#anyway i throw this into the void while i scramble to go get coffee before my game starts in an hour

[chloecorvid]

I'm debating setting up a commission option for custom discord / DND character stickers... Would that be something y'all would want for like $15 a pop?

'Cuz I've made some of My character the server I'm in and I think they're neat :0

[capcarolsdanver]

A Christmas Carol

Summary: You’re left with the disappointing fact that you will likely be spending yet another Christmas without your girlfriend, Carol Danvers. Your friends offer you support, but all you really need right now is your girlfriend to return from space to be with you for your favourite holiday. Can you count on a Christmas miracle? Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader A/N: Well... it’s not quite Christmas still, but I severely underestimated how busy I would be over the holidays, so please enjoy this late Christmas fic! Feedback is always appreciated so please let me know what you think! Please do not repost any of my writing anywhere else without my permission.

The annual Avengers Christmas get together is in full swing, and your eyes sweep out across the room to all of your closest friends around you. Of course, everyone’s having a great time, and the open space of the large party hall at Avenger HQ is full of laughter and joyous chatter amongst the guests.

Thor, who still doesn’t exactly understand Christmas, just seems happy to get to spend time with his favourite people. He brought along a generous supply of Asgardian alcohol for those who have what would be classified as a very high tolerance to alcohol, so as expected everyone is in a very joyous mood.

You yourself had found a spot on one of the couches surrounding a small table and had barely moved the whole night, feeling more in the mood to spectate in the festivities rather than participate this year.

Not to say that you’re sitting on your own in some miserable slump, because you are genuinely trying to enjoy everybody’s company, but you can’t deny the Carol-sized void that is particularly evident anywhere you go. Especially during the holidays.

As if to emphasise it, Steve, who’s sitting opposite you from across the small table, catches your eye.

“So, Y/N. When’s your lady coming home?”

He asks you kindly, with a warm smile, as Steve always does. Despite this, you can’t help it when your own smile falters and everyone sitting in your immediate proximity grows quiet, regarding you with sympathy.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Steve rushes to say when he seems to realise his mistake.

“No, don’t be,” you’re quick to reassure. “I knew what I was getting into when I started dating Carol. I can’t exactly expect space crime to conveniently stop in time for the holidays, can I?”

You choose not to bring up that this will be the third Christmas in a row that you have to spend without Carol, but you still feel the pity practically radiating from every person in the group.

“Okay, who else thinks it’s time for shots?” Sam yells loud enough to be heard over the music by everyone, and the group seems to loudly agree. You remind yourself to thank Sam later for successfully shifting everyone’s attention from you.

Everyone scrambles to each grab a shot. You remain seated on the couch, and moments later Nat takes her own spot on the couch next to you and presses a shot glass into your hands just in time for everybody to simultaneously start counting down from 3.

Somewhere between shouting and cheering, everyone downs their shots, and you all seem to collectively wince. You and Nat both grimace at the burn of the alcohol and it manages to get a chuckle from you.

Nat drops her shot glass on the table before she turns to face you again.

“So. Real talk,” she raises an eyebrow as if warning you not to try to back away from the conversation. “When did you last speak to Carol?”

“A couple weeks ago,” you admit, sighing. “She left on some mission about a month ago. But you know how it is when she’s working up there. It’s so hard for either of us to contact the other.”

Nat smiles sadly. “I’m sorry.” She pats your knee and you shrug at her, though you feel like you’re able to let your guard down a bit now that everyone else in preoccupied.

“Yeah, it sucks,” you let out, feeling Carol’s absence hit you all over again. Your eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill over.

Unexpectedly, and uncharacteristically, Nat pulls you into a hug. You give yourself little time to think about her rare show of affection before you gratefully wrap your arms around her and rest your chin on her shoulder.

“Did she tell you how long the mission might last?”

You shake her head. “No, she just said she might not be able to contact me until she was done.”

“Okay, I think you need another drink,” Nat says, releasing you from her arms. “I’ll be back.”

You quickly wipe at your eyes at the chance of any rogue tears that managed to fall and smile at her before she stands up and heads towards the bar.

————————

On the morning of Christmas Eve, you wake up with a start to some kind of commotion going from somewhere outside the room. You quickly survey your surroundings, remembering that you had decided the previous night to just stay at Avengers HQ after the party, like almost everyone else had. You’re in your old room that you used to live in before you and Carol had moved out together.

The commotion that had woken you up appears to still be going on if the shouting from somewhere outside your closed door is any indiction, so you begrudgingly get up to go investigate.

You follow the loud intrusion of sound into the kitchen, where you aren’t all that surprised to find Bucky and Sam shouting and gesturing wildly at one another.

“Dude, don’t lie. You literally stole my pop tart straight from my plate!” Bucky looks livid. Opposite him, Sam throws his arms out away from his body, matching Bucky’s outrage.

“You have no proof, you moron.”

“Why do I need proof when there was no one else around? It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

You continue watching their exchange, entirely unsurprised that they are blowing up over something as small as a pop tart. You’re half considering just heating another pop tart to shut them up when Nat leans on the wall next to you, taking a sip from her steaming mug of coffee while her eyes also land on the boys.

“Bet you’re glad you don’t wake up to this kind of thing everyday in that fancy apartment of yours, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you laugh. Though, of course, you probably do prefer waking up to these regular early morning antics from the boys than to the empty silence of your apartment whenever Carol isn’t there with you.

“You’re still coming with us to look at Christmas lights tonight, right?”

To be honest, you’d completely forgotten about Steve’s plan for you all to go on some Christmas light trail that night, and although Christmas is generally your favourite holiday, you find yourself not really in the mood to celebrate it this year.

But then again, anything to take your mind off of Carol’s absence sounds appealing to you right now.

“You bet.”

————————

You trail the group, looking around you at all the incredible Christmas displays people have decorated their homes with. There was absolutely no denying how beautiful the entire street is, but as much as you try you just can’t seem to get out of your own head.

Steve’s leading the group and you can hear them all excitedly chatting, pointing out particularly well decorated houses, but you’re content to linger towards the back of the group and take everything in on your own. You know you’re lacking the Christmas spirit needed to participate with them right now, anyway.

A solid hand is suddenly falling around your shoulders, successfully shaking you from whatever broody train of thought you were on as you almost jump out of your skin. Your head snaps to the person you were now attached to, seeing Thor’s wide smile. He tugs you closer to him in an almost brotherly fashion.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is,” you manage, after your heart beat finally slows back down to a normal rate again.

“Ah, you’re yet to hear from Carol, I presume?” Thor asks. You’ve gotta give him credit. As much as he’s completely enthralled by the Christmas lights surrounding you, Thor can still pick up on your solemn mood with remarkable ease.

“You presume correctly.”

You see Thor hesitate for only a moment before he speaks. “Might I offer a few words, Y/N?”

“Sure,” you say, sighing. What could you lose from hearing what he has to say? Plus, the Asgardian usually provided you with some pretty solid advice.

“Please give Carol a little patience. I know firsthand how difficult it can be to communicate with you all while I’m not here.” You soften at Thor’s words, not even aware of how tense your body was. “You all are my family. And it hurts when I’m unable to talk to any of you whenever I’d like,” he explains. “So, please just remember that Carol is likely just as anxious to speak with you as well.”

“Right,” you say more to yourself. Thor’s words somehow do make you feel some kind of comfort in the fact that Carol wasn’t choosing to go so long without talking to you. Not that you thought she was, but the reassurance helps.

Thor squeezes your shoulder in comfort and loosens his grip from around your shoulders, but before he can leave your side again you grab his arm.

“Thank you, Thor,” you say sincerely, and he gives you an understanding smile before leaving you to your own thoughts again.

At some point a little later, Steve seems to notice from his spot at the front of the pack that you’re still lagging behind, because he drops his pace to fall into step with you.

“Are you having a good night, Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you smile. As distracted as you’ve been, it’s hard to miss how much fun the others in your group are having. “Thanks for organising this, Steve.”

He returns your smile and nods. “Well, for most of us, we’re all we’ve got. I figured it was time to start making some traditions of our own.”

“Well I like that sound of that,” you say. You really do appreciate everything Steve does for every single one of you, and he was right. You are family. Personally, if it weren’t for the Avengers, you would have no one else. You know the same applies for many of you, the man you were currently talking to included.

“Hey, listen,” Steve says in a considerably more careful tone. “I wanted to apologise again for bringing up Carol last night.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” you reassure him, shaking your head.

“I know, but-” He shrugs. “I just feel bad about bringing her up when we were supposed to be getting into the Christmas spirit last night. I mean, what is this, your second Christmas without Carol?”

“My third, actually,” you mutter, clearing your throat and dropping your eyes to the pavement in front of you.

“Shit, here I go again,” he curses, watching you. “I’m sorry.”

“Steve, stop apologising,” you say firmly. “Seriously, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

You take a scan of your surroundings. The street sign catches your eye and you realise you’re only a few blocks away from your apartment, which sounds like an awfully appealing place to be right now. You were exhausted from your previous late night, plus, what little Christmas spirit you did have has been all but spent this far into the Christmas light trail.

“Oh, you know what? We’re pretty close to my apartment. I think I might call it a night.”

Steve’s eyes widen and his features settle into a look of guilt. “You aren’t going to come back to HQ with the rest of us?”

“Nah, I think I just want to head home. I’m pretty tired.”

“Oh man, I totally ruined your night, didn’t I?” Steve shakes his head at himself, his look of guilt deepening even further. “I can’t believe I brought Carol up again.”

You interrupt Steve’s inevitable continued apologies before he can even start.

“Steve, no. My brain was never going to turn off tonight, anyway. It wouldn’t matter if none of you mentioned Carol the entire day, I still would have thought of her.”

Steve looks fairly unconvinced, still clearly internally scolding himself. Though you notice his features soften and eventually he nods.

“Do you need someone to walk with you?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not far at all.”

“Alright,” he hesitantly agrees. “But we’ll see you in the morning to exchange gifts and everything, right?”

“Right,” you laugh. “Hey, do me a favour and let everyone else know I left early. Nat would never let me leave a group activity early if I told her I wanted to.”

“No problem,” Steve laughs.

You give his forearm a quick squeeze in thanks, waving to him before you make your way towards your apartment.

————————

You’ve barely even made it a block before your phone starts ringing. You fish it out from your pocket, assuming that it’s Nat, calling to berate you for leaving the group early. Without even checking the caller ID, you answer.

“I don’t want to hear it, I’m not coming back,” you say, not leaving opportunity for the person on the other line to get a word in first.

“Coming back to where?”

The voice on the other line is not Nat. In fact, it’s the last voice you were expecting to hear tonight.

“Carol?!” You practically squeal into the phone, stopping dead in your tracks.

“Hey, baby,” she says and you instantly melt, having gone weeks without hearing her voice.

“Oh my god. Hi,” you greet back, feeling like you could burst into tears at any given minute.

“You okay there?” You can practically hear her smirk and the image of it in your mind makes you smile.

“Yeah, I just can’t believe I’m hearing your voice right now.”

“Well you better believe it, babe, because it’s definitely happening.”

Your brain finally recovers from the shock enough to ask a vital question. “Wait, does this mean your mission is over?”

“Mmhm,” she confirms. “Finished a couple days ago, actually, but this is the first chance I’ve had to be able to call you.”

You can’t help the sudden hopefulness that you feel. If the mission ended a couple of days ago and she was already on her way back to Earth, then it was entirely possible that she could be back within the next day.

You let out a deep breath, your emotions almost getting the best of you. With your mind racing a million miles a minute, you subconsciously start taking some more steps forward. The snow beneath your feet crunches slightly with every step you take.

“Where are you?” She asks curiously, and you assume she’s heard the sounds of your footsteps.

“Uh, I’m on my way to the apartment.”

“Wait, you’re walking to the apartment? Alone?!”

“Hey, I can handle myself,” you chuckle. “I am an Avenger, remember? Besides, I’m only a couple of blocks away.”

“Oh yeah?” Her voices lilts slightly. “Why are you even walking the streets at night, anyway?”

“How do you know it’s nighttime? Doesn’t everywhere look like night in space?” You can’t help but tease and Carol laughs.

“Well, is it nighttime?”

“…Yes,” you admit. “But that’s nothing more than a lucky guess.”

“Uh huh,” Carol replies, and you can hear her smirk through the phone again. The things you would do to see that smirk in person at this moment…

“Anyway,” you interrupt your own train of thought. “I was with everyone up until a few minutes ago. We were out looking at lights.”

“Lights? What kind of lights are so special that you’ve gotta go out in a group to go look at them?”

You’re left dumbstruck for a moment. She surely hasn’t forgotten what time of year it is, has she? You’d only reminded her about a month ago, and she knows how much you love the holiday. You assumed she would have remembered.

“We were looking at Christmas lights,” you clarify.

“Oh. Well now it makes sense,” you laughs. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be looking at Christmas lights, though?”

You’re hit with the fact that she’s actually forgotten what time of year it is. You try to shake off the sudden disappointment, though you’re a little too aware that if she has forgotten the date then she likely hasn’t begun her journey back to Earth just yet either. Which means another Carol-less Christmas for you once more.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” you eventually mutter into the phone.

“It is?” She sounds vaguely surprised at your clarification. “Huh. I guess it’s pretty easy to lose track of time up here.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“So you’re heading back to the apartment?” She continues on as if you hadn’t just revealed to her that your favourite holiday is mere hours away. You can’t exactly be mad at her, though. As she said, it’s easy to lose track of time while she’s doing important work up in space. “Why not HQ with everyone else?”

“I just felt like being home, I guess,” you explain. “I wasn’t in the Christmas spirit and we were pretty close to the apartment, so I decided to head home early.”

You hear Carol hum in acknowledgement as you use your keycard to get into your apartment building. You start up the flight of stairs leading to your apartment.

“So, when do you think you’ll be back?” You can’t help but ask. Realistically, you have known for weeks that Carol likely wouldn’t make it back in time for Christmas. Though, with Christmas Day only a few hours away, and your short-lived hopes of her returning any day now, the disappointment of her not being here is fresh once again.

“Soon,” Carol says vaguely and you frown.

“Soon? That could mean anything,” you complain. “Don’t you have at least some idea of when you’ll be back?” You can’t help the slight bite to your tone, the frustration of everything seemingly growing by the minute.

You fumble with your keys, your current conversation leaving you preoccupied enough to struggle with the basic task of locating the correct key on your keychain to grant you entrance into your apartment.

“I don’t know, babe,” you hear Carol say and you finally unlock the door, pushing it open and walking into your apartment, slamming the door shut behind you. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Her voice sounds suddenly different, louder, and you twist around on the spot until you’re facing your living room.

You gasp when you see her. Carol is standing beside your Christmas tree. Her eyes are on you and she still has her phone pressed to her ear. The only thing that rivals the bright lights of the tree is her wide grin, bright enough to light up the room all on its own.

Your wide eyes refuse to blink as you look back at her. You’re suddenly all out of words.

You watch as Carol takes one step closer, and then another, until she’s closing the distance between the two of you. The closer she gets to you, the softer her smile grows.

“You’re here,” you whisper into your phone. Carol lowers her own phone, coming to a stop directly in front of you.

“I’m here,” she returns, her own voice barely above a whisper too.

“Hi,” you say dumbly and Carol smiles adoringly at you. She gently takes your phone from your hand and drops it down onto your couch along with her own.

“Hi.”

Before you know what you’re doing, you abruptly tackle her in a tight hug. If she weren’t Captain Marvel you might have been worried about her balance, but she remains steady, wrapping you up in her strong arms.

Without even realising it, tears are spilling out of your eyes and running down your cheeks, and you let out a deep breath you weren’t even aware you were holding, pressing your face into Carol’s neck and breathing in her scent. You feel the lightest you’ve felt in months.

Carol hears your sniffling and takes a step back to look at you. She keeps ahold of your sides.

“You okay?”

“Are you kidding?” You choke out a laugh amidst your tears. “I’m more than okay, Carol. What are you even doing here?”

You still can’t believe your eyes. You can’t believe that the love of your life is standing right in front of you when only moments ago you still believed that she was in outer space.

“What, you really thought I’d let you spend another Christmas without me? It’s your favourite holiday, you know?” She lets go of her hold on your left side to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “You know how much it killed me having to miss the last two Christmases with you.”

You shake your head in disbelief, completely in awe of the woman in front of you.

“I love you so much, Carol.”

“I love you too.” She barely has time to get the words out before your mouth is pressed against hers in a kiss that’s long overdue. You only pull back for a moment when your smile literally grows too big to continue kissing Carol. You both break into laughter, giddy at the joy of finally being together again.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” You say the words that repeat over and over in your mind. Carol’s intense gaze regards you and she smiles at you sweetly.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, Carol,” you reply before your lips are meeting hers again.

————————

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of Christmas carols playing from the living room and the smell of fresh coffee drifting in through your open bedroom door. You can hear Carol softly singing along to the music, and you smile sleepily.

Nat was right. You’ve never been more glad to wake up to the sounds of your apartment than you are right now.

[nbrook29]

152 for Sobbe, hope you're doing okay 💖💖

45 for Sobbe 💜💜

based on dialogue prompts

152. [text]: So I might be in a hospital right now…

45. “Don’t tempt me.”

💓 💓 💓

“Wow, you’re really useless today.”

Jens flips him off lifting himself gingerly from the pavement and kicking the skateboard in frustration as the boys laugh at his petulant expression.

“Come here then and try it yourself, smartass.”

Robbe raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t the one claiming to be the master of skateboarding! I’m just sitting here patiently waiting for the “master” to teach me his apparently superior skills,” he says cheekily to rile him up, the boys high-fiving him for the burn.

Jens just rolls his eyes and goes back to the bowl, switching to easier tricks for now. Moyo and Aaron join him shortly after realizing that the show’s over while Robbe hangs back for now, stretching his body on the bench contentedly and enjoying the breeze coming from the river doing wonders to his overheated body.

Antwerp has been experiencing a heatwave for the past 2 weeks and as much as Robbe loves summer weather, he’s kinda over being sweaty 24/7. His house doesn’t have air conditioning so the skatepark located next to the river is his favorite retreat in the evenings when the sun goes down. That and the heaven that is Sander’s deliciously cool room, kept at 17 degrees at all times thanks to the recently installed AC. Robbe enjoys it so much that Sander jokingly accused him of being with him only for this particular privilege. When Robbe didn’t deny, too occupied with moving his head left and right to catch the cold drift on his cheeks while standing directly under the device, Sander grabbed him and tickled him into submission until he was satisfied with Robbe’s wheezed out confessions of his undying love.

Good times.

Robbe is deep into thoughts wondering what kind of pizza they should order today and how to convince Sander to let him order one with pineapple on when his phone pings with a messenger notification. 

Sander: So I might be in a hospital right now… 

He sits up so fast he gets dizzy, his vision swimming for a few seconds while his mind is helpfully suggesting to him all the darkest scenarios of what may have happened. He doesn’t waste his time typing back, his hands way too shaky at this point anyway so he just picks Sander’s number and waits impatiently, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and trying to calm down his beating like crazy heart.

His boyfriend makes him wait for five unbearably long signals and Robbe swears he’s going to kick his ass for that.

...as soon as he makes sure he’s alright, and in one piece, and that everything is just fine.

“Hey.”

It’s just one short word but it makes Robbe breathe again. And maybe he’s overreacting because Sander texted him so obviously he’s well enough but he just can’t help it - Robbe’s heart belongs to him, it beats for him, so any sign he may be hurt just makes it stop or go crazy.

“Sander, what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he must be looking a bit frantic because the boys take notice and skate closer to him to figure out what’s going on.

“I’d been better but I’m mostly fine. I-, umm, I might have been hit by a car?”

Robbe feels his knees buckle a little and he sits back down, taking in a few shaky breaths. “What?!”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t that bad, I just have some bruises and I’m sore-”

“Oh thank god.”

“-and I think I have a broken leg?”

“Shit, fuck, what? Where are you? Which hospital?”

The guys stand in a circle around him with worried faces.

“At Sint-Elisabeth. Are you gonna come?” his voice sounds so small Robbe’s heart breaks a little.

“Of course, I’m on my way, babe.”

He doesn’t waste much time on explanations, just briefly tells the boys what happened before running to the nearest bus station. It takes him agonizing 30 minutes to get to the right street and then another 5 to finally set his foot in the hospital building. A nurse directs him to the ER once he explains the situation and then he’s in a room full of just brought in there patients. Each bed is separated with a screen and he finds Sander on the bed number 3.

His green eyes immediately find his and he smiles at him with relief. “Hey.”

Robbe looks all over his body to check for damage, takes in the small cut above his eyebrow, the bleached hair that is in total disarray, the t-shirt torn on his shoulder with edges stained with what looks like dried blood, the scrape on his forearm, and of course, the broken leg, covered with cast from foot to middle thigh.

He feels nauseous when he takes all that in, swallowing hard to calm down his stomach and not throw up all over the floor. Closing quickly the distance between them he drops into his arms, trying to me mindful of all his injuries. 

“Shh, I’m okay,” Sander runs his hand back and forth on his back when he notices his unsteady breathing, whispering assurances in his ear. Once Robbe gets in under control, he presses a few kisses on his neck and then disentangles himself from his arms, resting his forehead on Sander’s. The boy hisses when Robbe accidently touches the cut above his eyebrow, smiling a little when Robbe apologizes profusely and kisses him to shut him up.

“So what happened?” Robbe asks, sitting appropriately on the bed and entwining their fingers because he just needs to feel him right now. Sander doesn’t comment on the way he basically clings to him, and Robbe knows he would be the same if the situation was reversed.

“I was walking through the crosswalk and the guy didn’t notice me soon enough. But he hadn’t been driving fast in the first place so I think that saved my ass.”

“Do you have a concussion? Is there anything wrong besides your leg?”

“No, I’m fine, they did the scan and it’s all clear.”

The corners of Robbe’s mouth twitch a little and normally he would make a joke but he’s not really in the mood to joke right now.

“Yes, okay, go on, I know what I said, “it’s all clear” meaning my head is a void with no brain,” Sander chuckles but when he sees the sad puppy eyes Robbe is giving him right now he gets serious and sighs. “I’m okay. Really. Just sore. And to be honest, glad it’s not my right hand that’s broken. Can you imagine?”

“I can imagine worse than that actually, you could’ve...”

Sander tsks and shakes his head. “We’re not gonna do that, okay?”

When Robbe doesn’t say anything and just sits there with his eyes downcast and playing with Sander’s fingers, he tips his chin with his left hand. 

“Okay?”

He finally nods, unconvinced, his treacherous mind full with what ifs. The whole situation is making him feel vulnerable and he just can’t shake it off like that. And he knows Sander is trying to make him feel better, that he’s alive and breathing next to him but he needs the closeness now more than ever. So he toes off his shoes and not paying attention to anyone that may look at them lies down next to Sander on his uninjured arm curling himself around his side and burrows his face in the crook of his neck. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he mumbles while Sander pets his hair, the touch grounding him and providing much needed comfort. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Robin, shh, it’s okay, hey, it’s okay.”

He nods against his neck and works on calming himself down. 

“Did you call your parents?” he asks after a minute.

“My mum is here, she went for coffee and to bring me some snacks. She should be back any minute now so she can drive you home.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Yeah, they want to keep me overnight. It’s a normal procedure though, so don’t worry.”

Robbe nods again and gives him a gentle squeeze. 

“Oh hello darling.”

The voice of Sander’s mum makes him flush in embarrassment because he’s still glued to her injured son. He scrambles off the bed and straightens out his clothes making Sander chuckle but the woman only smiles at him and doesn’t comment at his state. She cups Sander’s cheek and asks him how he feels before turning to Robbe who still holds his hand.

“So, has he already told you I told him off because I had warned him once it’s going to happen?” 

Robbe looks at her confused while Sander rolls his eyes behind her back.

“Yeah, I told him someone is gonna hit him with their car if he doesn’t wear something reflective on his dark clothes! But did he listen to me? No, of course not!” she shakes her head at Sander with disapproval, hands on her hips, ignoring his groans.

“Oh my god mom-”

“Don’t “mom” me, I’m not in the mood, my precious baby boy is hurt and I’m upset.”

Sander rarely blushes but when he does, Robbe feels an immense amount of satisfaction because usually he’s the one going on red in the face thanks to Sander himself. And Sander’s mom referring to him this way in Robbe’s presence never fails to make his cheeks pink in embarrassment. It does lift Robbe’s mood a little and he grins at him cheekily over her shoulder, Sander’s blush deepening even more.

“I actually fully agree with your mom.”

“What, you’re gonna stick reflective strips all over my wardrobe now?”

“Don’t tempt me. I’m actually seriously considering it. Ugh, you and your abundance of black clothes.”

Sander’s mom is very pleased with Robbe's support and she gives her son a triumphant smile.

“See? Listen to your boyfriend, baby. Also, I think you’ve just been outvoted.”

Sander looks at them bemused, a pout forming on his lips so Robbe leans down and catches them in a short kiss, still conscious of Sander’s mom standing right next to them.

It’s getting late so they need to go while Sander is transported to a different room for the night. He gets painkillers for the ache in his broken leg and it quickly makes him sleepy, his eyes fighting to stay open when they say goodbye. It’s difficult for Robbe to leave him out of his sight but he doesn’t really have a choice so he waits until Sander’s mom says her goodbyes, telling him she’s going to wait for him in the car before he kisses the life out of him, the boy falling asleep minutes later. He places the last kiss on his forehead as he watches Sander breath in and out evenly, his face scrunching a little in his sleep at the touch.

Then he quietly closes the door to his room, already preparing himself for the night full of nightmares.

[btxtreads]

the world ends with you | choi yeonjun (1)

How can someone fall in love at the most incovenient time?

➴ Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader ➴ Rating: R-13  ➴ Genre: Multiverse!AU, Fluff, Angst, My usual taehyun is the smartest out of everybody trope  ➴ Trigger Warning for the chapter: Death, Blood

A black void.

A field of purple and yellow pansies.

Y/N tried to call out to the void—for anyone, anything, anybody.

But there was no answer.

Y/N sighed through her nose, walking forward.

Well, at least she can move now. That’s a start.

It was eerie—the way she heard the wind rustling through the flowers, the way she can feel the cold gust breezing past her, but she doesn’t know where it’s coming from.

It was an endless walk, and endless field of white, yellow, and purple—wait.

There was someone, in the distance.

Y/N waved her hands.

“Hello? Who’s there?” She screamed as she neared. “I’m here!”

The figure didn’t reply. Maybe they didn’t hear her.

She walked closer.

“Hello?” She greeted.

Still, nothing.

She walked even closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Oh, it’s him again.

Y/N pursed her lips as she stopped in front of the figure, hunched over in a chair.

A crown of roses rested upon his head, his throat sliced and bleeding.

The way his eyes were closed and his body slumped, it was almost like he was asleep.

The corpse wasn’t scary at all, though—He looked majestic with his blonde hair, white clothes and flowers, making his corpse seemingly gentle as the chair he sat on a chair in a pond.

He was so beautiful, Y/N almost wanted to cry.

“Who did this to you?” Y/N asked, submerging herself to the pond and kneeling in front of him. “Who are you?”

The corpse suddenly gasped, opening his eyes.

Brown eyes.

Y/N locked gazes with him as she fell back into the pond and into the darkness.

She didn’t even get his name.

Y/N shot up, panting as she gazed around her.

She was in bed, her plush doll she cuddled to sleep haphazardly thrown off of her bed like it usually was.

Her sheets bunched around her—that must be why she felt so hot.

Not because she dreamt of the corpse. Again.

“Why was he dead?” She asked herself, grasping at  nearby notebook and writing it down.

Dead guy again. This time, no one was talking. But he woke up for the first time.

She sighed, taking a look at the other entries.

Dead guy. Voices: he just came from America.

Dead guy: Voices: he wants to go to a flower field.

Dead guy. Voices: he wants his Huening. What’s a Huening?

Y/N sighed as Namjoon, her older brother, bursted the door open.

“Rise and shine!”

“You rise and shine,” Y/N argued, tucking the notebook under her pillow.

“Rough night?”

“Same old,” Y/N shrugged, as she went to the kitchen. “Still dreaming stuff,”

“Wonder what it means,” Namjoon asked, humming in thought as he followed after the girl.

“You tell me,” Y/N snorted. “You’re the star man,”

“Cosmological Physicist,” Namjoon argued. “And I deal with science, not astrology. Plus, even if I was studying astrology, I doubt I can help you.”

“Yeah, I doubt that my sun sign can tell me why I’m dreaming about creepy shit,” Y/N snorted.

Namjoon only rolled his eyes, taking a seat by the table as Y/N helped herself to a cup of coffee.

“I don’t know what to say, Y/N,” he sighed, leaning his head on his hands. “You should go see a therapist about that. Maybe there’s some psychological thing about it?”

“Sure,” Y/N snorted. “Like they can help decode my annoyingly cryptic dreams,”

“It’s a suggestion,” Namjoon shrugged, checking the clock. “Anyways, you woke up late and it’s almost noon. Take a bath and get dressed,”

“What for?”

“Have you forgotten?” Namjoon snorted. “We’re seeing grandma today,”

“Sure,” Y/N made a move to go back to her room before turning back. “Hey, star man. You study universes, right?”

Namjoon rolled his eyes before nodding, making Y/N hum in wonder.

“Hey, what if this is like an alternate universe thing?” Y/N wondered. “Ooh, what if I’m time travelling to—”

Namjoon snorted.

“Okay, first of all, the multiverse theory is complex. There’s no way you’re travelling while you’re asleep unless you’re strong and fast enough to vibrate in the same frequency as that universe and strong and fast enough to throw yourself in and out of the universe in a night,” Namjoon snorted, amused at the idea of his sister travelling the multi-verse. “Or, every night for that matter.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but Namjoon cut her off.

“No, not time-travel either. You’re not living a sci-fi movie,”

“What if I am though?”

“You aren’t,”

��You just don’t like it that I’m better than you,“ Y/N teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “What if I’m a scientific break-through?”

“Y/N, just go take a bath,” Namjoon rolled his eyes.

“Fine,”

It was a few hours later when the two arrived at their grandmother’s humble abode.

Namjoon wandered around aimlessly around the old house, confused.

“Where are the eggs?” He asked Y/N, making the girl snort as she assisted their grandmother to the kitchen counter.

“Stop panicking and sit with grandma before you poke your eye out with a fork,” Y/N snorted. “I’ll cook,”

Namjoon breathed out a sigh of relief as he plopped down on the chair next to his grandmother.

“You still don’t know how to cook?” His grandmother chastised, making him wince.

“I don’t know, Grandma. He made breakfast once, he burned scrambled eggs, so…”

“I didn’t know you had to flip it,” He muttered under his breath, as his grandmother laughed.

“Anyway, grandma,” Namjoon changed the conversation, embarrassed enough at his lack of cooking skills. “How have you been?”

“Oh, same old, same old, darling,” His grandmother gushed, patting his cheek. “Oh, and happy birthday, dearest,”

“It’s not my birthday,” Namjoon sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Grandma, it’s only July,” Y/N said, exchanging a sympathetic look with Namjoon. “His birthday’s in September,”

“Oh, is it? Silly me,” Their grandmother hummed. “Now, what are you concoting there, child?”

“Just a snack,” Y/N said, setting a pan on the stove.

Their grandmother smiled in wonder, humming dreamily.

“Ah, this reminds me of when I was younger. My mom would be in the kitchen cooking while my father sat with me,” Their grandmother reminisced, making Namjoon sigh in worry.

“Grandma, you should really rethink on our offer to stay with us,” He said.

“Oh, I can handle myself, dearest,”

“I’m sure you can, grandma,” Y/N sighed, turning back with a nod as she set a plate of food in front of the old woman. “But, we still worry,”

“Oh,” their grandmother gasped as she reached out to touch Y/N’s necklace, hanging from her neck. “Where did you get this?”

Y/N exchanged a look with Namjoon before shrugging and taking it off for her grandmother to observe.

“Just the mall. I thought it was cute,” Y/N replied, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

Their grandmother gasped, standing up with Namjoon’s assistance.

“Come here, dearest,” their grandmother whispered, pulling a box from underneath the coffee table and revealing a small music box.

Y/N sat next to the old woman, marvelling at the antique.

“What’s this?”

“Something my mother gave me,” Their grandmother gushed before urging them to pull closer. “Look, look,”

Namjoon sighed in boredom as Y/N gasped in curiosity.

Their grandmother turned the knob to open the music box, emitting a soft lullaby she has heard before.

“This is the lullaby mom always sung to you and me, Joon!” Y/N gasped. “I used to be so confused because it was in Korean and mom doesn’t know how to speak Korean, remember?”

“Our lullaby. Your mother couldn’t sleep without hearing it back then.” Their grandmother hummed. “It’s actually father who taught me, it was a lullaby from their family,”

“Great-grandpa Lee,” Namjoon said as Y/N hummed along with the music box. “Mom never told us about him,”

“Well, of course she wouldn’t. He died before your mother was born. He was a great father,” Their grandma told as she lifted the music box and pulled on a small switch at the side. “He left me this,”

Y/N gasped as a necklaced, with a pendant of a fossilized purple and yellow pansy, was pulled out of the music box.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/N gasped as Namjoon seemed confused.

“It’s just a flower,” Namjoon muttered, making Y/N roll her eyes.

“Your grandfather told me it’s from another world,” Their grandma whispered, like it was some sort of conspiracy theory and not a bed-time story. “This box was given to him by your great-great-grandmother, who got it from your great-great-great-grandmother,”

“So, an heirloom,” Namjoon said, taking the pansy for himself as Y/N thought to herself.

“It’s yours now, Y/N,” Their grandmother gushed as she urged Y/N to take the necklace. “Wear it,”

Y/N frowned as Namjoon gave her the necklace and clasped it on her.

Why does it look so familiar?

Y/N ran her thumb on the fossilized petal.

“There’s a long-running legend in our family,” Their grandmother told. “We always used to dream the same thing—over and over,”

“Excessive dreaming, huh,” Y/N crossed her arms. “So, it’s a genetic thing?”

Their grandmother continued like she heard nothing.

“The last one who dreamed was my grandmother, yes,” The woman hummed. “She dreamt about a field of purple and yellow flowers—that’s what she told me,”

Their grandmother sat still, deep in thought.

“I remember, she saw someone there. She never found out who or even got near them,”

Y/N frowned.

But she did.

Namjoon interrupted.

“That’s ridiculous,” Namjoon snorted. “It’s probably some fever dream passed down from generation from generation, through story-telling,”

Y/N looked over at Namjoon.

“Yeah, probably,” Y/N muttered.

No, it wasn’t.

That same day, Namjoon decided to stay over at their grandmother’s house for the night—just to be with her in the mean time.

Y/N frowned, thinking.

What could any of this mean?

Her hands shot out to her necklace, thumbing the petal once more.

“Joon?” She called out, looking up to find that she was in a world of black once more—smack dab in the middle of a field.

A field of flowers.

A field of pansies.

The necklace.

Y/N gasped, reaching up to her neck and feeling the fossilized petal once more.

So, it was sort of true.

Y/N wandered around the field aimlessly as she thought.

Her family had a line of people who dreamed about the same thing—maybe even the same boy—for centuries.

Her great-great-grandmother never got to the person, and she was the last one to have the dream—but somehow Y/N did.

Oh, right. The boy.

“Hello?” She called—no answer.

Y/N continued walking, wandering around aimlessly until she hit a figure in front of her.

She yelped, falling to the ground.

“Ow,”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” A male voice gasped, making Y/N snap her up.

It was the boy—still blonde, still beautiful, but very much alive.

There was no chair in sight, no crown of thorns and flowers—just him.

“Holy shit,” she muttered under her breath, making the boy burn red.

“Are you okay?” The boy asked as he helped Y/N come to a stand.

“Are you okay?” Y/N said, confused as she inspected the boy. “You’re okay?”

Unlike the other times, the boy wore a comfy gray sweatshirt with a slit on the shoulder and a backpack swung over his shoulders.

His usual well-kempt blonde hair dotted, topped with a flower crown, now looked somehow wind-swept.

There was no traces of wounds or blood anywhere.

He sent her a look of confusion, before looking to his side and back at her.

“Uh, are you lost?”

“You’re alive,” Y/N gasped, reaching out to cup his face in her hands.

Well, he definitely felt alive.

“Oh, wow,” Y/N gasped.

Yeonjun widened his eyes, gaining a look of recognition as his lips formed into an ‘o’.

“Wait, have we met before?” Yeonjun asked.

“In a dream, I think.” Y/N said. “Maybe I’m dreaming again,”

Yeonjun furrowed his eyebrows, raising his hand to cup hers on his face.

“This is my first time seeing you alive,” Y/N muttered to herself. “I can’t believe you’re alive,”

The boy tilted his head, grasp tightening on her hands.

“But, I’ve never been dead,” He replied. “Are you okay?”

Then, Y/N stopped.

The boy—he seemed all too real, all too warm, all too corporeal.

He kept frowning as Y/N noticed her surroundings.

Yes, she was in a field of purple and yellow pansies—but instead of a regular black void, she can see the vast blue skies above her.

Behind the boy approached another, with lavender hair just as windswept as the blonde boy’s in her grasp.

“Yeonjun-hyung, who’s this?”

Y/N’s grip dropped on the boy, mind racing a mile a minute.

The blonde boy shrugged, tilting his head as the lavender-haired boy stopped next to him to look down on the girl with a frown on his face.

“I don’t know, ‘bin. She said we met in a dream,” The blonde replied as Y/N looked back up at his brown eyes. “What did you say your name was again?”

That’s when she realized that, no—this wasn’t a dream.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Dee Little Snake

Series Summary:  Janus uses age regression as a way to destress but has little control over it whenever he grows upset. Trying to keep a secret like that can be hard when you're only four years old, and thus family bonding ensues in a way nobody expected, least of all Deceit.

Chapter 2: Bottled Up

Chapter Summary:  Janus finally gets his best friend back.

Warnings: crying

Taglist (ask to be added) @a-different-s1de

It took Janus a few days to join the others at the breakfast table again, twisting his gloves behind his door in an uncharacteristically nervous way as he sucked in a breath. He didn't have anything on him to break this time, unless things somehow turned violent and his bones became a target. Shaking his head he threw his shoulders back and relaxed his face into a neutral expression. He and Patton were attempting to fix things, his relationship with Virgil was...smoothing, Logan had never really had a problem with him and Remus was well, Remus. So that just left Roman who needed to be tread especially carefully around. The odds were certainly in his favor should another altercation occur around one of the others.

But...he had cried. He had lost his cool over a seemingly insignificant item and had been so close to being small in front of one of the worst people to be small with, princely image smeared in his head with anger and petty malice reserved solely for him. He knew he had messed up, insulting Roman the way he did but his name was so much more to him than just something to call if you needed something. A name held so much weight with each and every individual who learned it and used it. A name held the entire history of the individual with it, and to have it said with such flippant mocking in a moment of such desperate trust that would change things for everyone- the implications of the act were clear. Roman hated him.

With good reason, he mused as he took another breath and opened the door, he had used him as a means to an end in his desperation to get Thomas to listen to his own self preservation. Roman had no reason to forgive him for what he had done and he didn't expect him to. He did, however, expect a bit more tact from the royal. Ignoring him and throwing insults was one thing. Blatantly destroying his things without a care was another.

Roman was sitting at the table already writing something or other in an old sketchbook, Patton frying up bacon with an endearing level of concentration at the stove. He grabbed a regular glass from the cabinet and filled it water, stomach flipping at the thought of anything else. Patton offered him a bright smile but didn't say anything; Janus didn't miss the way his eyes flicked worriedly over to Roman.

Thankfully the creative facet paid him no mind, Janus taking his seat a couple chairs away to avoid intruding and hoping he wasn't in anyone else's spot. Hearing shuffling from the doorway he turned and locked eyes with Virgil, who froze momentarily before giving him a tentative nod and walking into the kitchen. Thankfully the awkward air was somewhat saved as a plate of eggs and bacon and toast was pushed under his nose, muttering out a small "Thank you" before shoveling slightly overcooked scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"Thanks Pat." Virgil plopped down heavily beside him, taking the empty space between him and Roman, and he had only a moment to be confused and grateful before a familiar thermos was set down in front of him. Turning to Virgil with bacon still halfway to his mouth he smiled as the other shrugged and looked away. "Rem and I were able to fix it so- yeah."

Hope fluttered in his chest even as Virgil refused to look at him. He knew it was a lot to hope for, to ask for- but he couldn't help but think maybe this could be their clean slate. Maybe Virgil really would want to talk things over with him, fix things, and they could go back to how they used to be. He shook his head minutely as he put his fork back down. No, not how things used to be. He realized now their relationship had always been a bit rocky. Maybe this time...they could make things better.

He had just opened his mouth to thank him when Roman scoffed loudly, reaching forward. "I still don't understand why this is even such a big deal to you. Are these-"

He was cut off as his hand was halted with a vice grip from the anxious side, who sat still and quiet not looking at anyone. "Lay off Princey."

Roman tugged at his arm. "I just-"

Virgil's head snapped up, eyeshadow black as pitch but with a glare that could kill a man if they weren't imaginary. "Don't."

It felt as if everyone and everything in the mindscape was holding their breath as Virgil's voice, distorted as it was, rang out with a finality not even Patton dared question. Janus saw the fatherly side tense and turn, ready to dispell the situation if need be, spatula held out in front of him but whether it was to use as an a weapon or a shield Janus couldn't guess. He felt words stick in his own throat as he cursed himself for not being quicker to come up with some witty remark, dish out a glare, hell even sink out in a fit of dramatics as he was want to do. Instead he sat frozen, wide eyed and slightly hunched behind Virgil.

Anxiety protecting Self Preservation, now where was the irony?

Roman stilled and swallowed loudly, fear passing over his features before an angrier expression took over. Ripping his arm away he stood abruptly and scowled. "Great. You too? I thought you hated him!"

Before anyone could say anything he turned sharply and stalked off, his door slamming loud enough moments later to make all three of them jump. Virgil's arm was still in the same position, fingers tensed around an arm that had long gone before he flexed them with a wince and buried himself in his breakfast without another word.

"Awe, look at the little tongues!" The gentle coo brought Janus' attention to Patton who had placed the rest of breakfast on two other plates and was now looking at the thermos with adoration. "I'm glad you were able to have it fixed, kiddo!"

"I- Patton I'm older than you?" The irony definitely wasn't lost this time as Patton shrugged and settled down gesturing to a plate without looking at him.

"Logan, good morning! I made you a plate and there's some coffee left in the pot still!"

"Thank you, Patton." Logan glanced over briefly and nodded towards Virgil and Janus before pouring himself a mug and sitting down to eat, the silence a bit more comfortable with the still angry prince gone from the table.

Breakfast was a quiet affair however, conversation stopping and starting at awkward intervals. Janus noticed Virgil eating a lot slower than he would normally but nobody commented on it. He watched as Logan then Patton got up, washed their dishes and left the kitchen to go and do whatever they did during the day, leaving him and Virgil alone.

Taking a breath and shoving the last bit of bacon in his mouth Virgil stood up finally and swiped both their plates for the sink. Surprised Janus simply watched as he scrubbed them off and put them away, turning and nodding towards the thermos.

"Still like apple juice?"

"I- yessss?" Janus grimaced as a nervous hiss left his mouth but if Virgil noticed he didn't comment, unscrewing the cap of the newly fixed cup and filling it with the juice.

"Okay." Virgil slid the thermos over to him and sat down across from him with a sigh. "I'm the last side in the world who ever wants to say this, but we need to talk. We can do it here, or wherever but...yeah."

Janus nodded slowly and reached over to grip the thermos, happiness bubbling up briefly to see it fixed and functional and void of shards digging into his hands. "You'd be most comfortable in your room right?"

"This isn't about me so it doesn't matter." Janus snapped his head up and squinted at the anxious side. His eyeshadow was a shade darker than usual and his sleeves were twisted in his fingers almost painfully. Pursing his lips he nodded again.

"Why don't we go to my room then. No one goes in it anyway and I just recently cleaned so it would be a neat environment. Tidy space equals a tidy mind and all that."

"Right." Virgil huffed out a laugh as he stood up. "Now a good time?"

"Of course." Janus had a feeling what this would be about but it didnt make it any easier. He didn't particularly like discussing his regression. There wasn't anything wrong with doing it or why he did it; it was just something that happened and though he would be loathe to the idea of the others knowing he was far from ashamed of it. It was just....he and Virgil hadn't spoken- really spoken- in such a long time. He knew this would be a serious conversation, especially since the closer they got to his room the darker his eyeshadow was getting, but the determined set to his face told Janus he wasn't getting out of this. He'd be proud of his former friend if he didn't feel so much like puking.

Opening the door he gestured inside, Virgil immediately curling up in the comfortable desk chair while Janus sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. They didn't make eye contact for a minute, the tension in the room so tight he could barely breathe. And then Virgil took a steadying breath and the air became easier to suck in again, reminding Janus with a start just how much influence Virgil had to his surroundings. While he waited for the atmosphere to calm he took a swig of his juice, happiness bubbling up again as he realized how long it had been since he'd had it.

"Janus."

"Yes, Virgil?" He looked up to see the anxious side slightly more relaxed, legs curled underneath him with his hands resting on his knees. He looked tired though, slumped over with barely hidden bags under his eyeshadow. He had a feeling now was not the time to bring it up however worried the image made him.

"Have you- did you- damnit." Virgil ran a hand through his hair and took another breath. "You still regress. Which is fine! It's perfectly healthy and there's nothing wrong with it- but...has it been happening a lot? Without...without me there?"

He gripped his cup tighter and said nothing, watching with regret as Virgil's eyes widened.

"Janus...you weren't alone when it would happen right? Remus, or at least-"

"No. I was fine on my own for the most part. I simply locked my door."

"Locked your-! Janus you can't, okay. Okay, I- Janus I'm so sorry. We need...fuck okay." Virgil was sitting up straighter now, gripping his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the other so worked up other than when he had left after their final argument. Janus leaned forward and cleared his throat, holding out his hands which Virgil gratefully took in a steel grip.

"I know the way we left things was...less than ideal," he started, looking at Vjrgil directly to try and drive home his point. "But I feel like we're at a point now where we can try to see where things went wrong and fix it. My habit has nothing to do with it."

His fingers were gripped tighter as Virgil laughed. "Your habit? Is that what we call it now? Janus- I need to apologize-"

"You don't."

"Shut up asshole and let me be sentimental." Janus grinned and nodded for him to continue. "The way I acted- it wasn't okay. Neither was the way you acted but that's beside the point. I'm very willing, now that the anger's cooled off, to start fresh. It's something we should have done way before this and I'm sorry for being so stubborn but...I guess it doesn't matter now. I just-"

Distangling their fingers, Virgil gripped his chin gently and tilted his head up, making him look directly into pleading eyes. "I didn't think about how my leaving would impact our trust that badly. You had no one to take care of you, and when you're small you should never have to be left to your own devices. You trusted me all those years ago to be responsible for you and I've been...I've been failing you for years. And that isn't okay."

Tears pricked his eyes and he internally cursed himself for not being able to handle this conversation. It had been years since they had been this close, years since Virgil had looked at him with anything but disdain and borderline hatred; to have him this close now, watching him with such an open expression-

Arms were around him before he even registered Virgil had moved and that was the last straw. Choking off a sob Janus gripped the back of the other's hoodie and buried his face shamefully in his friend's shoulder, years of emotions pouring out in front of the person he expected to care the least. He felt himself being shifted so Virgil could sit beside him, thighs pressing together as he was rocked gently back and forth.

"Shhh, I know. I know, Janus and I'm so sorry. I promise we'll be okay. We're okay now, I'm not leaving again. Let it out it's okay, I still love you, it's going to be okay."

And if that last statement didn't just make him sob harder. His scales itched and his face was hot and he had probably ruined the patched jacket with all of his snot but Virgil loved him. It would be okay because he was holding him and rocking him and telling him everything would be fine. They were okay. Finally, after so long of wanting to talk but never knowing how, he had finally gotten his best friend back.

Neither of them had the will to let the other go for a very long time, but Janus found himself content, as his tears finally slowed and the gentle back rub tapered off, to just sit and be held and loved.

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[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Yayyy, the second chapter is done! Enjoy~

Chapter 2- Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

It's hard to make sense of anything around her. The static making itself ever-present in her mind is almost crippling. It blocks out all of her thoughts. Distant whispers erupt throughout the endless grays and blacks. It's like she's fallen into a void. Like she can't escape.

A breeze suddenly blows past her. It's burning hot but somehow icy-cold at the same time. It gives her a feeling of terror, utter, raw fear that grips at her heart and squeezes her lungs. She finds it hard to breathe. She looks around frantically. It's the same. Everything is the same. She can't even see a floor beneath her feet, but she knows it's there. It has to be there. What else would she be standing on?

The static grows stronger, louder, overwhelming her senses and making her grab at her head in a desperate effort to make it stop. The breeze billows and the voices become more distinct. But she still can't hear what they're saying. Are they even saying anything? Or are they just murmurs of agony riding the wind and reaching her ears?

"Y\n..."

That voice. Something about that voice sends shivers down her spine, makes her heart speed up to an unhealthy rate. Her gaze averts around, trying to find a source, but she ultimately fails.

"Child... come."

'Come'?  Come where? The static in her mind seems to thicken and still at the same time, greatly confusing her, and she furrows her eyebrows. A fog graces her feet as it rolls across the seemingly invisible ground, bringing a sensation of dread and impending doom with it. She backs away, though finds it does nothing, as the area surrounding her goes nowhere.

"Come to us..."

"Who are you?!" she yells, but immediately tenses. She can't hear herself. Her voice has been... muted. The static continues to get stronger, and she hits the side of her head, trying to stop it. It cancels out her thoughts, makes her feel helpless. All while a suffocating feeling settles in her chest and it becomes more and more difficult to collect oxygen.

"Join me... Come..."

***

Her grip on the sheets covering her torso tightens as she shoots up in bed, instantly being greeted by light from the morning sun shining in through the window and making her squint her eyes and turn her head. She takes deep breaths, savoring the air finally invading her lungs as she tries to calm her rapid heartbeat.

She has had a lot of weird dreams before, but none compare to the one she just woke up from. She stares at nothing, in particular, blinking away the tears that formed in her eyes and refusing to cry. Taking notice of the fluffy feline curled up on her thighs and looking up at her with startled eyes, clearly not happy about being woken up, she lets out a soft sigh and strokes his back, finally able to steady her nerves and focus on more positive things.

"Sorry I disturbed your precious beauty sleep," she mutters sarcastically, wiping her eyes to get herself awake. She tries to brush the dream off as nothing, just stress creeping its way into her head and giving her freaky thoughts. But something about it just... unnerves her. Like it is much more serious than what she wants herself to think.

Leaning her back against the wall of her bed, she runs her hands through her messy hair and releases a yawn, rubbing her eyes before grabbing her phone off of the stool that she had pushed up beside her bed the previous night and turning it on, curious to see if anybody sent her a message and wanting to get her mind off of the nightmare.

None. She drops her phone by her side and slumps down, disheartened. I guess nobody cares, anymore. Then again, who can blame them? I'm just an inconvenience, anyway.

She managed to catch a glimpse of the time in the top right corner of her phone before she turned it off, discovering it's around 9:40 in the morning. "Sorry, buddy. I've gotta get up," she says, looking down at the cat in her lap that just got settled and is now trying to go back to sleep. His ear twitches in recognition, and she runs her fingers through his thick fur before gently sliding him off of her and standing up.

When her bare feet touch the chilled, hard-wood floor, she flinches and jumps onto the fluffy rug in the room's center, trying to get used to the surface in her mind's still hazy state. She glances back at the bed, and her e\c orbs land on Marshmallow, who is looking at her in obvious distaste. She narrows her eyes.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like you can't sleep any other time of the day." He blinks and stands, stretching for a moment before turning away from her and lying back down. "Okay, fine, be that way. I bet you won't be mad when I give you some beef jerky later."

With that, she looks at the closet, then down at the floor, knowing what needs to be done and mentally preparing herself for it. C'mon Y\n, it's just a floor. A floor made of ice... but a floor, nonetheless. Quit being a pansy and go.

Sucking in a breath of encouragement, she steps onto the wood and lets out a squeak, her pace quickening the closer she gets to the closed door. "Right about now would be a good time to have slippers," she murmurs to herself, opening the door and stepping inside. She sifts through the different clothes, deciding what she wants to wear though not having to look for long.

She throws on some shorts and a t-shirt, socks, and a pair of tennis shoes before stepping back out and heading toward the bathroom, hoping that nobody else is occupying it at the moment. To her luck, once she's out of her room, she finds it empty and strolls inside, closing the door behind her and flicking the light switch up.

After flushing the toilet and washing her hands, she does everything in her morning routine before walking out into the hall and heading down the stairs, instantly catching the whiff of a pleasant scent wafting from the kitchen. Farrah takes notice of her granddaughter entering the doorway and sends her a welcoming smile as she takes a pan of biscuits out of the oven.

"Good morning, hun," she chirps, removing her oven mitts and turning to face her. "How did you sleep?" Y\n walks closer and shrugs, remembering the endless, dull scenery and the eerie voice whispering those words to her in her head.

"I mean... I had a pretty unsettling dream but, other than that, I slept fine." Farrah hums and tilts her head slightly. "What about you, Nana?"

"A lot more peacefully now that I know you're here under the same roof," she replies, giving her a brief hug, which Y\n gladly returns. "So, you hungry? I made breakfast!" Y\n glances over at the stovetop and nearly drools when she sees freshly-cooked bacon resting on a plate, scrambled eggs in a skillet, and the same pan of biscuits placed beside them. She can feel her stomach start to rumble the more she stares at it, so she just nods over-enthusiastically and goes to retrieve a plate and fork from where they were set on the island in preparation.

"This all looks delicious, Nana," she comments, scooping some eggs onto her plate after getting several pieces of fried pork. Her eyes meet Farrah's, and she sends her a grateful look. "Thanks for making it all."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all, just like you, my dear, are no trouble at all." She pats her affectionately on the head before sliding her hand down to cup her cheek and smiling. "Now go eat your food and enjoy it." Y\n nods, taking a step back and laying the plate full of food on the counter, aiming to get butter and jelly out of the fridge. She also grabs a spoon and butter knife afterward, using them to smear the two substances across the soft inside of her biscuits before grabbing her plate once again and strolling through the living area and into the dining room.

She pulls a chair out from under the table and takes her seat, anxious to get some food in her stomach and finally start her day. Farrah soon appears with her own platter of breakfast and sits beside her, the two chatting about various things as they eat, and time seems to fly by. At around 10:25, Y\n rises from the chair and heads back to the kitchen, feeling properly filled-up as she rinses her dishes.

Her gaze averts to the window behind the sink, being greeted by the bright morning sunlight and the colorful scenery that she doesn’t get the advantage of seeing in the city, where she, unfortunately, was born and raised. She spots her grandfather, sitting in an old chair out on the lawn and admiring nature at its finest, seemingly lost in thought.

Allowing a fond smile to stretch across her face, she dries her hands on a towel hanging from a rack before poking her head back into the living room. “Hey, Nana…”

“Yes, hun?” She twists her body around slightly to meet Y\n’s eyes in curiosity, and Y\n grips the door frame with her hand and leans forward, letting her arm keep her stabilized so she doesn’t fall over.

“I think I’m gonna go outside for a while if you don’t need me here for anything.” Farrah nods.

“That’s a good idea, Marshmallow needs to be let out, anyway.” As if on cue, the fluffy feline walks down the stairs, tail high in the air and head raised as he jumps to the floor and stops in front of the closed door, sitting down and looking at Y\n expectantly. “Where are you gonna go?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs, glancing down at Marshmallow and meeting his bright blue orbs. “I was just thinking about going on a walk, or something.”

“Yes, some fresh air will do you good after breathing all of that polluted city stuff.” She takes a sip of her coffee thoughtfully. "Just be careful and keep an eye out for bears. Or anything dangerous, for that matter."

"Yes, ma'am." She nods in understanding and steps over to the door, opening both it and the screen and allowing Marshmallow to prance through and onto the porch, likely eager to go about his daily hunt and roam. Following behind him and shutting the door behind her, a warm, familiar breeze hits her in the face as she does so, and she once again averts her eyes over to Phil. "Good morning, Pops." Her voice raises just enough to get his attention, and sure enough, his head turns her direction before the corner of his lips quirk upward in a cheery smile.

"Hey, hummingbird! Did you sleep okay?" She bites the inside of her cheek and leisurely makes her way down the stone path leading toward the gate. Thinking back to her eldritch dream, she stuffs her hands in her pockets and answers quietly.

"As well as I could, I guess..." Though when he doesn't seem to hear her, she rewords her sentence and speaks up. "I slept fine. What about you?"

"Ah, well. You know how it is with all these old joints and bones. They never give you a break."

"Sorry." She breathes a sympathetic laugh. "But I can't say I have any experience in that field." He releases a snort in response and leans back in the old patio chair, raising a thick, bushy eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's 'cause you're a spring chicken. Trust me darlin', the years'll catch up to you eventually. And then you'll look like me." He pats his rotund belly for emphasis, and she rolls her eyes playfully and can't stop the amused huff from exiting her lips.

"I'm sure I will, Pops."

"Where are ya going?" She unlatches the gate and glances at him before nodding her head in the direction of the opaque forest surrounding the quaint property.

"Walking. I thought I'd try to... get a better feel for this place, again." She notices his face seems to soften ever so slightly, and he briefly looks past the many tall trees, into the shaded woods, and lets a breath out of his nose before meeting her gaze once more.

"I'm sorry you haven't been here to visit, Y\n." Her chest constricts and she shifts her eyes down to the ground uncomfortably. "It's not right for your dad- your parents- to put themselves before you. They shouldn't treat you the way they do. I wish you'd let me do something about it." She only shrugs solemnly, her mood doing a one-eighty and dropping to the floor, though she tries to mask it and instead forces a smile on her face that she hopes is reassuring.

"It's isn't your fault. Dad's just... just a jerk and Mom is..." She sees it's difficult to find correct words to describe her mother, and after a moment to think, shakes her head dismissively. "They-they have issues. But yeah, don't be sorry, I'm okay. Two more years and I'll be outta there, anyway."

"Well... you're more than welcome to stay here, for as long as you need. It gets lonely around here without anyone visiting us." She brushes a strand of h\c hair out of her eyes and tilts her head curiously.

"Nobody visits you? Not even Aunt Darcy?" Her stomach does a concerned flip when she sees his facial expression turn from mildly sympathetic to alarmed in an instant, and her eyebrows furrow, questions zipping through her mind at lightning speed. His hands, she notices, clench the arms of the chair and his breathing seems to have quickened, if only slightly. "Pops...?"

"I-I, uh..." He lets an anxious breath flow out of his mouth as he runs his wrinkled fingers through his hair. "Yeah, no, your aunt doesn't come. She hasn't, not in a while..." Y\n can sense the tension in this conversation, and how strange Phil's sudden change in behavior is. Hesitantly, she speaks, her voice low.

"Wh-why? Did you guys fight or something?" Although she hasn't seen her aunt in over five years, she still remembers her clearly, and she knows that she wouldn't ever willingly avoid Phil and Farrah. Unlike Darcy's brother, she isn't a sour person and wouldn't let something as ridiculous as a disagreement get in the way of their relationship, especially since her son Wyatt always loved hanging around here.

"No." He shakes his head lightly and refuses to meet the e\c eyes of the girl as he collects his thoughts and puts them into words. "Look... we'll talk about it later, alright? You just go and enjoy your walk." He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, though she doesn't move, and instead stares at him with an obscure expression painted across her face.

"What's wrong, Pops? Did something bad happen?"

"It's fine, sweetheart," he reassures, his tone vagarious. "Be careful out there. Don't want to get mauled by a wild dog, do ya?"

"Gee, what a pleasant thought," she mutters sarcastically, but figures that he isn't going to give her the answers that she so desperately craves at this point. I'll try my luck with Nana when I get back, she thinks, letting out a dismayed sigh before stepping through the gate and locking it back. "No, sir. I'll be careful."

When she receives no response, she turns on her heel and heads toward where she remembers the old trail used to be, the previous subject heavy on her mind. That was weird. Has Darcy really not come to visit her parents at all? For how long? She supposes that she has been gone for a very prolonged amount of time and she's sure to have missed some things, but just how important are these things? Something obviously happened between her grandparents and her aunt. But what? Hopefully, she'll get a reasonable answer when she comes back.

She walks under the willow tree beside the cottage and is unable to stop herself from glancing down the road, where her mom and dad disappeared a mere day ago and left her behind with the parents that her father absolutely refuses to talk to, reconnect with in any way, all because of a petty argument.

Nah. She narrows her eyes in indignation. He's just always been selfish. And unfair. And a terrible person. That 'argument' was just what pushed him over the edge. What even was their argument about? She wracks her mind but can't seem to recall any moment where her dad actually explained what was going on, not to her, anyway. In fact, the only time he graced her with an answer at all was when she gathered up the courage to ask him why they haven't visited Nana and Pops in so long. She believes that she had just turned twelve a few weeks prior when she became curious about it and walked up to him one day in the living room.

"Hey, Dad?" He hadn't even looked up at her. Didn't give any attention to his only child. "Daddy?"

"What do you want." It came out as more of a demand than it was an actual question. Still, he didn't look up at her, and she had taken a seat beside him on the couch.

"Um, I was just wondering... we haven't seen Nana and Pops in a while-" She cut herself off when she was met with the sharp, threatening glare of her father, becoming instantly uncomfortable as she stared back uncertainly. It had taken her off-guard, as she had never seen her dad's eyes as cold as they were at that moment. Especially when they were looking at her.

"I don't want to hear anything about them." The way he had said that sentence made her heart drop in concern, and she flashed him a bewildered look.

"...What? Wh-why?"

"Don't ask questions. Just don't mention them." Puzzled would have been a good word for how Y\n was feeling at that moment. Thoughts were swarming her mind, and despite the hard, final tone of voice her father had, she continued.

"But... they're your parents? A-and I miss them. Don't you miss them, too? It's been almost a year-"

"What'd I say?" He snapped at her, his lips pressed together into a firm, angered line. "Don't. Mention. Them."

"Dad-"

"My God, you're more persistent than your mother." He shot her a disappointed look, though she only craned her neck to the side.

"What's wrong...?"

"Arguments, Y\n. Arguments about crap that doesn't concern you." She couldn't stop herself from flinching slightly at the harshness of his words.

"Dad..."

"Stop talking and go to your room." When she stayed still, looking at him with wide, questioning eyes, he released a huff of irritation. "Now."

Shaking her head disapprovingly at the distant memory, she eventually rediscovers the path that she traversed down so many times, back when she was merely a child, before she had so many problems in her life. It appears to have not been used in quite a while, as there are weeds growing up from the ground, low-hanging branches swooping down and entangling together, making a sort of archway. The grass is extremely overgrown, and just by looking at it, she would guess that each blade would have to be around three feet high.

She suddenly looks down at her bare legs, a little nervous about stepping through the tall grass likely housing ticks and traced with thorns. Maybe I should've worn jeans instead... Letting out a defeated sigh, she cautiously steps through the tall, twisty foliage, trying her best to avoid getting scratched by a brier or catching her foot in a weed and tripping.

She glances up and ahead of her, feeling relieved that the shrubbery thins out just a few feet down the path and should be easily manageable. She just has to get there in one piece. Carefully, she takes several slow steps forward, the grass tickling her legs each time she moves, though she brushes it off and focuses on making it through.

Should’ve brought some branch cutters or something. After a couple of minutes, she arrives in a less hazardous area, and instinctively reaches down to brush her legs and feet off, just in case there are some bugs that may have been taking refuge on them, though to her ease, finds none. She places her hands into her pockets and continues her stroll through the peaceful forest, savoring the natural sounds erupting from all around her.

The chirps of the birds and rustling of leaves create a relaxing cadence; a sound that she rarely ever gets the pleasure of hearing. She only just realizes how much she missed being here, able to roam around, enjoy the area without the interruption of her parents, city life, or just drama in general. Letting out a tranquil sigh, she wonders how long she can stay here. How long will her parents be gone? It isn't like they care about her absence anyway, that much is apparent. The only reason they'd come back is because of their work, their fancy jobs working for some billionaire company that Y\n could care less about. Sure, they make a pretty good living off of it, and it isn't the worst job in the world, but it takes up all of their life. At least when she was little they made time for her, but now? They don't even bat an eye in her direction.

Do they even still love me? It's a question she's asked herself a multitude of times throughout the last few months, but the answer was always too painful to accept. They haven't said it since... since I was fourteen. She remembers it clearly. It was her fourteenth birthday, they had a cool party, her best friends came, back when she still had some, and her parents took a little time to make her feel special, which, even at that point, was a rare trait to exhibit. But they did it.

Her father had hugged her and told her that she's beautiful, her mother had stroked her hair, explaining to her how much she meant to her. That she loved her. It was the last wholesome moment they ever shared together, and thinking about that makes her chest ache with loneliness. Although she wants to think that she still holds a special place in their hearts, she knows that the odds aren't in her favor.

She allows a sad chuckle to exit her l\c lips as she shakes her head. Oh, well. A girl can dream, right?

___

The masked male walks swiftly through the dense forest, staying attentive as he listens to everything around him. The quiet tweets of blue jays, the rustling of leaves, the flow of a nearby stream- all normal. Which is good. That means nothing out-of-the-ordinary is lurking around, following him. At least, nothing that isn't remaining silent. But he's grown accustomed to his surroundings, and he's confident that he'd be able to recognize a threat, whatever form it may take, from wherever it may have been hiding at.

He feels his phone vibrate from within the confines of his pocket and inwardly rolls his eyes. That's the fifth time in the last three minutes that Ben has texted him. He's sure that he's still going on about how something is "urgent" and that he has to "get here ASAP". What does he think he's doing? Moving at a snail's pace? Ben's house is over half a mile away from his own, and he's only been walking for about five minutes. No matter how speedy and agile he can be, he still isn't Superman. Shouldn't Ben know that? Moving from one place to another takes time.

After around two more minutes, he finally sees the old cabin come into view, shrouded by vines, weeds, and various other greenery. To oblivious, inexperienced eyes, it's nearly undetectable, which is perfect. It doesn't draw attention, which is something that Hoody, among others, greatly prefer. Any poor soul that may wander this far into the woods and see it, or any of the others, will be taken care of. Immediately. They can't take a risk. It would be too dangerous.

By the time the phone buzzes a sixth time, Hoody is already coming to a stop in front of the rustic-looking door that's made of the same taupe ash wood as the rest of the house, with some minor improvements to better ensure safety. The whole place, whether one's standing from afar or looking at it close-up, seems like it would be very insubstantial and a hazard to be around, much less live in. But in all reality, it makes quite a good home for the two that take residence there, and it's most definitely safer than it may first appear to be, thanks to a few key individuals and their useful carpenter abilities.

He knocks quietly on the hard surface, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets and waiting patiently for Ben to stop hounding him with text messages, notice that he's right outside, and allow him in. Shouldn't he already know where he is? That's why he installed one hundred cameras around the area, right? To observe what's happening without having to leave the comfort of his chair? Or perhaps that's what he wants to see Hoody about; complain that his cameras are malfunctioning and ask for assistance. Though he doesn't know how much he'll be able to assist him because he doesn't have half the knowledge that Ben has regarding electronics. But he'll do what he can if it means getting one of their main lines of defense up and running again.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when yet another message comes through his phone and makes it vibrate against his leg, a feeling he's really beginning to get irritated by. Releasing a muffled sigh and deciding it would be better to just check whatever text he just received instead of ignoring it altogether, he pulls out the small device, and swipes down on the notification tab, seeing not six, but ten unread messages from the teenager himself, all of which consist of either "where are you?", "you gotta get here quickly", or "hurry your butt up, you depressed son of a cracker".

"Ah, screw you, too," he mutters to the screen, knowing full well that its target won't be able to hear him. Unless he has the audio turned on and is secretly listening to him talk. The little creep, he can't help but think before he finally reaches the last and most recent message.

Just come in, the door's unlocked

Obeying the message, he grips the knob of the door with his gloved hand and gives it one swift turn, pushing once he hears a small 'click' and entering the cozy-looking household while shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans where it rightfully belongs. The interior is nothing special; a kitchen with a small bar and plenty of counter space to spare to the right, a living room with an old, dingy-looking sofa, a couple of chairs, and a coffee table to the left, and a narrow hallway straight ahead, which has five different doors leading to five different places. Two of them lead to bedrooms, one a bathroom, one a laundry room, and the one at the very end is an entrance into the basement, also known as Ben's office.

Shutting the door behind him, he ventures farther into the familiar area, counting on the sunbeams currently shining through the dirty windows to light his path and take him to his destination. Where is his destination? Not able to see Ben nor his roommate anywhere, he assumes that either one or both have to be in the basement, so he begins his trek through the darkened hall until he reaches the closed door, once again wrapping his hand around the metal knob and giving it a firm twist before it creaks open, giving him access into the electronically-lit room below.

He can hear faint voices getting louder as he calmly walks down the staircase, one reasonably deep and the other about a pitch or so higher. He descends downward until reaching the ground, glancing to his left and being met with two easily-recognizable figures due to their odd features.

One of them is sat rather comfortably in a computer chair that he no doubt stole from Amazon, his blond hair swept to the side in a messy, boyish style. He sports a pair of converse, black skinny jeans, a dark green Halo 5 t-shirt, and a beanie. His appearance would be startlingly normal if he lacked the glowing, red eyes and the tears of blood that slowly cascade down his deathly pale cheeks.

Standing leaned against the wall next to him is someone nearly three feet taller, body clothed in all black save for the navy blue mask that covers his face and the strands of copper-brown hair sticking out from under his hood. His eyes are nothing but soulless, empty pits that replace where his once chestnut ones used to be, the sockets constantly leaking a thick black substance similar to that of tar and leaving sticky trails down his mask.

Both heads turn to look at Hoody when he appears behind them, and Ben instantly jumps up, his shorter-than-average height noticeable, especially when compared to taller people, like Hoody and Jack. "It's about time you get here, slowpoke!"

Ignoring the comment, the man clad in a mustard-yellow hoodie crosses his arms impatiently and eyes the one in the corner of the room for a moment before turning his attention back on the blond in front of him. "Now, what exactly was so important that it couldn't wait a couple of hours?" His voice is low and calm, but authoritative, and Ben glances at Jack anxiously.

"We think that egg head is going after someone else to make his slave." Hoody raises a brow beneath his ski mask and gazes down at the boy curiously.

"How do you know?"

"Cause Jack's been getting these-these, um, feelings? For a while. I don't know, wh-what kind of feelings, like-like bad kind of, weird and freaky feelings, maybe since a week or so ago, then he walked by somebody after, y'know, stocking up on his, uhm, diet... and he said they emitted a really strong, like, odor? Or something? And then-"

"Ben," Hoody speaks, cutting the boy off in the middle of his sentence and ultimately silencing him. "Just let Jack explain it." His lips part to say something, though he only lets out a quiet huff after a moment before plopping back down in front of the multiple monitors of different areas in the forest and leaning backward in a sulking manner. "Right." He sighs and signals for Jack to begin speaking, to which he nods and complies.

"I've been feeling... strange, lately," he starts, his voice deep and muffled though decipherable nonetheless. His hands are stuffed into his hoodie pockets as he lightly boosts himself off of the wall with his foot and stands at his full height. "A kind of... tingling, in my chest and mind, but not a good one. More of a... ominous kinda tingling, like something bad is about to happen, or someone's fixing to get hurt. But I don't know who."

Hoody processes this newly-received information and listens with keen ears, inquisitively waiting for the eyeless man to continue.

"But earlier today, after leaving a house, this feeling got a lot stronger. And it was really sudden, like, it just hit me. I couldn't figure out what was happening until after I looked around a bit and noticed someone walking down some grown-out path. And somehow, immediately after I saw her, I knew that she was in danger."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ben interrupts, holding out his hands in a silencing gesture. "It was a girl? You didn't tell me that."

"Because I was waiting to inform the more mature ones who actually focus on the situation rather than something as ridiculous as gender," he remarks, making Ben scoff. Hoody, ignoring Ben altogether, turns to completely face Jack in order to further question him about the somewhat surprising matter, neck craned to the side slightly.

"Okay, but why does this mean that it's connected somehow to him? Did she cough? Did you hear any static?" He merely shakes his head in the negative.

"No. I just know that something sinister is going on and that feeling I've been getting the past couple of days is definitely coming from her. Just an evil, dangerous aura surrounded her, which is why I'm sure that he's involved." Hoody rubs at his head, finding it hard to doubt a word that Jack's saying. He's never been one to lie, after all, and being a reincarnated version of his former self gives him certain... supernatural abilities, that others don't have. Not even the two ghosts of their group.

He stands there a moment, still and quiet as his mind swarms with questions, before looking at the navy blue mask but having to avoid direct eye-contact with the empty sockets in his face due to making him feel uncomfortable. Not that it can be seen, anyway. "Um... alright, well. What do you suggest we do about it?" He earns an unsure shrug in response.

"I guess we could just eliminate her. It would throw off whatever his plan is and get her out of the cycle before she inevitably gets hurt."

"Unless he brings her back," he points out. "Then she'd be more powerful and we'd have another one to fight against."

"That... does make sense. But we can't just leave her there to become a victim. Either she'll accept him or he kills her. Which would just be one more innocent wiped out by his hands."

"We could bring her back here!" Ben suddenly speaks up, once again rising out of his seat and painting a confident look across his ghostly features. "I mean, she wouldn't be in immediate danger and we could tell her what's going on so she knows what to do and what to avoid."

"But then she'd be endangering us." He shoves his hands back into his pockets and takes a step closer. “And what if she’s already under his influence, huh? We’d be leading him straight toward us and there’s no way we’re strong enough nor do we have the numbers to fight him and his group of freaks.”

“Yeah, but what if she’s not? I mean, we need the extra set of hands, anyway. She could be useful!”

“At what cost? The lives and freedom of everyone here? It would be stupid to bring her here, especially since we don’t know anything about her.”

“Jack!” Ben turns his attention to the tall, lanky man standing silent, hoping to get somewhere with him. “You’re the demon here, so is she dangerous?” He plants his masked face in the palm of his hand in the universal sign of ‘oh my God, you’re an idiot’ before answering, his voice low.

“I don’t know, Ben. She seemed totally normal, but I didn’t get a very good look.”

“There ya go, boomer.” His red pupils shift back up to look at Hoody, his eyebrows raised. “She’s not dangerous. We can bring her.”

“For the record, I’m only six years older than you,” he starts, attempting to bite down his exasperation with the teenager and speaking with a level tone, to which he receives an eye roll. “And Jack didn’t say she wasn’t dangerous, he just said she looked normal. They’re two totally different things.”

“Whatever.” He places his hands behind his head carelessly. “I still vote that we bring her here.”

“We’ll ask the others and get their opinions. Jack,” His head turns to look at the mentioned boy, “is there anything else I should know about these ‘feelings’ or the girl you saw?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay then. Ben, call everyone and tell them to meet up at my place within the next thirty minutes.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, and without question, Ben whips out his, now slightly outdated, cellphone and begins to text each person in his contacts exactly what Hoody told him to say.

“Oh, by the way, I fixed your phone.” He pulls out a small flip-phone from his pocket and tosses it to Jack, and he effortlessly catches it and slides it into his pocket, muttering a ‘thanks’ while he does so. Hoody turns to leave, though before he starts climbing the stairs he speaks once more.

“You both need to come, too. We all need to discuss this and figure something out before tomorrow.” They nod in reply, and he disappears from their sight.

[banashee]

i"I have way too many stories already planned" I said. “I can’t write in multiple fandoms at once, it will throw me off” I said. “OK so I’ll just get this out of my system real quick” I said. “Well shit, I’ve gotten more ideas now that I’ve started…” I said, determinded to face it - I have a problem. Just a small one… Who am I kidding. Send help.

Also, this is the first time I’ve written for this fandom. I’ve loved and enjoyed TMA for a while now, not just the pod but also fanworks. And now I’m joining in on the fun and you folks will have to deal with it :D ♥

This story got inspired by a conversation on Reddit with Swiftysmoon. Thank you very much for the inspo! This one is for you :)

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edit. sorry about the missing ReadMore cut, Tumblr is programmed like a pile of garbage and removed it after I edited a typo...I’ve added it back in now.

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please mind the tags and warnings

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 Into the Void

Truth be told, Jon never planned on this to happen. Of course not - it is ridiculous and more than a little embarrassing, but he can’t help himself.

See, the thing is, Jon is a restless, anxious person in general. He’ll hide away in his office for hours, typing away or recording statements in solitude, only interrupted when someone actually wants something from him. That, or when Martin brings him yet another cup of tea, checking if he’s still alive or starved to death on his desk.

No kidding - Martin had told him this, once, and although he’d been half-joking at the time, the underlying message had been very clear.

‘Please take care of yourself, you worry me.’ - it had been oddly sweet, and Jon still has no idea how to even react to this kindness.

But the thing is - Jon has nervous habits. While his mind is wandering and he is buried neck-deep in his work, he tends to fiddle. Mostly with pens, or anything else he can reach on his desk. That would be fine - no one notices it, unless they stand right next to him. But Jon had almost choked on the pen he’d been chewing on, lost in thoughts while reading his notes, omn more than one occasion. Mostly thanks to Tim bursting into the room like the whirlwind he is.

For one, Tim Stoker just doesn’t knock. Ever. He enters a room as loud and cheerful as he does anything else, and it can be a bit unnerving. Still, he somehow manages to be a professional and be really good at his job. That and the fact that there is  ‘Chaos’ written all over him makes for an odd combination sometimes, but they’re all somewhat used to this.

So, when Tim suddenly sticks his head into the room with a cheerfully casual

“Hey, Boss!”

Jon startles and nearly stabs himself in the throat with a pen while he scrambles to make it look like he  didn’t chew on it the entire time. He needs to preserve some sort of professionalism around here, even though he feels a little bit lost sometimes.

He glares halfheartedly, trying to keep whatever is left of his composure in place. Tim shoots him a bright smile with finger guns, then he rattles off the information that Jon had asked him for not long ago.

Thankful that he doesn’t have to explain himself, Jon launches onto it.

      As time goes on, things around the institute get more and more weird. One thing adds to the other, and suddenly, they’re at war against worms all over the place. They spend their days at the institute armed with fire extinguishers and in Martin’s case, a corkscrew. Martin even lives there now, which adds a whole different level to it all.

Really, it is not surprising that they rarely ever get any outside visitors down in the archives. They have a bit of a reputation for being weird, and truth be told, Jon can’t find any fault in the people who assume that. If he wasn’t involved - if he didn’t  know  what lurks out there, in the shadows, he’d have thought the same.

Pushing his own dismissive, sceptic act is getting harder and harder these days, but it doesn’t stop Jon from trying.

Even after Jane Prentiss’ attack, Jon tries to keep up that act. It’s clearly faltering now, though, which may or may not be partially due to the fact that he confessed to Martin that yes, he does believe and he is terrified. It’s been an awkward conversation, to say the least, and not just because Jon pretty much asked if Martin was a ghost and despite Martin stabbing him with the corkscrew. To be fair, he’d apologized profusely for that, and while Jon is not happy about it, he is thankful for his attempt to get the damn worms out of him. Just thinking about it still makes him shudder, makes him lay awake at night.

On the plus side, their team in the archives has grown much closer to one another - it eases the anxiety and paranoia, just a bit.

      Jon finds himself busy, not to say, utterly distracted. Time flies, and he takes even less care of himself than he did before. He practically lives off tea, and whatever food is offered where Martin, Tim and Sasha drag him along to.

Jon acts prickly and annoyed as always, but in reality, he appreciates their efforts. Lord knows, he isn’t sure he deserves this kindness, but he still makes an effort. These three people are all he’s got, after all. They’re the only group of allies who have any sort of idea what is really going on in the archives, and that alone is enough to have him lower his walls just a bit.

One day, Jon keeps blowing an annoying, grey-streaked strand of his otherwise dark hair out of his face. He didn’t have the time or energy to get a haircut lately - there are much more pressing matters to take care of. But his hair is currently at the awkward in-between length that he hated years ago, when he decided to grow it out. He’d kept it long, up until shortly before his promotion to head archivist. Only then he parted with the shoulder length ponytail in an attempt to be perceived as more professional.

It doesn’t feel right - never did. And as much as he hates the annoying strands falling in his face, it makes him feel like he is back on the way to himself. Or at least as much as he can these days.

Especially in the face of, well, everything else, it is a small comfort. Right now though, Jon is annoyed - he takes a pen from his desk, and sticks it behind his ear to hold back the constantly falling piece of hair - it works.

Jon only notices the pen again when he is about to go to bed that night - he huffs, places it onto the small desk in his bedroom and then crawls under the covers. Once he is in bed, Jon is waiting for the insomnia and the nightmares to keep him awake, despite his best attempts to fall asleep.

He is long used to both, but the last few months have been significantly more stressful.

The next day, Jon is exhausted. He barely makes it into the kitchen for some coffee, then he drives to the institute, the pen forgotten back home. Oh well - he’ll bring it back in another day - no big deal.

Except, it becomes a Thing, with a capital T.

Jon is chewing on and fumbling with his pens as usual, recording statement after statement and doesn’t exactly realize what he is doing. He hides away, until one of the others drags him away from the desk for inconvenient human needs like food and company, but really, he goes willingly now. All he needs is a small reminder.

The bit of human warmth and company means a lot to Jon, and he soaks it up as much as he allows himself to. Trusting people is a struggle for him. His relationship with each and every coworker is definitely a work in progress, but he is willing to try, anyway.

One night, Martin points to the side of Jon’s neck in quiet amusement.

“Oh, you’ve got ink on you - yes, right there.” he touches the spot behind his own ear. Jon blinks, and when he tries to wipe it away, his hand comes away with yet another goddamn pen.

It joins a small pile of accidentally stolen pens on Jon’s desk back home - he’s been meaning to bring them back ages ago, but he keeps forgetting. At this point, he refuses to drop them all off at once, because that would definitely catch someone’s attention - and attention is the last thing he wants right now. Add in the fact that this is, well, ridiculous and embarrassing… No. Just no.

Jon looks around the room, heat creeping up his face even though there is no one around to look at and judge him - then he opens an empty drawer in his desk. The pens disappear with one swift movement of his arm before Jon slams the drawer shut. There - done.

And this is how, what Jon secretly calls his “Desk Drawer of Shame”, comes into existence.

      Occasionally, a small handful of pens will make its way back into the archives. But at this point, they’re way, way too many to bring back at once, at least not without pissing off Elias. That is, if he isn’t chuckling at the ridiculous and mysteriously high cost of office supplies in the last few months.

At the very least, Jon would be at the receiving end of some good natured ribbing from his coworkers in the foreseeable future.

Jon is reading the last few lines of a statement, when the door to his office opens up after a quick knock. He looks up with a frown, which is more habit than anything at this point, and quickly drops his feet back on the ground. At least, he isn’t chewing on a pen this time.

Standing in the doorway, shooting him a small smile, is Martin and he is waiting for Jon to finish recording the last few lines. Only when the familiar

“Statement ends.” marks the end of the recording session, he starts talking.

“Hi! Uh, did you have lunch yet?”

Jon didn’t, and Martin knows it, but he is trying to go the polite route before his motherhen-mode is activated and he physically drags the man away from the desk in an attempt to make him take a break.

So, Jon smiles back, which still feels a bit foreign in a work context, but he secretly enjoys the spark of happiness on Martin’s face when he does. Not like he focuses on that or anything…

“No, I- I didn’t. Did you have something in mind?” he asks as he gets up and pulls his jacket from the back of his chair. It’s a welcome distraction from his work.

Jon didn’t sleep, again, and he can tell that he is getting sloppy and way more irritable than usual. Chances are, getting a bite to eat and spending some time out of the institute with a friend will do him some good.

On the way out, Jon falls comfortably into step with Martin. Plenty of thoughts cross his mind, and he chooses to ignore all of them. In fact, he’d been so busy staring up at a cluster of freckles on Martin’s cheek that he doesn’t even notice what he tells him about the little café that he was planning to visit. Only when he stops talking, obviously waiting for an answer, Jon nods, hoping that Martin actually asked him a yes-or-no question.

For now, it seems to be enough, and they enjoy their lunch break. Jon is still lost in thoughts though.

That night, he is unable to sleep once again, as his mind keeps him wide awake and Jon is shaking apart under the blanket. There are two new pens on his desk, and it feels like they’re glaring at him. It’s ridiculous - they really are the least of his worries. Jon is just distracted, that’s all.

      There is ink on his neck. Again. Jon swipes at it in mild annoyance, inwardly cursing himself for being so careless. His movement catches Tim’s attention, and then his eyes wander to the pen that is stuck halfway to Jon’s ponytail - it’s for convenience, really - but it’s clearly the cause for the ink scribbles on his skin.

Tim puts the pieces together and grins. He is way too easily amused about this, but to be fair, they get their laughs whenever they can these days. And this is still much better than the silent, angry version of Tim that tends to come out more and more and the last few months. At least, when he’s laughing, he isn’t that.

Small favors.

      The more distracted Jon grows, and the longer his hair gets, the more pens he keeps losing - or more like, forgetting - in it.

He doesn’t realize that he is doing it, really, until someone - mostly Martin or Tim these days, because Sasha is (gone) (different ) absent - walks up and plucks one of the pens right out of his hair in order to use it. Jon should be annoyed, but he can’t bring himself to be. It’s oddly comforting that the two of them are still willing to seek him out. Because that’s what this is - there are plenty of pens around, of course.

There is no need to come into his office, to come close to him just to get office supplies. They’re here because they want to, and that honestly means the world to Jon.

As much as he’d tried to keep them at arm’s length, he’s failed miserably. Thankfully so - things would be much, much worse if they had to deal with everything on their own.

      “Hang on - how many bloody pens are in there?” Martin asks one day, calling over from the other room. He looks up in utter confusion while already cracking up with  laughter.

“Wait, are those-?”

Oh goddammit.

Apparently, that’s what happens when Jon answers absentmindedly when asked for the location of a pen in his apartment.

He needs to renovate his kitchen, because the landlord just won’t do it in any reasonable amount of time, so Jon is in old jeans and an even older T-shirt, packing dishes and kitchenware into boxes with Martin and Tim. The two of them had been kind enough to offer help, so that’s why they’re all piled in Jon’s small apartment on a Saturday morning.

Partway through, they realize that they should probably label the boxes, and soon after, Martin stands in the bedroom, opening not the stationary drawer, but The Secret Drawer of Shame With Accidentally Stolen Pens From The Institute.

“Oh, good lord.” With an audible ‘thump’, Jons forehead collides with the kitchen table. His glasses sit crooked now, and he doesn’t lift his head up while he tries to explain, and despite being flustered, he manages to keep that certain tone of voice that’s usually reserved for work hours.

“I, yes. I may have accidentally taken a pen or two with me and only realized it here. Coming back into work with all of them at once seemed… well. Not ideal at the time.”

“No wonder when you keep storing them in your hair.” Martin comes back, with a handful of pens and a bright smile.

While walking past, he pulls another pen out of Jon’s bun, just to prove his point. A long strand of hair slips forward and falls back into Jon’s face. Meanwhile, Tim has snuck off to peek into the other room out of pure curiosity, then he proceeds to laugh his arse off for the next few minutes.

“You know, we should make it a sport at this point. How much stationary supplies can we steal until Elias catches wind of it?” Tim offers, because of course he does.

It is ridiculous and childish, so naturally, it quickly becomes A Thing.

Anything to get a tiny bit of satisfaction is a valid option at this point, and besides, it’s not like Jon is trying to be sneaky or anything. It just happens , like so many things these days.

      As it turns out, Elias doesn’t care. None of them is stupid enough to assume he doesn’t know - the bastard knows everything, that’s part of their problem. He just never calls any of them out on it - if it is because it’s too unimportant or if he is getting a chuckle out of it as well, they never find out.

At some point, late at night when all three of them had a few drinks, they’re brave enough to joke about what fear entity would be responsible for a never ending void filled with pens (“A.K.A you desk drawer of shame, Jon. Have another drink, you’re annoyingly sober for this conversation.”)

It’s a half-serious debate, and one which they continue every once in a while. Most notably so at the institute’s christmas party, huddled in a corner where they’re mostly being left alone. And if that is mostly due to Jon glaring holes through anyone daring to come close, just a hair away from actually hissing and snarling, well. He didn’t get his reputation of being rude and prickly for nothing.

      All of this turns into fond memories, once everything has gone to hell.

Jon is freshly awake from six months of coma, and the world around him has changed. Martin is barely around and Tim is  dead . So is Sasha, even though they never knew, for the longest time.

All of this hurts badly enough to stop him from breathing every once in a while, and after a series of even more tangled and unfortunate events, Jon finds himself huddled close to Martin on a train.

They’re on their way to Scotland and neither of them talks much, but they’re unwilling to let go of the other’s hand. The air is chilly, even inside the wagon, and Martin is still shivering under layers of jumpers and jackets.

The Lonely has settled deep into his bones, and sometimes, it’s like he is fading away again. Every time this happens, the steady warmth of Jon keeps pulling him back.

Jons hand is smaller and bonier in Martin’s own large, soft hand, but it’s grip is steady and warm. His thumb keeps stroking gently over the back of his hand while he is holding it, and it is the most loved Martin has felt in a long time.

Eventually, he manages to relax enough to doze off for a bit. While his head find’s it’s way down and onto Jon’s shoulder, he can feel the slight poke of a plastic pen that is sticking out of his hair.

Martin almost smiles, and squeezes back when Jon tightens the grip around his hand and settles against him.

    They keep finding the damn things around the safehouse, because frankly, they’re everywhere. And that’s just whatever Jon had on his person out of sheer habit. Lord knows, his hair has grown way past his shoulders by now, and more often than not, he keeps it up and out of the way with whatever is around him at the time.

Mostly, it’s pens.

At first, they’re just  there , and both Jon and Martin have about a million other things to think of and to deal with than a few too many office supplies laying around.

The exhaustion, both physically and emotionally, leaves them absolutely drained and dead to the world.

It is bad enough so that they crawl into bed almost as soon as they have arrived and inspected the small cabin. The question of whether or not they’re going to share the bed isn’t even raised - neither of them is willing to let go of the other. All the way from London to up here, they’d held hands to reassure themselves that they wouldn’t lose each other, and they’re not about to stop now.

It is a lot easier to remind each other that they’re not alone when all they need to do is focus on the breath and heartbeat of one another. Focusing on the heat radiating under the blankets, where they are embracing throughout the night to keep the nightmares and the ever growing anxiety at bay.

They have plenty of bad days when everything just creeps up at them and even talking is too much. Those days, they spend curled up in front of the fire or in bed, holding on tight for as long as they need to in order to feel more alive again.

After a while, they’re able to relax more. Martin is much warmer and solid now, doesn’t fade away into the fog without noticing. It’s happening less and less now - whether or not he will be able to shake off The Lonely entirely, neither of them knows, but he is happy about every step in the other direction.

Jon is just as happy to see him doing better, and he tells him as much over breakfast, smiling as he tangles their legs under the table.

There are two pens already stuck in his hair, holding it up in two buns. It’s probably from when he read a statement from the stack of files and tapes that Basira sent over the other day.

The statement has definitely taken the edge off of things for Jon. Now he can sit at the kitchen table with his boyfriend and enjoy a cup of tea instead of growing weaker and weaker with hunger for statements. As ironic as it is, it makes him feel more human, even though he is no longer fully human. He’s pretty sure of it.

“I love you.” Martin tells him, because it is true and he likes saying it as often as possible, now that he can. It sends a spark of warm happiness through his chest, and it is bright enough to chase away the cold fog that’s still lingering sometimes - just for a bit.

“I love you, too.”

He’ll never get tired of hearing this.

“I love you” they say, as they drink tea in the morning and eat freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven.

“I love you” they say, as they walk hand in hand through the cobblestone streets down in the village, on their way to buy groceries and look at the little local shops.

“I love you” they say, as they step around each other in the tiny kitchen while cooking dinner, distracting one another with kisses until one of them remembers the food or notices the charred smell of something burning. It’s only then that they break apart, cursing and laughing all at once.

“I love you” they say, as they spend nights wide awake, holding on tightly through their grief and fear. They say it out loud or whisper it into the darkness, comforting one another as best as they can.

“I love you”, they whisper through silence and tears, but they say it just as much through smiles and laughter.

“I love you” they say, after every single argument. Their love for each other is strong, so much so that they’re certain they will be able to figure out the rest. Whether that’s the end of the world as they know it or anything else doesn’t matter.

“I love you” Martin says, after he walks up behind Jon and plucks one of the pens out of his hair. There are at least two more, and besides, Martin woke up this morning with a few lines of poetry in the back of his mind. He wants to write them down before he forgets - maybe, just maybe, he can  turn them into  something beautiful.

“I love you.” Jon says, and he pulls Martin closer by the front of his pyjama shirt, turning around just enough to be able to press a quick kiss to his lips. The movement leaves them both in an awkward position, hanging over the back of the sofa with their glasses askew.

Martin has one of his arms wrapped around Jon, who is holding on tight, happily leaning into him with a quiet, happy satisfaction on his face. Clearly, he is enjoying this an awful lot.

No doubt, if it wasn’t for the hold onto the sofa Martin has with his other, he’d have toppled over and fallen right into the smaller man’s lap. And maybe that’s exactly what Jon is trying to do - who knows. He is way more affectionate than either of them would have thought possible, really.

They remain wrapped up in the tight hug, and neither of them wants to let go yet.

                                     Notes:  

Warnings: - Off-screen canon character death mentioned - insecurity - Loneliness - Trust issues - if you want me to add anything please let me know

[mininky]

Crash Landing

Summary: Jung Hoseok. Notorious hot dude on campus. Excellent dancer. Bad boy. Tattoos. Your best friend’s older brother. There were a lot of reasons why he was a terrible idea. Scratch that, fucking awful life ruining idea. But hey, you’re here to win ‘dumbest idea of the century’ award apparently.

Pairing: Dancer!Hoseok x  Uni Student!reader (fem)

Genre: Slow Burn, best friend’s older brother AU, Uni AU, smut, romance

Warnings: mentions of divorce, mentions of Hobi having been cheated on, protected sex, oral sex (fem. receiving), Hoseok with tattoos 

Word Count: 13.4K

   Meeting Hoseok had been a freak event unlike anything else in your mostly uneventful life, and in that way, it was completely fitting. He had quite literally stumbled into your life. Well, crash landed is more like it. While seated on a bench spacing out into another dimension that was void of any sentient thought after finals he had face planted into the bush right next to you. You're not sure how long you'd been sitting there on the bench, possibly long enough to grow moss, and really you didn't think that anything could get you to move from your spot. You were on the fast track to becoming a Buddhist monk until Hoseok's ill-timed passing out had finally gotten you to move. At a lightning speed that you didn't think was possible after five finals back to back in one day fueled by sheer willpower and too much caffeine to be safe for human consumption you were next to him.

   You had been convinced at the lack of protest or noise at falling face first into a very thorny bush that the man had most certainly died. Fight or flight responses had miraculously kicked on and as adrenaline surged the first thing you thought to do instead of asking him if he was okay was to slap his face as hard as possible. He groaned but otherwise didn't stir until you started to pull out your phone with trembling hands to call 911. You recognized him as his hands suddenly came up to move the phone away with surprising strength. The man you were sure was dying in front of you was none other than Jung Hoseok. Your best friend's older brother, who normally looked the spitting image of the sun and good health in all of the pictures you'd seen of him but now looked closer to a strung out druggy who took one hit too many. You've also noticed that he has a ton of tattoos that weren't in any of the pictures you've seen of him. Intricate poke and needle types, all littered around his arms.

   "Holy shit, Hoseok?" He groaned again before struggling to sit up, hand clawing away some leaves and thorns stuck in his hair.

   "Please don't call 911. I don't have insurance. Just tired. Please let me sleep." With that, his head slumped back with an unnervingly loud thwack on the concrete.

   You had a few options at this point.    Option #1: Leave and just let him possibly die of a concussion after hitting his head that hard    Option #2: call your best friend and let her know that her brother is dying and won't let you call 911 because of his lack of health insurance    Option #3: slap him again, try to get him to move and drag him back to wherever he lives    Option #4 (should probably be the first but your brain is fried and adrenaline is a hell of a drug): call 911 anyways and then be forced to work three jobs and drop out of school to pay the medical bills you've forced on him    Option #5: try to drag him yourself back to your dorm which is only a short distance from the very bench you've been spacing out at.

   You went with a combination of option five and three. In which you slapped him (open-palmed and left a beautiful red mark behind and your palm stinging unpleasantly) and forced him to get up. In a bizarre zombie state he slumped over your shoulder and it took you the longest fifteen minutes of your life to finally get into your dorm and throw him into your bed. Now you'd like to lie and say that at this point you tried to give some sort of shitty and iffy medical aid, but your own exhaustion had taken over and you'd fallen asleep slumped at the edge of your bed only five minutes later.

   It was hours later that you'd finally woken up to the sound of Hoseok stirring and groaning before freaking out at his unknown surroundings. "Where the fuck am I? Who are you? What the fuck is going on?"

   "Wow, first of all, I'd appreciate a thank you for carrying your deceptively heavy ass up three flights of stairs when you were mostly unconscious. Second of all, I'm (Y/N), your knight in shining armor and also I happen to be Sam's best friend. You biffed it face first into a bush and told me not to call 911 and that you just needed to sleep. So after slapping you...twice actually...I carried you into my room." You wipe away a few crusties from your eyes as you look at the man in front of you.

   He's unnervingly handsome. In a way that makes you wonder how humans can be created his way. Perfectly well-shaped nose, a jaw that's both soft and chiseled, pouty lips, hair that flops in that painfully sexy disheveled way that some men spend hours to get just so for a picture on Instagram but refuse to admit that they did, eyes that hold a hint of playful mystery in their murky brown gaze. Even with bags under his eye and lackluster pallor from finals week he still looks like he deserves sculptures and shrines dedicated to him.  

   But the real sucker punch gut-wrenching charm was his laugh. The way his eyes crinkled up and perfect teeth shined as he heard this news had all the breath forced out of you slowly like a careful pinprick to a balloon. You should have known then that nothing good could come from Jung Hoseok. You should have known. But instead, you just stared up at him the floor like you were staring straight at the sun. So dazzlingly beautiful that looking right at it caused physical pain, although looking at him didn't cause you to sneeze at least.

   "Well, thank you for saving me oh knight in shining armor. Also, sorry for bailing every time Sam asks me to hang out with you guys. But you know, if the guys see me hanging out with freshman girls there will be inevitable questions and then I'll have to fight a horde of douchebags to protect my sister or whatever so really I've been doing you guys a favor." He gets up from the bed, carefully so as to not kick you straight in the face as you scramble off your knees and walk over to the door with him. "Oh, and do me a favor. Don't tell my sister. As far as you're concerned this never happened and you never met me."

   Just like that Hosoek was gone, as if he hadn't stumbled face first into a bush and nearly died. As if he hadn't made your finals addled brain nearly short circuit and all the breath leave your lungs from simply laughing. You kept your end of the bargain. You never told Sam what happened. Partially because you were convinced that it never did actually happen. You were sure that you had conjured up an obscure illusion or that it all had been some sort of strange dream. Until you met Hoseok again that is.

   It would be another three months before you would be destined to see Hoseok again. This time he would have that natural glow back to his skin, and the bags under his eyes were gone. Sam had dragged you to the coffee shop he worked at, fueled with a rage that was rather unnatural for her as she slammed into the quiet business with steam coming out of her ears and foam around the mouth as she tore into her brother with little care of innocent bystanders in her path. "Oy, you. You think you're too good to text me back asshole?"

   "Sam, not now. I'm working." He glanced at the one lone customer sitting at the worn leather couch three feet away who was staring openly at the debacle unfolding in front of him.

   "It's always not now! You're always too busy for me!" You made the mistake of trying to slip away, but Sam was too quick for you. She grabbed your hand before lighting back into her brother. "It's one thing to skip out on me, but really? Skipping out on dinner with mom last night?"

   "Shit, that was last night? I thought that was supposed to be tonight. God, I'm so sorry Sammy, I promise I'll make it up to you and mom. I promise."

   The beast would not be tamed, however. Sam, you're typically sweet best friend had a side to her that luckily rarely showed. The angry side. The side that could be heard across the county. The side that would slash all your tires. "Well, you fucking better Jung Hoseok." With that, she turned around and dragged you out of the coffee shop while you tried mouthing 'I'm so sorry' to the bewildered and painfully embarrassed Hoseok.

   Sam would later explain that she brought you along for the wild ride for two reasons. First, so you could stop her from committing a crime. Secondly, but most importantly, because you were the one with a car and she didn't want to pay for an uber over to the coffee shop.

   You know that in her heart of hearts Sam was angrier at the general shit show her family had turned into than Hoseok per se. He had just been the one closest in proximity and therefore the line of fire. Her parents were getting divorced, her family falling apart, and Hoseok had just kind of ghosted her. Bullshit reasons about fighting off the guys or whatever that had been earlier weren't good enough. She was angry at being abandoned. By her parents, by her brother, by the world. College was supposed to be the start of freedom, but for her, it had started in shambles. The two of you hadn't known each other before university, but you were in the same major and worked at the same small used bookstore and had fast become friends and then inseparable best friends. She spent more nights than you could count on the floor of your dorm just to get away from it all, and because you had lucked out and gotten the smallest room that was honestly more like a closet and could only house one bed so you had no roommate.  

   After that incident, she had broken into a fit of angry tears in your room and explained all of this to you. A word vomit of pain, anger, and angst. This all should have done something to dispell Hoseok to you, and yet it hadn't. Instead, you wondered what was going on in his head. You were curious about how and why he had withdrawn from his sister when she explained that before he went away to school they were closer than close. That he had always been her protector, her best friend. Sure they fought, they were siblings after all, but they were each other's rocks. Until he was just gone. And she thought going to the same school as him would fix it. Instead, the distance somehow felt larger now. So close in proximity but emotionally miles and miles away. Again, this should have shattered the perfect image of Hoseok that had been crafted in your brain after that odd encounter months ago but instead, it lent depths and layers to the man that made you want to peel everything back and study it closely.

   The third time you would meet Hoseok would be proof that the first encounter had, in fact, happened. It was two in the morning approximately a month later. You stumbled out of bed in a zombie state, sure that the only person who could possibly be knocking on your door this late at night could be Sam. It wasn't (unfortunately) entirely uncommon with her insane sleep schedule. So when you swung the door open in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear you could feel all color drain from your face at the sight of a very tired and sweaty Hoseok standing in front of you.

   "I know this is going to sound really weird, but my girlfriend and I broke up and I've been crashing couches but my friend has someone over tonight so then I tried sleeping in the library but it was just too uncomfortable so would you mind if I crash here? I noticed last time you didn't have a roommate. I can take the floor." Now you had two options at this point. (You're too tired to come up with 5 this time, thank god it was a lot of work having to detail your thoughts last time. You really should stop overthinking, I'm a little worried for you at this point. Sorry, I'll get back to the story.)    Option #1: slam the door on his face and crawl back into bed. You don't technically know him and it's not your problem.    Option #2: have pity on this painfully good-looking man and kiss a decent night's sleep goodbye because lord knows you won't be able to sleep when he's in the same room as you a second time.

   You went with option number two. Who are you kidding, you aren't evil enough to go with option number one. You just pray that his new distance with his sister and break up with his girlfriend isn't because he's actually secretly a serial killer and is going to chop you up into tiny bits. Although...on the plus side of that...no student loans!

   You opened the door wider and stepped off to the side. Covering your mouth for any offending morning breath as you spoke. "Sure, I've got an extra pillow and blanket too." You wanted to say more. There were so many questions about this random appearance, but really you didn't feel it was very polite to ask any of them. Not that knocking on the door of a near stranger at two in the morning to see if you can crash there is polite, but really one of you needs to respect boundaries. Right?

   "Thanks, I really appreciate it. Free coffee and baked goodies for life when I'm on shift. I promise." He stretched and let out a loud yawn as you tried to grab a pillow and blanket for him without bending over. He took them from your hands gingerly and you watched him try to get comfortable on the floor before you turned around, shut off the light, and crawled back into bed.

   You tried counting sheep. You tried doing simple math. You tried willing sleep to come. But everything brought your thoughts back around in a vicious cycle to the man laying on your floor. The man you knew almost nothing about. Save that he was your best friend's older brother, worked in a coffee shop, and went to the same school as you. Dance major, and that had earned him being cut off from his family financially if you remembered correctly. But that doesn't mean you know him. You've never actually had a proper conversation with him.

   At the sound of you stirring in bed once again you can hear his gravely voice from the floor calling out to you. "Can't sleep (y/n)?"

   You thought about playing dead or asleep or whatever. But figured there was no point. So instead you mumbled a quiet, "yeah."

   "Me neither. Can't sleep for shit lately." He pauses for a moment before sighing. "I'm sorry for just showing up here. I know we don't know each other, but I wasn't sure where else to go."

   "Nah, it's cool. Mi casa es su casa." You can hear him give one of those small snort laughs, the kind that's more like a loud exhale through the nose, and you can feel little butterflies start to hit your ribcage.

   "Well, I really appreciate it." You wait for a moment before calling out to him.

   "Are you okay, Hosoek?"

   "Ah, the million dollar question. I don't know. Are any of us?" There's something about the way his brooding words contrast sharply with his typically sunny appearance that has your heart singing. All of those layers around his heart built up like an impenetrable fortress has your curiosity in overdrive. It's not a safe place, you know that. But there's something about Hoseok that just lights things up around you.

   You've never been interested in another man this way. Every single person you've ever dated or hooked up with has been out of convenience. You were actually starting to question if you were some subcategory of Asexual. If there was a sexual category for people who couldn't hold romantic interest but did still get horny. That's a thing right? Aromantic? But Hoseok, now Hoseok is the type of guy that you can picture curled up next to after sex tracing at all of his tattoos and talking about everything and nothing for hours at a time. The type of guy that makes you start to understand why high school crushes are so painful. And you know it's slightly irrational. You know next to nothing about him, but god do you want to. If you could change your major to Hoseok you fucking would.  

   After a long pause, he starts talking again. His voice hoarser, as if he's trying to hold back tears. Or maybe he is crying, you can't tell in the dark. "No, I'm not okay. And I don't think I have been for a really long time. My parents weren't exactly the loving type. I tried my best to be there for Sam, but the moment I could get my freedom I took it. I rebelled, and my father cut me off for it as I'm sure she told you. But I didn't care. I was finally free. I was finally doing what I wanted, and I met this girl. I thought she was the love of my life. The one, you know? Listen, I don't normally give good advice but never date someone who tattoos you because it's going to end and you're going to wish that you didn't get all of them from her. I used to go into the shop just to see her. And then we started dating. And then she started cheating. And now we're not together and I don't have a place to live and it's middle of the year so I can't do dorms again and apartments are way too expensive. My boss said he'll give me the room in the back of the coffee shop tomorrow after he clears everything out, so at least after tonight I'll have a place to stay. But everything's a mess. My family is a mess, I'm a giant fucking mess, my grades have been slipping lately and I might lose my scholarships, and I've been homeless for a week now."

   Why did you have to really like the guy with all the baggage? The one with neon blinking signs that say 'no trespassing!' The best friend's older brother who has serious emotional issues to hammer out who's spilling his guts to a near stranger at three in the morning? And why is it that you have the emotional skills of a fucking rock at this moment? "Wow, that fucking sucks man." Really, that's all you can muster up? You tack on, "I'm sorry," for good measure.

   "You don't have anything to be sorry about. I'm sorry for dumping this all on you. I uh...I don't usually talk about this kind of stuff. To anyone. I guess you're just easy to talk to."

   "You should try talking more about it. It's not healthy to keep it all bottled in, you know?" You can hear him shuffle on the pillow, nodding his head you assume while you try not to squeal when he said you were easy to talk to.

   "How's Sam doing by the way? I've been a really shitty brother..."

   "Good right now. She had a few mental breakdowns, but she's on the quick road to recovery. She's taking the family falling apart in stride. She said that she kind of always knew this would happen, I think the harder thing has been the lack of contact with you. But don't worry, I won't tell her anything you told me. Just...talk to her when you're ready." You pause for a moment, trying to organize your thoughts before you add softly, "you know it's not always a bad thing for something to fall apart. Think of this as a new clean slate. There's still plenty of time this semester to pull your grades back up. And like you said you've got a place to stay lined up. And your parents...well there's nothing you can do about that. It honestly sounds like it was all for the better from the stories I've heard. Just...work on things one at a time. Don't try to do everything at once because then you won't do anything. And if things ever feel overwhelming like I said, mi casa es su casa. Think of me as like the emergency friend therapist or whatever."

   "Thanks (y/n)..." You can feel your cheeks heat up from the tone of his quiet voice and pray that your voice doesn't sound too squeaky when you call out a quiet goodnight.

   The next morning Hoseok is already gone by the time you wake up at ten. He's folded up the blanket and left a note on top of the pillow. "(y/n), thanks again for everything. If you ever need anything just let me know. (###) ###-####. -Hobi."

   It wasn't fair the way your heart hammered away first thing in the morning. It also was admittedly really creepy that the next thing you did was pick up the blanket to see if it smelled like him. It did. And you very much approve of his cologne choice. It's woodsy and citrusy and you're incredibly thankful that no one is around to see your face buried in the blanket. After your brain clicks back on and you realize that you're a certifiable creep at this point you slowly enter him as a contact. A strange, unfamiliar part of you wanted to give him some cutesy name but you realize how bizarre that would look and instead you simply enter him in as 'Hoseok' with no additional heart emojis.

   Part of you really wants to text him. Perhaps use the excuse of checking up on him, because you were actually really curious. There was a lot going on in his life and by the sounds of it he was cracking under pressure and not talking to anyone about it. Instead, though you simply stare at the contact, take a deep breath, and get ready for work.

-----------------three weeks later--------------------

   "Oh, come on (y/n), it'll be fun! Please? You always turn down my party invites but I promise this one won't be too over the top. It's not even at a frat house or anything!" You try not to glare in Sam's direction as you put away the last of the books received in this morning. You aren't exactly a party person. You're the mom friend, that's your role and while you don't readily admit it it's the truth. You're the friend that at parties always inevitably gets stuck trying to corral your pathetic, drunk, and often times sick friends back home. Which is why you don't do parties. That and they make you slightly claustrophobic. It's not that you hate people, you just prefer more conversationally stimulating environments than a party has to offer. Also, you hate the smell of shitty beer and body odor, which is the main fragrance of all college parties. And random creepy drunk dudes who smell like said hated fragrance mixed with cheap body spray trying to get into your pants? Yeah, that's a big no for you.

   "Sam, I don't know. I mean, you know how I feel about parties. Listen, I love you. And I love hanging out with you. But I've seen you drunk, and it ain't pretty. Besides, I still have that paper I need to finish for my Lit class." You try to avoid her potent puppy eyes as you walk behind the counter to slap price stickers on the rest of the books.

   "Listen, if you don't wanna go that's fine. But like, when's the last time you got some? It's been months since you broke up with Aaron, and from the sounds of it he didn't know how to find a clit so do yourself a favor and just come with me for a little bit? If there are no guys there that spark your interest ditch me. But don't use the paper as an excuse to stay in your fortress for another lame Saturday. It's not even due for another week and you're already in editing phase. We literally had that conversation half an hour ago." You make the mistake of glancing over at Sam. She's giving you more than just puppy eyes, she's even giving you a full quivering bottom lip. Ugh, why do you have to be such a sucker for her?

   "Fine. Fine, I'll go." You hold up your hand as she starts squealing, "But I make no promises on staying for very long."

------------------------

   Two hours later and you're nursing a warm Smirnoff ice in the corner. Not surprisingly thirty minutes ago almost immediately after entering the party, Samantha ditched you for a guy who looks like he does keg stands professionally. You swear she has the worst taste in men. The obnoxious little voice in the back of your head cackles at the sentiment, reminding you that at least Sam isn't pining after a guy who just so happens to be her best friend's brother that she knows next to nothing about other than he has a mountain of baggage and most certainly isn't interested. You take a swig of the warm, sweet drink in spite until your eyes lock onto the man standing in front of you. You're pretty sure you have a class with him, what was his name again?

   "Jimin." Shit, can he read minds? "Sorry, didn't mean to freak you out you just looked like you were trying to place my name. We share that intro to lit class."

   "Ah, yeah sorry about that I'm-"

   "(Y/N), yeah I know. You're kind of hard to forget."

   "Oh." You'll admit, Jimin is very cute. But cute is really the key word for him, and try as you might to summon an urge to jump his bones you just don't feel anything. There's no spark there, no lust to drag him into the nearest bed and explore all he has to offer. Too bad getting over a one-sided crush isn't that simple.

   Jimin is about to say something, but he's soon tackled by someone behind him. "Dude, it took me forever to find you. Yoongi's refusing to play beer pong on my team. Please, help me?" Jimin narrows his eyes on the other guy before swiveling back to you, his lips jutting out into a formidable puppy pout that your sure would make most women swoon.

   "Do you wanna come with? You looked a little bored." You should say no, you should just crawl back into the comforting confines that is your bed and pray to whatever deity to allow you to go back to a normal life where you didn't know a demigod walked the campus but no instead you fall prey to the puppy pout. Again damnit. (Y/N): 0, puppy eyes: 2.  

   "Sure." Jimin looks triumphant as he grabs your hand and weaves through the throngs of people until you arrive at the back porch where things seem to be much more comfortably quiet. Until you lock eyes with the earlier mentioned demigod himself.

   "(Y/N)?" Hoseok stares at you in disbelief for a moment in front of the beer pong table, before smiling. Oh god, that smile. You swear you can feel your heart trying to escape from you again, you can hear corny Disney music playing in the background, an angel halo placed above his head as a random backlight makes his tan glow nearly gold until you blink away the momentary insanity. You wish you could blame all of that on alcohol, but you haven't had nearly enough liquid courage to induce that montage.

   "Uh, hey." Fuck, why did you have to say uh? Jimin is staring at the interaction and oh god, he knows. He fucking knows. And you can't kill him, not here. Too many witnesses. Instead, you'll just have to pray for the world to open up and swallow you whole. Or a zombie to come over and take you first in the zombie apocalypse. Jimin, thank the sweet heavens, doesn't say anything. He just looks at the two of you a moment before winking at you and taking his place across from Hoseok.

   "You ready to go down, Hobi?" The other boy looks eager to start, he's stretching his wrists while glaring at the other team.

   You cast a glance behind you and take a seat at an empty bench to watch it all unfold. The boy that roped Jimin into all of this is Taehyung, and the one on Hoseok's team is Namjoon. Yoongi, the one who refused to play, at some point ambled over to you and offered a cigarette before beginning to loudly tell you why everyone playing sucks each time they miss. You're assuming based off of the shit eating grin on his face that he's doing it solely to mess everyone up, and it works on just about everyone. Except for Hoseok, who seems completely unaffected.

   It doesn't take long before everything is over and Jimin and Taehyung are forced to chug the remaining drinks. You polish off the last of your sugary alcoholic drink and start looking for the nearest escape before Hoseok is ambling over towards you.

   "Hey, I didn't expect to see you here. Is Sam here?" You nod quietly before slowly adding.

   "I wouldn't...uh...go looking for her though." Hoseok sighs and nods before sitting next to you on the bench.

   "You don't seem like much of a party person."

   "I'm really not. But it's nice out here, it's quiet." You glance over to see Jimin giving a now very drunk Yoongi a ride on his back. "Your friends are interesting."

   Hoseok snorts. "They're idiots, but loveable."

   "Did you get that room situation at the cafe all figured out?"

   "Yup, got all my stuff moved in and everything. Thanks for not telling Sam by the way. I've been talking to her you know."

   "I know, she's been over the moon about it. Oh, you know your mom is coming over next week?"

   "How do you know this and I don't?" Hoseok sighs but adds a quiet thanks.

   "Oh, uh, sorry. But, I know that they're planning on doing dinner again. I think we're going to Olive Garden, which means plenty of breadsticks to swipe."

   "We're?"

   "I was invited." Hoseok chuckles at this before shaking his head.

   "I think I should be offended that I've been replaced."

   "You haven't been replaced by me. I'm telling you all this so you can make sure to talk to your mom if you want to go. Or avoid it like the plague, it's your choice."

   "Thank you. I suppose I've done enough avoiding though, I'll try texting her." At this point an awkward silence begins to fall and before you start babbling you decide to finally make your exit.

   "Well, I should probably get going. I'll see you around." Hoseok jumps up, shaking his head.

   "I'll walk you home." He holds up his hand as you start to protest. "I need to get going anyways and you're on the way. Besides, it'll give me a great excuse to get out of here before they try to wrangle me into another round."

   You nod and start to walk forward before you call out behind you, "I'll see you in class tomorrow, Jimin!" Jimin sends a bright smile to you and waves, sending another all too knowing wink before Yoongi accidentally (at least you hope it's accidentally) starts strangling him.

   You weave your way to the back gate with Hoseok in close proximity as you start quietly making your way to your dorm. There's a lot that you want to say, but you aren't sure really what you should say. After all telling him that he's breathtakingly handsome probably won't end well. You mean, it might, but probably just for a night and for once you're not really interested in catch and release.

   "So...you never texted me."

   "Well...I haven't exactly had a need to." Oh god, you sound so harsh. "I mean, I didn't really want to bother you unless I really needed help or something. I figure you're pretty busy."

   You glance over at Hoseok to see him...smiling? He's actually smiling? "Well, it doesn't have to be an emergency or anything. Text me, whenever you want. I mean it (y/n). I appreciate all the help you've given me, so even if you just need someone to like vent to or something I'm here for you." God, he isn't helping matters. Why can't he be an asshole that you could just hatefuck and get everything out of your system? "Looks like we're here. Have a good night (y/n). It was nice seeing you again."

   "Um, you too Hoseok!" You turn away quickly and dash into the dorm. Never have you been more grateful for your tiny dorm room and not having a dormmate before as you squeal into your pillow before flipping onto your back and staring at your phone.

   It feels like ages before you finally type out on the too bright screen, "Did you make it home okay?"

   You get a response just a moment later.

[Hoseok]: Yes mom

   You groan before staring at the typing bubble pop up and disappear repeatedly. God, what is he typing? Why won't he just fucking say it? Does he hate you? Did he not really mean it when he said to text him whenever? Do you look clingy? CURSE THOSE THREE PERIODS! Oh god. You heaved a sigh of relief when you finally see the text appear.

[Hoseok]: Just kidding, it was nice seeing you again btw

[you]: How have things been going for you btw?

[Hoseok]: Better, I took your advice. I'm doing better in my classes, I've been talking to Sam more. Things are starting to actually look up.

[you]: That's great! I'm glad things are doing better!

[Hoseok]: How about you though? Any dudes I should beat up?

   Have you just been banished to the sister realm? You're pretty sure you have been.

[You]: No I'm pretty boring. Just trying to finish all of my papers.

[Hoseok]: what's your major?

[You]: Creative writing, made the mistake of taking ten classes this semester, and most of them are morning lectures.

[Hoseok]: Are you a superhuman? Like, how???

[You]: I've given up on free time

[Hoseok]: You sound like you need a break

[you]: When I space out too long I can actually hear my grades falling

[Hoseok]: ah, the woes of college. I'm glad I don't have to do many papers for dance

[you]: Yeah, but you still have to practice and perform and honestly I'd rather have someone shoot me in my face than have to perform in front of people

[Hoseok]: Wow, those are some intense feelings you have there

[you]: Most sane humans don't enjoy being in front of others like that. I don't know how you do it.

[Hoseok]: you get used to it. I promise. Hey, I have a performance upcoming that you might really like. It's in a month

[you]: Oh yeah! Sam told me about that, she already got us tickets

[Hoseok]:...she could have just asked me for them? I can't believe she actually paid for them

[you]: I think she was trying to surprise you. Please don't tell her I told you

[Hoseok]: It'll be our secret. Again. We seem to hold a lot of secrets, huh?

[you]: I blame you.

   After that the two of you send a few memes back and forth before you finally fall asleep, your dream being an odd montage of Hoseok dancing and kissing you in the rain until Sam starts screaming at you. Luckily the Sam screaming at you part seems to do more with her poorly timed wake up call.

   "WAKE UP ALREADY!" Sam unceremoniously rips your blankets off of you as you blearily open your eyes. "Christ, I swear you could sleep through anything. Wanna go get coffee? I have so much to tell you."

   You grunt in response before slowly changing and trudging behind Samantha as she heads over to your car. Luckily she doesn't even protest when you toss her the keys and try to squeeze in a few more minutes of sweet sleep before you pull up to Hoseok's coffee shop. God, why now? Why couldn't you have spruced up a bit more? Worn something other than a ratty t-shirt and leggings to see him again? And your face still has pillow marks, god this is horrible. You take a deep breath and follow behind Sam, praying she hasn't noticed your delay.

   The world must truly hate you because the moment you walk in you see Hoseok behind the counter smiling over at the two of you. "Hey sis, you won't be screaming at me this time, right?"

   "Unfortunately today I've decided to be civilized. Also, I came for free coffee." Hoseok snorts before nodding for her to continue. "Um, two flat whites. Also whatever muffins you recommend."

   "Got it, I'll be over to you guys in a bit." You try shrinking away as quietly as possible to the couch that Sam flops down on.

   "Listen, so I was going to go you know hang out with Bobby last night,"

   "Ew, his name even sucks."

   "Shut up! Anyway, as I was saying, I was going to but then all of a sudden that girl Heather the cheerleader all the guys are goo goo eyed for? Well, she came out of nowhere and started screaming at Bobby for knocking her up! Swear to god, I felt like I was living an episode of the Maury show." Samantha goes into more detail and you can feel your eyes glazing over. You actually have no clue who this Heather is, and you honestly don't care. You feel bad that Sam got stuck in the middle of it all, but this kind of drama has always been uninteresting to you. You're not sure if you should shriek that Hoseok has to once again witness you in this state or thank the gods that Sam finally seems to be finished telling the tale at the sight of her brother.

   "Hey, Hobi, wait! Before you go I've been meaning to tell you that Mom asked me to invite you to go to dinner with us next Friday. Do you think you can make it?"

   "I'll see what I can do. What time?"

   "Around six I think? At Olive Garden, which means all the breadsticks we can steal for later!" Hoseok winks at you as Sam occupies herself with her blueberry muffin for a minute.

   "Got it, I'll be there." You try your best to not get caught watching him walk away. God, even his ass looks great. How do some people get all the good genes while you're sitting here looking like an unwashed potato?

--------------------1 week later---------------

   You're munching on a breadstick, listening to soon to no longer be Mrs. Jung go on and on about how proud she is of Sam as your eyes narrow in on Hoseok sauntering over. No man should look that good in just a white T-shirt and jeans, and you're having a hard time not staring. Over the last week, the two of you have texted nearly nonstop. He's sweet and funny, and he has an arsenal of really good memes that he sends you at the most unexpected of times. It's just not fair. You can't have it all. You can't look that good AND have such a killer sense of humor and be witty and intelligent.

   Sam keeps pestering you asking who you could possibly be texting, and at one point you blurted out Jimin. Which isn't entirely a lie. The two of you have actually hung out a few times this last week, and he is convinced that he needs to be a wingman for you and Hoseok so you're pretty sure he'd have no problem covering for you. Apparently, you need to work on your poker face better if Jimin caught on so quickly. You hate that you've lied to your best friend, but at the same time you're not sure how to spill the beans that you have a thing for her older brother who she's incredibly protective over. Someday either you'll get over it or you'll finally buck up and tell her. Today, however, is not that day.

   "Hobi, my baby!" Mrs. Jung jumps up at the sight of her son and wraps him into a tight embrace before reluctantly pulling away so he can have a seat. After quietly wiping away a stray tear her eyes laser in on the tattoos. "When...did you get all of those?"

   "Uh, about a year ago I guess." His eyes cast down at the table, guilt clearly washing over his features at not having seen his family in so long. "You know mom, I uh, I have a dance performance upcoming and I have a solo part. I'd really like it if you could come."

   Her eyes finally look away from the tattoos and back up to his face before she nods. "Of course, of course, I'll come. You know, I always did think you were a great dancer it was your father who-"

   "Mom, mom it's okay. We know. Let's just enjoy tonight." Sam interjects and you find yourself awkwardly cramming a breadstick into your mouth as you try to astral project out of this family conversation you're intruding on. Hoseok glances between the three women around the table before cracking up loudly at the sight of your cheeks stuffed to full bread capacity.

   "Oh, Hoseok I guess I've never properly introduced you to (y/n). (Y/N), don't let his looks fool you. He's super lame. He once failed a test because he was up all night playing pokemon go and he's super loud which is totally not cool."

   "Sam! Be nice to your brother!" Hoseok laughs as he waves off his mother's warning.

   "Well, at least I don't still sleep with Mr. Porky your childhood stuffed pig."

   "YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!"

   Your eyes dart between the siblings as they quarrel with one another. Siblings look like fun, and there's something so heartwarming about the way how they interact even when fighting. Okay, well maybe not that time that Sam ripped him a new one at his job, but this time it looks fun. It's also nice to see Hoseok so relaxed and happy, so comfortable and not like the world is going to fall apart or with a bunch of thorns sticking out of his hair.

   The rest of the night you try not to glance over at Hoseok too much. It's hard to keep up the conversations and not include him, but you realized rather quickly that speaking to him too much cause your cheeks to burst a flaming red and words to come out slightly wobbly. It's so easy to text him, but in person (especially while trying to keep your friendship as a secret) it's like fighting a boss battle. By the time you get back home you're exhausted, utterly wiped out from trying to keep yourself sane.

-----------

   A month later and you're sitting next to Sam as the performance finishes up. You've never seen modern dance before, but you can guarantee it won't be the last time. The way he moved, the raw emotions that each movement gave it was like watching a silent movie but knowing all the dialogue. It's also at this moment that you realize you don't like Hoseok. You don't have a crush on Hoseok. No, you love him. You love his quirky sense of humor, you love the darker brooding side of him, you love the way his eyes turn into little crescents as his cheeks press up when he smiles, you love the way he's so effortlessly him. Perhaps you fell in love the moment you started texting him, the moment you started unraveling this. But this is dangerous and unfair to your best friend and to Hoseok who most likely sees you as only a friend. So before the very end of the show, you fake a stomach ache and head home, you're in far too much of a mess at this stunningly obvious realization to see Hoseok face to face with his family around.

   The guilt that already felt heavy to begin with now feels like a boulder on your shoulders when you get a text from Sam followed by one from Hoseok shortly after, both of them concerned how you're feeling. While at first, you wanted to save your integrity instead you just say, "I ate too much ice cream and didn't take a Lactaid." There, embarrassing but believable and certainly easier to admit than "I'm head over heels in love with Hoseok and I've been secretly texting him." It's at this point that you do something even dumber, you text your secret ally Jimin.

[You]: I have a problem

[Jimin]: ?

[You]: I'm in love with him. Please shoot me.

[Jimin]: No thanks, I don't handle blood well. But you just noticed this? How are you slow on the uptake about your own emotions?

[You]: Ouch, could you try to comfort me. I don't know what the fuck to do

[Jimin]: Put your big girl pants on and tell him

[You]: Fuck no. Are you crazy? My best friend, his fucking sister, doesn't even know we talk

[Jimin]: Yeah I know. Just tell her.

[You]: Life isn't that simple assface

[Jimin]: I'll take that as a compliment, I have a great ass. Also it is that simple. I assure you. It only doesn't seem that simple because you're afraid. Don't be. I know Hobi and...just trust me if his sister is anything like him tell her and trust me when I say just be honest. What's the worst that can happen?

[You]: I'm not ready to hear no, I think I might die from heartbreak

[Jimin]: Ohmygod you are so freaking dramatic. Tell them bitch or I will!

[You]: You fucking wouldn't

[Jimin]: Well someone has to...

   It's at this point that you throw your phone at the wall out of frustration at the same time as a few knocks are heard on your door. Fear seizes you at the thought that it might be Sam or Hobi. Fuck. Fuck. Oh god, you really screwed yourself over. "Open up loser, I know you're in there."

   For someone so cute and tiny with such a quiet voice you've learned that Jimin certainly has a snarky side to him which you've clearly awakened if his tone through the door is anything to go by. "Don't wanna. Let me die in peace."

   "I will kick the door down in five four three" You begrudgingly open the door for him before shutting it and shuffling back under the blankets.

   "What are you doing over here Jimin?"

   "Trying to talk some sense into you. Besides, emotional support is better in person. So, I saw you at the show tonight. Snuck out early huh? I left as soon as I got changed to stop you from blubbering alone."

   "Got changed? You were there?" You don't remember seeing Jimin in the crowd, although you were rather focused on the show.

   "Ouch, I'm one of the dancers remember? How cruel and heartless." Jimin fakes a sob before he socks a punch on your shoulder and wraps you up in his arms. "Seriously though, I know it's scary but just tell them already. Look at you, you can't keep this a secret much longer. It's like ripping a bandaid off, you need to let it happen."

   You try to weigh everything out, and you spend the next hour formulating a plan with Jimin. He's right, you do need to tell them. And while Jimin thinks you should tell Hobi first and get it over with, your allegiance to your friend holds more importance to you. Instead, you decide in the morning you'll talk to her first and then you'll try to talk to Hoseok. It might ruin the friendship that you've built, but it's no use pining after him from a distance. As much as you hate to admit it, Jimin is right. It's time to finally come clean after months of this.

-------------

   It was now or never. It was d-day, game time, time for the world to possibly collapse and have your best friend punch you in your throat. You're nervously clutching at the hem of your hoodie as she blabbers on about dinner with her mom and her brother, and you can feel yourself almost bursting. You have to tell her, and soon.

   "Ugh, I feel so bad that you had to miss dinner though. We went to this little Mexican place and they had this flan that you would have loved. I would have saved you some but one I have no self-control, let's be real, and two you would've just forgotten to take a Lactaid and gotten sicker."

   "Sam," You take a wobbly breath and interject her thousand words a minute rambling. She looks up from her phone and rolls over on your bed, an eyebrow cocked at the serious tone in your voice. "Sam, I uh, I have something to tell you..."

   "What, you're fucking Jimin? Yeah, I figured that one out already. So what, are you guys dating or just-"

   "What? NO? Oh my god, no why would you-"

   "-Well, why wouldn't I? When I was talking to Hobi about it last night even he agreed that you guys must be dating. Especially when he took off so fast after the show suspiciously around the time that you left. You don't have to lie about."

   "Oh. Oh god, oh no. Hobi doesn't really think that, does he? Fuck. Okay, Sam, Jimin was right I need to be honest. I'm not fucking Jimin, nor have I ever-"

   "That's a shame, he has a great ass."

   "Yeah, sure, back to the point." You can feel a cold sweat start to take over as you gulp in air, "I'minlovewithyourbrother." You say the words as fast as possible, eyes squeezed shut as you brace for impact.

   "What? You're...howzthatevenpossible? Since like when? And...love...not like...girl I am so confused." You slowly open your eyes, one at a time to see a very lost look on her face.

   "Okay so it's like this...I've met Hoseok before the incident at the coffee shop. Way before. Only once though. He passed out on campus and I helped him out. We didn't talk. But then at that party where you ditched me for Mr. Keg stands-"

   "-His name is Bobby, and I told you we didn't have sex he-"

   "-Knocked up the cheerleader, yeah I know. Anyways, we ran into each other at the party and we got to talking and then we started texting and I know he sees me as just a friend or maybe just a friend of his sister...but...I really like him. Like him like him, like love like." Great, now you're incoherent. Sam is dumbfounded, and for once she isn't talking. After a moment of awkward silence, she clears her throat.

   "You do realize he's a dork? Like a giant dork? And that he freaking lives in a coffee shop? And that he has a lot of baggage? And that honestly, as your friend I should warn you, probably has gotten an STD at some point in his life? Like...you're way too good for my dipshit older brother. I love him, but like honestly. Him?" Well, this wasn't the direction you expected at all. "I get that some girls think he's cute and all, but you've never had to do his laundry. It's gross. He smells like gross boy."

   "He smells like citrus and pine needle most of the time, you can't blame him for sweating when he dances."

   "Did...did you just defend his body odor? And how the fuck do you know that he smells like citrus and pine needle? What, are you some kind of scent expert? You know what, no please don't answer that. I don't want to know." Sam shakes her head before clasping your hand. "Listen, I'm not here to police who you date or who my brother dates. I'll support you. Or console you." Gee thanks for the vote of confidence. "But I think I might have fucked everything up. You should talk to him soon."

   "Well yeah, you did kind of make him think I was fucking Jimin. How bad was it?"

   Sam tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she recalls the memory. "Well...he was pretty surprised, but then he put on his typical 'nice guy' smile and said that you guys made a good pair and he could see it."

   You groan in frustration as you grab your phone, getting ready to send him a text before Sam slaps it out of your hold.

   "No, nope, you're not texting him this. Listen, there's a party tonight that I know he'll be going to after he finishes up work. You're going. That'll be the best way to talk to him." God, not another party. This isn't at all how you wanted to admit your stupid feelings. Damn emotions, you swear they're like dandelions growing in the least expected places. But the look on Sam's face says she's not going to take no for an answer. But she's right, if he's working right now the best time to get a hold of him today will be at that party.

   You take a deep breath in and nod resolutely. Just because she's right doesn't mean that you have to like it and you still stand by your hatred for parties. At least this time you have a reason. As long as you can find Hoseok. "What if I can't find him?"

   "I'll text him, dummy. I've got your back."

   "More like you'll have the popcorn to watch this all unfold."

   "Well, yeah that too. But I mean, I'm rooting for you." You pick up a pillow and hurl it at her face before groaning as you flop over her on the bed.

   "What time is the party?"

   "Well it starts at 9, and it's five now. So if I were you I would start getting ready now."

   "Now? What for?" Uh oh, you know that face.

-------------------

   There are few things in life that Samantha Jung loves more than giving people makeovers. You've been thoroughly groomed and primped to perfection and it somehow took the full four hours. Your skin is glowing in a way you didn't realize it could but after enough exfoliating, a clay mask, a sheet mask, and a hydropack later it's sparkling in a way that shouts "I drink tons of water and eat my weight in kale!" Not that you do, you probably should though. You're highlighted and contoured to perfection, and while Sam is clearly proud you have zero problems with admitting that it will never look this way again. She did at least let you wear your own comfortable choice of jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers.  

   "He's in the backyard, playing beer pong again." Jimin appears by your side the moment the two of you walk in, answering the golden question before you can even think it.

   "Jesus, you scared the shit out of me Jimin." Jimin snickers as he hands both of you drinks.

   "Sorry about that princess. Well, what are you waiting for? Go show your very dewy face off to him."

   "Oh god do I look like an oil slick?" Sam hits him as you pull out your phone and check in the camera.

   "No no no, you look great." Jimin is trying to stop the blows Samantha is hurling his way as you sigh and glance around the party. You don't know most of these people. Apparently it's mostly music and dance students celebrating that they've finished all of their showcases. You can feel dread fill you with each step closer to the door as you move past the crowd. It feels like ages before you're finally standing in front of the door. You take a swig of the Kool-Aid and bottom-shelf vodka concoction before finally stepping out.

   If you weren't oily before you know that you will be soon. It's humid, sticky, and sweltering even after the sun has gone down. You can see the fireflies already coming out, cicadas can be heard buzzing in the distance, and you're sure mosquitos are actively hunting. If it weren't for your eyes landing right on Hoseok you would've walked right back into the comfortable air conditioning. Why anyone would want to play beer pong outside in this weather is beyond you.

   You take a deep breath before promptly taking a seat next to Yoongi. You'd like to lie and say you walked right up to Hoseok, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him...but that's not asking for consent for one, and you also would probably fall flat on your face if you tried. Yoongi nods your way before offering his cigarette, you shake your head in a silent response before taking another swig of your drink.

   "Hey Yoongi, who's the new friend?" A man you don't recognize stops playing beer pong momentarily and you try hard to not sweat as you feel Hoseok's gaze land on you.

   "(Y/N), what are you doing here? Oh! Jimin just walked into the house if you're looking for him." You try not to laugh too pitifully as you wave your hand as if to shoo the thought away.

   "No, no. I know where he is." You're so sorry Sam, but it's your turn to throw her under the bus. "In fact, I'm pretty sure he's still with Sam. She had some sort of uh...misunderstanding that I think she's rather eager to sort out." You look up from the dandelion you've been concentrating on when you hear his sing-song laughter and you feel like you've been sucker punched in the gut. His hair is slicked back for once, cheeks glowing a pretty shade of pink under the patio light, sweat trailing down his temple onto his collar bones and all of his tattoos on full display in his tank top. Lord give you strength to not die from thirst on the spot.

   "Sam has a bad habit of jumping to conclusions."

   "Hey, are we going to play or what?" The guy you don't know throws an empty cup at the back of Hoseok's head as he speaks. Hoseok rolls his eyes before sending you a wink and turning back to the broad-shouldered stranger.

   "Yeah yeah Jin. Ready to get your ass kicked again?"

   There are a few things you learn in the next few minutes. Hoseok is really good at beer pong, you figured that last time but considering that the defeat only took a total of three minutes it's much more obvious now. You've also learned that Jin sucks and that Yoongi loves nothing more than to pick on him each time he misses. Which is every time.

   "Aish, that's it. I'm done. I quit." Jin groans after chugging back the last cup before he ambles over to another group further in the backyard. Yoongi coughs before winking at you and heading over with Jin, leaving you and Hoseok alone. Bless that tiny angry man for being the best unexpected wingman. Hoseok glances around for a minute before sitting down next to you.

   "You were really good by the way. The show I mean, the beer pong too though. I had no clue someone could dance like that. You chose the right pursuit in life, I'm sure of it."

   Hoseok laughs as he takes a swig of beer. "Thanks, I appreciate that. It's a shame you had all that ice cream. Lactose intolerant huh? I've been fucking you up with all those free coffees and I didn't even know it." You can feel your cheeks burning bright red as you jump to your feet. The sudden movement causes Hoseok to jerk back as you point your finger at his chest.

   "For your information that was a lie, although I would appreciate if you used almond milk in the future. But that's beside the point! I was completely fine, just a scaredy cat. So here goes nothing, Jung Hoseok I'd like to take you out on a date!" You can feel the blush travel from your cheeks up to your ears but force yourself to look at Hoseok. He's smiling, ear to ear with cheeks pushing his eyes into those cute little crescents you love to see.

   "Okay. Let's go."

   "What?"

   "You said you want to take me out on a date. I'm saying yes, let's go. Come on, what are you waiting for?" Your mind goes blank as he stands up and clasps your hand in his. It's so warm (kind of sweaty if you're honest, but hey, so is yours) and so perfect. Your brain freezes, your mental record scratches as you follow him through the house and out to the front lawn. (Excuse me, this is your friendly narrator, I'd like to interrupt for just a moment. This story could have been much shorter if you didn't overthink everything so much. Believe in yourself more! Okay, that's enough interruptions. I'll get back to the story now.)

   "Wait, wait, Hoseok where are we going?" Hoseok gives you a bright smile as he looks down at you.

   "There's a diner a block away from here. You didn't bring your car did you?" You shake your head no as you follow him. "They do really good pancakes. Breakfast for dinner is the best." At the sound of you suddenly going mute Hoseok looks back down as he squeezes your hand reassuringly. "So why'd you ask me out?"

   "Why wouldn't I? You're hot for one, but you're also really funny and sweet and relatable, and honestly, it's impossible to not fall for you. You have this bright sunny smile, but under all these layers is this really sweet but vulnerable man that I..." Hoseok stops walking for a moment, his face turned away as if to hide the blush creeping up his face. You take a deep breath before asking, "...why...why did you accept?"

   "Why wouldn't I?" You laugh at the way he imitates you before he starts walking again. "You're beautiful, and you've saved my ass twice because you're either insane or insanely nice, you're funny, smart, and the moment we started talking my life turned around. Honestly, yesterday I wanted to punch Jimin in the throat but then I realized it was my fault for not beating him to the punch. I would've asked you out if you hadn't, you know. Ah, we're here." Hobi leads you into the diner and slides into a booth as you slide into the other side. You stare down at the shiny black lacquered table for a moment before peeking up to look up at Hoseok.

   He's peering intently at the laminated menu. You've never noticed before but he has beautiful, long fingers with well-groomed cuticles. "Do you get manicures?"

   "No, but Sam recently had one of her makeover moments with me and decides that my nails had to have some work done on them."

   "She did a good job, they look nice." Hoseok glances up and smiles at you before sliding another menu to you. You take it and stare down for a moment before a waitress comes up to your table.

   "What can I get you guys?"

   "Oh, uh I'll just get a water and a small stack of pancakes."

   "A sprite and the stackhouse, eggs over easy." The waitress nods as she scribbles it down before walking away. Hoseok fiddles with a napkin for a moment before piping up. "Okay, so really important question here, what are your top songs right now?"

   "What genre?"

   "Rap?" He looks hopeful and you pull up your phone.

   "Well, always J Cole and Kendrick, but let's see...songs...hmm. Recently I've been listening to Justin Bieber by Coogie a lot, Uzuhan by Uzuhan, Pink Blue Dawn by Dumbfoundead. Honestly, I've been listening to more R&B lately. Lots of Sabrina Claudio, Sinead Harnett, and Steve Lacey."

   "Holy sweet Jesus, mary me."

   "Were you praying to Jesus and his mother or asking for my hand in marriage?"

   "A bit of both."

   "Oh well Kevin in first grade and I got married by the swingset after he gave me a ring pop so I think I'll have to get those divorce papers first. Sorry. My turn for questions. In a dream world, what would you be doing?"

   "Well marrying you because Kevin never gave you that ring pop obviously, and I'd be working as an established choreographer with my own studio."

   "You'll get there. I'm sure of it."

   "Such confidence. What about you? What would you be doing?"

   You want to say 'you' to him but you would definitely die from embarrassment. You can see the shitty epitaph now just thinking about it. "Well, I guess I'd be an established author on a much-needed vacation on a beautiful island basking in the warm sun without a worry because I've dug myself out of student loan debt."

   "Ooh, that sounds nice. I'm thinking Hawaii, ooh or maybe Jeju, you know it's the Hawaii of Korea?"

   At that moment the food comes out and the two of you spend the next hour or so discussing random topics until finally, you get up to leave after not so subtle hints from the waitress that you've overstayed your welcome. The two of you choose to walk back to your dorm rather than wait for an uber. It's only a few blocks away and it gives both of you more time to just bask in each other's presence. You never guessed that he would say yes to a date, or that it would feel so natural. All this time you've been able to hide away with text messages, making it easier to be unguarded the way face to face conversations typically make you a nervous ball of anxiety. But with Hobi? It all just feels so right, so easy as if it was supposed to be this way all along.

   You can feel your heart sink though with each step closer to the dorm, and you're pretty sure that Hoseok feels the same way based off of how he slows down. By the time you're standing in front of the building, you're suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to not let the night end, afraid that you'll wake up tomorrow and the fairytale spell that's been magically cast will vanish.

   His hand is still tightly gripped around yours, the moon and dim security lights casting a silvery glow over his skin. Cicadas are still buzzing, fireflies glowing in the distance as if to remind you that the night isn't over yet. You glance up at Hobi and notice that it looks like he's trying to say something but no sound is coming out. His lips are slightly open, brows furrowed together. God, his lips look so soft and perfect and pillowy. Before you can even think you're standing up on your tiptoes and weaving your free hand into his hair as you softly plant a kiss on his lips.  

   What starts out as a soft and unsure peck quickly escalates as he grips your hip and deepens the kiss. He tastes like syrup and sprite and everything right. You can feel yourself growing dizzy, hungry for more as his tongue parts your lips. You always assumed he'd be a good kisser, if you're honest you've fantasized about it far more than you'd ever willingly admit, but he's even better than you could have guessed. A soft breathy moan leaves your mouth as he brings your bodies closer together and the guttural groan that leaves him as he finally separates and the two of you try to breathe has you reconfirming that you really don't want this night to end.

   "I, wow that was..." Hobi's eyes are glittering, the world cast in a haze of twinkling euphoria as you look back up at him.

   "Hobi, would you like to come up with me?" You're suddenly regretting your sudden boldness at the way he stops moving for a minute. Perhaps you're moving too fast, maybe he thinks you're a floozy or something and you've ruined it. Your overthinking goes into overdrive before his hand cups your chin and forces you to look back up at him.

   "I would love to, but if I go up there I...listen I really want you. So if you just want to hang out I need you to give me a second so I can calm down." At that, you peek down to realize that he's clearly grown excited, and you can feel a surge of need trickle down your panties.

   "I...I don't want to just hang out. I want you."

   "Ah, fuck. Are you sure?" You nod your head before reaching back up and placing a firm kiss on his lips. The green light seems to go off in his head at this, his hands gripping you tightly to him as tongues melt together before he pries away and you quickly lead him up. Unfortunately, the elevator has been broken for almost the entire year so you have to make the trip by jumping up the stairs, fever clawing at you the closer you get.

   By the time you're finally in your room you can feel sexual tension hanging thickly in the air. The moment you shut the door he hooks your legs around his waist and presses you against the wall, mouth quick to find yours again. Your hips jut against his, desperate for friction at this point and the groan of pleasure that leaves him has you clawing away at his shirt. You knew that he had a great figure, you've seen it before at the recital but to see it so close in person is another story. Your hands etch over his firm abs, dipping down to that oh so drool worthy V as you unbuckle his pants while his lips attach to your neck.

   "I don't think you understand how long I've wanted you." Hobi stops his ministrations as he speaks, eyes boring into yours before he moves you off the wall and onto your bed. You watch as he shuffles out of his shoes and pants before crawling back over you. In a matter of moments, the two of you are both in just your underwear, his eyes trained on the obvious wet patch of your pink underwear. "You look so beautiful, so perfect."

   The feeling of his soft fingers trailing over your body raises goosebumps, your eyes shutting at the sensation as one hand trails from your calf up to your inner thigh. "Look at you, so wet for me. All for me, all mine." His words have you whimpering, your hand gripping his.

   "Please touch me, I need you. Please, Hobi." His eyes squeeze shut for a moment as he grips at your thighs, shuffling until his face is just millimeters from where you need it.

   "How can I say no to that face?" Finally, he's tearing off your underwear. For a moment you're afraid that he's just going to stay there forever, face hovering over before finally he dips down. You're so wound up that even just the lightest pressure when he lays his tongue down and licks one long stripe has both of you groaning in satisfaction. "Fuck, how do you taste so good?"

   "Please stop talking and just help me. I need you. I need you so bad." You weave your hands through his hair, trying to move him closer to where you need him most. Hoseok shoots you a smirk before relenting, finally diving in like a man starved. His tongue is everywhere all at once, diving between your folds one second before reaching back up to swirl around your swollen clit. Your hands grip tighter into his hair as your hips roll on reflex at the sensation. If the rumors are true and Hoseok really has fucked half the campus at some point then you must admit that the studying has been worth it. If the rumors aren't true then he's either a sex god or a prodigy because holy shit you've never felt yourself come so unglued just from oral sex before.

   His hands grip your asscheeks to bring you closer as you mewl out his name, his own pleasure rumbling deep from his chest and vibrating through you. God, this is so much better than your own fantasies. "Fuck, fuck, you're so good. Don't stop, please don't stop. I'm going to cum." The tell-tale knot deep in your belly is on fire, legs quaking around his head as you throw your neck back. The feeling of two of his fingers gliding into you as he latches onto your clit is all you need to tumble head first into euphoria. Everything feels fuzzy as if cotton has been stuck in your ears and your muscles have become weightless. Floating. Flying. Breezing right into heaven.

   You don't even realize that you've been moaning the entire time, or that Hoseok has stopped moving to watch you as you fuck yourself onto his fingers slowly, coming back down to reality as the stars fade from your vision. "You're so beautiful, I could watch you all day." His voice is gruff with desire as he leans down and captures your lips in a wet, needy kiss. "I need you, I need you right now." His lips lead a sticky trail down to your chest as he finally pries the offending bra off and flings it off to the side of the bed with an ominous sounding crash that neither of you pay attention to. You're too absorbed in your own lustful world to notice anything else.

   As his teeth bear down onto your nipple your hand grasps his clothed erection. God, why is he still in boxers? The sudden attention being placed back on him has his eyes closing as a guttural rumble of pleasure leaves his throat. You try to pry his boxers off, but at the angle you're positioned in you can only manage to get it down half his ass. In lightning speed he's standing before you bare, his weeping cock bobbing proudly in the air. The sight has you drooling as you shuffle closer to see him. Veiny, thick, shining with precum. It looks delicious as he slowly fists it, eyes boring into yours the entire time.

   "Do you...have a condom?" Hoseok's voice breaks you out of your spell and you nod before reaching over to your nightstand and pulling one out. He quickly grabs the foil and you watch with keen interest as he rolls it on and tosses the foil into your small waste bin. "You're...you're sure about this right?"

   "Hobi, I've thought about fucking you more times than I can count. Please, fuck me already." His adam's apple bobs at the admission and he pulls you up into a heated kiss before twisting you around and placing you on all fours. One hand pulls your ass apart as the other grips your hip for support. The feeling of him finally entering zaps you with electricity, each small movement as he sinks further into your dripping cunt has your eyes rolling back into your head.

   "Holy shit, how are you so tight?" You clench at his words, hips rolling back to urge him to move. "Keep doing that baby girl and I'm not going to last long." The pet name has you moaning, hands gripping the sheets tighter as he slowly pulls out and slams back in, balls slapping against your swollen clit. Hoseok sets into a steady pace, hips slamming into yours each time he hits your cervix. You feel so full, so utterly filled and the knowledge that it's Hoseok, finally him deep inside you has your head reeling and your second orgasm fast approaching.

   "Faster, I'm going to cum!" He grunts as he twists your hair around his hand, pulling you up so your back is flat on his chest as he drills into you at a brutal speed. The sound of moans, flesh on flesh, and wet sex fills the room.

   His mouth lowers to your ear as you start spiraling out of control, "come on, cum with me baby girl. Let go." For the second time you see blinding white, toes curling as his hand circles over your clit, walls clenching around him as you milk him to his own completion.

   The two of you remain there for a few moments, panting as you try to come back down to earth before you finally slump forward, his softening cock slipping out. When you turn around you see him grinning back down at you, pushing his hair out of the way as he flashes you that full crescent eye smile you love so much. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he ties up the condom and tosses it. He rolls onto the bed and pulls you into his arms before speaking.

   "You know, I can't remember the last time I was this happy? You're just so beautiful, and funny, and nice and I don't want you thinking that I was only in it for this. I...I know the rumors about me but I haven't been that guy in a long time. And I really want this..us...fuck do I sound super lame right now?"

   You place a soft peck on his cheek as you beam up at him. "No Hobi, you don't sound lame at all. I kinda figured on the rumor front, considering your ex and how serious that seemed. Besides, I don't care even if it was still true as long as you...only want me...now..." Your voice trails off towards the end, cheeks heating up as you look away before glancing back up at the sound of his loud laugh.

   "Trust me, you're the only thing that's been running through my mind for months now. I'm all yours."

   "All mine?" You watch him smile and nod before he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. The act feeling somehow so intimate. That night you fall asleep in his arms, trying to count all his tattoos as the two of you whisper about everything and nothing all at the same time. You were right, he's certainly the kind of guy that you can lay in bed with for hours after sex so that's exactly what the two of you do.

   One year later Hoseok graduates and the two of you are more in love than you thought possible. Two years later the two of you are living together as you try to finish up your degree. Three years later and you're working for a publisher while trying to establish yourself as an author as Hoseok finally opens up his own dance studio. Four years later Hoseok proposes to you in front of the slides at a park with a beautiful morganite ring, sneering a comment about 'take that Kevin' after you tearfully accept. Five years later and you're walking down the aisle as Sam bawls her eyes out as your maid of honor. There were ups and downs in the relationship (luckily usually between the sheets), but the two of you worked through everything. Somehow that crash landing all those years ago brought Hoseok into your life, and you wouldn't change how anything happened for the world.  

[gay-for-tord]

Sewed Together: Chapter 4

Jack rang Mr. Marvin’s and Mr. Jackie’s doorbell. He could hear frenzied woofing as their dogs ran out into the hall. A minute later, Mr. Marvin opened the door.

“Hello Jack,” He greeted. “King, Robbie, down boys! It’s only Jack. Come in dear,” He ushered Jack in. “Want some tea?”

The house smelled of roses and dogs. It was an odd combination, but Jack was used to it by now.

“Yes please,” said Jack. Mr. Marvin led him into a dusty room, which he called a parlor, before taking off to the kitchen to pour Jack some tea. On the walls of the parlor were photographs of Mr. Marvin and Mr. Jackie, and theater programs in frames. Once upon a time, the two were famous magicians. Well, Mr. Marvin was the magician. Mr. Jackie was his assistant.  

“Hey Jack,” Mr. Jackie greeted. He was sitting in an armchair reading a book.

“Hello.” Jack replied sitting on the arm of Mr. Jackie’s chair. He leaned onto Mr. Jackie to peer at what he was reading. “What’re you reading?”

“Some weird horror story I found at the store. Now get off the chair before Marvin comes back and has a fit.” Knowing he was right, Jack slid off the chair and took a seat on the couch next to Mr. Jackie.

Mr. Marvin returned a few moments later with a white mug and a cookie. He handed them to Jack and sat down next to him.

“So, didn’t we tell you to stay away from that well?” Mr. Marvin asked, eyebrow raised.

On the first day Jack and his family had moved in, Mr. Marvin and Mr. Jackie made it a point of telling Jack how dangerous the well was and they wanted Jack to be sure he kept away from it.

“But how can I stay away from it if I didn’t know where it was?” Jack shot back. “I went exploring so I knew where it was, so I could avoid it properly.”

Mr. Jackie shook his head while chuckling. “He’s got you there Marv.”

Mr. Marvin sighed and ruffled Jack’s hair. “I suppose. But,” He gave Jack a sharp look, “I don’t want to see you anywhere near the well. We meant it when we said it was dangerous.”

“Alright,” Jack grumbled. “I’ll stay away from the well.” He dipped his cookie into his tea and tried his best not to get crumbs on their couch. Mr. Marvin chuckles and reaches over on the table in front of him for a napkin. He sets it in Jack’s lap.

“There. Now you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Thanks.”

“Want me to read your tea leaves after you’re finished?” Mr.Marvin asks. “They’ll tell me your future.” Jack shrugged.

“Sure.”

Jack quickly chugged down most of the tea, leaving only a bit left. Mr.Marvin held his hand out and Jack gave him the mug. Placing the mug into the coffee table in front of them, he swirled it three times. Peering into the mug, Mr.Marvin frowns.

“Oh Jack,” He mutters, “you’re in terrible danger.” Jack looked alarmed.

“I am!?”

Mr.Jackie snorts and set down his book. “Don’t be silly Marv. Stop scaring him and pass me the cup.”

Jack picks up the mug and hands it to Mr.Jackie. He looks into the cup and frowned.

“Oh dear,” he said. “You were right Marv. He is in danger.”

“See! I wasn’t lying!”

“What do you see?” asked Jack.. “What am I in danger from?”

Mr.Jackie and Mr.Marvin stared at him with worry. “I didn’t say,” said Mr.Marvin. “Tea leaves aren’t reliable for that kind of thing. Not really. They’re good for general, but not for specifics.” This slightly alarmed Jack.

“What should I do then?”

“Just…” Mr.Jackie paused. He didn’t know what to tell Jack. “Just be careful, alright? Don’t wander off into the woods.”

“I agree with Jackie. Until we can figure out what the danger is, that’s the best advice we can give you.” Mr.Marvin glanced at the clock hung up onto the wall.

“Wait, there is a thing we can give you.” Mr.Jackie stood up from the armchair and went over to the fireplace. On the mantelpiece was a small jar, and Mr.Jackie took off the top of the jar and began to pull things out of it. There was a tiny green china eyeball, a strange little brass coin, two paper clips, and a stone with a hole in it.

He handed Jack the stone with the hole in it.

“What’s it for?” Jack asked. The hole went all the way through the middle of the stone. He held it up to the window and looked through it.

“It might help,” Mr.Jackie said. “They’re good for bad things, sometimes.”

“I suppose your parents would want you home by now. It’s getting pretty dark by now.”

“I guess.” Jack stands up and moves to the door.

“Here,” Mr. Marvin stands up. “I’ll walk you home.”

“But it’s just upstairs!”

Mr.Marvin shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I want to make sure you get there safely. I’ll be back in a few minutes Jackie, make sure you feed the dogs.” “Don’t worry, I will. Have a nice night Jack.”

“You too.” Jack waved Mr.Jackie goodbye and followed Mr.Marvin out the door.

“Wow it sure is misty,” He commented. He clutched the stone tightly in his hand.

“It is,” Mr.Marvin agreed. “I know I’ve said this a bunch of times already, but please be careful, Jack.”

“I will.” Jack gave him a hug before opening the door and stepping inside his house.

“I’m home,” He called out.

“Dinner’s ready bud,” his dad called back. “Come eat.”

Jack kicked his shoes off and shrugged off his jacket. He neatly placed his shoes in the shoe box under the coat hangers and hung up his coat before walking to the kitchen. He sat down at the table and Chase placed a bowl in front of him.

“Are we really eating cup of noodles for dinner again?” Jack made a face as he pushed the bowl away from him. At some point in his life he loved cup of noodles. Now because of how often his parents made them, he hated them.

“Well I’m sorry that we’re not rich,” Stacy snapped. She reached over and pushed the bowl closer to him. “And I thought you loved these noodles you asked for them all the time.”

His dad angrily got up and looked his mom in the eye “Stacy for the last time he asked for them when he was four not now!”

“Well maybe if he would talk to me I would know!”

"He says almost every day that he dislikes Cup of Noodles! Maybe if you actually paid attention to him you'd notice."

“Like you pay attention to him! All you ever do is throw shit into things and do dumb tricks for your fucking stupid internet show!”

No longer hungry, Jack quietly stood up and left the kitchen. Neither of his parents noticed which was probably for the best. If his mom noticed, she’d get angrier and snap at him. Which would, in turn, make his father angrier and try to defend him, and the arguing would just get worse.

He walked upstairs to his room and put his pajamas on.

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆─=≡Σ((( つ◕ل͜◕)つ

Jack lay awake in his bed. His parents had stopped fighting a few hours ago but it was only now that he was drifting to sleep. And he was almost asleep when something went t-t-t-t-t-t. He sat up in bed.

Something went kreee……..

                                               ………..aaaak 

Jack scrambled out of bed and looked down the hall, but saw nothing. Deciding to check it out anyway, he walked down the hall. From his parent's room, he could hear his dad snoring and an occasional sleep muttering, which was his mom.

As he walked downstairs he wondered if his mind was just playing tricks on him, when he noticed that the small door in their makeshift living room was open. And it wasn’t bricked up.

Jack was astonished. He crouched down in front of it and peered into the void. I must be dreaming.

There was a cold, musty smell coming through the door. It smelled like something very old and very slow.

Jack ignored the fear building up into his chest and crawled through the door.

He wondered what the empty apartment would be like if that was where the tunnel led. He soon crawled to the end of the tunnel. He felt uneasy. There was something very familiar about the door.

He opened and crawled out. Standing up, he looked around in awe.

The carpet beneath his feet was the same as the one in his house. The wallpaper was the same. The picture they had hanging up in their makeshift living room was the same. He shook his head, confused. It was like he hadn’t left his house.

From across the hall, the kitchen light was on. Figuring it was his mom getting a drink of water, Jack walked into the kitchen.

“Mom?” Jack stopped in the kitchen door. Chase was standing at the stove humming as he cooked. “Oh. Dad, what’re you doing cooking this late at night?”

Chase turned his head to greet him, and Jack breath caught in his throat. His father had green button eyes. Chase beamed with happiness, ignorant of Jack’s fear. “Hey there bud! You’re just in time for dinner!”

“You’re not my dad. My dad doesn’t have b-b-buh…” Jack pointed to his eyes, too scared to continue his sentence.

“B-b-b-buttons? Do you like them?” The man lightly teased, tapping one of them. Not waiting for an answer, he turned back around to poke at whatever was cooking on the stove. “I’m your other father silly. Now go tell your other father that dinner’s ready.”

Jack stared at his “Other Father” in confusion. “But you just said your, my other father? Do you want me to tell you dinner’s ready?”

The Other Father laughed. “You have another Other Father you goof. I suppose you can call me Anti if you’d like. To make things less confusing.”

Jack nodded and turned around to leave the room. Now that he thought about it more, Anti didn’t look as much like his dad like he thought he did. Anti’s skin was as white as paper and he was taller and thinner. And his voice sounded a bit distorted and gravelly.

Jack walked down the hall to where his dad’s office was. He opened the door to see a man in there, tossing tea bags into a bunch of mugs spread around the room. Assuming this was his Other Father, Jack watched in awe. His Other Father was able to get the tea bags into the mugs in one shot, something his dad couldn’t do very often.

“Hey there bud!”

His voice startled Jack. Unlike Anti, this man sounded eerily like his dad. And now that he was getting a better look at him, he looked like an identical copy to his dad. Minus the button eyes. His button eyes were orange.

“Hello,” Jack said. “I-I mean, he said to tell you dinner is ready.”

His Other Father grinned. “Great! I’m starving.”

____________________________________________________

The link to the other chapters will be in the notes. Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

Taglist:

@clanwarrior-tumbly

@justanormalfoot

@go-just-me-fan

@murder-schmurder 

[captainporcelainsky]

A Breakfast Mess {Ereri}

Just a little ‘drabble’ I wrote one day to break through writer’s block where Eren tries to surprise Levi with breakfast but fails miserably, and it’s adorable~

---

Eren peeled his eyes open to the warm light of his bedroom. Morning sunlight shone through the curtains covering the window just above the headboard. A light smile on his lips, he immediately stretched his limbs out, welcoming consciousness easily.

He turned onto his side, finding Levi to still be deep in slumber, his face pressed into his pillow as he laid on his stomach, his back gently rising and falling with his slow, even breathing. The sight only brought a broader smile to Eren’s lips. He watched the other for only a few moments before sitting up, stretching more, and finding he needed to pee. Slowly, he eased himself onto his feet and shuffled into the bathroom, yawning along the way, to relieve himself. The awareness of his empty stomach only became apparent when he was washing his hands.

Levi was usually the cook (Eren was terrible at it, to say the least), but the brunet couldn’t help wanting to do something nice for his boyfriend on their three year anniversary, and waking him up with breakfast was a good way to start the day. How hard could it be to cook up a few scrambled eggs and fry some tater tots in a pan, anyway?

As he worked on waking himself up the rest of the way, slipping a shirt over his head and attempting to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes, he shuffled his way to the kitchen, yawning again. First and foremost, he started a pot of coffee to brew before getting to business. For good measure, he pulled up a simple YouTube tutorial on how to scramble eggs.

Looks simple, he thought, casting his phone onto the island.

He shuffled around the fridge for a moment and slid out the carton of eggs as well as a bag of tater tots from the freezer and a package of microwave bacon.

“Potatoes usually take longer,” he mumbled to himself, recalling from the times he’d observed Levi cooking. He fished out a couple of frying pans and the cooking oil before briefly reading over the instructions on the package of tots, which he then cut open and dumped a decent amount into the pan and twisted the burner into the on position.

“Crap, spatula…” he mumbled, spinning around. The spatula was easily found in a drawer and he set it on the counter beside the stove for when he needed it.

“‘Kay, now for the eggs…” He lifted the carton open to find six eggs - just the amount he needed - remaining inside. The video had shown cracking them directly in the pan, and though Levi generally cracked them into a bowl first, stirred them up, and then poured them into the pan, he figured it wouldn’t make much difference. After coating the bottom of the frying pan designated for the eggs with vegetable oil, he twisted that burner on and got to work cracking the eggs.

On his first attempt, a large chunk of shell immediately ended up in the egg-oil mixture, eliciting a curse and the immediate reaction of diving in first with bare fingers and then a hiss when his vulnerable skin met the already searing bottom of the pan. Reflexively, he yanked his hand away and shook it out. “Dammit, now I’m gonna have blisters…” Still, he sighed and kept working, deciding to treat the burns later.

By the time he’d cracked three off the eggs into the pan, only two of the yolks broken, the sizzling of the potatoes became apparent to his ears and he scrambled to stir them, noting that their undersides were already much too dark. He deemed them to be salvageable, though.

On the sixth egg, he was too eager to get it cracked and stirred (the whites were already cooking to be, well, white, making the contents of the pan half scrambled, half...whatever you call it style eggs), he hit the side of the stove too forcefully and ended up with cracked shell all over, the yolk slipping down onto the floor and the white dripping all over the place.

“Shit!” he muttered. Okay, no big deal, just clean it up…

Quickly, he went for the paper towels and kneeled down, attempting to pick up the spattered yolk and wipe down the front of the stove, and again both the potatoes and eggs were sizzling loudly. Abandoning the mess halfway through, he stood back up (typically, smacking the back of his head on the handle to the oven door) and tried stirring them both. The eggs would be alright, he thought, but most of the tots were too burned to do anything with.

It’s fine. I’ll just throw out the burned ones and add a few more.

So that he did, leaving them to cook again while turning his attention back to the eggs. Five is fine, he thought, doing his best to stir them again and disguise the already cooked whites into the scrambled, portion (that was, much to his chagrin, starting to burn on the bottom as well).

“Not so bad, though. Think I can start the bacon now.”

Eren’s eyes only skipped over the directions before he was putting the bacon on a plate, popping it in the microwave, and setting it for two minutes. In the midst of going back to the eggs, his sock managed to find part of the yolk he hadn’t finished cleaning up yet, as well as a shell that crunched under his foot.

“Oh god, gross,” he mumbled. With a grimace, he braced himself on the counter and peeled the sock off. “My new socks, too…” he sighed. “Oh well. Maybe Levi knows how to get a stain out…” He simply tossed the sock back on the island, figuring the food was too important.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he muttered to himself the second he realized the tater tots that he hadn’t thrown out were now practically burnt to a crisp while the others were only half cooked. The eggs were much the same way, not having been stirred nearly enough, and the microwave was just beeping in signaling his two minutes were up.

Irritated with the beeping, he tugged the door open and reached in, prodding the package with his burnt fingers and wincing, having forgotten about them. Still practically frozen, so he popped them in for another two minutes.

“Cheese,” he thought, and spun back to the refrigerator. Unfortunately, though, he found the compartment where the cheese was supposed to go void of the package. “Dammit, I know we just bought cheddar cheese.” He rummaged around the shelves in search and when he found it, turned to see the pan with the tater tots smoking.

Fuck, I forgot to turn the burner off…

He tossed the cheese carelessly onto the counter to turn the burner for the tots off and shoved the pan to the back of the stove, waving the smoke away and desperately hoping the smoke alarm wouldn’t go off.

It’s fine. We don’t have to have tots.

Back to the eggs, he stirred them yet again, hoping for dear life that the burned parts wouldn’t be too bad and added extra cheese to try and disguise it as best he could and in the process, accidentally spilled some of the shredded cheese onto the still-hot burner from the tater tots.

“Oh fuck…” he muttered in humiliation.

Meanwhile, down the hall and back in the bedroom, Levi was just swimming back to consciousness to the smell of burnt something. Immediately wrinkling his nose and sitting up quickly in fear that the apartment was on fire, he stood up and headed directly for the source of the smell.

The kitchen was a disaster, to say the least. Eren stood at the stove, a hopeless mess with his hair still sticking out in different directions, his shirt splattered with what Levi could only assume to be grease and egg. Egg was splattered all over the stove as well as burnt pieces of something on the stove and a half cooked, half frozen pan of tater tots. The eggs he had in the pan were half burnt and the smell of something awful was coming from the microwave. Yolk was splattered onto the floor, too, and Levi was appalled to find a dirty sock on the top of the island.

“What the hell is going on?” he gasped.

In horror and humiliation, Eren turned to find him in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the scene around him.

“I...fucked up,” he admitted sheepishly.

“What were you doing? Making breakfast or egging your own house?”

“Making breakfast…” Eren said quietly, eyes on the floor. “I wanted to make breakfast for you. For, y’know, our anniversary...but I guess there’s a reason I never do the cooking around here…”

“Ya think?” Levi muttered, perching a hand on his hip with his thin brows slightly raised.

“I’m sorry.”

Levi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I can’t really be mad at you for being so thoughtful,” he said. “Really, it was sweet of you.”

“A-are you sure? I mean, it’s...a disaster in here.”

A mild grin found Levi’s lips. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal. You didn’t hurt yourself though, did you?”

“Oh yeah,” Eren mumbled, bringing his fingers up to inspect. “Accidentally burnt my fingers a little.”

“Lemme see,” Levi sighed, not surprised in the least. He switched the burner for the eggs off before tenderly taking Eren’s hand and inspecting his reddened fingertips. “Not too bad, but they’ll probably blister. C’mon, let’s get you bandaged up.”

A bit reluctantly, Eren followed Levi back to the bathroom where he sat atop the toilet lid and let his boyfriend treat his burns.

“How’d you burn just your fingertips, anyway?”

Eren swallowed. “I was...trying to get a shell out of the eggs in the pan…” he mumbled, barely intelligible.

“With your bare fingers?”

Eren’s nod was barely there. Levi was shaking his head, chuckling through his chest. “You’re a dork.”

“Heyy…” complained the brunet.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Eren followed Levi back to the kitchen. He was already going back for the paper towels to start helping clean the mess up when Levi shook his head and pointed at Eren’s usual chair at their small dining table near the balcony doors.

“Sit.” Eren sat. “Stay.” Eren frowned, but he stayed and watched Levi scurry around the kitchen, leaving order and cleanliness in his wake as he often did.

“Why the hell is the bacon in the microwave?”

“Isn’t it microwavable?”

“...not technically, no…” Levi mumbled, pulling it out and wrinkling his nose. He promptly tossed it in the trash along with the tots. “Eren, did you check the date on these eggs?”

“What? No? I thought you bought them last week?”

“I did…” Suspicious, Levi headed for the fridge. In about two seconds flat he pulled out a nearly full carton of brand new eggs. “These are the ones I bought last week. I meant to throw the other ones out. What I don’t get is how you managed to completely overlook these when they were right on the top shelf…”

Eren was already pressing his face into his hands. “Oh god, oh my god, I’m so fucking stupid…”

The raven chuckled, shutting the fridge and making his way over to his boyfriend to rub his back. “Don’t worry about it so much, babe. You tried. The effort is appreciated.”

“But how the hell didn’t I see those?” Eren groaned.

“Love, look at me.”

Frowning, Eren looked slowly up at the other, who only leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you for this.”

“For a mess? Sure.”

“Stop being so mopey,” Levi chastised lightly. He pinched Eren’s cheek. “How ‘bout we make pancakes?”

“I better stay out of it,” Eren said. “Should just make a bowl of cereal or something.”

“No, you’re helping me. This is how you learn.” He took Eren by the ear and tugged gently until he stood.

“You sound like my damn mother,” he complained.

“Watch it,” Levi warned, pinching a little harder before letting go. He finished the last few things that needed to be cleaned up and shuffled out the pancake mix. “Before you say anything no, you’re not getting out of this.”

Despite Eren’s mopey attitude, with Levi at the helm, the pancakes were a success. Eren, still grumpy from his incident, ate his in silence but could feel Levi’s eyes watching him throughout the meal.

“What?” he finally mumbled, looking up to find a glint of amusement and affection in Levi’s stormy grays.

“Nothing,” the raven was quick to answer.

Eren was assigned dish duty, and once that was done, the two found themselves on the standing hammock on the balcony. Eren, being the taller of the two, was the only one with long enough legs to touch the ground and rocked them gently, slowly back and forth with Levi’s head against his shoulder, tracing nonsensical lines into the his forearm.

“So you’re really not mad I made a disaster of the kitchen?” Eren whispered.

“You’re really not over that yet?” Levi mumbled back. “No, Eren, I’m not. I told you a thousand times I appreciate the sentiment more than anything.”

“If you say s--” Eren was shut up by a hard kiss planted on his mouth.

“I don’t wanna hear anymore about it, ya brat,” Levi muttered against his mouth.

Eren chuckled, kissing him again - longer this time, deeper. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you too, shithead.”

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... Flaked (S02E02) Day 2 Airdate: June 2, 2017 @flakedmusic Ratings: @netflix original Score: 8.25/10 Waking up on the beach is one thing... I'd love to say 'we've all been there' and mean it, but I realize that not everyone is both naturally self-destructive and lives close to large bodies of water... Anyway, It's another thing to wake up on the beach in a town that you once reigned King in. Adding insult to injury the French woman runs by and throws a few Euros in Chip's empty coffee cup he totes around with him everywhere he goes for the entire duration of the episode. It's unexplainable why I like these little moments so much. 'Flaked' is the definition of nuance... And it's funny to me, seeing so many scrambling to create easy definitions or logic for certain characters' behaviors. I think that sometimes life is thrown at us and we just just instinctively react... Sometimes it's our inner selves going into a sort of protection mode without even realizing it, and other times it's as simple as picking the wrong path at a fork in a road. Some of us, like Chip (Will Arnett), like Dennis, like London, or any of 'Flaked's disturbingly porcelain characters are destined for self-destruction. There's no way around it. It's second nature, like breathing, or holding your breath underwater... You just do it, and when it comes to addicts there is often little to no real reason why. Chip just blows back into Venice Beach and it takes Dennis (David Sullivan) less than 24 hours to let him back in to his life. Offering up a role reversal in power with letting Dennis this that Chip truly wanted him to be his sponsor was all it took. This speaks volumes on not just the dynamics of Dennis & Chip's relationship, but also how truly lonely and desperate for validation that Dennis can be. We've gotten a good visual and tight grasp as to why Dennis is the way he is... His mother, played by Kirstie Allie last season was an absolute spectacle (one I hope we get a chance to revisit this year), and Dennis couldn't stand that. The drama, the attention seeking, it drove him crazy... And it's easy to connect those dots to Dennis needing such a great deal of validation in his life from his peers and the people that he knows. The beginning sequence as Dennis is sharing at the AA meeting is so familiar to me. Now that Chip is out of the picture, or was out of the picture, Dennis has attempted to fill that role that Chip left behind in his absence. Obviously, he's not necessarily filling that void, but the mere thought that he 'could be' is enough for him. In this group of misfits, Dennis and Chip are not the only miscreants or oddballs... Everyone is basically in that 'group', per se. They all do bizarre things because circumstances in life compels them to do so. London (Ruth Kearney) is a great example of this. She's pushed Chip away as he's slowly lost his 'glow' or special interest that he held in her eyes throughout S1. She's not only left him without a place to stay, and knowing *for sure* that he actually has somewhere to rest his head at night (those with significant others, think about that one for a moment... Id have a fucking iPhone tracker with updates sent to my phone every few minutes! 🤣), but she's also searching for someone or something to spark some kind of rejuvenation or just anything to make her feel complete again. She's seeing this phony, stereotypical, West LA, wannabe shaman type, Karel (played to the MAX by Animal Kingdom's Shawn Hatosy). Just like in Animal Kingdom, he gives me the creeps... For different reasons obviously, but this is a man who is the definition of transparent... He doesn't even get translucent. Everyone in his class stares at him so intently. He is the sun and they aren't even planets... They're not even moons of planets... They are like fading stars, lost souls, looking for anything to believe in, and he gives them that in the most superficial way possible and there they sit just eating every bit of it up. It's so outrageous that I can hold so much disdain for so many characters in one show, yet still be completely mesmerized by them all, unable to look away. 'Flaked' is the trainwreck that keeps on giving, keeps on piling on the bullshit, daring the audience to look away... But we can't. At least Cooler (George Basil) is somewhat likable. He remains that lovable idiot that's shown absolutely no growth whatsoever. Normally I'd clock a show for that, but that's Cooler, that's him! Cooler is the type of guy who opposes legalization because it puts dealers out of jobs. Cooler is both hilarious and tragic, stuck in a never ending cycle of repetition and failure. Everyone knows a Cooler... It doesn't matter where your from... Cooler is the guy you've known forever who is perpetually positive and may or may not be stuck in a dead end job. They have no plan whatsoever, besides some pipe dream that's completely unobtainable... And if they do have a job, they most likely settle for mediocrity. It doesn't phase them. Cooler's are easy to love, but fuck are they frustrating! Before we move on, I just have to get a good Air BnB punch landed somewhere. I live in Miami Beach, as most of you know, and everyone who lives on this island in Miami-Dade County is most likely either in a position where they Air BnB parts of their home or they live in a hotel/condo/hole in the wall above a bar or club that rents out rooms via Air BnB. We get Europeans, South Americans, Americans, a multitude of people... Just like they would in Venice Beach. I see a lot of people from Germany quick to dismiss this type of portrayal of travelers from their country and while everyone can rest assured that we Americans know that not everyone is like the triage portrayed in Flaked 2x02, I can also assure everyone that these types do come through... And they aren't always German, but I had to laugh because this is very atypical for a town that depends on tourism for their economy. Not only are there people like this for real, there is *NO LIE* a couple from Germany right down the hall from us right now who even looks like these guys. What's funny is that in another streaming show (on Amazon instead of Netflix), Red Oaks, a French couple is portrayed in a similar light. Again, we aren't daft to think that everyone from a single country is like this, but there is a reason you see these stereotypes show up in a show based in irony and realism like 'Flaked'. It's funny because it fucking true... Think of 'Flaked' as representing the piece of ourselves and our culture that we're most embarrassed of. Because just like not everyone in the states is like the cast of 'Flaked', I watch because not only do I see people I know in the faces of this cast... I feel like I know this cast. 'Flaked' has become such a special gem to me. I work hard to position this series in a cornerstone perspective because I feel it's so under appreciated... By critics, by the media, by average viewers. There's something so real, so honest, and so ultimately humiliating about Flaked. It's like... walking around your hometown completely naked while you continue to hit different levels of rock bottom... Each level represents another low you thought could never be possible, but here we fucking are... Right? Can I just bask in 'Flaked's awkwardness and humility for a moment. I mean... Seriously... Dennis' New love interest that he's gabbed on and on about at meetings and to anyone who would listen is Rosa (Lenora Crichlow) who is actually George's (Robert Wisdom) daughter and Chip is walking right into yet the another disaster, lying to London and sleeping over at his new 'female sponsor's house. Can it get anymore beach side, sun soaked, shameless than this? Let me answer that... Yes!!! This is just 'Day 2' of 6! So goes 'Flaked'!!!

[ruffsficstuffplace]

Of Rocks, Romantic Rivalries, and Rune Rangers (Part 10)

“Weave! Weave!” Lance cried.

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” Keith shouted back as he fired a standard issue AFA assault rifle, the stock braced against his shoulder, the barrel of it jerking wildly from side-to-side.

In front of them, the holographic swarm of tiny ankle-biters kept on coming, some of them getting blasted into magical dust by the bullets, most of them smashing into the barrier just in front of Keith with gleeful grins and high-pitched giggles.

“Gah, this thing won’t point where I aim it at!” Keith cried as he reloaded his gun.

“That’s because you’re still trying to fight the stabilizers and the targeting system!” Lance yelled. “Work with the gun, not against it!”

“Sweet Shepherd, is there anyway to turn them off?!” Keith snapped as he lowered the rifle. “Why the fuck would you ever make a gun that tries to fix its own recoil and aim for you?”

“Because, that’s how you end up getting the most accurate and reliable guns possible!” Lance replied. “I can pull up the statistics right now that show all AFA-licensed weapons have a higher overall accuracy rate than any other brand, human or Fae made!”

“Yeah, well knowing my gun shoots 93 of every 100 bullets perfectly straight isn’t going to matter if I can’t actually get it to fire where I want it to, let alone hit anything!” Keith said as he cast a dirty look at the rifle. “Fucking aim-assist…’”

Lance scowled. “Hey, don’t blame the magitech for a user-side problem!”

“Oh, so I guess it’s because of your top-notch teaching skills that I can’t shoot for shit with this thing!” Keith said as he put the rifle down on the counter.

The target practice holo shut down, Keith and Lance spent a few moments shooting daggers at each other, before the two of them groaned and backed down.

“Damn it, we really should have spoken up when Pidge paired us all off, no way in hell I’m learning how to shoot any of these if it’s you doing the teaching...” Keith said as he gestured to the rack of human-made firearms on the side.

“Agreed,” Lance said. “Probably should have taken up Allura on that offer of more Water Fist training.”

Keith chuckled. “Yeah, knowing you, you’d probably fare even worse than I did just now.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it? Basic was just a whole lot of drills and learning the moves, meditating, and ‘getting into the Flow,’” Lance said, moving his arms and legs like he was going along with an invisible current. “What’s up with advanced?”

Keith put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Let me put it this way...”

Crash!

Allura drop-kicked Shiro through a door and into a break room, jagged splinters flying everywhere. Hologram office workers dashed out of the way or got knocked down to the floor, their screams and panic filling the air as the two hit the ground.

Allura quickly sprang back up on her feet, Shiro scrambled up to his feet and to the counters on the far side of the room. He frantically grabbed at most everything he could throw—ceramic coffee mugs, metal utensils, aluminum soda cans—but her hypersensitive ears and superior reflexes let her dodge them all with ease.

Shiro came to the end of the counter, and to the holy grail of any office: the Auto-Cafe machine. He randomly punched order buttons, freshly made recyclable ceramic mugs fell out of the dispensers, brimming with more fake, holographic coffee, grabbed them just as Allura grabbed his head.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Shiro desperately looked around in-between Allura giving him an extreme close-up of the menu. He noticed a rectangular box just to the side of the machine, the lid half-way open, glimpses of real, non-holographic frosting and pastry crumbs inside. He grabbed a jelly- filled donut with his prosthetic arm, and put it right up to Allura’s face.

She didn’t notice what he was doing until she had gooey, sticky, spicy-sweet firemelon jelly sprayed right into her eyes.

The golem in the testing chamber put its hands to its “ears,” seemingly screaming in agony as Pidge and Hunk blasted it with one of their recreations of Mero’s singing. From the way it fell to its knees, laid completely flat on the floor, and violently shook before it went still, they could tell it was another failure.

Pidge shut off the speakers, and the two of them waited for the last of the purple-pink waves of magic to dissipate or get absorbed in the walls before they pulled the ear-muffs from their heads. Hunk started to read the stats on a monitor, Pidge activated her recorder.

“Track #17 also failed,” she said. “Subject not only showed any signs of subversion or aggression towards target dummies made to resemble Celestial Guard and assorted allies, it also seemed to have suffered in extreme, horrific agony, before shutting down from the trauma.

“Highly suggest destruction of actual audio file, while keeping exact frequency for reference and possible recreation in the future; no telling what will happen if this leaks out.”

Hunk sighed as he compared the readouts from the other sixteen tests. <Looks like whatever Haggar did with Mero, it was one heck of a one-hit wonder,> he said. <We’ve got almost exact replicas of the sound, but we don’t have that something that makes it brainwash people.>

<Could be from the use of black sand, void steel, pure vitae, or the many other exotic materials we’re not getting our hands on, ever,> Pidge said. <Maybe we should just look at improving our gear’s magic defense in general, emphasis on sonic attacks.>

<Sounds like a plan,> Hunk said as he and her left the control room. <I’ve already got some prototype designs we can punch in the fabricators right away!>

Elsewhere, Shiro shoved Allura’s head into the scanner of one. He slammed the cover on top of her head, the machine fired up, dutifully making a 3D mould of Allura’s face: eyes closed from the glare of the beam, her left cheek smushed against the bottom, her lips curled into a scowl.

Allura threw her foot up into Shiro’s crotch; as he reeled from the pain, she pulled herself out, and shoved Shiro’s head into it, before slamming the cover on him, too.

The machine ejected the half-finished mould of Allura, and started making one of Shiro’s face.

Lance stared at Keith, unable to decide if he should look annoyed or horrified. “You’re shitting me right now, right?” he asked.

Keith shook his head. “Nope, completely serious. People and folks have died from advanced training, let alone master level.”

“But this ‘training’ sounds crazy and ridiculously dangerous!” Lance said after Keith finished explaining. “And that’s really saying something, considering what else we put ourselves through.”

“Avalon is crazy and ridiculously dangerous,” Keith said. “You may think you’ve got a taste of it back during your field trips with the AFA, but until you live out in the Country full-time for a year or two, you really don’t know what the wilds are like.

“It’s why I trusted Fae weapons more than human ones—they’re designed to take a helluva beating from anything and everything, fire just fine even if you after you just unburied it from two tons of sand and shook it out, and I know they’ll get the job done, unlike this piece of shit,” he said, gesturing to the assault rifle still on the firing range’s counter.

“And yet the bulk of weapons in active use for military forces, human or Fae, private or government, are all from human manufacturing,” Lance countered. “Are you saying that the billions of soldiers, justices, and watchers out there are basically using NERF guns and bats?”

“No, but I am saying is that they’d do the whole realm a favour by using real weapons, without fancy computers doing all the work for them,” Keith countered.

Lance scowled. “Okay! That’s it! I will not let this insult to my race—of which half of you belongs to, might I add—stand!” He gestured to the other rack of firearms on the side, all Fae-made. “Pick a weapon, any weapon, and let’s see if I can’t kick ass with it like I do my rifle!”

“Alright, Mr. Badass, if you want to get your ego torn to bloody pieces like that, who am I to complain?” Keith said as walked over. He looked over the selection, briefly debated giving Lance a log-cannon just to see him struggle to carry it around, but decided against it.

“Here,” Keith said as he gave Lance a repeater, a wrist-mounted machine pistol. “Rapid-fire, stock-issue weapon meant for versatility and ease-of-use over accuracy and raw stopping power, just like the AFA AR.

“Need some help loading and reloading it?” he asked as Lance strapped it on. “Newbies tend to keep taking their eyes out with the canisters the first couple hundred times they do.”

“I’ve got this!” Lance said as he braced the repeater on his other arm. “In fact, give me some ammo, and I’ll load and reload this thing like pro, first try.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense!” Keith said as he threw one at him.

Lance caught it. He slapped the release lever, slammed the canister in, and locked it into place. Keith watched as he spun the firing cylinder and peeled off a burst of bolts, then gave Lance a thumbs up.

Lance grinned triumphantly, slapped the release lever again, upon which the canister flew up into the air and hit him in the eye.

“GAH!” Shiro cried out as the staple-gun canisters bounced off his face.

Allura ducked to his blindside, and pounced on him; Shiro tried to dodge, but the tears blurring his vision made it impossible.

Thud.

The two were on the floor again, Allura on top of Shiro. “Not so fun being blinded, is it?!” she cried as she began to punch him in the head.

Shiro turned them over, and started blindly punching at her. Allura pulled her own reversal, and two began to roll and roll along the length of the now deserted office, cursing and punching all the while.

Bang! Allura stubbed her toe on the leg of a wooden chair.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Fuck!” Allura cried as her pinky toe began to throb.

Shiro stopped, and looked concerned. “Shit, Allura, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“Good, I was worried for a moment there, Shiro said, before he headbutted her.

Crack!

Pidge and Hunk continued headbanging o one of their favourite Ice Lord tracks.

<Oh yeah!> Pidge said as she lowered the volume. <It’s definitely going to be “Soul of Steel!”>

<You sure?> Hunk asked. <The vocals on ‘Emerald Blaze’ might help screw up the resonance of a sonic attack even more—plus, the bass-line is better.>

<True, but it might help to be able to focus on the lyrics to try and ignore the attack itself,> Pidge said. <With Emerald Blaze being mostly screeching and screaming, someone might think it was just Mero’s song all over again.>

<Shall we test it out on the golems and see which is more effective, or if it’s going to be a matter of personal choice?> Hunk asked.

Pidge smiled. <Of course! We’ve got effectively infinite materials and funding here, right?>

<To the fabricators, then!> Hunk said, standing up and dramatically pointing back to the machines.

Pidge giggled, before the two of them got back to work.

<Hey Pidge, I’ve been meaning to ask, did you and Allura have that talk you needed last night?> Hunk said as they started punching in designs for the fabricators.

<We did, and it was pretty great,> Pidge replied as she did the same. <Thanks for pointing me to her, Hunk; it gets kinda hard to ask her, since well, you know...> she looked away, her cheeks turning light pink.

Hunk pushed the “Start” button,  then patted her on the shoulder. <I understand. Have you ever thought of just telling her? Get it off your chest? I’m sure you and Allura can work it out.>

Pidge’s eyes widened and her ears pulled back, before she frantically shook her head. <Oh, no, I can’t! Especially not now that--> she quickly shut her mouth.

<Now that what…?> Hunk asked.

Pidge paused for a moment. She debated telling Hunk for a few moments, before she mentally slapped herself and reminded herself that this was Hunk. <I’m pretty sure Allura and Shiro are dating,> she said.

Hunk blinked. <Huh?>

<I’ve been noticing it for a while now, the way they’ve been stealing glances at each other all the time, how they’re suddenly so much less professional around each other, and their going off on that coffee date just cemented it,> Pidge explained.

<I’ll admit they haven’t gone out and confirmed it, but it’s just so blatantly obvious, you know?>

Hunk looked conflicted for a moment, before he said, <I don’t know, there’s still a chance you might be wrong, right?>

<Eh, true, but I wouldn’t bet money on that...>

Hunk nodded. <So what’s your plan now?>

Pidge shrugged. <Go see what my other options are, I suppose. Support them as much as I can as their friend. Try not to cause unnecessary drama between them.> She paused. <Well, any more than I already have, anyway...>

Hunk’s eyebrows rose. <… Pidge, what did you do…?>

Pidge looked away, her cheeks red once more. <Well… you know how I had a sleepover with Allura last night, right?>

Hunk nodded, eyes wordlessly asking Pidge to continue.

<Well, after our talk, I kinda… pretended to fall asleep so I could snuggle up to Allura, and she kinda… snuggled back. I’m afraid Shiro’s going to take it the wrong way since he’s human, you know?>

Hunk paused, before he laughed. <Oh man, Pidge, the way you were saying that I thought you and Allura--> he made a sexy animal noise.

Pidge’s cheeks burst into flames.

Hunk reached out and put his hand on her shoulder again. <Dude, Shiro’s too chill of a guy to freak-out over something like Allura snuggling with you. Besides, have you even felt your fur lately? You’re soft like a cloud, who wouldn’t want to snuggle up with you if they could?>

Pidge nodded slowly. <Hah, yeah… guess I’m worrying over nothing.>

<Pidge, trust me: even if Allura feels the need to bring up last night, it won’t put that much of a wedge between them. They’re the most mature of all of us, no way they’d ever get this petty!>

At the same time, Allura and Shiro staggered into a restroom, the both of them battered, breathless, but still out for blood. The two of them grabbed the sinks for support, and glared at each other.

“Having an off-day, Allura?!” Shiro snapped in between pants for breath.

“Sort of, didn’t get a full night’s sleep!” Allura replied as she slowly started to walk towards him. “Stayed up for most of it being with Pidge, you know!”

Shiro scowled. “I thought we already made it abundantly clear you and Pidge didn’t have sex last night!” he cried as he tensed up, getting ready for combat once more.

“Oh, we didn’t, you’ve got me there.” Allura grinned evilly. “Dosen’t mean that’s we didn’t PLENTY of other things, though!”

Shiro’s eyes widened.

Allura dashed forward, grabbing Shiro and slamming his head into the counter.

Crack.

The ceramic fractured. Stunned, Shiro could only stagger along as Allura dragged him into a nearby stall. She threw him onto the toilet, he grabbed the edges of the bowl, while Allura grabbed the back of his head and chest.

Shiro’s eyes widened as his face came ever closer to the sparkling, very real water.

Splash.

Allura quickly waved a hand in front of the “Flush” sensor.

She grinned as the sound of rushing water and garbled, panicked screaming echoed on the tile walls.

Shiro pulled himself out, collapsed on the side of the bowl coughing up water and wheezing for breath.

Allura stood up and casually leaned on the wall. “For clarity, ‘other things’ was talking about her personal problems, and helping her through them,” she hummed. “It was really lovely— you could say we had quite the bonding moment last night!”

Shiro wiped the water from his face, before he gave Allura one of the dirtiest, most hate-filled looks he had ever made in his entire life.

Allura just grinned back.

“Training’s over!” she chirped, making gestures in the air before the props and scenery around them began to disappear. “I must say, Shiro, you did remarkably well today, being able to keep up with me and trade blows for as long as you did, but I’m afraid you still have a lot to learn if you’re going to become an adept at the Air Fist, let alone a master.

“After we cooldown and patch ourselves up, we’ll review the footage together and I’ll offer you some pointers,” she said. “At the very least, I can say with full confidence that you’re much better at fighting than you are with romance!”

Shiro scowled as he pushed himself up. “You realize all these insults just makes me all the more determined to completely beat the ever-loving crap out of you next time, right?” he asked flatly.

Allura beamed. “That’s the point! I’ll admit I had reservations about numerous traditions with the Air Fist, but I have to admit: this was fun!”

“For the winner, at least...” Shiro grumbled.

Together, the two of them left the Raucous Room, already thinking about how they were going to utterly destroy the other next time.