s hot on your trail and also that if you don’t hurry the fuck up, you’ll be noticed and shot.

So, with the pressure mounting, you fly.  

Kinda.

“OMPF!” Your body jerks against the side of the opposite building, smacking your wound against the brick with each reverberation. 

You don’t know how much attention you’ve drawn to yourself, but you can hear Damian behind you. You will not go gently. Your face scrunches up in a combination of pain, concentration and pure exertion as you lift yourself onto your forearms.

From here, you find yourself behind Arsenal’s barrier. He grunts as he uses his draining strength to tug you up to where the final stand is taking place. Below is filled with bodies, be they passed out or dead, littering the dock like leaves in the fall night. 

Red Hood shakes the ground with his landing when he joins seconds later with his guns ablaze. His dual handguns light up the rooftop with a barrage of rubber bullets that none of the goons are able to dodge.

“Rubber bullets?” Joker cackles as Batman socks him in the stomach hard enough to send spit sprawling into the air. “You’re getting soft on us, Hood!”

Red Hood wastes no time, swooping in to tug the Joker away from Batman. Batman makes to go after them but is quickly subdued by the last wave of henchmen that remain.

“Yeah? Not you, though,” his modulated voice is discernibly gritted as he unloads the rubber bullets and replaces them with ones that clink loudly into his gloved hands. “No, you get the fun ones.”

Your eyes whip over to him at his statement. 

After that touching speech, you still haven’t managed to get through to him?

“Oh, goody!” Joker claps gleefully, laughing when Red Hood unleashes haymaker after haymaker to his face. Each punch stains the vigilante’s leather gloves with an increasing amount of the lunatic’s face paint.

It’s horrid to watch, so you use it as a distraction while you finish pulling yourself up.

Roy’s- head in the game, you berate yourself- Arsenal’s worried eyes are the only ones to spot you so far.  He scrambles to kneel. His entire arm is painted red while fresh blood continues to ooze from the two bullet holes. “Hood, stop,” Arsenal’s weakened, breathy pleas fall on deaf ears.

Red Hood looks around rapidly as he becomes overpowered by a new swarm of Joker’s men. 

In his haste, he nearly puts a bullet in you.

You duck and roll out of the way with a pained groan. 

Now, everyone notices your presence.

Not good, not good. 

You shuffle backward away from the men who are significantly closer to you than any of the vigilantes.

There’s a brief moment of pause before chaos, once again, ensues and you become lost in the madness.

In the midst of Nightwing, Red Hood and Batman fighting off the swarms of goons, Joker manages to sneak up on you. You can’t even manage a scream before he covers your mouth and drags you closer and closer to the edge, snickering getting louder with each step. 

When you finally come to the edge, you don’t have a chance to look back to see if anyone’s noticed when he does the unthinkable. Though, when it comes to the Joker, is it really unthinkable?

“I do love a good reunion!” he says as he swings you around aggressively. “Now tell me- last time did you scream like this?” You try to hold in the urge as he tips you over the edge of the roof, but it’s in vain. A whimper, then a screech, unleashes from your throat. “Or like this?” Joker swivels you around and punches you square in the jaw. A pained cry escapes at the contact, much to your dismay. “No? Maybe more like this!" his voice darkens dramatically as he brings a knife to your throat. “You knew this was going to happen sooner or later! It’s called parallelism, darling,” his words are rushed with uncanny glee, like he can’t wait to get to whatever horrors that are coming next.

Red Hood’s hulking form is on him in an instant, charging across the rooftop to halt right behind his lanky form. 

The way Red Hood’s holding his gun against the greasy, green hair on his head, you’re nearly sure he’s going to shoot right then and there, regardless of you falling or not. You know what this monster did to the one you loved, what he’s done to you and your found family. You, admittedly, love Jason and hate to see how the hurt this madman’s inflicted has lingered year after year, but this isn’t the right way. 

Batman voices the same thing.

“Remember who your real enemies are,” Batman reminds a conflicted-looking Red Hood as he stares down at his gun.

Red Hood hesitates, looking from you to Arsenal, then back down at the chuckling clown.

Surveying the slowing battle, you see that Robin has your parents rounded up and Red Robin and Spoiler have Two Face at a standstill. Most of the gang members have already been knocked out, with the rest either fleeing or tied up, aside from a few still kicking both metaphorically and literally.

“Oh, enemies,” Joker drawls. “They’re like ex-girlfriends. I’ve got too many, HA!” he jokes, looking around at everyone’s serious faces. “Nothing? Really?” His face drops. “It’s all business with the lot of you, all about the money,”he spits with an exaggerated disgusted face. “What happened to the theatrics? That certain, je nais se quoi everyone nowadays seems to lack.”

“Shut up and help me, clown!” Two Face swings at Spoiler, attempting to flee to the roof, but she dodges and uses his force against him. He stumbles and ultimately falls back to the ground. “You do want your money, right?” he calls up to the madman. 

Joker looks at Two Face and your parents as he begins to cackle. He continues to hold the knife but uses the other to pull a gun. To your shock, it’s not trained on you but rather trained on his accomplices. He giggles so quietly you nearly think it’s a cough.

“Yes, it’s true, this started out as a way to get money, but that’s sooooo boring!” he drawls and Red Hood clicks his safety off. “I have a new… business,” he flounders his hand before producing, “associate, of sorts as it were. We share the same grandeur vision that this organization lacks. You see, a serum to kill off Gotham’s wealthiest families isn’t large scale enough for me, no. It’s just not effective for my type of work. Buuut, if you ask me,” he gets up close to you, “the potency, though ineffectually non-lethal, seemed just right the way you squealed.” He giggles gleefully, then stops abruptly, looking at you with wide, animalistic eyes. “So, I ditched the old and got with the new!” he cackles as his remaining men suit up in gas masks. Two Faces men scramble, looking around for any sort of guidance, but find none. You look and see Joker putting on his own mask, covered with a wicked smile dripping across its front. “Aw, shucks. Just for old time's sake, shall we?” 

Your brows knit together with worry as the knife is replaced by two needles wedged into your arm. You struggle, screaming all while ripping your arm from his hold, but it’s too late. Joker’s henchmen surround you, distracting Red Hood from Joker, but Arsenal’s already on his way for backup.

“What?” You feel the liquid coursing familiarly through your veins as it takes hold of you, washing across your entire body. “What did you do to me?” you whimper.

“I haven’t done anything yet. Just you wait,” he giggles in response. “Oh, Batman!” he calls, standing suddenly. You start to feel the injection take hold on you but are still able to hear an approaching helicopter. Already, your world becomes hazy as the familiar feeling courses through your veins with a sinister new twist. “Plans are so 2008, wouldn’t you say? But my new one might just have to wait! You know I love me a sequel!”

A rope ladder snaps down and Joker takes hold of it.

Over your comms, you hear Batman ordering everyone out.

In your steadily increasing haze, Red Hood and Arsenal come to your rescue.

He hums a jolly rendition of jingle bells loudly as the remaining Two Face henchmen on the ground and your parents succumb to the gas that spills in from the cargo bay. The chopper hangs low in the cloudy sky for a moment more as the Joker’s merry screeches echo across your ringing ears before the helicopter disappears into the twinkling smog of Gotham’s night sky, “And the Joker got awaaay!” 

His maniacal laughter crackles like lightning in the calming chaos of the night until he’s no more than a distant rumble in your fear-clouded vision.

Even though he’s physically left, the injections have you seeing renditions of him all around. From Robin Joker, to Arsenal Joker all the way to, quite honestly, the most terrifying one- a Joker-fied Batman. 

You desperately scurry to get away from the advancing group of Jokers, all wearing mangled versions of the Bat mantle. 

Your breath gets knocked out of you. You don’t even realize that you’ve fallen to the ground as distorted images of the Joker’s hands and the glaring lights of the city below suddenly overtake your sight. Through the haze, you vaguely note a scrawny person with long hair beside you(?) in the passenger seat, but you can’t be sure when your senses are still so warped. 

You shake your head and will the visions away to focus on the danger right in front of you. 

Joker’s horrifying smile is smacked across Nightwing’s semi-familiar outfit as he advances on you with hands held in surrender, but all you can hear is that horrid cackling. 

The group of Jokers, though howling, give you space. 

You scoot backward further with gasping, shallow breaths that only serve to suffocate you further. You start to shake, arching in pain when your back settles against cool brick. 

“Make it stop, please,” you cry weakly as visions continue to wrack over your mind. “PLEASE!” you scream until your voice is nearly raw.

Two Jokers remove their masks as they slowly approach your frightened form. You struggle to regain your breath as you fight off the toxin and prepare to fight off these fuckers too. That is until their faces slowly morph from contorted grins to the concerned faces of the men you love.

“It’s over,” they all try to assure you, but you just keep shaking your head in your hands. 

Your rocking ceases when they put their arms around you.

Though you’re reveling in their comforting contact, you could scoff at their naivety. How can they not see? How can they not SEE??? 

You pant, welcoming the cool rain as it begins to spill from to sky and onto your feverish face. The edge of the toxin is like an unescapable weighted blanket during a heat wave: relentlessly debilitating.

The drizzle picks up into a downpour, effectively dispersing the rest of the toxin just as the belfry chimes three, echoing rings into the night.

“No,” you manage as rain trickles down your parted lips. “It’s only the beginning.” 

You weakly pull Roy and Jason in to kiss them one after the other in front of all the Jokers before abruptly passing out. 

A/N: another one of my faves to write! did i get you w the falling scene?? lemme know!

Here’s the Spotify link again!

[next]  ||  masterlist ||  pinned || ways to support

[raisedbythetv89]

I would like Rob Thomas to be charged for the crime of making me watch Logan switch back and fourth between a 25 year old kendal and a 15/16 year old Hannah 😭😭😭😭😭

IT MAKES ME FEEL VERY ICKY

But also Jason switching between acting fairly age appropriate behavior wise to Kendal (still icky in the context of the story not saying it’s ok but he seems older with Kendal and younger with Hannah) and much younger with a much more boyish charm with Hannah that’s honestly a little freaky like how are you doing that you tall muscular chameleon is it literally just his hair cut and changing the pitch of his voice a little?? Like I know you’re an actor but STILL ITS FREAKING ME OUT AND I DONT LIKE IT.

[roleplay-roulette-blog]

RP-Partner Wanted

RP-Partner Wanted!

Hi there, my name is Hurricane. I'm currently craving fandom RPs but I'm also very open to creating new OC's (MxM) and Worlds together! I roleplay on Discord on a private server.

Fandoms of Interest:

(The highlighted characters are my preference, but we can always discuss this!)

Banana Fish: Ash x Eiji

Dreamworks: Jack x Hiccup, Pitch x Jack, Bunnymund x Jack

Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus/Trials of Apollo: Percy x Nico, Will x Nico

Persona 3: Protagonist x Akihko, Protagonist x Shinjiro, ShinjiroxAkihiko

Persona 5: Protagonist x Akechi, Protagonist x Ryuji

You can find more on my blog.

Is this you?

You are 21+, but preferably 25+ years old

You have at least some roleplaying experience and are interested in long-term RPs

You are LGBTQIA*-friendly or maybe even part of the community

I only write MxM relationships

You are willing to talk OOC about the RP when plotting is necessary -> This is not a must, but I love making friends with my RP-Partner! We can fangirl about our characters, our plot or just get to know each other!

You are willing to rp in a private Discord server or Google Docs. If you have better options, I’m always willing to learn something new.  My blog is only meant to find new partners or share writing-related interests. 

I usually write more paragraphs and consider myself literate. We don’t have to match in length, but I prefer quality over quantity. No One Liners, I need something to work with. 

If you lose interest in a plot, it’s fine, but please tell me so I won’t be waiting in vain for an answer. Maybe we find something else to write about and if not, that’s fine, too. But please don’t ghost me. 

I enjoy writing darker themes from time to time and I’m fine with NSFW, but let’s talk about preferences and triggers. We both need to be comfortable in these situations!

Roleplaying/Writing is my passion, but I work full-time during the week. I usually manage to reply several times a week, sometimes even per day. I’d like my partner to have similar availability. If you’re up for it, we can always meet up for a ‘writing date’ and RP for a specified time.

If we’re roleplaying OCs, I’d like for us both to create new characters. I don’t like to recycle my characters and I usually don’t like to work with pre-set OCs that you use in other RPs. 

I'd love to hear from you! If you're interested, send me a DM!

[paralaxpolarity]

"​🇮​'​🇻​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇪​​🇪​​🇳​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇬​​🇸​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇵​​🇪​​🇴​​🇵​​🇱​​🇪​ ​🇼​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇩​​🇳​'🇹​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇱​​🇮​​🇪​​🇻​​🇪​… ​🇦​​🇹​​🇹​​🇦​​🇨​​🇰​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇮​​🇵​​🇸​ ​🇴​​🇳​ ​🇫​​🇮​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇴​​🇫​​🇫​ ​🇹🇭​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇩​​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇴🇷​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳​… ​🇮​ ​🇼​​🇦​​🇹​​🇨​​🇭​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇨​-​🇧​​🇪​​🇦​​🇲​​🇸​ ​🇬​​🇱​​🇮​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇩​​🇦​​🇷​​🇰​ ​🇳​​🇪​​🇦​​🇷​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇹🇦​​🇳​​🇳​​🇭​ä​🇺​​🇸​​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇬​​🇦​​🇹​​🇪​. ​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇴​​🇸​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇴​​🇲​​🇪​​🇳🇹​​🇸​ ​🇼​​🇮​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇧​​🇪​ ​🇱​​🇴​​🇸​​🇹​​, ​🇱​​🇮​​🇰​​🇪​ ​🇹​​🇪​​🇦​​🇷​​🇸​ ​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇷​​​​🇦​​🇮​​🇳" - Blade Runner

THE BASICS

This is Daffy, using any pronouns albeit with a preference for they/them, writing in UTC-6/MDT or UTC-7/MST, depending on the timezone shenanigans. I write 571401-TR/ "Tobs Ri", who’s the primary focus of this introduction, as well as Kanti Jagx, who’s intro is already up. To find starters or interactions for my characters, the format will be [characterfirstname]: starters or [characterfirstname]: interactions. This is a standard format across the blog for all musings, mirrors, etc., and as I start introducing these tags, I fully intend to make a directory, which will be linked HERE.

To get an idea of Tobs, I’ve included a bit of the app, specifically that first part!

[ fin argus, nonbinary, they/them] Look who just landed! 571401-TR “TOBS RI”, I sure hope you packed all you need. Perhaps you’re not worried as an UNDERBOSS of THE SKELETON CREW. The city has plenty of spots for a 25 year old ANDROID like you. You’ll be known in the city soon enough as THE ESOTERIC, being STRAIGHT-FORWARD and ODD.

THE STATISTICS

Full Name: 571401-TR Nickname: Tobs, Ri-ri, T-R Date of Birth: June 25th, 2380 Gender: Nonbinary Pronouns: They/them Sexual Orientation: Asexual Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic Current Age: 25 years. Modification: Android Affiliation: The Skeleton Crew Birthplace: Akumu Slums, New Jakarta Current Neighbourhood: Akumu Slums Occupation: They work as the underboss for the Skeleton Crew, while working to develop new variations of the drugs the gang sells. Known Languages: 571401-TR, being based on an academic research model, speaks most common languages in New Jakarta, including Martian Sign, Japanese, Mandarin, Bahasa Indonesia, Javanese, Hindi, Bengali, and English. However, Tobs doesn't have a language learning software, so they're unable to learn new languages without a full system adjustment, taking them out of commission for a hot second.

INSPIRATION

Pinterest!

Quote: "Do not compete with what is happening. To compete is to prepare for failure. Do not be trapped by the need to achieve anything. This way, you achieve everything." - Dune: Messiah

Label or Archetype: The Magician

Tropes : Do Androids Dream? Eccentric A.I., Reluctant Mad Scientist

Media Parallels: Andy (Alien: Romulus), Roy Batty (Blade Runner), Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Ash (Alien)

Theme Song: We Must Be Killers by Mikky Ekko

Written Aesthetics:

Aniara by Harry Martinson

We're slowly coming to suspect that the space

we're traveling in is of a different sort

from what we thought whenever that word "space"

was decked out by our fantasies on Earth.

We're coming to suspect now that our drift

is even deeper then we first believed,

that knowledge is a blue naiveté

which with a measured quantity of insight

imagined that the Mystery has structure.

We now suspect that what we claim is space

and glassy clarity around Aniara’s hull

is spirit, everlasting and impalpable,

that we have strayed in spiritual seas.

Sight: The flash of bright blue in a pitch black room, screens so broken no one else can read them. The way neon looks when it rains. The instant fear the fortunate feel when meeting the mechanical for the first time. Sound: It clicks, clicks, clacks in the middle of the night, the motion and sound so frequent it marks the start of a day and the end of a night, so steady who needs a clock? Click click clack. The sound of innovation, of constant movement, of death. Taste: Iron and metal and the burn of it all, old pieces and new combined. Old and new and bright and dark and bitter like coffee overbrewed. You cough and red stains your mouth. Iron and metal and the burn of it all. Touch: Smooth and cold and crisp like water from Olympus. Hard to hold and harder to remember, but they are nothing but water and winter made real. Thought: Find. Work, Adjust. Find. Change. Solve the problem. Find. Adjust. Test. Test again. Adjust. Test. Try. Adjust. Change.

[judesbelligoal]

https://www.tumblr.com/judesbelligoal/754936497749311488/httpswwwtumblrcomjudesbelligoal7549345199104?source=share

I think it’s less so his physicality and more so his mentality. Obviously, he’s older, he’s not 25 anymore, he’s not gonna play the same. But I was watching f1 (I watch a lot of racing) and there’s a racer named Lewis Hamilton who hasn’t been quite well on the grid for quite some time now. Thing is Lewis has been world champion 7 times now and he’s a fantastic driver. Well these past two Grand Prixes, he’s done really good, he came 3rd place 2 Grand Prixes ago and he came 4th place this past weekend (his car was literally destroyed so it’s amazing that he came 4th with it). The smile on his face was so wide these past two weekends and lots of us were talking about how it’s less of the fact that he’s older, but more so that he lost his confidence after losing the championship in 2021 (I swear that broke something in him). For reference, he’s the same age as Ronaldo.

Anyway, what I mean is, yes CR7 is old (for an athlete). But I think similarly to Lewis Hamilton, the main problem is that he hasn’t had a win in so long and he’s losing his confidence in himself. I think both him and Neymar have this problem. The human body is very resilient, if they try, they can do it. But MINDSET is what is getting them.

Yes Ronaldo is egotistical so you might think I’m bullshitting about this. But even then, he could still lose confidence in himself over time. These past few years are the first time I’ve ever seen CR7 look nervous on a pitch. And that penalty? Literally Ronaldo’s specialty? He looks like he’s lacking belief in himself. And if he could get ONE goal for himself, he’d feel better, I swear it.

That’s the real difference between Messi and Ronaldo. They’re both older, they both do not play like they once did. But Messi believes he can do it. Ronaldo doesn’t believe In himself anymore.

I actually think you’re right yk. Even way before he took that penalty you could tell his head was not in the game, he missed a lot of chances and nothing seemed to really work. Lack of confidence in his game makes so much sense

[helloimjennsco]

Change of Pace

Chapter 1: A savior comes from out the skies in answer to their pleas

—————

Queen Anne’s Revenge needed a new drummer.

Jack had stormed out in a huff three months ago after another in a long line of screaming matches with Izzy over not overpowering the guitars and hadn’t returned. Izzy insisted he’d come crawling back eventually, but Ed had his doubts. Fang was doing a bang up job as a temporary stand in at their latest gigs, but Ed could tell from the way he looked over at his guitar case at practice with a longing sigh that they couldn’t go on like this for much longer.

After exhausting their network and coming up empty, even Izzy agreed that it was time to do what they never expected a band of their stature to ever have to do again—they booked a local venue for the day and held open tryouts.

It went about as well as they expected, which was badly. The usual suspects turned out in droves—teenage metalheads with passion and the beginnings of skill who weren’t quite there yet; aging rockers aiming to recapture their glory days by dusting off their rusty rhythm skills. There’d been a few promising options: a tattooed 25-year old with blue hair and solid skills, but a pop-punk background. A solemn, middle-aged Latina woman who kept incredible time but played too softly. But with only an hour left, Ed was about ready to call it. They’d tried.

He’d stepped back in from a smoke break and heard Izzy’s voice, sharp with irritation, punctuated by a softer, higher pitched voice that sounded confused at first before shifting to match Izzy’s tone. He rounded the corner for a closer look.

Izzy stood with his back to him, hands on his hips before the last man Ed would have ever expected to turn up at an open audition for a metal band. The man was tall, blond, and good-looking, dressed in the slim cut jeans and and polo shirt of an off-duty dad. His immaculate Vans high tops and the well-worn drumsticks clutched in his fist, however, suggested he knew exactly what he was here for. Ed stepped forward, clearing his throat, and both men’s eyes snapped over to him.

“What’s going on, Iz?” Ed asked.

Fang & Ivan had left around 15 minutes ago when it didn’t look like anyone else was coming, but he regretted sending them home now—would have been nice to have some backup, judging from the ‘get a load of this fucking guy’ look Izzy just shot him.

“THIS guy says he’s here to tryout for drums. And as I already explained to him,” Izzy said, glaring back at the now affronted-looking blond man, “tryouts are now closed. So piss off, you’re too late.”

“The flyers said tryouts ended at six,” the man pouted. Adorable, Ed thought.

“Izzy, c’mon,” Ed sighed. “The flyers did say six, and he’s already here. Don’t be a dick.”

Ed turned to look back at the blond man, whose eyes now glowed with the hope of a golden retriever staring down a snack. “I’m Ed,” he said, extending a hand. “What’s your name?”

The man smiled at him, wide and dazzling, and took Ed’s hand in his impossibly soft one for a solid handshake. “Hi, I’m Stede.”

“Steve?”

“Er, no, STEDE, actually. With a D.” The apologetic set to his mouth now suggested that this was something he had to say a lot.

“My bad, man,” said Ed with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Stede. You been drumming long?”

Stede’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Only a few years, but I’ve had a lot of time on my hands since the divorce. Plenty of time to practice when the kids are at their mother’s.”

Ed ignored the swoop of disappointment in his gut that attended Stede’s words and hitched his smile up higher in response. “Well, I’m excited to see what you have to show us today. You like metal, then?”

Stede looked thoughtful. “Not at first, admittedly. But I found out fairly quickly that it’s the most fun to play, so I’ve been broadening my horizons a bit more lately.” Izzy scoffed from behind him—Ed ignored him.

“That’s fine,” said Ed pointedly. “S’not a requirement.”

Stede looked a little embarrassed nevertheless, twisting his drumsticks nervously in his hands. “I know I don’t exactly look the part,” he said softly, “but I really do love playing. I’d like to play with you and your band, if you’ll have me. It’s…always been a dream of mine.”

“You and every other boring middle-aged fuck we’ve seen today,” Izzy grumbled, not quite low enough for it to count as ‘under his breath.’ Ed shot him a glare and he held up his hands in mocking surrender before crossing them in a huff. Ed turned back to Stede.

“I’d love to see you play,” said Ed, clapping him warmly on the shoulder. He was surprisingly solid under that dorky, but expensive-feeling polo shirt. Ed settled into the chair by the sound booth and gestures for Stede to climb the stairs to the stage and sit behind the drum kit.

“What song are you playing?” Ed asked. “I’ll queue it up.” Izzy sidled up next to him, opening his mouth to speak before—

“Painkiller by Judas Priest, please.”

The words died on Izzy’s lips, his sneer dropping into a look of pure shock before shifting into indignation. “There’s no fucking way you can play that fucking song,” Izzy snarled.

“I assure you I can,” Stede sniffed primly.

“Bold choice there, mate,” Ed said, hiding his surprise only a little better than Izzy had. “Excited to hear what you do with it.” Ed found the track and hit play. And then Stede…well, there was no other word for it.

He transformed.

His charming, affable face went steely with focused resolve and, for the first time since his arrival, he went completely still. He launched into the famously difficult drum intro with furious precision—

—and absolutely fucking nailed it.

Ed’s jaw dropped. Out of the corner of his eye, he was dimly aware of Izzy doing the same. But he wasn’t watching Izzy. He was watching a hot, blond, rich suburbanite-looking dad named Stede play the absolute shit out of the drums.

Stede didn’t miss a single beat for the entire six minutes. His brow furrowed with concentration, swaying his entire body with feeling, making it all look effortless. He even scaled back the volume during the guitar solos—it was exactly what they needed from Jack and never got. When he finished the blistering closing drum solo, he exhaled, long and low, and flashed Ed his charmingly lopsided grin once more.

“So?” He asked, pleased but anxious. “What did you think?”

Ed didn’t even look at Izzy before replying—“You’re in.”

“But—“ Izzy started.

“I’ll text you the rehearsal schedule.”

Stede’s smiled, another wide, sunny number that made Ed’s mouth go dry. “I suppose you’ll need my number for that, hey?”

Oh, now that was a look, wasn’t it? Ed felt a glimmer of hope return to him.

Ed met Stede’s glittering hazel eyes with a knowing smirk. “Suppose I will.”

—————

This was originally a twitfic that I then posted to AO3 because Twitter is sinking into the sea. Now I’m posting it here as well! Come say hi, I’m metavenhorst on AO3 and Twitter.

P.S. there’s also an excellent podfic of the first two chapters by @lindie-kninjaknitter !!

[aaalanasblog]

Journal Entry #1:

I have no idea what life is right now. I feel like when you hit 23-26, you begin to wonder what you’re even doing for real. You’re really a toddler-adult. Like I’ve only been here for three days??

I was affected by layoffs in 2023 and wasn’t able to find something else to keep my income stable during that time. It was frustrating having my income drop ✨drastically✨. But during the same year, I found newfound confidence in achieving my dream of becoming a pop artist?

I long let the dream go because I felt that I maybe was too weird; too ugly; too overweight; too anxious; too poor. I had auditioned for a few music variety shows in elementary, middle, and high school, and nothing ever stuck. So I just assumed that maybe it wasn’t fated?

But now at 25, I realize that I was made for this. It truly runs in the family, and now it’s my turn to decide between choosing my dream that’s a bit unconventional vs choosing stability. It’s been 7 months and I’m still choosing my dreams no matter how low my bank account gets; how frustrated I feel when I don’t pass auditions. It’s all building me up to become better.

The ideas I have? The talent I have? The work ethic I’ve gained? The maturity I’ve gained? It all needed to happen in this order I think. I want a long, successful, multi-faceted career. Little me wouldn’t be able to handle it at all. I’ve gained community through an academy I attended to learn dance that inspires me to keep going; I’ve done some in-person auditions to expose myself to higher-pressure situations so I can learn to ground myself; I’m learning and training myself at home to ensure my skills only grow, not plateau; I am actively making sacrifices so I can be better all-around. I have no choice but to succeed.

I’m just hoping that an entertainment company believes in me as much as I believe in myself. I recently submitted 2 auditions to companies that I truly see myself thriving in and believe I may be a good fit for based on their vision of disrupting the global music market (they are kpop company adjacent!). I didn’t choose them lightly. I even created a PDF to pitch myself with a letter and all. I wanted them to see that I’m serious about this. It’s not a quarter-life crisis; I’m not trying to prove “I still got it”. I want them to see that I want to make entertaining my full-time, long-term career. I want to inspire people with my story and with my life. There are so many people who give up on their dreams because of current reality, and I want to be an example that they don’t have to do so.

Being an entertainer, to me, is a huge job of service. You’re serving society and offering yourself to inspire others and facilitate conversation; to add to culture. It’s a beautiful thing that I don’t take lightly.

Anywho…lol I’ve rambled a lot. Idk why I even said all this here. I don’t think anyone who I’ve sent an audition to will see it. Did I say all this for the plot? lmao.

I just hope I’m able to at least do a training test run. It’s a gamble to accept a 25 year old. I just want a chance to prove myself and to show that I can truly do great things. Bring my vision to life. Idk.

Well I guess that’s all for now! Bye 🫶🏽

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Daughter of the Rain and Snow

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7 @ethereal-maia @cartoon-clifford @origami-butterfly @lady-a-stuff

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's violence, blood, torture, threats, murder, death, and reference to loss of a sibling.

Chapter 36 - Jesper

It was still thus far unclear as to why Kaz had brought Jesper along on this job. They followed Anika upstairs to a locked, windowless room. It was almost pitch black once they’d closed the door behind them, until Kaz twisted on the gas lamp on the wall. A low, yellowish light leaked over the space to reveal a boy he guessed was about 20 crouching in the far corner. He was gagged and shackled to the table, dried blood marked patterns across his face and hands as well as down his neck, and there were bruises blooming on his right cheek. Kaz’s shark-like glare fell on him, cold and unyielding, and after a minute the boy’s harsh expression faltered. Kaz nodded at Anika, and she stepped forward to remove the boy’s gag.

“You know who I am?” asked Kaz

The boy nodded.

“Good. I’m afraid our introductions are only half complete so please, enlighten me,”

Silence. Kaz hit his cane against the table leg the boy was shackled to and he flinched.

“I asked you a question. Who are you?”

“Filip Boseman,”

“I see. And do you know anything about a gang called the Dime Lions, Filip Boseman?”

“N-no. I swear,”

Kaz bent down so they were eye to eye.

“I think you’re lying to me, Filip,” his voice had taken on that low, dangerous edge, “And I don’t take kindly to liars. My friend Jesper here can tell you that first hand. He can also-” Kaz stood up, “- drive the iron filings I’m about to give him so deep into your flesh that you’ll feel them scratch your bones,”

“I can what?” hissed Jesper, catching Kaz’s arm.

Kaz shook him off. His eyes had darkened, his jaw tightened.

“There are two ways we can do this, Filip. You can tell me the truth now, or Jesper can make a start. He’ll do it nice and slow. And I’m afraid I should warn you, Filip, I have other friends with other… interesting specialties,” Kaz smiled like a snake about to bite, “If you die without telling me the truth, I can send a message to dear Miss Nina Zenik so she can wake you up and we can start all over again. So tell me, is Alby Rollins working with the Dime Lions?”

Filip was shaking. He’d pressed himself as far away from Kaz as he could, which was about two more inches that he had been before, nestled in the very corner of the room.

“I don’t know no Alby Rollins,” he said, “And I don’t know the Dime Lions neither,”

Jesper had to admit, he didn’t think Alby would go for the Dime Lions. After Pekka fled the city in the aftermath of Kuwei’s auction, the gang had all but completely collapsed in on itself. It was an almost literary fall from grace; so used to the protection the fear of Pekka had given them that they weren’t prepared to fight off every Barrel rat who blamed them for getting the other gangs involved with the Stadwatch and Van Eck. With the plague shutting down most of their businesses and every thug who spied their tattoo deciding it was a good place of taking out his anger, the scrap of them that made it through had little territory or pride to keep protecting. They were still kicking around of course, the gangs never really disappeared, and ten years later hatred and anger had turned to a general dislike or prejudice of the gang, but they were no force to be reckoned with. But maybe Kaz thought that Alby was here to try reversing that.

Kaz sighed with disappointment, shaking his head.

“Well, at least let the record say I tried,” he dropped a heavy brown paper bag into Jesper’s hand, “Go on,”

Jesper could feel the shape of the filings through the bag, like thick dust - almost mobile enough to clamber over each other in their clamour for attention. He stared at Kaz.

“What-?”

The shark’s eyes cut him off.

“Let’s start over, shall we?”

Kaz grabbed Filip by the collar and forced him to his feet, slamming him against the wall before taking a couple of steps in retreat. Anika fidgeted with her knife in the corner of Jesper’s eye.

“I know that Alby Rollins paid you to come into my club and start a fight,” he spat, “and I know that he told someone on your team to bring a bomb with them, whether he told you or not. And I know that this was done to ruin my business and distract me for long enough that Rollins would have time to murder my wife. What I want is for you to tell me something that I don’t fucking know yet,”

“Kaz-”

“And let me make something very clear to you, Filip Boseman, there are no rules of play here. I can do whatever I like. And I will. Because I don’t care what you did or didn’t know, you were part of a plot to kill my wife and if you think for one second that I won’t tear you limb from limb for that then you need to think again,”

“Kaz, please,” said Jesper, “Inej is okay-”

“Is she?” snarled Kaz, “Is she okay? Or is she tied to a sickbed tending two stab wounds? Survival doesn’t equal okay,”

“Kaz-”

But he’d already turned back to Filip and grabbed him again, a punch landing on the boy’s stomach.

“Where’s the ledger you took from my office?”

“I don’t…”

Kaz hit him again.

“Where is it?”

“We didn’t take anything,”

“Don’t lie to me,”

“We didn’t take anything, I swear. He just wanted us to rough it up-”

“So you did speak to Rollins? See, now, was that so hard?” Kaz released him and turned away, looking at Anika when he said: “You searched him?”

She nodded.

“No ledger, just a few weapons,”

“What about the others? Did you search the corpses?”

“Rotty did. But the body men haven’t been yet, I can double check,”

“Get on it,”

Anika vanished. Jesper felt suffocated. The little room was overwhelmed with the coppery scent of blood, and the weight of the iron filings felt disproportionate in his hands. Kaz wasn’t really expecting him to do this, was he?

“Who put the note in my office? The toy crow?”

“I don’t-”

“Filip, if you tell me you don’t know one more time I’m going to make party garlands out of your innards. Where did you get the crow?”

“He gave it to us, told us what to do with it,”

“Alby?”

“He didn’t give us a name, I swear,”

Kaz’s fist met Filip’s gut and the boy groaned, trying to double over but held in place by Kaz’s iron grip.

“Why did you agree to the job?”

“Money was good,”

“No. You said you know who I am. Nothing that little skiv could afford is enough to convince anyone to move on me. Even someone as idiotic as you. What did he offer you?”

Filip shook his head. Kaz hit him again, but still he did not reply. Grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him closer, Kaz leaned into Filip as he hissed:

“Not feeling talkative? Let’s circle back to that one later, shall we? Let’s go back to the note,”

He slammed Filip’s head against the wall.

“Did you read it?”

“Read what?” the boy asked, as if he weren’t clearly choking on blood

“The note Alby had you leave on my desk, with the toy crow. Did you read it?”

“No,”

“What did it say?”

“I don’t know,”

“Curiosity didn’t get the better of you? There wasn’t one moment where you wondered why he was sending you here, and decided to look?”

“I… really, I didn’t-”

“Did you know that you were helping him hurt Inej? Did. You read. The note?”

Kaz accented each word with a punch, before pulling an oyster-shucking knife from his sleeve and holding it up to Filip’s face.

“Think very carefully about your next answer,”

“I read it,” Filip gasped as the blade sliced into his cheek, “I read it, but I didn’t know who she was, I thought-”

“I don’t care what you thought,” Kaz snapped, pressing the blade deeper into Filip’s flesh, “You knew that you were a distraction for an attempted murder, you knew what he was doing,”

This interrogation was derailing very quickly. Jesper wasn’t even sure the information they were getting was relevant to anything, but he wasn’t going to be the idiot who interrupted Dirtyhands. There was a word for people who did that, and the word was “dead”.

“Yes,”

“And you went through with it. You knew what you were doing and you know who I am, but you were stupid enough to go through with that? Look around you, Filip. I want to say you’re the last one standing, but I think we both know if I let go of you right now you’d collapse. This was never going to end well, was it? So why agree?”

“Money-”

“Don’t tell me the money was good. You can’t spend his money if you’re dead. You don’t get into shit like this without a personal stake, so tell me what he has on you - actually, no, I don’t care what he has on you. Keep your secrets, they can die with you. I want to know how he found out. Why would he use you? Pathetic little squirrel trying to steal scraps from the birds’ nests,”

“He hasn’t got anything on me,”

Kaz looked almost genuinely disappointed as he stepped away from Filip. He tapped Jesper on the arm.

“Get on with it,”

“Kaz-”

“Now,”

Jesper hesitated. Kaz made a sound that was almost growling, then pulled Jesper across the room and shoved a piece of paper into his free hand.

“Read it. Then get on with job,”

Jesper couldn’t imagine there was anything much on this bit of paper that would convince him to start torturing a boy with a bag of iron filings. Jesper was wrong.

Pretty lynx, lonely wraith, unhappy little Inej Ghafa. Cursed to flap around her cage forever, but this time who holds the key?

Fly as fast as you can, Brekker. You won’t reach her in time.

He gave the note back to Kaz and marched to the corner of the room where Filip was cowering. Kaz undid the shackles and shoved the boy into a chair, tied his arms in place on the rests, then grabbed his hair to pull his head backwards. Jesper spread a clump of iron filings across his palm and held them out between him and Filip.

“Why did you agree to the job?” asked Kaz.

Filip attempted to shake his head. Jesper laid some of the filings across the boy’s forearm. If he did this slowly enough, they might not actually reach the point of real torture. He hoped they wouldn’t. Jesper would go to the ends of the earth for Inej if he had to, but this didn’t really feel like doing it for Inej. He very much doubted Inej knew it was happening. It felt like doing it for Kaz, and Jesper wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Why did you agree to the job?” he repeated.

“I told you, the money-”

Jesper sighed. He pressed two fingers over his hand and took the movement downwards. He wasn’t actually breaking the skin yet but the filings crawled eagerly across Filip’s flesh, and Jesper could feel them getting hotter as he encourage every particle to shake a little faster. Filip gasped, panic surging through him as he thrashed against his bonds.

“Why did you agree to the job?”

“Please…”

Jesper flexed his fingers and sent a row of metal chasing up Filip’s sleeve. It spread up his neck like a spider, reaching up to grab at him and pull him into murky depths.

“Answer the question,”

With a sharp tug of his index finger, Jesper broke the skin on Filip’s forearm. Just barely.

“We owed you,” he gasped, real fear in his voice now, “All of us. He gave us the chance to get back at you,”

Jesper faltered. Filip sighed with relief as the heat subsided for a moment, before Jesper’s focus returned and the filings began to quiver once again.

“Explain,” said Kaz, impatiently.

“We all- we all had reason to go after you,” said Filip, “He told us you’d pay,”

“I see,” said Kaz, in a calm tone Jesper’s fight or flight mechanism was trained to respond to, “And what exactly was your reason, Filip?”

Filip was silent for a moment, and after a brief hesitation Jesper drove a couple of filings a touch deeper into his arm. Kaz was going to kill the boy anyway, he told himself, so you might as well get the information out of him first.

“You killed my sister,” he gasped, eyes widening from the pain, “I bet you don’t even remember her,”

Kaz shrugged.

“Well let’s see… Boseman… Boseman… oh, I think I do remember your sister. Emmeline Boseman, yes?”

“Yes,” spat Filip, through gritted teeth.

“What story did she spin you, Filip? I’m quite intrigued. Because I seem to remember her bringing a gun into neutral territory and wracking up quite a body count before I put her down,”

“No,” said Filip, “She was innocent,”

“There’s no such thing as innocence, not in Ketterdam. This city feeds on pain. The only way to survive it is offer someone else up to the feast,”

A moment passed.

“Still, I think I have all I need from you for now. I’m sure we’ll see each other soon,”

Kaz signalled for Jesper to relax the filings, which he did, then tipped the chair Filip was tied to so he fell to the floor with a sickening shudder.

“Sleep well,”

Kaz opened the door and called for Anika, who appeared in moments.

“You said the body men haven’t been yet. Where are the corpses?”

“Out back. Why?”

“Bring the bomber in, find a chair to tie him to,”

Anika stared at him.

“What…?”

“Go,”

She went.

“Jesper, let’s move,”

He nodded, moving to follow Kaz into the corridor. Behind him, Filip spat blood onto the floor.

“I hope your wife dies from that stab wound,”

Jesper shook his head.

“Just had to push it, didn’t you mate?”

Kaz walked back across the room and knelt down in front of Filip’s quivering form, calm and slow.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I hope your wife dies,” Filip spat, “And I hope it’s painful,”

Kaz took Filip’s chin in his hand, directing him so he couldn’t quite see the other hand lifting his cane.

“And I hope,” he murmured, “that you’ll give your sister my regards,”

The cane struck true. There was the sound of a skull breaking, blood spurting across the wall, a body thumping against the floor. Then silence.

Kaz stood up and brushed his gloved hands down his jacket.

“Send word to Nina,” he said, walking back to Jesper and the door, “I have a job for her,”