#be friends with everyone and personally know a dozen authority figures and have hours and hours to write and film and edit and make project

[the1trueanon]

man, very few things make you feel more useless and unaccomplished than trying to apply for scholarships TnT

[celestiamour]

pls pls plsss write smth where fem reader and se-mi meet at the games and fall for one another? w the reader having a sort of bubbly and cute personality! tysm 🫶🫶

ft. se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ falling for your cute and bubbly personality┊0.7k words

contains: fluff! reader is a sweetheart, asking you out

➤ author's note: i was so in love with her this entire season like i couldn’t stop giggling every time she showed up on screen

you seem to be able to create friends even in this impossible situation, she notes as she watches you with amused eyes while you flutter around the room from group to group like a pretty butterfly flying from flower to flower. there’s at least one person in the dozens of teams who you know by name and not number, and even if you didn’t, you thought all of them were deserving of a drop of sunshine that was your personality. you made even the most difficult people crack a smile with how infectious your energy was and how sweet you were even in these murder games, and it made her indifferent heartbeat a little faster whenever it was her turn to have your attention. who wouldn’t feel that way when there was such a cute girl who reminded her of the princesses from those cartoons she watched when she was little?

“se-mi unnie!! how are you holding up?”

she hadn’t seen the real light of the sun in days, yet your smile shone even brighter than the morning star and she briefly wondered if she would be blinded if she looked directly at it. you were like a doll in the sense that it seemed to be permanent, but after seeing the look on your face after the first game where dozens died like they meant nothing, she now knows you were simply spreading some much-needed love to others as a way to cope with the traumatic experience like the sweetheart you were.

“i’m doing okay, i just wish the food tasted better— come sit next to me,” she commanded, patting her free hand against the open spot on the mattress because she wanted as much of your time as possible. 

“well, it’s kimbap, so you can’t really go wrong with it!” you obediently climbed onto the bed with her, sitting so close that she could smell the artificial flower-scented soap of the shower you took a couple of hours ago. “when we get out of here, you should come over to my place and i’ll cook you some food! i’m not as good as my grandma, but it’s a lot better than the cold stale stuff they serve here.”

“that would be great.” she liked the idea of coming over to your place, already able to imagine your room full of stuffed animal collections and lace curtains, although she would much prefer it if she came as something more than a friend— but now that she thinks about it, did you even like girls in that way like she does? you didn’t really express romantic interest in girls, but you exactly didn’t show any for guys either, being more of a little sister figure for them all rather than a potential love interest like she saw you as. 

there was only one way to tell, so se-mi did what she did best, and that was flirting with girls. 

“god, i wish this could be over already,” she sighed as she leaned over to your side to rest her head on your shoulder. “i would love to come over to your place, we could have a spa night and watch romance movies until morning.”

as soon as the words left her mouth, she felt heat start to radiate off your face. “l-like a date?”

“well, only if you want it to be a date…” 

“w-well… um… i would… really, really like that… um, mrs kang is calling for me! i’ll talk to you later!” you stuttered as you rushed off in the direction of the old lady and her son, covering your face with your hands and running away like an embarrassed anime girl. she watched carefully as you told them something in a clearly excited tone before smacking the man with the glasses when his head snapped in se-mi’s direction, but they both seemed very happy for you which made her smile knowing you were on board

“goddamn it, why is everyone pulling cute girls except for me?!” an annoyingly familiar voice from a certain purple-haired rapper started. “what am i doing wrong? i’m thanos for crying out loud, i should be getting swarmed!”

“you might want to work on your technique.”

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 06

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: Ochako we love you

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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Tradition and the cultivation of exceptional talent are what keep U.A. alive.

Which is why, the moment you and your classmates return from your extended weekend break, you’re sent straight back to the dorms.

To pack.

Why? Because the annual Forest Training Camp trip has been sprung on you without warning!

Normally, you'd have at least a week's notice to prepare—time to plan outfits, sort through your skincare, and mentally brace yourself for the grueling training ahead. But this year? This is insane. You've been given one hour to pack before you’re expected to be on that bus, ready to go.

Which leads to your current predicament—fighting for your life in your very own closet.

"Curse these dorms and their shitty allowance of space!" you mutter, aggressively shoving hangers aside in search of anything remotely practical.

This is ludicrous! How are you supposed to fit five days' worth of outfits, makeup, hair tools, and your entire skincare routine into that flimsy, school-provided duffel bag?

It's simply not possible.

Well… maybe if you really tried, since most of your clothes aren't exactly bulky. Miniskirts and lacy tops are easy enough to fold down. But still!

You make an executive decision, tossing the school-issued duffel aside and swapping it out for your personal one—a soft baby pink travel bag with your initials delicately embroidered near the bottom. A cute, sparkly bow charm dangles from the strap, catching the light. Perfect.

This is your third and final training camp in that damn forest, and yet you still haven’t figured out a proper packing system.

You start with the essentials: hair tools, skincare, and makeup. That makes up the bulk of it, anyway.

Next, a pair of pretty designer flat sandals (because looking good in that hellscape is non-negotiable) and a comfortable pair of sneakers. Then, your activewear—cute, color-coordinated gym sets that scream Pilates Princess—followed by a few soft pajama sets.

On a whim, you toss in a swimsuit. You doubt there'll be time for swimming, but... who knows?

Finally, your usual outfits—little skirts, cute tops, the essentials—go in last. After a moment of struggling, you justmanage to zip up your duffel.

With that, you rush outside, praying you aren't the last one to board the bus.

And yet, to your utter mortification, you are.

Heat creeps up your neck as dozens of eyes land on you the moment you step onto the bus. You instinctively check the dainty watch on your wrist. Damn. You're still five minutes early—how is everyone else already here?!

Thankfully, after a brief glance, most of your classmates return to their conversations, their voices blending into a dull hum of excitement.

Except— "Overpacked this year too, didn’t you, Y/N?"

The familiar dry drawl pulls your attention to the front of the bus, where Aizawa sits, arms crossed, a single brow raised in silent amusement.

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small, sheepish smile that tugs at your lips. "Sorry, Sensei."

He exhales through his nose—his version of a chuckle—and shakes his head.

The man has known you since childhood, and it shows in the subtle ways he goes easy on you. There’s a soft spot there, one that means you rarely get in trouble for the little things.

Like showing up last. Like swapping out the school’s standard-issue duffel for your own monogrammed one.

But Aizawa’s patience isn’t infinite, and before he can usher you along with one of his signature unimpressed stares, you force yourself to move.

Which brings you to the next big hurdle.

Where the hell are you going to sit?

Your palms begin to sweat as you hover near his seat, scanning the rows ahead.

You’d sit with him if you could—he’s been a family friend for years, and his presence is at least familiar—but it’s only a matter of time before Present Mic barrels onto the bus and claims that spot for himself.

Your usual refuge—the very back of the bus—is also out of the question.

The space is crammed, especially with the guys, who have somehow doubled in size over the summer. Normally, you’d have a quiet seat to yourself, maybe with Tokoyami or Todoroki nearby, but not this time.

You hesitate, fingers curling tighter around the strap of your duffel as your gaze drifts over your classmates. Sun-kissed faces, relaxed smiles, the easy cadence of laughter filling the space around you.

There’s an undeniable lightness in the air���stories exchanged, inside jokes tossed back and forth, remnants of shared vacations and group outings you weren’t a part of.

A familiar sinking feeling settles in your chest.

If it weren’t for your own shyness, your inability to reach out first, maybe you would’ve been invited. Maybe you’d have a story to tell, too.

Your eyes flicker toward the back of the bus, landing on a particular blonde.

Bakugou Katsuki sits a few rows back, next to Kirishima, his broad shoulders squared, arms crossed over his chest as he stares out the window, scowl firmly in place.

Even slouched, he commands attention—the sharp angles of his face, the tousled strands of light hair catching the sunlight, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Something about him—his presence, his quiet intensity—draws your gaze before you can stop yourself.

Your heart stutters.

The last few days don’t make you friends. Not even close.

But still…

When everyone else was gone, when the dorms were practically deserted, he was there. With you.

Well—with might be a stretch. But he hadn’t left.

And it’s a little pathetic, honestly, how your mind keeps clinging to those moments, replaying them like they were something out of a movie instead of just fragments of real life.

You still can’t believe it happened.

You. Of all people. Fell into his lap.

Not just that, but in your robe, of all things, and those stupid glasses. And instead of shoving you off or snapping at you like you expected, he helped. He hauled in every last one of your boxes—without being asked, without a single complaint—just brisk, efficient movements, like it was no big deal.

He, Bakugou Katsuki, taught you how to use the damn train!

And he didn’t just rattle off directions and leave you to figure it out—he took the time, went out of his way to make sure you understood, grumbling the entire time like you were the biggest inconvenience of his life.

And yet, the entire experience had been exhilarating for you.

Standing next to him on the train, surrounded by strangers, your designer clothes and stiletto boots wildly out of place, you almost felt… normal.

Maybe, to him, it was ridiculous—having to explain something so basic.

But to you? It was everything.

And realizing that—that you’ve spent the last three days replaying the scenario over and over in your head—is just fucking sad.

In less than a week, you’ve spoken to him more than you have to the rest of the class in the last three years.

Now, standing frozen in the aisle, you force yourself to look away before he catches you staring.

To him, last weekend was probably nothing. Just another day, another minor inconvenience, already forgotten.

But to you, it was monumental.

You remind yourself not to dwell on it. He was just being nice. You were just—quite frankly—helpless.

Forcing yourself to move, you scan the seats, hoping to find an open spot before you make things any more awkward for yourself. Your pulse climbs as your eyes dart between rows—until finally, you spot an empty seat next to Ochako.

She’s sweet. She wouldn’t say no, right?

And for once, luck is on your side.

“Hi, Y/N!” Ochako waves you over before you can even open your mouth, smiling warmly. “Do you wanna sit with me? The bus feels so much tinier this year.”

Relief swarms you, your shoulders dropping as you eagerly nod, trying not to look too grateful.

“Oh! Yes, that’d be great.”

With that, you slide into the seat, settling your duffel at your feet. A deep breath escapes your chest, your nerves finally loosening their grip.

“I love your duffel,” Ochako chirps. “It’s so cute!”

The sudden compliment catches you completely off guard. You jolt slightly in place, blinking at her in surprise.

“O-oh! Thanks! I travel with it all the time.”

You offer her a small smile, feeling warmth creep up your neck. Shit. Should you have told her where you got it? Should you have complimented something on her?

Your mind scrambles, juggling potential responses, overthinking every possible outcome—

But Ochako just gives you another sincere smile, then effortlessly falls back into conversation with Tsuyu and Mina, who are seated in front of you.

Another breath leaves you, longer this time. You cross your legs, pulling out your phone and earphones, deciding to drown out the chatter with one of your favorite shows—a baking competition.

As the drama of a woman’s collapsing cake unfolds on your screen, you settle in, letting yourself relax.

Well.

At least that didn’t go terribly.

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Once you step off the bus, you’re immediately swept into the middle of the group, caught in the current of excited voices and shuffling footsteps.

The crisp air outside is a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth of the bus, and for a moment, you inhale deeply, letting the fresh scent of pine and earth ground you.

You're wedged between several of the guys who apparently decided to hit some insane growth spurts over the summer. They loom around you like moving skyscrapers, broad shoulders and towering heights making you feel even smaller than usual.

And right in front of you—Kirishima.

Rather than getting a clear view of Aizawa, you’re met with an eyeful of Kirishima’s massive back. He’s built like a damn boulder, all muscle and impossible proportions, standing firm and unmoving like a human shield.

It’s honestly a little terrifying.

How the hell did he get so tall and muscular?!

Before you can dwell too much on it, a voice rumbles behind you, far too close.

“Sure you can see Aizawa from back here, Sad Eyes?”

You quickly turn around and you almost—almost—crash straight into Bakugou’s chest.

Your breath catches, your body stiffening as you realize just how close he is. The heat of him is immediate, radiating off him in waves, and the scent of his cologne—rich caramel laced with something fresher, sharper—fills your senses before you can even think to stop breathing it in.

And okay. Not that you would really mind...

But oh dear lord, ohhh dear lord, hold it together.

Why is he so close?!

And why does he smell so good?!

You blink rapidly, trying to process what just happened—what he even said to you.

“Sad Eyes?” You stare up at him, confused.

What happened to Princess?

It’s crazy how much you already miss him calling you that.

Bakugou smirks, eyes sharp with amusement as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “New name,” he grunts. “Considering the way you look at me every time we speak.”

Your jaw drops. Sad Eyes?!

Is he joking?!

Well. No, he isn’t.

The truth is, the more Bakugou’s gotten to know you—which, granted, isn’t a lot, but enough—the more he’s found himself stuck on your damn eyes.

Big, glossy, practically shimmering under your long lashes and whatever glittery eyeshadow you always seem to wear. And always looking up at him like he’s supposed to help you somehow.

That last bit might be all in his head, but he doesn't think too hard on it.

Point is, You have the saddest fucking eyes he’s ever seen.

Like some cartoon baby deer.

Maybe the right term is doe-eyed, but that’s way too cute, way too soft.

So Sad Eyes it is.

“I don’t know if I like that new name…” you mumble, your glossy lips naturally curving into a pout. Then, after a beat, you scowl. “Scratch that—I actually hate it.”

Bakugou snorts, arms still lazily stuffed in his pockets.

The unimpressed look on your face, the slight downturn of your lips, the way your eyes shimmer just a little too much for someone supposedly annoyed—yeah, you’re only proving his point.

“Ha? You’re telling me you like Princess better?”

Is he being sarcastic? Because quite frankly, you loved princess-

You bite your lip, debating if you should just admit it—if you should tell him outright that yes, you preferred it when he called you Princess, because at least that felt sort of… nice. And not like you were some pathetic little creature he’s found amusing enough to nickname.

But before you can gather the courage, before you can even respond,

“Ooh, what’s going on over here? I didn’t know you two were in cahoots.”

A new voice interrupts, effectively shattering the intense staring contest you and Bakugou had unknowingly fallen into.

Denki—noticeably taller this year, his blonde hair a little longer, framing his face in messy waves—sidles up next to Bakugou, bumping shoulders with him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, caught off guard. “Cahoots?” you echo, tilting your head slightly, the word sounding almost foreign coming out of your mouth.

“We aren’t in anything, Dunce Face,” Bakugou deadpans, his voice flat, his signature scowl settling back into place. Whatever amusement had flickered in his expression moments ago is gone, replaced with sheer irritation.

Denki grins, entirely unbothered by the hostility, rocking on his heels as if Bakugou’s anger is nothing more than white noise.

Meanwhile, Bakugou’s ruby gaze shifts away from both of you, fixing straight ahead—staring over the crowd like he can see something neither of you can.

Damn.

He could probably see Aizawa from up there…

Before you can dwell on that thought, a whisper cuts through the hum of voices around you.

“Psst, Y/N!”

Between the slivers of space between bodies, you catch sight of Ochako waving you over, her eyes bright with warmth. Your brows raise slightly in surprise, a small flicker of something light and pleasant blooming in your chest. She’s calling you over?

Ochako is quickly becoming hero of the day in your books!

You hesitate for a split second, instinctively glancing back up at Bakugou. But he’s not even looking at you anymore, his sharp profile angled away, entirely uninterested. Denki, meanwhile, is too occupied pestering him to notice your fleeting look.

Deciding not to dwell on it, you gingerly push your way through the crowd, muttering apologies to some of the guys you have to brush past before finally reaching the brunette.

Oh wow.

There’s so much more breathing room out here!

Ochako grins as you settle beside her. “I saw you back there, and it looked suffocating,” she laughs lightly, tilting her head toward the crowd.

A breath of laughter escapes you, and heat rises to your cheeks as you nod. “It was pretty bad, I won’t lie.”

She giggles again, and for a moment, everything else fades into the background—the swarm of voices, the shifting bodies, even the lingering warmth where Bakugou’s presence had been just a moment ago.

But in the back of the group, Kaminari persists.

Because seriously. Bakugou talking to you? And at that proximity? Since when!?

Bakugou, meanwhile, keeps his eyes forward, his jaw tight, making it a point to seem unbothered by Kaminari’s relentless poking and prodding.

“Oh, don’t be like that, man,” Denki drawls, nudging him. “Why don’t you invite Y/N to the lake today? I didn’t even know you knew her like that.”

“I don’t.”

“Now that I think about it, you two were the only ones who didn’t come to the beach house with the rest of us.” Kaminari squints at him, curiosity brimming in his expression. “Have anything to say for yourself?”

“No.”

Denki clicks his tongue, undeterred. “Oh, come on, Bakugou. She’s one of the hottest girls in class and doesn’t even look at any of us! What do you two have going on?”

Bakugou doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t acknowledge the question beyond the slight twitch of his fingers in his pocket. Even if he did have an answer—which he doesn’t—he’d rather drop dead than entertain Denki’s idiotic curiosity.

“Nothing. Pay attention to Aizawa. This is why you’re always lost, dumbass.”

Denki groans dramatically but finally lets up, deflating in defeat.

For now.

But something he said lingers in Bakugou’s head, annoyingly persistent.

Inviting you to the lake.

Would you even go? Hell, do you even know how to swim?

You seem like the type who’d scream at the sight of a bug, let alone willingly step into lake water.

No, you strike him as the kind of person who only steps into crystalline water, the kind that shimmers under the sun, untouched and impossibly blue. Pristine hotel pools lined with marble, warm tropical beaches where the waves roll in soft and predictable.

And from what he’s gathered, you don’t seem to go out of your way to interact with the others. He can’t really picture you in that kind of setting…

And yet—

The thought won’t leave him alone.

Because for some godforsaken reason…

He kinda wants you there.

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Aizawa had been merciful today, keeping things simple with straightforward training—no surprise exercises, no unexpected curveballs. Just good old-fashioned endurance and technique work.

The others naturally paired off into their usual groups, sparring and strategizing together, while you, as always, remained on your own.

You had spent the afternoon seated on the forest floor, your fingers brushing over damp earth as you tested the limits of your quirk.

Delicate blossoms unfurled across tree trunks at your command, creeping like veins of color against the rough bark.

You had been experimenting with different types of pollen, watching how they interacted with the environment, but the solitude had begun to weigh on you in the back of your mind.

By the time training wrapped up, exhaustion settled into your limbs like a heavy cloak, and the entire class trudged back toward the inn.

The moment you stepped inside, Aizawa announced that room assignments had been made—completely randomized.

A relief. And also… kind of terrible.

On one hand, it spared you from the awkwardness of seeking out a roommate yourself, the silent dread of being the leftover option no one wanted.

On the other, the idea of sharing a space at all made your stomach twist. You could already imagine the other girls hoping to be paired together, the unspoken wish that they wouldn’t get stuck with you.

Bracing yourself, you pushed open the door to your assigned room—

And nearly exhaled in sheer relief.

“Y/N? No way! What are the odds?”

Ochako’s cheerful voice greeted you, her eyes sparkling as she sat up from her twin-sized bed. Her expression was warm, welcoming—genuine.

Your shoulders immediately eased.

You weren’t necessarily close, but after today’s unexpected interactions, she probably ranked the highest on your (admittedly non-existent) social list. And while she might not have been hoping to room with you, at least she didn’t seem disappointed.

Your gaze flickered over her outfit, catching on the pastel pink of her swimsuit, the way her little shorts covered the bottom half.

Noticing your stare, she perked up. “Oh! I just got ready a little early,” she explained, smoothing out her top. “Everyone’s going to the lake in a bit—just to hang out and relax. We’re doing a bonfire after.”

Whatever lingering comfort you felt immediately plummeted.

Another group outing.

You turn away, setting your duffel bag down on the neatly made bed. The weight of what she just said lingers between you, pressing against your ribs, winding itself into the knots of doubt tangled in your stomach. You scramble for a response that won’t make you sound completely pathetic. Because the truth is—that’s exactly how you feel.

Out of place.

Another night of lying in bed and watching some over-the-top baking competition it is…

“Why don’t you come with me?”

You freeze.

Your head snaps up, startled. Ochako is still smiling, her expression open and easy—like the idea of including you isn’t strange at all. Like it isn’t some grand act of charity or obligation, but something as natural as breathing.

You should say no. That’s what you always do. Politely decline, make up some excuse, retreat into the safety of your own company, where no one can reject you because you’ve already rejected yourself first.

You are your own self-sacrificial lamb. And you hate that about yourself.

But before you can even think, before your instinct to run away kicks in, the words tumble out.

“Can I?”

Ochako’s eyes widen in surprise—then brighten with excitement, her whole face lighting up like she just won the lottery. “What? Of course you can!” she beams. “You never come to these things! I think you’d have so much fun!”

Her enthusiasm chips away at your usual barriers, that high, impenetrable wall you’ve built brick by brick over the years. Maybe—just this once—you can ignore the nagging voice in your head telling you to back out.

A hesitant smile tugs at your lips. “Y-yeah. I’d like that.”

You glance down at your duffel, then back at her, shifting from foot to foot. She’s patient, waiting, completely unaware of the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head, screaming at you to get this interaction right.

“Um, I don’t know if I packed the right thing for this. Do you wanna see?” You hesitate as soon as the words leave your mouth. Is that… normal between friends? The immediate internal reminder that you two aren’t really friends comes unbidden, and your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.

Ochako doesn’t seem to share your doubts.

If anything, her eyes sparkle with intrigue, and she bounces over to your bed with ease. “Of course! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Your heart pounds a little too fast as you unzip your duffel, rummaging through neatly folded clothes before finally pulling out the swimwear you’d packed.

Ochako lets out a gasp so dramatic that you physically flinch, wide-eyed at her reaction as she takes the pieces of fabric in your hand.

Her face is red—redder than any strawberry you’ve ever seen—as she holds up the bikini.

The one you barely thought twice about when you packed.

Of course, it’s designer—baby pink, delicate, with an even lighter monogram of the brand subtly woven into the luxurious fabric.

The kind of vintage luxury that isn’t just worn but collected, straight from a coveted '90s archive, impossible to find anywhere but the most exclusive resellers. It’s sweet, undeniably cute—Y2K perfection. Something that once graced the pages of glossy fashion magazines.

It’s also, well…

Tiny.

“Y/N!” Ochako practically shrieks, holding the stringy top between her fingers like it might disappear if she lets go. Her wide, warm hazel eyes flicker between you and the delicate scrap of fabric, her entire face turning a shade deeper.

Oh dear lord, is she even breathing properly?

“This—this is what you’re wearing to the lake?!”

Your neck heats at her reaction, embarrassment creeping in as you awkwardly scratch at the back of your head.

“Oh… is it not cute?” you ask, suddenly second-guessing yourself. “I was in such a rush, I just threw it in there.”

You dig back into your duffel, fingers brushing against smooth fabric before pulling out the matching baby pink skirt—a dainty little cover-up that, in hindsight, is your one saving grace.

“Oh, thank god I packed this. It totally completes the outfit,” you sigh in relief, smoothing out the material. “Oh, and I think I have some cute sunglasses to go with it too!”

Ochako gawks at the skirt before practically smacking a hand over her face, her other hand waving frantically in front of her cheeks as if trying to will the blush away.

“I haven’t even seen you in it yet, and I’m already blushing.”

You tilt your head, blinking in confusion, entirely too naïve to fully grasp her reaction.

“O-oh… that means it’s good, right?!”

Ochako lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head fondly. “Good? Y/N, you always look good. This is gonna be incredible!”

She holds up the bikini again for emphasis, her eyes flicking over the delicate fabric before meeting yours with absolute certainty.

“Seriously, you could wear a paper bag and still somehow look put together.”

Your face warms at the unexpected compliment, and you duck your head slightly, smoothing a hand over your wrist as if to distract yourself.

You don’t really think about how you look—it’s not like you go out of your way to be noticed. You just wear what you like, and what you like happens to be straight off the runway, sparkly whenever possible, and always perfectly coordinated.

But… was that really how people saw you?

“I don’t know about that…” you murmur, glancing at the bikini in her hands.

“Well, I do.” Ochako grins, nudging your arm playfully. “You’re gonna turn heads in this, I promise.”

You blink at her, lips parting slightly. Turn heads?

You’re not sure how you feel about that. Your style has always been on the extravagant side—frilly dresses, designer miniskirts, monogrammed handbags—but it’s not like it’s ever made your classmates pay much attention to you.

You’ve always just… existed in your own little world, wearing what made you happy.

Why would this be any different?

You chew on the inside of your cheek, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of the cover-up skirt. “Okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. “I’ll try it on.”

Ochako practically beams. “Yay! Oh my gosh, I’m so excited to see!” She waves her hands, backing up a little to give you space.

You gather your things and make your way to the bathroom, nerves piquing—not necessarily about the swimsuit itself, but about everyone else.

The entire class would be there, chatting, swimming, joking around. You’ve always been on the quieter side, more of an observer than an active participant.

Would Bakugou be there?

Would he talk to you at all? Probably not—he’d be with his friends...

You shake off the thought as you step into the bathroom, slipping into the bikini with practiced ease.

The silky material molds to your figure perfectly, the baby pink hue soft and delicate against your skin. The designer monogram catches the light as you adjust the straps, the matching skirt sitting just right on your hips, fluttering ever so slightly when you move.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. It’s cute—your usual style, really—so there’s nothing to feel nervous about. With that in mind, you step back into the room.

“I’m dressed,” you announce rather casually, brushing your hands down the sides of your skirt. But the moment you look at Ochako, you falter.

She’s frozen, jaw slack, eyes impossibly wide.

“…Um,” you start, confused by her reaction. “Does it look okay?”

“Y/N,” she mutters, taking two quick steps forward before placing her hands on your shoulders. The sudden contact makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“If you ever wanted to drop the whole hero dream,” she breathes, shaking her head in disbelief, “you would make an incredible model. Seriously. You look insane—in the best way.”

Your face instantly warms, heat creeping up to your ears. “Ochako…” you mumble, shifting your weight slightly, unsure of what to do with the praise. You weren’t expecting this kind of reaction.

She just beams at you, completely unbothered. “No, like, I actually feel honored to witness this. This is next-level, Y/N. You look like you belong in a magazine.”

You tug at the hem of your skirt, flustered. “thank you, you look great too” lame response really, but you're trying to match her energy!

As you fasten a delicate bracelet around your wrist, the lingering warmth of Ochako’s words settles over you like a cozy blanket. It’s… nice.

Not just the compliment—though that was sweet—but the way she talked to you. Like you were already friends. Like this was normal.

She hums happily beside you, typing away on her phone before tossing it onto the bed with a satisfied sigh. “Okay! The girls are gonna freak when they see you.”

You let out a small laugh, smoothing down your skirt. “I don’t know about that…”

“I do.” She grins, nudging you playfully before hopping to her feet. “Alright, you ready?”

You take a breath, then nod. “Yeah. Ready.”

And for the first time in a while, you really feel like you are.

As you follow Ochako out the door, the giddy warmth in your chest blooms even further. Maybe this is what it feels like to finally—finally—start making a friend.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Shut Up and Drive Chapter 1

Roy Kent x F1 Driver! F! Reader

3.4k (!!!!!!!!!!!) words

Warnings: Language, smut smut smut, oral (F receiving), Roy Kent being very horny, also I know nothing about F1

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @agentstarkid. Part one of two (maybe three??? We'll see!). Still learning to write smut sooooooo not sure how good it is?? Honestly this was the horniest writing I have ever done in my life.

Series Masterlist

Roy knew who you were. He knew exactly who you were. Unbeknownst to everyone in his life, he often watched you race on television, he scrolled through tweets about you, he even pictured you sometimes when he was pleasuring himself in the shower.

He was pretty sure he had a racing suit fetish now, thanks to you.

But fuck, you were something to see in person. Especially in what was probably the shortest, tightest dress he’d ever seen. It was borderline indecent- well, the thoughts in his head sure were. Roy Kent felt like a fucking teenager, hoping he wouldn’t get a boner in front of his friends and the press at this stupid party Keeley’d promised would be fun.

Much to Roy’s embarrassment, Keeley tugged him along to say hello with her and Rebecca. The women gave you quick, warm hugs, but your eyes were on Roy, unabashedly running your gaze down his muscular figure with a coolly raised eyebrow.

“The woman of the hour,” Rebecca praised. “Win number six on Sunday, hmm?”

“We’ll see,” you murmured, smirk on your face, the same smirk Roy’d seen dozens of times on television. The same smirk he wanted to kiss right off your face. You tilted your head at him. “Roy Kent,” you greeted, shaking his strong hand. “Didn’t know you like racing.”

Roy gave a curt nod, squeezing your hand reluctantly before letting go, trying to forget the fantasies he’d had about your hands roaming his body. “A bit,” he admitted, much to Keeley and Rebecca’s surprise. “Been following you a lot this season, actually.”

The coy smile on your lips had his head reeling. “I’m honored.”

You’d caught Roy Kent staring at you several times throughout the evening, an intense, fiery gaze that had electricity coursing through your body. You were pretty sure he was imagining what you looked like out of this dress; you knew you were wondering what his fitted suit would look like on your hotel room floor.

You chatted a bit more with the Richmond group, feeling a surge of pride when Rebecca and Keeley mentioned their idea women’s team, teasing Rebecca about how she should invest in Formula 1 instead. Eventually, Keeley got distracted by a very needy Jamie Tartt, and Rebecca saw some old friend who was dying to talk about Ruper Mannion’s losing West Ham, which left you all alone with a broodingly gorgeous Roy Kent.

“I’m glad Keeley managed to get you all out here,” you hummed. “It’s a fun weekend.”

“How d’you know Keeley again?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Did a magazine shoot together. She was supposed to be hanging seductively off these different drivers, all hot in like a bikini thing while they were in their racing suits. But when it came to me, they weren’t going to include her. But Keels, cheeky thing, insisted on posing the exact same way she had with Daniel and Lando and the rest of them.” The wink you shot Roy was nothing short of erotic. “It was pretty hot. Fucking magazine editor didn’t have the guts to run it, though. Scared little twat.”

Roy wasn’t sure if it was your vulgar vocabulary or the image of you with Keeley in some sapphic pose giving him a hardon. Probably both. Or maybe it was the undeniable bedroom eyes you were shooting him as you sipped your drink through the little black cocktail straw, reminding him of the images he’d created in the shower last night.

“I love this hotel,” you mused, interrupting Roy’s filthy thoughts. “They’re quite lovely. Always make sure my favorite things are in my room when I arrive. Sweets, alcohol, that sort of thing.” You raised your glass. “Better than the stuff they’re serving here, actually.”

Doing his best to maintain the bored face he’d perfected long ago, Roy shrugged. “D’you mind sharing?”

He had to be imagining the way you licked your lipstick-stained lips. “I love sharing.” With a boldness that had Roy biting back a groan, you took his hand and guided him through the crowd until the two of you reached the lift; he was grateful for the other people that filled the small space, forcing you to stand close to him, letting him feel the heat radiating off your exposed skin.

You led him off the elevator and to your suite, no signs of awkwardness or bashfulness as you unlocked your door and gestured for him to enter. Roy had stayed at enough hotels to know that your suite was one of the nicer ones this place had to offer; unsurprising, especially with all the attention you were getting this weekend, what with your sixth win on the horizon.

“Scotch?” you offered, holding up the bottle that Roy knew cost almost as much as some people’s rent.

“Perfect.” Roy helped you find a couple of glasses and watched as you poured each drink generously. He wondered if the small brush of your fingers against his was on purpose as you handed him his glass.

You tapped your glass to his with a clink. “Cheers.”

Roy eyed you as he sipped, his mind racing like your car as it finally dawned on him that the two of you were alone in a hotel room with nothing but alcohol and his bad intentions. And you were peering at him like something to be devoured. Fuck.

“Have a seat,” you urged, plopping yourself down on the couch with ease, crossing your legs and causing your already short dress to ride up, displaying even more of your thigh- on purpose, Roy hoped.

He joined you, doing his best to ignore the slightly ajar door that he knew led to the bedroom.

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, exposing the neck that Roy desperately wanted to mark up. “This is about the only time I’ll get to relax before Sunday,” you sighed.

“Is that your way of telling me to hurry the fuck up and finish my drink so you can be alone?” Roy joked, hoping he was wrong as he let his arm rest behind you on the couch.

“No.” You opened your bright eyes and tilted your head towards him, your lips curved upwards. “It’s my way of saying it’s nice to have some company.”

Before Roy could think of something clever to say, his mobile vibrated in his pocket. With a heaving sigh, he pulled it out and checked the incoming message: Did I see you get on the lift with one of the racers??? Fucking Jamie needed to mind his own damn business.

“That your girlfriend wondering where you’ve gone off to?” you teased.

Roy couldn’t help his eyeroll as he texted Jamie to Fuck off. “Just Jamie Tartt.”

“Boyfriend then?”

The snort that shot out of his mouth was pure reflex. “Watch it, or you’ll be finishing that bottle of scotch all on your own.”

You turned your body towards his, gazing up at him through thick lashes. “Oh no, we can’t have that.”

Roy felt less like Roy Kent, celebrity, professional footballer, dater of models and actresses, and more like a scared teenage boy hoping his first girlfriend would rub his prick through his jeans in a dark movie theatre. Unsure, embarrassed, hopeful, not a trace of confidence. He’d be annoyed at himself if he wasn’t so busy being turned on by you.

“Feel ready for Sunday?” He had to say something, literally anything, before he flat-out asked you for a shag.

A small huff passed your lips. “Mostly. Just trying to make myself relax.”

I could help with that, Roy thought devilishly, forcing himself to sip his drink so the words didn’t slip out. “How d’you usually relax before a race?”

Finally, you looked as tense as he felt. “You’ll need to get me a lot drunker before I tell you that, Roy Kent.”

Roy’s eyebrows flew up, wondering if you were implying what he thought you were implying. “Oi, I’m getting you drunk? You’re the one who invited me up here, remember?”

Your shoulders relaxed at his razzing. “I know. So forward. My mother would be fucking horrified, me having a man in my hotel room.” Your eyes travelled down his body, not an ounce of shame on your face. “Especially one that looks like you.”

Well, any shred of doubt about your intentions was certainly beginning to disappear.

“I won’t fucking tell if you don’t,” Roy quipped, his own smirk finally forming.

You wrinkled your nose playfully. “Dunno if I can trust you. How do I know you’re not going to call my mum and tell her that you were in my room at this indecent hour?”

His confidence was finally beginning to show its face. “Because then you’d call my mum to tell her I’m in your room at this indecent hour.” His eyes were practically glued to your smirk.

 “Guess it’s our little secret then,” you purred.

“If I’m keeping this secret,” Roy began, eyebrows raised teasingly, “then maybe you can trust me with telling me how you relax before a race.”

You let out a scoffing laugh, one of the sexiest sounds Roy had ever heard. “Come on, Kent. You’re a big boy. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Your light shove to his shoulder had him growing harder. “You probably do the same thing before a big match.”

Yep. You were implying what he thought you were implying.

His silence worried you for a moment. “Not scandalizing you, am I?”

“No,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along your bare thigh, watching your face carefully to make sure he was reading you correctly. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you hummed, leaning towards him.

He licked his lip and flattened his palm, covering your thigh with his rough hand. “All I can think about… is how good you’re going to taste.” His hand began traveling towards the high hem of your dress. “If you’d like help with relaxing, that is.”

You pretended that his words didn’t have your pussy pulsing. “What a gentleman,” you cooed, bringing one hand up to his bicep and giving a flirty squeeze. “I’d love some help.”

That touch and your words snapped something in Roy’s mind. He leaned forward and captured your mouth in a rough kiss, not bothering to play nice as his tongue pushed its way past your lips. His calloused fingertips dipped under your dress, squeezing the doughy flesh of your thigh, eliciting a soft groan from you.

“Don’t want to mess with your pre-race ritual,” he huffed as his lips travelled down your jaw.

You shook your head and gripped his curly hair. “That’s alright,” you muttered, craning your neck to grant him access to as much skin as possible. “Usually think about you anyways.”

He jerked his head back, eyes wide and full of wonder and lust. “Me?”

“You, Roy Kent,” you confirmed, amused by the sweet tone coming out of his already swollen lips. “What can I say? Football’s sexy.”

“Almost as sexy as racing.” With that, he gripped your hips and pulled you onto his lap; you swallowed a moan when his already considerable bulge rubbed against your clothed core.

Despite your effort to play cool, Roy knew the contact affected you. He pushed his hips up into you, savoring the groan you were unable to hold back this time. So, he jerked upwards again. And again. And again. He bounced you on his lap, getting more pleasure out of the clothed humping than any other hookup he’d ever had. Your head thrown back, eyes shut, bottom lip between your teeth- even with clothes on, you were Roy’s every fantasy come true.

But Roy Kent didn’t come to your room for a clothed fantasy.

“That dress’s been driving me mad all night,” he admitted, giving a particularly rough buck upwards. “Kind of fucked up of you to still be wearing it.”

That cocky smirk returned. “Better do something about it,” you challenged.

He reached behind your back and tugged at the zipper, roughly pulling it down. Between the two of you, he was able to remove the dress without letting you off his lap.

His hands slid down your figure, roughly gripping every inch of skin he could; you were a fucking dream, even more perfect than he’d let himself imagine. It almost hurt to look at you. It actually did kind of hurt, since his pants were painfully tight.

“Let me spoil you,” he huffed, his already firm grip on you tightening. “Let me make you feel really fucking good.”

You nodded, clearly desperate for anything Roy Kent would give you. “Bedroom.”

His arousal stronger than his shitty knees, Roy stood, holding you against himself as you wrapped your legs around him, crossing your ankles behind his back and planting sloppy kisses to his neck. He shouldered the door open and gently laid you on the bed, biting his lip as he gazed down at you, eyes already glassy and face flushed. How could someone he had such dirty thoughts about look so angelic?

He hovered over you and let his hand trail down your body at a painfully slow pace, cherishing your involuntary shiver. He began to tug at your strapless bra, looking at you playfully.

“The fuck are you doing still wearing this?” he hummed.

You sat up on your elbows and let him unhook your bra. You couldn’t resist rolling your eyes and giggling as he tossed it casually over his shoulder.

“Much better.”

Roy’s eyes widened as he let himself marvel at your breasts, groaning when he saw your nipples already beginning to swell. He raised his eyebrows at you, even more turned on when he saw the eager expression on your face. He kept his eyes on yours as he lowered his face to your chest, giving a kitten lick to your nipple. The sigh you let out encouraged him to begin his rough assault on your breasts: biting, licking, sucking. As he swirled your nipple with his tongue, you began bucking up towards him, desperate to feel that friction again.

“Is someone needy?” he teased, winking at you.

“Thought you wanted to help me relax,” you huffed, tangling your hands in his hair.

He removed his face from your breast, resting his chin between them; his soft expression clashed with the hardness you felt below his waist. “This isn’t relaxing?” he crooned.

You stroked the soft hair between your fingers. “I just need some attention somewhere else.” You took one of his hands in yours and guided it down your body towards your panties, a little lacy pair that had Roy melting when his fingers grazed the already soaking material.

Fuck. Roy’d never been with a woman so fucking direct with what she wanted. It was so damn sexy; if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up falling in love with you by the end of the night.

“Silly thing’s in my way,” he mumbled, tugging down the material. He sat up so he could slide them down your legs, his mouth following his hands and pressing kisses to your skin. With your panties out of the way, he gazed up at your core. “Fuck,” he breathed, for once feeling like his favorite word wasn’t strong enough.

He brought his face between your legs, mesmerized by the sight before him.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he cooed, his hot breath making you squirm. He tore his gaze from your pussy to look into your eyes. “Let me have a taste.”

His voice was wrecked, begging. His eyes were wild with desire and hunger. You’d never seen a man look so desperate before; the sight had you spreading your legs for him.

“Always wanted to know what that dirty mouth of yours could do.”

In an instant, his mouth was on your sex, a moan immediately escaping him and vibrating against you. You threw your head back, one hand tangling in his hair while the other came up to grab your breast. You groped yourself, feeling like you’d float away if you didn’t grab tight to something.

Roy was relentless. His tongue flicked your clit, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body with each rough stroke. His stubble rubbed against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs; you knew the spot would be completely red in the morning, but right now the harsh scratching only added to your pleasure.

His hands gripped your thighs, forcing your legs further apart to give himself deeper access. When his tongue moved away from your clit, you gave a high-pitched whine, not caring if you sounded needy. If anything, it only turned Roy on even more. Your whine turned to a moan when his tongue began lapping at your wetness, devouring you like you were his last meal.

The sounds that filled your hotel room were lewd. His moaning against your core, you beginning to chant his name desperately, and the obscene wet sounds of his tongue exploring your cunt. When his tongue dipped inside your warmth, you saw stars. He swirled his tongue, trying to reach as deep as he could, unable to believe that any part of his body was inside you.

He felt so fucking dirty, eating you out while keeping his own clothes on. He’d never done that before; normally, his clothes would be long gone by now. But, maybe for the first time ever, he didn’t give a shit about his own pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to worship at the altar of your hips, giving you everything he could and lapping up everything you offered him. Right now, in this hotel room, on this bed, Roy Kent existed for the sole purpose of chasing your high.

He was needy, desperate, rutting his hips into the mattress as his tongue continued to explore you. He returned to your throbbing clit and began sucking on it, spurred on by the way you roughly pulled his hair. Your back arched off the bed, as if you were possessed by Roy’s devilish tongue. You sure as hell felt like you were.

“You taste beautiful,” he groaned against your heat. “Want to fucking taste you forever.”

“I’d let you,” you managed to gasp, feeling like something in you was about ready to snap.

Roy chuckled darkly against your sex. “If you’re still talking in complete sentences, I’m not doing my fucking job.”

With that, he dove back in, his mouth brutal and merciless, almost mean in its attack on your sensitive bundle of nerves. He felt a surge of pride as your moans became more ragged, your tugs at his hair became erratic, and your legs began to squeeze the sides of his head.

“Fuck, Roy,” you cried, your eyes suddenly as wet as your core. “Gonna- gonna-”

You didn’t need to say it. Roy felt the throbbing of your clit, his cue to return to your cunt to lap up your juices; some perverse part of him wanted to bottle the stuff and drink nothing else for the rest of his life. Instead, he ravished you, not caring that your body began to writhe from the overstimulation; he wasn’t going to waste a single exquisite drop. Your vision went white, and you swore you were going to pass out. Fuck, if you died right now- which felt like a very real possibility- you weren’t sure where you’d go, because heaven was Roy Kent’s tongue.

Satisfied that he’d gotten every last bit that you’d dripped out, Roy lifted his head to look at you, his ragged breathing filling the now quiet room. His beard was soaked, practically dripping with your wetness. His wild eyes bore into yours as he crawled up your body, hands gripping the sheets as he hovered above you. Without a word, he captured your lips in a deep, fervid kiss, sharing your delicious taste with you.

Finally coming back down to earth, you tugged at the collar of his shirt, a teasing smile forming on your glistening lips. “How the fuck do you still have clothes on?” Roy had thought you moaning his name was his new favorite sound; instead, he now knew that it was your breathless, post-orgasm voice.

“Wanted to focus on you,” he answered, giving your nose a tender kiss.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Roy Kent. Absolute gentleman in bed. I’ll make sure to write that on the stall in the ladies’ room.” You ground your hips into his, relishing the knowledge that you were leaving a wet stain on his trousers. “Should we fix your clothing situation then?”

To your absolute shock, Roy shook his head. “This was for you to relax before the race, remember?” His tender expression gave way to a look you could only describe as sinful. “You can take my pants off after you win on Sunday.”

[a-totally-reasonable-username]

When i was in high school (one of the many schools i've been to) i had the worst luck with the class teacher. He was terrible.

We were assigned a book to read and discuss and all the usual stuff. The problem was that he was a big fan of that book and would not listen to any criticism. It wasn't a classic or on the curriculum, he chose it. It was severely racist, ableist, homophobic, sexist and misogynistic. It wasn't talking about any of those themes, it was just that the narrative and the main character were hugely discriminatory because the author was a bigot. The main character was a teenager by a guy that hated kids and teens and used the character to say "see this is why teenagers are the worst and horrible and disgusting"

I hated the book. I hated my teacher more. Now this was an old cis straight white guy. (Yes i do know all of these for a fact) that got paid for teaching teenagers. When presented with a non white female student critiquing his favourite book and saying it was racist, he proceeded to have screaming matches. He'd just. Scream and yell. Sometimes for the entire class. Then he'd blame the wasted time on me.

The only reason he was a teacher was because he liked having complete authority. He did not appreciate me questioning that. I tried to explain to the other students why i couldn't just let it go and do what he wanted to get it all over with, but except for three of my friends, they didn't get it. They didn't care.

For me it wasn't just about the book. The point where I decided I was not going to let anything go, was when this man tried to tell me i couldn't wear a hat in class. It sounds stupid, right? Everyone else thought so. But i grew up listening to stories of my grandparents. They're post war gen. They had nazis for teachers. They actively fought against having nazis for teachers. My grandmother was the first girl here to wear pants to school. If my grandma could break dress code like that in the fifties, i was not going to follow the whims of a teacher with no true power. Not in a time when dress codes don't even exist anymore.

In the end i left that school. That teacher had spent many hours screaming at me over the course of weeks. He actively lied to the principal, the workers at the boarding part of the school and fucking cps. He purposely failed me and destroyed my belongings so that i couldn't prove he had failed me unfairly.

I still have a friend at that school and a year after i left she told me all the parents got involved very suddenly after he had used the n-word in class. We live in germany. Hate speech laws are very much a thing here. And there were two dozen witnesses. None of those same witnesses believed me a year earlier.

I don't know if there's a point to this story, but if you see discrimination, don't ignore it just because "it's not that bad". If you let it go it'll just get worse. Authoritarian behaviour isn't unquestionable just because the person is considered to be an authority figure by society. School rules do not supersede laws. Fight back. Don't take it lying down just because it's easier.

[greenlegsandspam]

The Mistletoe Scheme

Jungsu x reader

Warnings: a kiss, a tiny bit of jealousy, fluff

Word count: 2.4 k

Author's note: This is my first fic, so I'm sorry if it's not very good! I just think my boys (Xdinary Heroes) deserve more love on this platform so I'd like to start writing about them.

“Would it be weird to hang a mistletoe?” Your roommate, Chaewon, asks you. 

You’re setting up your shared apartment for a Christmas party you’re hosting later this evening. It became the norm for you two to host holiday events for your group of friends since your apartment is the largest and parties don’t disturb your neighbors. It’s also a way for you to feel a bit less homesick; your family back home too far away from you to spend time with you during the holidays. It’s not like you don’t want to make the trip, but your family is adamant you only spend the money to see them once a year, and that always falls on your father’s birthday. 

You’re currently laying out a Christmas themed charcuterie board you made that you stole from Pinterest. “I don’t think so,” you reply, lining the cheese up in a neat little line, “It’s not like anyone will actually pay attention to it unless Gunil is points it out, because you know he will.”

“Hey, you leave my boyfriend alone!”

You also invited more than just your friend group this year; some of your coworkers are joining for the festivities. Because of this, you also split up Secret Santa, so those who don’t know each other won’t have to get gifts for people they don’t know. 

For your friends, you pulled Hyeongjun out of the hat, and got him a very cozy looking sweater that you know he’ll love. For your coworkers, you pulled Felix, and you got him a new game for his console.

Chaewon hangs the mistletoe right above the entryway to the kitchen, figuring that was as good of a place as any, “I’ll try to steer Jungsu over here for you so you can finally confess,” she winks and you roll your eyes.

You have been friends with the six boys for years now, but recently you’ve developed a bit of a crush on the stronger of the bunch. Even though you’ve known each other for years, the revelation hit you like a truck a few months ago; you like Jungsu.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chae, he wouldn’t want to kiss me anyway.”

Your roommate jumps down from the stool and it’s her turn to roll her eyes, “Oh please, the boy looks at you like he’d give you the universe.”

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re oblivious!”

You’ve had this argument a few times, never believing your friend when she tells you that Jungsu likes you back. Why would he? He’s the sweetest, most caring person you’ve ever met, it’s only fitting that you’d develop feelings for him.

Which is exactly why you don’t believe her. If he’s liked you for as long as she says, why haven’t you noticed?

You look at your watch and back at your friend, “Come on, people will start arriving soon and we haven’t even put on our sweaters yet.”

—————————————————————

Two hours later, the party is in full swing, all of your guests mingling around, your coworkers and friends getting along very well just as you’d predicted. The Christmas tree lined with dozens of presents under its’ branches waiting to be opened. You’ve been bouncing around to everyone, trying to make sure you’re a welcoming host. 

You’ve glanced over at Jungsu more times than you’d like to admit. He’s been talking to Jiseok for awhile, animatedly telling a story you can’t hear. 

You try not to stare, trying to focus on the conversation with Yunjin, but his bright smile and his blinking excitement is too hard to tear your eyes away from. You shake your head, taking a sip of eggnog to refocus yourself.

Little did you know that Jungsu has been having the same difficulties as you.

Chaewon was completely right; he may have never stated it outwardly but Jungsu has been harboring a crush on you for a very long time. Not exactly since the start of your friend group forming, but pretty close. He admires the way you make time for everyone, making sure not to give half-hearted greetings and to give exceptional attention to everyone you speak with.

All of your friends are aware of his crush; it’s kind of hard not to notice his lovestruck eyes every time he sees you. The only person who’s blissfully unaware is the person of his affection; yourself. 

He sees you moving toward the snack table and quickly decides to join you, not having spoken to you yet.

You’ve decided you needed another glass of eggnog, wondering if you should’ve just spiked the bowl instead of leaving it nonalcoholic. Then maybe you could have the courage to confess just like Chaewon was trying to get you to.

“Is there something wrong with the eggnog?” You hear next to you, and repress the shiver you feel from the familiar voice.

You look over at Jungsu, confused, “What?”

He gives you a soft smile in return, gesturing toward the bowl, “You’ve just been staring at it for awhile.”

Your face starts to heat up, realizing you’ve been daydreaming about the confession you’ll never make, “Oh, uh I guess I was just lost in my head for a moment,” you return his shy smile, refilling your glass as you originally intended. 

Even though your massive crush on him should make it hard to talk to him, it’s always been smooth conversation between the two of you. You guys talk for awhile next to the snack table, both forgetting about the party around them for a moment. Gunil and Chaewon exchange knowing glances at each other, observing how completely engrossed you both are in your conversation. Gunil takes his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture of you two, adding it to his photo album, “Two idiots in love”.

Chaewon chuckled at her boyfriend, “You know, one day they’re going to discover that little album of yours and go ballistic.”

Gunil shrugged with a smirk and Chaewon clapped her hands, announcing to the group, “Alright everyone! Time for Secret Santa. Y/n and I will hand out everyone’s gifts and we’ll open each one one by one.”

You smile at Jungsu, saddened that your conversation is ended so soon (even though it was really at least half an hour long), and go over to the tree with Chaewon, handing out the gifts. You and Chaewon decided not to put your names in the coworker pot so you two don’t get double the gifts, just to make it fair for everyone. Everyone gathers in the living room, and you both hand everyone their gifts before everyone settles down to start.

Chan got a loverboy hat from Kim Seungmin, Chaewon got Yunjin a new eyeshadow palette, and the gifts go on. Hyeongjun smiled brightly at his gift from you and you beamed, him easily guessing the gift was from you because of it. 

Felix excitedly told everyone how badly he wanted the game you got him since it released, and he guessed it was from Chan but when he found out it was you, he ran and jumped on you, giving you a big bear hug that you couldn’t help but laugh at. 

Jungsu silently stewed over the interaction. He knew you were close to your coworkers, but he didn’t think you were that close. He watched as Felix talked your ear off about the lore of the game, staying too close next to you for Jungsu’s comfort. 

Jiseok was next to his friend, watching him get jealous over the interaction between you and Felix. Jiseok smirked and nudged his shoulder, “You know,” he whispered, “If you just confessed, that could be you over there.”

Jungsu shoved his friend, tipping him over while Jiseok just laughs, knowing that he hit a bit of a nerve. Jungsu fiddled with the scarf he got from Kazuha, not wanting to watch you two any longer. 

“Y/n, it’s your turn,” You look up, noticing Oh Seungmin already opened his gift to your left. You smile at the gift in your lap, a small box wrapped with a bow. You take off the bow and rip off the wrapping paper, and take off the lid of the box. A small gasp leaves your lips, and you gently reach into the box. In it, a beautiful silver locket, the pendant shaped like a small vintage portrait broach. You open a locket to see small photos of your family on the inside. 

Your eyes start to water, missing your family but also feeling so loved from the gift in your hands. You look up, trying to find the eyes of whoever gave you the gift, but nobody seems to want to fess up. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly to no one, eyes back on the locket, tracing the edges with your fingertips. The rest of the party moves on to the next person, Eunchae, opening her gift, but you keep your focus on the locket. 

The rest of Secret Santa goes well, and you continue the party afterwards. You sit on your bay window cushion, with Felix next to you talking about his holiday plans, while you still stare at your locket. Whoever gave the necklace to you really knew you well, the face of the necklace being something you’ve always admired. Having pictures of your family as well, someone must’ve consulted Chaewon to get those. Maybe you should ask her about it.

Felix looks at you quizzically, noticing how you haven’t been as interactive during your conversation, “Y/n?”

You look up at him, guilt running across your features, “Oh, Felix I’m sorry, I haven’t been the greatest listener, huh?”

He just laughs at you, patting you on the shoulder, “You do seem a bit distracted. You know, I bet you’re hoping a certain someone gave you the necklace,” he whispers, wiggling his eyebrows.

You blush, looking back at the locket. Felix knows all about your crush on Jungsu, even though he just met the man tonight, he’s heard the name ‘Jungsu’ come from your lips more times than he can count. Even before you realized your crush. 

Jungsu sees you blushing with Felix and a frown adorns his face. He wants to be the reason you’re blushing right now, but he can’t work up the nerve to do anything about it. Oh Seungmin, Jiseok and Gunil are all around him, just telling him to go talk to you. He only finally does after seeing Felix touch your shoulder again, taking long strides over to you. 

Jungsu clears his throat, and you and Felix snap your heads toward him, “Um, do you mind if I talk to Y/n for a minute?”

You look at Felix and he gives you a wink, standing up, “No problem man, I’ll go get some cookies,” and Felix heads off. 

Jungsu takes his place, a bit of an awkward air around the two of you as you fiddle with the necklace in your hands. You both stay quiet for a beat, before Jungsu clears his throat again, “Do you like it?”

He gestures toward the necklace and you smile, nodding at him, “Very much so.”

He lets out a breath of air, like he was holding it in, “Good, good, it was hard to find.”

Your eyes go wide and you realize that Jungsu was your secret Santa, “You got this for me?”

He nods his head shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. Your face heats up a bit, your smile widening, “I love it, really I do.”

Jungsu gently takes the necklace from your hands, lifting it up, “May I?” he asks, offering to put it on you. You nod again, turning around for him to put it on you easier. His fingers brush against your neck as he brings it around, clasping it at the back. If you weren’t already blushing before, you definitely were now. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, turning back around towards the man next to you. You two lock eyes, blushes on both of your faces and you don’t tear your eyes away from each other for a minute. That is, until you hear Gunil shout your name, and when you look at him, he’s pointing above you. 

You and Jungsu both look up, a mistletoe directly above the two of you. When the hell did that get there? Your eyes shoot lasers in Chaewon’s direction, and she puts her hands up in surrender, “Hey, did you really expect me to only hang one?”

Your eyes find Jungsu’s again, and you notice a bright red on his ears.

“I’m gonna kill her,” You mumble, and Jungsu awkwardly giggles at your tone. 

“C’mon, kiss!” Gunil shouts, causing everyone around to laugh.

“We don’t have to,” you whisper, not wanting Jungsu to feel pressured into anything he doesn’t want to do. 

Jungs licks his lips, his eyes looking anywhere but at you, “I mean, it’s not how I pictured our first kiss going… but I’m not opposed.”

“Pictured…? You’ve thought of kissing me before?” You’re not sure what to do, but you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

His cheeks get brighter, and he finally looks at you, “Ah, yeah… Sorry. I’ve kind of had a crush on you for a while…”

Before your brain can even react, you reach toward his face and pull him toward you, lips meeting for the first time in a passionate kiss. Cheers erupt around you, even someone shouting “Finally!” But all you can focus on is the soft lips on yours.

You break apart, too quickly for your liking, and you give a wide smile, “I’ve kind of had a crush on you for awhile too.”

There’s nothing more beautiful than the smile on Jungsu’s face, and you both laugh, a mix of disbelief at your mutual oblivion and embarrassment from the publicity of your first kiss. Your hands find each others, both giddy your feelings are returned. 

“Isn’t this where you’re supposed to ask me on a date now?” you ask mischeviously.

Jungsu laughs some more, “Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow night?” He asks you, that beautiful smile seemingly permanently fixed on his face. 

You kiss his cheek, matching his smile with your own, “I though you’d never ask.”

Gunil and Chaewon give each other a high five, happy that their little mistletoe scheme actually worked. Unbeknownst to you, Chaewon has a pocket full of mistletoes, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to arise, and boy did it. Gunil reaches for his phone to take another picture of you two, only to discover it’s not in his pocket. He finds out really quickly where it is, however, as he hears Jungsu shout, “Gunil, I’m going to kill you!”

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

I hope it was okay enough to read for the holidays!

If anyone wants to know what the necklace would look like, I was inspired by this. Thank you for reading!

[indigowallbreaker]

Finished a book and need to unload thoughts

Just finished a book where I could NOT stand the writing style x_x I thought maybe it's because the book is actually the 4th in a series-- I got it as a gift and didn't realize until I started reading-- but I wasn't lost at all in terms of characters or setting. It's the way the author wrote that made me roll my eyes every other page. Maybe cozy mysteries just aren't for me?

The things I can't stand in fiction are 1) the narration/author feeling the need to hold our hand instead of just letting us figure things out (telling instead of showing, essentially); 2) needless repeation; and 3) all the main characters are perfect people and the author goes out of their way to make SURE you know that. Let me use this book as an example:

1) ["I hope the issues your company faces are resolved to everyone's benefit. And by everyone, I mean your family, the farmers, and the customers," Jane said. This was her way of expressing sympathy for the Sullivans while making it plain that she believed it wrong for consumers to be exposed to harmful chemicals in products claiming to be organic.]

There's a dozen other ways the author could have expressed what Jane was getting at without hitting readers over the head. Maybe pair it with a meaningful look at the Sullivans, or "she stressed the last word and was satisfied when the Sullivans looked appropriately sheepish". This is one of the many instances where I found myself saying "I GET IT" out loud. Tying into point 3 a bit, you don't have to TELL me the main character dislikes chemicals in food since she's been portrayed as a saint this whole time, but thanks so much for the reminder.

2) [Only Eloise remained quiet, staring at Jane with a mixture of surprise and confusion. And why wouldn't she? Jane thought. My sons were just abducted. Here I am, hours later, talking about leaving them.

"Why do you need to go away now? So soon, after everything that's happened?" Eloise asked after the rest of the women had fallen silent.]

The input from Jane, our main character, is totally unnecessary here. "I know she's confused" followed by "I'm confused!" is absolutely annoying. In cartoons or comedies, something like that can be played for humor, sure. "Eloise isn't going to like this!" *smash cut to Eloise's house* "I don't like this!". But in drama it's just irksome. If the author is trying to demonstrate how well Jane knows her friend Eloise, there's other, more compelling ways to do so than just telling us what Eloise is about to say and then having her say it almost virbatum. "Jane had been expecting Eloise's outburst" or "Only Eloise remained quiet, staring at Jane with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Jane knew exactly what was going through her mind and turned to her best friend ready to receive the question she was sure to ask."

If the author was trying to guess what we the readers were thinking and trying to address our own potential confusion, then it was a completely pointless gesture. This scene is at the very end of the book-- you've built a bit of trust with me; I already assume Jane has her reasons.

3) [Anna stared at it for several seconds before saying, "I didn't ring him up. I'd remember his face if I had. He looks like a badger." She quickly glanced at her friends. "That's not a criticism. I like badgers."

"It's okay, Anna, I thought the same thing when I first saw him," Jane said.]

This is (to all but Jane) a random person no one in the room is going to see again! It's not someone's relative or boyfriend or child-- in fact it's someone suspected of murder! There's no reason Anna has to back pedal on her description, especially since she only likened the guy to an animal. It's not like she said "He looks like a horrifying snot monster" or something. But gods forbid the author portray the good guys as people who make passing comments about strangers. Quick, make sure the reader knows Anna wasn't being mean! She likes badgers! It's a compliment! Such scenes make me roll my eyes. Anna calling the suspect a badger just makes it easier for me, the reader, to picture him. No need to attach an apology.

At first I thought the writing rubbed me the wrong way because the vibe is more like a TV show, if that makes sense? Some things the characters do or say would work well in a visual medium but are clunky written out. Like the amount of times Jane says things aloud for dramatic effect that totally could have been thoughts. I thought maybe I was just being judgemental.

But then the above points kept happening over and over AND OVER. It's been a long time since I skim-read a book but I wanted to skip all the fluff and just skip to how the mystery ended.

I'm not saying this is a horrible book or the author is a bad writer. As I said at the top, it's the 4th book in a series. Maybe it's more of a character driven series and I would have enjoyed it more if I knew the characters better. Maybe this is a low point in the series and I just entered at a bad time. This book ends on a bit of a cliffhanger so it's possible the author was trying something new and this isn't typically how they write.

Mostly I'm picking on it because it's a prime example of the things I dislike reading in fiction. It's a fantastic one-stop-shop for textual examples I can point at to explain my preferences. It also got me fired up about a book (albeit with negative feelings) which hasn't happened in a while, and confirmed that this genre isn't for me. And for that I thank it.

On to the next book in the pile.

[verity-if]

You’re next…

It was among a thousand other comments— you had only seen it briefly in passing— but you couldn’t help the chill that wracked your spine because of it. Even through the screen you could feel the malicious air exuding from those words. The omniscient air clogging your lungs as you try to fight through the emotions that rise because of the message.

You’re able to shake it off after a few moments— people on the internet are weird after all— and get back to doing your daily routine. Your attention shifting to other things; causing the message to be forgotten.

That is until a sharp rapping on your door awakens you at close to midnight; your bleary eyes barely taking in the flashing of a badge before you’re asking to come with them. Your ears barely being able to comprehend what it was they were hearing.

You were being targeted by a person that had already killed a dozen other people— all of them holding some presence online— and nothing would stop them from getting to their thirteenth; to you.

Will you be able to survive long enough to see the victims before you get justice? Or will you just be another number on a list that wasn’t able to be saved?

DEMO (TBA) || RO APPEARANCES

Features

This story is 18+ for depictions of murder, violence, gore, sexual themes, profanity, and alcohol use. The demo will be added at a later date.

Customizable MC: name, nickname, username, appearance, gender, sexuality, and a smattering of vices/hobbies.

Choose what type of videos your MC has posted to get so popular: gaming, commentary, home health, cooking, etc.

Always be mindful that someone is out to get you but don’t forget how to live too. You don’t want them to win before they ever get to you.

Fall in love, or back in love, with 1 of the 5 romance options.

Figure out who could be trying to kill you— was your last video really that bad?

Figure out if the people in your life are truly who they say they are.

And, most importantly, figure out your connection with the twelve victims before you.

Damien/Diana Carrington 28, [M/F]

-The Roommate-

One of your roommates— the one that actually owns the house you’re living in— who doesn’t really interact with you all that much. Aloof to everyone but their cat, D makes it a point to stay within their room— more than likely sleeping through the day— before disappearing to their job at random hours; not that they needed to work. Being part of one of the richest families in America.

However, with everything that’s happening with you, you’re about to see a side of D that you’ve never even thought possible.

Gray/Grace Anders 27, [M/F]

-The Best Friend-

Your second roommate, and the one you were closest to, who also happens to be your best friend since childhood. With a sunny smile, compassionate demeanor, and giving spirit; you don’t know what you’d do without them by your side. Having them in the house brings a lot of cheer— plus their homemade meals— that you’ll desperately need in the coming weeks.

Will things transition into something more? Or will they stay the same?

Ethan/Emily Ward 32, [M/F]

-The Ex-Con-

The suave, and slightly egocentric, ex criminal that has agreed to help the police with the investigation— sort of like Silence of the Lambs— as they have the skills, and the connections, to help with the investigation; while the authorities have the capacity to give them a get out of jail free card for good behavior.

Will you fall under their silken words? Helping them turn over a new leaf? Or will everything be left to the unknown?

Oliver/Olivia Deveraux 31, [M/F]

-The Detective-

The lead investigator sent to protect you— as the FBI try other angles— with a cool demeanor that tells you of someone that’s seen too much. Will they let you get closer? Or will they push you away like they have everyone else in their life? Will you be their saving grace, like they’ll be to you, or will they be left to drown within themselves?

Will you see through their mask?

Fallon Beckett 29, [M/F]

-The Ex-

The person you thought you were going to marry; spend the rest of your life but misunderstandings broke the two of your apart. Someone who you used to share a bed with, who used to hold your heart and you theirs, becoming nothing but a stranger to you. So, you were surprised when you opened your door and they were standing on the other side. The same soulful gaze, the one you had fallen in love with, being right in front of you once more.

Will you forget your past to set your sights on a brighter future? Or will you always be stuck on that night everything ended?

[musical-shit-show]

waste my time

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: Prompts #29 (you know this means nothing, right?) and #62 (enjoying the view?) from Prompt List #2

Warnings: cursing, drinking, mild drug use (marijuana), anxiety, depression, Dewey is a little bit of an asshole if you squint, light angst, a touch of fluff

Word Count: 3,745

Author’s Note: Okay this turned out a bit longer than I anticipated, but I’m really starting to like writing for Dewey. I suppose this is set before the events of SoR, but whatever…my one shot, my rules. If enough people ask (or if I get a jolt of inspiration) I might write a sequel. As always, please check out my full masterlist, about me page, and prompt lists! And if you have a request, please send one to my ask box! And of course, like, comment, and reblog if you enjoy! Thanks for reading :)

“Can we please leave now?”

“You know, you could try and have fun at one of these things for once,” your best friend Patty scoffed at you, “Even I’m having a good time. That’s how I know you’re being a stick in the mud.” You chuckled humorlessly as she handed you a beer.

The music was thumping so hard you could barely hear yourself think. Quickly, you took a sip of the cheap brew. How you had been roped into attending a Halloween party where you knew barely anyone, you’ll never know. Patty always had a way of dragging you to social events, because, well, her boyfriend Ned also had a way of dragging her to social events. Except now, you seemed to be the only one who was miserable out of the dozens of increasingly drunk twenty-somethings.

So, there you were, only having been in attendance for little more than a half hour and already eager to leave. Not only were you growing more and more claustrophobic as party goers crammed themselves into the seemingly ever-shrinking Brooklyn apartment, but you were also dreading the arrival of a certain wannabe rock star.

“He’s not here yet,” Patty said, catching you eye the front door, “Thankfully.” You didn’t know how it was possible, but you found Dewey Finn even more infuriating than Patty did, and she was the one who had to deal with his constant freeloading and loud scream-singing.

It wasn’t that you thought he was a bad person, per se. But he made it very clear that he did not give a shit about anyone but himself, and you couldn’t stand that. And what pissed you off even more is that he seemingly managed to make everyone like him, despite his utterly selfish ways.

It was at that moment that there was a cheer near the entrance of the apartment, and you rolled your eyes into the stratosphere; Dewey had just arrived, hoisting a keg the size of a small toddler into the crowd, stupid grin plastered on his face.

As he made his way to the kitchen, you could see that he was wearing tight black jeans with a matching black button-down shirt that was rolled at the sleeves, and a red tie. His hair was unkempt, as usual, and he was also sporting a thick ring of eyeliner around his top and bottom lash lines. ‘Oh, right,’ you thought, ‘Ned had mentioned something about him coming as Billy Joe Armstrong. Figures.’

For as long as you’ve known him, Dewey wanted to be a professional musician and performer. And he was actually pretty talented; the only problem was that he could never stay in a band long enough to make a decent amount of money.

“Hey, Dew!” Ned called happily, waving to his best friend who was emerging from the tiny kitchen area like a god among men. He and Patty had decided on a couple’s costume, Fred and Daphne from Scooby-Doo. Unoriginal, but you had opted for Wednesday Addams, so you couldn’t really judge. Even holidays like Halloween brought you little joy these days.

Patty took another swig of her beer, and you surmised that it would be the first of many if she was supposed to put up with Dewey all night. As he neared, you got a better look at him. More specifically, you couldn’t help but take note at how well that eyeliner suited him. It gave his typically dopey face a little bit of edge.

“Enjoying the view?” you heard him say over the blaring music, a small, impish smile spreading across his face. Shit. He had obviously noticed your staring. You thanked the powers that be that the lights were low; the last thing you needed was for him, Ned, and Patty to catch your face reddening in embarrassment.

Instead, you clenched your jaw, instantly tensing your muscles. “Nope, I was just thinking about how if your music career never takes off, you can always work at CVS recommending makeup products to emo teens.” Patty snorted into her bottle, amused. She loved it when you exchanged verbal blows with Dewey; when she did it, it always ended in an argument between her and Ned. This way, she could just watch and relish in your takedown.

However, Dewey seemed unfazed on this particular evening. “You’d know about emo teens in that getup, huh?” his tone playful yet not without bite, “That eyeliner looks almost as black as your soul.” You couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. If he didn’t make you want to tear your hair out, you’d be almost impressed with his little comeback.

“Alright, enough you two,” Ned said as you continued to stare daggers into Dewey’s eyes while his continued to mock, “I’m going to get a drink. Dew, could you uh, help me with the keg?”

“Of course, oh best friend of mine,” Dewey replied, straightening his tie and winking at you and Patty, “Enjoy the party, ladies. I’d love to see you two let loose for once.” Ned practically pulled Dewey’s arm out of the socket towards the kitchen, not in the mood for a spat to break out.

“In your dreams, Finn!” you called in their direction, feeling your temperature rise even further. Your night was already going about as well as you had imagined, you didn’t need Dewey Finn tormenting you with his antics any more than you needed a hot sauce enema.

Patty let out a dry laugh and grabbed another beer from the cooler that sat next to the torn-up couch, “Wanna get drunk?” Your mouth twitched upwards.

“Very.”

*

The alcohol was not working. Why wasn’t it working? You felt mildly tipsy, yes, but it wasn’t enough to stop the familiar tightening feeling of dread that was firmly present in your chest and quickly spreading throughout your body.

You soon found yourself in a bedroom, whose you weren’t sure. You didn’t care. You just needed to get away from everyone. Luckily, it wasn’t difficult. Patty was doing shots with Ned and some of their other friends, and it was almost too easy to tell her you needed some air and could fend for yourself. The truth was, you were so overwhelmed, by both the party and, well, everything else.

Work had been kicking your ass, your love life was in the toilet, and you still felt like you didn’t belong in the city. You could feel hot tears welling behind your eyes, allowing a few to spill onto your black skirt. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head towards the ceiling. The last thing you wanted was to fuck up your makeup and ruin your night even further.

Suddenly, your panic attack was interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open. You have got to be shitting me, you thought sourly as Dewey stood in the frame, looking even more disheveled than usual. The faint smell of hops wafted in your direction, and you prayed he wasn’t totally fucked up; Drunk Dewey was even less pleasant to be around than his sober counterpart.

He looked at you, then the pile of coats that adorned most of the bed, and then frowned. “Goddamn it, you didn’t happen to see a black and white guitar pick anywhere, would you?” he ran a hand through his messy brown hair. You shook your head, attempting to steady your breathing. Screw your makeup, the actual last thing you wanted was for Dewey Finn to catch you in a moment of weakness.

Luckily, he seemed too caught up in his guitar pick crisis to notice. “Can’t you just get another one?” you asked, your voice faltering ever so slightly. Dewey pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by your seemingly harmless question.

“Another one?” he repeated, exasperated, “No, you don’t understand, it’s Van Halen’s pick. The pick he used while recording and on tour, it’s one of my most prized possessions.” He started haphazardly throwing coats onto the carpeted floor, scanning the comforter for his precious souvenir. You quickly decided he wasn’t as drunk as you first thought, given that he seemed to have all of his wits about him. And, if he was sloshed, he was certainly holding himself together much better than he usually did.

“And why exactly did you bring it here?”

“I had a gig tonight and I was nervous. That pick always gives me good luck, okay?”

That was almost…sweet. You had never thought Dewey Finn of all people would need help performing in front of a crowd. “Okay,” you finally said, throwing your feet off the bed, letting them dangle for a few seconds.

“Look, I know you hate me and everything but—”

“I’ll help you look,” you cut him off, standing up. For once, he wasn’t be a total douche, and you felt a little bad for him. Even if it was over a guitar pick.

The two of you scoured the room, throwing the remaining coats aside. Finally, Dewey found the pick buried deep in his own coat pocket, which ended up irritating you only slightly.

“Uh, thanks,” he said sheepishly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, “For helping me look.”

“Don’t mention it,” you said, deadpanned, “Seriously. Don’t.” He couldn’t tell if you were kidding. Neither could you.

“Wanna go out onto the fire escape, ya know, for some air?” he asked, gesturing to the window facing the still busy city street, “That is, if you don’t want to push me to my untimely demise.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” you say with a smirk, “But sure. Why not.”

The two of you crept out onto the fire escape gingerly, the air shocking your senses despite your tipsiness. However, it doesn’t do much to quell your anxiety.

“You really don’t like this shit, do you?” Dewey said, taking a gulp from his beer after scanning your demeanor.

“That obvious, huh?” you said dryly. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I…used to. I’m trying to again. It’s just…weird right now, I don’t know. I feel like I’m not myself here.” You turned from him, embarrassed, as you hugged your arms to guard you from the chill. It actually helped, or at the very least you convinced yourself that it did.

Dewey frowned. “Well, that’s no good.” He held his bottle over the railing precariously, watching it dangle five stories above the ground. “But hey, maybe when you get back to being yourself, you’ll finally see how awesome I am.”

You turned to face him, and punched him lightly on the shoulder in retaliation. He barked a laugh, and felt your guard falling. Maybe he wasn’t as terrible as you thought. And you were a little drunk. And he was also a little drunk. And you felt the sudden urge to kiss him.

You shook your head, ignoring the thought. But the way he was looking at you made your stomach do a somersault. It was a mix of morbid curiosity and genuine concern with a just a dash of flirty energy. A dangerous cocktail, really. Luckily, Dewey spoke again before you could do something you’d regret.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, bracing himself for a verbal assault, “but uh, every time I see you, you just seem so fuckin’ stressed. Have you tried, I don’t know, relaxing?”

You scoffed. Of course that would be his suggestion. He made everything sound so easy, didn’t he? “No, that never crossed my mind, Finn. How astute.” He shook his head, raising his arms in mock surrender. After so many spars over the years, you had never seen him give up on an opportunity to criticize you so quickly. You couldn’t help but grow a little suspicious.

“Hey, I said it earlier but I really think you’d benefit from letting loose a little, ya know?”

“And how do you suppose I do that?” you asked, your tone coming out more frustrated than you intended, “I’ve tried everything.”

A wicked smile spread across his face, “Well, not to be too obvious, but have you ever tried smoking?” He produced a small joint from his pocket, along with a black lighter decorated with red and orange flames.

You nodded your head, looking unenthused. “Tried it with Patty once in college. Didn’t work.” And it was true. Despite smoking what you considered far too much weed, you barely felt a thing aside from a slight bout of the munchies. What you thought would quell your nervousness only ended up resulting in a stomach ache.

“I doubt Patty had anything of substance,” he remarked, a smirk dancing on his lips, “I’m pretty sure a horse tranquilizer wouldn’t be able to mellow that woman out.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile. You usually found Dewey’s humor irritating, but you kept wondering if that was your own bias. Maybe you were just searching for reasons to despise him.

Still, you couldn’t trust yourself, not with the night you’d been having. “What’s the catch?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, “I thought we couldn’t stand each other, remember?”

“No catch,” he said, his voice shockingly devoid of sarcasm or snark, “Consider it even for helping me find my pick. Plus, I think we’d all benefit from you being high. At the very least, it’ll serve as my entertainment for the rest of the night.” You couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe you were too harsh on Dewey. Not that Patty didn’t have her own reasons for disliking him, but that didn’t mean you had to keep up your animosity when he had at least treated you like a human being since he entered the coat-ridden bedroom.

You stared at the joint apprehensively as he held in between his calloused fingers. He rolled his eyes, playfully this time. “This is the good shit, I promise,” he purred, waving the joint in front of your face, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest,” you mused, gnawing on your lower lip, “But when have I ever been right. Light me up, rock star.”

*

Far be it from you to admit when Dewey Finn was right. But holy shit. Whatever strain he had did the trick, because you actually felt yourself relaxing for the first time in months, even after just a few puffs.

You didn’t care that you had been outside for the better part of an hour; even more surprisingly, you didn’t care that you were sharing a joint with someone you thought you despised at the start of the night. “Okay, I’m not saying I’m gonna become a stoner now or anything like that but…” you drawled, hugging your arms to your chest, “That did help a bit. So…thanks.” You were already feeling the effects of the both the alcohol and weed wearing off, seeing as you only consumed small amounts of both. Still, you couldn’t help but appreciate Dewey’s attempt to help, despite your past dislike of one another.

Dewey couldn’t help but flash a wide smile, leaning on the railing of the fire escape. “Don’t mention it,” he said sweetly, “Or maybe do. I’d love to take credit for being the person who finally removed that stick lodged firmly up your a—”

Before he could finish the crude remark, you placed a hand on his broad chest, pushing him flush to the railing. “If you value your life, you won’t finish that sentence, Finn,” you threatened, your eyes darkening. Dewey’s widened in fear, if only for a moment. You were of course, unserious, but you didn’t mind making him squirm a bit.

You flashed a smug look and he instantly matched you playful yet aggressive energy. “Oh please, you wouldn’t send the life of the party tumbling to his death, would ya?” he clasped his hands together, mock begging for mercy, “I know you can’t hate me that much, babe.”

You shivered. You tried to write it off as the chill in the air finally catching up to you, but you knew that it was also from Dewey’s smooth talking. You noticed your hand was still pressed up against him as the space between you lessened.

“Well, no,” you relented, finally letting go of him, “I mean, you annoy the shit out of me most of the time but tonight has been…okay.”

“I’ll take okay.” The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, an energy hanging in the air that you can’t quite place. You glanced over at him, goosebumps prickling up on his exposed forearms. “Since tonight has been so okay…mind if I ask why you were crying earlier?”

You felt your face go flush in embarrassment. You could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen, but it was clear he was more observant than you gave him credit for. “I guess, well…I haven’t been myself. For a while now. And I just don’t know if I belong here: in this city, with these people. Ned and Patty have been a part of my life for so long but…I don’t know. Maybe I’m better off somewhere else.”

Dewey nodded, casting his eyes towards Manhattan across the river. The two of you looked on, the sounds of the street filling the quiet you shared. The light pollution was illuminating the night sky despite it being nearly midnight. “For what it’s worth,” he sighs, “I don’t ever feel like I belong either. I just try to convince myself that I do, and hope everyone else follows.”

“Well, you’re damn good at it,” you remark, “Everyone loves you, Dewey.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “Not Patty. Not my band. Not you.” His last words hang in the air awkwardly as he immediately goes red. At least you weren’t the only one feeling embarrassed that evening. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you mean,” you said, smiling with ease. Once you actually had a real conversation with him, you realized how freely you were able to speak to Dewey. “But for what it’s worth, I owe you an apology. I just always pegged you for an obnoxious deadbeat, but I guess we have more in common than I thought.”

“It’s okay. I may have also thought you were a lame ass wet blanket for years, but I’m willing to bury the hatchet if you are.” You both laughed at each other’s expense and suddenly, that urge returned. Only this time, you couldn’t blame it on the little alcohol you drank or even the weed. You just wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss Dewey Finn.

You felt your stomach churn at the thought. Sure, maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought, but were you so easily won over? Was he just charming you to end your little feud, or was he playing you? And even if he wasn’t messing with you, what the fuck would Ned and Patty say?!

“By the way,” he said in a low voice, snapping you out of your thought spiral, “I’ve seen a million Wednesday Addams costumes, but, uh, the goth girl thing works for you.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, holding back giggle. God, you felt like an idiot school girl around him now.

“Yeah,” he gulped, his face growing pink. Was it possible he was experiencing some of the same strange, conflicting feelings about you? From what you gathered over the years, it didn’t take much for Dewey to let his dick be in the driver’s seat when it came to decision making.

Feeling bold, you chose to throw some compliments his way, “Thanks,” you said, batting your eyelids, wondering how seductive you could possibly be when it looked like you were headed to a demented funeral, “You look good too. Green Day was one of my favorite bands growing up, so the Billy Joe costume was…definitely a sight to behold. In a good way, I mean.”

“Ah, so you were staring at me earlier?” Dewey raised an eyebrow, feeling extremely self-assured. You decided to let him inflate his own ego this one time, mostly because it made him more attractive all bloated with confidence.

“It’s possible,” you conceded, “But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

He laughed brightly, and your stomach did another flip. “That’s okay. It’s reward enough to know you secretly have the hots for me.” You pursed your lips, scowling at him. You could barely admit these new feelings to yourself, there was no way in hell you were going to admit to Dewey that you wanted to pounce on him at that very moment. So instead, you decided to do what you had be doing for the last couple hours: deny, deny, deny.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

“Do. Too.” He inched closer to you, his gaze growing more intense with each passing millisecond. You felt your breath hitch suddenly in the back of your throat. And before you had any time to think, you sort of lunged at him, your lips catching his angrily, passionately. He tasted like cheap beer and tequila. A normally shudder-inducing combination, but you couldn’t get enough of it.

Though he knew he was egging you on, Dewey was still caught by surprise. Still, it didn’t take longer than a moment for him the wrap his arms around you, securing your body against his as he kissed you hungrily. Despite the weather outside being chilly and dry, his lips were soft and plump, and you couldn’t help but nip at them as he let out a faint, almost imperceptible moan. You felt your fingers tangle in his hair as his snaked to grip the side of your neck towards your jawline.

Once you realized what you had done, you broke away, looking Dewey dead in the eye, “You know this means nothing, right?” You could deal with your attraction to him later; for all you knew, this little incident would never be spoken of by the two of you ever again. Maybe that would be for the best.

Dewey blinked dumbly a few times, then smirked, “I’m sort of counting on it, babe.” He pulled you in again, his breath visible in the cold October air as it washed over you like a tiny puff of smoke. He couldn’t help but kiss you again, and perhaps stupidly, you kissed him back for a few seconds until his broke it, his smile sinful. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a deal, rock star.”

*

Thanks for reading! Like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed!

Read the sequel here!

[stillebesat]

Code: Blanket

Sanders Sides: Janus, Virgil, (Logan & Remus mentioned) Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Prompt: “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” with Anxceit? (platonic is 100% good for me) Blurb: A friendship doesn't stop just because one person decides to act like a dick. Especially when said dick is obviously in trouble. Overall Fic Warnings: Homophobia talk, Neglectful/Abusive Parents implication, Capitol Riot references. Taglist in Reblog

Janus Daemon @TheGatekeeper *12m To the ‘family’ that locked me in our unfinished attic these past 4 months to “knock the Antifa sh!t” out of me; Pretty sure this is worse than anything I’d have done. Don’t bother deleting the evidence of your ‘trip.’ It’s already been passed onto the proper Authorities. Cheers.

Virgil shot upright in bed, staring at the tweet and the handful of photos from the storming of the Capitol that Dee had attached along with it. “No way.” He breathed. No freaking way.

Janus. Janus Daemon, the goodie-two-shoes who always obeyed his parents and followed their lead...had actually turned them in as Capitol rioters?

He frowned, tapping on his phone to blow up the images so he could see the people within them better. Yah, no. Even if it had been ages since he’d seen Dee’s family...there was no denying that two of the dozen faces circled and labeled in the pictures were the same parental figures that he remembered sneering down at him before they forcefully dragged their son off the playground when he was six.

That had been right after...Virgil hunched his shoulders. After his Dad’s divorce from his Mom. Apparently hanging out with a child who only had a Dad in the picture was a big “NO” in their messed up book of rules.

Not that that had stopped them from becoming secret best friends in school...well until last year that is….when his Dad had married Remus.

That had...been rough...when word got out--well reached Dee’s parents and they’d stormed the school to find their son working on a project in the library with him, the ‘hooligan freak who dared to be okay with having two dads when it was unnatural to the natural order of things.’

He’d known, from Janus, that his parents were uptight...but that day had shown him how all Daemons were a Demonic Clan of Super Karens that had campaigned nearly as hard as the President to force both his Dad and Remus from their jobs in order to protect the community from their sort.

Unfortunately for the Daemons, they’d picked the wrong family to mess with. Not when his Dad, Logan Andrews, was considered to be the best lawyer in the state, if not the country. Not when his new husband, Remus Knight, had just finished performing a life saving surgery on the governor's daughter. No. The Daemons may be influential, but they were nothing compared to his parents when their Momma Bear instincts were roused.

Honestly...to discover that the entire group had drunk the kool-aid and actually stormed the Capitol to support the Orange Cheeto shouldn’t be so surprising.

Well...not everyone.

Virgil frowned, glancing back up to the first part of the tweet before he hit his contacts, scrolling through them to find Janus’s name only to hesitate over pressing the call button.

He hadn’t spoken to Dee in a year. Not since that fiasco. Not since his so called friend had taken his parent's side and cut off all contact, purposely burning the bridges of their friendship with sneers, glares...and well---

Virgil exhaled, closing his eyes.

Could a Demon change their stripes? Could Janus...could he---

Sure...it appeared he was finally rebelling against his parents...but he had no idea what Dee thought of him---Virgil gritted his teeth. It didn’t matter. “I made a promise.” He whispered, slowly opening his eyes.

Still. Maybe not a good idea to call. Janus had probably blocked his number anyways---

He swiped out of his contacts, switching to his barely used Facebook Messenger where he picked out Janus’s name from there, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Dee probably still wanted nothing to do with him.

He swiped a single word...once again hesitating over sending it.

They hadn’t talked in a year.

This could go so wrong.

And yet--

He hit send.

Virgil: Blanket?

He bit his lip, barely breathing as he stared at the little check mark symbol showing that Dee’s account had at least received the message.

Not that he really expected a response. It was Facebook after all. But Janus had just turned his family in. Did he have a place to stay? Had he been fed? Just how bad had it been for him to be locked in an unfinished attic over the summer by the people who supposedly loved him? Who had proclaimed they wanted to protect him. If---

His heart skipped a beat as the checkmark switched to Janus’s profile picture.

Dee had seen the message.

He stopped breathing as the three typing dots appeared.

Janus: Seriously?

“Ha.” Virgil relaxed, running shaking fingers through his hair. Not a totally unexpected response after everything. But far better than the hate filled rant he’d half expected to get. That had to be a good sign right? He had come up with that particular coded phrase as a way to judge his friend’s needs when Dee had pulled him into the hollow of an old oak tree on his way to the bus the day after his fateful encounter with the Super Karens on the playground with tears shining in his eyes.

Janus hadn’t wanted to return home that day because his parents had been so mad at him for playing with Virgil. He hadn’t understood why having only a Dad was bad--

He hadn’t been as understanding when Virgil ended up with two.

Virgil rolled off the bed, stuffing his feet into his shoes as he sent a one word answer back.

Virgil: Yes.

No typing dots appeared even though he could see that Dee had seen his response.

Unsurprising. Dee was probably wondering if this was some sort of trick, if there was a catch. Why would Virgil of all people contact him out of the blue after how he’d treated him?

He pulled his hoodie over his head, swiping his keys and face mask from his desk as he took a chance and pressed call, holding his phone up to his ear, listening to it ring as he left his room and moved downstairs.

A click sounded in his ear right before the voicemail could activate.

Janus had picked up, Virgil could hear the faint sound of sirens in the background, the shaky barely controlled breathing.

He wasn’t saying anything though.

That was fine. Not normal for Dee, who always liked to have the first and last word but Virgil could work with this.

“Offer still stands, Dee.” He said, keeping his voice low as he moved past Dad and Remus’s darkened bedroom, heading to the front door. “I’ve told you a million times that if you don’t know where to go you can always come here. You acting like the world’s biggest dick doesn’t change that.”

Janus may have thrown their friendship out of the figurative door...but Virgil--well he...hadn’t. Not really. He had been hoping Dee would come around--not like this...but if this could get his best friend back---

“You can’t mean that, Annie.” The voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Not after--”

“Dude.” Virgil tsked, scribbling a quick note to his parents because Dad would hear the car start up and be up like a shot once he realized Virgil was leaving after hours. “You just posted that you were locked up in your attic by your so-called parents.” He pulled open the front door, quickly slipping out before he jangled his car keys by the phone. “Unless you say Nest right now, I’m coming to get you and dragging you back. So. Blan--” He looked up and froze, staring at the shadowy figure hovering just outside the gate. ”-ket?”

Janus huffed in his ear, the figure at the gate shifting to grab onto one arm, rubbing it as they shuffled back a step.

Dee did that whenever he was nervous. Whenever he was afraid he was making the wrong choice.

He hadn’t spoken to Virgil in a year.

Yet he was already here.

Virgil was off the porch and jumping over the gate in a flash, grabbing onto Janus before his friend could change his mind and bolt. “Dee.”

Janus flinched, slowly lowering the phone, a crumpled face mask hanging from one ear, ragged hair half covering a deep purple bruise and three long scratches by his left eye as he ducked his head. “If...I said...Fort?’ He whispered, shoulders hunching as if expecting a physical blow.

Blanket Fort. A need for Protection. For Safety.

Virgil growled, tugging his friend into his arms, holding him tight, heart throbbing as Dee practically melted into him like a shaking leaf, breath hitching as his fingers dug into Virgil’s hoodie.

How long had it been since anyone had treated Dee with any compassion? Four months locked up in an attic. His family halfway across the country committing treason. Had they even left him any food when they left? Probably not from how bony Dee felt now in his arms.

“Janus.” Virgil said softly, holding him tighter as his friend shuddered in his arms, running careful fingers through his greasy hair. “I told you. You can always stay here.”

Part 2

[cursed-byesexual]

There has to be a Supernatural fic from the pov of a conspiracy theorist on the winchesters trail who is losing his mind about the amount of times those guys died and simply showed up again a few months later. Kinda like the Episode with FBI agent Hendriksen but diving deeper into what he thinks is going on.

Or one of Sams friends from Stanford who started following the mysterious case of the Winchester Brothers through online mags because he knows Sam and can hardly believe its the same person those people write about.

Or even just the poor FBI agent who got their case after Hendriksen and doesnt know anything. He is on and off their case every other month but it keeps coming back to hunt him, he stopped toasting to their death after the third time they died. Imagine the confusion.

Just as an example for one side of the case notes;

Cas is with the them all the time, only that authorities think its Jimmy Novak, the accountant gone rogue/ gay which is another conspiracy in itself. Jimmys old friends and collegues would think that too, and rumor has it that he killed his family since they vanished mysteriously. (Irl we know Claire is fine and his wife got kidnapped and killed by a monster but the police don't)

Also, apparently he is convinced to be doing Gods will while leaving bloody murder scenes in his wake. As far as anybody knows, the Winchesters aren't religious and its puzzling that they put up with him at first. After years of relying on no one but each other these psychopathic brothers who are supposed to be as calculating as they are brutal and hot-headed have just decided to adopt a random guy who happens to think he's an angel? (At least that bit gets solved when a security camera catches Cas and Dean kissing)

The FBI is freaked out by him because he is unpredictable, loves the Winchesters, and knows how to stay under the radar. They still haven't been able to figure out how he got from one end of the country to the other in a time frame of three hours max. That was one of the first cases that makes them consider him part of the Winchester case and he leaves quite the impression right away. Dozens of confused agents check airport footage from all over the country and find nothing. The files for that case take up three rooms and five agents have retired immediately after being assigned the case and walking in there once.

And most of that right here was just focusing on Cas, there is so much more to him alone but consider the involvement of others like Charlie and Kevin who just add to the confusion, or Crowley who legally doesn't exist. And thats without any of the actual monster stuff, witness reports that have everyone convinced the winchesters are drugging people left and right, and the stuff the leviathan dopplegangers pulled.

I really want to read about their lifes from that perspective, think about how batshit it all sounds from that angle.

Imagine the whole thing as a buzzfeed unsolved episode

(Ooop this turned longer than it was supposed to)

If anybody knows a fic like that or writes one please tag me or leave a comment, I need this in my life

[moonbeamsung]

I Fell for You Like the Autumn Leaves

In which your neighbor, who might as well be a complete stranger to you, convinces you to revisit an old childhood tradition of yours. Oh, and you end up falling in love with him.

member: chenle (featuring the dreamies and taeyong)

au: pumpkin patch volunteer!chenle x gn!reader

word count: 11.3k

genre: fluff, angst, humor

warnings: mutual pining, very mild profanity, kissing, teasing

author’s note: I know, I know, the au is oddly specific but just trust me! :) And I’m crossing my fingers that the tags work this time. I have nothing else to say except that I’m very proud of this fic and it was very fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it. Hope everyone who celebrates had a nice Halloween!

The tall, slender lamp post on the sidewalk outside of your house glows a pale amber color under the gray evening sky, illuminating the leaf-littered ground beneath it. You’ve walked past it hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, on a day just like this one. But this time, something’s different.

There’s a small flyer taped somewhat haphazardly to the side of the post, the dark lavender paper catching your eye. It’s positioned perfectly at eye-level, and you begin to read.

Fall is finally here, and you know what that means: The town’s annual pumpkin patch and festival is now open! Pick out your perfect pumpkin, find your way through a corn maze, take a peaceful hayride, and more! Come visit us all throughout the autumn season, 7 days a week from 10am to 8pm, at the corner of Chestnut Way and Fairview Boulevard. There’s fun for the whole family!

Small illustrations of pumpkins and colorful leaves fill the margins of the flyer, and the festive palette seems to brighten up the gloominess of the October day surrounding you.

“Hey!”

Whirling around, you’re met with the sight of your neighbor, Chenle. He’s holding more of the flyers in one hand, a small roll of tape in the other.

Despite him living only a few houses down from you for a number of years, you hardly know anything about him. You suppose he’s always seemed sort of mysterious. Sometimes you would catch glimpses of him outside from your window, and no matter if you saw him snapping photos of the blossoming flower bushes in his yard, riding his bike down the street with some friends, or just sitting on his upstairs balcony with a book in his hand, none of these things gave you any clues as to what he’s really like.

You two have exchanged brief hellos whenever you’ve passed each other on the sidewalk, him on his way somewhere and you heading home, but aside from those fleeting encounters, he’s a puzzle for you to figure out. You can’t help but wonder about him. Is he a quiet or a loud person? Is he on the serious side, or does he laugh at almost anything? What’s his personality like in general? Long story short, Chenle intrigues you, and maybe after today you’ll know at least a little bit more about him.

“Hi,” you return his greeting with a small smile, the kind of smile you give when you’re not exactly sure what else to say.

“Those flyers look pretty good, huh? I helped design them this year!” He explains with a proud grin, placing a hand on his hip as he studies your response. To be fair, he hardly knows anything about you either, and upon seeing you inspecting the flyer, he had decided to approach you and hopefully take a small step towards becoming your friend.

“Really? That’s cool.” The awkwardness in the air between you is far too tangible for your liking, and you silently hope he’ll take the responsibility of carrying on the conversation you’re currently sharing. Luckily, this wish of yours is granted moments later.

“You’ve been to the pumpkin festival before, right?”

You nod. It’s true, the annual tradition is one that everyone in town can enjoy, but in recent years you’ve started to lose interest in the festivities. You’re growing up, and it’s like you’re at this weird in-between stage. Mostly, those that attend are either large families complete with young children eager to explore every corner of the patch, or couples hoping to enjoy the ambience created by the cute decorations and cozy autumn atmosphere. You belong to neither of these groups, and so you’ve felt more than a little out of place the last few times you’ve gone.

You’re not sure if this is something you should share with Chenle, but without waiting for any kind of approval from your brain, the words leave your mouth anyway.

“Yeah, but I don’t really have anyone to go with and I don’t know anyone working there, so I’m not sure if I’ll make it this year.”

He frowns sympathetically for a split second before his face lights up again. “Aw, but I was just about to tell you that I’m volunteering there this year! So... if you’re worried about not having someone to hang out with, you’ll have me.”

“Only if you want!” He quickly adds, and that’s the first time he’s seemed nervous, or at least anything less than completely confident during your conversation. The cutest shade of red appears on his cheeks, and you don’t know how you could possibly refuse his offer now.

“Hmm... I guess I can reconsider, then.” You smile wider, more genuinely this time, after faking your contemplation by tapping your toe and tilting your head, a finger stroking your chin as if in deep thought.

“Really?” He replies happily with a small gasp, and his foot starts to lift off of the pavement to take an excited step towards you before he stops himself. If you notice, you don’t say anything.

You nod once again, and he notes how enthusiastic you seem now. Cute.

“Great! My shifts are on weekdays, from 2 to 7. I’ll see you there?”

“Definitely.”

The next week, you bundle up in your warmest jacket before making your way down the sidewalk, turning when necessary as you navigate the winding streets of your neighborhood. About half a dozen blocks later, you’re out on the main road, and you can just barely spot the entrance to the festival in the distance, orange lights strung along an archway that marks the small trail leading to it.

When you finally reach the inside of the pumpkin patch, the first thing you do is look for Chenle. You regret not asking him exactly where he would be working, but it can’t be that hard to find him, right?

He’s been on edge all afternoon, wondering if you would actually show up. It’s not that he didn’t believe you when you told him you would be there, he most certainly did, but there’s an oddly anxious feeling in his stomach that’s been affecting his behavior and he’s not sure he wants you to see him like this.

Chenle, just like everyone else, can be clumsy sometimes. But today? Today was a whole different story. He nearly dropped one of the biggest pumpkins in the patch while he was trying to lift it from the tall haystack it had been sitting on. His shoelace had somehow become untied while he was walking through the corn maze to check for any candy-apple wrappers or cider cups on the ground. Fortunately enough for him, no one had been around to see him trip over it, saving him at least a little bit of embarrassment. He even accidentally left the door to one of the animal stalls open, earning him a light scolding from his supervisor, Taeyong, and an entire hour on feeding duty for the horse it belonged to, between its scheduled hayride shifts.

It wouldn’t be a good second impression, he decides, if you were here to spend time with him only to see him completely failing at doing his job instead.

So when he spots you not too far away, craning your neck as you search for him among the large crowd, he’s conflicted. Does he face his fear of messing up in front of you and possibly risk your only recently-formed opinion of him, or does he avoid you the whole night? His heart clenches at that last option, and in a spur-of-the-moment decision his legs begin to carry him over to you. Catching your eye, he smiles despite the uncharacteristic lack of confidence in himself that he’s currently feeling.

You’re hurriedly cutting across the sea of people that fills the walkways to meet him, and when you’re within an arm’s reach you start to lift your hand in a small wave. Before you can stop walking completely, however, he takes your raised hand in his own, briskly guiding you off to the side to stand out of the way of the massive group of festival-goers. Just as quickly as he took your hand he releases it again, gently letting it drop to hang by your side.

You only just had your first proper conversation with him a matter of days ago, and he’s your neighbor for goodness’ sake. So why in the world did your heart rate seem to speed up just then?

There’s a small bench nearby, and he motions to it with a nudge of his shoulder. Sitting down next to him, you try your best to ignore the confusing signals that your body’s sending you right now.

“You came!”

“Of course I did,” you reply with a laugh. “It’s nice to have someone to enjoy the festival with for a change. I’ve really missed that.”

“What do you mean?”

You explain to him how it had grown out of being a family tradition, and that your friends always seemed to be busy, leaving you on your own year after year.

“Well... you have me now!” His voice is cheerful, reassuring, and despite all the noise and activity surrounding you at the current moment, it makes you feel at peace.

“Wait.” You glance around, then look back to Chenle. “Shouldn’t you be working, though?”

“...Shoot!” He knew he was forgetting something.

Standing up from the bench you share, he continues. “You can come with me if you want, but I can’t promise that any part of my job will be interesting.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle, standing up as well and following him over to a small covered tent. The inside is packed with people, weaving in and out of aisles created by several wooden tables full of small, colorful gourds. The boy behind the cash register shouts his name, beckoning him over with his hand.

“Hey Chenle, can you come help me weigh these pumpkins? Donghyuck had to go help some kids at the crafts area and business isn’t slowing down anytime soon.” He’s too busy typing numbers into a small computer system to notice that he’s speaking to more than one person. When his eyes finally lift up from the keys, he asks, “Who’s this?”

Chenle introduces you to each other, and you learn that his name is Mark. The gray beanie he’s wearing is somewhat lopsided on his head, dark hair sticking out from beneath it after all the times he’s cutely scratched the back of his neck.

While Mark and Chenle ring up dozens of customers, you entertain yourself by browsing through the wide variety of miniature pumpkins and squashes, some green, some white, some yellow. You occasionally pick up an oddly shaped one, running a finger over the small bumps or darkened bruises on the surface of the fruit.

When you look over at the register again, the line has died down, and after a moment of consideration your eyes land on a vibrant orange pumpkin that looks like it would fit perfectly in the palm of your hand. Picking it up, you smile a little to yourself as you turn, pulling your wallet out from your pocket and patiently waiting behind the 4 groups in line ahead of you.

By the time you finally step up to the checkout counter, Chenle’s been wondering where you went. He hadn’t seen you when he was gifted with the rare chance to look up from the metal scale he’s been constantly working at for almost an hour now. Maybe you got bored, he thinks, and left to go do something else or to just go home altogether. So when he sees the familiar sleeve of your jacket enter his peripheral vision as you place your tiny pumpkin down in front of him, he looks up faster than he thought humanly possible, in both surprise and relief. “You know you don’t have to buy anything,” he attempts to whisper in the hopes of hiding his words from Mark.

“But I want to. This pumpkin’s really cute,” you insist with a pleading look in your eyes.

Like you, he nearly mutters. That would have been a disaster.

“Do you want me to pay for it?” He offers, almost pouting at this point.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, “But no. I promise, I’ve got it.”

“If you insist,” he responds, matching the sarcastic tone of your words and hoping to distract from his reddening ears. Chenle weighs the pumpkin and then places it into a small bag that you sling over your shoulder, where it will stay for the remainder of the day.

Unbeknownst to both of you, Mark’s eyebrow raises at the playfulness of your conversation. Maybe you don’t notice the furious blush on Chenle’s face, but he certainly does. And he won’t forget it.

“Hey, uh, guys? Donghyuck just texted me that he needs a hand. Do you think you could go meet up with him and help out a little?”

“Are you sure you can handle things here, Mark?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. But Donghyuck won’t be if those kids are deprived of craft supplies for much longer.” He reaches underneath the counter and pulls out a huge stack of plastic sticker sheets, with small images of bats, candy, and everything in between. “Take these.”

“Thanks, Mark! See you later!”

“It was nice to meet you!” You call out over your shoulder, and as you momentarily focus your attention on the boy behind you that’s getting farther away by the second, you’re too caught up in saying your goodbyes to notice that the one beside you grabs your hand again. Chenle gently pulls you away from the counter and out from under the tent, steadily making your way towards the other side of the large pumpkin patch.

You were lucky that Mark had the decency to at least pretend there was nothing going on between you and Chenle. He had refrained from commenting on it in front of you, and simply chuckled to himself when he saw both of you walk off together, hand-in-hand. He finds it amusing that neither one of you seems to notice the mutual fondness the other so obviously has for you. Mark doesn’t know a lot about you, but he knows you must be pretty special to be able to fluster Chenle like that.

Donghyuck, on the other hand, does not possess the same decency.

When you reach the crafts area, which is a small, designated space with several picnic tables and bins full of art supplies like glitter, paint sets, and markers, he gratefully approaches Chenle and accepts the large bundle of stickers from him. Like he’s feeding a hungry mob of seagulls with just a few breadcrumbs, Donghyuck essentially tosses them to the large group of children eagerly jumping at his feet. Scurrying away as they snatch the plastic sheets out of the air and get back to decorating their pumpkins, his eyes land on you for the first time.

With a smug, knowing smirk and an exaggerated nod of his head towards your tightly intertwined fingers, he asks, “Who’s this, Chenle?”

You know those movie scenes where two characters look at each other, at something else, then back at each other again? That’s exactly what happens. Chenle’s and your eyes meet, surprise evident on every feature of your faces, before you both realize the exact same thing at the same time. With shaky pupils, your gazes drift down to each other’s arm, then to your hands, laced together and acting as a source of warmth on this chilly autumn day. Much faster this time, you make eye contact again before rapidly but unwillingly pulling your hands away. The guilty smiles you send Donghyuck’s way say it all.

Chenle introduces you for the second time today as his neighbor, but deep down you both wish it was as something else, something more.

“I see,” Donghyuck says under his breath, in a huff of poorly concealed laughter.

Only Chenle hears him, though, and Donghyuck earns himself a rough shove to the shoulder with the snarky comment. You’re looking in a different direction, vision focused on a small child with a frown on her face as she struggles to embellish the small orange gourd on the table in front of her.

“Chenle?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go see if I can help that little girl with her pumpkin.” You point a finger in the general direction of the picnic table she’s sitting at, glancing back at him for a second as you make your way over to her.

She’s close to tears now, and crouching down beside her small form, you ask, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

The girl looks down at you, rushing to wipe her eyes before explaining in a quiet, shaky voice, “None of these stickers are the shape I want for my pumpkin...”

Oh, you realize, she’s trying to make a jack-o-lantern face.

“Um...” Upon looking around, you spot a piece of paper nearby on the table and hand her a purple marker from one of the art supply containers. “Well, can you draw what you want the face to look like and maybe I can help?”

With a small “Mhm,” she takes the marker from you and begins to sketch four odd-looking but not totally unfeasible shapes for the pumpkin’s eyes, nose, and mouth.

A good distance away, Chenle is growing tired of Donghyuck’s endless interrogations about you and if he’s absolutely positively sure that you’re not something more than just neighbors. He wordlessly excuses himself from Donghyuck’s side to join you by the picnic table.

The drawings that the little girl comes up with look like a deformed mix of squares, circles, and triangles. Thankfully, you have access to stickers shaped like all three, and you get an idea.

“What are we working on over here?”

Looking up to see Chenle kneeling down opposite you, resting an arm on the wooden surface of the bench, you notice that his voice is different. Not in terms of its pitch or volume, but just in the way that he’s speaking. It’s even more gentle than usual, filled with concern and care, all because he’s talking to a child. How endearing, you think to yourself, smiling down at the ground for a moment or two before you remember the task at hand.

“They’re helping me with my jack-o-lantern!” The little girl exclaims excitedly, causing Chenle to grin wider than you’d ever seen so far and allowing you to get a glimpse of his adorable eye smile for the very first and certainly not the last time.

Nope. Your heart did not just flutter. At least, that’s what you’ll keep telling yourself.

With a wave of your hand you motion for him to stand up, you doing the same before whispering your plan into his ear. Exchanging nods, you both crouch back down again and set to work, guiding the little girl as she overlaps the stickers on the pumpkin to match the picture she drew.

When you’re finished, she claps her hands together and thanks you multiple times, her genuine gratitude warming both of your hearts more than a blanket or a heater ever could.

“Wait,” you turn back around just as you’re about to walk over to Donghyuck once again. Flipping through the sticker sheets scattered across the table, you find exactly the one you’re looking for and peel it from the plastic.

“Wha—”

Before Chenle can even begin his sentence, you’re already pressing the small acorn sticker onto his cheek, giggling softly at how a blush seems to blossom from underneath it, the adorable pink hue spreading all the way to the tip of his nose. Your thumb applies the slightest amount of pressure to his skin while the remaining fingers hold the side of his face, and your other hand clutches his shoulder over the burgundy sweater he’s wearing. It’s at this moment that it dawns on you: This is definitely not a “neighborly” exchange.

You jump back in shock at your own actions. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I really don’t know why I did that.” Inwardly releasing a string of profuse curses, you awkwardly step closer a second time, lifting your hand again to try to peel it from his face and just wishing this mortifying moment would be over already.

“It’s okay, you can leave it,” he stutters a little, taking a tiny step backwards. “I don’t mind.”

Not really knowing how else to bring the uncomfortable (well, that’s an understatement) conversation to a close, you let his last words hang in the air, casting daunting shadows over your heads as you both repeat the same thought over and over again in your minds like a mantra.

I shouldn’t like them...

Trying and failing to sneak a slight glance at the other, your gazes meet at the same time, both of you looking away just as quickly once you realize you’ve been caught red-handed. Or in this case, red-faced.

...But I do.

A few minutes prior, another festival volunteer had taken over Mark’s job at the cash register, leaving him free to roam around for at least a little while. Not knowing where else to go, he had come to see Donghyuck, and by default, you and Chenle.

As they watch your rather amusing response to the realization of and sudden embarrassment at such a shameless display of your crush on Chenle that you can’t quite bring yourself to accept just yet, Mark and Donghyuck talk lowly amongst themselves.

“He should just ask them out already. I haven’t even known that they exist for 15 minutes and I’m already sick of seeing them both deny their feelings for each other. It’s so painfully obvious!” Donghyuck makes a gagging noise, earning a glare from Mark.

“It’s kind of cute, though. Like puppy love.”

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” he snickers.

“Hey!” Mark shoves his shoulder, annoyed. Donghyuck just laughs.

Pulling out his phone, the younger boy types up a quick text message before hitting the small arrow to send it. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark sees the delivered blue speech bubble appear on the screen and asks him, “Who’s that to?”

“Jeno. He and Jaemin have got to see this.”

Not even a minute later, Chenle’s own phone dings with a message from the former of the aforementioned boys, providing a distraction from and successfully dispelling some of the tension that continues to weigh down on you both.

Once he finishes reading the text, Chenle looks up at you and explains, “Two of my friends are working concessions and they’re almost out of a few things, so I need to go pick up what they need and bring it to them.”

You frown a little and furrow your eyebrows. “Isn’t it weird that everyone’s been asking you to go from place to place bringing them stuff all day?”

Now that he thinks about it, you’re right. But there’s no time to stand around and wonder why there seems to be a pattern with his tasks today.

“Bye Donghyuck! We’re gonna go help Jaemin and Jeno at the concessions stand!”

Was it too much to ask for Chenle to absentmindedly grab your hand again? Apparently yes, because much to your disappointment he refrains from doing so this time.

“Did you seriously ask Jeno to make up a fake excuse for help just so you could get them to leave?” Mark questions him, a clearly unamused expression on his face.

“First of all, no. He actually told me that they’re running low on candy apples. And second, not only that, but also so they can see just how hopelessly they’re crushing on each other.”

“Meaning that they can tease them about it, too, right?”

“Exactly!”

Mark rolls his eyes. He supposes he shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Donghyuck is always full of mischief.

You remain by Chenle’s side as he leads you towards a storage area for the festival and over to the kitchen section, where he grabs a medium-sized cooler packed with freshly candied apples. The walk is filled with casual conversation, any awkward encounters earlier in the day becoming long forgotten, or at least temporarily put out of your minds.

Not having any of his friends around to tease you helps, too.

The few minutes you have to yourselves come to an end all too soon, and as you approach a large booth that appears to be full of just about every autumn snack imaginable, you catch the eye of one of the two boys standing behind it. Whether it’s Jeno or Jaemin, you’re not sure. But sure enough, like everyone else you’ve met so far today, his gaze becomes one of surprise and interest upon seeing the way you’re walking so close to the tall boy at your side.

You decide to take the liberty of introducing yourself this time instead of leaving Chenle to do it for you. Reaching an arm out in front of you, you shyly step up to the conveniently empty counter of the stand. The first boy shakes your hand while the other turns around, eyes darting from you to Chenle multiple times.

“I’m Jaemin,” he lets go of your hand, but not before shooting you a wink and a ridiculously charming grin. Chenle’s stomach churns with jealousy. The boy is always like this, Chenle knows, but with you it’s different. Normally it’s just the regular flirtatious remark directed at a passing customer, making them nearly spill their popcorn or choke on their cotton candy. Despite his awareness of the fact that he means no harm, Chenle still has to fight the urge to pull you into him protectively. Jaemin picks up on his sudden envy but chooses not to mess with him further.

The second one speaks up, doing the same as Jaemin without the wink, instead displaying an endearing eye-smile of his own. “I’m Jeno.” His eyes light up when they land on the freezing container Chenle’s carrying. “Are those the candy apples?” He exclaims. “Thank you so much!”

“No problem,” Chenle grunts in response as he hands it to Jeno over the counter, still bitter about Jaemin’s coquettish introduction of himself. Picking up on his annoyed tone, you send a confused glance and then a sympathetic smile the boy’s way as you try to subtly calm whatever frustration that remains within him.

He softens immediately, regretting any worry he may have just caused you with his uncharacteristically cold demeanor. It’s immediately forgotten when Jaemin motions for the both of you to round the corner of the booth. Stepping inside from the back, you instantly realize it’s much too cramped to fit four people.

You’re about to excuse yourselves to go stand outside again when Jeno strides past, just a little too close for comfort. Taking a step back to move completely out of his way, you make a fatal miscalculation: Chenle’s right behind you. With a thud your back crashes into his stomach, and the awkwardness is more than just palpable.

Throughout the next few minutes you look for every opportunity to step away from him and escape the mutual discomfort of your current position, but business at the concessions stand picks up and both of the boys are constantly rushing back and forth, leaving you no room to do so. It’s not a physical discomfort, not in the slightest, but more so one where your self-consciousness is heightened, and you’re aware that it looks like something a couple would do, the way a couple would stand. In any other moment, perhaps a more private one, you might not have minded the proximity so much, but the public setting you’re in creates the need that you feel to visibly reject the non-existent distance between you and him.

Chenle could get used to how perfectly you two seem to fit together in what’s almost a back hug, with the way he could oh so easily wrap his arms around you from behind. Just not here, not now. Would it be too much, he thinks, for him to place a gentle hand on your shoulder as you both wait for the chance to separate from each other? He decides the answer is no, and as you both endure constant gusts of air each time Jaemin and Jeno pass you, Chenle holds you, grip light on the space between your arm and neck that’s covered in the cotton material of your jacket. His touch eases your nerves about the situation, for which you’re beyond thankful.

While you wait, your eyes find themselves lingering on the customers that shuffle through the line, some young, some old, tall or short. The scrumptious scents wafting within the booth begin to overwhelm your noses after some time, the pungent aroma of apples and spiced cinnamon becoming almost too much to bear for your sense of smell.

As expected, by the time you actually notice there’s finally enough space for you to step away from each other, you’ve already gotten comfortable where you are. The delayed response to this makes Jeno chuckle under his breath, handing a final box of pumpkin pie to an older couple over the counter of the concessions stand.

Glancing down at his watch, Chenle notes how much time has flown by since you arrived at the festival. He also realizes it’s nearly time for his shift at the horse stables, uttering a quick explanation to you and then the other two boys in the booth.

Exchanging brief farewells, you follow Chenle outside and down a thin path to a more secluded area of the festival grounds, out by the field where hayrides are given. On the way, you pass by the corn maze and the games area. The boys manning the attractions both look as if they’re part of the same group of volunteers that Chenle has introduced you to so far, if you had to guess.

Your assumption is confirmed when he waves at the first one, who’s standing beside a small group of children playing bean bag toss. Scanning the area for any supervisors that could scold him for running off for a minute, he darts over to the two of you.

It’s refreshing that he doesn’t inspect you from head to toe with his gaze, something that had happened to you far too much today. “I’m Chenle’s neighbor,” you start before telling him your name, feeling optimistic that he won’t bug you about your connection to each other very much.

“I’m Jisung,” he responds. Then, “Chenle never brings people to the festival like this. Are you dating or something?”

Never mind.

You inwardly facepalm at his blunt statement. Chenle actually does, the smack against his forehead sounding almost painful.

“We have to get going now, Jisung. I just wanted to introduce you to each other.” Despite being frustrated with the younger’s directness, Chenle still gives him a quick side hug and a “Bye” as you walk away, presumably to stop by the corn maze briefly as you had just done with the games area.

“They never answered my question,” Jisung mumbles to himself.

“Renjun!” Chenle calls, hoping this encounter will go more smoothly than the last. Surprisingly enough, it does. The boy extends a hand out for you to shake with a kind smile, not asking any questions about your relationship with Chenle. You’re extremely grateful that he accepts your status as his neighbor and nothing more.

Only when you’re turned away, gazing into the distance at the hustle and bustle of the event does he pat Chenle firmly on the back, exaggerating a wink and whispering a “Go get ‘em, tiger” into his ear. Chenle scowls at Renjun, groaning about being teased the entire day just for bringing someone to the festival with him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you alone.” Renjun starts to back off, but he simply can’t help himself. The next words that spill from his lips will be the last, he vows in his mind. At least, for now.

“...You like them, though, don’t you?”

“Mmph,” Chenle reluctantly replies after a moment, offering a noncommittal answer.

“Don’t overlook it, okay? You never know. They might feel the same way,” he gives Chenle’s arm a quick squeeze before sending him over to you. The light tap he plants on your shoulder makes you turn around with a smile, expectantly gazing up at him. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” he nods towards the stables, and you both wave back at Renjun as you make your way over to the large structure.

An unfamiliar man leans against one of the walls once you get there. When he sees Chenle, he straightens up and runs a hand through his brown hair, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

The man steps aside from his spot on the wall to reveal a shelf full of animal care items, from cleaning supplies to heavy bags of feed and dry bundles of straw for the ground inside the stalls. “You know what to do,” he nods at the boy while eyeing you carefully at the same time.

Chenle manages to read his mind surprisingly fast, and he jumps to defend your presence. “They’re with me,” he clarifies.

“But you know the rules, Chenle.”

“Just this once, Taeyong! Pleeease?”

Unable to resist the puppy-like expression on his face, Chenle’s supervisor finally caves. That, combined with the way your face fell when he threatened to send you away in a nonverbal manner is enough to make Taeyong change his mind. A minuscule inkling inside of his brain tells him that you’re okay to be by Chenle’s side as he does his job, even if it might mean that he’ll get distracted at times.

“I suppose they can stay.”

“Yes! Thanks, Taeyong!”

“Wait a minute, what’s that on your face?”

Chenle brings a hand up because he’s genuinely forgotten, but when his fingertips brush the cheap plastic sticker on his cheek he remembers how it got there. “Oh, it’s... uh.” He looks to you for help.

“I did that,” you explain with an embarrassed laugh. “We were joking around and I stuck it on his face.”

“Oh, okay, just making sure you know it’s there.”

Some friends he has, Chenle gripes internally. They didn’t even bother to point it out. What if it had been something else?

Luckily, he doesn’t mind the cute sticker, even if it does make him blush like a fool when he thinks about your cute hands pressing it onto his skin.

As Taeyong passes him on his way out of the stable doors, he pinches one of his rounded cheeks, leaving the younger boy cringing in the process.

Time passes somewhat slowly as you watch Chenle go about doing his tasks, first taking one small handful of the horse’s food at a time and feeding it to her, steadily depleting her evening meal little by little. Then he grabs a broom and steps into the stall to sweep some of her bedding.

“What’s her name?” You ask him after a while, the simplicity of his actions creating a calming effect on you as you observe them. You only know it’s a female because you had heard him mutter “Good girl” to the horse rather affectionately a few minutes earlier.

“Nutmeg.”

“That’s cute,” you reply.

The silence feels heavy, begging you to face what you’ve both left unsaid throughout the day. It’s the first time you’ve really been alone together since you got here. But you’re both too scared to bring up the countless assumptions made by his friends over and over again during the time you’ve spent together that you’re dating, fearing that the conversation, supposed to be a joking one, would inevitably progress into something much deeper.

“I’ve had fun today.”

He says it out of nowhere, making both your body and your heart jump a little.

“Me too.” He peeks his head out from the stall to smile at you, your response tinging the tips of his ears red.

A few minutes go by as you fall into a light dialogue, talking about anything and everything you can think of, getting to know each other more. As he’s finishing up, you finally stand from where you’ve been seated for the past 45 minutes, walking leisurely over to the shelf of supplies, which just so happens to be next to the stall door.

All of a sudden Nutmeg hears something that spooks her, and you don’t realize that she starts to charge towards the closed pair of wooden panels you’re currently right beside.

It’s an instant in which Chenle’s clumsiness from earlier in the day threatens to come back in a much more severe form if he doesn’t do something. Senses more alert than yours for whatever reason, he takes action without hesitation, and time seems to slow before his eyes as he does so.

Swiftly moving you out of the way of the split stall door less than a second before it swings open from the force of the horse’s strong neck, Chenle pulls you to him. His arms dart out to catch you tightly by the waist while he turns both of your bodies around, ensuring that he’s the one closest to the enclosure. His reasoning? If he doesn’t take you out of harm’s way fast enough, at least he’ll be the one that feels the impact, not you.

As you’re being held flush against his chest, your mind races to process just how you got into this position. But your heart presses pause on the gears of your brain, and allows you to just enjoy the close intimacy of the moment.

Chenle knows he should do something, say something, but all he can think of is to stay just like this. Your head is turned to the side, an ear pressed to his sternum and in the perfect spot to hear his heartbeat. Its not-so-steady thump matches your own, sounding much like the uneven rhythm that a young child might play on a drum set, striking the instrument with force and conviction and unwavering confidence.

If only you could confront your feelings for him in the same way.

Both thanking him and apologizing profusely for your lack of awareness, you move to take a tiny step back and away from the snug hold of his arms. Only, you find that you can’t. Chenle’s still holding your waist, oblivious to the fact that he’s been clutching you closely for the past thirty seconds in preparation for a moment that lasted less than one.

“You... you can let go of me now, Chenle,” you say apprehensively, a half smile on your lips as you attempt to look him in the eye without being overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him right then and there.

“Ah, right. My bad.”

Chenle’s not usually this bold when it comes to the physicality of a relationship, romantic or not. But he can’t help it that there seems to be an invisible gravitational force surrounding you, just begging for him to reach out and lay a tender hand on the small of your back. Compelling him to tangle your fingers together like a mess of yarn, with the ends fraying and coming undone but at the same time holding each other up, keeping each other from falling apart. Giving one another something to hold on to in the most unlikely of situations.

With only a few minutes left to spare in his shift, he tells you to wait outside while he packs all of the supplies up for the night. Once everything is back in its proper place, Chenle is just about to step outside through the swinging wooden doors of the stables when a small noise from the caramel-colored horse stops him in his tracks. Turning around, he carefully approaches the animal with an outstretched arm, stroking her shiny mane once he’s close enough.

“What am I going to do, Nutmeg?” The conversation is a futile one, he knows, but it proves to be therapeutic for his conscience. She nuzzles his hand with her snout as he leans onto the wall, lost in thought.

“Should I tell them how I feel?” Her large dark eyes peer back at him, and as silly as it sounds, Chenle gets the sense that she actually understands, despite her inability to respond with comprehensible words.

“I’ll do it, then. Not tonight, but soon. Before autumn ends,” he vows, making a promise to himself and his heart all at once.

Nutmeg lets out a small whinny as if to express her approval. Smiling at the animal’s nonverbal reassurance, he opens the door to step out into the chilly fall night, strides a little lighter and head held higher than usual.

As the small clock tower set up in the middle of the festival grounds tolls seven times, loud clangs disrupting the low and indistinct chatter of the evening, you and Chenle return to the same bench you sat on that afternoon, eyes heavy and feet tired by now.

“Your shift is over now, right?”

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Ready to go home?”

“Definitely.”

The festival has mostly cleared out, which is surprising for the time of night that it currently is. The lack of all the hustle and bustle around you makes it significantly easier to navigate the paths extending in nearly every direction across the grounds.

On your way to the exit of the festival, the same autumn-themed archway you ducked under several hours ago, you pass a few of the boys you met during the day, offering a small wave goodbye to them.

The roads are quiet as you and Chenle walk next to each other on the paved sidewalk, the streetlights placed at every small intersection between the tightly-knit suburban roads providing the only source of illumination. With no one around to hear his shaky voice, he turns to you and stutters out, “I know I didn’t ask for your permission to do this earlier, but may I hold your hand?”

You let him, but not without a bashful scratch to the back of your neck and a mumbled answer of “Sure” directed his way.

Like two schoolchildren with the biggest and most obvious crushes on each other, there’s a skip in both of your steps as you walk the rest of the way home. Insisting on staying outside of your house until he sees the light in your bedroom window turn on, Chenle bids you a sweet goodnight with a lingering hug and a small kiss to the top of your head that he mistakenly thinks you don’t notice.

That night you fall asleep with a smile on your face, visions of pumpkins dancing through your mind and the small one that you bought resting on your nightstand beside you.

It’s the first thing you see when you wake up the next morning, and you reach out to take the small item in your palm. You’re convinced that you can still feel the warmth of Chenle’s hands cradling it as he placed it on the scale, recording the measurement before he gave the miniature pumpkin to Mark, who told you how much it cost. You were so eager to accept the small tote bag Chenle was extending out to you that you didn’t even bother asking for your change back, shoving the money into Mark’s hand and insisting that he keep it.

Your eyes land on the same bag, sitting in the corner of your room, and it makes your face break out into a bright grin. Not even bothered by how early you’ve woken up, you bound down the stairs for breakfast, the most excited for the day ahead you can ever remember being.

You spend the next couple of weeks visiting Chenle during his shifts at the festival, sometimes staying late enough for him to walk you home like he did that first day. With each time he sees you, he warms up to your presence, becoming more like his usual witty and hardly-ever-flustered self. Oddly enough you start to act less and less like a couple, which doesn’t go unnoticed by his friends. The incessant blushing is gradually replaced by sarcastic banter with one another. You don’t know anyone who makes you laugh like Chenle does.

“Hey,” he pipes up one afternoon as you’re watching him organize some pumpkins. “What if I dyed my hair this color?” Chenle points to one that’s a particularly vivid shade of orange, raising his eyebrows as you think of a reply.

“Then you’d look like a pumpkin,” you hum in response.

He chuckles. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?“

You shake your head. “Not necessarily. Are you really going to dye it, though?”

“Probably not.”

“As you wish, pumpkin.”

He whirls around, nearly dropping the stack of gourds in his hands. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me... pumpkin,” you smirk after repeating the new nickname, and it puts an impossibly cute pout on his face.

“Don’t call me that!”

You jokingly ruffle his hair, and Chenle’s small smile betrays his annoyed facade as he realizes he could get used to hearing the word roll off your tongue, not to mention you addressing him with it.

It’s the week of Halloween when the six boys that volunteer with Chenle at the festival meet up to create a plan that will, ideally, end with both of you confessing your feelings. All but one of them, which happens to be Mark, excitedly discuss possible ways to set you two up. Should they send you on a private hayride somehow? Or maybe they could get you to try out the corn maze together, and hopefully you would struggle with finding your way out long enough to express your mutual crushes on each other.

“I don’t know about this, guys. I still think we should just let them figure it out on their own.”

“You’re no fun, Mark,” Donghyuck chastises. The eldest shrugs, an expression of resignation on his face. At least he tried.

Finally, they decide on having both of you move between each of their respective areas or booths around the festival, dropping as many hints to you about the other’s infatuation as possible. First you’ll start the evening off by navigating through the corn maze, which they realize is impossible for you to get lost in since Chenle had to memorize the map of it. So much for their earlier plan.

After that, Renjun will usher you off towards Jisung’s station, the game area. Conveniently, he’ll suggest you play the balloon dart toss together, but there’s going to be a catch: one of you has to carry the other in their arms while they throw them. They laugh a little at how flustered they imagine you’ll get.

Next, Mark and Donghyuck will help you pick out the best pumpkin to carve for the upcoming holiday. You’ll start to pick it up, but Chenle will insist on holding it instead. If you had heard this, you would be fuming. Who says you’re not strong enough to carry a pumpkin on your own? You’ll show them.

To end the night, Jaemin and Jeno will “accidentally” only give you one stick of cotton candy, forcing you to share. By that time, they hope you’ll be perceptive enough to finally see that the attraction is mutual, diminishing the fear of rejection in both of your minds.

Not so surprisingly, nothing would go as planned.

The boys put their little scheme into action on the night of October 30th. Chenle is actually finished with his days of volunteering at this point, and even though he could stay home after working many long hours over the past few weeks, he opts to visit the festival as a guest this evening, with you by his side.

He picks you up outside of your house, waiting on the sidewalk right next to the same lamp post that the flyer for the festival was taped to, also known as the entire reason why you’re in this situation in the first place. If you hadn’t taken the time to read those words on the purple-colored page, you honestly don’t know where you’d be right now.

Dressed in your favorite and coziest autumn outfit, you practically fly down the stairs of your front porch to greet him. Like you’ve gotten used to doing by now, he holds your hand in his as you walk, taking the same route you always do.

Chenle’s heart beats a little faster when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of the festival in the distance. For the first time, you’ll both be able to enjoy the event together without being bombarded by constant requests to help with various tasks throughout the night. Or so you thought.

From the moment you step foot inside the grounds, Jisung is already standing at the entrance and hurriedly directing you to the corn maze. Confused but obedient nonetheless, you both head towards where his finger is pointing.

Chenle knows something is up as soon as he sees a familiar mischievous twinkle in Renjun’s dark eyes. “You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” he tells you.

“Chenle, it’s a maze. I don’t think they work like that.” He ignores your playful sarcasm.

Speaking in the quietest voice he can muster, which is quite a feat for him, Chenle leans in close to whisper harshly in the older boy’s ear. “What are you trying to pull?”

At a volume level that’s loud enough for you to hear, Renjun replies, “The others and I thought it would be fun to plan out your evening a little! So first we want you to start here, at the corn maze.”

“Aw, really? That sounds like fun!” Oblivious to the group’s true motives, you endorse their plan with your words. “Better get started,” Renjun winks. As you turn to make your way in between the tall rows of vegetables, he roughly yanks Chenle backward to quietly say, “There isn’t a more perfect time to confess to them, I mean, a romantic autumn night at the festival? Make a move already,” he encourages.

Glowering back at him, Chenle reluctantly follows you into the maze.

Only 15 minutes later you emerge from the corn stalks, the boys’ scheme momentarily forgotten. It quickly comes to mind again when you find Jisung waiting outside for you for the second time that night. One time too many, in Chenle’s opinion.

Not missing a beat, the younger of the two boys leads you both over to the area he’s assigned to. The wall of colorful balloons catches your attention immediately. “Let’s play this one!” You exclaim as you tug on his sleeve like a little kid. Delighted with your choice, Jisung quickly explains the rules, but the twist he adds to them goes right over your head. In fact, you’re the one that offers to carry Chenle first. Neither of your faces turn pink with embarrassed blushes.

You don’t even bat an eyelash as you carry the pumpkin that you picked out together in your arms, much to Donghyuck’s dismay. Mark just stands to the side, amused at their attempts to artificially force confessions out of you. The singular stick of cotton candy that Jaemin hands to you over the counter of the concessions stand fails to phase either of you whatsoever, and you end up just pinching off small pieces from the sticky sweet dessert with your hands. Jeno points out your simple solution to the boy standing next to him, observing their failure. “Why didn’t we think of that?” He mumbles.

The six boys finally gather together when they collectively realize they didn’t succeed, but actually did just the opposite. Making a small circle, they start to argue and pointlessly blame one another for causing everything to go wrong. You only manage to catch a few words of their heated conversation, but something in your gut tells you that they were up to more than just creating a schedule of activities for you to follow.

Exchanging glances, you and Chenle nod at each other, about to try and quietly slip away from them. Hand in hand, you take careful steps backwards, but before you can dash away Mark catches sight of you. Thankfully, he smiles a little and puts a finger to his lips, making a “shh” sign as he waves his hand in a signal for you to hurry up.

Abandoning all of your cares, you give up on going unnoticed by the group and shamelessly scamper off in the opposite direction.

“Wait, I know that place!” You shout excitedly as you pass a small playground meant for the younger visitors to the festival. “Can we go over there?” You plead with him, but you suppose you shouldn’t call it that since he gives in to your request so easily.

The child-sized vehicle standing in the center of the play area is a familiar sight to you, and Chenle knows what you’re about to ask him before you even open your mouth. “Go ahead,” he says with a loving smile on his face as he motions to the carriage, designed to look like the very object that the entire festival itself centers around. Catching up to you, Chenle steps forward a little so that he reaches the small stairs leading up to it first.

“Your highness,” Chenle bows, crossing one foot behind the other and bending a knee. Opening the creaky door to the pumpkin carriage for you, he gestures to the inside of the oversized fruit, the graceful movement ushering you to climb inside. You bashfully tug on your striped scarf, holding the woolen material up against your cheeks as you laugh at his chivalrous display. It tickles a little, and he thinks you look even more adorable bundled up like that.

The interior is much smaller than you remember. But then again, you had been much smaller the last time you sat in this very seat.

Calling the inside of the carriage cramped is an understatement. There are two narrow benches on either side of it, the space on the floor between them barely enough to fit the legs of one occupant, much less two. Chenle struggles but eventually sits down across from you, unintentionally forcing your knees to rest in between his. The small windows on the squeaky, rusty doors do little to let in any light whatsoever. In the darkness, you can’t see the boy’s face flush at your closeness.

‘What now?’ You think to yourself, wondering if you’re brave enough in this moment to finally tell him how you feel, how much you enjoy his company, how special he’s become to you. And though you don’t know it, across from you Chenle is contemplating doing the same. He beats you to it with his next actions.

Your racing train of thought skids to an abrupt halt when you feel his hand on the lower part of your thigh, touch innocent and timid as it lingers on the soft fabric of your corduroy pants.

Eyes hurriedly adjusting to the dim space surrounding you, you feel his fingers grasp your own before you see them. At last you make eye contact with each other, gazes boring into one another and recognizing the same things, the same feelings in them. Chenle’s clutching your hand in his now, the first still resting comfortably on your thigh, and you feel the dull sensation of his legs bending inward, squeezing your knees together. His mouth opens, rounded lips parting as though to ask the question that you both already know the answer to. You bring an arm up to hold him by the shoulder, the movement in itself confirming that this is what you want as well. That he’s what you want.

Careful not to bump your heads against the low ceiling of the carriage, he leans towards you, closing the already minimal distance between your faces as he meets your lips in a kiss.

Heads tilting and eyelashes fluttering shut at the same instant, you both pour every unspoken thought, every secret glance, every loving word that never made it past your lips into the contact they currently share. The moment itself feels long overdue, like something you could have done on that first day you spent at the festival together.

It means more this way, though. The amount of time it took for this to happen gave you more time to discover and get comfortable with the way you feel about Chenle. To get comfortable with him. His presence, his humor, his personality, his touch, everything about him is something you’ve grown to depend on over these past few weeks.

Even your lips begin to depend on Chenle as they fall into place against his own, moving with a fervor you weren’t even aware you possessed.

There’s a quiet rhythm to the osculation of your lips, an airy sigh or breath from one of you breaking the silence every few seconds. In the midst of the indescribably wonderful sensation that is the kiss you’re sharing, you faintly feel his hand start to move up and down your leg, not in a provocative way but a reassuring one. His loving caresses have you leaning further into him even though there’s barely enough room to do so, making you wish for one reason and one reason alone that you were having this kiss somewhere else. Otherwise, the location is perfect.

More than a decade has passed since you were just a young child, begrudgingly posing for a photo for your parents by poking your head out through the same small window of the carriage. Since then, the orange of the paint has dulled, the once-soft carpet on the floor has become coarse from the countless shoes that have trodden over it. The wooden doors are splintered and, though never functional, the carriage’s large wheels have undoubtedly begun to show their age with the amount of dirt and dust caught in the grooves.

You’ve made many memories in this place, but the one you’re making today is sure to be unforgettable.

Chenle would give anything to be able to hold you right now, to maybe bring you onto his lap in a tender embrace as he shows you just how fast and how hard he’s fallen for you. Not that volunteering at the festival was a bad thing at all, but you made it so much more bearable, so much more fun. The thought of spending another perfect day with you was more than enough to get him out of bed every morning.

He compromises for the restrictions that the enclosed space places on your movements by untangling his fingers from yours, choosing to cup your cheek with them instead. You’re a little disappointed when his hand lifts from its place on your thigh, anxiousness bubbling up in your gut as you anticipate where he’s going to place it next.

It’s safe to say you just about melt when you feel his palm come up to delicately cradle one side of your chin, thumb darting out to glide along the skin that’s just below your bottom lip. Arching into him, you make the most of the little room you have left to pull him closer.

It’s then that your lungs finally catch up to both of you, sending simultaneous signals telling you to breathe. Granted, Chenle’s kisses feel like all the oxygen you’ll ever need anyway.

Reluctantly leaning away, your chests heave with muted but sharp gasps. A pang of worry hits you when he doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t say anything. His mouth has fallen open, eyes wide with just as much anticipation as you feel. Taking what feels like the biggest breath in your life, you pray your voice doesn’t tremble as you speak for the first time since you clambered into the dark, cozy carriage.

“I really like you, Chenle.”

The relief that washes over you when he responds is unlike any you’ve ever felt before.

“I like you, too.”

But he’s not done.

“...A lot, in case you hadn’t noticed.” The extra detail makes you giggle, smiling shyly at anything that isn’t him.

He goes to lean in again when you stop him. “Wait, wait, can we at least get out of here first? I want to do this properly.”

You scoot sideways after he nods in agreement, far enough for him to open the door and step down from the elevated imitation of a pumpkin. He extends a hand up to you once he’s on solid ground again, and you take it. His face breaks into that signature bubbly grin of his that’s more contagious than you’d like to admit.

Joining him on the grassy surface, you dramatically stretch your arms out in front of you, waiting for him to reciprocate the hug you’re implicitly requesting.

The impish twinkle in his eye you know so well appears with his next words. “Can I pick you up?”

“You’ll drop me!” You retort, scoffing.

“Aw, c’mon! No I won’t,” he pouts. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

Strong arms envelop your form as he lifts you into the air, only to pull you tightly against his torso. Not even the world’s fluffiest blanket can compare to the fleecy warm softness of the plaid shirt and sweater vest he’s wearing.

The enamored smile on Chenle’s face is the kind that would have made you weak in the knees if you were standing. Forgetting that you’re no longer shielded from the world by the carriage’s privacy, he presses your foreheads together and cutely nuzzles your nose with his own.

Framing his sharp jawline with both of your hands, you lean in to share a second kiss with the boy you wish you had gotten to know sooner. It’s no use wondering about what could have been, however, so for now you decide to focus on only this moment, only these lips, only Chenle. The way he smiles into the kiss has you reeling with affection.

Not even the distant cheers that just barely reach your eardrums can tear you away from each other.

When you feel as though the kiss has conveyed all you want and need to say to one another, Chenle begins to mumble against your lips. In a voice low enough for only you to hear, he says, “We’re going to have to face them sooner or later, you know.”

“How about never?” You reply, grumbling.

“Just follow my lead, okay? I’m used to their teasing,” he comforts.

“If you say so...”

Breaking out of the kiss-induced daze, you both look over to where the six boys stand, clapping and pumping their fists in the air in celebration with one another.

One of them, probably Renjun, you can’t quite tell, cups his hands around his mouth in preparation for the shout that leaves it not even a second later.

“It’s about damn time!”

“I told you guys if we just left them alone they’d figure it out themselves!” Mark adds triumphantly.

Apparently more than one kiss is one too many for his friends to see, and enough to make the small group turn away, yelling for you to “get a room” at the top of their lungs. You feel Chenle smirk against your lips at their repulsed reactions.

“Serves them right.”

You agree.

You’ve never had someone to spend Halloween night with before, and boy does this stress Chenle out to no end. He wants everything to be perfect, wants to do everything that a couple should do on such a holiday. “It’s really not a big deal, Chenle,” you insist sympathetically as he paces your living room floor, currently obsessing over what costumes you should wear.

“But... it’s you, and you’re a big deal. A big deal to me. I just want to make you happy.”

“Nothing could make me happier than being able to call you mine,” you proclaim proudly, enjoying the way his face practically turns into a tomato when what you’ve just said registers in his brain. “Stop it,” he stutters, lowering his head to stare at the carpet under his feet. You just giggle.

The excitement of the night is unlike any other. Your neighborhood’s streets are full of mostly children, but some adults and grandparents too, all taking part in the festivities. Going from doorstep to doorstep, you chant the famous three-word phrase at each house, assuring anyone who answers the door that you’re never too old to trick or treat if they ask. You get lots of compliments on your matching costumes: Chenle’s dressed as Sully and you��re Mike Wazowski from Monsters Inc. The soft fur on his outfit makes it extremely difficult for you to hold yourself back from hugging him any chance you get.

With your bags full of enough candy to last you two months at least, you return home for the night, this time crashing at his place. Despite the fact that it’s already getting late, both of you quickly change into some more comfortable clothes before settling in on his couch for a Halloween movie marathon.

“How about...” Chenle scrolls through the large selection of films on the screen. “The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“No!” You cry out abruptly, lightly pounding against his chest with one of your fists before returning it to its original position around his waist.

Looking down at you, currently curled up in his lap with your other arm thrown rather lazily over his sturdy shoulders and your side pressing into his torso, he asks, “Why not?”

In a small voice, you respond. “It... gave me nightmares when I was little.”

“Really? A Disney movie?”

“Yes, now can we please stop talking about it and pick something else?”

“Aw, are you scared?”

“Shut up!” You whine shyly, burying your face as far as it would go into the thin fabric of his loose white t-shirt.

“Hey,” he hushes you, “I’m not making fun of you, baby. It’s okay... I’ve got you.”

Chenle swears he feels the warmth of your blush against his shoulder, generated by his unusual use of that particular term of endearment.

He runs a reassuring palm along one of your arms down to your hand. Effortlessly he winds each of his fingers around yours, like piecing together the most delicate of puzzles, and you remember how this action would have flustered both of you beyond belief mere weeks before. It’s become so simple, so instinctive a movement, saying everything you need to know without even the slightest whisper of a word in the air.

Rubbing small circles into the skin on the back of your neck with his other hand, he holds you close, the harsh light from the television illuminating your form as it clings to his.

You eventually decide on an actual horror movie that leaves you muffling your shrieks with a pillow, but Chenle just laughs with a pitch so high that it reminds you of a certain marine mammal. You scold him by giving his shoulder a whack. “Shh, Chenle! You’re going to wake the whole neighborhood up!”

“Hey, you were screaming too!”

“That’s not screaming, that’s called laughing, you dummy.”

Hours later, Chenle’s arm hangs limply down into the large bowl of treats you’ve been sharing. The soft snores next to your ear tell you that he’s fallen asleep. His family finds you two knocked out cold the next morning, covered in fuzzy blankets and colorful candy wrappers strewn about the sofa.

Indeed, this would be a Halloween to remember, and you hope to spend many more together in the future. With Chenle in your arms right now, there’s no place in this world that you would rather be. And it’s all thanks to a flimsy piece of paper on a lamp post.

[queenk00k]

red wine lips part 4 // rafe cameron

warnings: you know the drill, it’s smut baby.

word count: 1.6k

READ PART 1 HERE

READ PART 2 HERE

READ PART 3 HERE

author’s note: this is the final part of the red wine lips series! thank you so much to everyone who has read, supported and loved this series with me. look out for plenty more rafe content to come.

For two months now, you and Rafe have been enjoying each other’s company in more ways than one. Never one to waste any time, but certainly one to avoid discussing anything remotely serious, you were quick to fall into a rhythm with your best friend/fuck buddy/whatever else he may be. After the incidents at the winery and the tennis club, there was an unspoken agreement between you and the self-professed Kook King that you’ll continue to hang out as friends and sneak off whenever possible to let out that pent up sexual frustration you knew too well.

And, since Rafe seemed to constantly want to get his dick wet, there was rarely an outing or event that went without a sneaky quickie in a hidden corner or locked bathroom.

You recall sneaking up to Topper’s roof during one of his parties, Rafe bending you over the railing that looked over the backyard, answering Rafe’s “wanna fuck u now” texts with a coy smile and raised eyebrow and, more recently, the memory of Rafe pressing you up against the wall in a changing room as you decided on your dress for Midsummers.

What you can’t seem to remember, however, is when your feelings for Rafe extended beyond how much you liked the feeling of his body flush against yours, lips attached to your neck.

Maybe it was when you started talking with one another for longer after having sex instead of just leaving, or maybe that one time when he lifted up your chin with his index finger to kiss you (the cool metal of his ring a stark contrast against your flushed skin), or when seeing him flirting with a Touron made your blood boil.

You’ve found yourself completely and hopelessly falling for Rafe Cameron.

It’s a few hours before the start of Midsummers, a night you’ve been looking forward to for the last few weeks, and yet you can’t seem to get yourself out of bed. You’ve mostly got a handle on your anxiety but on days like this you’re brought right back to square one. It’s a tough job to keep up with Rafe and your extended group of friends and show your face at every event on the Figure 8 social calendar, and right now you can’t think of anything worse than spending hours around other people.

Your stomach twisting in knots, you look at your pale pink tulle gown hanging on your bedroom door (something different, at Rafe’s request) and sigh. Rafe was going to disappointed but there was no way you were going to force yourself to do something you’re completely uncomfortable with.

You roll onto your side and pick up your phone, choosing to ignore the dozen or so text messages from Claire (“where are you? I thought we were pre-gaming? This champagne won’t drink itself!”) and scroll until you find Rafe’s number.

He answers on the second ring. “Y/N, hey! Are you on your way to Topper’s? I don’t want to start without you,” he says.

You gulp before answering him. “Hey Rafe, look, I’m really sorry but I’m not coming to Midsummers-”

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

“I just feel like garbage, I really don’t feel up to partying tonight,” you say.

“Do you need me to come over?” Rafe asks, sounding concerned.

You brush him off. “No, no, it’s okay. You guys go and have fun, I’ll see you later.”

There’s a long pause before Rafe replies. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Yeah Rafe, it’s fine. Bye!”

“Bye. Feel better.”

He hangs up and you’re left to stare at your ceiling, feeling deflated, before closing your eyes and falling back asleep.

--

Not long after, a soft knock on your bedroom door wakes you up. Assuming it’s your mum coming to convince you to come, you don’t bother to raise your head off your plush pillow as you begrudgingly say “come in.”

Rafe Cameron was the last person you expected to walk through your door, much less dressed in grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt instead of his baby blue suit and bowtie.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, smiling fondly. “Feeling a bit better?”

“What are you doing here Rafe?”

He walks across your room and takes a seat gingerly on the edge of your bed, placing his hand on your leg.

“You felt like shit and I wanted to make you feel better. Here I am.”

You’re touched by his sweetness and find yourself at a loss for words.

“Can I get in?”

You nod and Rafe pulls off his t-shirt, before getting into your bed and wrapping his muscled arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“C’mere,” he says and you snuggle into him, feeling both content and confused.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble against Rafe’s chest.

“For what?”

“I know you wanted to show me off tonight, and we had that plan to sneak off to the locker room-”

Rafe chuckles. “I don’t care about that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’re my best friend first and foremost, Y/N. I gotta look out for you.”

You breathe in shakily. “I know but….you’re not my boyfriend, Rafe. I would have understood if you went to Midsummers and got with Olivia or whoever.”

There’s a painfully long silence and you’re terrified of Rafe’s response.

“I’d like to be,” he finally says quietly.

You lift your head up, heart racing, not entirely sure what you just heard.

“What?”

Rafe looks down at you. “I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’d let me.”

You grin.

“Of course, Rafe. Of course I’ll ‘let you be my boyfriend.’”

Rafe smiles sweetly and kisses you on the forehead, then the tip of your nose, before finally brushing his lips against yours.

You hum with contentment and shift your position so you’re facing him, your elbows braced on either side of his head as you continue to kiss, his tongue slipping in your mouth as you move together.

Rafe’s hand rests on your waist as the other sneaks up your t-shirt, cupping your right breast and running his thumb over your quickly hardened nipple.

The pace is slow and languid, syrupy sweet and completely different to what you’re used to. There’s no hasty pushing clothes aside or feverish kisses, the two of you are almost lazy, taking your time and taking it all in.

Soon enough, you’re lifting your arms above your head as Rafe slowly pulls your t-shirt over your head and he’s blinking up at you like you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, his eyes glazed over with complete adoration.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of the fact that this is the first time Rafe has actually seen you naked like this, and you cross your arms over your stomach instinctively. Rafe shakes his head and pulls your arms down, kissing you passionately.

“You’re beautiful,” he says and you smile into the kiss.

Rafe plays with your nipple with one hand as he finds your clit with the other, pressing gently into your heat as you whimper, the rolling pleasure almost becoming too much as he slips his finger inside.

You whimper, rocking against him, asking him for more and moaning louder as he adds another finger, and then another, before he’s slowly pumping three fingers inside your hot centre and you’re cumming around his fingers with a shudder.

There’s a pause as you catch your breath, and you smirk as you feel how hard he is beneath you.  

“Feel good babe?” Rafe asks you.

You nod.

“You’re severely overdressed,” you say, rolling off Rafe to give him the space to pull off his sweatpants, his underwear coming with it and his hard cock springing out, a bead of pre-cum glimmering at the tip.

You move to get into position on the bed, lifting your ass up, before Rafe tuts and moves you onto your back.

“I want to look at your pretty face,” he says, pumping his cock with some lube he found in your bedside table.

You nod, almost nervous, as Rafe lines up the head of his cock with your entrance. He pushes into you slowly and you feel your walls tighten around his length.

As if he feels your slight nervousness, Rafe kisses you on the forehead once more and asks “are you okay? We can stop.”

“I’m more than okay,” you reply and you grab his ass with both of your hands, pulling him deeper inside you.

Rafe groans and rocks into you, picking up his pace as you both move together, enjoying this new closeness you’d not experienced with one another before. You make sure to pull your new boyfriend in for a deep kiss intermittently, and he makes a point of staring deeply into your eyes as he whimpers.

After some minutes of him pumping his cock inside you, Rafe’s movements start to sputter and become irregular and you can tell he’s close to finishing.

“Baby, I’m going to cum,” he says and you simply wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace as he moans one final time, pushing his cock into you and spilling his cum inside you.

You can’t quite put your finger on why but this time feels so unbelievably different, and better, than all of the other times.

Rafe stays inside you for a few moments, and then presses his slightly sweaty forehead to yours, his eyes fluttering closed.

“You’re incredible,” he says, and you feel happier in that moment than any other time in your life.

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[mrsdeanwinchester19]

The Interview

Steve x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: The Avengers have interviews with a news outlet and it doesn’t go as expected

Type: Fluff and humor

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: This was inspired by the Jiminy Glick/Jimmy Fallon interview

The Avengers compound was almost completely quiet, Steve was the only one awake.  He doesn’t normally stay at the compound anymore, preferring to stay at his house, but they got in late from a mission last night and fell asleep after taking his suit off.  The only noise came from the drip, drip, drip of the coffee maker as he mentally tried to prepare for the interviews the whole team has today.  Everyone had been assigned a journalist for a news outlet called The New York Sun.  They were doing a piece on the Avengers, hopefully they won’t try to turn it into an exposé, but it’s not like they would find any information that isn’t already on the Internet after Natasha decrypted and released SHIELD’s files.

Bucky stumbles into the kitchen in a long gray and purple striped robe, looking like he just woke from cryo.  “Good morning sunshine,” Steve jokes.  Bucky glares at him before taking the cup of coffee that Steve had prepared for himself before walking back out.  “FRIDAY,” Steve says to the air.  “Set an alarm for everyone’s room.”  He smiles slightly when the loud alarm starts blaring in all their rooms.  

Sam slams his door open and looks around frazzled.  “What the hell, man?” He clearly woke up thinking there was some kind of attack happening.

Steve simply shrugs his shoulders in response.  “You need to get ready.”

Once everyone had gotten up and gotten ready, they all have a meeting in the common area.  Tony orders them not to say anything the people don’t know about already, don’t say anything about each other, and definitely don’t talk about relationships or family.  

The journalists are spread out around the compound, each in their own room, so Tony tells them where to go to meet their journalist.  Steve goes into the conference room to see one chair turned away from him.  When he closes the door, the journalist spins their chair around and sets their papers on the table.  Steve is immediately struck by how beautiful the interviewer is. Long Y/H/C hair tumbling over her shoulders, bright Y/E/C eyes staring into his baby blues.  She’s wearing a tight black skirt and a white blouse that Steve can slightly see her lacy bralette through.  

“Steve Rogers, nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand.  Steve grips her soft hand in his rough one and shakes it.  He can’t help but notice the lack of a ring on the hand he didn’t shake.

“Nice to meet you too Miss…” he trails off.

“Y/N.”

“Miss Y/N.  It’s not often we do interviews, just press conferences,” he says, sitting down across the table from her.

“Well, normally I interview celebrities, so this is a nice change of pace,” she answers.  Apparently Steve isn’t a celebrity in her eyes despite the fact that he’s a national icon and has been since World War II.  

“What would you like to know?” Steve changes the subject.

“I want to know about your journey.  I want to know how-” she checks her notes, “-Steve Rogers got to where he is today; but not too much detail because I don’t actually care.  You were born where?”

“I was born and raised in Brooklyn-,” Steve explains, but she cuts him off.

“-Isn’t that wonderful? Poor Brooklyn or Newsies Brooklyn?”

“Uh, it was more poor Brooklyn.”

“Poor Brooklyn, okay. And I’m assuming from the grammar…limited education.”

Steve nearly has to keep his jaw from dropping at her audacity.  To keep his mouth from opening, he clenches his jaw as she continues with the questions.  He may not be a genius like Tony, but he’s smart.  While Tony’s head is filled with ideas for inventions, his is packed with military strategies, fighting styles, and a lifetime of wise advice that the team never wants to hear.  Then, at night, what takes over his mind is how embarrassing the Rappin’ with Cap videos about hot lunches and tooth decay are.

She continues before he has a chance to respond, “There are a lot of words you don’t say.  Rumors are you don’t swear, is that true?”  Steve nods his head in affirmation.  “Why?  Are you scared of saying the words or something?”

Steve sighs, used to this kind of response.  “I just think it sounds unintelligent and unprofessional.”

“Ah, and with your lack of education you want to sound as smart as possible.  So, moving on, you stopped producing weapons.  You said ‘I’m not gonna do it anymore’.  Why is that?”

“Yeah, that uh, that wasn’t me, that was Tony.”

“And you are…?”

“Steve Rogers.”

She gasps, “These questions are not- I’m not prepared for this!  Alright, improvising.  Here’s one, how are you alive?”

“I beg your pardon?” Steve asks, not quite understanding if she’s referring to his age or a certain mission he shouldn’t have come back from.

“You went into the ice. Human cells are mostly made of water. When water freezes, it expands. Your cells should have burst.”

“They think that the serum prevented it from happening.  The doctors said that instead of the water in my cells expanding that when it got cold it clumped together and turned solid.  I’m not a scientist though, that’s something you would want to ask Bruce or Cho, they tried to explain it to me.”

“Bruce isn’t a medical doctor, right?” she asks.

“Right.  But he studied the serum, attempting to replicate it and now that I’m here again he’s trying to learn more about it.  I was basically a pin cushion for him in the beginning, he took so much blood.”

“Alright, last question. I wanna ask you about your relationship with Bucky Barnes.”

“He’s a very good friend-“ Steve begins.

“Lover.”

“What?”

“Is he your lover?” she asks again.

“No, he’s just a friend; basically my brother,” Steve defends.

“Admit it in this interview, he’s your male lover!”

“You’re just trying to get a reaction out of me!” Steve says.  He knows he shouldn’t let her rile him up at all, but he can’t help it when the entire interview has been to hold.

“I’m not trying to get a reaction.”

“Yes you are, you’re trying to get a reaction out of me by saying ridiculous stuff like this!”

“I’ll tell you the reaction that I’m trying to get over, I’m trying to get over the fact that I thought this was with Stark!”

“You gotta be shitting me.”

“Oof, Rogers, you kiss your wife with that mouth?  Or should I say you kiss Bucky with that mouth,” she says.

Steve pulls at his own hair before walking out of the conference room.  She’ll find her own way out.  What the hell kind of interview was that?  The questions were almost nonsensical, followed no pattern or sequence, and apparently she thought she was interviewing a different person.  He’s been angered by interviewers before, especially when they try to work in “gotcha” questions, but never straight up insulted like this with the education comment.  He’s not sure if the others are done with their interviews yet but if he needs to talk to them, he can text.  He’s headed home.

  You unlock your front door and drop your purse after closing the door. Before you even get a chance to turn on the light, a voice calls out.  “Limited education?”

You jump a bit and put your hand on your chest.  You look over to see a dark figure on the couch.  He stands up and slowly walks over until he’s in the light shining through the front windows from the street lights.  “I think you deserved it,” you say.

“Oh really?” he asks.

“Yes.  Texting your wife that you’re getting in and then staying at the compound?”  You walk closer to him.  “I stayed up for hours worried that something happened to you in the last few minutes of the flight and you said I’m not allowed to call you during missions.”

“I’m sorry babe, my phone died and I passed out when I went to go take off my uniform.  Can you forgive me?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You look up at him then at his chest.  “I mean, a massage would definitely help…”

He laughs.  “I was about to ask the same thing of you, especially after FRIDAY showed Tony the full recording of my interview and then had an almost two hour phone call with me about it.  He’s gonna kill me when he finds out the interviewer was my wife.  Actually it’s gonna be when he finds out I got married and didn’t invite the team.”

“Well don’t worry about it,” you say, setting your hands against his chest and feel his strong heart beating beneath his skin.  “He’ll understand since you two weren’t on good terms at the time. In other news, I wrote you a shining review about how you’re smart, selfless, brave, kind, and how sexy your ass is.”

He laughs and leans down to kiss you.  The kiss is chaste but sweet.  “We’re having dinner with the team on Thursday.”  

It’s Monday today so that gives me only 3 days to mentally prepare to meet the people most important to him. “Are you sure?” I ask nervously.  

“Of course!  You already know Bucky and he loves you.  I’m sure the rest of the team will too.  Besides, how else will we explain the great article about me when Tony saw the interview.”

“Did you tell them they’re having dinner with you and your wife?” I ask.  I have hung out with Bucky and Steve dozens of times.  He comes over for dinner at least twice a week and he was the best man at Steve’s second wedding.  Because Tony and Steve had been split apart, he really wanted Bucky at his wedding, even though he wasn’t fully recovered yet.  I think Steve would’ve put him in a straight jacket had it meant he could be there.  Bucky also wanted to be there more than anything, he was just terrified he would ruin Steve’s day.  So after telling Bucky, you had a small, second ceremony that Bucky was able to attend, along with Steve’s Wakandan friends. We may end up having a third ceremony that the team can finally attend.

“Nope.  I just told them team dinner on Thursday and they have to be there.  But for now, how about we head to the bedroom and get reacquainted?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows and biting his full lower lip.

“Yeah, you need to take care of your wife that you left alone for a week.  Otherwise you’ll get an article about your secret addition to glazed donuts and soap operas!”

Taglist: @imanuglywombat​

[e350tb]

The Owl House: A Blight on Gravesfield (Chapter Three)

Three

Everyone has a bit of a talk...

The Connecticut Witch Trials were the first large scale witch hunts to occur in the American Colonies. Eat your heart out, Salem.

Now it’s worth pointing out that they were much less intense than the Salem Witch Trials; more people were executed in Salem in fifteen months then were killed in Connecticut in fifteen years. Nevertheless, they certainly had an effect on the people of the young colony; and indeed, on the town of Gravesfield.

The panic started with the trial and execution of Alse Young in Hartford, in May 1647. The following year, also in Hartford, Mary Johnson confessed to ‘familiarity with the devil’ - because of a pregnancy while imprisoned, she wouldn’t be executed until 1650. The tendrils of suspicion seeped out across the land, and before long, an accusation was made in Gravesfield.

The year was 1651. Philip Wittlesbane was already a source of some contention in Gravesfield; he had written a pamphlet denouncing the execution of King Charles I, claiming it to be a ‘miscarriage of justice by a vengeful, prideful victor.’ He’d actually spent a day in the pillory for it, and probably would have suffered worse if he had not clarified that he certainly wasn’t a Royalist.

The Wittelsbanes had started off, like most people in Connecticut, as fairly staunch, if not particularly active, supporters of Parliament. John remained so throughout the Civil War period, but it seems Philip grew more and more concerned about the Roundheads as time went on. It was not the execution of Charles that really seems to have soured Philip, but the establishment of the ‘Rump Parliament’, which was basically a seizure of power by the supporters of Cromwell’s New Model Army.

That’s a gross oversimplification, but we’re not talking about Cromwell today.

By 1650, Philip had become a big supporter of the rights of men - not women, just men, this was the seventeenth century - and by men, we mean Englishmen. All Englishmen, regardless of wealth, status or faith. Well, as long as that faith was Christian, anyway.

This troubled John and the other city fathers, who had something of a stake in keeping power centered on a wealthy, Puritan elite. And as Philip started to get more and more in trouble with the authorities, John started to worry about his writings about witches coming out; because then, of course, the authorities would find out what John had been writing about them too.

On one hand, Philip was his brother. On the other hand, he might doom them both.

On a summers’ day in 1651, John and Philip went for a ‘private discussion’ out in the woods near Gravesfield. John’s friend, Thomas Goodfaith Masterson - fantastic name - waited at John’s house for them to return; ‘John hath told me most firmly that by sundown, the matter of Philip would be solved.’

John returned alone that afternoon. Philip never returned again.

--------

The tension in the air was so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

Luz, Amity and Vee sat on the couch; Luz’ eyes were fixed firmly on the floor as Camila paced in front of them. No-one knew quite how to start this conversation; there was that strange feeling in the air, the feeling when nobody is in trouble, but at the same time everybody is in trouble.

Perhaps it would be more correct to say that nobody was in trouble from Camila, but they were all in a lot of trouble from reality.

Camila inhaled through her nose.

“Okay,” she said. “I want you to start at the beginning. What happened before you got here?”

“Well,” Luz rubbed the back of her head. “It involves Emperor Belos. And, well, I don’t wanna upset Vee…”

Camila turned to Vee.

“Vee, if you need to leave the room at any time…”

“No.” Vee shook her head. “I’ll be okay, I think.”

Luz nodded.

“Okay,” she said, “It all started this morning, at the Owl House…”

 -------

“Luz… hey, Luz… Luz. Luz. Hey, Luz.”

Slowly, Luz opened her eyes.

She had been lying face-first on the floor, scribbled notes surrounding her; the Echo Mouse snoozing quietly next to her. King was prodding her gently with a stick, and the rays of the sun were spilling through the window into the lounge room. When she had fallen asleep, she couldn't tell.

“Ugh.” She pushed herself up, turning onto her back. She could see Eda leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, a little smirk on her face.

“Fall asleep on the floor again?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” replied Luz. “It’s only been… one, two… wow, three nights in a row.”

“Yeah, and I can’t nap on the couch while you’re down there talking in your sleep!” exclaimed King. “What the heck’s a Vee, anyway?”

“It’s, uh, my favourite letter!” replied Luz, sitting up quickly. “Yeah, gotta love that letter V, am I right?!”

Eda and King stared.

“You don’t really think I’m that dumb, do you?” asked King.

“Something’s bugging me about you, Luz,” said Eda, walking over to her. “Is something on your mind?”

“You mean, apart from building the portal home?”

“You’ve been obsessed!” exclaimed Eda. “Normally you’d have been up two hours ago to go to school. I mean, if you wanna play hooky, go right ahead, but…”

“I’m missing school!” exclaimed Luz. “I can’t- I gotta-”

She ran a hand through her hair.

“I… no, I can’t go to Hexside, I’ve gotta focus on this!” she said, turning back to her notes. “I’m almost there, I’m sure of it…”

Eda and King exchanged glances.

“You, uh, you sure everything went okay with that portal?” asked King.

“If there’s a problem, you know you can tell us,” said Eda. “I mean, if you can’t trust family, who can you trust?”

Luz glanced from her notes to Eda and back again, exhaling through her nose.

“I… okay,” she replied. “It… it didn’t go that great.”

Eda sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her. Luz gave her a small, grateful smile and took her seat.

“Mom… she really kinda freaked out,” she said, her fingers tightening on the edge of the couch. “And she was really upset, and I… I kinda promised when I got home…”

“...you’d stay with her,” said Eda.

Luz looked away, nodding.

“But you don’t want to?” asked King.

“I… I’d give the world to see Mom again!” replied Luz. “But I don’t want to give up you guys, or Amity, or Willow or Gus; heck, I don’t even wanna give up Hooty! I just… I’ve got so much more here in the Boiling Isles than I did in Connecticut.”

“Yeah, Connecticut stinks!” said King.

“You’ve never been,” said Eda.

“Yeah, but you can tell by the name,” replied King, crossing his arms. “It’s spelt Connect-I-Cut, but they drop the T! That doesn’t even make sense!”

Luz chuckled despite herself.

“It’s just… I don’t wanna go back to having no friends,” she said. “And I love mom, but it’s always just been me and her, and…”

“You don’t wanna be lonely.” Eda put a hand on Luz’ shoulder.

“Yeah,” replied Luz. “I don’t.”

“Hey,” Eda smiled. “We’ll sort something out, okay? If you want, I can come with you when you finish the portal, and we’ll talk to her about everything, okay? Maybe when she sees how good the Boiling Isles has been for you, she’ll let us… I dunno, timeshare or something? Is that the word?”

Luz looked up, into Eda’s eyes, and smiled.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Maybe that’ll-”

“SWEET TITAN, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO LULU!”

Hooty’s voice echoed through the house, and Eda shot to her feet.

“Lilith?” she exclaimed.

The three ran to the door, throwing it open.

Lilith was on her knees, about twenty five yards from the Owl House, bound by her arms and legs. Two guards stood on each side of her, pointing spears at her abdomen. Behind them were about a dozen more guards, and three hulking Abomatons - atop the middle of which stood a familiar, short figure.

“Kikimora!” exclaimed Luz.

Luz could just about see her cheeks raise - a sign that the little demon might have been smiling, or perhaps smirking was a better word.

“Sorry to barge in like this,” she said, in a tone that indicated she was not sorry at all, “But I’m afraid the Emperor has an outstanding warrant for Edalyn Clawthorne for disturbing his operations.”

“What?” demanded Eda. “You can’t prove I’ve done anything! ...recently.”

“Oh, really? I think you’ll find we can.” 

Kikimora clapped her hands together. A limp sack, like a figure secured in a black spider’s web, hovered out from behind the Abomaton. Suddenly it dropped, as if an invisible string had been cut, and the black tendrils fell away. A limp, bespectacled figure crashed down into the dust, coughing and wheezing.

Eda’s eyes widened, her fists clenched and shaking.

“Raine!”

 -------

“Raine?”

Luz shrugged as her mother asked about the name.

“I don’t really know them,” she said. “Eda mentioned them a couple of times, but…”

“Raine Whispers,” interrupted Amity. “Head of the Bard Coven. They disappeared a few weeks ago.”

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the couch.

“If Belos could turn on one of his own coven leaders…”

“I’m sorry, what exactly is a coven?” asked Camila.

“They’re like… I dunno, magic classes,” replied Luz. “Once you pick a coven, you’re stuck in it for life, and you can’t do any other magic. There are nine main covens, and then there’s a bunch of smaller covens under them, and… oh, yeah, and there’s the Emperor’s Coven, who can do any magic they want.”

Camila frowned.

“Pretty convenient that the Emperor’s Coven gets to do everything.”

“I don’t get it,” said Vee. “If Luz was with the Owl Lady, how did Amity get mixed up in all this?”

“I can explain that,” replied Amity. “You see…”

 -------

Hexside before classes started was always a den of activity. Students bustled too and fro, rushing to get to their first period (or not rushing, in the case of more than a few students), and the corridors were jam-packed with people.

Unfortunately, not the person Amity was waiting for this morning.

“Hey, Amity!”

Amity finished grabbing her books from her locker and turned - Willow and Gus were approaching, both looking more than a little worried.

“Oh, hey Gus,” said Amity. “Hey Willow. Have you seen Luz?”

“We were kinda hoping you had,” replied Gus. “We haven’t heard anything all weekend.”

“We’re hoping she hasn’t spent the whole weekend studying Philip’s diary and forgotten to sleep again,” said Willow, “But…”

“That’s probably what happened,” said Gus bluntly.

“Well, she did keep sending me pictures of echo mouse projections, so…” said Amity.

“Okay,” said Gus, punching his palm. “We’re gonna need to stage an intervention.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s gonna involve cinnamon and formaldehyde again,” sighed Willow.

“It was one time, Willow! One time!”

Amity rubbed her arm.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Luz has been really… distracted since she went through that proto-portal. I think something happened there…”

“Something bad?” replied Willow.

“I don’t know.” Amity looked down at her feet. “I feel like something bad happened with her and her mom, but…”

“Ahem! Hello there, students!”

Amity turned. Principal Bump was leaning against the next locker, one hand on his hip.

“Uh… hello, Principal Bump,” replied Amity.

“So, how’s that, uh, Grudgby scene going?” asked Bump, trying and failing to act casual, “Down with Glandus, am I right? Huh, am I right?”

There was a long, awkward silence.

“Principal Bump,” said Gus, “you’re making me very uncomfortable.”

Bump cleared his throat.

“Yes, quite,” he said. “Anyway, I just wanted to randomly tell you that, say, if I was privy to any information that the Emperor’s Coven was going to act against the Owl House, I wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you.”

“What?” quizzed Willow.

“I’m saying that, if I had somehow been informed that the Emperor’s Coven may or may not be attacking the Owl House, I couldn’t tell you.”

“The Emperor’s Coven is attack-”

Willow covered Gus’ mouth.

Amity narrowed her eyes.

“And who… wouldn’t you be able to tell us gave you this information?” she asked.

“I absolutely couldn’t tell you if it was the Golden Guard,” replied Bump.

“So it must’ve been someone else!” exclaimed Gus.

Willow and Amity shot him meaningful looks.

“Okay,” nodded Willow, “thank you for… not telling us, Principal Bump.”

“You did hear it from me,” nodded Bump.

He blinked.

“Wait, that should have been you didn’t hear it from… well, anyway, I’ll be in my office.”

He walked very briskly away.

“We’ve gotta warn Luz!” exclaimed Gus.

“Come on!” shouted Willow, “We might be able to get there before them if…”

“Wait, they might already be there!” said Amity. “We have to come up with a…”

She trailed off as Willow and Gus darted off down the hall, headed for the exit.

“Okay, forget the plan,” she shrugged. “Wait up!”

 -------

“And then what happened?” asked Vee.

Amity shrugged.

“Willow and Gus got there just a little before I did,” she replied. “But we were too late. The Emperor had gotten there first.”

Luz glanced at Amity, a slight frown on her face, but said nothing.

“And the Emperor hurt you?” she demanded, a dangerous ice underlining her voice.

“I… don’t actually remember.”

Luz rubbed her head.

“I remember Kikimora bringing Lilith and Raine to us,” she said. “Then it gets… blurry? I know the Emperor hurt me, but… not how?”

“Dissociative amnesia, maybe?” suggested Camila.

“Hmm?” Luz tilted her head.

“It’s when we block out memories associated with a traumatic event,” replied Camila. “But it could also be a result of head trauma.”

“What did you see, Amity?” asked Vee.

“I…” Amity gripped the couch harder. “I saw… I mean, I think… I remember…”

Her breathing became heavier and uneven, and she seemed to be sweating just a little bit. Gently, Luz put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said softly. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.”

Amity swallowed.

“I have to…”

“You don’t have to be anything, Amity.”

Camila sighed.

“I think we all need to get some rest,” she said.

“Yeah,” Luz nodded, “Sounds like a plan, Mami.”

“Vee, are you okay to help me set up the airbeds?” asked Camila.

“Oh, I can do it if…” said Luz.

“Not until I know for certain you’re okay, mija,” replied Camila. “You were unconscious a few hours ago! I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“I can handle it, Luz,” said Vee, smiling.

Before Luz could say anything else, Camila and Vee had headed up the stairs, leaving Luz and Amity alone.

“So, how’s about tommorrow we start working on getting you home, huh?” said Luz, grinning weakly at her girlfriend.

Amity mumbled something in reply.

“Amity?” Luz tilted her head, concerned.

Amity looked up - her eyes were somewhat watery.

“I don’t know if I want to go back.”

[goji-pilled]

I don't know if you're still looking for series recommendations but could I suggest my personal favourite series?

It's called D.Gray-Man and it's honestly one of the best written series I've ever come across. It's about a fourteen year old boy called Allen Walker who joined an organisation called the Black Order that use a power called Innocence (It's different for everyone; Allen's arm transforms, Kanda has a sword, Krory is basically a vampire, Miranda can control time, all of them are great) to fight against beings called Akuma created by the Millennium Earl.

It goes into a lot of deep topics but the main one is grief because Akumas are created by the Millennium Earl preying on people who have recently lost a loved one into making a deal that will bring back their loved one's soul but unfortunately that soul becomes the Earl's servant and they kill and steal the body of the one who brought them back. But it explores the points of view of both the people who lost and the people who were brought back. For example, Allen is valuable to the Order because he has a cursed eye that can see Akumas through their disguises, but he got that eye because his father figure that he brought back as a child was enraged that he would fall for the Earl's bargain and cursed him.

There's also so much well written development for all of the characters and it's honestly a bit of a mystery series but everything is set up so subtly you barely notice until about halfway through. It's a series that definitely gets better with repeated viewings.

Also, the artstyle is gorgeous. In the beginning, it's good but the artist's style now is downright ethereal, seriously I stare at her pieces for hours. Plus, the overall aesthetic of the series is inspired by gothic and Halloween tropes in everything from the architecture to the antagonists' designs to the overall feel of background elements.

Plus, Allen is such a unique protagonist. I know we've had dozens of 'Optimistic Teenage Boy With A Tragic Past' protagonists in shounen series but Allen's optimism is different. His optimism is more of a coping mechanism, it's pretty much the only way he can get through everything he goes through. Considering his backstory as an orphan working in a circus, the best description I've seen for him is "a lonely clown with a painted smile" which sounds cheesy, I know, but it fits.

I should point out the series isn't finished. There was a lot of drama for a while when the writer had to take a break due to injuring her wrist and then higher ups tried to alter the story so there was a whole ordeal of her getting the full rights and recovering and an anime company completely ignoring her requests in regards to marketing but she's back to updating and it's usually every few months a new chapter comes out.

I would recommend reading the manga if you want to check the series out since obviously it has more of the story and again, Hoshino's artstyle is to die for. But the anime is fantastic too, with about 200 episodes and all of the few filler episodes being adaptations of the light novels written by the author's good friend, plus the continuation series D.Gray-Man Hallow that came out years later (after the whole rights debacle). Plus a certain arc has a song as an important plot point and that scene in the anime makes me sob every time.

I'm not really sure about warnings, there is some vague body horror but they never really go too into it and a few characters have backstories of human experimentation but that's about all I can think of.

I'm really sorry for such a long freaking essay of a recommendation but I adore this series and would love to get someone else to watch it (all my friends refuse). I really hope this didn't annoy you but considering your love of the themes and characters of Madoka Magica, I thought it might appeal to you so I took a chance. Again, sorry for the behemoth of an ask. If nothing else, please look up Katsura Hoshino's artwork. It's gorgeous.

Its been a long long time since I had a recommendation on here but all of this sounds very interessting.

I do however also have the attention span of a toaster, like I barely managed shows with a bit more than 20 epsiodes (like Kill La Kill, The Ancient Magus Bride, Evangelion, etc.) and I have a bunch of stuff I started and haven't finished yet (Jujutsu Kaisen, Violet Evergarden, and more) so the anime will probably not be it...

The manga however.... I have a suprising talent at binging mangas, like I read all of Chainsaw Man (and another one that I won't name) in two days, I binged over 130 chapters of JJK in two days as well so. I can see myself reading it yeah.

So I am adding it to my list, even if it might take a long time because I have like 120+ different series on my list but I'll get it to it eventually, and thank you for the recommemdation!