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celestie0 · 3 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.11 i feel so high school

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 11/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.1k

a/n. hi friends! omg this chapter took me forever to finish even though i had 90% of it done for sooooo long. i just had a lot of self doubt for it :'') i have said this before n i'll say it again my mind is a prison smhhh. ANYWAYS i had the song "so high school" off of taylor swift's ttpd album (sped up ver.) on BLAST while writing this chap so if you wanna experience what i experienced while i wrote this chapter i highly recommend listening to it too lol it's pretty much this chapter's anthem hahah. hope you enjoy and i'll see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or errors im sorry im just a girl

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☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon, sun beating down on your skin from where you walk on sidewalk that's damp from sprinkler spray, although you’re not sure as to why, because the path leading to the host house is adorned with artificial turf all around that glitters with a wetness it didn’t need. The weather is getting hotter these days, and seemed to have flipped suddenly from gloomy overcast into full blown spring-time heat that has a thin layer of sweat sheening over your skin. Thank God for Mina, who convinced you to switch out of the jeans you were planning to wear in favor of something shorter and lighter, otherwise you would’ve been toasted. Although her true desire was for you to just “wear something cuter”, like the thin slip dress you’ve got on right now.

The smell of barbeque smoke fills the air, and you see Mina in your periphery put a hand over her stomach.

“God, I’m so hungry,” she says as you two continue to walk up the sidewalk. Plastic pink flamingos line up on dirt, like arrowheads leading you towards suburban paradise. When there’s loud boombox music playing openly into the air, and sounds of people whoo!!-ing to pair, you know you’re close by.

There’s a guy standing at the white picket fence entrance that leads into the backyard court, and he’s super familiar in the face. You recognize him as that guy you shared a couple shots of tequila with at that SAE party a while back, but his name fails to come to memory. He’s checking people’s phones and letting them in.

“Hey, Mina,” he greets her with familiarity, likely since Mina’s been to more SAE events than you have, given her and Todo are inseparable these days. His eyes flicker to you, widened and he greets you by name too, and now you feel awful that you don’t remember his. But he’s got one of those tacky corporate My name is… stickers plastered across his chest with the name Ryota scribbled across it, along with a drawing of a penis in a different colored marker, which you can only assume someone else drew on there and Ryota was simply Too Lazy To Care.

He scans Mina’s phone first and then moves to scan yours, but not without letting out a huh noise and then you’re asking him what?

“Oh, nothing,” he says, “it’s just, in my four years of pledging for SAE I don’t think I’ve ever seen Satoru actually use one of his plus ones.”

You blink at him, feeling a twinge of heat in your cheeks. You’re dying to know more info about that, but he reaches over behind the fence gate to release the lock and then he opens it, gesturing for the two of you to head inside before he’s helping the people behind you.

The backyard is huge, it’s own concrete jungle with a tile-parameterized pool off to the left equipped with a jacuzzi in the corner, and only a couple of insane people choose to sit in that hot water while most of the rest are relaxing in the pool. Off to the right is the barbeque grill space, with SAE frat brothers distanced at stations as they yell things to one another like Hey, where’s the medium rare steak I asked for a half hour ago?!?!? and it’s fookin’ raw!!! like they’re on an episode of Hell’s Kitchen, but there’s a growing line of people standing eager with paper plates in their hands ready for lunch, so maybe the pressure was indeed on.

Your eyes take in more as you step inside. There’s fake sandy gravel arranged near the pool over plastic tarps, which you’re assuming are stretched across for easy clean-up, and it doesn’t take you long to realize that this was a tropical-themed barbeque event. A makeshift bar is tucked over in the back at the outdoor kitchen counter, some beachside-mimicking establishment with seashells hanging and surfboards leaning as the guy shaking drinks has blackout shades on and is entirely too engrossed in his role. They’ve even got a little corner over where the concrete meets brick seating in a little closed off garden where there’s a projector screen set up and people are screaming, controllers in hand, while making enemies over a game of mario kart.

You and Mina walk by two guys talking, a conversation that goes like—

frat bro 1: imma take your mom’s virginity bro

frat bro 2: she’s not a virgin bro. she gave birth to me

frat bro 1: but bro. you don’t know that.

frat bro 2: …..you’re right bro…..i don’t….bro……..

–and then you hear Mina say “I’m already losing brain cells here.”

“Hey!!” you hear a familiar voice yell, your head turning in the direction of it, and you see Geto storming across the hot concrete towards the pool and he loses one of his flip flops in the process then steps barefoot on painful fake sandy gravel and he cusses under his breath before hopping over to the aqua-colored tile surrounding the water. “NO FOOD IN THE POOL!!! C’mon guys, how many times do I have to say it?!?!”

You take a few cautious steps towards him because he looks like he’s on edge, well, literally, he’s balancing on the pool’s edge, but when he makes eye contact with you he looks pleasantly surprised.

“Oh! Hey, y/n,” he approaches you, “and Mina. It’s nice you guys came.”

You give a little wave and Mina does too.

“I think Satoru’s somewhere out back getting supplies,” he tells you with a point over his shoulder and he deftly ducks his head under when he sees a pool ball flying his way in his periphery before it falls to your feet. You pick it up and throw it back to the outstretched arms in the water.

“Oh, thanks,” you respond. “How’s it going? You look stressed.”

He sighs and you see he’s got a lot more hair falling over his forehead than what usually escapes his tight bun. “It’s going–...fine. Our social chair has been out this past week so I’ve been in charge of making sure things go smoothly today.”

“Ohhh,” you and Mina acknowledge in unison.

You get some weird spidey sense, perhaps it’s your keen way of just knowing, or maybe you and him are cosmically connected by now, but you can just sense that Gojo’s near. You raise yourself a little on your tiptoes to peer past Geto’s shoulder, and sure enough, you see Gojo approaching with boxes of stuff in his arms. Geto becomes aware of your line of sight, and then he’s turning around to face him too.

“Hey,” he says, “why’re you carrying a box of condoms?”

“Huh?” Gojo says with a tilt of his head before he looks down at the stuff he's piled up, “oh, I dunno, Hide said he needed ‘em for something. But it’s Hide, so it’s definitely not for sex.”

There’s another man that lightly jogs up to Gojo, and you notice he’s got barbeque grease stains all over the front of his shirt and on his cheek too, as well as a cafeteria lunch lady hair net over his head. “Oh awesome, thanks man, needed these.” He takes the box of condoms from the top of the pile in Gojo’s arms, “we ran out of gloves.”

“Ohhh,” Geto says, with a few slow nods of understanding, before the realization flashes across his face, “........WAIT, WHAT?”

There’s some absurd conversation that breaks out between Hide and Geto, and then a loud thud startles you when Gojo drops everything he was carrying to approach you. You take in the entirety of his appearance– black shorts that hem at the rounds of his knees, a loose sleeveless shirt that shows off the flexed muscles of his arms a little too fucking much for your sanity’s sake, and he’s got his hair peaking out underneath a snapback he’s pulled on over his head. He looks so insanely fratty and douchey and the way he’s got his arms spread open as he gets into your space with that where my hug at? look on his face before he dips his head down to kiss you has you shoving him away by a palm pushing under his chin until now he’s just staring up at blue sky.

“Um, excuse you,” you say, “why are you greeting me like you’re my man.”

He groans and grabs your wrist to pull your hand away from his chin. “For fucks sake, let me be your man. We’re already dating in my head anyway.”

There’s another guy that approaches the group forming here, and he crouches down to open up the cardboard boxes Gojo abandoned on the floor. “Who the fuck was responsible for defrosting these hot dogs?! They’re solid as rock!!”

Geto sighs, rubbing an exhausted hand across his face. “Oh, uh, Mina, y/n, this is Hide, and this is Sota,” he gestures to the two of them, “our other two housemates.”

The four of you exchange pleasantries and then Todo suddenly comes up behind Gojo, slinging his arm around him, before grabbing Mina’s hand from afar and placing a wet, sloppy kiss to the back of it.

“My lady,” he says, retreating his arm from Gojo to fully step into Mina’s space, “shall we?”

She looks at you in courtesy, and you nod in approval, and then the two skip off together towards the pool. There’s shouting from the barbeque station and Hide and Sota make haste to get over there to put out a grill fire that their neglect was most likely the cause of.

“Um, where’s the restroom?” you ask, turning your head around to look. You just now notice there’s a pool house stretching across most of the courtyard with floor to ceiling sliding glass doors, past the arch that connects the main house to the garage.

“You can try the one downstairs in the house,” Geto says, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, I wouldn’t,” Gojo interjects, “unless you wanna be traumatized by the sight of a girl swallowing Choso whole while he’s seated on the toilet.”

Your nose curls up so high you can see it between your eyes. “No thanks,” you say.

Gojo grabs your hand, and he’s tugging you across the concrete. You’re still in sensory overload over all the stimuli around you, but your head is vaguely registering the fact that people are staring at you. Some with curiosity, others with studying eyes, some turned away, some turned towards, yet eyes still watching and you remember Ryota’s words from earlier about the history of Gojo’s never-used invites. The attention is a little nerve-wracking, but Gojo squeezes your hand twice as if he knows what you’re thinking right now, and the gesture puts you at ease. It’s been a week since the embarrassing and frightening intervention you had with Kai last week, and it’s sad to say, but Gojo and the other guys on the soccer team that helped you out that night are pretty much the only men you feel truly comfortable around right now.

Gojo walks you to the pool house, and he points towards the inside to where the restroom is, and you thank him before hurrying in. You didn’t even need to pee, it’s just become some weird ritual for you to check in with yourself in front of a bathroom mirror at social events as you needlessly fix barely smudged mascara and smooth down the fabric of your clothing.

Just have fun, is what you tell yourself in the mirror. There’s a sad sinking feeling underneath your rib cage when you realize you’re graduating in less than two months. Going to classes, doing assignments, having coffee dates with friends, organizing stuff for clubs, going to social events, just being an undergrad student who has all the fear in the world and no care for it, all the little things that have become a part of your life and have given you purpose, it’s all going to be gone soon, and you’ll have to fill the time and space with new things that give you purpose. Things that you want to carry with you into your adult life. Your actual adult life. Out in the “real world”, or whatever. And while the thought is scary, you also remind yourself that you’ve still got time left to just enjoy your college experience for what it is. You take some deep breaths, of which somehow make you a little more nervous than before, but it’s fine. You swallow the feeling.

Gojo’s still standing outside the pool house where you left him, except he’s leaned back against the exterior and talking to a few of his frat brothers.

“Hi,” you approach, sparing a small smile to the people he’s talking to just to be polite, but you’re not interested in any introduction. Your finger pokes Gojo’s elbow, and he leans himself off the wall, says some words of see ya around to the group and then he’s grabbing your hand again to lead you towards a different area of the backyard. The makeshift beachside bar.

He greets the guy behind the bartop with a solid grab of his hand and then he leans over the counter on one elbow, eyes on you. “Want something to drink?” he asks.

Your eyes squint to take in the writing scribbled across the blackboard hung up behind the counter. “Oh, no way,” you say when you realize the drinks are named after the players on the soccer team, albeit with cheeky twists on their names, all in anticipation of tomorrow’s win.

There’s a grin on Gojo’s face, “you should get mine.”

“What is yours?” you ask.

“Uh, I actually have no clue,” he confesses as he scratches his cheek and glances at the bartender, and now you’re both just waiting for an answer.

The guy pushes his blackout shades up his nose, and his skin is tan like he really did just come here from the beach. “Somethin’ like a blue lagoon, sweetheart. Blended,” he says, and you realize he’s most definitely too old to be a college student.

“Oh god,” you say, “is it gonna give me a brain freeze.”

The bartender gives you a nod to humor you but mixes it up for you anyway, then slides the drink across to you. It's chilly in your hand but it’s a welcome feeling under the heat of the sun.

“Hey!! You guys,” Mina approaches with Todo tugged along by the hand, and her hair and clothes are soaking wet. “Can you count which one of us can hold our breath underwater the longest?? Please??”

You see Gojo reach behind the bar counter for a chilled long neck beer that he cracks open with the edge of the counter. “Sure,” he says, “You’d probably win, though. Better lung capacity. Todo’s been vaping since he learned how to spell. So, for, like, three years now.”

You can tell Todo’s already had a few drinks with the way he saunters over to Gojo, then slaps his back so harshly that it has him choking on the gulp of beer he just took.

“What the fuck–” Gojo sputters.

“Satoru here is going to be best man at our wedding someday, babe,” Todo slurs, “since he brought the two of us together.”

Gojo wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, all me,” he affirms and you roll your eyes, “I’m like that one angel with the love arrows. I forget the name.”

“Anteros,” you joke.

“Yes, that.”

“N-No–...cupid. It’s cupid.”

“Oh?”

“My lady,” Todo slurs as he approaches Mina, “shall we go for another swim?”

You watch as Todo doesn’t even give her time to respond before he’s throwing her back into the pool, and you flinch as droplets of water from the splash threaten to graze you. You turn back to the bar counter and sip your drink through your straw, then look at Gojo who’s just staring at you.

“What?” you ask once you take your lips off the straw.

“Nothing. It looks like they’re having fun,” he says, peering off into the pool.

You glance over your shoulder at the water, “that’s true. I’m gonna be honest, it’s an odd match, but surprisingly it works. Like beauty and the beast.”

“What would we be?” he asks.

“Lady and the tramp.”

“Okay. I would find that insulting…….but I actually really like that movie so it’s fine.”

“Mm,” you smile at him mid sip, already halfway done with your drink with the prospect of brain freeze on the horizon.

He’s grabbing your hand again, and you realize this entire afternoon might just be him taking you wherever he wants you while you essentially turn your brain off. But those eyes are on you again, peering ones that are intrigued by the way Gojo doesn’t seem to want to leave your side all day, like he’s usually everywhere else all at once, and was until you showed up, and now you’ve got all his attention and apparently that was some anomaly.

People seem to want to say hi to him wherever he goes, or catch up with him about something or the other for conversations they’ve seemingly put pins in, you’ve noticed most guys that had no shame in eyeing you when you first walked in are now too scared to even look at you now that you’re in his presence, and perhaps the most jarring observation of yours is how many girls are just shamelessly and borderline seductively staring at him despite the fact that he’s in your presence.

He stops suddenly to turn around and face you, and you almost crash right into him.

“Wanna go inside?” he asks as he holds a hand above his eyes for shade, “the sun’s kinda harsh out here.”

“Oh no,” you comment sarcastically, eyes flicking up to the snapback he was wearing, “if only you had something on your head that could block the sun.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “if only.” And then he’s grabbing your hand again to lead you back to what you realize is the poolhouse.

But then the two of you are stopped by a group of guys and girls, and suddenly, you realize that there are also a lot of eyes on you that are jealous.

“Hey, do you guys wanna join us? We’re about to play power hour by the pool,” one of the guys says, gaze on Gojo before it drifts slowly to you in inclusion.

There’s a girl standing next to him with her eyes flitting back and forth between you and Gojo before she gives you one look down your form, and then glances off towards the pool with disinterest. You blink at her, not proud of the assumptive what’s her problem? thought that flashes through your head but, seriously, what’s her fucking problem?

She’s twirling her hair and blinking up at Gojo before he finally responds to his frat brother with— “Oh, uh, nah. We’re good.” Like he wouldn’t trade two minutes alone with you on a couch tucked away inside the pool house with minimal decency for any amount of winning-at-public-drinking-game glory.

And that’s exactly where he leads you. A couch, tucked away inside the pool house, with minimal decency. He sets his bottle of beer down on the small table by the arm rest before he slumps down onto the couch, sunk in with hardly any give to the cushions, and he’s manspread to the moon as per usual as he pulls you to him with his hand holding your fingers until you’re standing in between his legs. Your knees bend to press into the sofa, and he lifts your hand into the air, holding it curled like you’re a lady in the mid eighteenth century and he’s about to kiss the back of your hand, except he’s just holding it that way to guide you into your seat. A more suitable action, at least. Modern and sleazy.

Your right knee is first to press into the cushion next to his thigh, and then your left knee follows until you’re hovered above him in a straddle. Then he settles you into the warmth of his lap with an urging hand on the small of your back, and you’re akin to the way he slides you up to above his groin once you’re sat.

“You don’t want to get in the water?” he asks as his hand finds the bare skin of your thigh to caress while the other still lingers low on your back.

You can’t help but smooth your hands down his chest, and you swear he looks like he’s been made light headed by the action. “No. I didn’t know there was a pool here. Didn’t dress for the occasion.”

His eyes flick down to watch his own hand slide up your thigh until the fabric of your dress falls over his knuckles. You look down too, and maybe you’re vain for it but you’re a little obsessed with the way you look sitting in his lap.

He seems to share the sentiment, considering he’s still hooked on the sight when he speaks. “The occasion of getting wet?”

“Mhm.”

Now he looks at you. “Weeeell sometimes you’ve gotta get a little wet to have a good time.”

“What are you getting at?” You place your hands on top of his shoulders and feel the rise of the blades when he shrugs.

“Just some philosophy for ya. General wisdom. Tenets of life.”

“Ooo, big words there, did you learn them yesterday?”

“Don’t be sassy with me. It’ll get you into trouble.”

He brings his bottle of beer to his lips, loosely held in his hand with his head facing off to the side slightly so he can still maintain eye contact with you as he tips it back. Your eyes are immediately on his lips and fixated on the way his jaw is slack almost lazily, barely enough to let the amber liquid enter his mouth.

His brow raises at how attentive you are to the sight, and he tips the bottle your way with a want some? look on his face, and in the beat too long that you take to answer, he’s already settled the cold glass rim on your bottom lip, a drop of bitter coating your tongue. Your chin tips up in silent permission for him to give you a decent swig of it, and the eye contact you give him as you take it is something sultry that makes him swallow hard, which you witness in the roll of the muscles of his neck. A droplet makes its way down your chin, and his thumb swipes it off for you, then he presses his thumb to your lips for you to lick.

Listen, he’s hot enough when you’re sober, but with drink in your veins, you’re worried you might fuck him hard enough not even your birth control could save you from what you’d coax from him. Alcohol is a hell of a drug, but so is his undivided attention.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask with a tremble in your voice when you feel his hands slide to hold your hips and his eyes look cloudy with something you can’t discern.

“You. I’m thinking about you. Duh.”

“But what about me?”

“Whatever the song just said.”

“I don’t even know this song.”

“You’d be a pretty bad stripper, then.”

Your skin feels seared inside out from how his eyes seem to undress you, and it doesn’t help that he’s way too hot blooded underneath you, running warm against your body’s attempts to keep its cool.

He slides you back a little, to where you’re not sitting right over his crotch anymore.

You hold a tiny twist of your hair between your forefinger and your thumb to distract from his intense eye contact, in favor of inspecting for split ends. “Can I ask you something?” you say.

“Anything.”

“What was the bet?”

“Huh?”

Your eyes flicker to his briefly, just for the duration that you speak. “You mentioned that the reason you messaged me those couple of months ago,” you start, “was because you lost some bet with Todo, and you had to help him get with Mina after that. What was the bet?”

“Just some stupid fantasy football thing,” he says. You tilt your head at him and briefly consider feigning interest in fantasy football, but you’re not that down bad. “I’m really glad though,” he continues, “since I got to meet you because of it.” Then he’s drinking from the bottle again. This time, you grab it from him once he’s done to consume some for yourself.

“What did you think of me when you first saw me?” you ask, the questions like an impulse you can’t control, and you swipe a drop of beer from your chin with the back of your hand.

He takes the bottle from your hand once you’re done swapping spit on it then sets it down on the table again, and there’s a moment of surprise on his face when he registers it’s a lot lighter than when you took it from him. And then his thumbs are back to rubbing those dizzying circles on your hips through the taut fabric of your dress, touch grazing up the curve of your waist when he feels like it. “Cute,” he says, first and foremost, “sorta wide-eyed and a little lost. Not the type to put casual sex on the table in the way that I thought you would.”

“That’s a little insulting.”

His brow furrows for a moment before he sighs. “Your head’s a very pretty yet very strange thing.”

“Do I not seem promiscuous?” you ask, not even sure why you’re offended by it, “I can be–” you catch the slurring of your words, “I can be chill, and the type to have casual sex. No strings attached girl. I could be that if I wanted to.”

“Maybe,” he says, a slight tilt to his head as he looks at you with something you’d describe as adoration, “but not for me.” And then suddenly his features turn sharp again. “Oh, and not for any other guy, either.”

You roll your eyes at his latter statement and ignore it. “But wasn’t that what you wanted from the beginning,” you say with a hic and a finger lightly grazing down his chest which he tucks his chin to watch, and you clarify when you realize you’ve lost him, “Casual.”

He senses you’re playing a game now, of cat and mouse, or just-tell-me-what-I-wanna-hear-already.

“At the beginning, sure. But not so much anymore.” And he ends it there.

You raise an eyebrow.

He sighs. “I need you to know that I’m not great with words.”

“Neither am I,” you say, just to feel similar to him somehow.

“I disagree,” he states, like he sees right through it, and he leans away from you to lay back, hands leaving your hips to set his elbows up on the couch, open for proper conversation all of a sudden. “You’re good with words.”

You pinch the fabric of his shirt in a fidget, and raise an eyebrow at him in question.

“I don’t know,” he tries to elaborate, “you just know what you want and you ask for it. I don’t always know what I want from people, so I hardly ask for much.”

You release your grip of his shirt. He sulks about it. “I can recall you asking me to call you daddy once. Weirdo.”

“Wow. I open up to you and then you kink shame me.”

You giggle a little, because he’s funny sometimes, and he’s showing you his appreciation for the sound of your laughter in the air by giving you a playful pinch to the plush of your thigh.

“Sorry,” you drawl, “it was on my mind. Because of–” you point to the ceiling, “because of what the song just said.”

He laughs. “You’re not into it though? The– uh, you know what I mean.” Evading the word like he’s preserving propriety for now.

“I don’t hate it for other people…not really trying to yuck anyone’s yum here, but my, um, my real dad’s not around anymore so it’s just a little,” you pause, feeling awkward, “weird for me I think.”

“Oh,” his brow furrows, like he’s glad he preserved that propriety from earlier, “my bad. If it’s any consolation, I was half joking.”

“Half is good enough for me,” you tell him, in a voice a little higher pitched than your usual, and you hold his face still by the jaw before leaning forward on foreign instinct to kiss him but you stop yourself right before you do. Eyes on your lips now, he leans forward to seal what you teased but you’re only stopping him as well by the heel of your hand pressed to his sternum.

He remains close though, gaze still fixated on the light tuck of your bottom lip under your front teeth, and when his eyes flicker up to yours again, they’re wild and dark.

“I like this weird thing we’re doing,” he exhales, sorta husky, “where you won’t let me kiss you. It’s hot.”

“Ok,” you say, with a small shrug as you push him away until he’s leaned all the way back onto the couch again, “I’ll keep it up forever then.”

He can’t help the groan that leaves him as he tips his head back in agony. “I’d die. I’d literally fucking die.”

You roll your eyes at the drama. “Isn’t this nice though? No kissing means more talking.”

“Yes, because talking is exactly what I wanna be doing with you while you’re sitting in my lap.”

Your shoulders drop in a bit of a sulk, and his eyes soften at the sight.

“I do,” he starts as he leans forward before pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, dangerously close to breaking rules, but he needed to kiss your pout away somehow, “really love talking to you, though.”

You can’t think of anything clever to retort with, so you wear your heart on your sleeve. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m pretty sure I could recite everything you’ve ever said to me off the top of my head, and that’s given the fact I’ve got the memory of a goldfish on any good day, so,” he says as he tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. It’s a messy tuck, one you have to fix yourself anyway, and when your fingers brush against his from the redundant movement, he holds your hand, “but yeah, sure, I’m just saying it.”

He pulls your hand from where it’s near your ear, and interlocks his fingers with yours in that intimate way that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s the texture of his callouses against the back of your hand, rough on his fingertips yet soothing over your skin, and it reminds you of when he held your hand in that hotel room. From the look in his eyes, you can tell he’s thinking of it too.

The memory is intense, and it has you shifting your weight a little in his lap, until you accidentally rub your panties right over his crotch and a soft gasp leaves your lips when you realize that he’s hard underneath you.

The motion gets a groan out of him as he tilts his head back and his hands grip tight on your hips to keep you there.

“Hey. No. I didn’t mean to do that. Don’t get aroused,” you squeak out. The ribbed expanse of his neck as he’s leaned back makes you want to kiss him at the taut skin, right near the vein that’s tense down from behind his ear to his collarbone.

He tips his head back down to level his gaze with yours. “It’s way too late for that.”

You struggle a little against his grip, and the sensation of his erection held snug against your clothed heat sends a pleasureful ache to your lower tummy. “Y-You’re just gonna suffer, then.”

“Yes. Which is a pattern with you. But I kinda like it.”

“Mm. Your head’s a very strange thing.”

“My head? Baby, my head hasn’t done any of the thinking since I saw you in this dress.”

You feel like you’re on fire. “You’re such a whore today.”

“Can’t a dude just chill on a couch with the girl he likes. Jesus.”

You know he's said it already, so it's no secret, but him calling you the girl he likes makes your head spin hazy in a way you wish it wouldn't. Because half of your heart is telling you it's the bare minimum you'd want, while the other half is telling you it's all you'll ever need to hear from him for the rest of your life.

He’s bouncing one of his legs up and down in relief of some of the self restraint he’s exercising right now, and it’s making you sway a little in his lap while he admires you.

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs with a shake of his head, like it’s torture for him in the best way possible, and then his nose nuzzles under your jaw, right where you sprayed your perfume. You shiver when he presses a kiss there. “Pretty girl.”

You lightly push his shoulder with the heel of your palm so that he pulls away to look at you, and a few shy flutters of your eyes tell him people might see us, to which his eyes say don’t care as he tilts his hips up towards yours.

Most guys would match the tempo of the music with a slow grind like this, but of course he makes his own. One he settles you into with guiding hands on your hips, the way he wants it. One that makes your hand shoot out to grip his shoulder for purchase when your hips start to move on their own from the feeling of him hard and hot and excited underneath you, until he's got you unsure of whose idea this was in the first place.

“Fuck,” he exhales with a slack jaw, all air and no tone, when you rock your hips forward and he leans back on the couch as he starts to grind up against you as well, firm and flush, and you’re satisfied by the loss of his composure.

You’re sure you’re nothing but sopping, unadulterated wet between your legs, and if the fabric over his crotch was any shade of black lighter, he’d be able to see the mess you’re making on him. It’s a shame. Or maybe you’re glad he’s unaware. Unless—

“I can feel how wet you are,” he tells you, sounding like he’s out of breath from the sensation alone as his finger hooks the hem of your dress up just enough to eye the sight of where you’re sat on him, “if you’re gonna play hard to get, you’ve gotta learn to control your arousal a bit better than this.”

“Oh,” you squeak out, his words having the opposite effect, and you squirm when you say, “y–...you’re one to talk.”

“I’m not trying to hide how much I want you right now,” he says, and he proves it by holding your clothed arousal flush against his heavy erection to where you can feel it twitch with need underneath layers of impossibly taut fabric, and he caves into a harsh jut of his hips upwards, bumping against your clit and when you gasp then lean into his chest with your chin tipping up to the ceiling, he kisses your neck where your hair is stuck to the sweat at your nape.

It's true, if actions could speak, his say I wanna fuck you senseless right now. And the way you can practically feel his cock ache as he’s rolling his hips up into you tells you he's about two seconds of resolve away from fucking you senseless right now. But he also knows that it's a game, and for a moment you forgot how good he is at winning those things.

You halt movement for a second, and his fingers press into the plush of your ass to get you to keep going with it, but you don’t. “What are we doing. Dry humping on a couch like we're high schoolers.”

He makes a point to teasingly poke you under your ribcage, and you flinch then swat his hand away. "Just seeing how far you'll let me take you without letting me kiss you."

"What if all the way?"

"All the way without getting to kiss you? I couldn't even imagine that." He pauses in thought. "No, wait, yes I can." He pauses in thought again. "Holy fuck, can we?"

"Do yourself a favor and stop thinking."

He purses his lips in a pout, his leg that’s been bouncing up and down picking up in vigor, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s genuinely starting to lose his sanity, or if it’s because he wants to see your tits jiggle with the motion, but maybe the latter since he dips his head down to kiss right above the neckline of your dress, where the softness of your breast starts. It’s a light kiss, more of a brush of his lips, and he breathes in the scent of your skin like it’s a drug. “How do you always smell so nice?” he mumbles against you, “drives me insane.”

His palm smooths up the side of your waist before he tucks his thumb under your breast while his other fingers wrap your ribcage, and his teeth catch the lace of your dress to tug down, revealing more of your soft sweat slicked skin and his gaze flicks up to meet yours in teasing eye contact.

God, just one touch between your thighs would reveal how flush your panties are stuck to your pussy by the embarrassing amount of arousal, entirely disproportionate to the minimal amount of obscenity it took from him to get you there. And the lewd sight of him tugging at the neckline of your dress with his canines makes you wonder if his teeth would be enough to peel the soaked and skin-flush cloth of your panties off of you, or if his hands would have to get involved.

Like he reads your mind, his other hand comes between your thighs and he brushes two of his fingers over your clothed clit, light pressure placed like he’s just playing with you, yet it’s somehow enough to where your hand shoots out to grab his forearm with nails digging into his skin.

His teeth release the lace of your neckline when you writhe in his hold and he moves his lips to your ear. “Too much?” he murmurs.

“Mm,” you hum, hard to think when he’s drawing circles over you now and you can feel the wetness dripping out of you. His middle finger slides to the place where it soaks your panties, prodding slightly, the only thing keeping him from fingering you right now being the flimsy cotton fabric.

There’s a brief silence around you as music abruptly stops, lasting for maybe three seconds before it resumes, like someone was fumbling to change the song out in the courtyard, and it’s barely sobering enough for you to remember that the two of you are still in potential eyesights of other people and your cheeks flush as you pull his hand out from between your thighs.

"Are—” you gasp a little, “are you excited for tomorrow?" you ask in an aim to distract as you guide his hand back to your waist.

"Huh?" he huffs, tearing his eyes away from your cleavage to look at your face, his features twisting into confusion and some sort of frustration too. Sexual, most likely. His leg is bouncing again.

You blink at him, alcohol from earlier starting to get to your head. "The big game tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah, very," he mindlessly kisses your cheek, "excited."

"You know," you start, arms sliding past his shoulders and loosely locking behind his neck so you can lean off to the side in a dizziness that he keeps you from falling from by both hands holding onto your waist, “I used to–" you can't even finish your sentence without preemptively giggling because you can already imagine how he'll react, "I used to play soccer when I was younger. When I was a young one. In my youth.”

He scoffs in disbelief, and he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek with some boyish interest in his eyes and you can tell he thinks you’re just fucking with him. “Yeaahhh right.”

You, and the alcohol, tell him, “No really, I did!!”

You think you’ve lost balance when you fall more to the side than you intended, but then you realize he’s just shifting you to lay on your back and now he’s hovering over you on the couch. His toned arms frame the sight you’re looking up at as you blink slowly to admire his face, and then your wrists that are still crossed behind his neck are tugging down because you need him a little closer.

He comes down onto one elbow, sunk into the cushion for leverage, and his other forearm slides under your waist. The fabric of your dress has fallen to your hips to expose the skin of your thigh as you press it against the side of his hip.

“Alright. What position did you play then?”

Fuck. In fairness, you would’ve remembered all things better if the ethanol wasn’t metabolizing in your veins.

“I was,” you look past him to the ceiling briefly, “the…fielder.”

“The fielder?”

“Something like that.”

“Uh, like a midfielder?”

“No, no, not mid,” you pout with a shake of your head, “above average.”

He snorts. “I don’t think you’ve played a single day in your life.”

“I did,” it comes off as a bit of a whine, because you’re frustrated he doesn’t believe you, “I remember once in a middle school match I was playing defense and this girl elbowed me in the boob and I called her a bitch and the referee told me I couldn’t play for the rest of the game. So I called him a bitch too.”

His grin is wide like he’s proud of you for it. “Atta girllll,” he drawls, a curl to his tongue to fight the slur of his own words, and he lifts your butt up with one cupped hand underneath it until your hips are pressed against his again, and you loosely wrap your legs around him, too enveloped with delirium to care about anything else anymore. He resists the urge of rutting his hips into yours for the better part of half a second. You stifle your moan with a purse of your lips.

“I’m. A little bit.” You say between a hiccup.

“A little bit what?”

“Little bit tipsy.”

“From what? The beer?”

Another hic. “I think so.”

“You’re so cute it’s honestly killing me.”

You bring your hands up to hold his face, one thumb caressing his cheek, and he lowers his head down to rest his forehead against yours, then you’re both looking into each other's eyes for what feels like forever. Your pinky can feel his pulse thrumming fast under his jaw, his eyes so soft and sweet and serene you didn’t even know it was possible for anyone to look at you with that much adoration. Like you’re the only thing that matters.

Your head tilts up, a few flutters of your lashes as you lick your lips and succeed in drawing his gaze to them when he realizes you’re finally giving him the permission. You tuck your bottom lip under your front teeth, suddenly shy in anticipation, and his thumb pulls it out from under and presses into the softness of it, and both of your chests are rising in slow rhythm with one another when he finally dips his head down to–

“Yo! Satoru,” a loud voice calls out in interruption from the glass sliding doors of the pool house. You turn your head towards the source and feel Gojo’s hand possessively pull the fabric of your dress up your thigh to preserve your modesty. You see one of his frat brothers standing in the frame holding up a pair of metal tongs, clacking them in the air to get his attention. “It’s your turn to grill, man.”

You turn your head from his frat brother back to Gojo and watch as he blinks blankly off into the distance, the two of you clearly pulled out of the feverish trance you were just relishing in, and then you see Gojo wave a dismissive hand in the air as if to say yeah, yeah, okay, gimme a sec which is somehow convincing enough to get his frat brother to head back to the barbecue stand.

Gojo snakes his arm around your waist and lifts you up with him, sitting and sinking back into the cushion of the couch and you wobble a little from the dizziness of suddenly being upright as he pulls you into his lap again. His eyes are darting across the features of your face while he has a small tug of a pout to his lips.

“Okay. Well. It seems I have to feed the masses, so.”

“So?” you prod him to finish.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Then go.”

“I will,” he says.

You try your best to hide the sulk that weighs on your shoulders, because you don’t want him to go, and when you study his face, you notice his expression relaxes a little and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards slightly into some sort of smirk. Like he’s caught on that you’re still on the edge of what could’ve been a kiss, and he’s satisfied that you’re the one craving it now.

You dislike the loss of power over him, and you roll your hips once over his crotch to find that he’s still hard underneath you and he sucks a harsh breath through his teeth before a low growl leaves his lips, and then he’s softly glaring at you.

“Maybe meditate,” you say to him, “for the boner to go away.”

He snorts, and you blush when you realize it’s because you made it sound more like an infomercial rather than something sexy and minxy and alluring like you were going for, but he still kisses your cheek regardless before he slides you off of him. And you realize you almost like these chaste kisses more than anything else. “It’s fine,” he says, “like I said, I’ve gotten used to it with you.”

His words make you briefly wonder how many boners you’ve given him, and then you realize you’d really rather not know. Although it would probably be strangely endearing to know. But still. For some reason. You’d really rather not know. Or maybe you would?…Now you feel like you’re the one that needs to meditate.

He gets up off the couch with an exhale of a grunt leaving him, the couch adjusting so harshly to his lack of body weight that the springs bounce you up and down once or twice from the motion, and you’re sitting on your heels from where you look up at him, seemingly still as a statue like you’re not going anywhere.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Come get some food, yeah?”

“Mhm. In a sec.”

He hesitates for a second like he wants to ask a question, or maybe multiple, but he just lightly shrugs, gaze lingering on you for a short second before he turns on his heel to head out of the pool house and out towards the barbecue station. The second he’s far away enough for you, you let out the almost crestfallen sigh you were holding in before plopping down onto your back onto the cushions.

And here you were, laying on a couch staring up at the pool house ceiling, occupying yourself with the study of a dusty cobweb across the wooden pillar high into the structure, so you don't have to think about the way you've been left high and dry. Why do people say high and dry? If anything, you’re high and soaked. Well, you suppose for men it’d be high and dry. But the phrase should be bisexual at the very least. Er– unisex? …gender inclusive?

You realize you’re still a little tipsy.

Gojo's words from earlier linger, "Weeeell sometimes you’ve gotta get a little wet to have a good time." Okay, well, you would’ve chosen pool wet instead of left-here-an-aroused-mess wet if you had any clue what your options were beforehand.

Your head lifts up off the cushions until you're seated straight, tilting your head side to side as you peer off into the courtyard, still a little dizzy from the buzz, and you grab Gojo's now flat abandoned beer to finish the rest of it off in one fell swoop before you stand up and head towards the courtyard.

You stop in the broad door frame of sliding glass doors of the pool house, arms crossing as you take in the sight of people all around you. Holding their breath underwater, sprawled on lawn chairs while eating hot dogs, oaky smoke slightly fogging and burning the clarity of your vision as your eyes settle over at the barbeque station. Plastic tablecloths cling to white fold-out tables with custom print for SAE and UTOKYO's D1 SOCCER publicity arranged in amateur graphic design fashion, and you see Gojo standing at the grill flipping the meat he was making work to cook. There's a line developing, and you realize it's lunch time. Hide's taking special orders at the line, chatting up some girls who you're pretty sure you've seen in sorority Instagram pages, and you watch as Hide throws a pointing thumb behind him towards Gojo, and then a trio of those girls split from the line to make their way over to him at the grill.

You squint your eyes to focus your vision, and you realize one of the girls is the one from earlier that was looking you up and down and sideways before batting her eyelashes at Gojo when you were standing right next to him.

The trio exchange a brief word to one another before that girl taps on Gojo's shoulder. Whatever conversation he was having with one of his frat brothers is interrupted when he turns to look at her. You see that signature clueless "huh?" look on his face, and she's pointing at the grill. Oh, special instructions, you can practically hear the thought that flashes through his head, but you feel uneasy. When there's music this loud, and you want a guy to lean in closer to you, then you talk real quiet, right? It’s a trick as old as time. And that's exactly what happens in front of you, when he leans down because he can't hear her purposefully hushed words, and then the girl wastes no time in wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down towards her and—

Your heart drops to the ground at the same time your mouth falls open when you see her kiss him, glossy lips sickeningly sweetly pressed against his mouth, and the pure hurt that spreads through you is fully sobering to say the least.

Shock is the only expression you can see on his face from here, and he's quick to pull away, but god, it was still tough as hell to witness. His lips read "what the fuck?" as he confronts the action, before his gaze immediately darts towards the poolhouse and he makes eye contact with you, panicked worry written all over his face, and you roll your eyes before storming off across the courtyard towards the main house. There are eyes on you paired with hushed whispers of gossip but you just can’t bring yourself to care with the way your stomach feels like it’s been flipped upside down like you’re about to straight up puke right now, and you barely register bumping your shoulder into Geto and Nanami before they call out your name behind you with a few words of concern, and then you hear Gojo’s voice calling out to you too, but you continue to hurriedly push on until you disappear into the main house, around the corner, down a slim hallway, and barely make it into a tiny little walk-in coat closet when you feel a warm hand wrap around your wrist.

"Hey– y/n, wait—" you hear Gojo desperately stutter behind you, stopping you. You turn on your heel to face him, and you see he’s breathing heavy, brows tightly furrowed, mouth slightly open from the way he was raggedly exhaling in the clear sheer panic rushing through his veins only proven by the guilty look on his face, but there's only the image of another girl's lips on his still present in your memory. It's not the first time you've seen him kiss someone else, but after all this time and everything that’s happened since then, this felt so much worse. If there was one thing about jealousy, it's that it’s enough to make all feelings you have for someone surface in a way that's so overbearingly powerful, so insanely potent and borderline physically debilitating that it makes you feel sick to the stomach, and that's why there's a prick of tears in your eyes when you make eye contact with him. It's a primal, possessive thing ringing in your head when you look at him that just screams mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. You can be pissed off all you want later, but right now you need to get the sensation of another woman’s lips off of him.

Your fists ball the fabric of his shirt, and you pull him to you so hard the momentum has your back slamming into the surface behind you and you kiss him, hard, it's messy, honestly you could've chipped a tooth if he hadn’t braced his hands on the wall behind you before his lips crash onto yours, and his surprise only lasts a hesitant second before he's hungrily kissing you back.

There's just the sound of the two of you exhaling together in feverish unison with the kiss as his hands are quick to cup under your ass and he lifts you up, pressing your clothed heat flush to the front of his groin as his hips pin yours to the wall. Your arms wrap around his neck, skin tickled by the short hair at his undercut, and the moan that escapes you when you wrap your legs around him and feel his bulge pressed against the thin cotton of your panties is muffled by him in harmony with his groan, pure expressions of all the pent-up arousal felt in the way he kisses you like he’s worried it’s the last chance he’ll ever get.

His teeth nip at your bottom lip, and you gasp before he deepens the kiss, but the prickle of tears in the corners of your eyes when you shut them tight makes you pull away from the kiss completely.

You’re both panting heavily, looking at each other in close proximity under the dark lighting of the closet. You wrap your arms around his neck a little tighter, and you’re not sure if you want his lips on you again or if you don’t want to see him for an entire week. His eyes are dark, low, and set on your lips, which you’re sure are puffed and glossy and look like nothing but pure sex to him right now, and he leans in to kiss you again but you turn your face away from him at the last second and his lips make contact with your cheek instead. He’s confused for a moment, kiss limp as he looks at the side of your face in his periphery before pulling away slightly, and the second kiss he places on your cheek is softer, intentional, an apology, a sorry, a guilt-ridden affection like he knows you’re hurt and it’s killing him. You feel the plush of your cheek squish up to your cheekbone from the gesture, and the feeling has you blinking away tears for some reason.

“Let-...” you say, catching your breath and tucking your chin under when his lips graze your temple, then your hand pushes him away weakly by his shoulder. “Satoru, let me down.”

An expression of hurt flashes across his face before his palms hesitantly slide down the underside of your thighs until you’re gently eased back onto your feet and you tuck your disheveled hair behind your ears, to gain poise, before you blink a few times then look up at him with so much uncertainty.

“I don’t know–” he starts, already sounding flustered with panic, “what the fuck happened back there, I don’t even know who that was. I wasn’t trying to– I didn’t– it wasn’t— “

You could finish his sentences for him in your head, but you just watch him trip over his own words. You suppose the fact he was so desperate to vindicate himself to you right now was the only thing keeping you sane from the realization of a truth you’ve been evading this whole time, which was that if you were to date Gojo, you’d constantly be competing for the right to be by his side. Luckily enough, the two of you were graduating soon from all the fraternity & sorority space, but even then, you realize that no matter where he goes, he will always have pretty women that look at him, and want him, and want to be with him, without any regard for anything besides the pure desire to have him, whether he’s taken or not. He’s going to be a pro soccer player someday, with millions of fans, and although he’s never done anything to make you doubt he’d be loyal to you, there’s just no way you could escape the sinking feeling in your chest that tells you you’ll never be the best thing. There will always be a better best thing, and you’ll only have his attention for so long before he finds it.

“I’m,” you choke out, feeling rawness in your throat that makes it difficult to speak, “I’m not feeling well, I’m just gonna go—”

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to him, harsh, your head thwacking against his chest as he wraps his arms around you and you can physically feel your heart ache at the familiarity of his scent surrounding you.

“I’m sorry. I…I won’t let that happen again. I’ll never talk to another girl ever again. I won’t look at another girl again. Hell, I won’t even exist around other girls ever again, uh, I’ll wear an invisible cloak, a hazmat suit, change my identity, move to a different country, in fact, I don’t even know what other girls are, no clue, seriously. I just—fuck, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say right now, I’m just— I’m just so sorry.”

You purse your lips together, unsure of how you went from being on the verge of tears two seconds ago to trying to stifle laughter from how stupid he sounds, but you wrap your arms around his waist as he continues to spew utter nonsense as he commits to an almost maniacal and impossible level of fidelity to you. Here he was, manwhore of the school, tripping over his words to confess undying loyalty to you like you’re domesticating some wild beast no one��s ever dreamed of conquering from natural habitat.

“I just want—” you hear him rambling, the rumbling of his words felt on your cheek as you press it against his chest. He wraps his arms around you tighter, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “I just want you.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and you feel a single tear drip from your eyelashes and soak through the cotton of his shirt, tiny enough to where he doesn’t notice, and you shove your face further into his chest so it stays that way. You wonder if one day you’ll be able to truly believe his words. And you curse yourself for not being brave enough to.

You two stand in an embrace for a solid ten seconds before the knot in your throat is loose enough to speak.

“It’s not your fault,” you muffle into his chest, “she kissed you out of nowhere. The bitch.”

You feel him stiffen a little in surprise over your profanity. “Damn. Didn’t believe you when you said you called that girl who elbowed you in the boob at a soccer game a bitch when you were younger, but I kinda believe you now.”

“It’s my favorite cuss word.”

“I can see that. You’re free to call me a bitch any time, by the way.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re stupid.”

He tucks your head under his chin in a nuzzle, and you count every beat of his heart. “Are you mad at me?”

You give serious thought to his question. “Mm. No. I’m mad at the girl who kissed you.”

When he only hums above you, you pull your head away and look up at him.

“Seriously. It’s not right. And you’re allowed to be angry about it too,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow at you and tilts his head.

“She’s a random person who kissed you out of nowhere, like you’re just some piece of meat to toy with. It’s wrong. You’re a human being, not an object to lust over.”

His eyes widen slightly, and your heart sinks a little when you see he’s confused and trying to genuinely process your words, like it’s something no one’s ever told him before. Like it’s happened in the past too, and he was never taught to believe that it was wrong, just because he’s attractive and popular, like that somehow meant he’s just supposed to take all the glory with no complaint or preservation of his own person.

You shift on your feet a little, releasing your hold of him and he releases his embrace of you as well, and from the way he’s darting his eyes across your face and the wall behind you and occasionally towards the ceiling, like you’ve just put some epiphany in his head that’s being processed in the brain behind his rapid blinking, you realize he probably needs a second to process what you’ve just said. You move past him but not without a comforting squeeze of his bicep in the process. There's a sound that leaves his throat, something undecipherable, like he was just filling the air with some response that’s now lost, but for the most part he just watches you leave with those same wide eyes.

You get back out into the courtyard, a slow exhale leaving you as you brace yourself for the eyes of all the onlookers, and though most of them are just curious over the girl that Gojo Satoru just chased after in front of all his frat bros and harem of sorority girls, you can’t help but feel like some of them are judging and hateful and jealous too. But anger beats out all of your emotions of worry or embarrassment, and when you see the girl that kissed him still lingering over at the barbecue station, glaring daggers at you, you match it with a glare of your own.

You walk up to her, and you see she expects you to say something, like she’s prepared for a cat fight as if it’s all she’s ever known, but instead you just calmly look over her towards the barbecue station, push past her with a harsh bump of your shoulder against hers, knocking her off balance as she gasps offendedly at your choice to ignore her, but that’s exactly what burns people like her the most. The feeling of realizing their fuckassery is insignificant and boring and not even worth the energy of reprimanding.

One of the frat bros at the grill cautiously hands you a plate of ribs.

“Um. You didn’t use condoms to serve these, right?” you ask as you take it from him.

“N-No,” he stutters, “…why? I-Is that a request?”

“No, no, no. You’re good.”

[end of chapter 11]

a/n. hiiiii thank u sm for tuning into another chapter of Edging With Plot!! 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼😍😍😍 (haha just kidding. sorta) hope you enjoyed readinggg n apologies for the wait for this chapter. honestly writing the little scene on the poolhouse couch was a lot of fun tbh i got such young puppy love vibes while writing their dialogue pls guys i think they’re fallng in loooovvee :(( sobs. lil kickoff couple sorry if the chapter ends kinda abruptly haha i am sooooo unbelievably jaded rn after four weeks of traveling i couldn’t think of any other way to end it since the last part was the only scene i had left to write lol. on that note, i will be a little mia next couple days as we’re doing the long haul stretch drive home and i’ll be driving for most of it so :’’) i won’t be able to respond to replies or asks for this chapter right away like i usually am able to but i can’t wait to interact w you all once i’m back home very soon <3 so much love from me as always!! hope you’re all taking care and having a nice summer. remember to stay hydrated :) - ellie 💕

➸ take me to chapter twelve!

additional notes. please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

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languor-em · 3 years

Note

Inscryption prompts you say?

May we receive some crumbs of angst with the prompt of Leshy arguing with the scrybes after they were turned to cards — with him believing this is the Best Possible Way to go on but they're angry and hurt and feel betrayed? Possibly leading up to the wolf and stinkbug being locked away?

OH BUT THIS IS A VERY GOOD PROMPT!!!

Here y'all go!!! Angst!!! And super spoilery so!! Be warned!!! (Also I smattered in some personal headcanons because I'm a simp and legally required to do so)

That Unwanted Animal

In which Leshy tries to forget.

"What have you done?"

To his credit, Leshy did not respond to the card's accusatory words. He simply continued to sit and carve his masks, hoping fruitlessly that the repetitive shhk sshhhk of his knife scraping against wood would drown out that familiar voice. Stave off the guilt, he supposed.

"Do you have any idea what you have done? What you have destroyed?"

A different voice, less heartbroken and far more angry.

He ignored this one, too. Instead he focused on bringing life to the Prospector's face.

"Listen to me you Stinking Beast! Stop this madness!"

He tensed in spite of himself, painful guilt clawing a festering home in his chest. But he still made no move to acknowledge the three cards flung haphazardly on his table. His hands shook- imperceptible to most aside from him and his closest friends.

Naturally, they noticed.

"At least have the decency to look at us! At what you've done!"

And as desperately as he did not want to, he did.

And there was guilt, that unwanted animal, sinking jagged fangs into the flesh of his throat.

Three cards for three companions, three friends, three Scrybes. Three times he had betrayed those closest to him.

For the greater good, he reminded himself, to preserve them in forms befitting their honor. To save them.

"It is for the best," he said matter-of-factly, looking from the cards back to his carving.

"Say that enough and maybe you will begin to actually believe it," snapped the Stunted Wolf. Leshy did not respond.

"Leshy, dearest-" it was the Stinkbug who spoke next- her sweet, shaking voice doing nothing but driving guilt's teeth further into his throat, "It is alright to be frightened, love. We are all scared. But you do not have to handle this alone! We can get through this together!"

He knew in his heart that it was going to be her who struck him the hardest, gave him the most pause. They were one in the same cycle, after all. Life and Death, connected intrinsically. But he would not allow himself to be swayed, not even by her.

They would have done the same, hissed the frightened animal in his mind, Would have caged you, locked you away to rot in dust. No, this is honorable. This is right. This is noble.

"It is for the best," he said again, his tone firm and conclusive. Though he knew, just as the others did, that he did not quite believe himself.

The room went quiet, save for the faint crackling of a dying fire and the shy return of Leshy's carving. He thought, for a moment, that that was perhaps the end of it.

"I can't believe I trusted you."

It was the Stoat who broke through the veil of silence, its voice strangely weak in comparison to it's usual cocky cadence.

"I- we thought we were safe with you. And you just..."

It trailed off, it's voice failing it for the first time in its long, long life.

"You have killed us all, Leshy," said the wolf, his voice harsh and cold, "And for what? Power? Domination?"

"To protect you all!"

His outburst surprised them all, including himself. He had stood with a strength he usually tried to keep hidden, wooden claws digging dents into his table and splintering the surface. He was positively bristling, his long tail thrashing with barely contained frustration.

How could they not see? How could they not understand? The world was ending, rotting! It would have ended them all had he not done anything about it! He had saved them! Put them in the noble bodies of beasts, for them! This was not about power, not about games, and certainly not about domination! This was about...

Absolution.

He had lost something before to that all corrupting nothing. He could not quite remember what, who- but he knew he had not been able to protect them. And that fact ate him up inside, more so than that cruel animal Guilt ever could.

"You have not seen what I have," he finally murmered, his head cast downwards, "You do not know what I now know. Believe me, this is for the best. This is the only way."

And that was the end of it. The cards' words fell on now deaf ears, the Scrybe stubbornly forcing their names and faces from his mind.

And eventually, to an extent, it worked.

He no longer knew why looking at those talking cards brought him such pain. He did not know why the blighted pit in his chest made him lock the Stunted Wolf and the Stinkbug away where he could no longer see them. And he could not remember why he couldn't bear to do the same to the Stoat.

Leshy, the once great Scrybe of Beasts, one of four, was now just a man.

A frightened, lonely man.

A man who had forgotten.

And for that, a part of him was grateful.

And for that, the whole of him regretted.

#i hope you like this one!!#i wrote it during work yesterday- so its?? not super thought out??#but i had fun!! and i hope you like it!!#i imagined this tsking place in the same timeline where my last x reader fic took place??#but that doesnt have to be the case!!!#a part of leshy regrets locking the others away and you CANT CHANGE MY MIND!!#hes just scared man #and frightened animals do desperate things #anyway!! i hope you like it!!! angst!!! whoo!!!#ron talks #ron writes #inscryption #inscryption spoilers #leshy inscryption #also all of my fic titles are song titles!!#and this ks a very good song- i suggest you listen to it!! that unwanted animal by the amazing devil!!#it has the guy who plays jeskier in the witcher!!!#anyway that is very off topic #love you all!! drink water!!! take care of yourselves!!

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depressedstressedlemonzest · 3 years

Note

I have a little prompt idea! When Mickey is in Prison and Ian tells Mandy he misses him she suggests he go visit him. Ian doesn’t think Mickey wants to see him but Mandy convinces him. Mickey is super happy and tells Ian to come back as often as he wants because seeing him brightens his day always. Lots of fluff!!!

Yes thank you for this prompt and I love you for making it nice and fluffy. Mickey in prison is always so damn depressing.

*Also I’m writing this bit as I do the flashback scene fucking crying as I do so, THIS HURTS*.

*And now writing the other dialogue from the show I’m crying again*

"Since you're not going to ask, no I haven't seen Mickey in a couple weeks, but when I talk to him on the phone he sounds alright. Well as alright as you can be in fucking prison."

Ian winced as Mandy uppercut him on screen and his character's jaw broke taking the rest of the remaining life juice he had.

He sighed, "I'm glad he's sounding alright at least. I haven't gotten any calls from him."

Mandy fixed him with a look and arched a perfectly sculpted brow, must be Milkovich genes, her eyes looking eerily like her brother's.

"Do you blame him?" She asked pointedly.

Ian felt his face heat with shame and embarrassment.

"No, I don't." he murmured softly.

"He carved your name into his chest and you haven't even visited or written in what? Months? Years?." Her voice was soft, but it was firmly attaching the weight and blame of the conversation onto him.

"It’s been....too long, I know." He said his voice full of misery as he dropped his head, his gaze falling to his lap.

He remembered Mickey's eyes, the look on his face as he hung up the phone on the other side of the glass, his eyes tearful and lip quivering.

Ian had been numb then, off of his meds, Monica's misspoken parental advice chiming in his head like a record on repeat. He had no one, Mickey was locked up, Mandy wasn't in town, Lip was in rehab. He had been alone.

Now Mandy was back, had broken up with Kenyatta and was trying to renovate the Milkovich home since she had it all to herself now, get her name made in home décor. She had recruited Ian one day when she saw him bussing tables at Patsy's and he hadn't looked back since.

One day after finding him aiming a hammer at his own hand she dragged his ass to the hospital. She wasn't as easy to evade as his sister, he had been prescribed a new cocktail of medications and they had actually helped.

Now he wasn't numb.

He felt Mandy's hand on his shoulder and he looked up. Her brows tilted up in earnest,

"You should go see him."

Read on Ao3 here

Ian's eyes widened a moment then he shook his head, "I don't think he'd want to see me. Not after what I did to him."

He felt a smack on his shoulder and he jerked his head back to Mandy whose hand was up and cocked to whack him again.

"Ian Gallagher, Mickey got locked up for your ass, the least you could do is fucking visit him. Especially since you got your meds sorted out and can think clearly now. He loves you, he may be sad or may be pissed, but that doesn't change the fact that he loves you."

Ian's lips pulled into a thin line, "Does he still love me?" he asked, his voice soft.

Mandy shrugged, "I don't know, but even if he doesn't now, he did before. You need to see him. I'll go with you because i need to see him too. But you are gonna have some private time too."

Ian knew that fighting her on this would be pointless. Like Mickey she was stubborn as fuck.

"Alright alright. When do you want to go?" he asked.

"Tomorrow, I'll call up there and put us on the visitation list." Mandy grabbed her cell off of the coffee table and tapped in a number.

As she talked with the clerk at the prison Ian could feel the nerves beginning to coil inside him.

Ian could barely sleep that night, so he had researched things that he could bring for Mickey as a care package. He had gone to the 24 hour Walmart and used his last paycheck from Patsy's and had picked up as many approved things as he could afford with it.

A bag of foam earplugs, a couple pairs of flip flops, several different magazines, a couple of paperback books, sudoku puzzles, a sketchbook and charcoal, Irish Spring soap along with some shampoo and toothpaste that he knew Mickey liked.

As he walked through the aisles he was assaulted with memories of when Mickey had been in juvie and he had visited then, religiously every chance he got. Mickey had complained about the food, about the cold, about the lack of comfort when he slept.

Ian pushed the cart to the bedding aisles, checking the prison website of approved things he grabbed a body pillow and blanket then had aimed his cart to the clothing department and grabbed some thermals and a pack of socks.

As he made his way to the grocery department he lingered by the electronics, he knew that prisoners were allowed pictures. He sighed and grabbed a photo kiosk and started picking things off of his phone to print out for him, some funny memes that Ian had saved, a picture of Mandy taking a sledgehammer to one of the walls of the Milkovich home. Ian's breath hitched when he made it to pictures of him and Mickey, trying not to cry he picked his five favorite, plus one of Ian that he knew Mickey liked, and printed that too.

Without looking at them he shoved the pictures in his pocket and continued to go to the foods. He checked the approved list and grabbed things that Mickey used to steal from Kash and Grab, laughing through tears as he put different tubes of pringles, little debbies, ice blue gatorade, and slim jims, he grabbed all the bags of mini snickers they had on the shelf, which was only four, but it counted. Then he went to grab several packs of tuna, pop tarts, chex mix, every flavor of ramen, different condiment packs, a pack of tortillas, iced honey buns, pepperoni beef sticks, and a couple boxes of water flavoring packets.

Ian carefully reviewed the icare websites care packages to make sure the brands he was buying were acceptable for inmates.

Ian made one more stop and went to the card department, surprisingly it was pretty hard to find a "I'm sorry you're in prison but I love you so much and I'm so sorry" section from Hallmark. He ended up snatching a card with a blank inside, the front having a sleeping pair of cats on it.

It was two AM when Ian made it back from Walmart, lugging all the shit he bought back home he realized he may have overdone it. But, he needed to do something to make Mickey's time locked up easier.

Once he was home he searched for a box big enough to pack everything in, finally finding one not being used for anything, and he carefully packed everything inside making sure that he was following the rules for packing it into the box. The body pillow being the only exception and he had to roll it tightly into a roll, like a sleeping bag, and then he wrapped it up in the blanket, tying it in a knot to keep them both in place. Just enough space left to fit everything else in.

He labelled all of Mickey's new belongings, his last name and inmate number written in sharpie and then painted over with clear nail polish to help keep the ink there. For each picture he flipped it over on the back and labelled them each like the website recommended.

Before taping up the box Ian went up to his room and looked before chickening out of it, grabbed his favorite shirt, and a watch he used to wear when he and Mickey first got together and labelled them and tossed them into the box on top of everything else. Taping it closed before he lost his nerve and took out the more personal things he had included.

He felt drained, exhausted he dragged himself up the stairs and crawled into bed pulling the blankets up over his head, trying to ignore the thoughts of doubt dancing in his mind.

Much more sooner than he expected Mandy was calling him telling him to get ready. He quickly took a shower and grabbed a pair of nicer jeans along with his dark colored tshirt and green button up. He hurried down the stairs and downed his meds and drank a glass of milk and ate a couple bananas as Mandy pulled up to the Gallagher house, his phone chiming to let him know she was there.

Ian hefted up the care package and walked out the front door, his steps thudding on the porch as he descended.

"What the hell Ian?" Mandy squawked as she came out of the car and opened the back door for him to put the box inside.

"I uh, wanted to bring him a care package." Ian felt his cheeks heat, and felt a flood of embarrassment at the look of pity Mandy gave him.

"Ian, you can't buy his love back." She said gently.

"I know that, I just, I wanted to make as many things easier for him as I could."

She nodded sadly and she slid back into the driver's seat of the car. Ian following behind her and going into the passenger's side.

The closer they got to the prison the harder Ian's heart pounded and the more his stomach coiled. Mandy was even picking up on his nerves, "Dammit Ian you're making me nervous calm the fuck down, it's just Mickey."

Just Mickey, just Mickey, Ian repeated the phrase in his head, but each time he did a different image of Mickey popped in his mind from over the years. Each image filling him with longing and pain, love and sadness, hope and fear.

"Finally we're fucking here." Mandy muttered as they pulled into the gravel drive where the visitors entrance was.

Once Mandy had parked Ian unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the care package from the back seat then fell into step beside Mandy.

As the gravel crunched under their feet Ian's heart beat pounded harder and harder in his chest.

"Cook County Department of Corrections, have you made prior visitation arrangements?" The officer behind the desk asked glancing at Ian and Mandy as they reached the front of the line.

"Yes, Mandy Milkovich and Ian Gallagher for Mickey Milkovich, inmate number C7215-J." Mandy rattled off.

The officer slid a clipboard to them and eyed Ian, "Is that a care package for the inmate?"

"Yes sir." Ian replied adjusting his grip on the box.

"It will need to be left here and searched before it can be given to the inmate. As long as there is nothing against regulations inside then he can have it."

Ian sighed, "Alright, well I made a list of everything in here, and I triple checked everything against the rules of acceptable things allowed, so it should be fine. Everything is also already labelled with his name and inmate number." He placed the box onto the counter as he spoke.

"Alright Sparky chill out. I didn't say you packed him a box of contraband. I'm just saying it needs checked before getting to him. If you'd like you can add money onto his commissary account that will hit by the end of the day." His voice was bored as he took the box and added it to a stack of different sized care packages behind him at the desk.

"I'll do that too." Ian nodded his head.

"Me too." Mandy added reaching for the next clipboard the officer was sliding onto the counter top.

"Alright, fill out the forms and I'll add the amounts to his account. Who is visiting first? Only one of you is allowed at a time."

"I'll go first." Mandy answered quickly, Ian shot her a look.

"Alright, both of you take a seat and when it's your turn you'll come to the door and then go through the metal detector and be searched for contraband, once it's sure you don't have any then you can go in the room to see Inmate Milkovich. When visiting you will be separated by a thick bulletproof glass, there are phones on either side to communicate with. You each have an hour of visitation before your time is up. Any questions?" The officer rattled this off in a bored tone, he probably made the same speech a hundred times a day.

Mandy and Ian shook their heads and went to sit in the waiting area.

There was only one other person there waiting to visit someone and they had a couple of kids with them. Ian flashed to the last time he was here, Yev was with him and Svet.

He sighed, Mandy looked at him, "Do you want me to tell him that you're here too?"

Ian shook his head, he didn't want Mandy to tell Mickey, just in case he couldn't bring himself to actually do it.

"Visitor for Milkovich?"

Another officer opened a door and called out reading off of a clipboard. Mandy rose from her seat and looked at Ian warily, "I'll be back Ian, remember it's just Mickey."

Ian watched as Mandy walked with the officer back into the other room . Then Ian was left alone with his racing mind and heart.

He tried to keep his mind occupied as he waited, he hadn't been allowed to bring his phone in, so he was sitting there alone with the thoughts that had plagued him all this morning, all last night, all the last couple of years, the last images of Mickey, the last conversation with Mickey playing on repeat again and again.

Mickey had looked at him with a small smile, edged with nerves, edged with fear as he approached the chair and sat grabbing the phone.

“Thanks for coming back” Mickey had said smiling, happy to see Ian even under the circumstances, his tone light but laced with trepidation.

Ian’s eyes were listless, no light, no shine, his voice an echo of his usual tone, “Yeah, Svetlana paid me.” He had said, his heart clenched knowing that saying this was a knife in both of their guts, a reminder to both of the conversation they had had right before Mickey had been arrested.

Mickey’s smile flickered, dulling, the knife landing right where Ian had pointed it. And he felt a sprinkling of regret at his words, but he didn’t take them back.

Mickey’s tongue traced the corner of his lower lip, his starlit eyes flashing in pain.

Ian looked away, he couldn’t keep looking at those eyes, he would take back everything he said before, just to hurt him again.

Mickey’s eyes searched Ian’s face, Ian could feel them like a touch through the glass.

“You look good.” Mickey’s voice rumbled in the ear piece of the crackly prison phone. Ian’s eyes looked everywhere but at Mickey’s face, looked at the crude etchings on the stainless steel tabletop, the cold tile, the dirty glass where Svetlana had left a lipstick kiss, picking up God knows what disease.

“Got a new tattoo.” Mickey’s words pulled Ian’s gaze to his face, a small upward quirk of his plump lips told Ian that that had been his intention with those words.

“Did it myself, hurt like a sonofabitch.” Mickey’s voice faded slightly as he placed the phone on it’s side on the tabletop and brought his hands up to the neck of his hideous orange jumpsuit, his white tank to reveal the rough reddened skin, dark letters etched there reading Ian Galager.

Mickey grinned at Ian as he took in the new mark, his face showing the first real signs of emotions since sitting across from Mickey. A surprised grin, eyebrows raised, then green eyes blinking in disbelief, a furrowed brow as he looked concerned at Mickey’s chest.

“It looks fucking infected.” His nose wrinkled slightly.

Mickey shrugged, “It’s hard to round up a clean needle in here.”

Ian’s eyebrows tilted, “And Gallagher is spelled with two L’s.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and his smile slipped from his face, “No it’s fuckin not.” He pulled his jumpsuit and tank down again looking at the name forever etched in his skin. Ian couldn’t help the laugh that came bubbling up through his lips as Mickey muttered a “Fuck.”

Ian tried to wipe the smile from his lips with his hand before Mickey could see it, failing, like he had been failing everything. Ian dropped his gaze back to the tabletop, he could feel Mickey’s eyes on him again, could hear the smile in his voice as he gently murmured, “Been thinkin about you.”

Ian’s eyes couldn’t stop the pull that brought them meeting the hopeful blue across from him, the soft expression, his lips parted, he wetted them, “You ever think of me?”

Ian blinked rapidly, swallowed hard, he couldn’t speak, he didn’t want to say yes and make Mickey hopeful, but he didn’t want to deny that he had and hurt his heart any more than he already had. To suppress his words he rocked back and forth a bit.

Mickey’s gaze dropped, his smile flickered, then he looked back up to Ian, “Will you wait for me?”

The words snapped Ian back to him, his eyes softened again, the smile widening slightly, “You’re here for fifteen years.” Ian could feel the words drop between them like a heavy stone. Mickey’s smile wavered for a fraction of a second.

“Well eight with overcrowding, so...” His response left the ever thin strand of hope binding them thicken.

Ian’s eyes shifted side to side, trying to think of something, anything to say.

“You tried to kill my sister.” He said lamely.

Mickey’s face twitched in a scoff, “Half sister, one.” His brows furrowed, “Two, like you give a shit, bitch had it coming for callin the fuckin MPs on you.”

Ian gave a noncommittal head tilt, he didn’t want to agree but he honestly did. He looked up at Mickey again, his brows had softened, he was looking at him again, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. Reminding Ian of years ago when they had been looking at each other between bulletproof glass, only he had been in a blue jumpsuit then, scared to smile at Ian, Ian wanting to reach out and touch Mickey through the glass.

“So will you?” Mickey’s voice, present Mickey’s voice sounding in Ian’s ear, he looked at him, “wait?” Mickey added as if to remind him of what he had been asking.

Ian’s eyes shifted side to side, an announcement over the intercom sounded, Ian didn’t hear it, all he could hear was Mickey’s words hanging in the air between them, his question, his own heart pounding, threatening to burst out of his chest and tell Mickey that yes, he would wait a lifetime for him, a thousand lifetimes, a thousand diagnoses, a thousand shards of glass in his veins, he would do anything for him.

He looked behind Mickey’s either shoulder seeing the other prisoners standing, hanging their phones up.

Mikey sniffed and shifted in his seat looking away for the first time, his middle finger stroking the outer edge of his dark brow, a flash of grief on his face for the first time, “Lie,” He stuttered a moment, before a forced smile came back onto his lips, his eyes coming back to Ian, “if you have to, eight years is a long time.”

Ian felt his face pull in sorrow before the dullness thickened itself back into place, felt his vision go slightly glazed, he looked back up at Mickey, who seemed like he was scared to hear what Ian would say.

Ian gulped, then looked down at the tabletop as he spoke, knowing that Mickey could read the lies on his face as he spoke, “Yeah,”

He looked back up, knowing deep inside that he wasn’t really lying, he just wished he was, “Yeah, I’ll wait.”

Mickey’s lips parted as if he was going to say more, inhaling sharply, the worry lines between his brows appearing, his eyes watering, threatening to roll over. Ian couldn’t bear another moment of the turmoil inside of him and he looked away, hanging up the phone as he stood from the seat and walked away. Leaving Mickey sitting on the other side of the glass, still holding the phone, his eyes dimming with realization.

“Visitor for Milkovich?”

Ian blinked rapidly, the memories fading around him and he started realizing it was his turn.

He knew that he was going to go now, he at least had to apologize for last time.

He jumped out of his seat and raised his hand, “Me, I’m here for Milkovich.”

Mandy walked out from behind the guard seeing Ian raising his hand, she smiled, “I’ll wait here.” She said nodding at the seats.

“How was he?” Ian asked, maybe he could prepare himself.

“See for yourself.” Mandy said with a nod that said ‘go on.’

Ian gulped and nodded, falling into step behind the guard as he led him out of the waiting room.

As Ian followed the guard he noticed that they passed the route he remembered last time with Svet, he could see the line of cubicles and phones through the thick windowed door they passed.

“Where are we going?” Ian asked confused, was Mickey sick? Was he in a different ward now? Was he shackled to a barred cell?

“Milkovich has earned the right for contact visitation, we’re going to that room.”

Contact visitation?

“Contact visitation? Like, we can...” Ian started not knowing where to start.

The guard didn’t answer as he opened a door, Ian stuttered in his steps as he was faced with a bright room, five round tables evenly spaced apart, inmates in blue jumpsuits sitting across from different people visiting them. Ian could see them all in different forms of touch, a hug, holding hands, a pair were even kissing.

Ian’s eyes searched until they landed on Mickey, he was sitting with his fingers slotted together hands resting on the table in front of him. His hair was a little longer than it had been last time, reminding him of a younger Mickey whose hair was always wild and spiked up. Though now it was just hanging in his eyes slightly, a few strands, a slight curl by his ears.

Ian noticed the exact moment when Mickey recognized him, he wanted to look away in fear of his reaction, but he forced himself to keep eye contact.

Mickey’s eyes blinked rapidly and his mouth pulled into a beaming smile that took up his entire face. He detangled his hands from one another and placed them flat on the table, making a move to push himself up, he hesitated a moment and looked up at the guard standing at the wall.

“Can I stand up sir?” Mickey asked looking at the guard walking with Ian and his eyes flickering to Ian, as if disbelieving he was there.

The guard stopped at the table side with Ian next to him, looking at Mickey intently, “Inmate Milkovich you have a visitor, same rules apply as they did for the last, you may stand at the beginning and end of visit, for physical contact things that are allowed are a hand shake, an embrace lasting no more than five seconds, a kiss lasting no more than two seconds. No touching of any sexual nature, that includes above the pants touches. If you violate the rules you will be reprimanded only once, then the visitation is revoked. Understood?”

The guard looked between Mickey and Ian as he rattled off the rules, Ian only able to look at Mickey, Mickey only able to look at Ian, until the guard asked if they understood.

“Yes sir.” They said in unison, Ian’s face flickered to Mickey, who met him with a matching grin.

The guard turned walking back the way he had came in with Ian.

Ian turned to Mickey, who had stood from his seat and stepped to the side of the table.

Ian’s breath caught in his chest as he took in the sight of Mickey standing there in front of him, no glass between them to separate them, no handcuffs to restrain them, nothing to keep them apart.

“You gonna stand there starin all day?” Mickey asked with a teasing grin, his eyebrows waggling.

The breath Ian had been holding came out in a whoosh and he smiled at Mickey, taking a step towards him, uncertain if Mickey would let him give him a hug, he didn’t know how it was for outed guys in prison.

Before he could brace himself Mickey had taken a step towards Ian and wrapped his arms around him tightly, squeezing what little breath he had out of him. His arms thicker and more coiled with muscles, his chest harder than before. His soft hair tickled Ian’s face and Ian inhaled deeply, underneath the smell of generic antibacterial soap, was a scent he had missed so much that it made his knees weak to smell it now.

It was Mickey.

Ian slipped his arms underneath Mickey’s and around his torso squeezing him back, matching his tight embrace. Trying to make up in this hug everything he had neglected over the last several years.

“Five seconds is up inmate.” Ian heard a gruff guard say, before the last word was spoken Mickey had released Ian from his embrace and taken a step back.

The smile on Mickey’s face lit the room more than the sun streaming in from the windows, more than the fluorescent lights, more than the plain white walls.

A couple strands of inky hair fell into his face as he nodded to the table, Ian took slid onto the cool seat, resting his hands on the table, wanting to reach for Mickey’s hands.

Mickey’s hands, his small gentle hands, waited on the other side of the table, the faded ink dark against his pale skin, his fingernails short, a few cuticles looked a bit bitten down, but they were still his hands.

Hands that had cradled Ian, had protected Ian, had pushed Ian, had held Ian.

Ian’s hands slid further onto the table, not quite crossing onto Mickey’s side of the table. Ian’s hands froze, then he looked up at Mickey, his eyes questioning.

Mickey’s smile only grew and he gave a small nod, Ian slid his hands as far as he could reach and silently he placed them over Mickey’s.

Mickey chuckled at Ian stretched fully over the table and, showing a small mercy slid his hands to where they met in the middle. Ian’s long fingers wrapped around Mickey’s and he traced his knuckles with his thumbs.

“Hi.” Ian breathed.

“Hi.” Mickey replied softly, his eyes soft, crinkling at the corners.

Ian’s eyes searched over Mickey’s face, over his neck, his chest, his shoulders, cataloguing everything to memory.

“You, got a new jumpsuit.” Ian immediately berated himself internally for such a stupid comment.

“Yeah, means I have a lower classification score, get more privileges and stuff.” Mickey shrugged.

“I like it better than the orange.” Ian mumbled, he liked the way this jumpsuit brought out Mickey’s eyes.

“Yeah me too, I’m almost at the lowest classification which would give me a green jumpsuit, once I hit that I can do some work apprenticing stuff to ‘learn a trade’ that would be good in a future career field.” Mickey shrugged the sarcasm dripping from his tone slightly.

There was a slight lull, it wasn’t awkward, just silent.

“You look good, better than good.” Ian’s voice was low and gentle.

A tinge of pink lightened Mickey’s cheeks, “Nothin to do but work out in the joint.” An echo of words long ago.

They both chuckled at the memory, then smiled, pleased that they both were taken back to that same conversation, that same night.

“How many pullups you up to now?” Ian asked teasingly.

Mickey laughed, “Dunno, fifty maybe? I don’t really keep track, I just do it til I’m bored and ready for something new. Been trying my hand at, well at yoga actually.”

Ian looked at him surprised, he lowered his voice slightly and slid a bit closer in his chair conspiratorially, “You’re doing yoga?”

Mickey looked away self consciously, “It’s a mental health thing as much as a physical health thing. Helps me relax and think about things with a clear mind, suggestion of my case manager.”

Ian nodded, “That’s good, those are both really good things Mick.” his nickname rolling off his tongue like no time had passed between them.

Mickey’s eyes met Ian’s, and his lips pulled up, “I’m, tryin. Wanna get out of here as soon as I can, and participating in shit, and making efforts to watch that helps get me brownie points. Even got into a G.E.D program.” he said with a little shrug trying to brush it off like it wasn’t a big deal, when it all was.

“I-I’m glad you’re doing those things, that’s all great, good to hear.” Ian stumbled over his words.

Mickey’s lips parted and he wetted them, “You’re lookin good too, real good.”

Ian felt his cheeks warm, “Thanks, I uh, I started to see a therapist a couple times a month and got some new meds. Been regulated on them for about nine months now.” He glanced down at the table.

“That’s great to hear man,” Mickey tilted his head down and caught Ian’s eye, “That’s real good to hear. I’ve-I’ve been wor- wonderin how that was, how you were doing.”

Mickey stumbled over his words now, making Ian feel a pang of guilt.

“Mickey, I’m sor-” He started.

Mickey’s hand slid out from under Ian’s, “No, none of that shit.” Mickey stopped him, his hand held up firmly.

“Mick, I owe you-” Ian started.

“Ian,” his name on Mickey’s lips made him stop.

He looked at Mickey, whose face was calm, “You don’t have to do that, not right now. I’m just really happy that you’re here.” His voice cracked and he sniffed, one hand reaching up and swiping at his face.

Ian sat there watching as Mickey blinked back hard until whatever dam that had threatened to break hardened again.

“Mickey, I’d like to, please?” Ian asked gently.

Mickey’s eyes looked over Ian’s face, “Stubborn mother fucker.” He muttered, a small smirk playing over his lips.

Ian turned his hands over and held them palms up, waiting for Mickey. Who after a moment reached his hands over the table, back into Ian’s grasp, looking up at him with uptilted brows.

“Mickey, I am so beyond sorry, about everything. From the last time we talked before you got arrested, from the last time I was here. I’m sorry for all of it, for not visiting...” Ian trailed off for a moment, it didn’t seem like his words were enough to wash away the sins he had committed.

Mickey gave a small shrug, “I get it, the not visiting thing, or the, the not takin my calls thing.”

Ian huffed, “I should have at least done that fuck. But comin here, knowing I’d have to leave you again. That thought killed me, knowing that I couldn’t take you home, but I should have fucking dealt with it, and I’ll do that now.”

Mickey gave a little nod of acknowledgement of what Ian had said, “I’m really glad to see you, and Mands today. Hopefully, you can both come again.”

Ian nodded, “Yeah, we will, hell I can even bring other people. Want to see Iggy? or Colin? Fuck I could bring Kev and Vee, or or Fiona or any of my siblings, and Franny! You haven’t met Franny yet.”

Mickey chuckled, “I’m surprised I haven’t seen Iggy or Colin in here yet, if they wanna show they can. Kev and Vee,” Mickey shrugged, “If they want, I know they got shit goin on more important than visiting my ass. As for your siblings, a friendly face is a friendly face. At least here I won’t be tempted to knock the smirk off of Lip’s. And who is Franny?” Mickey’s brow furrowed.

“Debbie’s daughter, she’s just a baby, close to a year, not quite walking yet. But she babbles and jabbers, little redhead.” Ian grinned.

Mickey smirked, “Another Ginger Gallagher, not sure the world can handle that.” He laughed.

Ian grinned, then his smile fell, “Before Sami showed up, on the porch...” Ian started.

Mickey opened his mouth to say something, but Ian gave his head a small shake, he wasn’t done yet, “Talking with Monica before that, before I came back, before you found me there, it got my head in a worse place than it had been already. Now that I’m on some meds I understand what she was getting at, but then it was all jumbled.”

Ian took a breath, “She was getting at that I wasn’t broken just because of my diagnosis, and that there would be people always trying to fix me, but that there would also be people that would me in spite of it. But you weren’t trying to fix me or change me,” His eyes fixed on Mickey’s, “you were just trying to keep me whole, keep me from breaking.”

Mickey’s eyes were watering, and his lips twitched in a small smile, “Wouldn’t want to change you, just wanted to keep you. Don’t love you ‘in spite’ of anything, just love you, Ian, all of you, all the versions that you are.” His voice was thick with emotion that threatened to spill over, one tear sliding down his cheek.

Ian felt his own eyes brimming with tears and he sniffed, turning his head to wipe the moisture onto his shoulder, his hands gripping Mickey’s tighter, weaving his fingers in the spaces between Mickey’s, wishing for anything that he could just wrap himself around his heart and stay nestled there forever, until he could come out, come home. He could hide there with him.

Ian detangled his hand from Mickey and tentatively reached up, glancing at the guard who wasn’t looking their way. He gingerly cradled Mickey’s face in his hand, wiping the single tear with his thumb, caressing his cheek.

Mickey’s breath shuddered and he closed his eyes a moment trying to gather all the strength he had not to launch himself into Ian’s full embrace, reminding himself on a loop in his mind that if he did he could lose this. The privilege of being able to see him without a thick panel between them, touch him in any way even if there was a time limit.

His shimmering blue eyes opened again, his lashes fluttering wetly, his eyes searching Ian’s face. Ian’s eyes flitting between Mickey’s and looking where the guard was standing, finally dropping his hand from Mickey’s face when the guard turned their way again.

Ian cleared his throat, “Brought a- brought a surprise for you, the officer at the desk said you could have it after it’s been inspected, wants to make sure I didn’t slip you a shiv or somethin.” Ian forced a laugh to surface.

Mickey grinned, “A surprise huh? Wonder what it could be...” He brought a hand to his lips and twittered his fingers there as if he were thinking hard.

“Oh it’s one of those erotic cakes, had a special mold taken and design job done on it and everything.” Ian could barely keep his face straight as he gave Mickey the fabricated response.

A burst of laughter slipped from Mickey’s lips, “Lemme guess Carrot Cake?” He teased giving Ian’s hand a squeeze.

Ian couldn’t counter his guess he was laughing so hard, Mickey joining in, their laughter making their chests tight, their sides stitch, taking them back to the way things had been.

“Inmate, your hour is up.”

Ian’s eyes opened to see a guard there at the table and his heart sank. He looked to Mickey whose pale face had lost the humor and turned into a solemn pallette.

“Yes sir.” Mickey replied, his hands loosening from Ian’s and sliding back to his lap.

“Say your farewells then you follow me.” the guard said giving Ian a nod before he went to wait at the door.

Ian looked from the guard to Mickey who was biting his lower lip.

“Can, can I see you again?” He asked, looking up at Ian, the tears brimming in his eyes threatening to spill once again.

Ian didn’t hesitate and he took two quick steps to reach Mickey and wrapped his arms around him, “I’ll never leave you again.” He breathed into Mickey’s neck, his arms squeezing Mickey tightly.

He felt Mickey snake his arms around him and felt him squeeze him hard in an echo of his embrace.

“I love you Mick.” Ian murmured, his arms constricting even tighter.

“I love you too Red.” Mickey’s thick voice sniffed as his arms squeezed his torso.

“Inmate, your five seconds are up.” The guard gruffed.

They pulled apart for a moment, then Ian lowered his head, Mickey tilting his chin up, their lips meeting, feeling like it was the first time in forever, begging through touch as if they were the only things anchoring one another to the Earth.

“Inmate your three seconds is up.”

Their lips pulled apart, and they each took a step back as not to test their luck, Ian glanced at the guard who tilted his chin up at him.

Ian looked back at Mickey, “I’ll be back on the next visiting day Mick.”

Mickey nodded, his eyes wide trying to reabsorb the tears there, “I’ll,” he struggled over the thickness of his voice, “I’ll be countin the days Gallagher.” A smile finally flitting onto his lips again.

Ian’s face pulled into a sad smile and he turned to walk towards the guard that was waiting for him, “I’ll see you soon Mickey.” he promised turning to look at him one last time before he had to leave.

Mickey’s lips pulled up, “See you soon Ian.”

The guard finally done waiting gave Ian another head jerk and led him out of the visiting room and down the winding way back to the waiting room.

Mandy had fallen asleep waiting and he gently shook her shoulder, “Let’s go Mandy.” he said softly.

Mandy stretched and rose from her chair, as they strode to the door Ian stopped at the desk and arranged the soonest visit he could, which was in a week.

He grinned as they left, his heart hurting, but knowing he would be able to see Mickey again soon.

“So how was he for you?” Mandy asked as they climbed into the car.

Ian shrugged, “Oh you know, he was just...” he trailed off a moment, “Just Mickey.” his lips pulled in a smile, and he could tell by her face, that Mandy knew what he meant.

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bittersweet--chaos · 3 years

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I'm Sorry: David Edition

It's angst time! And I'm gonna make this shit hurt. Thank you @axelthemthey for the idea for this story! I hope you all enjoy it!

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The argument that David and Angel were having was so stupid. It was over something so small, yet the two of them were making such a big deal out of it. It wasn't something major, but David didn't see it like that. What even was the argument about anyways? "You're not listening. This is something serious and you're not taking it like that." Right. Angel had gotten their arm hurt doing something and wasn't taking the injury seriously, even though it required for them to get stitches.

"Davey, it's not that big a deal! I got hurt, big whoo. I'll heal." David growled and his hands curled into first. "That's not what I'm talking about. You don't take things seriously and one day that gonna bite you in the ass." Angel rolled their eyes and waved their uninjured arm to dismiss anything David was saying. "Ok, and when it will but right now I'm fucking fine. Would you stop fucking worrying so much?"

"I'm worrying because you're too much of a dumbass to have self-preservation skills!" David's tone was getting louder as he spoke. "I don't know how I got with someone who could care so little!" Angel froze but David continued talking, his talking turning more into shouting. "Why can't you just be smart about this and not do stupid shit!" Angel winced as they got yelled at, tears pricked the corners of their eyes. They hated when they were shouted at, they hated when they cried.

But it didn't matter because no matter how many times they try not to they always end up sobbing and running away. But the more David yelled at them the more tears started to flow down their face like a fast, steady stream. David didn't even notice until he took the time to look at his mate. He stopped mid-rant. What had he done?

"Angel-" David was cut off by Angel running out of the room, crying, because of him. "Angel wait!" David ran after them. They left through the backyard door, heading for the woods that was behind their house. David watched as they continued running, but he didn't go after them. He just stood in the backyard, thinking. 'Should I go after them? They might need alone time...but the woods are dangerous. Especially so late at night. Especially with him on the loose.' David thought. He sighed through his nose. He'd give them some time to themselves before going after them. He decided to still stay in the backyard though, so when they did come back he could apologize.

It had been an hour and a half and David still hadn't seen Angel. David was started to get anxious just waiting for them to come home. So he set out after them, shifting into a wolf so that he would move faster. The minute he left his house and entered the woods, the smell of blood hit his nose. Had Angel gotten hurt? Did their stitching tear open? The thought of Angel being hurt fueled David to run faster, following the sickly sweet scent of blood.

The blood in the air wasn't the only thing that made David worry, along the way he found a trail of it heading into a small clearing. The clearing was where David and Angel often hung out and had picnics. Either with the pack or by themselves. And in the clearing, was Angel's body, with someone hovering over them.

David growled and ran towards them, but he wasn't quick enough. The figure standing over Angel smiled at David and waved before running off. David would've run after them, but he needed to see Angel first. He stopped running right behind them, nudging them with his nose. They were cold and their neck was bleeding. David shifted back and scanned over Angel. "No. No no no no no no no no! Angel please."

David cradled Angel's body to his. He needed to get them to a healer, but they were too far from anyone and his phone was in the house. And it was too late. Hot tears flow down David's face as he held his now dead mate's body. It was so cold, such a huge difference from their usually hot body. He wished it were still hot. "I'm so sorry Angel. I'm sorry." He wished they could hear them. He never even got to apologize. They died because of him, and the last thing he ever said to them was, "Why can't you just be smart about this and not do stupid shit!" His yelling was the last thing they ever heard from David. And he hated it. He wished he could go back and tell them he was sorry, or even just never started the fight. But it was too late. They were gone and it was his fault.

"I'm sorry Angel."

#redacted asmr x reader #redacted asmr angst #redacted asmr #redacted quinn #redacted davey #redacted angel #redacted david #axel 💫

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coffinliqueur · 2 years

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I’m admittedly a bit choosy when it comes to fic involving Lucas because when written, I feel as if it gets easy for people to... kinda exclusively focus on what an amoral edgelord he is (which, I mean, I’m not denying he is and don’t like to see portrayed as not the case) or angst around his dissatisfaction with his upbringing and life as a member of a family that doesn’t really know how to handle him (which, likewise, I don’t mind as long as it doesn’t get woobifying) at the expense of the fact that he’s also morbidly playful and kind of comical; and/or find it difficult to bring across his loud, excitable, and showy energy; thus resulting in how he’s a ridiculous, extra, and fun character in addition to a misanthropic and sleazy one getting lost. I have difficulty imagining a lot of written Lucases chirping “whoo!” as they spin around like a goofball in their swivel chair, simultaneously undermining and extending their own quip about how “[you shouldn’t swear;] there are children in the building!” with “i think lol I’m not sure anymore kshkfdefsd”, and gleefully commentating on a boss encounter they set up like it’s all part of a TV show they’re hosting while flashing lights and blasting diegetic battle music.

The above is mostly with regards to post-infection Lucas - I’m a bit less choosy about pre-infection Lucas, who based on Daughters is more surly and less all-over-the-place anyway - but even then, I’m still always hoping to find a bit of the kind of brattiness, extra-ness, and roastability shining through of the guy who responded to his sister sneaking peeks at his laptop due to him having a friggin’ four-digit passcode that he also uses for his phone and is also probably his birthday with “I’m going to DISMANTLE THE REMOTE TO ACCESS THE ATTIC WHERE I KEEP MY STUFF AND HIDE IT IN THE BATHROOM DRAWER WHICH I AM THEN GONNA LOCK” instead of just changing his frickin’ password and who responds to his dad volunteering him for chores in the morning with an instantaneous “>BC”-glare and the word “uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh” communicated noisily and at length through body language.

#resident evil #resident evil 7 #lucas baker #text post #nigel talks

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bestworstcase · 3 years

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On the subject of the last ask, do you think Cap was a good dad to Cass? I've seen argument her actions in s3 were not justified because she had a good parental figure so she was just being a child about the whole ordeal of not receiving a mother's affection but even though I agree her motivations were tainted I'm not sure I agree Cap was such a good dad she wouldn't want to be seeking for parent approval

w well

i think in general there’s probably no hope for the sort of people who reduce cassandra’s motivations down to “mommy issues” because my feeling there is you can’t really reason with people who are determined not to empathize with female characters no matter what - and i really do think you have to be, at the least, pretty emotionally removed from cassandra’s perspective to not see how unhealthy her relationship with her dad really was, because it. whoo. s1 did not pull punches in this regard. *waves vaguely at the linked post*

there is also i think an element of, idk, we see this phenomenon in the fandom with quirin and frederic where they are both Not Great dads who toe right up to the line of emotional abuse and imo in fred’s case step over it in SOTS, and the tts fandom has a tendency to take that and go ok these men are horribly abusive in every imaginable way! because nuance is dead.

and the captain by and large does not get that treatment except in like, very occasional cassunzel fics where he is used as the homophobic hammer with which to forge some extra angst - and i think, in a way, this combines with the common fanon Unrelentingly Terrible Dad characterizations of quirin and fred to kind of… inure the general fandom to the unhealthy way cap treats cassandra; his fanon characterization looks so much better by comparison to the Abusive Monsters quirin and especially frederic get twisted into that i think a lot of folks straight up forget that in canon all three of them kind of equally suck in s1 and all three of them have (admittedly very half-assed lol) arcs about getting better in s3. and this then gets translated to cassandra with but she had a good dad so why does she care about gothel which also, frankly, is a gross misunderstanding of the myriad ways early childhood neglect and abuse and parental abandonment and adoption can all be traumatic in and of themselves, and in combination with each other will absolutely fuck someone up for life even in the idealest circumstance.

i have also seen the variant of “well cass grew up in a palace she has all this privilege so how dare she say she has nothing and rapunzel got everything” which ignores how absolutely conditional every privilege cassandra has was, and how it was clearly drilled into her that it was conditional and temporary and could be taken away at whim. she is privileged to have grown up economically comfortable and with enough status to get away with being quietly, privately gnc in a country where that is obviously Not Okay - but that privilege could have spun around and stabbed her in the back at a drop of a hat and she knew that. hell, we SEE it spin around to stab her in the back at the end of s1, when the captain makes good on his threat to force her into a convent. everything cassandra had before taking the moonstone was absolutely dependent on her dancing to corona’s exacting tune and it could be snatched away at the whim of her father or literally any person in the coronan court with enough power to force his hand. even her *best friend* being the princess was not enough to keep her place in corona secure. like, she’s better off than, say, lady caine—but barely.

kshdkd i could rant for literal hours about this but like to wrap around back to what you actually ASKED - in s1 cassandra’s desire to be a guard is so so so clearly based in wanting to earn her father’s approval and trust, like, him letting her be a guard is the ultimate symbol of that and every time he says no she is basically hearing “you’re not good enough for me” and quite apart from his parenting and how her trauma influenced how she perceived his feelings towards her, the Fact Is cassandra worked herself to the BONE trying to earn her father’s approval and love and she, crucially, left corona feeling like she hadn’t. and i think it’s important to read her utter DESPERATION for a scrap of true, open, unearned affection from gothel with that fact in mind, because at the end of the day gothel is someone cassandra didn’t know and she can cling to gothel as an ideal, of a sort - as well i know she was an awful person but maybe she loved me anyway, maybe i was her daughter and that mattered to her deep down, because cassandra spent eighteen YEARS trying to earn her dad’s love and she feels like she never, ever measured up, which in a horrible trauma fueled way does actually make gothel the better option here, in that at this point gothel is An Idea and not an actual person.

#rta #tts #also zhan tiri is the only character in-universe who Empathizes with cassandra but that is so tangential it doesn’t rly belong in the post #but yeah pls get this woman some real emotional support 😭

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jeonsweetpea · 4 years

Text

Moonstruck (2)

Werewolf & Vampire Hybrid!AU, Supernatural!AU | Hybrid!Jungkook x Hybrid!Reader | Werewolf!Taehyung x Hybrid!Reader (ft. BTS)

genre: minor smut (heavy smut in future parts), angst, e2l, supernatural, thriller, slow burn

rating: mature/explicit

description: You couldn’t wait for Jungkook to break his sire bond with you. Not like you were thrilled an ungrateful brat was sired to you anyway. Just a hundred more days and it would all be over. He would no longer be loyal to you.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: cussing, introduction to Taehyung, flashback of a relationship with jealousy issues, the topic of death and werewolf curses, attempted kidnapping, fighting, blood, knife wound (two graphic lines), makeout session, grinding, and stroking.

a/n: Hello everyone! Part 2 is here! YAY! Again, this is based on The Vampire Diaries as well as Legacies. Things get intense in this part! I will always do my best to include proper warnings, so only read if it’s your cup of tea. What happens here gives a good idea of what’s to come. I hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts! Happy reading!

You and Jungkook continued your arrangement of helping him turn everyday. Eventually, he was getting the hang of it, especially by the end of the month. He felt confident he didn’t need you by his side anymore, which was fine.

You knew it wasn’t personal (though he tried to make it seem that way) because his transformation time was getting faster. Knowing him, he had more than enough discipline and responsibility to chain himself up and turn on his own accord. This was a journey about finding himself again and he shouldn’t rely on you all the time.

Sometimes you would see him on campus. Not that he would acknowledge your presence until you made him. “Say hi to me, Jungkook” or “Talk to me, Jungkook. Tell me how you’re doing~.”

It was fun annoying him with little commands here and there, but you made sure not to overdo it. People were still gossiping about you, and you didn’t want to escalate things further. With exams almost everyday this week, you were well occupied with your studies.

The stress would be well worth it because the school was holding a scavenger hunt to reward everyone for a job well done.

Professor Kim was known to be a nature lover. He wanted students to have the chance to explore the thick forest surrounding campus while staying within a safe distance from town. As a result, he started holding an annual scavenger hunt event for the past few years. The college campus itself wasn’t too big, so it was doable without many complications. The prizes offered would differ depending on the winners.

Vampires would be able to win human blood bags and werewolves would get vampire blood bags (don’t ask how they got them, they promised their methods were ethical). Which was a huge upgrade because the taste of animal blood was tolerable but far from satiating. Witches would get to learn new spells and potion recipes.

Additionally, each winner would win a trip with Professor Kim into town along with some spending money. This was probably the best part of the prize because the students had been stowed away from civilization for so long.

You were outside next to your best friend among many other students. There was a meeting about the scavenger hunt in the large field located between the gates of the school and the forest. Everyone was busy talking to each other and didn’t settle down until Professor Kim and two other professors came outside. As far as you knew, these professors have been with Namjoon since the school opened.

“Hello everyone! Good afternoon! As you all know, today is the annual scavenger hunt.”

“Whoo! Scavenger hunt!” Professor Kim Seokjin (or Professor Jin to make things easier), head of sorcery, yelled into the megaphone he was carrying.

“They don’t need the megaphone. They have super hearing,” Professor Min Yoongi, Namjoon’s right-hand man and research assistant, remarked.

“Not the witches. Plus it’s more fun with a megaphone!” Jin shouted, pointing the megaphone right in front of Yoongi’s face. The students burst out into laughter at Yoongi’s unamused face until Namjoon put a hand up for everyone to simmer down.

“For those of you who are new, this is a three-legged scavenger hunt race. Meaning each of you will be tied to a partner by the ankle. You’ll work together and be given a list of all the items you need to find.”

“There will be clue cards given at the start as to where or what each item will be! I worked hard on the riddles,” Jin boasted with a proud smile.

“You can choose a partner if you’d like or it will be randomized. Once you find a partner, come to me so I can tie you to your partner. I will also give each team a bag to store the items in and you’ll have three hours for the hunt. No ‘accidentally’ breaking the cable ties and witches? Don’t use a locator spell. Or any spell to cheat. Professor Jin can sense it,” Yoongi finished.

Ari was excited to be your partner because she was your partner every year. But then a certain vampire caught her eye, and you knew she was swooning. You laughed and gave her a pat on the back for reassurance.

“It’s okay,” you whispered to her. “Go be with Jimin.”

“No~, you’re my babe~,” she cooed. “I can’t leave you.”

“He’s coming this way. You two have been flirting for so long, just date already!”

“[Y/N]!”

“I’ll be fine. Have fun being tied together for three whole hours!”

You ditched your best friend so fast; she was in full panic. She was definitely going to kill you later, but it was worth it. She deserved to have some fun. You explored the crowd searching for a suitable partner when it dawned on you that you didn’t have many friends. Not that you were ashamed of it. You preferred having a small circle.

First to come up on your friends list was Namjoon, but he always made you call him Professor Kim. And that was the end of that idea because he was your professor, so it wouldn’t work for this event. Next was Jimin, who was pretty nice to you, but you met him through Ari and he was already taken (duh). Once upon a time, Hoseok and you were on decent terms but after the incident in the garden, that was a definite no.

Maybe Jungkook would… wait. Jungkook? Why would you want to partner up with him anyway? You two weren’t even friends. Well, you used to be. You didn’t know what to call him now. But either way, it’s not like he would want to be partnered with you. Though it did cross your mind you could make him, but you didn’t want to be that type of person.

You thought about it some more. Maybe that girl Ryujin from your vampire abilities class would want to be your partner. She was energetic, confident, and kind. Never talked bad about you and even defended you when others called you stuck-up because you were a hybrid. You were trying to find her in the crowd, but someone got to you first.

“Oh. Taehyung…”

“Hey~. It’s been a while.” He gave you that sweet boxy smile you were always so fond of, letting you know he was genuinely happy to see you. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you replied, looking over his shoulder. “I think Ryujin needs a partner.”

“She’s with Lia though?”

“Is she?” Sure enough, you saw her walk off with another girl, who had to be the “Lia” he was talking about. “Ah… well. I guess I’ll find someone else.”

“How about me?”

“You?” You cringed inside at the thought of that. “I don’t know…”

“I promise we’ll win. I’m pretty good at scavenger hunts!” he beamed. “And you know… I want to get a chance to catch up with you. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“There’s a reason for that,” He was disheartened by your attitude, his eyes lowering to the ground like a puppy that had been kicked. You never did like seeing Kim Taehyung sad. Not when he was your friend with benefits. Not when he was your boyfriend. And not even now as your ex. “But~, it looks like you’re all I’ve got. Come on.”

The way his eyes lit up with hope was adorable, but you had to keep your feelings contained. He walked with you over to where Professor Min was. With cable ties in hand he secured your legs together around the ankles.

“Now, I know you two have more than enough strength to tear these cable ties apart. But please don’t. Because then you’ll be disqualified,” he warned.

You both nodded in response when someone ran up to the three of you.

“[Y/N]! Be my partner!”

“Jungkook?” He stopped in front of you with eyes bulging out of his head when he saw your ankle secured to Taehyung’s.

“Fuck. You’re taken too? I’ve got no one!” He let out a puff of air from his lips, blowing his bangs away in the process only for them to fall right back into place.

“No one wanted to partner up with you? That’s rough,” Taehyung snickered.

“I didn’t know you were playing, Taehyung. You could have been with me.”

“And leave [Y/N] alone?”

“She doesn’t need to play. She goes into town enough as is with Professor Kim. Winning this just makes her look selfish.”

“I’m right here, you asshole,” you seethed. “Why did no one partner up with you, huh? Because they think you’re taken by me?”

He bit his lip, silently fuming at how correct you were on your first try. “... No.”

“Ahem,” Professor Min said rather loudly. “It looks like you’re the odd one out, Jungkook. Everyone is set with a partner already… do you still wanna participate?”

“Yeah. I want to go into town. Never really got a chance to because…” His words trailed off, but you knew he was referring to the time when he had died on patrol. He never even made it past the forest and you knew he was scared to go alone.

“Be my partner,” someone else stated. You all turned around to see Hoseok approaching.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jungkook muttered.

“Okay, so the item is here somewhere,” Taehyung said while holding the clue card out with both hands in front of his face. He jerked his right leg forward without thought, forcing your left leg to take an unwanted step. You almost fell but were quick about it, regaining your balance just in time.

Again.

“Taehyung, please work with me here,” you pleaded. He lowered the card and pouted at you with apologetic eyes.

“Sorry~, I really want to win. I know Jungkook is really competitive and I don’t want to lose.”

“But you’ve been in town before. He hasn’t.”

“Well, I want to go again. And with you. I want to…” He bit his lip, conflicted about how to phrase things. “... I want to make things up to you.”

You knew what he was referring too, but you didn’t expect him to bring that up again. That being the reason why you two broke up. It’s been a little over a year now, but the memory was still fresh in your mind.

When you two were together, you snuck Taehyung out to town a lot. Namjoon would scold you afterwards, but being the teacher’s pet had its perks. He never could stay mad at you for long. You had taken Taehyung to a bar for some drinks and live entertainment.

It was a fun, pleasant night for the most part. The band playing there was fantastic. Maybe the drummer caught your eye or you caught his, you didn’t know. And then he may or may not have flirted with you.

Right in front of Taehyung.

The two boys did that toxic dance of masculinity trying to win you over and it was beyond unnecessary. You told the drummer you were taken, but he told you to find him when you got bored of your boyfriend.

This triggered something inside Taehyung. An emotion not even normal humans could control that well let alone a werewolf. Something worse than anger—jealousy.

“Taehyung stop! Put him down!”

You begged him, but your boyfriend didn’t listen. He held the drummer up by his throat against a wall. You saw his fingers constricting the poor guy’s throat as the limp body let out hoarse pleas of wanting to live. Not many people were around in the bar at the time, which made compelling everyone to stay silent easier. If it wasn’t for you, someone would’ve called the cops.

“I told you to leave us alone. [Y/N]’s mine. Do you get that?” Taehyung asked. The drummer nodded or at least tried to. “I know your type. You swoon all the ladies with your persona of this charismatic, charming guy. Then you take them to the motel next door and fuck them, convincing them they’re special. You end up ghosting them afterwards. I would know because I used to be like you, fuck boy.”

“Taehyung,” you repeated. “I said put him down. Let me compel him to forget and we can leave.”

He whipped his head around to glare at you. His irises turned gold, his jaw was clenched, making you feel small.

“I saw the way you were looking at him too.”

“What?”

“Ogling him right in front of me… that’s why he even came over here.”

“Tae. Please.”

“You think I wouldn’t notice? You’re just like her.”

“Who?”

“My ex,” His eyes shifted to a dark goldenrod. “I killed her… I miss her…”

Your face lost all its color and you left the bar, horrified. Taehyung shouted your name, but you didn’t turn back. He fell to his knees in despair when he realized what he had done.

Despite Taehyung’s innocent face, you knew there was something off about him. You just couldn’t place your finger on it. All werewolves trigger the werewolf curse in their genes by killing someone for the first time, accidental or not. Students at the school were required to tell the headmaster how they got their curse, but they weren’t required to tell each other.

In the normal world, death was a sensitive subject and it’s not discussed often. But to you and everyone else, it was normal. You knew of many werewolf trigger stories already. Most of them were accidents, yes. However, some were intentional because their rage clouded their judgements. Did that make them bad people?

Well, that was up to Namjoon to decide and you trusted he wouldn’t allow anyone into the school if they were truly evil.

You and Taehyung had only been dating for six months or so, and you didn’t want to pressure him into revealing how he became a werewolf. Once you found out the truth, it shouldn’t have shocked you as much as it did because someone had to die for him to be this way. You’ve heard of many stories that were similar to his. But because you were dating him and he compared you to his ex, you feared the worst.

You didn’t want to end up like her. He frightened you. Comparing you to his past also reminded you of your own. You hated it.

So you ended up breaking up with him out of fear. Then shortly after, you met Jungkook and he was the perfect distraction. Although you did feel quite uneasy upon learning that he and Taehyung became roommates. Your paths crossed more than you had liked, but today was the first time you really got to speak to Taehyung for longer than two seconds.

The time that had passed since your breakup quelled the fear you associated with him. You felt like you had matured.

“There’s nothing to make up for,” you said as the two of you walked in sync deeper into the forest.

“Yes, there is. I shouldn’t have lashed out back then. If we win, I want to take you back there and explain myself.”

“And if we don’t?”

“I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you wish. But I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want you to fear me anymore.”

You chuckled and swiped the clue card away from him. “I don’t. Not anymore. You had your reasons and I had mine.”

Your confidence made Taehyung smile. He really did miss you and was relieved to hear you say that.

“I’m on your left and on your right, hopefully not too tight,” you said, reading the riddle aloud. “What… is this a shoe?”

“Professor Jin’s riddles are a bit lame…” Taehyung commented. You agreed, and the two of you found a worn out sneaker underneath some leaves near an old tire swing up ahead. Taehyung picked it up and stored it in the bag.

“14 more items and we’ll win,” You and Taehyung took steps in the opposite direction and ended up falling backwards. Well, you were stronger than Taehyung so you made him fall on top of you. The leaves cushioned your fall as you let out an ‘oof’, a heavy weight now on your body as you were now face to face with your ex.

He looked down at you with a warm smile, reminding you of your history together. Everything felt so familiar as you got lost in his deep brown eyes. God, he was gorgeous in every single way. From his unique one-sided double eyelids to his soft lips, the top one being fuller. His honey-like complexion that the sunlight seemed to be highlighting even more.

“I kinda miss this. Being on top,” he joked. You scoffed and pushed him off of you. The two of you laid on your backs for a moment and laughed.

“How about we hold hands? That way, we will keep each other steady?” he asked once the laughter subsided.

You grimaced at this idea. It was weird to hold hands again with your ex. Not because you had feelings for him but because he still had feelings for you. It was obvious. This was also one of the reasons why you avoided him for so long.

Taehyung knew from your silence that he made a mistake. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

You sat up and shook your head. “I don’t mind holding hands. Better than stumbling with every step. At this rate, we’ll never win the hunt,” you reasoned.

You grabbed his hand with your own, feeling a sense of nostalgic warmth back to when the two of you were dating. His hand was much larger than yours and so smooth. He squeezed your hand a little, giving you a squishy smile of appreciation as he sat up too.

“Let’s win this thing.”

The next couple of hours flew by quick. You and Taehyung found more clue cards and continued solving the riddles (which were getting progressively harder to your surprise). The collection of items in your bag was growing, but the extra weight didn’t slow y’all down at all.

In fact, the main issue was running into other teams who were in search of the same item. The professors made sure to include duplicates of each item but not enough for everyone to win. So you and Taehyung had to be quick.

Being tied together at the ankle hindered everyone, but the professors never said you couldn’t use your powers. You both ran into Jimin and Ari, who were easy to evade because you teased Ari until she urged you to go away. The next team you faced were some witches and they put up one hell of a fight, but Taehyung’s charming skills swept them off their feet. It was too easy convincing them to hand over the item.

You didn’t want to admit it, but seeing Taehyung flirt with them made you a little bitter. They were too easy just like how you were too easy to fall for his charms. Nothing’s changed much between now and then, you realized. He would always be your weakness.

Finally, you two reached the last item on the list. It was a rubber duck snuggled in the branches of the tallest tree in the forest. As you both made your way over there, Taehyung pointed in the distance with excitement.

“Look! It’s over there!”

The bright yellow of the duck was hard to miss. You both ran over to the tree and looked up. Its height was intimidating, but you knew you and Taehyung could jump that high to grab the item.

“Ready?” you asked. He nodded and the two of you bent your knees and jumped up super high, holding onto some branches to keep yourselves from falling.

Taehyung plucked the rubber duck off easily and smiled at you. “We did it!”

With your sharp ears, you heard Professor Jin calling out with his megaphone that the hunt was now over. You knew he must have put a locator spell on each item to alert him when they had been found. The two of you jumped down and landed safely.

“Good job, partner,” you said with your hand up in the air. Taehyung high-fived you and gave you a wink.

“I told you I was good at scavenger hunts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You bent down to rip off the cable tie with your enhanced strength, letting out a sigh of relief. It was great to be fully mobile and independent again. “Let’s hurry back and claim our prize.”

You realized you two were still holding hands, so you let go abruptly. If that made Taehyung sad, he didn’t show it.

Both of you trekked through the forest and admired the scenery. Namjoon was right. Nature really was beautiful. The colors of the leaves were changing to warm colors of oranges, reds, and yellows. The weather was cool, not too chilly with the perfect amount of wind.

It was nice. You ran up ahead to spin around and around without a care in the world. Taehyung smiled at you being so free-spirited. He found you to be incredibly endearing.

You were too busy having fun to realize you had passed a trip wire. Something sharp was shot into your neck and you pulled it out with a painful expression. Your vision was blurring, but you saw it was a tranquilizer dart most likely filled with wolfsbane.

You felt an instant rush of heat consuming your body, becoming so feverish and weak that you fell to the ground. Before Taehyung could run over to you, he felt immense pain in his back and fell to his knees.

In the corner of his eye, he saw someone appear from behind the shadows walking over to your body. They were dressed in all black with a thick mask covering their face and a crossbow in hand. Taehyung realized what he was shot with now. The arrow was laced with wolfsbane, so it was no wonder he was feeling weak.

Whoever this stranger was, they put the crossbow on their back, lifted your body up bridal-style, and stared down at you. You tried your best to remain conscious because the symbol in the forehead area of the mask was familiar to you. There were two arrows intersecting each other with a full moon on top. Some small letters were inside the moon from what you could tell.

Taehyung recognized the symbol too. Professor Kim told the school about the human hunters and what they looked like when they first attacked. Looks like they came back for you.

The hunter turned his attention towards Taehyung, making brief eye contact before disappearing with you in the forest. Taehyung was in so much pain that he couldn’t move until he removed the arrow out of his back. He bit his lip, counted to three, and yanked it out while screaming in agony. He fell onto all fours and felt dizzy as he tried to catch his breath.

There wasn’t as much wolfsbane in the arrow compared to the tranquilizer, but it was enough to slow Taehyung down. His healing and speed abilities were affected, so he felt very powerless. But you were all he could think about and if he ran fast enough, he could catch up to you.

You were falling in and out of a state of consciousness with each step your kidnapper took. All you could think about was Taehyung being left behind. You knew he was injured and hoped he was alright.

Little did you know, Taehyung had finally caught up to you and the hunter. Adrenaline fueled him as he charged towards the intruder, tackling him from behind. Both of them fell and you were dropped out of the kidnapper’s arms, the inertia making you roll on the ground until a tree stopped you.

You let out an excruciating groan when the trunk collided with your back, trying your best to come to your senses. Taehyung was fighting the hunter with some punches and kicks, judging from how hard he was grunting. But you knew this wasn’t his forte and your vision focused enough for you to see him get kneed in the stomach and punched in the face.

“Taehyung!” you shouted, though your voice was weak and frail. He collapsed onto the ground and the hunter grabbed Taehyung’s head off the ground by a fistful of his hair, taking out a switchblade from his pocket and placing it in front of his neck. “No!!! Stop!!! Let him go!”

The wolfsbane weakened you so much, which shocked you because you were only half werewolf. You figured the dosage inside you was too high and wanted to cry. You had to rush over to Taehyung. You had to save him.

You had to—

A clean slice greeted Taehyung’s neck. Blood squirted out uncontrollably as his body fell to the ground. Taehyung tried to close the wound by clutching his throat as tightly as possible, but it did nothing. He fell onto his back and was spasming as he choked on his own blood.

The hunter sprinted off and left him to die.

“NO!!!” you cried hysterically. You lifted yourself up and dragged yourself to his body with your elbows, but he was too far away. You couldn’t move fast enough.

“Tae…” you called out weakly. “My blood… take my blood!”

Even putting your wrist to your mouth and biting it with your fangs felt incredibly heavy and difficult. But you had to persevere. You had to get your wrist to his mouth. You had to save him!

‘Help… please…! HELP!’

As if calling for help in your thoughts would do anything. Seconds felt like hours to you and you were still a few inches away from him. But then you heard a whoosh and someone appeared by your side in an instant.

“[Y/N]?! Are you okay?!”

You knew by the sound of his voice who it was even if you couldn’t see him clearly. “Taehyung… take care of Taehyung…” you whispered. Jungkook analyzed the situation in a flash and bit his own wrist, rushing to Taehyung’s body and letting him drink his blood. Now that he was half vampire, he could heal others with his blood too. Like you.

“Jungkook?!” Another voice shouted. Hoseok suddenly appeared by your side and you knew this from the style of his hideous shoes (though that’s not the point right now). “What’s going on?!”

“Hunter… there’s a hunter… he was just here…” you breathed out. Hoseok saw how bad Taehyung was bleeding and how weak you looked.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, concerned.

“I-I’m fine… just… wolfsbane…”

“The wound is sealing up, I think,” Jungkook stated as he stood back up. “Hoseok, take Taehyung and [Y/N] back to campus. I’ll find the hunter.”

“What? That’s dangerous! We need to tell the professors!” he objected.

“Jungkook don’t…” you breathed out. The wolfsbane was making you sleepy and the last thing you saw was Jungkook dashing off, his backside receding deeper into the forest. You didn’t have enough strength to stop him.

You were in a deep slumber, but there was this unshakeable fear you felt. It spooked you because you weren’t dreaming of anything. Everything was black, but you felt all these intense emotions. It was almost as if you were traumatized by a great pain that wasn’t your own. Then there was this sudden sharp pain in your neck that jolted you awake.

Your eyes fluttered open and you took in some deep breaths. Jungkook. It was his pain you felt, you’re sure of it. Swinging your legs off the bed you were resting in, you realized you were in the school’s infirmary. You wanted to make sure Jungkook was okay, but the person laying in the bed next to yours was Taehyung.

“You’re awake.”

Everything rushed back to you like a wave about what had happened in the forest. The scavenger hunt, the hunter, and how Taehyung saved your life by risking his. He was sitting on the edge of his bed with a smile on his face but winced due to the bruises on his face.

You got off your bed and went over to his, sitting down next to him. Without a thought, you took one hand and cupped his face with care. Taehyung frowned when he saw the sadness in your eyes.

“Don’t be so down,” he said in a low, soothing voice. There was a white bandage wrapped around his neck and the dark memory of what the hunter had done flashed in your mind so vividly. He also had a black eye that couldn’t open and a patched cheek from when he got punched. You wanted to cry.

“Thank you for saving me…” you said, not realizing your voice was shaky. A tear streamed down your face and you wiped it away quickly. “Where did that come from? Stupid tear. Hahaha.”

You couldn’t even look at him right now. He noticed you were staring down at your hands, so he reached his hand over and placed it on top of your own. It made you look at him, which was what he wanted.

“There’s no need to thank me. Anyone would’ve done it.”

“Now’s not the time to be modest, TaeTae,” you said with a sad pout. He missed hearing you call him that. “You risked your life and almost died. You know you can’t fight well.”

“Pfft, but I’m a werewolf. Fighting’s in my blood,” he joked. You let out a small laugh and then sniffled a couple of times.

“I was scared you were going to die,” you confessed. “I would have never forgiven myself if you did. If Jungkook wasn’t there… I don’t know what would have happened.”

“You would have been able to save me. I’m sure of it.”

“I was too slow.”

“I would have come back. Your blood is special, right?”

“Yeah… but… becoming a hybrid isn’t easy. Everything is different. It takes a lot of training and self-control to not go crazy. And then you know… the sire bond?”

“Oh right… forgot about that,” he murmured. “But I’d rather be sired to you than Jungkook.”

You giggled. “Jungkook wasn’t born a hybrid, so his blood can heal others but it can’t turn others into hybrids. Therefore, others can’t be sired by him.”

“Thank god!” he said in relief. “I can’t imagine being loyal to someone I don’t have feelings for.”

His words made you think for a moment. He was right. Who would want to be sired to someone they didn’t care for? It’s no wonder Jungkook wanted the bond to be broken so badly. You wanted the same thing, but it used to hurt how disgusted he was around you. But you realized you wouldn’t want to be stripped of your free will either. Jungkook never even had a choice.

You made that decision for him, so everything would always be on you.

“Oh my god, where’s Jungkook?” It dawned on you that you had forgotten about him. “Is he okay?!”

“He’s fine. He’s resting in his dorm with no injuries. Hoseok found him unconscious and brought him back, so no one knows what happened yet.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

“Just between you and me,” Taehyung said as he squeezed your hand, “I don’t need to be sired to know Jungkook is missing out. You’re amazing and he should appreciate you more.”

“Why are you so sweet to me? I should be the one praising you. You’re my hero.”

“No~, don’t call me that. I don’t want you putting me on a pedestal.”

“Well at least let me do this.”

You leaned over slowly and Taehyung held his breath. Your lips were getting closer and he was more than willing to accept whatever you were willing to give. He closed his eyes, awaiting what he thought would be a kiss. However, you simply pecked him on the cheek. His eyes opened in confusion and you giggled.

“What? Expecting something else?” you teased.

“No… I’m grateful for whatever you give me.” He flashed you the cutest boxy smile and you melted.

“Thank you for saving me. Really. But if you do that ever again, I will kill you myself.”

“That’s kinda sexy though.”

“Taehyung!” He chuckled at how worked up you got, and you pushed him back down on the bed as a response. “Focus on healing.”

“I need kisses then.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Worth a shot.”

“I’ll give you one more.”

He was about to sit back up and give you access to his cheek until you straddled him. You made sure to be careful though because he was still sore. Your actions shocked him and honestly, you were shocked at what you were doing too. Why was it when he’s beat up, he’s still attractive? Why was Kim Taehyung so enticing?

You leaned down once more, using one hand to hold you up while the other tucked your hair behind your ear. He could see your face clearly and gulped at seeing how you were on top of him like this. Reminded him of the good old days.

Your lips met his before you could stop and think things through, and it sent a familiar warmth through your entire body. He kissed you back right away, using one of his hands to hold onto the back of your neck and pull you closer. But then he grabbed your shoulder and pushed you back a bit as a sign to stop.

“[Y/N]. Don’t do this to thank me for saving you. That’s not what I want. I only want this if you want me for me. Not because I’m some hero.”

“Is it so bad I’m thanking you like this? Is it? No one’s here right now.”

You sounded so innocent that he couldn’t pull away. Of course you knew what you were doing. Who was he to deny you?

“Tell me to get off and I will,” you breathed, kissing the side of his long neck. You started from his jawline and worked your way down, making sure to suck on some spots to earn that deep moan you missed hearing.

“Fuck… don’t get off. Ever.”

He pulled you in once more, crashing your lips onto his and you moaned at the contact. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it back, forcing your head up and exposing your beautiful neck. He laced it with wet kisses and you closed your eyes to enjoy the euphoric feeling of his lips. You were sure he left a hickey, but you couldn’t care less.

Once he got to your cleavage, he kissed it too and you grinded your hips on his groin area to let him know you liked it.

“I’m still sore… why are you teasing me like this?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice. “God, I can smell how wet you are.”

You grinned at him like you were proud of that fact, kissing him once more. It was like a drug because you were too addicted to stop. You loved his large hands roaming your body and how eager he was to squeeze your ass. His boner was hard to ignore, so you circled your hips even more to deepen the pleasure.

Your hand trailed down to his prominent bulge and the outline of his huge cock made you wetter. A few strokes through his pants and he was already coming undone. You would’ve sucked him off if it wasn’t for the sudden interruption.

“Taehyung, I wanted to check up on y—” The door to the infirmary swung open to reveal none other than Jungkook. His lips parted slightly at the sight of you on top of Taehyung in a compromising position. You got off of him right away and stood up.

“Jungkook! You’re okay!” you exclaimed. There was no reason why you should feel guilty about him witnessing you and Taehyung kiss, but you felt bad anyway and didn’t know why. Yet your go-to response was pretending it never happened.

Jungkook felt your guilt but if he was being honest, he used Taehyung as an excuse to come see you at the infirmary. He felt some strong emotions that he couldn’t explain and thought something had happened to you.

“Yeah… I guess,” Jungkook muttered. You walked over to him and looked him up and down.

“Are you sure? I felt some intense pain when I was resting. It was coming from you. What happened?” Taehyung sat up, noting how concerned you were for Jungkook. How big your eyes were, your body language, your tone.

“I don’t really remember,” Jungkook looked over at Taehyung. “Are you okay, Tae?”

He had to subtly hide his hard-on with his hands. “Yes. Thanks to you. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You saved [Y/N]. It’s the least I could do.”

The way he said your name made you feel uneasy. Was he upset? There was some kind of negative emotion radiating off of him, but you weren’t sure what. It was silent for a few seconds and the tension in the room made you feel suffocated. Someone had to say something.

“I’m glad you both are okay,” you said with a soft smile. Looking at Taehyung, you spoke again. “We’ll leave so you can rest, okay?”

Taehyung nodded and found a pillow to hug as he repositioned himself on the bed. Jungkook gave him a wave before exiting the infirmary with you. Once the door closed, you walked back to the dorms with him.

“Do you really not remember anything? What happened with the hunter?” you asked. Jungkook stopped walking, so you did too.

“I don’t know. It’s hard for me to remember. Don’t ask. My memory’s distorted right now.”

“I’m sorry. I was just confused.”

So was he. Why was he being affected by you now? Every word, every action— that obvious mark on your neck from when you were on top of Taehyung and not on top of...

What’s happening to him?

“Go back to your dorm and rest. I have to go turn before midnight.”

“Do you need help?”

“No!” His outburst surprised you and you suddenly felt small. “I don’t need your help. Why would I need it when I’ve been doing it by myself?”

“Right. It was silly of me to ask. Good luck.”

Normally he would have commented how dumb of a comment that was, but he wasn’t in the mood to tease you. He simply continued walking down the hall. You didn’t know what came over you, but you ran after him and back-hugged him as tight as you could. Something told you he needed comfort.

He was startled, but he didn’t pull away either.

“I don’t know what happened to you out there. But I really am glad you’re okay. Once you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here for you.”

Jungkook was frozen and you finally let him go after a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” you said with a bashful look on your face. Jungkook looked over his shoulder and didn’t know why your shy appearance seemed so cute. “I didn’t even ask if you liked hugs.”

He did. He very much did. But he couldn't tell you. You gave him a small wave before turning around, leaving him standing there in confusion as you made your way back to your dorm room. He didn’t want to admit it, but he found himself missing your warmth.

Tag List: @horanghae18, @gee-nee, @mrcleanheichou, @kookwolf

Thank you so much for reading!!! Please let me know your thoughts!!! They make me so happy!

#goldenclosetnet #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #networkbangtan #btsguild #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #bts smut #bangtan smut #jungkook #taehyung #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #hybrid au #bts #werewolf jungkook #werewolf taehyung #my scenarios #moonstruck

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secret-engima · 3 years

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Tagged by @ladykittenfair! Thanks!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

1,303,694 (whoo boy)

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Including crossovers:

FFXV

Fairy Tail

Transformers

Halo (video game)

Horizon Zero Dawn

Naruto

RWBY

Vinland Saga (anime)

My Hero Academia

Genshin Impact

Pokemon (that one is not on my AO3 but was on FF)

KHR (again, not on my AO3 but on FF)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Nox

Deleantur (Erased But Not Forgotten)

Blood of My Blood (That Was Shed on the Throne)

Reunion of Hand, Shield, and King

Everything Ends (Then Begins Again)

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to anyway ^^;. A lot of times, if there’s a massive influx of them on a popular fic I get overwhelmed and forget to respond to them, or if there are really short ones, I’m not sure what to say. I’m always afraid I can only say “thank you!” or “glad you enjoyed!” before it sounds rote and insincere even though I mean it ever single time.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Off the top of my head? Easily Sanctioned Solitude, my Halo Reach fanfic from forever ago. I binge wrote it after finishing the game the first time and since it’s canon compliant (in what happens to the MC anyway), I’d say that’s my angstiest. Runners up are probably... the Sun Dies (Night Rise) verse in general and Blood of My Blood verse? Even if those have happy endings? Idk, I have a lot of fics that are heavy on angst, but I usually try to have hopeful/happy endings? Or at least bittersweet ones.

7. Do you ever write crossovers?

Sure! I like doing crossovers, they’re really fun, that and universe fusions where it’s more “two settings are actually in the same world and always have been” than a more straight laced “two separate fandoms meet” crossover.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

A few times. I’ve been blessed with nice reviewers for the most part, but I’ve gotten a little bullying, and I’ve also had someone accuse me of supporting the use of child soldiers because of something that showed up in a fic of mine, which came out of nowhere for me because- what? That’s like saying mystery writers support murder because it’s a central part of their plot. But whatever.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope. I’ve written romantic pairings and I think one or two makeouts? But never out and out smut. Have no interest in ever doing so either.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, but there’s always a chance I suppose, since I have so many and people can be cruel like that.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! Never officially. I’ve done a lot of back and forth with buddies on discord about ideas, but ultimately only one of us is the one who sits down and writes it out, so I don’t think that counts.

12. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I’m supposed to pick????? Idk, it depends on my mood and the fandom. I have a few OTPs for a fandom usually, and other times I’m flexible with who I ship. Luna/Noct is a pretty solid ship for me in FFXV, but I’ve also indulged in Luna/Nyx, so I don’t know if I can call either my OTP. Fairy Tail my OTP is absolutely Jellal/Erza, though there are several other ships that I suppose count, because I would literally never ship either member in the pair with anyone else.

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

...Depends on if you count by posted or just in general??? First fic I ever posted was for Pokemon.

14. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Okay that’s. Complicated. My favorite fic I’ve ever written is one I’ve never posted, but it’s my favorite because it’s what really got me into writing and into enjoying making stories. But if we count posted fics, then my top five are probably...

1. My FFXV triad of Nox, Deleantur, and Everything Ends. I count them in a bundle, because originally it was just Everything Ends, but then as I expanded that one’s headcanons, Deleantur and Nox were formed and split off from it at roughly the same time, so they all very much have similar themes and a similar “core” for where their angst comes from.

2. A Melody of Second Chances. ngl this fic will likely never be finished, but not from lack of trying. But you don’t spend 6+ years writing a fic if you don’t love it enough to cry over it in frustration. So.

3. Blood of My Blood verse. I had the basic concept for this almost as soon as I finished the game, but at the time I thought posting something so off the wall would get me flamed. Took a lot of nerve to post it after I did finally write it, and the reception of it always makes my week.

4. Amongst Untrodden Ways. There are other fics I’m currently writing that I’m more enthusiastic about atm, but I learned a lot writing this fic. I did with AMOSC as well, but with the Fairy Tail fandom, I felt more comfortable in expanding on my own world building instead of mix-matching fanon and canon I’d seen before. That and Wren is such a fun and unique character for me, since she is mute and has to find alternate ways of speaking. That, and I get to focus on the Raijinshu, who are some of my favorite side characters (not counting Jellal of course). How can I not add it to my top 5?

5. Worlds Unseen (Calling You and Me). This fic *still* does not get the attention I want it to, even though I understand why. It’s such a weird crossover, but I’m so proud of how I mix up the chapters and try to align the story beats.

I have no idea how many people I’m supposed to tag, but uhhhh @sparklecryptid @wolfsrainrules @a-world-in-grey have at it if you want!

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maybankiara · 4 years

Text

NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN (I’LL CRAWL HOME TO HIM)

pairing: JJ Maybank x Pope Heyward

summary: JJ realises he’s immortal when he wakes up buried in a coffin. He’s got to make his way back to his friends - more than anyone else, back to Pope, whom he hasn’t admitted his feelings to. (Not like he admitted them to himself either, anyway).

w/c: 4.3k

a/n: gay angst with some immortality!! also, there’ll be no mention of claustrophobia, just jj trying to figure out how to get out. i have another mayward fic planned with immortal!jj but basically everything else is different.

masterlist | tag list

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JJ wakes up in a coffin. He comes to the realisation when he makes an attempt to turn around, thinking he’s in the bed of the spare room at the Chateau he’d long ago claimed his own, only for his shoulder to bump into something hard.

‘Ow!’

The sound of him hitting the wood and it feeling oddly…contained, for the lack of a better word, summons a series of flashing images.

A gun in his hands. Topper Thornton dangling by his ankle from a tree, screaming bloody murder. John B shouting JJ’s name. Pope crying it out in pain, Kelce’s hands on his neck.

A gun in Rafe’s hands. White thunder.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers. And then— ‘Holy shit, I’m immortal!’

Laughter that falls from his lips is maniacal. He thinks of all the pranks he could do now – if there’s no death to fear, there is nothing to fear. Even if he doesn’t know the limits, JJ can only think of the endless possibilities of what he could do – what do you do when you aren’t afraid of anything?

JJ’s hand slams against the top of the coffin and he does it again, on the verge of crying from excitement. His breathing is rapid and so is his heartbeat.

‘Take that, Rafe! Whoo!’

He wants to tell the pogues. He wants to see the look on their faces—all the questions they’ll have—and he wants to see who’s missed him out of others, if anyone has. He has to ask Pope about the implications of his immortality and how it works – if his memory hadn’t suffered up when Rafe blew his head up and it still serves him right, Rafe did blow his head up. It was probably a closed casket.

Huh.

JJ’s fingers hesitate for a long second before touching his chin, half-expecting to find nothing but a mesh of whatever his body was made of. But they’re met with a firm, hard jawline, skin connecting it to his neck, and his lips, and keeping his blood and whatever—Pope would know better—where it’s supposed to be, inside.

The blond lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It comes out in the form of a chuckle, airy and free.

Pope would find this the most interesting. Does JJ have scars? He’d know how his body managed to heal, how his brain preserved.

He begins to wonder about what effect this has on the rest of his life—afterlife?—when he hears a small voice, just like Pope’s.

‘Being buried alive is one of the worst ways to die,’ he told the pogues months ago, solving a past paper that someone who wants to be a coronary would take. ‘You’ve got five and a half hours’ worth of air, tops. You’ll suffocate before someone finds you, if they ever do, anyway. It’s not all bad, because the carbon dioxide you produce breathing eventually overtakes most of the air inside the coffin, and you fall into a coma. You die and you feel lightheaded, like you’re falling asleep.’

You die like you’re falling asleep.

JJ wonders if he’d wake up again. Probably. Does he have nine lives or an infinite number?

He’d like to test that.

But for now, if Pope’s right—and JJ is kind of hoping he isn’t—then he’s got about five hours to get to the surface. Even if he wakes up again, there’ll be no air for him to breathe, which essentially keeps him dead, until possibly thousands of years pass and someone accidentally opens his grave and he storms out like a zombie from another time like in that movie with—

Focus.

‘Focus. Yeah, I gotta focus.’

JJ nods to himself. He calms his breathing and starts to think about every possible way to get out of his situation. He’s not claustrophobic, which is surprising, but that might be because the fact that he vividly (kind of) remembers being shot in the head is kind of more dramatic than waking up in a casket six feet under.

Four feet, he remembers – the earth on the Cut where they made the graveyard isn’t good for digging, or anything, really, so the graves are usually shallower than the standard six feet.

He should be able to push through it – right?

Right?

JJ’s died and come back to life. If he can do that, then he can make his way out of here.

For the next however long, JJ tries to remember every piece of information that would help. He knows from John B and when they worked at a construction site for some quick cash that when he opens the casket, all the dirt will fall into the hole he just made and fill it out.

He knows from surfing that aerodynamic works best the flatter the object is, so if it applies to water, it probably applies to earth, too. When he opens the casket, he needs to shoot upright as straight as possible—doing something straight will be the biggest challenge, really—and let the dirt fall over him.

It’s a game of seconds. He’s really got one shot at this.

‘If there’s a massive fuckin’ hole in the middle of a graveyard, someone will notice, right,’ he mutters to himself.

It’s fine. It’s something.

JJ presses his palms flat against the massive wood over him. The material is hard and stiff, but when he bangs against it, it moves a little. Enough for a few bits of the earth to fall in, on his chest.

(Or so he thinks. It’s not like he can see.)

He figures that his best bet is pushing it open like a door, then squeezing immediately as he keeps pushing it. The gravity of the earth falling should hurt him—he knows this isn’t going to be easy, or nice, or pleasant—but he should push through if he does the Superman pose, with his hand in the air.

The thought makes him chuckle, and as his lips stretch, he tastes sweat in the corners. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and it leaves a wet mark, so he wipes that on his shorts.

JJ sighs. ‘They buried me with the fuckin’ cargo shorts.’

He hadn’t given much thought to how he’d be buried, but now he reckons his hair is a mess, his shirt is a basketball-style, holes big enough so that the sweat from his armpits soaks into whatever carpet they put at the bottom of the coffin.

JJ stinks – like, badly. He remembers Pope said that corpses shit and pee themselves and fart and whatnot, but has no clue if he acted like a real corpse. Was he dead dead, or just kind-of comatose without a heartbeat?

Shit, what if he’s been dead for a while? If his dead had been blown off then it must’ve taken ages to reconstruct.

What if he comes back and the pogues have moved on, they have families and kids, and Pope’s gone off to university and—

‘Shut up,’ JJ whispers to himself. This pitch-black darkness is making him see things, and feel things he doesn’t want to.

He’ll deal with that later. The only thing that matters right now is getting the fuck out of here.

JJ doesn’t let his hand shake when he applies pressure to the wooden board above him. He does it slowly, and when it doesn’t budge, he knows slowly isn’t the way to do it.

So JJ just thinks of Pope, John B, and Kie, and their faces on the HMS Pogue, and slams through the coffin. He slithers through the whole immediately, eyes and mouth closed and the same hand that opened the coffin is outstretched, high above his head, and he’s pushing with his legs instead of his back.

He was right – the earth is heavy. He feels it crumbling around his chest, around his feet, around every inch of space he’s just created, but he keeps pushing.

If he doesn’t push, he’ll stay like this—half buried—forever.

The tip of his finger touches the air – then another, then all five. The fact that he’s so close gives him a surge of adrenaline, coursing through his veins, and he pushes through the weight of the earth even further, until his entire hand is above the ground.

fuck yeah.

Then an elbow. Then he slides his other hand across his torso, feeling the weight tug at the bones until the pain is so intense he thinks he might’ve broken it. His chest tightens—it’s been almost a minute—but he manages to get the other hand out, too.

Just a little more.

One more push.

that’s what she said, he thinks.

And pushes.

Being out of the coffin after spending it in about an hour or so is like jumping from a tall cliff – thrilling, chill-inducing, and very much like breaking the water tension with your back instead of the head.

He gasps like a fish out of water, still trapped from shoulders and below, but he breathes.

JJ laughs, and then realises he’s also being soaked because it’s raining harder then he can remember, and figures it’s okay to open his eyes. It hurts, at first glance – the sky is shrouded in dark grey clouds and rain is absolutely pouring, but he sees that it’s day, not night, and he sees that the trees still look like late summer.

‘FUCK YEAH!’

Thrilled to be alive, JJ lets himself have a moment to breathe. He sees he’s buried in one of the cheapest parts of the graveyard—which says much considering his dad must’ve been the one who paid for the funeral—and most of the other graves look terrible. He turns his head to the side, just enough to look at his own.

J. MAYBANK. 2003 – 2020. BELOVED SON AND FRIEND.

‘Sons of bitches,’ he mutters. ‘It’s like it would’ve killed them to be fuckin’ creative for once.’

His arms ache and his legs feel like they’re about to give in, but he’s got to get out. With a deep breath, he buries—ha!—his fingers as firmly into the ground as far as he can, and then tugs.

He’s out a minute later, but he’s damn glad no one was around to hear him grunting like a little pussy.

JJ shakes his limbs, getting some blood through them. He looks disgusting – dirt mixed with sweat means that it’s all sticking to him, and he doesn’t even want to know what his face must look like – even if it isn’t absolutely mangled. His hair is terrible probably, too, because the strands that aren’t sticking to his face seem mucky when he tries running his finger through it.

i thought they made dead men look pretty.

Then he tells himself not even dying and crawling out of a grave could make him look any less pretty, so he’s okay.

‘Ha,’ he muses to himself, ‘my pretty goes beyond the grave.’

About ten minutes later, when his muscles feel as alive as he does, he begins his twenty-minute trek to the Chateau. He figures it’s his best bet – it’s next to the marsh, which isn’t too far from the graveyard, and JJ’s not going to get anywhere near the road if he’s taking the fastest route.

So, looking like a dead man walking, he sets off for the Chateau.

By the time he’s arrived, some of the dirt has washed off—he conveniently stood under a tree that was basically leaking water—and he guessed he didn’t look a lot different than anyone walking around under this kind of weather. There were no puddles for him to look at himself at, which was quite a shame, but he figured he’d just check himself out at a mirror in the Chateau.

Now, JJ is just… He’s just standing in front of the backdoor to the place. The marsh is behind him and the house in the front, and this should be simple, except he’s got no clue what’s about to happen. Lights are on in the living room, that much he could see from the outside, but there was no guarantee it would be his friends.

Panic started to eat him inside out – what if he walks in, unannounced, and it turns out he’s been dead for years and some completely random people live here, instead?

Before he manages to chicken out, he opens the door. The door creaks—that’s a good sing, thinks JJ, John B was going to have it fixed by the end of the year—and promptly closes behind him. Old reggae coming from the living room is the only sound aside from water dripping off of JJ.

fuck it.

JJ makes his way to the living room. A lightning strikes somewhere nearby and, just as he rounds the corner, thunder follows.

His friends are sitting on the floor, in the middle of the room.

JJ grins. ‘Tell me, do I make Freddy Krueger look pretty?’

In that very moment, three things happen. John B screams. Kiara knocks over the speaker. Pope faints.

And as for thing four, that happens a moment later, JJ just sighs. ‘That bad, huh?’

—

‘…and that’s how I ended up here.’

About two hours later, JJ’s finally finished his story. It took them quarter of an hour just to stop freaking out—Pope had been convinced he’d seen a ghost until Kiara and John B managed to explain to him he hadn’t—and even then, they weren’t ready to hear the story.

They made him take a shower, first. Fair enough.

John B went with him to get some towels and clean clothes, and Kiara stayed in the living room, getting Pope some water. Nobody spoke for a very, very long time.

When JJ looked at himself in the mirror, he was both distraught and amazed. There was a scar running from cheek to cheek, over his nose, and well underneath his jaw, with skin inside this circle looking like it had been slightly burned years ago, with colour different to the rest of his face. JJ ran a finger over it – the texture was rough in some places, smoother in others.

Somehow, he was convinced the scars would persist, but his skin would heal. He felt it in his bones – it rang as true as the fact that his heart was about to burst through his ribcage the moment he’d locked eyes with Pope.

JJ took a shower, cleaned himself up. The clothes John B had brought him were his own, and he smelt them for a second – it felt like coming home.

The Chateau had always been his home.

When he returned to the living room, Pope looked a little better – they all did. JJ reassured them that he had, in fact, died and been buried. Pope went on to state in graphic detail how mangled his body—head more so than other parts—had been when they’d last seen him.

JJ forgot Rafe had killed him in front of them.

‘Y’all must be scarred for life,’ he said as he took a seat on the floor of John B’s living room, and then grinned. ‘But not on the outside, like me.’

They didn’t find it as funny as he did.

So, with the aid of some water and pizza they had leftover from earlier, JJ told his story. There were a lot of interruptions—not as many from Pope as he would’ve thought, considering dead people are his expertise—but he managed to get it done.

And now, he grins at them, arms spread over the couch behind him. ‘So, y’all impressed already?’

The silence is pregnant. Kiara’s hands are folded in her lap as she leans her back against the couch, and John B mirrors her position, only on the wall. Pope, unlike the other three, is standing with his side against the doorway, biting his nails. (JJ is pretty convinced that’s a habit he picked up from him.)

Kiara clears her throat. ‘JJ, you were gone for two months.’

‘What? No way, that’s— That’s impossible, Kie. It was just yesterday—’

‘We buried you,’ says John B, voice hoarse. ‘Mourned you. Had to learn how to live without you.’

‘But I’m back now! That’s great news, right?’

‘JJ, we’re fuckin’ happy you’re back.’ John B leans forward and pats him on the back, squeezing his shoulder. His smile is grim, but it’s there. ‘It’s just a little unbelievable. We watched you die. It’ll— It’ll take us some… time.’

At the doorway, Pope is still staring at JJ as if he’ll disappear at any given moment.

JJ’s neck stiffens, and he’s sure John B feels it, because his hand falls limp to the side. The blond mumbles something, incoherently enough that not even he knows what he said, then shakes his head. ‘I should probably get some rest.’ His eyes fall to his lap. ‘Apparently two months wasn’t enough.’

His words seem to cut through the atmosphere in a way that alienates him from the rest of them – the uninterruptedly living.

Nobody says anything, but JJ still rises to his feet. His hands pat his shirt and his shorts, as if they could do anything to smooth the creases. He glances at John B, whose eyes are fixed on him. ‘My room still empty?’

‘Nobody’s touched it since you…’ The brunet shakes his head, as if a thought needed to get out. ‘Might be a little dusty.’

‘You want me to fetch you anything?’ asks Kiara, voice wavering. ‘I can go to the Wreck—’

‘I’m good. Thanks.’

JJ doesn’t linger around to see their reactions – if there are any, anyway. Last thing he sees is Pope, still leaning against that door frame, unmoving and stoic as ever.

Like John B said, the bed needed to be dusted. JJ was done with that in a couple of minutes, and then he stripped into his underwear (what a waste of fresh clothing) and slipped under the covers.

The weight of these past few hours crushed on him like a raging storm. It doesn’t matter that he crawled out of his grave to join them – they had two months to figure out a way to live without him. Two months is more than enough to move on, to accept the new reality.

He knows because he’s been through it.

Outside, the storm rages on, too. JJ thinks of John B, a little calmer and quieter now; Kiara, distant like she seemed at the beginning of her kook year; and Pope.

Pope, who wouldn’t look him in the eye for longer than a second. Pope, who always had a smartass comment to chime in with, now pushing himself to the side and not participating.

JJ sighs. His chest is heavy and his face is stinging a little, but the realisation is heavier than any physical pain – his friends managed to move on from him. Couple of hours for JJ meant a couple of months for the pogues. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he gets to leave, now, when everybody thinks he’s dead.

Some time later, JJ lies awake, still. The storm has dwindled to mere tapping on the window, but his mood hasn’t changed.

Another kind of tapping him reaches him – full, against the wooden door separating him from the rest of his life.

JJ gets out of his bed with a tired sway to his hips, legs dragging along the floor. He rubs his eyes before he opens the door and when he does, he leans against the door frame, blinking against the sudden light.

‘Hey,’ greets Pope.

‘Hey.’

There’s hesitation reeking off the boy in front of him. His shoulders are slumped and JJ feels like he’s his height, even though Pope has always been taller.

The blond scratched the itch underneath the left side of his jaw. ‘You want to come in?’

Pope nods. JJ moves to the side and closes the door once they’re both in.

Out of habit, JJ plops down onto the bed, face-first. He doesn’t even notice Pope hasn’t done the same until he shifts a little and realises there’s a silhouette positioned against the window, blocking the moonlight from entering the room.

JJ drags himself to the edge of the bed, feet bare on the floor. His elbows are draped over his knees and he sees Pope a little better now – hands in his pockets and a frown on his face, lower lip with a quiver to it.

‘What’s up?’

‘You’re really here, right?’ Pope doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Alive?’

JJ chuckles, but there isn’t much humour to it. ‘As far as I can tell.’

‘But we watched you die.’

‘I know. I can remember all of that.’

‘You shouldn’t be here. Alive.’

‘I know,’ JJ says. ‘But I am. What are you going to do about it?’

The hesitation that comes off of Pope is different this time. It’s fleeting—ephemeral—and JJ only gets a moment’s worth of looking into his eyes when there’s hands on his cheeks, and warm lips smashing against his own.

All he hears is the rain tapping on the window, or the beating of his own heart. The warmth of Pope’s lips on his, or the cold of the storm.

The touch disappears, and JJ thinks he’s about to wake up in hell, and this was just a way to torture him – to give him something he’s yearned for and take it away like it was nothing.

open your eyes, boy. we ain’t finished.

His dad’s voice is like electricity and JJ opens his eyes, terrified.

Except it’s just Pope staring at him, looking just as distraught as he feels. JJ isn’t in hell. He’s in John B’s room, and while it might stink like hell, it isn’t it.

The storm is still quiet and gentle, but JJ doesn’t even notice it so much. Not after—

‘I thought I’d missed my chance,’ Pope says, weakly. ‘I just needed— I couldn’t—’

JJ shifts the weight to his feet and his hands find Pope’s neck like they belong there (because they do). He holds him—gentle, cautious, fragile—and shakes his head, at loss for words.

He wants to say ‘me too, Pope,’ except it’s not good enough. Except it doesn’t encapsulate what it feels like to die thinking the man you love never loves you back, or at least you’ll never find out, only to wake up, alive, and find out that your feelings have been reciprocated all along.

To crawl out of a grave for him.

JJ kisses him with the very same ferocity, with more hunger to it. JJ’s felt death—he’s felt the unknowable—and he won’t let another moment pass without doing the things he’d been afraid to do.

By the time they part, both boys are catching their breath, not even an inch apart. JJ’s hands are firm on Pope’s neck, thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw, while Pope’s hands grip the blond’s shirt at his sides.

JJ wants to say something, anything.

Pope is faster. ‘I thought I’d never get to do this.’

All JJ can do is nod; no words could ever be enough.

The shaky breath that falls from Pope’s lips only moments later is different from the boy who was leaning against the door frame earlier – more like the Pope JJ knew.

fell in love with.

It’s a little bit cynical, and a little bit guarded, but nevertheless free and innocent like JJ always knew him to be. But he takes creates some distance between the two, and JJ’s hands drop to his sides.

Pope’s smile isn’t what JJ thought it would be. It doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘You’re leaving.’

He should’ve known Pope would realise it. He just wondered what gave him away. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Don’t lie to me, JJ. Not after we just—’ Pope cuts himself off. He clears his throat, resting the back of his head against the window.

Breathless, JJ sits down on the bed, same position as earlier – as if his entire life hadn’t just been rocked from one side to the other. ‘I’m dead, Pope. You buried me. That’s what John B said. I get to— I get to do whatever I want. Go whatever I want. I’m… I’m free, Pope.’

The moon peeks through the clouds, bright enough to bask Pope’s silhouette in silver. JJ thinks of how much the boy resembles an angel – how he felt like one when he’d kissed him, granting him a wish he’d never dared to voice.

‘You could stay,’ suggests a small voice. ‘Be our own little ghost.’

JJ lets out a full laugh. ‘Is that what I am now?’

Pope’s smile becomes a little clearer as the moon gets back behind the clouds, and JJ wishes he could see his eyes clearly, too. ‘I can’t lose you again.’

He knows he should leave. They both know, Pope more so than anyone. JJ’s dead—legally—meaning that he can’t be seen around town without raising more than a couple of eyebrows. He can’t live on his own. He can’t—

He’s free from his dad, from obligations, but if he stays, he becomes enslaved to his own death.

But if he stays…

i lost you once already, pope. i can’t do it again, either.

He sighs and, unaware JJ’s already made his choice, Pope drops on the bed next to him, hand holding the blond’s. ‘Just for a year. Not even that long. Then I’ll be off to university, where no one knows any of us, and— And we can get a fresh start. Together.’

Careful, JJ cups the boy’s cheek. He can see his eyes now, as the moon shines on them like no other person has been worthy of its light – they’re not sad, or hopeful, but they are fretting.

JJ kisses his cheek, before turning his head slightly to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

He could never think of giving up on this. Not when he’d died to get it.

So he echoes, ‘Together.’

★

tagging. @the-pogues @ronnieweasley @outerbankslut @drewstarkey @jjmaybanky @sacredto @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @outrbank @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @teamnick @jjmaybanksbaby @mahleeyuh @nicolewithasoul @starlightstarkey @stargazingstarkey @anonymous0writer @outerbongs @jjandreidsgirl @kaitieskidmore1 @maybanksbaby @obx-direction-sos @stfukie @abbiesthings @tempestuousjj @solllaris @ijustgotnothingbetter2do @rafej-cambanks

#mayward #jjpope #jj maybank #pope heyward #outer banks #obx #mayward fanfiction #jjpope fanfiction #outer banks fic #obx fanfiction #obx fic #my fic #s: mayward #f: obx

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pandora15 · 3 years

Note

Okay okay so I'm STILL mind-blown over KOTF because I'm currently looking down the barrel of a long fic that I want to write but I'm like how am I going to do this so, for you, what was the hardest part of writing such a long fic? What parts came easiest to you? What unexpected challenges did you come across while writing it that you may not come across in a shorter fic or one-shot?

Love you, my friend!!! 💕

Spoilers for Keeper of the Force below

Hi Katie! Thanks for the ask; I'm really excited to talk about this stuff :)

Okay, so for me, the hardest part of writing KOTF was probably writing specific scenes that were well out of my comfort zone. I had to write a good amount of action sequences, which is definitely something I still struggle with, even now. I also struggled with writing scenes with more than three characters, just because it was so complicated to keep track of what each character was doing, saying, and thinking (even if the POV character doesn't really know about the latter). So yeah, I'd say the most difficult parts came down to writing things I haven't really tried writing before.

The easiest part, much to my own surprise, was the ending—specifically, the last two or three chapters. Maybe it's recency bias, maybe it's the sprint bot, maybe it's the fact that I thought about the ending of this story for literally years, but it all came together so beautifully. I also really enjoyed writing the whump and angst, as I always do xD and the suspense was surprisingly really fun to write as well! It kinda makes me want to write a more suspense-heavy story one day, but we'll see ;)

Unexpected challenges! Whoo boy. Okay, so we're gonna dig deep into spoilers, so if you don't want to be spoiled for exactly what happens in this fic, look away now and don't click below.

Okay.

So, I did plan out a lot of the major plot points ahead of time, including what ultimately happens to Obi-Wan. I was really scared of actually writing it though, especially when I was posting and getting comments for the first half-ish of the fic. For a while, I was on the fence about it, and I really wasn't expecting to have that internal conflict. I even thought of alternate ideas for what could happen to Obi-Wan, but in the end, I stuck to what I originally planned.

And I think that was the right choice because I'm a believer in going with your gut, and I think it made the story and its ending a much more powerful one. Or at least I hope it did?

I guess what I'm saying is that facing internal conflict about the ending of a story doesn't really happen with shorter fic, but it definitely can happen for longer stories, especially if you're like me and posting it as you write (which uh. is risky but here I am LOL).

Hmmmm, so my favorite part to write? Oh my goodness, I'm not even sure I can choose. There's just so much that I really, genuinely enjoyed writing from this fic. I will agree with you that Chapter 18 is definitely up there, just because I finally had the chance to actually reveal what was actually happening, and to allow Anakin and Obi-Wan to have their closure.

I also really enjoyed writing the last scene of Chapter 17! Before writing that scene, I was legitimately terrified of actually writing it, just because it felt so abstract and weird, but it was such a fun thing to write, and I think it came together really well!

And Chapter 15 as a whole is probably one of my favorites too, especially that ending. I think I was screaming while writing it. Honestly, it's all a blur, but. yeah. Man, do I love that chapter.

And even the epilogue, I just—ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Okay, so yeah, as you can see above, I literally cannot choose a favorite LOL.

Anyways, writing this fic was such a joy and a journey from start to finish. I enjoyed the whole process—from the very beginning, with me just writing a random Whumptober prompt, then coming up with a background and adding more and more, until there's a literal AU with all these things that came from my imagination.

And I mean, a part of me was so scared because I was like "I have literally no idea how I'm gonna write any of this, but I am gonna try like hell to do it." And it worked out, I grew so much as a writer through it all, and I am immensely proud of this story (and honestly a bit in awe of myself, because like. I wrote this????? What??????)

So yeah! I rambled a lot here, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that writing a long fic can be a rewarding experience! It definitely requires a lot of planning and thinking ahead of time. One of the things I wanted to do with KOTF in particular was really challenge myself as a writer—so I would suggest thinking about what you want to accomplish when writing your long fic.

Like: what's the point of your story? Not just the theme, moral of the story, etc. but for you, as the writer, what do you want to get out of this experience?

Also, when I was in the planning stages for KOTF, I had a lot of stream-of-consciousness blurbs throughout my document, a whole bunch of reference links, lists, timelines, and I think I even ended up drawing a diagram somewhere (but I have no idea where it went oof). So if you have like any potential ideas/thoughts/etc for your story, just get it down on paper somewhere! You can always come back to it and remove it or change it later on.

Okay, I rambled a lot more than I intended to, but uh. yeah! I guess I had a lot of thoughts about writing KOTF and it all came out right now. Hopefully it makes sense.

Thanks so much for the ask, and feel free to reach out if you have any questions about writing long fic! This goes for anyone who wants to know more about how I write, if that sort of thing interests you :)

(ask me anything about KOTF)

#kotf #keeper of the force #so basically i can't and won't shut up about this story and honestly i love that about me xD #i honestly can write an essay about kotf. or like multiple essays - one for each chapter #like a director's cut thing where i go into each scene and talk about what it was like to write that scene LOL #each scene has a story #anyways this was so much fun to answer so thank you!#i love reflecting on kotf #:')))))

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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And Everyday: When Life Gives You Lemons, Put Some Vodka in Your Lemonade (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode, Jaida Essence Hall/Jan Sport) - Campvanjie

AN: This was originally written for a fic exchange, and posted to AO3 under my now deleted account there on May 1st, 2020. Reposting here, because I’m proud of it, and am clearing old S12 fics from my Google drive. I’m the original author of this work, and there’s absolutely no plagiarism going on!

Summary: Gigi needs a soft place to land after her quarter-life meltdown, and Crystal realizes the happily every after she gave up on, might not be totally out of reach. Meanwhile, Jaida and Jan work on restoring an old barnhouse; because marriage begets home improvement.Prompts: Parenthood AU, Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, and Angst all used to varying degrees.

CW: conversations around divorce/child custody and (past) bullying behavior, character mentions (non-specific) mental health issues as the reason for a past breakup.

“- Ugh, anyway, it’s like 3:30, he’s almost an hour late and I don’t know why the fuck I even got all dressed up just to sit at court being looked at like I’m some cheap bitch-”, Gigi grumbled into her phone. It was pressed against her cheek as she tried her best to juggle her purse and a extra-large coffee held in her other hand, her livid glare captured perfectly in the harsh, white light of the bathroom mirror across from her.

“I dunno, maybe because you have to be there? Kind of the mom thing to do.”, Crystal told her, static edging into her voice.

It was a long-distance call after all, and Gigi had fought against her fingers dialing the number almost by muscle memory. She had only relented once she had gotten through the packed hallway of the courts complex, and almost collapsed into what seemed like the only empty bathroom.

Call Crystal, had been the only thing she could think of do, in between beating her palms against the cool, brick walls, and shaking with sobs she refused to shed for fear of ruining her makeup.

Without missing a beat; Crystal had picked up, her voice always high and slowed, syllables enunciated in a way that had trained Gigi into asking for coffee, like it was spelled with a K, calling her son’s name, with the E in the middle a sharp, upward spike.

Crystal, Gigi realized with a start; was who had taught her to gulp in her breaths to hide herself crying, and shove her fist into her front pocket, to keep herself from shaking so much.

“I know. I know you’re right. I just- God, I’m so sick of it. It just want this all to be over so I can go back to what’s important, and stop feeling like my entire world is crashing down around me."

Crystal laughed, a little too dry for it to be genuine. "Hey, Gigi?"

"Hm?"

"If you- if you wanted, maybe you and the little munchkin could visit? Come see me in Missouri, maybe it’ll get your mind off things."

Gigi’s hands stopped underneath the stream of lukewarm water flowing from the faucet, her eyes meeting her reflection in the mirror. She looked like shit, no matter how much her carefully applied façade remained in place, her gaze jittered around the small room and she had never felt so truly tired in her entire life.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I mean, me of all people should know something about everything falling apart."

Less than an hour later, Gigi found herself dialing Crystal’s number again. She stood outside the courthouse, her glasses misted from the early- evening rain shower as she waited for her car.

Relinquished. She didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or take her parents up on their offer to live in their Florida timeshare and disappear off the face of the planet, too.

"He’s not coming because he filed paperwork to relinquish parental rights two weeks ago. In the eyes of the law, it’s just the two of you.”, her lawyer had told her, after finding Gigi just outside the bathroom. Jackie Cox was always dressed in tweed, pastel, pantsuits, dark hair coiffed in buttery smooth curls at the top of her head, her lips pursed in a thin, straight line, as though she was perpetually exhausted.

Gigi supposed that, being one of the city’s longest-serving family court attorneys would do that to you.

“I don’t know how I missed it on the dockets, but I should have told you first.”, Jackie apologized; her hand warm and steady at the small of Gigi’s back as she walked her client back up the hallway.

Gigi grunted, shrugging her shoulders underneath her jacket. “It’s fin- It wouldn’t have changed anything, Jackie. Really, thanks for everything."

She let herself lean against Jackie, letting one of her oldest friends wrap her arms around her, breathing in the scent of Jackie’s honeysuckle perfume on the courthouse steps.

"I’m sorry this happened-”, Jackie started, and Gigi could feel her heart sink to her stomach.

She had never done well with pity, least of all when she truly deserved it.

“Don’t be. Please, just don’t.”

“What are you going to do now?”, Jackie asked, as Gigi stepped out of her embrace, surveying the street before them that was quickly filling with cars and bikes and buses as the work day finished and school let out for the day.

“Right now? Get in an Uber and hope they don’t charge me triple for being late at daycare again.”

Crystal picked up on the fourth ring, and Gigi could hear the sound of a sink running in the background. Water splashed against metal, and the distinct sound of another woman’s voice, screeching with laughter, buzzed through the speakers of Gigi’s phone.

“Whoo- chile, I’m telling you if you come any closer with that flour, I’m gonna-"

"Shit. Sorry.”, Crystal had muffled the phone against her chest, the static only cutting out when Gigi was sure she had ducked into another room.

“How quickly can you get that guest room set up? I’m pretty sure we can make it for tomorrow if I drive through the night.”

“Mom- Mom it’s twelve-thirty-five. It’s way, way, way past your bedtime!”, Destiny crowed from his carseat, kicking at Gigi’s back. His blonde curls were plastered to the side of his face, lips dusted with salt from the bag of chips that Gigi had let him pick out form himself at their last rest stop.

Their entire lives had fit neatly into the sickeningly suburban five-seater that his father had insisted on, the largest luggage case filled with her son’s clothes and bedsheets still having enough room to jostle under his bare feet.

She knew it was impulsive, and stupid, and half-expected the police to pull them over several states away, but as the highways emptied to nothing bur a ribbon of white lines that kept them on the right side of the road, Gigi became more and more convinced she was doing the right thing.

“My bedtime is five-thirty, kiddo. Yours is eight, so you get to stay up so much later.”, she joked easily, never having had Destiny for so many hours, all by herself in the years since he had started preschool.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense! It’s eight at night and right now it’s morning! Nobody goes to sleep at five in the morning!”, he shrieked, and giggled at his own reflection in the rearview mirror.

“That’s when the garbage truck wakes up!”, he added. Gigi didn’t remember, if he had ever talked so much, his voice jarring and so different from the toddler babbles she had recorded, and kept on her phone to watch on her worst days.

Her textile studio had taken up her days, until her partners had grown tired of Gigi stumbling in at eleven in the morning, unable to force herself to care very much about their bottom line, and the grey, dull world outside until Destiny had come to kick her out of bed.

Afterwards, his father would take her nights, the pressure incessant that they be exactly what they looked like- a family that belonged in a catalog, with a perfectly dressed, perfectly quiet child, money to burn and success in spades; drinking from matching flutes of champagne while Destiny was left alone in his basement bedroom with a baby monitor and his collection of stuffed animals.

Gigi faltered in a sea of plastic smiles and shallow conversations, and at the end of the day, all of her friends who had warned her off marrying her senior-year rebound, giving her life over to the promise of a bright, empty future, had been right.

He wanted to live in a dream, where she was only ever a sidekick; their son nothing more to him than a prop to parade, an filled-in item on a checklist that he had given up without a second thought.

Gigi had named him Destiny, because she liked it first, but second, because it had sounded so good with his last name; that she had never even considered having to change it.

Destiny Goode was a name that sounded like a motivational quote from a caveman, and she briefly wondered, merging on to the next interstate her GPS system highlighted- if a six-year-old would remember his name if she changed it right now.

He could be a Garret, or a Jaden, just like every other boy at school.

A fresh slate with no more questions to be asked, and nothing left to tie her perfect boy to Gigi’s worst mistake.

“-So, she’ll be here at nine-thirty, and we’re all going to be nice as fuck and not make it weird, okay?"

Crystal smoothed down the pleats of her skirt with her palms, her legs crossed in front of her at the breakfast table, as her eyes flitted between Jaida and Jan, who both had forks in hand as they enjoyed the chilaquilles that Crystal had set out for their meal, knowing this was going to be a big conversation.

"Chile-”

“Okay, go back to the part where she broke up with you and then ended up married to darksided Warner-"

"Guys!”, Crystal protested, glaring down at her friends.

Jaida and Jan had bought the barn on her family’s property not even weeks after Crystal had agreed to put it on the market, the decrepit, white-washed wood tower an eyesore along the country highway.

They were the closest thing she had to neighbors, in the wide acres of rolling plains that separated everyone by miles along the road, and it hadn’t taken long for the three of them to grow close.

Together, they had carved a guest house out of the front entryway, laying water pipes and television cable; and were working on renovations to turn the barn’s hall into an event space, with glass lanterns hanging high along the rafters that Crystal remembered walking across like a tightrope when she was a child.

Jan drilled in heavy wood planks to form a catwalk that overlooked the barn floor, which you could reach from the outside fire escape, and Crystal had been thrilled to finally put her years of following behind her father to use, toolbox in hand as she sanded down the reinforced beams holding up the roof.

If Gigi hadn’t called her, Crystal and Jan had a day ahead of them of hauling the shingles from a pallet left by the side of the road, in Crystal’s truck up to the barn, while Jaida had her camera, and a full calendar of Senior Portraits to finish before the end of the school year.

“I know it sounds like a lot, but please, please, don’t make it weird. Gigi always…- She always needed everything to go perfectly, and I hate to say it but… I might be her only real friend. Like, ever.”, Crystal told them, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

Gigi, who for the past few years, had been nothing but a collection of memories that would fire in her brain occasionally, like a slight twinge from an old injury, would be back in the flesh at her doorstep, at any minute. Crystal barely had the time to recruit Jaida’s help in clearing out her guest rooms for Gigi and her son, much less process how she truly felt about offering up her home as their refuge.

Gigi had never responded to the birthday cards she sent for Destiny after his third birthday; barely ever logging into her Facebook page that had been filled with photos of the two of them through college; and seemed to abruptly be cut off after she had gotten married. Occasionally, something would trickle through, a vacation photo of her little family, and anniversary note, a first day at school and a post that asked everyone to go and follow her business page.

For all of the refreshing Crystal did, Gigi’s studio seemed to never upload anything beyond its logo and business hours.

“Nah, listen, I get it, babe.”, said Jaida, a tortilla chip hanging from the corner of her mouth. “People grow and change and we gotta meet them where they’re at."

She nodded towards Jan, who was gulping down her orange juice, with a fond grin. "If you would have told my queen bitch ass when I was in high school, that I would end up married to Miss Team Too Much, I would have stole your man and told the whole school some dirty secret.”, Jaida laughed. “Everybody’s dealing with something, and I was so closeted and angry I was acting a fool for free."

"You were never closeted.”, Jan piped up, her voice rising an octave from normal, making Crystal widen her eyes as she looked to her side.

“Glass closet, honey. Besides, my point is, it’s water under a bridge, whatever we do when we’re young. I love you now.”, she said, pressing a kiss to Jan’s temple as she rose to go take their dishes to the sink. “You ended up turning out to be an amazing woman. I’m sure Gigi’s just the same."

The sun was high over the horizon line when Gigi’s car rumbled up the range road, rocks spraying into the grass as her wheels skipped over the pockmarked dirt.

She had taken Destiny to a hotel waterpark with a free breakfast, the absolute joy and shock on his face more than worth being several hours off of the arrival time she had texted Crystal. He was asleep now, only dressed in a pair of shorts and his sneakers, the buckles of his carseat starting to chafe red against his skin.

Gigi turned left at the barn, towards the yellow-shuttered house she remembered visiting over so many spring breaks and reading weeks, surprised to see two workers, stacking pallets of shingles by the barn door. One was a gorgeous, darker-skinned woman, the sun glittering from the highlights in her hair as she waved over to Gigi, making her grin despite herself.

Crystal’s tiny town had always been welcoming, the huge open expanses of space seeming to make everyone all the more willing to seek a connection- though Gigi would have never guessed that Crystal and her family would ever do anything with the barn, which looked just a little less decrepit than she remembered, so many years later.

She parked by the balcony, just in front of Crystal’s truck, and shook Destiny awake, helping him into the first shirt which she could reach from his bag.

"C'mon, Des. We’re here. Are you excited to say hi to Mom’s friend? She stayed up all night to make you new room!”, she asked, watching as he took in the word around them.

“You have friends?”, he blurted out, so plainly that Gigi couldn’t keep a smile off her face, even if he had probably heard that from a TV show she probably shouldn’t have been letting him see.

“That’s not very nice."

Still, she kissed the top of his head, and helped him out of the car, his tiny hand feeling heavy in hers as they made their way up the stairs to Crystal’s door.

The balcony creaked under their feet, as Gigi raised her hand to press against the doorbell, Destiny tugging against her shirt, pointing up at the colorful strips of cut paper that still adorned the windows, the sun cutting what must have been a stained-glass glow inside the house.

"Snowflakes, like at school!”, he called to her, pressing his face against the windowsill before Gigi pulled him back.

“No, it’s called papel picado.”, Gigi corrected, remembering how Crystal had spent hours at her paper press in the basement of the art rooms in college, a mess of stencils spread across the desk, a chisel and mallet in hand as she studied the pictures her grandmother would send her.

Crystal’s tongue would poke out of her mouth, her pupils blown wide in concentration, oblivious to the darkening sky above her until Gigi would find her, at half-past midnight, standing still wide awake in the middle of confetti slices of cut paper piling around her.

They would kiss, exhilarated and young and alone together, and Gigi would never think anything was wrong until-

“Gigi! Geegs! Look who’s late to their own party!”, Crystal squealed, the door swinging wide open to reveal her; red-brown hair still as wild as ever, piled into a messy ponytail atop her head, and a smile so wide Gigi could see nearly all her teeth. Crystal sparkled with the same craft glitter that had always hung from her fingertips, her cheeks flush as though she’d run from one end of the house to the other.

Her eyes looked bright again, the memory of which was so foreign to Gigi that she took a moment to take it all in, Crystal’s bright skirt and her tight, sleeveless top looking all the more like relics of the summers they had spent together.

“Ahoy.”, she greeted, raising a hand to her forehead in a mock salute.

Crystal giggled.

Giggled, like she always had, and waved them inside with a flourish of her hand.

“Are you mad at me?”, Jaida asked, kicking open the toolbox that she and Jan shared.

They had watched Crystal let the storied Gigi into the house, and decided to occupy themselves with bolting down the side light fixtures in the barn, until whatever was probably going on between their neighbor and ex calmed down enough for Crystal to invite them in.

But, Jan’s temper had grown increasingly short through their day, her drill now clenched in a white-knuckled grip as Jaida held the ladder she was on steady below her, digging in the tool box for the next drill bit she would need.

“Why- the fuck- would I be mad at you?”, she said through gritted teeth, over the sound of the power tool in her hand.

“‘Cause you just said fuck, for one.”, Jaida muttered, her eyes rolling skyward. Her wife had always been a little dramatic, but there was nothing Jaida hated more than the silent treatment, far preferring a knock-down, drag-out, screaming fight to being frozen out for hours with little more than a sharp glance or a silent nodded sent her way.

Jan shrugged her shoulders, her favorite blue and red flannel shirt stretching deliciously tight across her back.

Was Jan teasing her? Was it all some kind of elaborate game that was intended to be finished in their bedroom?

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s killing the mood, babe.”, Jaida teased, hoping that Jan would get the hint.

Instead, she dropped the drill from her grip, clattering down the ladder as it bounced on the hard-packed ground. The battery pack popped from the tool’s back, not that Jan could be bothered as she stalked away, ignoring Jaida’s raised eyebrows.

“Hey- hey- you can’t just wreck stuff because you’re having a bad day!”, Jaida called after her wife, looking down at the mess of wires at her feet. “And I don’t know how to fix this shit so-"

She fell silent, as Jan’s steps echoed up the outdoor fire escape, her body disappearing until Jaida could only see the outline of her long, blonde hair, blowing in the wind from the balcony.

"Jan?”, she shouted, following her up the steps. “Hey, I know I fucked up, but you gotta tell me how otherwise I’m not gonna know how to fix it."

"Right.”, Jan scoffed as Jaida rounded the corner, the two of them facing towards Crystal’s house, where a second-floor light flickered on and off several times. “I forgot that everything’s so easy for you, I just have to spell it all out."

"Okay, what does that even mean?"

Jan glowered at her wife, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Why did you tell Crystal the reason you were a bully in high school was because you weren’t out?"

"That’s what this about? Baby-”, Jaida reached forward, her hand only barely touching Jan’s shoulder before her wife flinched away. “I was just trying to make her feel a little better about the whole thing, everything going on with Gigi. I don’t even remember if I was a bully in high school."

"Maybe I do.”, Jan snapped, her eyes flashing up in anger for a split second.

Jaida sighed, looking back over the horizon; where the sun was starting to dip at the back of scattered farmhouses and cottage homes littered accross the plains. “Look- I- I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“You’ve never apologized."

"You want me to say sorry?"

It had been years since Jan and Jaida had reconnected, long separated from the people that they had been as children.

Jaida had remembered Jan as an easy target from their first day in kindergarten, a tiny, loud girl who fell into a pattern that followed until Jan had left for college on a musical theatre scholarship, and Jaida had gone to play basketball for a small, comfortable liberal arts college in the heartland. When she had met Jan again; she was another person who shared the same name, at an alumni event where both of them had been invited to promote their respective colleges.

Where Jan had always worn her heart on her sleeve, the woman Jaida had married was confident, and passionate, witty and driven beyond belief.

She hadn’t had a second thought proposing to her, in the middle of the butterfly sanctuary at the zoo in the springtime, kissing her passionately without question at their Central Park wedding, their families both swaying together underneath the canopy of a white tent, to the music of the very first DJ they had found on Google.

"I just want you to- admit that it happened.”

“You’re acting like this was a big deal.”, Jaida groaned. “Baby, we were kids."

"It was a big deal. I thought about the stupid shit you and your friends said, for years after- and you don’t know what that was like."

"Okay- I-”

Jaida sighed, laying her hands on the railing that rounded the balcony, squeezing the metal rung tightly against her palms, the fight seeping out of her as she studied her wife, who looked on the verge of tears.

“Jan- baby, hey, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Silence fell between them, the sound of the crickets the only thing that cut in between their breaths. Jan buried her face in her hands, elbows resting against the railing beside her wife.

“I know. It’s just, that stuff adds up sometimes.”

She pressed herself into her wife’s shoulder, letting her head rest against Jaida’s arm.

“It adds up the other way around, too. Don’t think it doesn’t.”, Jan whispered, and Jaida finally let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in, her arm snaking around to rest around her wife’s waist. “It’s just a lot of work.”

“Then I’ll work on it, baby. Just tell me what you need.”

Gigi was surprised, at how instantly familiar Crystals kitchen was, breakfast leftovers heaped on top of Destiny’s plate while she quietly accepted a Diet Coke, sipping at the flat beverage as she finally began to relax. Gigi could tell her son was starting to feel sleepy, his eyes losing focus even as he kept lifting his fork to his mouth.

“Cielito.”, Crystal cooed, as she ruffled his curls, passing by the two of them as she moved to shutter the blinds in the kitchen. Destiny clearly thrived under the attention, and Gigi wondered if he had always craved touch, or if he was only a child who was excited by all of the new things around him. The heat was sticky, and Crystal’s brightly painted walls made the whole house look even more like an eternal birthday party, the fridge covered with photos and magnets.

Crystal had never learned to speak Spanish, at least as far as Gigi knew, having begged Crystal to help her pass her class for months when they had been roommates, but she supposed, she must have picked up more of it, with all the time she must have spent with her family afterwards.

“Where are you Mom and Dad?”, Gigi asked, swirling her straw in her Diet Coke. “I should say hi, right?"

Crystal shrugged. "We could Facetime? They were back in Mexico for a while after my Dad got sick, but right now they’re travelling Europe, living the old people dream. I’m sure my Mom still misses you."

Gigi took a deeper breath, her lips pursed as she watched Crystal dump dirty dishes in the sink.

"Is um- are you getting the barn demolished? I saw a couple people working on it outside."

"Oh, that’s just Jan and Jaida. They live there. I sold it a few months ago, and they’re trying to turn it into, like, a wedding hall. You’d love them- they’re the gayes-”, she paused, looking down at Destiny as he tipped his glass of orange juice into his mouth. “They’re super, super in love, and so gross."

Gigi could feel herself start to blush, even though she had started having that conversation with her son almost as soon as he had started to learn to talk.

"I usually have them over for dinner, so you can say hi."

Gigi coughed, swallowing the question that had been at the tip of her tongue since she had spoken to Crystal the day before.

"So? are you seeing anyone?”, she asked.

Crystal shook her head. “I’m not really looking.”, she said. “Still putting the cry in Crystal!”, she laughed. “And you were right, I wouldn’t want to put that on anyone else."

"I- ”, Gigi bit back her reply, not quite knowing if this was a talk she wanted to have, with her son arranging chips on his plate not two feet in front of her.

“Hey- buddy”, Crystal tapped on Destiny’s shoulder, nudging him with her hip. “Go wash your hands in the bathroom. It’s the one with the fish on the door and Star Wars on the curtain."

He looked back up at his mother, Gigi giving him a curt nod of approval as he skittered up the hallway.

"He’s a cute kid, you know? You’re doing a good job.”, she told Gigi, pushing the boy’s chair back in.

“Yeah… mostly not my job, but I’ll pass it on to our last nanny."

Gigi had stood with their plates, following Crystal to the sink where she happily plunged her arms into the hot, soapy bubbles, not caring very much for how her shirtsleeves got soaked in the water, navy fabric clinging to her wrists.

"Seriously. Gigi- look at me.”, Crystal reached around her, shutting off the faucet with a decisive clicking noise. “I don’t blame you for being twenty-one and not sticking around after I flipped out because I didn’t know how to deal with college, and real life and everything. It’s a day by day thing.”, she shrugged, reaching to open a cabinet and put the glasses in the drying rack away.

Crystal’s body was almost uncomfortably close, pressing into Gigi’s side like she remembered them being like, when they had shared their first apartment, having barely enough room for two people in between the fridge and the stove.

“Some days are better than others. But it’s-”, she paused, and smirked, her lips curling into the same wicked grin that Gigi could never shake from her memories, no matter how hard she tried. “No offense, but you’re not important enough for it to have been your fault."

"Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”, Gigi couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “Kick a girl when she’s down?"

"Or, some people just have shitty brain chemistry, and other people are assholes. Stop thinking it’s all on you all the time, you absolute flaming fuck-up.”, Crystal told her, her words softening behind her smile.

“Maybe don’t say flaming, but I did fu-"

Destiny padded back into the room, rubbing at his eyes. "Is it adult time yet?”, he asked, his tiny mouth yawning open. “Everyone’s saying all the bad words."

Crystal snickered, turning her undivided attention back to rinsing out the sink, her back turned to the both of them as if to say Gigi was on her own with that one.

"Good night, I guess.”, she muttered, shuffling across the tile towards him.

“See you tomorrow, Geegs. Just don’t forget, there’s always that.”

Gigi laid in bed with Destiny resting half on her chest, her son not wanting to leave her side, once the novelty of their adventure had worn off, and he had started to realize that there was a certain kind of permanence, to Crystal’s rainbow-colored walls, to the laughter from the kitchen that came from Jan and Jaida, who had eyed Gigi with enough suspicion to let it be known to her that she was absolutely not welcome in whatever little world they had built.

Okay, maybe the last bit was just in her head, and she could just introduce herself properly at breakfast the next morning- but she had still jumped at the chance to lock herself in Destiny’s appointed bedroom, pretending that he would need her to fall asleep, even though he had only wanted to cuddle before passing out completely the second that she dimmed the lights.

She scrolled through her phone, mindlessly as her son shifted in her arms, the message bubble beside his father’s name still lit up red with unread texts, that she skipped through to flick past her Instagram feed, landing on Crystal’s profile at the very bottom of her following list. The very first account which she had followed, years ago, and the very last that she kept up with, the creeping intimacy of being under Crystal’s roof, trying to piece together the life she had dropped out of, thicker than the heat of the air around her.

Crystal’s photos were all filtered through something that made them look brighter, more vibrant than the rainy afternoons and damp wetlands that they featured in the background, the captions all long, effusive essays about the importance of showing up to vote, or the beauty of the creek behind her house in the summertime. The most recent photo, featured her lying in a bed of sunflowers, grinning up at the sky, eyes half-shut against the sunlight.

Don’t look right into a solar eclipse!, the caption started, followed by at least a dozen laughing emoji faces, alternating with bright pink flowers. Sometimes life just punches you in the face, dummy! And you just gotta deal with it anyway. Don’t waste a second!

Gigi chuckled, locking the phone and laying it back on the bedside table, trying to move as little as possible as she turned off what was left of the light in the bedroom, and drew herself closer to her son in her arms.

His breathing was steady, his hands reaching for her hair in his sleep.

“Okay, kiddo. I got you.”, she said to nobody in particular, sinking lower in the sheets so she could tuck them tighter around him.

There’s always tomorrow, she could hear Crystal telling her, her voice clear as the dream Gigi was starting to slip into.

The next morning, she would start putting everything back together again.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jaida essence hall #jan sport #crygi #jaida x jan #lesbian au #hurt/comfort #parenting au #s12 #angst #fluff #campvanjie #tw mentions of divorce #tw mention of mental illness

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eviearie · 4 years

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All I Want for Christmas is to Not Be Poisoned By Your Cooking

Happy Holidays (and happy new year) @stormypaint ! This is a gift for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange, in which the sides are fluffy idiots and I think I accidentally roast myself. I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you enjoy! (Additional note: I got 2 of the wishes down. I tried to put angst in here but—it did not work. At all).

Pairings: Platonic DLAMPR

Word Count: 2574

Warnings: lots of bickering, 1 swear word, it looks like Remus might accidentally kill someone at one point but it’s all good

Summary: It’s the solstice, and the sides are finally getting around to getting in the Christmas spirit. Decorating, baking, gift exchanging, and of course, playful bickering— what more could Janus ask for?

Read on Ao3 here

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Janus lounged on a chair in the common room, sipping his… soup as the other sides worked around him. Roman was hanging stockings above the fireplace, Logan was putting ornaments on the tree, and Virgil was sitting on top of the couch with a cup of hot cocoa made by Patton, who was in the kitchen with Remus. The outcome of that should prove to be interesting.

Janus got up off the chair and walked to the kitchen, the sounds of playful bickering and crackling fire lightening the area behind him. He walked into the kitchen, bracing internally for whatever horrible sight he was about to see.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t actually too bad.

Patton was kneeling down by the oven, watching whatever abomination was surrounded by the warm yellow light illuminating it. Remus was— well, it looked like he was attempting to stir something in a pot, but it wasn’t going very well.

“Do you need some help?” Janus asked, raising a brow as he approached Remus, who was covered in chocolate.

Remus exhaled, “No duh, Snakespeare,” he said. “I’m fudging the fudge!”

Patton giggled from the oven. Janus looked unimpressed.

“Don’t give me that,” he said, taking the pot from the other side and vigorously mixing the glossy chocolate in the pot with ease.

“Damn Jan, those snake arm muscles are buff,” Remus commented as he recovered.

“Hours in the kitchen with Patton will do that to you, especially when those first batches are always in perfect condition,” Janus said with a glace over at Patton.

The oven alarm went off with a little tune. “Cookies are ready!” Patton exclaimed, grabbing a pair of oven mitts from the counter and opening the oven. Janus was surprised to find that the smell wafting from it was actually pleasant.

"Yes!" Remus cheered, skipping over to bask in the presence of those cookies. "Can we eat them now?"

"They do look good," Janus commented with faux surprise in his voice. Patton gave him the Dad Look™. You know, the one with the oven-mitted hands on hips and the (quote-unquote) disappointment in the eyes. That one.

“Of course they do, kiddo,” Patton chided. Janus just lifted a cookie off the still-hot tray, biting into the soft warm dough. It’s okay, Remus already had already stuffed several in his mouth.

Wow. “Not bad.”

“Whoo! We did it pops! We got props from the second harshest critic here!” Remus exclaimed, holding a hand up to Patton for a high five, which would have been accepted if not for the fact that the latter was still holding the hot pan of cookies.

“Third,” Janus corrected. “As long as one’s own work counts, Roman goes before me.”

“I heard that!” Came a call from the other room.

“Hey! Don’t eat all of them!” Patton scolded Remus, holding the pan up to get it out of the other side’s radius and holding back a smile from his face. “They’ve got to be frosted first.”

“Oh, joy,” Janus said while Remus cheered. “This better be a repeat of the Easter fiasco.”

“I think we all learned from that,” Patton said as he set the pan down.

Janus wasn’t convinced, but he let it slide anyway. Tis the season, right?

“But first, we should probably clean up,” the moral side continued.

“Yes, because it looks terrible in here—” Janus started, before Patton nodded behind him. Janus turned around.

“Oh.” Yep, that was terrible indeed. Remus must have gone full rat mode in the flour, or something. Janus really hoped that was food coloring, too, and not blood.

“I’m gonna leave you two to that,” Janus said, backing away slowly, “and make sure Virgil doesn’t come in here.”

“Thanks Jan, love ya kiddo!” Patton called before Janus closed the kitchen door with a small sigh.

“Janus. We need your help,” Roman said with a very serious tone in his voice.

"What is it?" Janus asked with a sigh.

"Roman thinks that—"

"I think that," Roman started, interrupting Logan, “we shouldn’t hang the mistletoe ornament up on the tree, and instead hang it over the doorway.”

“First of all, I’ve already told him this is holly, not mistletoe—”

“It’s what it’s supposed to be!”

“Mistletoe is white!” Logan near screeched.

“It’s true, mistletoe isn’t white,” Janus added.

“I’ll just change it then!” Roman exclaimed with an exasperated tone as he waved a hand, the berries on the holly in Logan’s hand changing from a bright red to a hazy white.

Logan looked satisfied. “Second, it’s an ornament for the tree. It should go on the tree. You can conjure up a real mistletoe if you wanted, although the whole idea of hanging one up for romantic purposes is rather silly.”

Roman harrumphed. “But what’s the point of having it on the tree?”

“There is no point, it’s for decoration. Did you not hear what I just said about the purpose being quite—”

“It’s romantic, Logan!” Roman said with a dramatic flair, spinning around and fake fainting towards Logan. The dark blue side quickly

caught him with his free arm.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Janus commented.

“I could,” Logan retaliated.

“Oh my god guys, just hang the damn mistletoe up,” Virgil groaned from the couch.

"But we haven't resolved-"

"Roman. Make a new mistletoe. Like this," Virgil said, leaning forward to show a picture of a rounded ball of mistletoe.

Roman pouted his lips but conjured up something.

"Great. Now hang it up in the kitchen doorway like you wanted," continued Virgil.

Roman did so.

"Now it's resolved," said Virgil, relaxing again.

"Terrible job Virgil," said Janus. The anxious side just rolled his eyes.

Soon Patton and Remus came walking out of the kitchen, Remus kicking something from his fingers and Patton dusting off flour from the bottom of his shirt.

Roman perked up from his place on the couch, where he had sat. "Hah! You two are under the mistletoe!" He exclaimed.

"Aww, you hung up mistletoe, that's sweet," Patton commented before giving Remus an honorary kiss on the forehead.

"Is it sweet-?" Logan started.

"Shut your yap Sherlock," Remus cut in.

Janus patted Logan's head as the latter crossed his arms.

"Are the cookies ready?" asked Roman.

"-And are they intact, not soggy, not burnt, not poisoned, and do they actually taste good?" asked Virgil.

"Yep!" Patton chimed, walking up and plopping himself down on the floor near the tree.

Virgil didn't look convinced.

"Do worry Virgil, I've seen them and they look absolutely horrible," said Janus. Virgil looked horrified only for a split second before understanding, immediately seeming much more relaxed and relieved.

"Did you follow the recipe I gave you?" Logan asked.

"We did!" replied Remus, who was draped over the coach next to Virgil. "At least the third time we made them."

"Trust me, these cookies are gonna be dadlicious," Patton said.

"That one wasn't even good."

"I'm not on my b—a—ke game today."

"Oh god."

"Either way, these ginger-dad cookies are going to be a gift to us all."

"Really? Dad again?"

Patton shrugged, smiling.

"Speaking of gifts—" Janus started, "I have a question for you all."

"What's the question?" asked Patton.

"That is the question," added Virgil.

"'That' is not a question,” said Logan. “‘That' is a word used most commonly to refer to an object or idea."

Roman sat up. "Oh, it's not just used to refer to an object! I refer to Remus as 'that' too.”

(Remus was unfazed, as to be expected).

“The question,” Janus started, again, “is when you all want to do gift exchanges this year.”

“Let’s do it now!” Patton exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Patton, it’s December 21st. While I do agree that the solstice is a beautiful thing to celebrate, Christmas isn’t for 4 days.”

“3 days,” chorused Virgil, Remus, and Roman simultaneously.

“Don’t question my counting methods.”

“Well, we can do some now, right? We’ve done so much work today, decorating and baking, it would be a fun treat!”

“I can’t argue with that,” said Janus.

Judging from the lack of bickering, it didn’t seem like anyone else could either.

"Yay!" Patton exclaimed. "Let's do our secret Santa gifts. I'll go first!"

The group had decided to do a secret gift exchange between all of them that year-- but some sides (Patton especially) wanted to give gifts to everyone anyways. So there would be more gifts coming on Christmas day.

"I had Logan," said Patton, passing a gift to the logical side, "so I got him a book!"

"A book, how practical of you-" Logan started, although he cut off as soon as he saw what book it was."

"A book of dad jokes!" Patton said, beaming.

Logan sighed to himself as he opened the book up. "An engineer, a physicist, and a mathematician are staying in a hotel. The engineer wakes up and smells smoke. They go out into the hallway and see a fire, so they fill a trash can from his room with water and douse the fire. They go back to bed. Later, the physicist wakes up and smells smoke. They walk down the hall to a fire hose and after calculating the flame velocity, distance, water pressure, trajectory, etcetera, they extinguish the fire with the minimum amount of water and energy needed."

"Why did you pick the longest joke you could find?" Virgil complained.

"I'm just hearing a bunch of math words," said Remus.

"Later," Logan continues without a glance up, "the mathematician wakes up and smells smoke. They go into the hall, see the fire, and the fire hose. They think for a moment, then exclaim, 'Ah, a solution exists!'. Then they go back to bed."

Silence. Only silence was in the room.

"That was actually really funny," said Logan, closing the book.

"Gimme that," said Remus, stretching over the top of the couch to snatch the book from Logan.

"Why do teenagers travel in groups of 3s and 5s?" read Remus, who then looked around for a response.

"I don't know, why?" asked Patton.

"Because they can't even."

Virgil snickered at that. From the others came "That was a pretty good joke" and "yeah that makes sense" and another laugh.

"Oh, there's also a gift card in there for you," added Patton.

Logan lifted up the Amazon gift card. "Thank you, Patton," he said, before setting his gifts aside. "I had Janus as my giftee."

"Oh goodie," said Janus. It was unclear even to him if he was being sarcastic or not. (He wasn't).

"I got you a book as well. Marcus Aurelius," Logan said as Janus opened his gift.

"Is that the 'breed quails for fighting' guy?" Remus asked excitedly.

Logan put his hand against his head. "Yes, but he also made many other significant points-"

"I want to breed quails for fighting."

"Actually Marcus Aurelius suggested against that—"

"Thank you, Logan, This will be a great addition to my collection. And that's the truth," said Janus, putting another argument on hold.

Logan smiled, because yes, it was.

"Well, I had Virgil," Janus said, glancing over at the anxious side.

"Let's get this over with," said Virgil, reaching for his gift.

"I got you a new pair of headphones, since your old ones broke-"

"Sorry about that again," said the twins at the same time.

"-And I also got you some new eyeshadow. You're welcome."

"Thank you," said Virgil, just a hint of surprise in his voice as he looked down at his gifts.

"Et toi?"

"Uh, I had Roman. Here, take your gift," said Virgil, handing a bag to Roman, who accepted it graciously. "I got you some makeup and slippers. Nothing much."

"Oh my gosh Virgil I love them!!! They're so on brand!" Roman exclaimed, his voice ringing with life throughout the mindscape. Virgil cringed, but smiled back with a thumbs-up as he recovered.

“Sadly, I had Remus,” Roman says, although his smile was still prominent as he set his gift to the side.

“Oooh goodie,” Remus replies with a grin, picking up his own gift.

“How dare you steal the phrase I just used,” Janus commented.

“Just open the thing already,” Roman said to Remus.

Remus did so. “Gasp, a sword! With holographic green and an octopus hilt??”

“I know, it’s great,” Roman started. Janus could hear Virgil whisper “How did he pull that whole thing out of that tiny bag?” to Logan.

“Thanks bro!” Remus exclaimed. Virgil leaned over from his spot on the couch and held on to the closest side he could find—Janus—in order to avoid Remus’ slashing radius.

“Okay, take it easy on the sword swinging,” Janus said, putting a careful hand on Remus’ shoulder.

Remus lowered his sword with an apologetic grin. “And I got you, pops!” he said, looking over at Patton. “Your gift is there. Even though our amazing cooking is a gift in itself!”

“It is,” Patton says whilst picking up his gift, opening the box it was wrapped in.

The moral side peered into the box. “Oh my gosh!!” he squealed.

“It’s a puppy!” Remus exclaimed.

“Oh no,” Logan, Virgil, and Janus said simultaneously.

The dark grey and curly-furred puppy looked up at Patton with adorable eyes, and Patton started it down with adoration. “I. Love. You.”

“I love you too Pat,” said Remus.

“I think he was talking to the puppy,” Roman cut in, although he was also looking adoringly at the small dog.

“Yes. But I also love you, Remus!” Patton said, beaming as the dog jumped into his arms.

“Well, that was enjoyable,” Janus commented as Logan tried to talk Patton out of whatever adorable thing he was trying to do with this puppy that would probably miraculously disappear tomorrow. Give it a week, at most.

"Yeah— this year has been rough. And I don't even know what year it is!" said Roman, who was putting his slippers from Virgil on.

“I love you guys,” said Virgil, so casually it would have shaken the room in any situation where Patton and Remus weren’t occupied with lovingly staring down an adorable puppy and the rest of them weren’t occupied with watching them.

“I love you too!” replied Roman, which was then followed by an “And I as well” from Logan, and a “Not me” from Janus himself, and “Same” chorusing from Patton and Remus, still occupied with the puppy.

“You should really do something with that puppy, though,” Janus said at Patton. “Before he ruins anything.”

“You think an angel with this face would destroy?” Patton asked with a coo, holding up the puppy for Janus to see.

“It is Remus’ creation, so, yes,” Janus said.

“That’s fair,” replied Remus, right as the puppy jumped out of Patton’s arms and bounded over to the tree (scarily, as Virgil would say).

“I’ll go put him in my room,” the dad side said before any disaster could strike, scooping the puppy in his arms and sinking out, returning soon after. “Should we frost cookies then?” he asked, smiling at the group with a—not signature, because this one was real—grin.

“Oh no,” said Logan and Virgil simultaneously.

“Oh yes,” the twins chimed together.

So with a trip to the kitchen, as well as many creative ways of avoiding the newly-hanged mistletoe, the sides frosted their Christmas cookies. And, well—

It may not have been as much of a fiasco as Easter, but it wasn’t pretty either.

It’s the Sanders sides. What would you expect?

#still need a writing tag aslfahgljas #sanders sides #thomas sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #platonic dlampr #christmas fic

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