#because i have heard of that in the past and assumed they were celebrating jesus instead which to me wouldn't be a seder or passover. idk..

[shalom-iamcominghome]

Me: I am interested in judaism ONLY. Show me content about jewish life, intellectualism, history, and daily life

The Algorithm, apparently: does this mean you're interested in mormonism... how about jehova's witness............... this is all you'll get recommended by the way

[justmeinadaze]

Ghost In The Machine (Eddie X You)

A/N: I wrote this a few days ago because I need it more than anything rn.

Title is based off of SZA's song "Ghost In The Machine".

"I give a fuck, I just wanna fuck, eat, sleep, love, happy Can you make me happy? Can you keep me happy?

Can you distract me from all the disaster? Can you touch on me and not call me after? Can you hate on me and mask it with laughter? Can you lead me to the ark? What's the password?

I need humanity You're like humanity"

They do text near the end. Eddie's texts will be in red.

Warnings: Daddy Dom Eddie X Stripper Sub (slight bratty) Fem Reader, SMUT, dirty talk, dry humping, phone smut, slight degrading if you squint, choking), Eddie is kinda mean at first, traumas are alluded to but not expanded on (Child abuse; bad past relationships), light FLUFF with my usual dash of the ANGST.

Word Count: 4060

Being asked to perform at parties like this wasn’t new for you and the other girls. Having the manager of a famous band reach out to your company for some “entertainment” wasn’t odd either. What was odd was that you were told Corroded Coffin had four band members and right now you were looking at three. They seemed content with the girls they had grinding and kissing on their lap so you decided to take a look around the mansion style home you guys had been called to. 

It was extremely beautiful with a bunch of rooms displaying different things. Your fingers grazed the wall at the bottom of the bands framed platinum and gold albums. Turning into what you assumed was a game room, you found a billiards table and a PlayStation with a mini bar in the corner. Around the area, shelfs prominently showed off the band’s awards and accolades with MANY pictures of them in different places. 

As you walked further down the hall, you passed an open-door smelling smoke and hearing light strumming of a guitar. Pausing, you took a couple of steps back to peer into the room, finding that missing fourth member.

He had headphones on over his long, wavy hair as a half-finished cigarette dangled from his lips. His eyes were closed as his fingers ran across the instruments strings as it leaned against his bare chest. His jeaned leg and barefoot tapped to a beat as he listened to his music. 

“Jesus Christ!”, he exclaimed as his eyes shot open feeling a change in the atmosphere. “What the fuck are you doing over here?! You girls are supposed to stay in the goddamn living room.”

“Hey there’s no reason to be rude! Your friends were preoccupied with the other ladies so I thought I’d look around.”

“Uh huh. To steal shit?”

“No! To look. I got bored, ok?!”

“Hm. A hooker who’s bored. That’s something I haven’t heard before.” His tone is dripping with mocking as he rises to his feet. 

“That’s no reason for you to be a fucking asshole!”

“You watch your mouth when you talk to me, little girl. I can make sure you and your ‘company’ never get another job again.”

“Oh, Mr. Tough Rockstar is oh no scary. Fuck you. I’ve handled way worse clients than the number 5 band on the billboard charts.”

The man’s held tilted to the side as he finally drank you in. You were visually different than what he expected when his friends had suggested reaching out to an agency to have some women come over to celebrate with since they were nominated for another Grammy. Eddie didn’t care about that kind of thing; he just wanted to play music. When he heard the car pull up, he immediately disappeared to his room to practice and write some new songs. Not that he wasn’t interested in “entertaining a woman”. This metalhead liked a challenge and he enjoyed even more a strong woman that wouldn’t just cater to his every whim. He didn’t want a woman who would get down on her knees no questions asked. Eddie wanted one who would tell him to fuck off but then after a few consensual activities would be dripping and begging for his cock.

Women were offered to him and his friends constantly. He wanted something he had to earn so that way when she finally submitted, it was all the more sweet.

“What’s your name?”, he asked in a much softer tone.

“Y/N. You?”

“Are you asking to be polite or do you genuinely not know who the guitarist of the band who is number five on the billboard charts?”

“Do you always make things this complicated?”

“Yes.” When he grins at you, you can’t help but smile back.

“Some of the other ladies find catering to a man’s ego really gets them going. I find it’s better to ask them questions, Mr. Munson, especially since most of our clients think we don’t care about them.”

“Do you? Care I mean.”

“Sometimes.”, you shrug. 

“You’re honest. I like that.”

“I don’t really see the point in lying if I’m probably never going to see you again.”

“Do you WANT to see me again?”

This time it was your turn to tilt your head. He said that with a lot of the sass he had been giving you since he saw you but something else was behind his eyes when he spoke, something lonely. Your palm reached out confidently, landing on the bulge in his jeans. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice his size. The part of him that was against your hand wasn’t even all of him and you gulped as you tried to regain your confident composure. 

“Do you want me to help you feel better now, Mr. Munson?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”, the guitarist mused as he stepped forward, placing his own palm against the wall behind you and trapping you against it. “I hate when my questions go unanswered.”

“You-you must be used to disappointment then.”

His nose grazed yours, grinning a big tooth filled smile before his eyes flicked down to your hand on his cock.

“You must be to, Y/N.” Slowly, his fingers trace down your arm and take hold of your wrist as he holds it still. “Be honest. Have you ever felt a dick as big as mine?” 

You licked your lips as his hips began grinding against your palm, trying to push down the moan that wanted to escape. 

 “Ooo someone’s confident.”, you jest. Something in his look changes as the hand on the wall behind you slides down to your throat. In most situations with your other clients this would be a time to panic but he wasn’t gripping you violently. When his fingers firmly pressed into your skin, your brain felt fuzzy as your pussy clenched around nothing. 

“I’d say I’ve earned the right to be confident. Now, Y/N, this your one warning. Answer the questions I ask you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes Mr. Munson. I understand. N-no. I’ve never felt a dick like yours.”

He smirked as he pressed your palm harder against him. “Good girl.” Your let out a sigh when he released his hold on your neck to push some of your hair behind your ear. “You really are beautiful, Y/N. Fuck and your hand feels so good. I can only imagine how the rest of you feels.”

“You don’t have to imagine. You can have me if you want me.”

Eddie’s smirk grows as he bites his bottom lip. “Honestly, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more but…that’s not how I play. I don’t want you to fuck me because you’re paid to.” He leans in till his lips are right by your ear. “I want you to fuck me because you want to…need me to.” You hear his breathing stutter as he moves his hips faster, his grip on your wrist tightening. “Beg me to.”

“Oh fuck…”, you whimpered at his words. His movements become choppy and grunts before you feel dampness on his jeans. 

He leans back placing his forehead on yours as he licks his lips and softly smiles. “See, what would usually happen now is I’d make you cum to. I bet that pussy is just aching to be touched but see…you’re getting to paid to make us feel good…not the other way around.”

You’re honestly too stunned to say anything or fight back with your typical brand of sass. Right now, all you can think of his him and how bad you need something from him; anything. 

“Can…can I kiss you?”

When he nods, you waste no time connecting your lips to his. You immediately taste the nicotine but that undertone of him has you dizzy. All too quickly, it’s over as he pulls away. He doesn’t just move his head but his whole body as he backs towards his bed, yanking off his now stained jeans and boxers.

“How long are you ladies here for?”, he asks nonchalantly as he sits on the bed and picks up his guitar again. 

“Huh? Oh, um, 2 AM I think.”

He glances at his phone before handing it to you. “Time’s almost up. Put your number in there for me.”

Eddie said it like a command and your instinct was to say something snarky but as you looked down at him strumming his instrument without looking at you, you realized there was more to this man than meets the eye. Most men who begged for your number always watched you intently to make sure you actually did it, you assumed. Of course, you gave them a fake number or the number to the agency you worked for but with this man here his head remained lowered. It was almost like he was afraid you wouldn’t…like he really hoped you would and would be hurt if he watched you decline, giving the phone back. 

There was something about Eddie that you wanted to know more about. He wasn’t like everyone else you had been around. For some reason, you felt like you could trust him. 

After inputting your real number, you placed his device back on his nightstand and sat beside him. “We still have 45 minutes. Can I ask what you’re working on?”

His eyes shoot over to you as he cautiously scans your soft smiling face. “We’re working on this new album and Jeff has this song he wrote but I can’t find the right sound. I was just messing around and recording them to see if it sparked something.”

“May I hear what you have so far?”

“Um, yeah, sure.”

He reached over, grabbing an extra set of headphones and placed them over you head. You grinned as different guitar riffs and melodies began to play. 

“This is all you?” Eddie nods. “Wow. Mr. Munson, you are definitely talented.”

When he pauses the recording and you slide the headphones around your neck. “You can call me Eddie if you’d like.”

“Okay, Eddie.” After putting the headphones over your ears again, he pressed play and you both leaned back in his bed. 

He couldn’t help but be a little shocked that you didn’t try to touch him again. Anywhere he or his band went, people tried to touch his body whether it was meet and greets, walking through the street, or even on stage when overzealous fans would jump on and run at them. Any girl that was lucky enough to be in his bed would insist on touching him until she left as if she knew this would be the last time she saw him. That’s another reason he struggled to maintain any kind of relationship. Besides the crazy rockstar life, he never was keen on being constantly touched. 

He got enough of that with his career and when he was growing up when his dad would knock him around. With his last relationship, they fought constantly because there were times he would come home from a long day and just wanted a moment to decompress alone. He knew she meant well but even after nicely asking her to give him a moment she would still try and wrap her arms around him or try and kiss parts of his body.

What he didn’t know yet was that you understood that feeling all too well. Being in your line of work, men seemed to believe you didn’t even have a line they shouldn’t cross, always touching some part of your body until their time was up. When you were just a stripper at the company you worked for, men were the same but at least you had a bouncer to quickly pulled them back. When times got hard and you told your boss you were willing to sign up for the “side hustle”, it was just you and the girls. 

No one had ever gotten too physical like that but after your client came you just wanted them to roll over and crash or just leave you there till the timer was up. Personally, you chose to stay away from relationships knowing most men wouldn’t like your line of business. Men constantly offered to “save you” but you knew it was all talk. They didn’t really care about you. 

When you moved to the city, you promised you were only going to look out for yourself. You took care of you and had for a long time. The last time you relinquished control like that, you got burned and ran all the way to a new state. 

A small hand tapped your knee and you jumped before realizing it was one of the other girls letting you know time was up. 

“Ok, I’ll be right there.” You turn to Eddie and hand him his headphones. “I really like what you have so far. That last one was beautiful.”

“Thank you. Here, um, let me grab my sweatpants and I can walk you out.”

“Oh, Eddie, no. You don’t have to do that. It’s super late and in your gated front yard I don’t think anyone is going to jump us.”, you giggle. 

“Ok…I’m going to put on pants anyway though because I want to hug you if that’s alright.” Without waiting for an answer, he finds a pair on the floor and pulls them up just below his hips. 

“Do arms not work without sweats?”

“They do but I don’t want to be disrespectful by rubbing my dick on you and making you uncomfortable.”

“Didn’t I just…”

“You made that move, sweetheart. You put your hand on me.”, he grins as he places his body in front of yours. “May I hug you?”

When you nod, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest as your own limbs cling to his upper torso. This was a new feeling for you. It had been so long since you felt safe in someone’s arms. His hand petted your hair as he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’ll talk to you later to make sure you’re alright.”

***

You sighed as you entered your front door, putting away your things, and throwing yourself on your bed as you closed your eyes. A sudden ding on your phone made your eyebrows scrunch as you blindly searched for it on your bed. Swiping it open, you noticed it was from an unknown number but as you read the message, a smile slowly formed on your face. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Just checking in to make sure you got home alright.”

“Are you stalking me, Mr. Munson? Lol. I literally just walked in the door.”

Tossing your phone back on the bed, you figure it will most likely take him awhile to respond but as you go to your closet to change you hear that familiar ding.

“Yup. You caught me. I followed you home.”

“Shit. I just realized that’s probably not a joke I should be making in your line of work.”

“I was just thinking about you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Lol Eddie! If I thought you were like that I wouldn’t have given you my number : ) “

“I’m alright though. Thank you for checking up on me.”

“Of course. I’ll leave you alone now so you can sleep.”

“I actually wasn’t going to go to sleep just yet.” 

You paused for a moment debating on if you should tell him what you were going to do before bed. You were hoping if you did maybe he would talk to you like he did in his bedroom. Hearing him murmur his words and what he said got you wetter than anything else. You could still feel your slick sticking to your legs after you changed your clothes. Hell, it couldn’t hurt, right?

“I just got back from spending some time with this long haired rockstar with a huge cock who got me all hot and bothered so I was going to relieve some of this pressure here.”

You watched the dots on his end appear and disappear. The longer it took him the more nervous you got. Had you crossed a line?

“Don’t talk like that. Be upfront and honest. Talk to me like a big girl. What were you going to do before bed, Y/N?”

You could almost feel his stern eyes through the screen as you rubbed your thighs together. 

“I was going to touch myself and think of you.”

His name suddenly popped up on your phone and you didn’t hesitate to answer the call. 

“Hey Eddie.”

“Are you still wearing what you had on here?”

“No. I’m naked now.”

“Liar.”

“Eddie, I’m not—”

“Call me back when you’re ready to be a good girl.”

Your jaw dropped as he hung up and you huffed as you called him backed. “How dare you—”

“I don’t play games like that, little girl, and I hate liars. I figured since I got you all riled up and you are no longer on the clock maybe I could help you out. I also thought it would be fucking sexy to hear what you sound like when you cum. But if you want to cop an attitude with me, I can treat you how bratty little girls deserve to be treated. Now…what are you wearing?”

“I’m wearing an oversized t-shirt with my panties from earlier.”

He could hear your pout through the phone and it was making him hard all over again. 

“Good. Good girl. Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”

“I don’t know. I just… I always have to be SEXY; you know? God forbid I show any humanity.”

“Not with me, princess. I imagine you look just as sexy now as you did looking up at me with those big, beautiful eyes against my bedroom wall."

“Thank you, Mr. Munson.”

“Of course. Now tell me, baby. You said you were going to touch yourself and think of me. What about me?”

“I was thinking about the way your lips tasted when you kissed me…so good.”

“The cigarette taste didn’t bother you?”, he chuckled making you smile as one of your hands roamed up your shirt to touch your breast. 

“No. Not at all.”, you giggle back, biting your bottom lip. 

“That’s good. I’ve had some complaints.” You can hear him smile and your fingers run along your nipple as your exhale heavily. “What are you doing over there, honey?”

“I’m playing with my tits.”

“Mmm. You did have some perfect tits. Well, from what I saw under that tight ass tank top.”

That makes you genuinely laugh and his smile grows at the sound. “What else were you going to think about?”

Your hand slides under the waistband of your panties as your finger slides through your dripping folds. 

“I was going to think about your thick cock against my palm and the way you rubbed against it.”

“Yeah? You’re going to imagine me doing that right now between those gorgeous legs? Grinding my dick against your pretty little pussy.”

“F-fuck, Eddie.” Your eyes rolled back as two of your fingers breached your entrance. “Please…keep talking to me…like that.”

“You like the way I talk to you? Was that something else you were going to think about? Picturing me whispering in your ear like I did when you were here?”

You didn’t know but he was leading you somewhere. There was one thing he wanted, needed to hear you say on your own. As soon as he heard it, he was yours and he would do anything to make you his. 

“Yes, I liked hearing you say the things you said.”

Eddie could hear you touching yourself and your little moans were driving him crazy as he quickly pulled down his pants. 

“Princess, is it ok if I touch myself to?”

“Yeah, baby. Of course. A-are you—mmm—still a bit sensitive?” The sound of him spitting in his hand had you clench tightly as you whimpered. 

“Ah, no, baby girl. But with those sexy fucking whimpers and groans I’m not going to last long.”, he chuckled. “How many fingers are you using?” You barely heard him as you thumb began messaging your clit. “I asked you something, sweetheart. What did I say when you were here?”

“If-if—mmm—you ask…me…something I-I answer.”

“Good girl. Tell me how many fingers you’re using.”

“Fuck…two. Two, Daddy.”

Eddie practically growled with pleasure at the word that he had been praying would fall from your lips. 

“Jesus, yes. Good fucking girl. I want you to use three. You…you have to prepare that pretty pussy for… Daddy’s big cock.”

As soon as you did as he asked, the English language completely escaped your mind. 

“I…your…oh my…” He grunted in your ear reminding you of when he was pressed against you sending you toppling over the edge as you came hard. The sound was almost too much for him as he pictured your cunt spasming around him as you moaned his name just as you had. For the second time that night you made him cum as his spend shot out and hit his stomach. 

“Are you ok?”, you mumbled, drunk off your orgasm.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m alright. Are you?”

“I’ve never called anyone Daddy before.” You had no idea why you were being so honest with him. That wasn’t necessarily something he needed to know but for some reason you thought maybe the knowledge of that would make him feel special. You wanted him to feel good. 

“What made you say it now?”

You scoot your body further into your bed as you curl up into your sheets.

“I feel safe with you. I know that sounds so weird. We barely even know each other but I do…”

You listened to the soothing sound of his breath into the phone as he absorbed what you were saying. 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I can be a bit of an asshole sometimes.”

“I can handle the asshole.” You smile when you hear him softly laugh. 

“On Friday, we’re going to be spending some time at the recording studio. Do you want come by and listen to us play?”

“I would love to but I have to work Friday night.”

“How about you come by in the afternoon and then go to work? Are you…um…”

“No, side business Friday. I’ll just be dancing.”

“Ok, cool. Maybe when we’re done, I can meet up with you after.”

“Eddie…I like you a lot but are you sure you want to do this? I strip and I have sex for money. I’m not proud of it but I’m not ashamed of it either. I’m doing what I have to do right now.”

He was silent for a moment as he thought about what you were saying. 

“Y/N, I’m not perfect. I’ve been arrested, gotten into fights with paparazzi, and like I said I can be a bit of an asshole. I like you a lot to but I understand that this is all new. You and I lead interesting lives. I’m not…going to harp on you and I’m not going to, I don’t know, offer to fucking save you or whatever other douchebags say.” You laugh making him smile. “But I would like to take care of you…physically, mentally, emotionally…financially.”

“I don’t know how to give up control like that.”

The way you say that makes him want to scoop you up in his arms and cradle you into his chest. 

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow.”

“Can I come over so we can talk? We’re doing this stupid photoshoot thing but I can come over after and bring some food. Of course, only if you’re comfortable. That’s all that really matters to me, baby girl. I want you to be comfortable.”

You don’t know why but you believed him when he said it. What was it about this man that had you breaking all your normal rules?  Not just rules with the business but in your life. You had been on your own for so long that you didn’t need nor want to become involved with someone. However, it would be nice to have someone take care of you for once…

“Okay, Daddy”

[tangledinink]

Love love love your human au of the turtles!! I've had a burning question for a while though:

What do the boys assume about their relation to Splinter? I doubt they wouldn't notice the fairly obvious fact that there does need to be two biological parents for reproduction, and that they don't really look like their dad, despite having no memories before him to suggest adoption. There's no way they didn't know he was kidnapped and held captive for seven years because when you're a celebrity that sort of thing isn't hard to find. Combining these facts, I know what conclusions I would've come to. Granted, I'm not exactly the golden representation of your average child, but at the very least Donnie would've definitely wondered.

So... What's their conclusion about the situation??

Ah, thank you! And this is actually a topic I explain way more in the I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? fic! But basically, the boys, for a majority of their lives, believe that their dad is their biological father and that their biological mother, who they do not know the identity of, was abusive in some way (leading to both their father's disappearance from the public and to eventually taking sole custody of them and them moving to New York,) and/or abandoned them-- but they've never really discussed it. Here's an excerpt from the fic on the topic, conveniently from Donnie's perspective:

---

"Donnie frowned a bit, shrugging. He was loath to admit it, but Leo did have a point. Their Dad hated to talk about himself or his past outside of trivia about his acting career. Donnie had tried to ask him about their extended family once, and he totally shut down. He wouldn't even tell them what his parents' names were. And the four of them had always tried to respect that. I mean... they knew it was all really complicated. I mean, jesus, he had basically been kidnapped and presumed dead for, like, twelve years. That had to be traumatic, right?

Most of what Donnie knew, factually, about their move to New York, he had gotten from old magazine articles and talk show segments that he found online later in life. He knew what all the reports and stuff said, sure, about the abusive ex, (their mom, he thought dimly in the back of his mind, whose face he couldn't even remember,) the going into hiding, the forced isolation. But none of them had ever talked about it. He had been really little back then, so he couldn't really remember very much. His memories were more general feelings or ideas rather than actual events. He remembered playing pretend games with his brothers more than anything. He used to think that that was odd, because he had never been much of a 'pretend' kid growing up, but his therapist noted that it was common for small children to use fantasy or make-believe to 'escape' from bad situations or explain away trauma. So he supposed maybe that was it.

He remembered it being dark most of the time. And he remembered his feet being cold a lot. There was this sound that he heard in his head a lot when he thought of it, but he had no idea what it was. Shhhh shhhhh.

... But that was about it. He and his brothers, in turn, didn't really talk about it amongst each other either, or with other people. It just felt... weird. Or wrong, somehow, he supposed? Whatever."

(... And, just for fun, another small excerpt from a one-shot sidefic I did from April's mom's perspective, back when the boys were still itty bitty...)

"She had, at one point, tried to convince the boys that they could just call her “Carol,” but when she had pitched it to the group, April had gasped loudly in offense and said that that was too weird, and if anything, they should just call her ‘mom.’ And then Mikey had declared that they didn’t have a mom. And then Raph had argued that they did have a mom, she was just dead. And then Leo had refuted that they did have a mom, and she wasn’t dead, she just didn’t love any of them. And then Donnie had signed something in ASL, too quick for her to quite catch, and Leo had nodded and quickly corrected himself, clarifying that their mom was probably alive and also existed, but she didn’t love any of them and also wanted their father to die."

[radiant-reid]

🌴 with 🦦🐘 (spencer reid x fem reader)

with the prompt "we were a mistake, this,us."

jesus i'll sob

come celebrate 5k friends with us

🌴 fwb to lovers 🦦 having an argument 🐘 making up "we were a mistake, this, us."

What happened with Spencer was mostly an accident. It was a heat-of-the-moment moment, an action you now couldn't take back, and a situation that was now far too complicated for you to be revealing your true feelings.

It didn't hurt so much anymore, and those feelings seemed to lessen every time you were in each other's hotel room or apartments back in DC. He made you feel things physically because you couldn't feel them emotionally.

He was gentle, usually, only another reason to love him a little more once one of you left the other's room.

Going out with the team was a common occurrence. It was why you didn't hesitate to go out with everyone on Friday night, knowing Spencer would be the one you got in a cab with. And the team must have known because you knew there was no way they'd leave you alone, not knowing if you were getting home safe.

Morgan has made it his mission, that particular Friday, to catch Spencer in a lie, and finally get the confession he'd been waiting for.

"Okay, but you like her, though, right?" Morgan asked, handing him another beer with the hope that it would make him spill.

"As a friend." Spencer clarified, his eyes flicking over across the room to make sure you were okay.

Morgan scoffed, knowing the look was far past friendship. "I'm calling bullshit on that, Reid, and you've got to admit it at some point."

Spencer rolled his eyes, taking another sip out of his glass. "I don't!" The way his voice cracked gave him away.

"Sure," Morgan said, his tone contradicting the agreement. "You at least think she's pretty, though?"

Somehow, he hadn't realized you were walking past at that moment, overhearing the whole conversation. "No, she's not my type." Spencer lied. It may have been the biggest lie he told in his life, but you couldn't tell the difference.

It shouldn't have hurt so much, not when you convinced yourself for so long that you didn't care what he thought about you. But it did hurt, and it did make you furious at him.

Morgan let the conversation go, and the night went on, but everything felt like it stopped when Spencer looked around the bar and couldn't find you.

"Where's Y/n?" He asked Penelope, who was sitting with Emily and JJ. His frantic eyes were darting around the room thinking about where you could be.

"She left," Penelope told him. "A few minutes ago."

He frowned, unable to figure out why you would go when he assumed you'd go home together. "What?" He demanded.

"She was mad, too," Morgan added, coming up behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "After she heard what you said."

"She heard?!" Spencer exclaimed, so loud it drew the attention of people around them. "Fuck." He ran his hand through his hair, letting out an uncharacteristic swear. "I have to go find her."

He got a round of good wishes from the team, but he wasn't listening to any of them as he raced out the door.

After a few minutes of looking for you, he finally found you. "Y/n!" He called, sprinting to catch up to you.

"What, Reid?" You asked, calling him by a name you rarely use.

"I-I..." He was at a loss for what to say when he saw the tear stains running down your cheeks.

You shook your head, facing towards the street so you didn't have to look at him. "Just don't." You said. "We were a mistake, this, us, and I know that now, so I'll see you around."

"No." He disagreed without much explanation. "I mean maybe, yeah, if I could go back and do this properly then I would, but I can't and I don't know what to do with that." He spewed out all at once, leaving you confused about what he was trying to say.

"What would you have done?" You asked the all-consuming question, your heart thumping in your chest as you waited for an answer.

He sighed, having a fleeting thought about what the consequences of telling you would be. "I would have told you I loved you right from that night because I do and I always have." He admitted. "I didn't mean a word of what I said because you are my type. You're a better person than I could ever imagine I could be with."

For a whole minute, you were silent, unsure about how to process the statement. "I love you, too." You confessed quietly. "Which is why it hurt so much."

"I'm so sorry. I really do think you're the most amazing person." He assured you, stepping closer so he could hug you. You wrapped your arms tight around his waist and rested your head against his waist where you were finally relaxed with being.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Wilfords Demands: Separated

Summary- 5.6k Curtis x You. Curtis lost the tournament and has been cast back to his original home, the tail end. You are now contained in Wilfords precious engine to see the crazy ramblings of Snowpiercers Leader. You also must find out Curtis’s fate and you believe you can find him, if you can just get beyond that door Wilford likes to disappear into. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics​

Warnings- Stressful situations, spitting, hitting, demeaning talk, threats, language. You also find out what happened with Curtis’s other children, its dark and upsetting. Proceed reading with caution. Thats as descriptive as Im going to get in that warning. 

Chapter 6 / Wilfords Demands Masterlist 

As you were dragged away, you could hear the cheers echoing off the steel walls. You could feel the overwhelming sensation of panic settling in your chest. It was all consuming as you started struggling against the man dragging you behind Claude, trying to pummel your fists against his padded chest and scratch at him. 

“Let me go! CURTIS!” you screamed, resorting to trying to bite at his hand wrapped around your upper arm. Claude scoffed seeing you give the guard a hard time and snapped over quickly, open palmed, she slapped your face to stun you. 

You panic turned to white hot rage at the woman, turning on her but the man tightened his grip, stopping all your movements. 

“For once in your miserable fucking life, will you stop it?! Jesus Christ you are not worth the effort Wilford puts in you. You don't even make a good whore.” She spit in your face before turning back to open the door to Wilford’s chambers once more, jerking her head to direct the guard to bring you in. “He will be back soon, make sure she doesn’t do something stupid can you? Just don't hurt her, Wilford will have both our heads if anything happens to the precious prize.” 

She sneered out the last words at you, You spat at her with a smug smile when it landed on her face. She screamed in disgust and wiped at her face with her sleeve. “Tail Ender Pig, you are all so disgusting.” continuing to mutter as she left the room, the guard released you, standing at the door and his eyes followed you as you were sure to put distance between the two of you. 

Wilford’s area was the same as before. More luxurious than the others, you went towards the engine, the furthest you could get from the guard when he barked out. “That's far enough.” 

Flipping him the bird, you moved to sit in a nearby chair, rubbing at your belly protectively. 

Right now the anger was the only thing controlling your fear. You had no idea what was going to happen to Jace, was Curtis even still alive. You couldn’t think like that, because you would lose it if Curtis was dead. 

He promised you that he would find a way, swore to you. 

But promises made were not always kept. You swiped at your face furiously to hide the tears, thinking about Curtis would have to come later, when it actually could sink in. For now Curtis was still alive, he would come for Jace, that was all that mattered. 

Time seemed to stretch, tension building when you heard the door shift open. The guard stepped aside and Wilford walked in, followed by Grey who was bloody, limping and spotting several cuts and bruises. 

I hope you feel every single one Curtis gave you, you hissed in your mind looking at him before turning away. 

“Well look at you sweetheart, told you we would be getting to know each other better.” His hand came to stroke your cheek and you jerked away, making him laugh. “Soon enough you will learn not to pull away.” Grey said while Wilford handed him some towels to clean himself up. 

“As promised, she is your prize. You just have to wait till after the birth.” 

You shifted in your seat, your hand still protective over your stomach to face Wilford, ignoring Grey for now. “Where is Curtis?” 

“Well she isn't going to be much longer till she spits out that spawn for you. I don't mind waiting.” Grey spoke over you, ignoring your question. 

“Weeks Grey, not long at all.” Wilford flipped to a calendar, and to your disgust you saw where he had appointments set up with the doctor. Your name, some others, you shuddered at it. 

“Is Curtis still alive?” You started again, but both men ignored you once again when you finally gave a scream, willing them to at least acknowledge you. 

Wilford blinked at you calmly while Grey scowled at you. “Curtis really didn't teach you any manners did he? Know what we are doing first.” 

You hitched your chin, refusing to back away from him in fear. 

“Curtis is no longer your concern Y/N.” Wilford started. “You won't be seeing him again.” 

Your eyes welled up at these words and your face pinched trying to process these. You can't break down right now. Jace needs you to keep it together. 

“Fine, but this child is my concern. I need to know what his future is going to be.” 

Wilford broke in a grin at this one, rubbing his hands together. “Of course, you spent all this effort supplying me with Curtis’s child. I have high hopes for this one.” 

Fuck you were going to be sick, listening to him. “I want to raise him, he is mine as you said.” 

Grey cocked a brow, his arms folding over his chest with a laugh, Wilford joining him. “Ah- no. This child is mine. I already have a name. Trust me, that whole Jace Tyler was cute and all, I heard all about why you wanted that name but no. Joseph Wilford the second will become my successor. Hopefully. Curtis was always my favorite.” 

You spared a look at Grey who’s features clouded slightly but then went back to victorious. “Well Curtis is washed out, past his prime now.” He pointed out and Wilford shrugged a bit. 

“Happens to all of us. Why I needed Y/N to get pregnant rather quickly, before the tournament. I'm still taking a risk, but such a pretty thing who's a survivor from the tail end. I like Joseph’s chances. So for now Dear, your stuff is being removed from Curtis’s quarters, being moved into Grey’s. For now though you will be staying with me. Grey, how about you go get cleaned up, celebrate your victory.” 

Grey gave one final swipe of his towel, smirking. “I think I will just do that.” Cold eyes swept over you, possessive now. “I will see you real soon.” Sure to run his fingers over you again and grasp your chin tightly when you tried to pull away, his touch hurt, bit into you as he dug fingernails into your skin to mark you. “Keep up that act, I like breaking women in.” 

Letting you go with a cruel laugh, he left the engine. Wilford seemed oblivious to your distress. “Come Dear, let me show you your cot. You need to rest. Most certainly, can't have you stressing the baby.” He tugged you to a stand, leading you to a corner near the engine humming and pushed you to sit. “See this is pretty good.” 

You couldn't help it anymore, everything you had hoped for had shattered in moments. You curled as much as you could away from Wilford rubbing your back and sobbed into your arm, mourning Jace’s father. 

Curtis first noticed the pain. It riddled him hotly with every sway of the train's movements. His fingers curled against rough fabric underneath him. When he tried to move pain seared through him everywhere making him grit his teeth and sink back into the hardness beneath him. “Don’t try to move mister, Mama said you needed to stay still.” came a young boy's voice near his ear and Curtis strained his neck to look next to him, nothing but shadows and more darkness filling his vision but then movement caught his attention. 

A boy, young by the looks of him but it was hard to tell without proper lighting. Big eyes stared at him though as the boy crawled closer to him. “Where am I kid?” Curtis grunted out as the boy lifted a gelatin block to his mouth and took a bite. 

“This the back of the train Mister.” He shoved the block at Curtis, setting it on his chest. “I will go get my Mama. You can have some if you're hungry.” The boy smiled and crawled away, dropping away from sight and scurrying off. Curtis curiously picked up the block and sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose at the smell and set it off to the side. With a groan he tried to sit up again, but gasped again in pain. “Fuck!” 

“Fuck is right.” A woman came into view, carrying a lantern with her to light up her way and sat at the edge of the bed. The little boy crawled in on the other side and grabbed at the gelatin block to bite into again, squeezing it a bit in his small hands, humming happily at his food. 

“Mama, I thought you said that's a bad word.” 

“It is Timmy, but he's allowed to say it. Go on now, shoo. Let me talk to this man.” she waved her hands at him and yet again the little boy, giggling this time climbed upwards into what looked like more bedding above Curtis. 

She watched him with a soft smile till the boy was gone, then turned her attention back to Curtis. “That's my baby Timmy and my name is Tonya.” 

Curtis frowned a bit at the name, then it clicked. “I remember you…” he grunted and Tonya smiled with a nod. 

“I remember you to, but back then you were still a youngin’. Barely 17, still young and hot headed. If you are back here, I’m assuming you're still hot headed?” Tonya chuckled as Curtis tried once more to sit up, and she pushed against his chest to press him back down. “Whoever did this to you did a number on you. Mostly your ribs and possibly your shoulder. You are gonna have to just stay put for a while.” 

Curtis worked his shoulders and she was correct, the pain in his collarbone and down his back was enough to make him see sparks. “Yup, I have to agree. And not hot headed… There was a tournament and… Fuck.” This time he surged up to a sit with a yell, holding onto steel grating above him, gasping. “I have to get out of here right away. They took her and I promised to keep her safe, keep our son safe.” 

Tonya shook her head confused. “Who? What are you talking about? You should lay back down.” 

Curtis stubbornly swung his feet over the edge of the bunk and moved to sit on the edge, looking around. More and more of it was familiar. In the years he had been up front, none of it had changed. Except there was less crowding then before. 

“Y/N, she's up at the front and in serious trouble. Fuck.” He swore again and pushed to a stand, bracing his hand against the framework and tried to make sense of where the door was. Tonya was right next to him, following along. 

“Wait, Y/N? She's up there still alive?” 

“Yes.” Curtis weaved among other people and Tonya tried making him stop. “She was in my care, Wilford… “ He came to a stop at a steel door, looking it over to see any way to open it. “Wanted her to get pregnant with my child. Once he has what he wants, he is just gonna throw her to monsters.” he hissed while pressing his hands against the door. 

“You are not getting that door open Curtis.” Tonya wedged her way next to him and made him turn around, being as week as he was at the moment. “You are telling me shes pregnant? Our Y/N is pregnant?” Her eyes glowered at him and he squared his shoulders slightly. 

“Yes, due anytime now. I told you, she was brought to me for a reason. It wasnt what either of us wanted but…” He turned back to the door and up towards the ceiling, looking for cameras or anything to get someone's attention. “... It turned into something more. And I need to get to her now.” His gaze turned intense looking at Tonya. Her hands were at her hips accusing but then her gaze softened a bit and she sighed. 

“There is no way out Curtis, don't you think we have tried? Its a box, a prison. This is hell on earth and you are now stuck in it with us.” 

Curtis could feel his breath quickening and his heart racing. 

He had to get out of here, he had to get to you. 

Time seemed to turn meaningless while you stayed with Wilford. He had the doctor monitor you daily, check constantly for the moments you went into labor. But you shut down, not talking or acknowledging the others around you unless you were forced into it. Wilford though didn't seem to notice. He talked all the time. Rambled joyfully about everything to do with the engine. Tinkering away at little things in it, tightening screws and bolts. Running inspections. “Dear this whole train keeps us alive. And it needs so much care and love.” He would sing softly as his hands stroked along the metal wall. “Just a gentle touch for our sweetheart here.” 

You would curl up your legs onto your cot, or try to, it was hard with your belly. He was fucking crazy the way he spoke to the engine. The constant hum of the engine and the spinning didn't help either, it made your head pound till you felt like you were also going to go a bit mad in the room with him. 

The nights though were the worst. The engine would seem louder without Wilford’s constant chatter. You would stretch on your cot across the room from Wilford, who slept in a large plush bed. It was hard, almost impossible to get comfortable and relax. It wasn't because the cot actually bothered you, you spent years either in a hard bunk or leaning against a wall in the tail end. 

Instead you were used to sleeping with Curtis. His body would be pressed in against yours, his arm wrapped around you to hold you close and your head would be cushioned on his chest or shoulder, or a hand draped over his stomach. He was warm and safe. That is what you missed. Your hands would rub your belly, sniffling to yourself. You refused to let yourself cry in front of Wilford. But in the night when your only company was the hum of the engine, you let yourself talk to Jace about Curtis. 

How much you missed his father, letting yourself mourn for him because it was the times you thought maybe he actually didn't make it. Those thoughts you cursed yourself, because he couldn’t be gone. He hadn't even gotten to meet his son. The nights were the hardest, the only time you didn't have to pretend to not exist and it would become overwhelming. When it became too much you would sing softly to your belly. 

Don't take my sunshine away. 

The only thing unusual about the engine was the door. Just a door near the spinning blue lights that made the engine come to life that you studied. It was better than going into a trance watching the blue orbs circle slowly. Wilford would once in a while disappear into the room and wouldn't come back out. Just a few times you leaned just right in your cot when he disappeared into the room, catching sight of computer monitors. That had to be how Wilford was watching all of you. 

That made you shiver, the idea Wilford watched you and Curtis doing everyday things. You didn't even want to think of what else he spied on. But more importantly if you could get in there, maybe you could find Curtis. Or see if he was still alive. 

One morning Wilford was cooking what you guessed was supposed to be breakfast. The smell of onions, potatoes and eggs was making your stomach roll viciously. Curtis had always made sure no eggs made it into the room. Wilford wasn't quite as considerate. You were just coming out of the bathroom, having rinsed your mouth out when the smell hit you all over again. Luckily nothing was left to come up. 

“Sweetheart, just think when I have Jr, I will have him ready to take over the engine.” Wilford said cheerfully, sliding eggs onto a plate with a sickening splatter. Your stomach did another roll, and you did your best not to gag. It didn't click with his Jr. spiel, since you never thought of your son as anything other than Jace Tyler. Wilford slid a plate on a small table near your cot for you. “Go ahead eat, I want Jr big and strong like his sire. Make his Poppa proud.” He turned away and you ignored the eggs, recalling his earlier statement. 

“Take over the engine?” 

Wilford made a show of cracking another egg into a bowl, holding up the shell. “Did you know these would be extinct if it wasn't for me? Something so simple… “ He studied it before tossing it into a nearby garbage bucket. “No more chickens. Or oranges like you have in that glass next to you. Fresh squeezed by the way. No more bread.” He picked up two slices of thick sliced bread. “Nor butter, because cows would be extinct.” He dropped them into a pan to crisp and sizzle. “Everything Y/N would be extinct, if it wasn't for our Snowpiercer.” he flipped his eggs and slid them onto his plate. 

You remained quiet, refusing the eggs, the toast and the juice he had set on the table, watching him. 

“But I won't last forever. I can fix this train, but there is no way to replace my body parts. So next best thing. Make the perfect replacement.” He went to his table and sat down. “Why I searched you out for Curtis. Women in the front, been ruined in less then twenty years we have been on this train.” He said disgusted as he started to eat, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewing. The yellow burst of yolk on his lip certainly made you gag this time, covering your mouth while trying to turn away. 

“No, I needed someone smart enough to survive but also untouched.” His grin turned cool as his eyes raked over you. “You survived the tail end, were strong enough to survive the lockbox as well as stunning, how you came out of there a virgin I don't know. But it worked out for me. Perfect for Curtis. All his other children before, just weren't perfect enough.” Another forkful of runny eggs and toast. You were struggling trying to wrap your mind around what Wilford was saying. 

“W-what happened to the others?” You asked shakily, scared of the answer. 

“Ahh, they didn't work out. We tried, sometimes the babies wouldn't shut up, other times they got to a certain age and would struggle with the motor skills. There were a few who got sickly.” Wilford shrugged as he sopped at his plate with his bread and popped that into his mouth. You though, your arms circled around yourself protectively as the horror of what he was saying made your heart race. 

“You just- got rid of them?” 

“Of course, I can't keep them if they can’t be useful. That's when it clicked. Curtis, he was fine. He's everything I wanted, big, strong, smart. Until you came along, he thought logically. It's a flaw, his falling for you, made him weak. But nothing I can't overlook I suppose. So many other perfect qualities in a leader. It was the woman.” He carried his plate to the sink and approached you. You shrunk back on your cot and he cupped your face in delicate warm hands, hands that never did hard work. “I needed a strong woman to match. All the front end bitches I paired with him threw off weaklings. You Sweetheart are going to give me the perfect prodigy. I considered switching Curtis for Grey for a while, but ahh he is too volatile to throw me a good son. No, it had to be Curtis and You.” He brushed your cheek gently and then grasped your hair to yank you forward towards the plate of food. “Now eat this gift I give you, because I need that baby to come out healthy.” 

Claude entered the room, clipboard in hand with a smile. “Sir if you're all set, we are ready for the inspection in the greenhouse.” 

“Oh yes Claude, be right there.” He beamed as he pointed at your tray of food with a snap of his fingers. “I want this gone.” Turning he made his way to Claude, the two of them chatting as they left the room, leaving you all alone. 

Your heart raced and breathing came out in a rush. With a swipe of your hand, you pushed the plate and glass off the table to shatter against the floor in a mess, screaming in a shrill burst. Overwhelmed with what he informed you, you couldn't hold it all back anymore, your scream just got shriller and tense to bounce all around you from the steel walls. Your voice ended up giving out with a croak and you dropped your heads into your hands sobbing at the fate of your son. 

You can't let this happen, just can't. This isn't what you or Curtis wanted for Jace. Your head lifted and eyes were wildly looking around the room, trying to figure something out. Attacking Wilford would do nothing. You could possibly hold him at knife point, but it would only be a matter of time before you were captured again, and it would just be worse for you and Jace if you had managed to kill Wilford. No, it needed to be more permanent. Something that would overthrow the whole train. 

Your eyes fell to the door, the door with all the monitors and control panels. You needed to be in that room and that's when a plan started to form. 

Although Curtis couldn’t find a way out of the tail end didn’t mean he wasn’t busy. Curtis started to get to know more about the tailenders, those who were ready to fight for there freedom, those with special skills that could be used in a revolt, listen to the stories of the horrors they have had to do to survive. It became more then simply getting back to you, now it was about getting these people out of here as well. 

Curtis started timing the guards coming through, trying to figure out how to work the inspections and feeding times to his advantage. After all this time, they should be fairly slack, rituals loose purpose after a while. 

But he didnt see his opening. No matter how many times he timed the lengths the doors were open, how long they stayed, how hard the cart full of the blocks were to manuever. It was all so precise, the same everytime and there eyes were watchful, always willing to bash a tailender should they step out of line. 

There was just four counts when all the doors were open and Curtis could see down the length of the train. It just wasnt enough time to get through several train cars. Tonya was perched next to him, listening to him count under his breath. 

“Curtis, don’t. We’ve tried that. It just ends with them culling us.” She hurriedly whispered back to him. Once they left he turned to her. 

“Then what Tonya? Y/N might have had Jace and tossed to Grey. Who even knows what will happen to my son.” Some frustrated tears caught in his lashes and some managed to escape, making a track down his now sooty dirty face. He dropped his head into his hands and Tonya rubbed at his back, trying to be supportive even though she delivered the harsh reality. 

“I know Curtis…I’m sorry, I just don’t want you going on a suicide mission. Y/N needs you, so does that little boy you got coming.” 

Curtis took a ragged sigh and stared back up at the camera beeping above the door, flipping it off before pushing to a stand and disappearing out of sight to continue trying to figure out a way to get back to you. 

You waited, you could be patient. You learned a while ago when you first joined Curtis to watch, it was also the harsh lesson he taught you in the beginning. It was how you got to know him as the man you cared for today. You were quick to learn that Wilford wasn't predictable. He would go into the room at random times. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for a few minutes. 

No matter how much you looked around the engine from your perch on your cot, you couldn't see where there were any cameras in the engine room. But you were still wary. Thinking maybe he was trying to catch you doing something, spring out of that room with a gotcha. 

But you were smarter. No, you were patient. Storing it all away. 

The worst was when Grey would come around. He seemed to turn into Wilford’s pet, always coming in to chat with him or ask favors. Oftentimes he would sit across the table, staring intently at you with a sneer. His eyes roaming you up and down like he had a right to take you whenever. These times you would hitch your chin up and stare back at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction that he won. 

Maybe he did win your body. But you refused outright to give him any satisfaction in that. It didn't matter though, for Grey you were just a prize. You didn't matter to him except what you could give him. 

“She must be due soon, right?” Grey drawled out, moving to a stand and approaching you. In your bid to defy him, you didn't move an inch to draw away from him. His hand fisted in your hair, twisting viciously to have you look up at him. “Excited right? I'm sure it gets a bit boring just sitting here on your cot, waiting for time to pass with that little bastard inside of you.” 

You work your mouth to draw out some spit, hocking it at him as best you can at the unnatural angle. It earned you a loud smack, whipping your head to the side. Not a word dropped from you in pain as you glared up at him. Grey leaned in closer, his hand wiping at his face and wiping his hand clean in your hair he still had fisted in his other hand. 

“Nasty little thing arn’t you? Treat Curtis like this? Or did you just drool all over his cock every chance you get?” His fingers bit into your cheeks as he pressed harshly against the hinge of your jaw, wrenching your mouth open. “Don't worry, soon this will be all you know.” He spat in your open mouth, making you heave and try to pull away from him as he lewdly groped his crotch, laughing at your distress. 

“Grey, leave her alone… you will have her soon enough.” Wilford finally interjected, beckoning Grey forward towards the room. “I got something to show you anyways, step in here.” 

Grey snickered at you before sauntering over, passing through the door and Wilford followed him in, closing themselves in. You grabbed at some of the bedding, bringing a corner of a blanket to your mouth to try to tear at the fabric. You just needed a little bit. 

Your teeth ripped into the cloth and stitches, wrenching at the fabric till you could feel it weakening. 

Another pull, another twist and you could feel the fabric starting to give. Your eyes darted back to the door. “Come on…” You whined out and then there was a distinctive rrrriiippp… 

Balling the small bit of fabric in your fist, you got up to approach the door. Careful you pressed your ear to it, trying to listen over the engines humming, but it was pointless. The whoosh whoosh whoosh of the spinning mechanisms made you sigh in exasperation. You didn't want to ruin your chance by not being prepared.

Pressing against the wall, you tried to think about what you knew. The door was pressured close to guarantee a seal. Your eyes roving up to the mechanism that worked the door. It also made it close slow. You could wait a good five seconds after they left the room to do what you wanted. You could pretend you were passing by to go to the bathroom, seeing the door was just beyond your main target. Stepping back a few steps, you paused. Eyes on the handle, waiting for them to walk back out, swing the door wide open. 

It felt like hours till the handle jiggled and sure enough it swung wide open with both men leaving, laughing about some shared joke between one another. You started counting just like the way your Grandpa showed you when you were a kid playing hide and seek in the apple orchard.

One Mississippi

 You stepped forward as if you had been striding from your cot, which neither of you bothered to give a glance. The door clicked into reverse. 

Two Mississippi

Your chest clenched seeing the door start to close, the two men were a step away from you now where you could pass between them and the door. 

Three Mississippi

In passing, you rolled the ball of fabric in your palm, your hand brushing against the inside of the door jam and nimbly shoved the ball into the hole that would seal the door shut. Continuing on past. 

Four Mississippi

You paused at the bathroom door, your hand giving a shiver of anxiety while listening before opening the bathroom door. Please don't latch, please don't latch…. 

Five Mississippi

The door shut, but there was no distinctive click the door handle locked. You glanced over your shoulder to see it looked sealed. You yanked on the bathroom handle and escaped into the bathroom, covering your mouth as a gasp of relief escaped you, tears brimming your eyes at knowing it worked. Now it was just hoping Wilford left before he found out what you had done. Sinking to the floor, you took several breaths to try to calm your racing heart. Tilting your head back and closing your eyes, your hands pressed against your belly, whispering. “Jace, we are gonna find your daddy and figure it out from there. Right kiddo… we got this. We are going to be okay.” 

After giving yourself your pep talk and you weren't feeling like Wilford was going to figure it out and bust through that door, you made your way back out to see Claude had joined Wilford and Grey. 

“Well I need to go do my inspections.” Wilford motioned towards to exit, Grey took a glance at you shuffling back to your cot. Coldly he looked you up and down, obviously checking you out. 

“Will be seeing you soon Y/N.” You didn't respond, looking away as you lowered down onto your cot. He left and Wilford reached out for a clipboard Claude was holding, scanning over several papers. “What's the numbers on the tailenders?” 

“High hundreds. We took a count this morning. Its getting overcrowded once again.” 

“Ahh, I know it was getting bad once more. Gonna have to do something about that.” Wilford sighed. “Just need to get creative about it.” You did your best to keep from retaliating. “And how's our special guest there?” 

This made you perk, curious as to who he would be talking about. “Oh settling in nicely, like he never left.” Claude retorted as the door opened, and you couldn't stop the flutter of hope. Maybe it was Curtis.. Could be Curtis they were talking about. The door slammed shut and you started to count. 

Wilford could stay away anywhere from ten minutes to an hour. As anxiously as you wanted to run to the door and go in the room of cameras, you couldn't do it too soon. Wilford would just rush back in and stop you. All this effort, lost. 

So you waited. Counting like before till you were sure it had been a good ten minutes. Easing off the cot, you approached the door and rested your hand to the door handle. 

God let this work. You screwed your eyes shut and started to ease back, the door moving just as easily as if it was properly unlocked. Not even a turn of the handle. Slipping inside and pulling out the fabric from the hollow spot in the door, you let it shut you in. 

Camera, so many grainy moving pictures, it made your head thump with the intake of information. You started moving from screen to screen, searching faces to try to find Curtis. No matter how many you looked through, searching the garden cars, over to the kitchen crew, entertainment cars full of kronole high individuals, none of them had Curtis. You made your way down the line, cars with animals, people making equipment, prison cars. Still no Curtis. You bit at your lip, your fingertips pressing against screens, like you were crossing off people. 

“Come on Curtis, I need you to show yourself.” You passed to the last row, people all from the tail end. You leaned in close, mentally crossing off sections till you stopped at the door. It was a flash of familiarity that brought you back to that screen. 

“Jace… I found your daddy.” Your voice broke in relief, seeing him studying the door and camera, scowling up at it. You remember that look, the one that he was frustrated with his situation. You had never been so relieved to see him looking pissed off. “Thank fucking god you are still alive Curtis.” You fell back to sink in an office chair. “Now how do I get you out?” 

[so-writing]

Sugar, Honey, Ice and Tea - Matthew Tkachuk (7)

all parts in the master list

Minimal editing. Also hit me with some predictions for the end of this and also any thoughts at all about it. Is it trash, is it good? I am curious about what you think!

--

Matthew didn’t usually drink much during their time away from home. If the Flames won, he’d usually have a beer or two to celebrate and that was it. This past week had him consuming more alcohol than he had in a long time and he had no idea why.

The roommate situation put him on edge the moment he found out who he was going to be staying with and his mood soured even more when he discovered they’d have to share a bed so maybe that was why he was taking shots and downing beers like he was on summer vacation. 

He remembered bits and pieces of the previous night: she kissed him and then disappeared, he continued to take shots long after she’d gone, they had a conversation about moms in their hotel room. 

That was it though. He had no recollection of changing into his pajamas and crawling into bed. When his alarm went off, he woke up in bed alone and as he surveyed the room, he realized all her stuff was gone. 

Sure, they were going home today but damn, she must have really wanted to get the fuck away from him. He wasn’t ready to acknowledge that it might have hurt his feelings a little bit so he pushed the thought away and began to get ready for the day.

*

The feeling of peace you got when you quietly closed the door behind you and wheeled your luggage away from the room you shared with Matthew Tkachuk was incredible. 

The past week had been a roller coaster that you were dying to get off of and all you had to do was get through this last game and the bus ride home. That would be easy though, you’d have no interaction with Matthew during the game and you knew damn well he would rather cling to the top of the escape hatch on the bus rather than sit next to you. 

It was finally over. Your mouth was practically watering at the thought of sitting down in your apartment, by yourself, with a bottle of wine, Netflix and Chinese takeout. 

You watched as the Flames won the game and as much as you didn’t want to notice it, you did. Matthew was playing like shit, barely dragging himself around the ice as he tried to keep up with his teammates. His personal play was entirely unremarkable and you were sure he was going to hear all about it as soon he got to the locker room. 

“How happy are you to be free of Tkachuk?” 

“So fucking happy, you’ve got no idea!” 

You laughed along with another of the assistants as the two of you helped organize the remaining luggage for the driver to load beneath the bus. 

“He played like shit today, might be bummed you two aren’t going to keep sleeping together.”

“Oh, don’t even. ‘Sleeping together’ implies something entirely different that what we were forced to do.”

“I know, I know,” he shook his head and laughed easily, “but honestly, did you think about it? I know you two aren’t exactly besties but come on, look at the man.” 

Did you think about it?

Of course you did. You thought about it multiple times. Matthew had stripped down in front of you, once completely and another time almost there. There was no denying that you’d gone to bed at least once thinking about what it would be like to spend the night enjoying yourself underneath him instead of sleeping next to his grumpy ass. 

You were taking that shit to the fucking grave, though.

“He’s a complete prick, and I don’t know if you heard, but I slept on the floor a few days ago, so no. I wouldn’t fuck that man with your dick.” 

That response sent him into a fit of laughter, “I mean I get that it was a rough week for you but I’ll be honest, I respectfully disagree. That pest could fucking get it anytime he wanted.” 

“Gross,” you playfully rolled your eyes as the two of you finished your task, “spend a few hours with him not in a strictly hockey setting and I promise you’ll change your mind.”

“Doubtful!” 

When all the luggage was loaded, the two of you made your way onto the bus. None of the players were there yet so you both took advantage of the back two rows that only contained two seats each. The entirety of the team didn’t completely fill the bus so you, stupidly, assumed you would sit alone on the trip home. 

Shoving your AirPods into your ears, you opened Spotify and settled into both the uncomfortable bus seat and the several hours long trip home. 

Not even ten minutes later, a body dropping into the seat next to you pulled your concentration out of your music and when you looked to see who it was that sat next to you, you couldn’t yourself from rolling your eyes. 

Matthew Tkachuk gave you a tight smile before rummaging around through his book bag and producing a paperback book. 

No he wasn’t. There was no way he was reading that. Dumb hockey bros weren’t into high fantasy. There was no fucking way he was reading ‘A Game of Thrones.’

He was though, and you watched him like a hawk as he parted the book where his mark was placed, almost halfway through, before you felt like you had to say something.

“You’re legitimately reading that book,” you pulled out an AirPod and gave him an inquiring look, “really?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I loved the show, figured I’d give the books a try.”

“They’re really good, much better than the show in my opinion.” 

Matthew’s smile stretched across his face, “that’s what I’m thinking! I know I’m barely into it but the books are so much more detailed.”

It was a cute moment, the two of you sharing an interest, but you were determined to remain all business with him.

“Why’d you sit here?” 

“I don’t know,” he ran a hand through his curls, “why not?”

A quick silence formed between the two of you before he tried again, “what are you listening to?” 

“Uh, Bring Me The Horizon, you probably won’t like it.” 

“Try me.” 

Matthew handed you his phone and you opened up his Spotify account and typed in the song you were listening to. 

“So the band is Bring Me The Horizon, right? What’s the song called?” 

“Sugar honey ice & tea.” 

“Okay.” 

++

You settled into a comfortable flow with Matthew. One of your pods was in his ear as he read AGOT and listened to the whatever you were playing. He didn’t mind when you fell asleep on his shoulder, leaning his head against yours as he continued reading his book. 

“Hey,” he was gentle, “wake up. We’re home.”

“What?” 

“We’re back in Calgary.”

“Oh, okay.” 

“Are you good?” 

“Yeah, I just, yeah. Can you ask someone if they wouldn’t mind taking me home? My car’s here but I’m so fucking tired.”

“I can take you home.”

“Matthew, no, you cant. You need to rest. I’m fine, I’ll be fine. I’ll get an Uber or something.” 

“No.”

He was firm in his response. Your eyes were heavy with sleep and you were in no condition to do anything on your own. 

“Whatever, I don’t want to fight with you, dickface.”

Matthew chuckled to himself as he guided you into the parking garage toward his car. You let him open the passenger door and help you into the Audi. 

“What’s your address?” 

You mumbled it quickly, earning a smile and a “we live in the same building” declaration from him. 

Far too sleepy to notice anything around you, you nodded in and out of sleep as Matthew drove from the area to your building. His quick glances in your direction were lost on you and it was only when he was trying to get you out of the car that you really woke up. 

“Fuck, Matt, I’m so sorry. I’m just so exhausted.” 

“I get it,” he helped you get your bags out of his trunk, “you didn’t have a great week and I had a lot to do with that.” 

The two of you headed up to your second floor apartment in silence, you trudging up the stairs with little effort while Matthew followed you, making sure you didn’t fall. 

“This is me. Where are you?” 

“Oh, uh,” his cheeks lit up red as his eyes traveled toward the ceiling.

“Of course, superstar Matty Tkachuk lives in the penthouse on the top floor,” you teased, “if only we could all be so lucky.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your apartment,” he slid around you let himself in as soon as you opened the door and surveyed his surroundings, “I really like it.” 

*

He didn’t expect her place to be so cute, but it was and he smiled wide when her black cat rubbed against his legs.

“He’s called Onyx.”

“I like him,” Matthew leaned down to scratch his ears, “who takes care of him when you’re gone?” 

“My neighbor. She’s a sweet lady.”

“I’m glad."

“I’m sure this is peasant shit compared to your place, but we do what we can.” 

He stopped petting Onyx and looked up to meet her eyes. 

“I would never think that about anyone. Jesus Christ, do you really think I’m that much of a fucking asshole?”

She didn’t say anything, but her face turned beet red and she turned away from him before turning back again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so used to you being awful that any small morsel of kindness is unfamiliar. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. You should sleep though.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He paused for a moment before breaking out in a big grin, “can I take Onyx up with me?”

“Absolutely not! Onyx is a heathen like the rest of us on the lower floors!”

“He deserves 360 degree views of Calgary.” 

You paused, turning to look directly at Matthew.

“Do you have that?”

“Yeah.” 

“I am so fucking jealous.” 

“You can come up and see too, as long as you bring Onyx.”

“As much as I don’t like you, I’m absolutely going to take you up on that, Matthew.”

He hated ‘Matthew’ and she knew it. He had tried to correct her a few times but she wasn’t budging. He wasn’t going to argue now, though, because she was adorable standing in her own apartment with her cute cat rubbing against her legs and—No. No, no, no. Matthew did not like this girl because this girl was fucking terrible and she hated him.

Except, he did like her and she was the opposite of terrible and she had an adorable cat. 

What the fuck was he doing?

[abarbaricyalp]

Hand holding 37

37) not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out

I assumed SamBucky. If not, just let me know!

Reblogging with the AO3 link ASAP so hopefully it'll stay in the tag this time.

i wanna hold your hand

Bucky had been in Delacroix for six months when the invitation rolled in. He flipped the heavy, glossy card over in his fingers, stacked the multiple envelopes and smaller cards and pieces of tissue paper together, and then looked at the fancy golden script again.

Albert James Wilson and Stephanie Marie Pujols cordially invite Captain Samuel Thomas Wilson to celebrate their wedding with them on the Third of August Two-Thousand-and-Twenty-Five.

There was more text--RSVP instructions, food preferences, a location--but Bucky’s eyes kept drifting to the scrawled message at the bottom of the invitation next to a quickly drawn shield.

Please bring Sergeant Barnes as your plus one -❤️ Stephanie-

He just about flung the invitation across the kitchen when he heard the door open. “Will you go get the rest of the groceries out of the truck? It’s about to open up and I don’t want to be dragging shit through the rain,” Sam said as he stumbled through the entryway to the kitchen. “Oh, you saw the card, great. You can remember what day it is. They sent a Save-the-Date ages ago but I totally forgot about it.”

Bucky felt a little hollow in the chest as he listened to Sam carry on like it was nothing that someone Bucky didn’t even know asked for him by name. Asked Sam for him. “Uh, who's Albert?” he finally managed to get out through the heavy lump in his throat.

“He’s one of my cousins. One of the babies. I think he’s, like, twenty-six or something? Maybe a little older. Him and Steph have been dating for ages but they took everything really slow. She went to grad school and they always said they weren’t getting married until they were totally graduated and had jobs. And then, you know, the Blip and all.”

Sam set the bags of groceries down on the oven and started to stack cans below the cupboards they went in, fruits by the baskets on the breakfast bar, drinks on the other side of the fridge.

“Right,” Bucky said and tapped the invitation against his metal hand. “Do you think it’s really a good idea for me to go?”

Sam shot him an unamused look. “Listen, you don’t get to invite yourself to the fun parties on the water and then decide that you don’t want to sit through a long ass wedding. Besides, you’ll like the reception. Lots of dancing.”

“Sure, it’s just… I mean, they don’t know me. This is a serious moment and they’re just asking for a stranger to come sit in the audience and watch them...fucking become one under the eyes of God.”

“You’re so Catholic,” Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’re coming with me. I’ll be bored out of my mind if you don’t. Besides, if you don’t go, who’s gonna be the ugly, old one?”

“I hate you,” Bucky sighed.

“I know. Now go get the groceries before the bread gets soaked.”

Bucky had been promised dancing and food. But, while most of the church had cleared out for a local dancehall for the reception, Bucky found himself standing awkwardly by the altar while approximately four million pictures were snapped of the wedding party. Sam, leaning against a beautiful statue that he probably shouldn’t have been leaning against next to Bucky, was the only thing keeping Bucky from royally losing his entire mind.

He hadn’t been in a church basically since DC all those years ago. Who knew about before then. Occasionally, when he’d been on the run, he’d crept into an empty rectory to snag a few minutes of quiet where he could rest his eyes without feeling like someone was staring at him, waiting for a moment of weakness on his part. And, sure, growing up Catholic had put this indelible mark on his soul that reacted to any church, empty or not. A deep longing and belonging that he’d never been able to fully grapple with.

But empty churches where he just wanted to sleep were not the same level of overwhelming that a church in the midst of celebration was. Now, all that longing and belonging was spilling over his ribs and soaking into the rest of his body, alive and hot and so tangible he felt like he could almost reach inside himself and touch it.

He missed this.

He missed the happiness and the family and the love that he could find in the walls of a church, in the midst of a celebration. He missed being able to feel something bigger than himself.

The bride and groom hadn’t stopped smiling and laughing all afternoon, always good sports about redoing a photo or trying a new pose or bringing new people into the same picture they’d taken a thousand times already. They couldn’t take their eyes off of each other, couldn’t let go of hands or waists or cheeks.

God, Bucky missed it.

“Okay, how about something with all of the couples?” the photographer asked. “Mom, dad, get on in there. Any bridesmaids and groomsmen paired up? Alright, you go there. Sirs? Sirs?”

“Yo, Sam!” Albert called out and Bucky looked up sharply from the jostling of people in love with each other and the moment.

“I’m not here with anyone,” Sam called back.

“You’re holding your date’s hand?” the photographer said, clearly unsure of what was before her own eyes now.

Sam and Bucky both looked down at their interlocked fingers, hands pressed between their thighs, and then jumped apart with muttered apologies.

“Uh. We’re not. We’re not.” What a stupid thing to have to say after everyone had just seen them. “We’re not together,” Bucky finally got out.

Stephanie frowned deeply for the first time all afternoon, a scheming furrow appearing between her eyebrows.

“Alright… Well then, is that everyone? Okay, cheese it up hard…”

The pictures continued.

“Sorry again,” Bucky said a while later while he and Sam stood shoulder to shoulder in the church’s small bathroom, both looking at their own reflections while they washed their hands.

“Nah, it’s fine. I probably just kept shifting closer to you,” Sam said and there was a strain in his voice that Bucky couldn’t quite place. He didn’t think he’d heard it before. Not on Sam.

“Sometimes I kind of tune out what that arm’s feeling,” he said. “There’s- a lot of nerve activity, y’know. I didn’t notice I’d grabbed you.”

“It was the moment,” Sam agreed. “We were watching a bunch of other people hold hands and shit.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He shook water off of his fingers and then wiped his hands on his slacks. “Can we go eat now?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding quickly. “Let’s get outta here. I’m sure other people are waiting.”

The dancehall was dim, lit up only with white string lights draped over the rafters and around the tables and columns. It smelt heavenly, a mix of well cooked food and an open bar and desserts that Bucky couldn’t even name. Sam grabbed Bucky’s wrist--this time he felt it--and pulled him through the crowds lingering at the dance floor’s edge. He gave as short answers as was possible to stay polite until they got to the food.

Sarah was waiting for them.

“What took you two so long?” she asked. “I’ve had to fend off a dozen people looking for Captain America.”

“You will not believe what happened to us at the church,” Sam said, loading up a plate with more food than Bucky felt comfortable taking. It was fine because Sam was making Bucky a plate too and they were pretty similar in portion size.

“Oh, yes I will,” Sarah said. “Stephanie told me all about it.”

“What? How did she beat us here? We got in our car first.”

“Why did you two lie to that poor photographer?” Sarah asked.

Bucky looked up with a meringue half in his mouth. “We didn’t? She made the assumption herself.”

“You said you weren’t together,” Sarah clarified. “Why are you playing coy with me?”

“We’re not together,” Sam insisted for the second time that day. Bucky ignored the cinch of his heart and grabbed a brownie to add to Sam’s precarious stack of food.

Sarah brought two fingers up to the bridge of her nose. “Samuel Thomas,” she said and Sam squawked out an indignant sound.

“Don’t say my name like that. You sound just like mom.”

“You’re lucky it’s me and not mom listening to you lie to yourself.”

Sam was about to argue with her, Bucky could tell, when the plate in his hand suddenly tipped. Bucky’s hand shot out to steady it, fingers sliding over Sam’s to hold it still, wait for the food to stop moving before adjusting their hands under it to continue carrying it.

Sarah shot them a very pointed look. “Cass and AJ are holding our table down and Mrs. Reynolds has already said she wants at least two dances from you,” she said to Sam.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said, just a little sarcastically. “Come on, Buck. And grab an extra roll. AJ’s gonna take all the good desserts if we don’t distract him.”

Sam did far more dancing than Bucky did. Just about all night, he had someone on his arm, cutting in, or pulling him back to the floor. Between everyone at their table, they cleared the plates Sam had made but Bucky didn’t think Sam had had half of what he wanted. He made sure to collect another plate when he was sure everyone had had a chance to eat and kept it safe at his side, even with AJ curled up in his lap, snoozing against his metal shoulder soundly. True, most kids couldn’t eat while they were asleep but after watching him put away way more carbs and sugar than Bucky thought should be possible, he wasn’t putting anything past the kid.

When Sam managed to drag himself away from all of his fans for the sixth time that night, and when he shot Bucky a curious but pleased glance between AJ and his shoulder, Bucky just said, “Sugar crash,” and pushed the plate of food over to Sam with the arm not currently holding AJ in place.

Possibly, AJ got his appetite from his uncle if the way Sam dug in was anything to go by. “Jesus, man, breathe,” Bucky laughed and passed over the bottle of beer he’d been nursing most of the last hour.

“Thanks. I forgot how much a full night of dancing takes out of you. Not as young as I used to be, y’know,” Sam said and took a long pull from Bucky’s drink.

“You literally moved a boulder off a road yesterday,” Bucky pointed out.

“I only had to do that once and I had the jetpack. I’ll tell you, my feet wish I had the wings about now,” Sam answered. He put away a roll and one of the sweets Bucky didn’t know before finally sitting back a little, forearms rested on the tables. He’d discarded his jacket after the fourth or so dance and at some point he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. That, plus the brown suspenders over his light blue shirt had him looking like a hundred old memories in Bucky’s mind.

“AJ and I filmed you a few times,” Bucky said to distract himself from the sweat cooling on Sam’s forearms. He brought his phone out and left it on the table as it played a video. Sam leaned forward and then laughed.

“Oh, you liked that one, huh?” he asked.

“Nah, that was AJ’s choice. I liked this one,” he said, swiping to the previous video.

“Of course, something more lindy-hop,” Sam said with a nod. “That lady called me every single day after mom died, y’know. She always said it was ‘cause she missed her already and our voices were similar, but I think she was worried about me.”

“Who was this one?” Bucky asked, flipping through a few more clips.

“Oh, shit,” Sam laughed. “I can’t believe you recorded that. We went to the prom together junior year. Her dad hated me. He’d probably hate that this video exists.”

“Captain America couldn’t even clear the bad blood?” Bucky joked.

“Hell no. Prom night, he busted into the living room after the dance thinking he was gonna catch us in some act but we were just watching movies. It was never like that with us, but you couldn't convince him.”

Bucky flipped to another video. “Her son joined up with me but ended up dropping out and going Navy instead. - She was my first boss. - I played baseball with that guy and he came out a few months after we graduated. - I dated her daughter very briefly. - That’s the daughter and the little one is her daughter. - That’s my favorite teacher’s son. He just wanted to say hi from his mom.”

“Hey, what are you looking at?” AJ asked groggily suddenly. He leaned over the table, small hand coming to rest where, once again, Sam and Bucky’s had drifted together on the other side of the phone. This time they couldn’t jump apart.

“Uncle Sam, Uncle Bucky danced with my teacher and she said he had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen,” Cass shouted as he came bounding back to the table with Sarah in tow behind him. Bucky had seen her dance with a handsome man for three dances in a row so if she cut any new knowing looks at where their hands were being held hostage, he had some retaliation this time.

Bucky finally let Sam drag him out to the middle of the dancefloor just as things were beginning to wind down. Many guests had already left for the evening, catering had cleared out the food, though Sam and AJ really did their part in making sure there was no bread left for them to clean, and the band had packed up and left a local DJ to close out the night.

This time, Bucky was more than aware of his hand sliding into Sam’s, his metal hand settling against Sam’s shoulder, thumb brushing over the strap of his suspenders. Sam’s other hand was warm and welcome against his hip. Bucky couldn’t help but step closer to him as they swayed to the slow song.

“You were really good with all the kids all night,” Sam said. “I saw them dogpile you earlier.”

“Kids like me,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Entertaining them was my job at weddings back when too. All those nights of dancing and I never got to show off at family functions,” he joked.

“You showed off plenty. I think it’s gonna be you Mrs. Reynolds asks for next time someone gets married. Hell, maybe she’ll be marrying you.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “Hey, she’s got spirit. I think if we’d gone a few more dances, she might’ve found one I didn’t know.”

“Well, it was a jazz band. Can’t blame you for not keeping up when you didn’t grow up with good music.”

“We had jazz,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes. “It was nice, getting to see more of your life.”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, it was nice stepping back in time a little bit, getting to see how everyone’s grown up.”

“You’re so loved here. Not Captain America. Sam Wilson. People adore you.”

Sam ducked his head shyly and Bucky reached up to catch a knuckle under his chin. The music had stopped and their feet must’ve realized it before their brains because they weren’t dancing anymore either.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Sammy,” someone called from across the room. Bucky recognized the groom’s voice. “You haven’t let go of his hand all night. Just kiss him already.”

Sam and Bucky both looked down at their tangled fingers and let out a little laugh. “Well, if it’s what your fans want…” Bucky suggested.

“Shut up, man,” Sam laughed and leaned forward to kiss him.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (11)

     jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: some angst and irrational jealousy

words: 5.2k

   chapter eleven

Your presentation with Namjoon the next day was a success – which was almost a given, considering how much work the two of you had put into it – and, to celebrate that it finally ended, you went out for some coffee in the afternoon. The campus café was packed at a time like this but both of you were still buzzing from the adrenaline of having to present in front of the whole class, so you barely noticed anyone else.

“I’m so glad we presented last,” you said and then sighed in content after you tasted your caramel beverage. “That left no time for anyone to ask any questions since everyone just wanted to go home faster.”

Namjoon chuckled. “I know. That’s the only benefit of having to spend the entire class stressed and anxious.”

You groaned at the realization of how many nerve cells you’d lost today. “Thank God that’s over now.”

“Yeah, it’s—” he started to say and was suddenly cut off by a sharp flashing sound from somewhere behind you, accompanied by a bright flicker of light that illuminated—and blinded—the boy in front of you for just a second.

You blinked in shock – both from the flash and from the realization that someone had just taken a picture of you two – and turned around, your eyes widening in surprise.

Behind you, a group of flustered freshmen huddled close to each other as they sprinted out of the café, their phones in hands. They looked back at you as they went, quickly turning away as soon as they caught your eye.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, turning back around.

“Some wannabe paparazzi, I’m assuming,” Namjoon said, rubbing his eyes with the pillows of his index fingers, “with some audacity. They didn’t even bother to check if the flash was on.”

“This whole week has been very weird,” you said, glancing over your shoulder again, so you could watch the group through the window – they had piled together in the front-yard of the café and were, most likely, adding unflattering filters to the picture they just took – and then you returned your attention to your friend, all while shaking your head, “but that still has to be the weirdest thing that happened to me. Why would they do something like that?”

“Hard to find a sensible reason,” Namjoon said, his voice empathetic, “but if I had to guess, then I’d say they’re trying to stir something up with that picture.”

“How?” you asked and then realized. “Oh, because I’m here with you?”

“Yeah.”

You rolled your eyes, finding it hard to believe that you were in your final years of university, and the people around you – albeit younger than you – still behaved like they were characters in a high school drama.

“Jesus,” you mumbled dejectedly and took your paper cup of coffee into your shaky hands, sipping it slowly in hopes that the hot liquid would calm you down. You set the cup back down again after a minute, however, because it had no effect on your nerves at all. “Are there no clubs they’d like to join? Nothing else they would want to spend their time doing? I mean, how bored are they?”

Namjoon cleared his throat, feeling awkward for not having suitable answers to any of your questions and for putting you in this position in the first place. “I, uh—yeah. Very bored, probably. I’m sorry.”

You gave him a perplexed glance – his apology had confused you – and noticed how uncomfortable he looked as he avoided your eyes and drew indiscernible patterns on the table with his finger.

“Why are you apologizing?” you tried asking softly. “This isn’t your fault.”

He knew that, of course, but that didn’t alleviate his discomfort. “No, I just feel like I’m partially responsible for that picture because I suggested we get coffee here.”

“You could have never guessed that people would be weird enough to do this,” you countered, feeling even worse now that this incident has made him wish he hadn’t come here with you. “If anything, it’s me who should be apologizing for dragging you into this. I’m honestly struggling to understand why they care so much but I shouldn’t have—”

Namjoon protested, “no, don’t feel guilty about this.”

You stopped to really consider his words.

The two of you were sitting here, apologizing to each other, when, the truth was, neither of you was responsible for the sheer shallowness of the people around you. You had no influence when they were placing their priorities and you couldn’t be blamed for what happened just because these people valued a good campus scandal more than an A in Calculus.

“Yeah. You’re right. I didn’t do anything wrong,” you declared, “and neither did you. Do you want to take a walk instead of sitting here?” you asked then, relieved that you chose to get your coffees to-go instead of drinking them from those pretty but very fragile-looking porcelain cups that several girls were snapping pictures of a few tables away.

An impressed smile appeared on his face after your suggestion; you knew your self-worth. And Namjoon – in the least condescending way possible – admired that greatly.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he said with a nod at the window of the café. “The weather’s nice.”

Thankfully, the incident at the café did not repeat itself when the two of you strolled around campus, talking and drinking your coffees in peace. You ended up getting into a conversation so deep – Namjoon was telling you about how his roommate, Seokjin, had purchased an unidentified plant from the flower shop off-campus and was convinced he was now growing marijuana in his room – you didn’t even notice when you finished your drink and it was time for you to say goodbye and head back home.

It was very nice to talk to someone – other than Inna – who shared your point-of-view on most things, but still remained calm and respectful when the conversation turned to something you didn’t exactly agree on. You weren’t used to that. Even Inna, who was normally understanding and open-minded, had a strong opinion on certain things and, sometimes, she got defensive if you disagreed.

Jungkook was a whole different specimen: if someone said something he didn’t like, he was going to defend his stance with impressive – and, frankly, intimidating – fury. Being near him could always make your blood boil, your pupils dilate, and your heart start skipping beats.

Talking to him could sometimes make you wish you could jump off a building – just so you wouldn’t have to look at his shit-eating grin anymore – but it also reminded you that you were alive. It was like bungee-jumping. Like swimming with the sharks.

Apparently, you were an adrenaline junkie, and – as you reluctantly admitted to yourself – he was the adrenaline fix you needed.

When you got back to your building – still thinking about Jungkook even after you’d spent half a day with Namjoon – and entered the elevator, you had your mind set on watching a distracting movie so you could push Jungkook out of your thoughts. You haven’t seen him these past few days and, clearly, it was starting to get to you.

And that was precisely when you nearly fell right back into the elevator cabin after you stepped out and saw the sight in front of you – you thought your abstinence from Jungkook had caused you to hallucinate.

“Oh, you’re finally here.”

Jungkook stood up from the spot next to your door when he saw you emerge down the hall.

You hadn’t expected the boy that haunted your mind to manifest himself right in front of you, so you couldn’t form a single coherent sentence. But you still tried, “w-what are—w-why—”

“I called,” he said as a way of explaining. “You didn’t answer.”

You remembered hearing this when he showed up at your dorm the first time, prompting a very awkward three-way exchange between him, Namjoon, and you. Granted, now that the awkward component was out, this gesture could have made your heart flutter but, really, it felt more like a—pleasant—stab into your chest.  

“I, uh, I left my phone in the dorm,” you said, your hands seeming useless when you had no device to hold. “You have to stop coming here whenever I don’t answer my phone, though.”

A confident grin appeared on his lips but his eyes – the true mirror into his heart – were begging.

“Why?” he asked only half teasingly as his gaze seemed to pulsate with need to hear you say that you wanted him here. “Am I not welcome?”

You remembered – and instantly discarded – your plan to watch a distracting movie, and shook your head.

“No,” you said. You wanted him here. It was any thought or activity, distracting you from him, that wasn’t welcome. “I just feel bad for making you wait.”

Pleased with the answer – and not even trying to conceal it as the warmth on the edges of his pupils spread like honey throughout both of his eyes – Jungkook pushed his hands into his pockets.

“It’s fine,” he said and then added, almost carelessly, “I thought something could have happened to you. You’re not one to forget your phone. So, I came to check.”

“Yeah, I was in a hurry this morning—”

“But then I heard it ring inside when I tried calling you from here, so I figured what happened.”

You blinked at his interruption. “Wait, so you knew I left my phone? Why did you wait then?”

“Well, I still needed to talk to you.”

The unapologetic tone of his voice made you inhale sharply and take an unconscious step back as a protective means so you wouldn’t throw your arms around him like your heart wanted you to. You lowered your eyes.

“Okay, but you could have—I-I mean,” you didn’t know why you were still talking. It was obvious that he didn’t mind waiting. And yet that was somehow so impossible to believe. “What if I would have been gone longer?”

“Then I would have waited longer,” he shrugged like it was obvious, his eyes analyzing your confused features. “Why are you so bothered that I’m here?”

“I’m not bothered, I’m just—” truly, relentlessly falling more and more in love with you. “I was just surprised. Sorry I made you wait. What did you want to talk about?”

You gave him a weak smile as you tried to use the business tone you reserved for almost everyone but your voice still came out sounding meek and uncertain.

Jungkook just chuckled – not at you but, rather, at the the obviously nervous state you were in right now. While he always—secretly— appreciated your witty banter and sarcasm, he couldn’t help but feel proud to have this disarming effect on you.

“Straight to the point, huh?” he ribbed. “I thought that, after I’d waited for you for thirty minutes, the least you would do is invite me inside.”

“You waited for thirty minutes?”

“More or less.”

“Shit,” you were done for and you hated that it took this little – just some dedication to wait until you returned – to win your complete devotion. “I’m sorry.”

You walked past him – trying almost desperately not to breathe but still getting a whiff of his cologne and clenching your jaw as you refused to let the intoxicating smell affect you – to unlock the door.

“It’s fine,” Jungkook said, watching you and marveling at how completely unaware you were about the effects that the smell of your hair – as it lightly brushed against his chest when you walked past – had on him. “I don’t mind.”

You turned the key in the lock, the warmth from inside of the room hitting your already warm face as soon as the door opened.

You moved to a side and looked at him.

“So, uh—come inside, then.”

He did. And the room felt suffocating with him in it – but not in a painful way. It was just unusual: like you’d been transported into a different realm where breathing was no longer necessary to keep you alive and yet your body – so used to the way things were before – was still fighting it.

It was a useless battle.

You couldn’t breathe around him anyway.

“So, I received a picture today,” Jungkook said as he followed after you and took his shoes off by the door.

“Received a picture?” you frowned at his wording, lifting your eyes from your shoes to his face. “I hope you don’t mean in the mail.”

“No—” he paused to laugh. “I mean someone sent it to me. Well, to this groupchat I’m in but they tagged me.”

You placed your shoes in their rightful position by the door but chose not to return your eyes to his because you had a feeling where this was going.

“Right,” you said, not encouraging him to go on but knowing that he would anyway.

“It was you and Namjoon,” he said.

You nodded – which surprised him. “So, the picture reached you.”

For a moment, Jungkook tried to look for hidden hints in your voice – hints that would indicate where your knowledge about this had come from and, more importantly, why you looked so defensive all of a sudden, crossing your arms over your chest as you eyed him from the other end of the hall – but then he settled on just asking.

“You know about it?”

“Do you know who took it?” you countered, surprising him further.

“Uh—no, I just know who sent it,” he said. “Why? What are you going to—”

“I’m going to complain,” you decided.

Even though you’d suspected that the picture was going to be sent out and not kept as a private artifact, hearing just how quickly it reached Jungkook – and that it was, apparently, directed at him but not sent privately to him – pissed you off.

It was like showing the picture to Jungkook was only one part of this masterplan and this part was a small one. Because another part – the big, important one – was making fun of him in front of every person that was in the groupchat he’d mentioned.

“You don’t take pictures of people in public without their consent, not even celebrities,” you began, “and with a flash on, no less! Like they weren’t even trying to be secretive about the whole thing.”

“R-right. That was disrespectful,” Jungkook agreed, puzzled to notice that the same frustration he’d felt when he saw the picture, was now mirrored on your features. “But I mean… we’re supposed to be dating, remember? That’s why they took the picture.”

You entered the bedroom and he hesitantly trailed behind you.

“That’s not an excuse,” you said.

“Of course, it’s not,” he agreed. “But I kind of get it. I mean… well, how do you think it makes me look when you’re—”

You stopped in the middle of the room and turned around, finding it difficult to fathom how he was capable of defending these people, when they were so dead-set on humiliating him by showing everyone a picture of you with “some other guy”.

“Jungkook,” you said sternly. “That’s exactly why they took the picture. To make you look bad.”

“And they succeeded!”

You frowned. “Doesn’t that piss you off?”

“No—I mean, yeah, obviously, it does. I came here because I was pissed off,” he spoke, his eyes jumping from the window behind you to the posters hanging on Inna’s side of the room. “But I had some time to think about this while I waited for you. I’m actually more pissed off about you being with someone else than I am about getting embarrassed in front of others.”

You thought you misunderstood him. “What?”

The last time Jungkook panicked this much was when he’d been caught red-handed stealing his father’s Jack Daniels from the pantry in eighth grade.

“I… I meant—I’m pissed off about you hanging out with someone else,” he said, rolling his eyes for more effect as he tried to make it seem as though he’d just phrased himself wrong before.

Both of his hands were behind his neck as he stretched – a nervous habit – and you watched him battle his inner discomfort for a minute as you debated which part to focus on. Maybe he really didn’t mean to say what he said.

“Jungkook,” you finally said. “With all due respect, I’m not going to stop hanging out with my friends just because your two-faced friends want to mock you.”

He groaned – growing genuinely irritated now – and turned his back to you. “It’s not that they’re mocking me—”

“Don’t defend them!” you protested.

“I’m not!” his voice had risen to match yours. Slowly, he turned around and dropped his hands to his sides with an exasperated sigh. “I’m just saying, it’s not about them trying to mock me.”

You didn’t believe him. “So you’re saying you would have still been pissed about this if they sent the picture to you personally instead of showing it to everyone?”

“I would have been pissed about this even if there was no picture,” Jungkook replied.

“What are you saying?”

He sighed again. He thought it was fairly obvious what he was saying.

“We’re fake-dating, right?” he asked and it felt like he was deflecting. “So that means people are going to do this. They’re going to talk, even take pictures—”

“I know that,” you said. “We already talked about that.”

“Yes, but… I know that this makes you uncomfortable. And I hate that, really, I do. I’m grateful that you’re helping me in spite of it.”

Waiting for him to get the the point, you tapped your foot impatiently. “Okay.”

“I…” his eyes fell to the ground. The creaking floorboards under your feet distracted him. “What I’m trying to say is that, other people are going to be talking about what’s going on. And these types of things,” he meant the picture as he waved his phone around, “are just going to make them even more curious.”

“You’re suggesting that, by hanging out with my friends, I’m giving them something more to talk about?” you tried. “Even if they don’t take pictures.”

“N-not with your—well, they don’t know he’s your friend.”

“Actually, they don’t know you’re not just my friend, too.”

Jungkook winced – but it was a momentary reaction and, afterwards, you weren’t sure if he really did wince, or if it was just a stray ray of sun that passed through the curtains on your window and blinded him – and then cleared his throat.

“Well, exactly,” he said. “They don’t know shit. They assumed we’re dating and we decided to go with it. And now they see you with Namjoon and, remember, they don’t have confirmation that we’re dating, so, naturally, they start to speculate even harder.”

You had to give it to him, he may have had a point. Maybe people weren’t actually trying to mock Jungkook. Maybe they weren’t laughing about how his “girlfriend” was “cheating” on him with someone else.

Maybe people were genuinely curious whether he was dating you or not and, perhaps, they hoped that by pushing him into the corner with this piece of evidence – that was obtained through questionable means but this wasn’t a courtroom, so everyone fought dirty – Jungkook would finally give them some answers that they craved.

“I’m—” you sat down, too overwhelmed to finish a full sentence. “This is so childish, my head is starting to hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said and then took the liberty of sitting down next to you.

“No, it’s—I get what you’re saying,” you told him, turning your head so your eyes would meet and catching the sharp sound of him inhaling as he realized how close your faces were. You flushed and turned away. “I-I was just—I don’t know, I guess I got sensitive because of the way they handled this. I mean, when they took the picture, I knew they were going to show it to you, that much was obvious. But I thought it was going to be one of those “hey, just a warning, but I saw your girlfriend out with some guy today” type of texts, you know? One-on-one.”

He fisted the sheets of your bed when you referred to yourself as his girlfriend. Sitting here next to you – so close he could now make out the specific notes of your scent; he loved the smell of menthol in your hair – was going to kill him.

“Yeah,” he said as he exhaled. “With us, it’s never one-on-one. When they’re not sure about something, they argue about it in front of everyone.”

That sounded terrible. It even reminded you of a prison – with no private space and everyone constantly sticking their nose in each other’s business.

“Why do you hang out with these people?” you asked. “They’re always looking for ways to humiliate you.”

You thought Jungkook was going to defend them again and insist that they were like this with everyone, not just him – and you would have had no choice but to take his word for it, since you didn’t belong to the inside crowd – but, much to your surprise, he just shrugged his shoulders and looked down.

“They’re—yeah, I can’t explain that,” he said, suddenly sad. “They clung themselves to us – to t-the other members and me, I mean – and we didn’t bother to shake them off.”

Of course, they didn’t. Parental Advisory – and Jungkook in particular – loved being the center of everyone’s attention. And it made sense. Who wouldn’t love being loved?

You swayed your head thoughtfully but did not say anything else for a while. When you finally felt his shoulders relax and poke yours, you finally spoke again.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you said.

He didn’t blame you for it – which was unexpected but perhaps you’d misjudged just how self-aware about the situation with his friends he was – as he smiled softly. “That’s okay. I shouldn’t have come in here, demanding you stop spending time with your, uh, friend.”

He hated describing Namjoon in this way and he couldn’t hide it – not that he tried.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” you told him.

“Thanks.”

You nodded in response, the argument finally settling down. Only, you still needed to make a decision how to proceed – choosing to “just go with it” hasn’t exactly gone very well.

“So, what are we going to do about this?” you asked, careful so as not to make your voice sound too strict.

“You said you were going to complain,” Jungkook reminded you.

“I did,” you nodded, already seeing yourself knocking on the door of the dean’s office in your mind. “But it’s pointless, isn’t it? It won’t change anything.”

There were only so many things the dean could do, and controlling a population of nearly twenty-thousand students on campus wasn’t one of them.

“No, probably not,” Jungkook confirmed.

“So, what, then?”

He looked at you. “I have a plan. But you may not like it.”

You swallowed, aware that there wasn’t anything that you wouldn’t have done for him.

It was scary when you realized just how much control over you he still had, all of these years later. You briefly wondered if he’d ever cease to affect you this much.

“What is it?” you spoke.

“Come with me to our party this Friday,” he asked. “It’ll be a great way for us to express our anger about this in a more socially acceptable way. We’d sublimate, so to speak.”

You looked away. He had the power to convince you to do anything – you did not doubt that – but, God, you really didn’t want him to convince you do to this.

“Jungkook—”

“We wouldn’t have to stay long. Just—”

“Just so they’d see us together?” you cut him off and the sharpness in your voice wounded him because that wasn’t the only reason. “Just so we could respond to their incessant nosiness in this passive-aggressive way?”

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “But also because I want to hang out with you there.”

You thought that was just an excuse – a way to soften the blow after he confessed that he only wanted you to come to strengthen the image of your false relationship – so you didn’t catch the vulnerability in his voice.

“If that’s the case, then we could hang out—” you tried to say but Jungkook beat you to the end of your sentence.

“Here, I know,” he finished for you. “Or anywhere else that’s private. But I’m asking you to hang out with me there.”

You stayed quiet.

You weren’t saying no but Jungkook could see that you didn’t want to do this. He realized, in that moment, that he could convince you to come if he put his mind to it, but that would mean that you’d be doing something you didn’t want, all for his sake.

He couldn’t do that. He didn’t want that.

Standing up from the bed, he said, “I’m going to go.”

You followed him with your eyes, the sudden announcement taking you off-guard. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, not turning around but stopping in the middle of your room nevertheless, “or I might start throwing things.”

“W-why—?”

“Because I want to spend time with you and you’re rejecting me,” he explained in haste, his words sticking together and making it nearly impossible for you to understand him. Not to mention, your heart was now beating so loudly, you were partially deaf to all other sounds. “I guess, you could say it’s bruising my ego. I have to—”

“No, Jungkook, come on,” you stood up, too, not really willing yourself to. Your body seemed to follow his automatically. “You know I want to spend time with you, too.”

He didn’t know, actually. But hearing this was enough to get him to stop and reconsider – clearly, he didn’t really want to leave.

“But do we have to go to that party?” you asked after he didn’t say anything.

He counted the dents on the wall next to your bed before finally saying, “what have we got to lose? People are talking anyway, so why would we stay home?”

A sad smile appeared on your face – you didn’t like reminding him of this; it felt like you were reminding him of your own name – as you replied, “you might find it surprising, but staying home isn’t actually painful for me. I enjoy that.”

“No, I… I know that,” Jungkook said, bringing a hand through his hair. He regretted standing up now. He worded himself better when he was sitting. “But… Okay. W-we could go to the party, hang out there for a little bit, and then we’ll head back and hang out at your place. What do you think?”

That was supposed to be a compromise but it felt too much like he was trying to do you a favor, but not really succeeding at it. Because the core reason why he wanted you two to spend more time together was still laced with his need to prove a point -- and the point was that you and him were more together than you and Namjoon.

“Where’s the catch?” you asked, not seeing how the return back to your place could have benefited your fake relationship.

“There’s no catch,” he said. “I genuinely wish to be—wish to spend time with you.”

That was a good response – he could tell he’d chosen his words right by the way some of the pressure seemed to leave your shoulders when you exhaled.

“And,” you said, “how much of that wish is influenced by your need to prove to everyone that I’m not cheating on you?”

Jungkook smiled.

“Only a little,” he said.

“Well,” you grimaced – and his smile widened at your obvious dramatics – and then turned around to look out the window, “at least you’re honest.”

“I promised I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said.

You watched the students pass by your building outside while you considered your options. There weren’t many. You could either give in and agree to go with him now or you could spend another ten minutes listening to him try to convince you to come, only to agree then.

It didn’t seem fair to make him beg you to come – you didn’t think your company was worth that much and, in any case, you did want to spend time with him, even if you had no conditions of your own and would have gladly remained unseen by anyone else – so, choosing to give in now rather than later, you turned to face him again.

“Okay, fine. I’ll go to that party with you,” you said and your words lit his eyes up. “But you won’t let this get to you anymore, okay? Because our plan was to let people think whatever they wanted to think. You said so yourself -- they’re going to talk no matter what we do. So, promise me I won’t find you by my door, all frustrated and determined to wait for thirty minutes until I come back so we can argue about this again. Okay?”

He was already burning with anticipation for Friday night – and most definitely imagining all sorts of scenarios of how the two of you were going to arrive to the party together – but he sobered up enough to react to your request.

“I can’t promise that,” he said.

“Jungkook—”

“No, I can’t promise that I won’t care,” he added, not letting you cut in, “but I promise I won’t do anything about it or… ambush you like this again. Or argue with you about this.”

That was good enough – better, actually, as your stomach contracted in tandem with your chest; it was like your entire body was vibrating now – and you decided that the worst was already in the past, so you sat back down on your bed.

You hadn’t gotten him to promise you he wasn’t going to care about the people you spent your time with -- because, what he should have cared about, was the way his own friends treated him -- but partially getting through to him was still more than you expected from talking to someone as stubborn as Jungkook.

“You didn’t ambush me,” you said softly. “It was nice of you to come and, uh, talk to me in person. Nice but unnecessary since there was nothing to talk about. But still, thank you.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook – who loved being appreciated, even as dismissively as this – suddenly turned bashful and tried to do some damage control by finding a yet another excuse for showing up here and waiting for you. He felt like he’d revealed all the most vulnerable parts of himself to you today, and he didn’t know how to walk away from that now, “I just wanted to figure out what we were going to do.”

You scoffed but not cruelly. “I don’t think we figured anything out. We’re still going wherever the circumstances take us.”

“Yeah, I guess, we are,” he agreed and then added the one epic excuse that would always extinguish the burning feelings in your chest, “but, at the end of the day, the only thing that really matters is that my parents believe we’re together.”

You were fine when you heard that his reasons for wanting to hang out with you involved proving a point to your peers. 

But hearing that the “only thing that really mattered” wasn’t actually enjoying each other’s company but, rather, convincing his parents that you were dating, hurt surprisingly much. You knew it shouldn’t have because it was true, that was what mattered, but you still found it hard to breathe for a few seconds after he said that.

“Right,” you muttered, your throat dry as you pretended not to be surprised by how quickly you went from “I want to spend time with you” to “I’m only doing this so my parents don’t disown me”.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, watching you avoid his eyes and fearing that he may have taken his personal damage control too far. “Okay. So, it’s settled then. I’ll pick you up at eight?”

“Yeah,” you said, your chest – so full a minute ago – hollow now, “eight is fine.”

keep reading | masterlist

[binniebutter]

Under The Wisteria

Pairing: Choi Soobin x fem!reader

Genre: Angst Angst Angst; fluff ig, dystopian au

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: violence, gun violence, blood, major character death, I think that’s all

Summary: You just wanted to be with him forever, but you didn’t mean under the Wisteria tree.

Credit: beta read by @nottodayjjk and @inmyfelix from @txtarcadianet. Thanks so much babes!

a/n: I messed up the tags so I deleted and now I’m posting again🥲 but yea this is a birthday gift for @unlocktxt​ also i can’t write kissing scenes don’t make fun of me.

“Happy birthday to you,” you jumped in your seat a little, startled by your friend’s mom’s sudden singing, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Y/n, happy birthday to youuuuu.” She walked into the dining room with a single vanilla cupcake in her hands, a candle sporting the number 18 on top. There was no icing or sprinkles on the cupcake yet it still looked ravishing to you. The government only allowed for sweets on special occasions, like birthdays or weddings, and even then it could only be so many calories. This was the government's way of getting rid of obesity in Lamore, along with other, harsher, methods.

“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. It means so much to me.” You looked up at her and could see the sparkles in her eyes. That was one thing you loved about Mrs. Johnson, she always had sparkles in her eyes and a positive outlook on this fucked-up place we call Earth. Even after the incident…

“Oh dear, it was my pleasure! And how many times have I told you to call me mom, darling?” A lot. Almost every day, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do that. Every time you looked at her, you not only saw the sparkles, but you also saw her.

Amelia.

You see, Amelia was your best friend. You had known her since you were 3. You guys did everything together, homework, parties, shopping. Everything. Your families were also close to each other. So close that she called your mom “mama” and you called her mom “mom”. You loved each other dearly and made a promise to be best friends forever, always wearing promise rings on your pinkies. Until one fateful day. It had been all your fault. You wanted ice cream so badly that day, even though you knew that you could only have it on your birthday. You didn’t care though, begging your mother, who had taken Amelia and yourself to the park that day, to get some from the vendor.

“Please, mom. Please please please with a cherry on top,” you pleaded with your hands clasped in front of you. “Please it’s so hot I could melt. You wouldn’t want your only daughter to melt, do you?”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not my only daughter. I have Amelia too,” your mom childishly stuck out her tongue at you, causing you to look at your best friend with a pout on your face. Immediately, Amelia knew what to do.

“But mama, I want some ice cream too,” she said with a pout that you knew your mother couldn’t resist. And you were right because her resolve started wavering and soon the three of you were heading towards the ice cream vendor located in the middle of the park.

“Hello, sir. Three ice creams, please!” The man at the stand eyed you skeptically before asking who’s birthday it was. You replied before your mother could even open her mouth.

“Mine! Can I please have a cookie and cream ice cream with a waffle cone?” The man had seen how enthusiastic you were and assumed you weren’t lying. After hearing Amelia and your mother’s orders, he immediately got to work and soon enough you were walking away from him, licking your ice cream.

“Come on, Amelia, let’s go to the swings! Last one there is a rotten egg,” you took off towards the swings, leaving Amelia shouting about how you had cheated. Once you both got there, you sat right beside each other, kicking your legs back and forth while gossiping about some boys in your class. In the middle of you telling a story about one dude, a little girl about 5 years old came up to you two asking if it was one of your birthdays. You both had forgotten all about the Capitol rules and answered her truthfully, no.

“Oh, ok,” she bid you goodbye and ran away. You turned back to Amelia and shrugged your shoulders, going back to your story. You both were so absorbed in the story that you didn’t notice the little girl, or what you thought was a little girl, going to tell her mother. But one person did notice, your mom. She saw the tattoo on the girl’s arm and immediately knew who, what, she was. A spy for the Capitol.

Immediately, your mother made her way over to the two of you, telling you that it was time to leave. You should've listened to her. Instead, you were your stubborn self and insisted that you stay a little longer. Amelia had always been the more obedient one out of the two of you and seeing how urgent your mother was on getting you to leave, tried to convince you. Again, you should’ve listened to her. But you didn’t.

“Excuse me,” a voice sounded from behind your mom and you saw her face become as pale as a ghost. She turned around and was immediately tased. Her body convulsed on the floor for a few seconds before she stilled on the grass. You screamed in shock, drawing the attention of the other park users. Amelia grabbed your hand in fear, too scared to do anything. You squeezed her hand to comfort her but she could tell that you were just as scared. The woman stepped over your mother’s body and took a step towards the two of you, which in return to you took a step backward.

“Now, which one of you lied, and said it was their birthday? You both should know that Lenore doesn’t allow liars here,” she had a smile on her face the whole time she was speaking, but instead of comforting you, it terrified you. After a few moments of silence, her smile dropped into a scowl. “Well,” she barked at you causing you to shrink in fear, “Who was it? Or am I going to have to punish both of you?” Your eyes widened in shock. Both of us. You couldn’t let Amelia get hurt. Little did you know, Amellia had the same thoughts. And so before you opened your mouth, she spoke.

“Me, ma’am. It was me.” Although her voice was quiet, you could hear the firmness in it.

“What!?!? Amelia, no!” But alas it was too late. She had been tased the moment the words had left her mouth. You watched in horror as your best friend fell limp on the grass. You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even cry as you watched her eyes roll to the back of her head. Even after the cleanup crew came to take their bodies away, you were still standing in the same spot, looking at the place where your mother and best friend had just been. You didn’t want to believe they were gone. They couldn’t be. It wasn’t until you felt arms wrap around you and bring you into an embrace did you break down. Your mother and your best friend, your platonic soulmate, the only one who knows you better than yourself, were gone. You sobbed and sobbed into the person’s shirt. You couldn’t care less that they were a stranger, you needed someone. After you calmed down you looked up at your savior for the first time. It was a boy around your age, maybe a few years older.

“Thank you,” you paused, feeling silly for not even knowing his name.

“Soobin, Choi Soobin,” he answered with a small smile on his face. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

“Forever?” you asked with a small sniffle.

“Forever.”

You met Choi Soobin when you were 10 years old.

After you finished celebrating with Mrs. Johnson, which consisted of splitting the cupcake in half and opening the gift she got you, a brand new pair of workout sneakers, you both headed up to your rooms. It was almost curfew time and you knew the Capitol Workers were making their way around for nightly checks. You remembered reading in a history book, that somehow was missed when all the books of the past were burned, that curfew back then was way different and that not everyone had a curfew. The person with a curfew just had to be home by that time. No random stranger was coming into your room to see if you were sleeping. How lucky.

You tensed up as you heard the front door open. He’s here. You didn’t know your Capitol Worker well. You didn’t even know what he looked like. All you knew was that he’s a guy and he comes to your room every night to check if you’re asleep.

You closed your eyes and willed your heart to slow down to a normal pace. Your room door opened and you could hear the heavy sound of the combat boots that all CW’s were forced to wear. They took a few steps toward you, which was unusual, and you held your breath. This is it. I’m gonna die. They’re gonna know that I’m faking-

You paused in your thoughts at the sound of the boots walking towards the door and it being closed. You let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Jesus, that was scary,” you muttered, still scared of them hearing you. You continued to lay in bed even after you heard the front door shut. After waiting a few more minutes, you got up and headed towards your closet. You put on some dark clothing before grabbing your backpack and heading to your window. Looking out the window carefully, you saw the CW’s moving on to the next street.

“Perfect.” You opened up your window and stuck a leg out. You shivered a little bit as it was chilly out. With one hand still holding your window you pulled your other leg outside, now sitting on the sill. With your other hand, you reached for the closest branch of the cherry blossom tree in your backyard. Using the hand still on the window, you closed it shut, making sure the sound wasn’t loud. Now you were dangling from the tree. Expertly, you swung yourself up onto the branch, having done this a million times before. Once on the tree, you were able to climb down safely, without being seen. Great. Looking left and right, making sure no one saw you, you headed down the pathway that you’ve traveled frequently. The pathway to the love of your life.

Who, you may ask. Well, none other than your savior.

“Hey Y/n,” you didn’t let him finish as you engulfed him in a big hug. You didn’t let go for a while, squeezing him so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. You hugged him as if it was your last hug and Soobin was rapidly getting worried that it might be. You could feel his heartbeat increase and pulled away slightly to reassure him.

“I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong, I just missed you.” At your words, Soobin calmed down and a shy smile overtook his face. You smiled widely at his shyness. He’s so cute!

“Babe, we saw each other today at school.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same and you know it. We’re not allowed to hug each other or kiss each other.” A devilish smirk appeared on your face as an idea popped into your head. “Like this!” You cupped Soobin’s face in your hands and brought it to yours, leaving a quick peck on his lips. You laughed at the shocked expression on his face.

Anyone who knew Soobin knew that he was timid. He didn’t speak a lot in school unless he was called on. He sat by himself during lunch, which worried you a little because you didn’t want him to be lonely, but anytime you expressed your concerns he reassured you that he likes the quietness. Which usually wouldn’t soothe your worries, but Soobin is different when with you.

With you, he talks exceedingly, maybe too much if you were being honest. With you, he wasn’t afraid to laugh his boisterous laugh. With you, he could be himself and he was grateful to you for that.

“Yah! You can’t just d-do that!” Even though it was dark and you couldn’t see it, you knew that there was a bright blush on Soobin’s face.

“Why? Aren’t I your girlfriend?” you teased. You loved teasing Soobin. It was your favorite pastime. Though at your words, you could feel the mood change. It was like a breeze came by and took away the lightness of your banter.

“But you aren’t.” The street lamp cast a light on his face for a moment and you could see the sadness etched on his face. He was right. You weren’t his girlfriend, not technically. The government has this rule that no one is allowed to date until they are 30. Apparently, it deals with overpopulation. Man, fuck The Capitol.

“Y-yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry,” you said looking at your feet. Soobin looked at you with sad eyes. He hated seeing you like this which is why when the two of you met up, you never talked about this. But it was bound to come up sooner or later. He lifted your chin with his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“I love you. Let’s not talk about this tonight. It’s your birthday!” He placed a kiss on your forehead, then your cheeks, which were blushing red at his affection, one on your nose, and lastly he placed a passionate kiss on your lips. You immediately kissed back, shocked.

It was different, not like the small pecks the two of you share. It lasted longer and you could feel all the emotions that he was trying to convey in the kiss. You closed your eyes and deepened the kiss, hoping to show him how much you loved him. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you more into him. When your lungs felt as if they were to collapse if you didn’t stop, you pulled away, a daze in your eyes. Looking at Soobin, you saw his usual small, crooked smile on his face.

“Happy birthday, love. Forever?”

“Forever.”

“What if we run away?”

It’s been about a month since your birthday and currently, you have your head in Soobin’s lap, gazing up at him. He has his back resting on the wisteria tree behind him, a book in one hand while the other runs through your hair. His big, round glasses are adorned on the bridge of his nose, sliding down every few seconds. His blue bangs are covering his eyes today, not gelled back like usual. He looks like an idol Harry Potter adorable, you think. He should leave his hair down more often. It’s when he moves his hand from your hair to turn the page that you pop the question, causing him to stop and freeze.

“W-what?” he asks while looking down at you. His head is tilted, almost as if he didn’t hear you properly. But he did. And you know that. “Y-you want us to r-run away!?”

“Ok, I know it sounds crazy but we both love each other dearly, right?” He nods and you continue. “And it’s not like we have anything here weighing us down. Plus this country is horrible. I hate it and so do you. So let’s just leave. We can go to Averna, rent a home, start a family, grow old together.” Your voice slows down and you start sounding less sure of yourself once you see the look on Soobin’s face. “Do you not want that…”

“Of course I want that!” You flinch a little at the sound of his voice. In all of the 8 years that you’ve known Soobin, he has never raised his voice at you. Seeing your flinch, he lowers his volume. “Of course, I do Y/n, but how are we supposed to run away? There’s a tracker in our necks. The only reason we haven’t been tracked yet is cause they think we’re sleeping. If we leave, someone will report it. They could easily find us and bring us back….or worse.”

You know what he means by worse. The Capitol hates when citizens break the rules. You’ll end up the same as Amelia and your mother. You shudder at the memory of their limp bodies being carried off the grass. You push those thoughts to the back of your head as you open your mouth to speak again but you are cut off.

“No, Y/n, I’m serious. We are not running away. We’ll be killed. And what about Mrs. Johnson, huh? Do you really want her to lose another daughter?”

His words hit you hard. You look at him like a gaping fish, opening your mouth repeatedly but words never come out. He is right, of course, he is right. But you had always been the stubborn one.

“I DON’T CARE, SOOBIN!” Now he is the one to flinch back in shock. “I am tired of living in this terrible place, aren’t you? We’re treated like crap here, having to follow all these stupid rules. I wanna be able to eat candy whenever I want. I wanna be able to go out at night without having to be sneaky. I want to marry you, Soobin, before I turn freaking 30. And I can’t get any of these in Lamore. So let’s leave. Please,” you beg. You thought your words would be all that was needed to convince Soobin but you are wrong.

“Y/n. I love you so much. But I can’t do this, I can’t allow you to do this. We can’t. They’ll kill us once they find us and-”

“I’m going, Soobin. With or without you,” you tell him while standing up and he knows from the firmness in your voice that your mind is set. “Tomorrow night. I’m leaving tomorrow night at sunset. If you want to join me, meet me here, under the Wisteria.” You turn around to leave and take a few steps before Soobin’s words make you pause in your tracks.

“Forever?” It is a last resort. He thinks maybe he can change your mind. But you don’t even look back before continuing on your journey home. Soobin looks down dejectedly at his shoes before standing up and walking in the opposite direction you have.

What neither of you had noticed, was a certain Capitol Worker watching you the whole time. 

“She’s leaving tomorrow at sunset.” “...” “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

The next day at school, you had expected to see Soobin in your first period, sitting in the front row as usual. Red flag number one should’ve been when you noticed that he wasn’t there when you walked in. He’s always early. You brushed it off though. Red flag number two was when the bell rang and the teacher started the class and Soobin still wasn’t here. Soobin’s never late to class. Again you pushed the thought away, focusing on what the teacher was writing on the board.

It’s the end of the day and still no sign of Soobin. You were extremely worried now and had reason to be. Even when he had the flu he came to school, albeit he was sent home immediately. You forced yourself to calm down, willing the worry that was bubbling in the bottom of your stomach to go down. It’s ok, you’ll see him tonight. You were certain he would be there. He loves you, there’s no way he wouldn’t be there. Boy were you in for a shock.

At about 10 minutes to sunset, you headed to the Wisteria tree which had quickly become your safe haven. A place where you could truly be yourself with your lover. A place where many kisses were shared, many memories were made. You smiled at the thought. But your smile was wiped off your face at the sight before your eyes.

Because there was Soobin, tied up to the tree with a gag in his mouth, and a boy around your age, maybe younger, next to him. His eyes were wide with worry and fear, for his life or yours you couldn’t tell. What the hell is happening?

“Oh hello, Y/n dear. Nice of you to finally join the party.” The boy spoke. “Do you know who I am?” Slowly, you shook your head no. His lips turned upwards into a smirk. He was fairly attractive and if you weren’t in love with Soobin, you would swoon. “My name is Kang Taehyun. Your CW.” A gasp slipped from your mouth.

“M-my, my what!? Y-you’re the one who does my curfew check? But you’re just a kid.” When the word left your mouth a hard glare was thrown your way. “N-nevermind, not a kid. Got it.”

“Good work, Taehyun.” A  feminine voice resounded from behind you. You turned in the direction of the voice and froze. No. Right in front of your eyes was the same woman you had met almost a decade ago. The same woman that had held a taser to your mother and best friends’ necks. The same woman who had stepped over their lifeless bodies as she had left the park. The same woman who had smiled at you from over her shoulder, as if she were happy that you had no one left. “Y/n, we meet once again. Oh, what’s with that frown? Aren’t you happy to see me?” She mocked you. She had killed your family and she dared to mock you. You felt a bolt of anger surge through your body. You got ready to lunge at her but stopped at the cock of a gun.

“Uh, uh, uh. Take a step back or else I’ll blow your brains out.” You smirked. You weren’t afraid of dying. It would’ve been worth it to hurt the bitch.

“I don’t care. She deserves to feel pain. It’s not as strong as the pain of losing your family but close enough.” You took a step forward your arm raised to throw a punch at her, but then Taehyun uttered words you never wanted to ever hear.

“Maybe you don’t value your life, but I’m sure lover boy over here does.” You stopped in your tracks for the nth time that day, turning around to see Taehyun’s gun pointed straight at Soobin’s head. You looked into his eyes and saw nothing but fear and you knew that your eyes reflected his. When all you did was continue to stare at Soobin, Taehyun started to become impatient and shot up into the air. You jumped at the booming sound and looked over at him. “Next shot will be in his head.” 

“P-please. What do you want? I’ll give you anything, just please, don’t hurt him,” your voice was shaky as you begged for his life. He can’t die, you won’t allow it. “K-kill me. Please kill me instead. Spare him.” At your words, Soobin tried his best to break free from his restraints. He struggled and struggled until Taehyun punched him in the face, forcing him to stop and causing you to scream in anguish.

“NOOOO!”  The pain in your voice could be heard from a mile away. Your sobs echoing in the darkness. You have never cried as hard as this. “PLEASE I BEG OF YOU STOP! STOP PLEASE. LEAVE HIM ALONE, TAKE ME. HURT ME.” You never imagined that you would be in this situation. Watching Soobin, the love of your life, your forever, in pain. Blood dripped from his nose and you cringed at the sight.

“Oh darling, we plan to. But first, why don’t you enlighten us on why you want to leave Lamore?” The silky smooth voice behind you spoke again. How does she know that? She must’ve read your mind because she answered your question right after. “Taehyun here has been following you, getting intel on you, for about a month now. You’re a sneaky one, aren’t you?”

A month? Why only a month? And they both must be mind-readers as Taehyun answered you next. “Your breath. The night of your birthday. It was too fast, almost as if you were nervous. And what would you have to be nervous about if you were sleeping?” His eyebrow quirked up a little as he asked the question. “So I came closer than I usually do to make sure I was seeing correctly. I was, it turns out.” So that’s why he took more steps towards you than usual. You knew something was up.

“So what, you followed me here. And you’ve been following me this whole time?”

“Precisely. Now answer Miss Paige’s question. Why do you want to leave Lamore?” You glared at the both of them, your stubborn self not answering. “Oh, no answer? Alright,” as he said that, Taehyun pointed his gun at Soobin’s leg and pulled the trigger. A deafening boom ringing in your ears but you didn’t hear. All you heard was Soobin’s horrifying scream. He’s in pain. And it’s my fault. 

You watched as blood spurred from the love of your life’s leg and you saw how he stumbled a little at the loss of support. I did this. 

“I-if I tell you everything, everything. Will you leave Soobin alone? And get him to a hospital?”

“See, darling. That’s not gonna work. Taehyun here, he’s bloodthirsty. He needs to kill at the sight of blood.” The fuck is wrong with this dude? Yea, definitely not attracted to him anymore. “So one of you here is gonna have to die.” Her creepy smile never left her face.

“O-ok, kill me. Not Soobin, me,” you said the words quietly, hoping that Soobin wouldn’t hear you. But even in his loopy state, he heard. He started struggling against his binds once again. You made eye contact with him and put on a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You hoped to calm him but did the opposite. Worry pooled in his eyes and you looked away, knowing what you had to do. “Promise me. Swear that you won’t harm him anymore.”

“Alright. I swear on my daughter that I won’t harm lover boy.” And so you told them. You told them how much you hated the Capitol and Lamore in general. You told them how you loved Soobin and wanted to be with him forever. You told them how you planned to run away to Arena but Soobin didn’t want to. You told them everything. And when you were finally finished, you closed your eyes, awaiting death. You heard the sound of the gun and smiled. I’ll see you soon, Amelia, mom. But after a few moments of no pain, you opened your eyes. And screamed at the sight.

Soobin. With a bullet lodged in his head. You rushed over to him, your hands hovering over his body, too scared to touch him. You sobbed even harder than the first time you met him, your wails even causing Paige to feel sympathy for a moment. But only for a moment. You wheeled your head towards her, rage in your eyes. 

“You promised! You promised you wouldn’t kill him! You swore on your daughter, you lying bitch.” You screamed at her, feeling another part of your heart break. You lost one half of your heart at 10 years old and now, you lost the other half. You had a heart no more, all that was left was a hole in your chest. 

“Fun fact,” she leaned close to whisper in your ear, “ I don’t have a daughter.”

That must’ve been your breaking point because you wrapped your hands around her neck. Now you were the bloodthirsty one. But before you could even see a glimpse of pain in her eyes, a shot rang out. You looked down at your shirt, seeing a pool of red seep out. You smirked. It worked. I get to be with my family now.

You stumbled backward, ending beside Soobin, your back resting on the Wisteria tree that you used to call home. You leaned your head on his shoulder, thinking about the last thing he said to you. 

“Forever?”

And as you closed your eyes, you answered him.

“Forever.”

TXT Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[shuahoonie]

you [tom holland] - seven.

PAIRING: tom holland x female!celebrity!reader

SUMMARY: ah, to be young and in love. it sounds great if only you and tom were actually dating out of pure love and not for the sheer reputation of your careers. it also should be great if you two actually got along, but life isn’t that easy.

WARNINGS: mostly swearing! alcohol consumption! a whole lotta fluff on this one yall. it’s haters to lovers / fake dating au so take that information as you wish! also, their relationship is improving yall 🤧

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

SONG INSPO: harry styles - to be so lonely 

A/N: hiya babes, again, its day n of quarantine. i feel awful that i’ve gone this long without an update. would totally understand that you had to reread this whole series to find out what the hell is going on lmao. also, quarantine life really ruined my general schedule like now, i start my days at 3 pm and it ends at 7 am. obviously, i’m not doing well. 

also, everytime i try to write it’s always like 4 am so there’s prob a lot of errors on this. i also had the initial plan to cut this chapter in two parts but figured you guys deserve this bc i’ve been gone for way too long.  [it was way past 6 am when i finished this]

hope you guys are safe. spam my inbox, tell me what you’ve been up to this quarantine! stay at home and wash those hands!!!!! sending all my love ♡

UPDATES EVERY SATURDAY 11 PM CST WHENEVER I CAN  [I MEAN WE’RE IN LOCKDOWN. PLS PESTER ME TO UPDATE SO I CAN BE PRODUCTIVE]

gif credits: @tomhollandcouk

vanessa’s masterlist | preview | one | two | three | four | five | six | eight | eight.5 [interview excerpt] 

You took a look at the girls and sure enough, they were watching the two of you and were whispering amongst themselves. You didn’t know who they were so you were assuming they were on Josh’s guests.

You weren’t one to start fights however, you were extremely petty though. It’s a habit you’re trying to get rid of. “Hey, Tom?”

He hummed in response. “Do you want to finally get them off your back?” You asked him. He stared at you for a moment before nodding.

“I’m going to do something but promise me you’ll forget it as soon as it’s done.” You disclosed, not even knowing why you’re actually going to do it.

“Okay...” You knew he was getting curious. “What-”

You grabbed the side of his face and kissed the corner of his lips. To say that both of you were surprised was an understatement.

Your lips lingered on the corner of his. As soon as you saw the girls with their backs turned against you two, you pulled away.

You could easily see Tom’s ears turn red. You weren’t sure why, but you were too distracted by the fact that you actually did that.

You also felt yourself getting hot. You were sure that your face is burning, however, you were unsure of the fact that maybe it’s burning because of the stunt you just pulled or because of the alcohol in your system.

“It’s definitely the alcohol,” you murmured.

“Sorry, you were saying something?”

Seemingly lost for words and embarrassed, you told Tom “I need another drink.”

If anyone asked you what just happened, you probably won’t have an answer as you were confused as well. That’s why you were practically running to the open bar, leaving Tom on the dance floor, with the look of bewilderment painted on his face.

“Tom!”

He turned his head around, looking for who could have possibly called his name. Upon seeing who it was, he greeted her with a huge smile on his face. “Liv, congratulations! It was a wonderful ceremony.” He said genuinely.

“Aw,” Olivia cooed in delight. “Thanks, Tom! We’re happy you could make it.” She beamed.

“Would’ve never missed it,” Tom smiled.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have you seen Y/N?” Olivia asked, looking around.

He felt himself turn red, which Olivia noticed but chose not to point it out. “She told me she was getting herself a drink...”

“That bitch never learns,” Olivia murmured to herself. “Tom, can you do me a favour? Can you please keep an eye out for her? She tends to drink a lot at weddings and-”

All of Veronica’s words came flooding back to Tom, knowing that he was supposed to stop Y/N from grabbing another glass. “Right, of course.”

“She doesn’t have a problem!” Olivia quickly disclosed. “It’s just- She tends to do a lot of weird shit while drunk.” She chuckled. “I mean look at where you two are now. None of this would’ a happened if- Oh, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay, Liv. I know.” Tom shook his head, politely dismissing Olivia. “Uh, Liv, if you don’t mind, I’m going to look for-”

“Oh, no, you’re all good.” Olivia smiled. “I have to meet with Josh in just a few minutes anyway.”

Tom congratulated Olivia again for the beautiful ceremony before he left. As Tom was looking for Y/N, he found you leaned against the bar with a drink in one hand and a phone on her other.

“Y/N.” Tom called, putting his hand on your shoulder.

“Holy fuck-” You almost spat your drink. “Jesus Christ, Tom, you fucking scared me.”

Tom chuckled. “’m sorry, darling.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to pick you up,” Tom said as he saw the drink on your hand and grabbed it “and to stop you from drinking.”

You furrowed your brows at him, “Why?”

For a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw Tom shift his eyes over at your lips. That’s when you realized that you were pouting and quickly pressed your lips together.

“’cause you’ve had enough drinks for tonight,” Tom simply stated. “Why don’t I take you back to your hotel?” He offered.

“I’m good, Tom.” You said “People aren’t looking, you can quit acting like you care now.”

Tom chose to ignore the last part and pulled out his phone. “I’m texting Veronica that we’re leaving.”

“Seriously, Tom, just let me be.”

“Y/N, I’m just looking out for you. You’ve had a couple of drinks already and apparently, Zoë needs you to be up and well tomorrow morning.” Tom said, the frustration was getting through him.

“Tom-”

“I’m serious, Y/N. I will carry you to my car if I have to.”

All you could do was glare at him.

“You’ve been frowning for 10 minutes now, your face is going to get tired, darling.” Tom commented as he stole a quick look at you, only to find you with the look of annoyance plastered all over your face and your arms crossed.

“I can’t believe you actually carried me! It was so embarrassing, you dickhead.” You grumbled, feeling shy since quite a few people did see his stunt and found it absolutely adorable.

“I did say that I was serious,” He pointed out as he did a shoulder-check before making a turn.

“Don’t even know why you’re driving me back to the hotel. I could’ve called someone, ‘ya know?” You were coming up with ways as to how you can avoid spending time with Tom, which was undeniably impossible since he is your boyfriend after all.

“Nonsense,” Tom pulled over at the front of the hotel, stepped out of the vehicle to give his keys to the valet and opened your door. “I would rather drive you back and know that you’re safe.” He said as he offered his hand for you to take.

You were reluctant at first, however, you still took his hand. He was being nice and you had to respect that.

Actually, you did notice that Tom was being nice within the past few weeks that you’ve started to date. Him becoming genuinely nice was starting to become a problem, especially when you’re involved with a lot of fake dating stunts.

It pulled your heartstrings in all kinds of different directions and you know it’s wrong, which is why you’re trying your best to put those feelings aside.

“Thanks Tom, I think I can handle myself from here.” You said as you carefully pulled your hand from Tom’s.

He frowned, “I have to take you up to your room, darling. Don’t you know that there are endless possibilities of what can happen to you just from the walk from the lobby to your room? Especially the lifts.”

You stared at him for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m that paranoid but knowing you would never budge, then I guess you can walk me up to my room.” You said, not really going to fight him off. You already fought that battle earlier and you were left embarrassingly defeated.

The walk to the room was quiet, which was exactly what you needed. You were exhausted from today’s events, not to mention that you also had to wake up extremely early to get ready for your hair and makeup.

God, I can’t wait to take all of these off, You thought to yourself.

After what seemed like forever of looking for your keycard, you finally got to open your door. You turned to Tom who was leaning against the doorframe. He had the sleeves of his white button-ups rolled up to his elbows and he had a small smile plastered on his face, even though his eyes were nearly hooded from what seemed to be an exhausting day as well for him.

“Thanks again, Tommy,” you said softly. “Today must’ve been extremely exhausting for you.” You were starting to feel guilty as you felt like you made him jump through hoops just to take care of you when he had no obligation to do so.

“S’alright, darling.” He said before letting out a yawn. “Well, I best be off then. Good night, my darling.”

Tom had a couple of steps in before you shouted for his name, causing him to halt in the middle of the hallway. He turned to look at you, wondering why you called him.

“Do you wanna stay for a while? You must be exhausted and I don’t think I can live with myself if I let you drive whilst so.” You asked shyly. You weren’t heartless. You knew how to appreciate people’s efforts and right now, you had to swallow that pride of yours to show that you were thankful for Tom and his efforts.

Tom had to make sure that he heard you correctly. After all, you were the same girl who was reluctant to spend time with him for most of the time.

He had a loopy grin painted on his face. You weren’t sure whether it was meant to tease you or it’s because he’s getting sleepy, either way, it was enough to make you roll your eyes at him.

“Why are you smiling like that? Just-” You pinched the bridge of your nose, not knowing that it was possible to feel both annoyed and embarrassed at the same time. “Just stay with me for a bit so you can rest.” You mumbled the last part.

“Are you sure?” He asked for clarification. “Think I can drive for at least 30 minutes more-”

“Tom, just get in here with me.” You said as you took a hold of his hand and pulled him inside your hotel room. “If you think I’ll let you drive for half an hour when you’re nearly about to pass out then you’re dead wrong.” You pointed out as you closed the door.

“Are you getting soft on me now, Y/N?” He teased with a playful smirk on his face.

“No,” You denied, drawling out the ‘o’ as you kicked off your heels and pushed them to a side. “It’s called showing gratitude for being there for me.” You said, trying to sound casual as possible.

“Well,” Tom propped off his shoes and made his way to the bed “I like this side of you, darling.” He grinned.

You gave him a sarcastic smile before you turned your back and grabbed some change of clothes from your suitcase.

As you were in the bathroom to get yourself changed and try to get out of the bridesmaid dress, you’ve come across a tiny problem.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You hissed at yourself as you tried to unzip the back of your dress, failing miserably. “I have already prepped myself for the idea that I would be in the comfort of my sweatshirt.” You said to the mirror, not knowing where to pour the frustration running through you.

You opened the door slightly and found Tom who was sitting on the bed comfortably, his feet propped over the tower of pillows and his back rested on the bed frame.

“Tom?” He looked up from his phone to find where you called him from and when he saw you peering from the bathroom, he had his eyebrow raised. “Can you help me unzip my dress please?” You asked in a quiet voice.

“Sorry, what was that darling?” He asked and when you tried to repeat it again, not changing the volume of your voice. “Y/N, you have to speak up. Can’t hear you from here, darling.”

You sighed and opened the door wider, “Tom, can you unzip my dress?” You practically yelled. “-please.” you added awkwardly.

Tom blinked a couple of times before scrambling his way to the bathroom, muttering soft “yeah”s along the way.

As soon as he reached the bathroom frame, you quickly turned around so you could get this thing over with. Tom moved your hair to the side before finding the zipper of your dress. As he carefully unzipped your dress, you could feel the slightest touch of his fingertips grazing on your skin.

The trails of his touch sent you into shivers. God, am I that touch-starved? You thought. For you, the process was excruciatingly long. In reality? It probably only took like 30 seconds or less.

Shaking it all off, you quickly said your thanks and practically slammed the door on his face.

God, if you’re listening, I know I’m a handful but dying from embarrassment isn’t how I saw myself passing, You practically yelled to your thoughts.

After giving yourself a couple of minutes to change into your oversized sweatshirt and some sleeping shorts and also giving yourself to calm down, you grabbed your makeup wipes and made your way to the bed.

You tried your best to keep your cool and act as if nothing had happened. Act like you didn’t want the ground to swallow you whole.

You and Tom were sitting in silence: him scrolling on his phone and you trying to remove your makeup. The keyword was trying as you barely had any energy left to do anything and removing your makeup and fixing your hair felt like absolute chores.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” You asked, turning to Tom as you continued wiping your makeup off.

“Sure, whatcha got in mind?” He asked, putting his phone down and passing you the remote.

You hummed, waiting for the TV to finish loading the selections that they have on demand. “Ooh, they have Hereditary. I’ve been wanting to see the film for a while and I heard good things about the film.”

“Isn’t that a horror film?” He asked and you nodded. You could see that he was trying his hardest to assess whether he agrees with the film or not.

Of course, being the annoying person that you are, you teased Tom. “Aw, are you scared Tommy?” You cooed.

He rolled his eyes and denied your accusation. “’m not scared.”

“It’s settled then,” You grinned. “We’re watching Hereditary.”

As you were at least twenty minutes into the film, you took a quick look at Tom who was evidently engrossed with the film. You scooted a bit closer to him which he failed to notice, bringing a devilish smirk on your face. You slowly leaned in, just enough for your breath to hit his skin, and whispered “Tom” in an attempt to scare the poor guy.

Your tiny prank worked considering he practically jumped, almost making him fall off the bed. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop laughing. “That was not funny, Y/N.” He said as he returned back to his spot, only this time, he had his head resting on the bed frame while his back was supported with the pillows.

“I beg to differ,” You said teasingly “Do you want to get room service? I’m kind of hungry.”

He just shrugged, saying that it doesn’t matter whether you want to or not. However, you were hungry and you’re not about to carry on watching the film with an empty stomach.

You quietly ordered room service as Tom was busy watching the film. He looked adorable, if you were being honest. He was hugging one of the pillows and used the same pillow to rest his chin on.

You were debating whether to wait for the food to arrive or fix your hair. Your hair was styled in a half-up braid, tiny flowers delicately placed within the braid, while the ends of your hair were curled. The hairstylist took a significantly huge amount of time to style everyone’s hair which is why you had to wake up at the crack of dawn. No wonder you were exhausted.

You chose to wait for the food instead and settled next to Tom. You two were clearly immersed with the film and you both flinched at the sound of the knock on the door as the scene of Charlie’s head rolls and turns into a ball pops up on the screen.

“Jesus christ,” You swore under your breath as you left the bed to go answer the door.

“Aw, are you scared, Y/N?” He mocked, which you rolled your eyes in response.

“Shut up, Holland. I’m not the only one who’s scared here.” You retorted.

You opened the door and thanked the staff that brought your room service, not forgetting to hand them a tip.

“I ordered strawberry and banana pancakes,” You told Tom with a childish smile.

“It’s midnight and you ordered pancakes?” He asked with an amused smile.

“I was craving pancakes,” You pouted. “We can share, you know? You didn’t tell me what you wanted so I just ordered food for myself.”

“S’alright, darling.” He answered “Don’t worry about it.”

“We can totally share, Tommy. I didn’t expect they’d give me this much so I won’t be able to finish this by myself.” You said as you showed him the huge stack of pancakes.

He just laughed and nodded, giving in because you weren’t going to let him just watch while you ate.

“Oooh, I also ordered tea because I remember that you like tea.”

He hummed as he approached you by the table. You were setting up the pancakes and tea that you ordered. “You remember, huh,” Tom mumbled softly as he watched you carefully set the teapot down.

“’course, I do.” You answered without hesitation. “You practically shunned me for drinking coffee that one time when you visited me on set.”

“Darling, you were on your third cup.”

“So? I needed caffeine.”

“If you needed caffeine, you could’ve easily had tea instead of your third cup.” Tom pointed out as he poured tea on his cup.

“Tea is for the weak,” You mumbled which earned a dramatic gasp from Tom.

“Take it back,” He said in disbelief.

“Tea is for the weak,” You repeated firmly just so you could annoy him even more, a smirk plastered on your face.

Tom pulled you in closer to him and started to tickle your waist, “I won’t stop till you take back what you said, Y/N”

You were squirming away from him, “Tom, stop,” you yelled in between giggles. “I might drop my pancakes, please.” You were trying your best not to tilt the plate and drop your food.

“Not hearing the magic words, Y/N” Tom teased in a sing-song voice.

“Okay, fine!” You gave in, laughing. “I take it back. Tea is great.”

“It is, innit?” He sighed in agreement, making you shake your head in amusement. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll make you a great cup of tea.”

You started taking a few bites of your pancake before you sat on the edge of the bed, bringing your plate with you and had your complete focus on the screen. You and Tom were still watching Hereditary and you intend to finish the  film, even if the film is starting to creep up on you.

Tom sat beside you, “How can you eat and watch this?” He asked.

You just shrugged. “I’m hungry, nothing can stop that.” You took another bite before you offered Tom the pancakes. “Do you want some?”

“Give me a bite,” He opened his mouth in response, leaning closer to you.

“Do it yourself, you big baby.” You laughed, almost handing him the plate before you realized, “Oh, I don’t think they gave us spare utensils though.”

“I can use yours, I don’t mind.”

You offered him your plate but Tom, instead of grabbing the plate, insisted on opening his mouth, insistently asking you to feed him. “Tommy, why are you acting like an actual child?!” You were joking of course, however, you can’t deny that this whole new dynamic that you two were having was refreshing to the eyes.

“C’mon, darling. Just give it” He replied and had his mouth open once again. “I’ll take the flowers and pins off your hair while you eat-”

“Alright, fair enough.” You agreed since you were getting the higher end of the deal. With the amount of hair pins on your hair? You were hitting the jackpot.

“I’ll do it if you also feed me.” Tom added.

“Eh, whatever,” You shrugged and took another bite of your pancake.

Tom stood on top of the bed so he could sit behind you, definitely on board with helping you with your hair. He sat behind you with his legs crossed, setting a comfortable position for him.

You felt the slight touch of his fingers graze on your neck, as he brought all of the hair to your back. As he ran his fingers softly through the ends of your hair, it was enough to make you yawn. You love it when someone plays with your hair, which perfectly explains why you like going to the hairdressers.

Trying to fight off the drowsiness that was slowly taking over you, you figured you’d cut a piece off of your pancake and feed it to Tom. You sliced a piece off with your fork and hovered it over your shoulder.

Soon enough, Tom generously took the bite and carried on with removing the pins and flowers that were carefully placed on your hair.

The process was going on for a couple of minutes now: you watching and feeding Tom with your shared pancakes, and Tom willingly taking out the pins out of your hair.

It also wasn’t long when another jumpscare appeared on screen, making you jump subtly. Maybe it wasn’t subtle as you thought, since Tom was snickering behind you.

“What are you laughing at? Maybe you insisted on helping me with my hair so you can hide behind me because you’re scared too.” You pointed out, being petty and all.

“Am not,” He grumbled, slightly offended. “Maybe I do wanna help.” He then outstretched his legs, saying that he can feel his leg getting numb.

You started to feel bad, since he didn’t have any obligation to do any of it. “Tommy, it’s okay. You can stop now.” You said, twisting your body so you can take a look at him.

“What? No, you’re fine, my darling.” He said turning your body upright, making you face the television again. “S’alright, you’re alright.” He muttered softly and went back to your hair.

You mumbled a soft ‘okay,’ too shy to say something else. You kept taking turns with feeding Tom the pancakes and taking a few bites yourself. You weren’t gonna lie and tell people that this, this, time with Tom was suffocating because it’s not.

This was the first time you ever felt truly comfortable with him. It truly felt like you were spending time with someone you loved. However, that idea itself terrifies you. The idea made you feel like you were walking on thin ice and you know you’re bound to sink anytime soon.

“Tom, here, take the last bite.”

Tom gratefully took the last bite and said, “Thanks, darling. Now put that plate on the table so we can prop ourselves properly on the bed.”

You obliged and as you did, you heard Tom dusting off the bed. Walking back, you saw him look so restricted with his slacks and button ups made you feel bad. He also looked so exhausted which, obviously, made you feel even more bad.  “Tom, why don’t you just spend the night here?”

“I beg your pardon,” Tom cleared his throat. “Did you just suggest that I should spend the night here?”

“Y-yeah, I mean...” You trailed off. “You look exhausted and it would probably make me worry less if you did stay.”

“If it’s alright with you, then I wouldn’t mind.” He said softly, smiling.

You felt your cheeks burning and you really had to act fast. You remembered you wore your sweatpants earlier, as you were getting your hair and makeup done, and figured maybe Tom could fit in it.

“I’ve already worn this earlier but only while I was getting my makeup and hair done.” You pulled your black sweats out of your suitcase and offered it to Tom. “I’m not sure if it fits but it’s better than sleeping with slacks on right?”

“Are you trying to see me naked?” Tom smirked.

“W-what? No, you shithead.” You stammered. “I’m trying to make you feel comfortable. Also, if you are wearing nothing underneath then maybe keep the pants on and reevaluate why you went to a wedding without underwear?!” You popped off.

“Relax, Y/N, I was kidding.” He laughed, visibly amused at the look of distress on your face. “I’ll try it on. Thank you.”

Tom stood up and began unbuckling his belt. He was about to take his pants off when he gave you a teasing smile, in which you realized that you were staring. You turned around, absolutely embarrassed, and head soft chuckles from Tom.

“Okay, I’m decent.” Tom yelled, which you took as a proper signal and turned around, only to find your sweatpants fit snugly on Tom. “It’s a bit snug, but I think I’ll manage.” He commented as he also began unbuttoning his shirt.

You weren’t going to lie and tell people that you think that Tom isn’t fit. Because he is. He is very fit. His fans know that, you know that, everyone knows that. So, would they blame you if you stared at his fit body, absolutely flustered? Of course not, because they know.

However, what they don’t know is how hard you’re trying your hardest not to stare because, you of all people, know how you don’t like when people stare at your body.

“So, whaddaya think?” He turned around and lifted his bum, asking jokingly: “Too much?”

“Eh, it could be better.” You said, playing along.

“Oh c’mon,” He groaned in exaggeration, “People think I have a great arse.” Tom pouted while he returned to his position. This time he climbed up the bed, resting his back against the headboard, and had his legs spread.

“You know what? They’re right,” You said as you climbed up the bed as well and sat between his legs again. “You do have a fabulous ass.”

“Now, you’re just saying that to flatter me so I can continue removing pins from your hair.” He mumbled softly, feeling the return of his fingers back on your hair.

“Yeah,” you sighed in content. “I’m not letting you go until every hairpin is gone, babe.” You replied, not even thinking about what you were saying. Your eyes widened. Babe? You called him babe? Bitch, you’re losing it.

You heard Tom chuckle, “Oh, so I’m “babe” now, huh?” He teased.

“That wasn’t me, that was the exhaustion talking.” You mumbled shyly, a poor attempt to mask up an excuse.

“Right,” He drawled, obviously aware that you were just making up an excuse for this dubious slip up. “S’okay though, I liked it.” He whispered on your right ear, making you squirm as you found it ticklish.

“Why-” You whipped your head back to face him, “Why would you do that, I’m ticklish, Tom”

“’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Tom laughed, “Can you please call me “babe” again?”

“No.” You replied and just heard him let out an exaggerated sigh.

You two were busy bickering and being distracted by each other, that you didn’t know that the scene you two were watching was the last scene of the film.

“Huh,” You huffed. “Wasn’t expecting that ending.”

“What’s with all the butts?” He pondered out loud.

“I don’t know but I want that image out of my head. Do you have any movie suggestions because I know you don’t like horror.” You asked Tom as you scrolled through the movie selections once again.

Tom peered from behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder, “Oh, have you seen Coco?” He asked in suggestion, seeing the movie from the list.

“The Pixar movie?” You asked and he nodded. “Nope, I haven’t yet.”

“We should watch it then,” Tom said “It’s a great movie. I was in bits when I saw it and I was on the plane then.”

“Is it that sad?” You gasped as you clicked on the movie, waiting for the screen to finish loading.

“Oh, I was full on sobbing, darling.” He confessed, his chin still resting on your shoulder.

As soon as the screen finished loading, you hit ‘play’ and said, “Well, I’m about to let a movie ruin me then.”

You were right. The movie already ruined you and you two were only half-way through. Tom had finished removing all the pins and flowers from your hair five minutes after the movie started, so he had the chance to watch the film properly.

Tom is now lying down comfortably, though he was elevated enough to watch the movie properly. You, on the other hand, are cuddling Tom. You had your head rested on his chest while he had his arm around you, his chin merely touching the top of your head.

How he managed to trick you into this you ask?

“Darling, I think you should cuddle me.” Tom requested as he ran his fingers through your hair one last time. He just finished removing all of the hairpins that managed to cause you pain and suffering all day.

“Why?” You asked appalled, not meaning to ask it with such tone.

“Because I’m shirtless and I’m cold.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have removed your shirt?”

“But it’s uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care”

“Okay, then I’ll just drive back to my hotel then, even though I’m pretty exhausted. I’m sure nothing bad will happen.” Tom sighed dramatically.

“God, you really are an actor, huh.” You snorted. “Fine, I’ll do it. I used to cuddle my friends anyway.”

“Are you friend zoning me?” He gasped, as he laid down.

“You are despicable, Holland.”

As you were half-way through the film, you can’t even remember how much you’ve cried already. You could hear the soft sniffles from the two of you as the movie progressed.

Your sniffles turned into full-on sobs when Héctor’s scene came on screen. He was singing to Chicharrón as a final ode before he passed on with no one from his family that were able to remember him.

“What the fuck is this film,” You commented in between sobs. “Why are they trying to ruin me like this?”

Tom rubbed your arm back and forth on, trying to comfort you. You were going through your packets of kleenex at rapid speed, as did Tom. You weren’t expecting to cry this much but here you are.

Tom wasn’t kidding when he said he was in bits when he saw this film.

“Tom, do you think they’ll room service us some Kleenex if we asked?” You asked him honestly, tears still spilling from your eyes. You knew your nose was red too because it started to hurt as you were continuously wiping it.

Tom laughed softly, crying too “’m not sure, darling.”

You lifted your head to take a good look at Tom, finding his eyes bloodshot red from crying and tear marks still visible from his face.

You used your thumb to wipe the tears from his face, making him laugh. “Why are you crying this much? I thought you’ve already seen the film?”

He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “’m not too sure. I didn’t expect I’d cry this much too.” He managed to chuckle.

“We really need to call room service for some Kleenex, Tommy.” You sniffled.

quick side note: i actually saw coco for the first time [as i wanted to stay true to what i was writing] and i was a mess. i wasn’t lying when i wrote whatever the reader went thru bc same. 

TAGLIST: 

@thomasthetankson @autty0314 @marvelous-tswiftfan @averyfosterthoughts @theolwebshooter​ @jackiehollanderr​ @sltwins​ @herondalescecilys​ @notjustpenandpaper​ @ihopethatwemeetinanotherlife​ @gothicwidowsworld​ @heartofholland​ @stxfxniexreads @peruvian-bae​ @hollands-osterfield​ @thenoddingbunny-blog​ @galacticstxrdust​ @sweartomendes​ @itsjstz​ @muade-mua-de​ @runway-to-my-aid​ @snowxbarryxendgame​ @cxlpxrnia​ @notasofti​

CAN’T TAG:

@sectusempried

[haunthouse]

5 for the telephone siblings?

things you didn’t say at all / writing prompts. content warnings: strained sibling relationships, death, the identity issues that come with being an alternate. uh. this one got long and it got sad. also on ao3!

“Seb, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

It’s not a sentence that’s ever preceded anything good, in Sebastian’s experience, and there’s a small, petty part of him that wants to turn his back out of spite, say I will not look, walk out of the locker room and go home. His Steaks, the ones he was with three years ago, pointed at the decree results and said the same thing, moments before he was ripped between realities — and now, when these Steaks say Seb, he knows they aren’t talking to him but to the ghost of the Sebastian he replaced.

It gives him a headache if he thinks about it too much, makes something swirling-sick spark up in his gut. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s like he’s forgetting the world he left behind. There’s no good options, no happy medium, just static droning on and on under darkened skies.

August’s still staring at him, so he fights the urge to run away back with a stick and looks where she’s pointing. The TV mounted on the wall. It’s tuned to the splorts network, tuned to —

Canada. Moist Talkers versus Pies; their game of the day offset from the Steaks’, still going on an hour after the Steaks’ game had come to an end. He thinks August’s pulling a prank until the view switches to a shaky-cam close-up on a murder of crows so thick he can’t see past them, until they part, until out from the swarm steps his sister. She limps to the dugout, leaving the peanut shell in pieces on the field behind her — and despite the shakiness of her steps, she grins a movie-star grin directly into the nearest camera.

Sebastian feels sick.

***

It isn’t that he’s not happy for Jessica.

Sebastian imagines it isn’t fun to be trapped in a shell. Sebastian imagines it’s a little like being trapped in a shadow — not the shadows, like Townsend, but constantly ignored in favor of a sister or a god. Same thing, when it comes down to it.

Maybe that’s an unfair thing to think. Maybe comparing Jess to the god that trapped her there is cruel; maybe comparing himself to her is self-serving at best; maybe it doesn’t matter. The Steaks seemed shocked, when he appeared, that he didn’t fawn over his sister’s every move. Jess seemed shocked, too. Sebastian feels a little bad for whatever former version of himself was here — a version who didn’t seem to want anything more than being the second of two, the lesser Telephone twin.

He’s a little jealous, too. From the stories he’s heard, it seems like this version of himself and his sister were much closer; maybe he genuinely hadn’t minded being in her shadow, maybe he’d celebrated her. Maybe they hadn’t traded jabs every time they were on the field together and meant most of the awful things they said about each other. Maybe they’d actually loved each other; didn’t just say they did.

Sebastian — this Sebastian, the only one who’s here, the one who can’t stop thinking about how he’s not the right version of himself and not the right Telephone and his stats might be better than the old one but clearly that doesn’t actually matter to anyone else — hadn’t spoken to his Jessica in years, when he disappeared. When he was replaced with the other one, he can only assume.

He’d always kind of wondered what it would be like to have a sister he was friends with. They’d fought too much for that to ever be more than an idle daydream, one he would shake himself out of quickly — there was no use in it, even if it would be nice.

(Maybe he’s more than a little jealous.)

But — but — but. But here’s it’s in reach. Here Jess smiles at him when they pass each other on the field, even if it is always a little grief-tinged. He hasn’t been rude to her, but he also hasn’t been kind. He doesn’t call.

And when she’d been shelled, the Steaks had given him condolences like he was the Sebastian they used to know, even knowing he wasn’t. He’d been — not sad, not really, but something more complicated than that. The bitter joy of being the only Telephone mixed with the regret — his chance to reach out taken, too late, not enough, gone. She’d tried calling him a few times, back in season five, and he’d stopped answering the phone, let it ring once and hit end call, not even giving the illusion that he’d just missed it and would call back later — and maybe that was cruel, maybe that was just leftover animosity towards his Jessica, maybe he should have been kinder.

He’d assumed she wouldn’t be coming out of the shell, or that she would be someone else, when she did. The gods don’t do anything without consequence attached.

He hadn’t expected to feel grief at the thought.

Now that she’s back — and with a two-run homer on her first at-bat; he tries to steer his reaction more towards good job, Jess, away from showoff — all those swirled-together emotions make a model volcano somewhere in his gut, threatening to blow.

Sebastian fights back the urge to run, sits himself on one of the sofas in the stadium’s den and watches the game play out. The Steaks give him distance. He tugs at a loose thread on his jersey until there’s a hole in it; he’ll have to get Conner to help him sew it back together before the next game, but he keeps worrying at it anyways, because the harm is already done and he might as well. Jess hits a two-run homer and takes the Pies from losing to victory, and smiles even as she looks like she’s about to collapse.

Leach Herman, from the other sofa, as the TV drones on about the birds and the shell and the league’s star: “You gonna call her?”

Sebastian’s still blinking at Jess’ face on the TV. Takes a moment to process Herman’s words, and another to process that they’re said to him. “I don’t know,” he says.

The rest of the Steaks leave quickly. Game’s over; the excitement of an unshelling has calmed; the Garages’ game is over for the day, too, so no risk of beaning-related news filtering in. Home game means they can all go home. Sebastian still doesn’t know how to feel at home here, so he spends most of his time in the stadium; plays games on the den’s TVs when the rest of the team has filtered out, or reads the comics Greenlemon leaves scattered across the common areas.

Leach is an alternate twice-over, so she gets it more than most. Sometimes she sticks around. They tell each other about the places they came from.

(Her home sounds like a nightmare, and as such, she’s adjusted far better than he has to this new world. His wasn’t ideal, but he was happy there. He knew where he stood, there.)

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do,” she says, which means she’s about to tell him what to do. It’s hard to read her expression, but from the tilt of her head, she’s deep in thought for a moment before continuing. “But I saw you when she was shelled. That first moment, realizing what it meant, that she might be gone — I’ve lost a lot of people, Sebastian. You almost lost her, and didn’t realize it would hurt until it was done.”

“Wow,” Sebastian says. “Jesus, Leach. Are you a mind-reader or something?”

“Only sometimes,” she says, which, ominous. “You’re not very subtle, though. Your emotions show on your face.”

“Cool,” Sebastian says, half-sarcastic but too soft for it to come across.

“Think about it,” Leach says, standing up. “Her place on the idolboard has hardly shifted. It’s possible she’ll go back again at the end of this season.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sebastian says, and he means it.

***

The Steaks beat the Garages the next day, and the Pies win their own game in Charleston, and Sebastian hits the call button before he gives himself time to second-guess.

“Seb?”

Jess’ voice sounds the same as he remembers, from both his world and the Jess who’d called him after he’d been swapped. Jess’ voice sounds mostly the same, but it’s hoarse, like she was screaming the whole two months she was trapped. He wonders if anyone outside the shell would’ve heard, if she had been, and feels a pang of awful guilt for the thought.

“Hi, Jess,” he says, and wills his voice to stay steady, and half-succeeds. “I, uh. I saw you were back? And I wanted to say — uh, congratulations, I guess?”

“You called,” she says, slowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I called.”

“Thank you,” she says, and it’s almost diplomatic, like she’s weighing her words before saying them, which — really, he hasn’t given her much reason not to. Another pang of guilt. “But why? It’s been — it’s been a while.”

(Echoes of that first time she’d called him after he’d been swapped, and had acted as if they talked constantly, had said she was worried when he hadn’t called to fill her in on the election results. He doesn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but it was something like Why are you calling me, Jess, you haven’t called me in five years. He’d hung up on her, then. He wonders what would have changed if he hadn’t.)

“I don’t know, I was just — I was thinking, while you were in there? I didn’t think I’d get another chance to talk to you. And I might not be the Sebastian you grew up with, but — I was never close to the Jess I grew up with, and I thought, it would’ve been nice, if I’d taken the chance to get close to you, when you offered.” He’s rambling. He’s not giving himself enough air between words; he takes a shaky breath, continues. “And now you’re out, and I just… thought I should say hi.”

There’s a moment of silence long enough that he checks to make sure she hasn’t hung up. The background-static of the call still thrums somewhere at the back of his skull, and her name is still written in bold letters on the screen of his phone.

“Sorry, it was — I was in there a while, I don’t know if I remember how to talk to people,” Jess says. “Hi. It’s good to hear your voice, Seb.”

There’s so much warmth to that single sentence that it makes him want to cry.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, sinks further into the couch he’s settled himself on. “We’re playing the Pies next week,” he says. “Can we go for lunch before a game, or something?”

“Yeah,” she says immediately. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Seb says.

“You’re playing the Garages tomorrow,” Jess says. She says it like it means something, and he knows it does — because it’s not just the Garages, they played the Garages today and it was fine; it’s their undead pitcher, it’s the body count attached. “I caught myself up on everything that’s happened. Hotdogfingers. The debts.”

“Yeah, it’s been — it hasn’t been fun. She got Marco and Sam the second week, and — they’re alright, they survived, but a lot of people didn’t.”

“Be careful? Please. I can’t l—” and she cuts off, but he gets the gist. Can’t lose him again. Because it was a loss, for her, when he showed up and replaced the other-him. “Just be careful.”

“Always am,” he says. It’s a lie. A joke. She wonders if he knows enough about him to know that.

“I have to go practice,” she says. He can hear a smile in her voice, and he realizes very quickly that he’s never heard that tone from this Jess before. It’d been years, when he swapped, since he’d heard it from his own Jess. “But I’ll see you next week, alright? Day seventy-three. Just call me when you get to Philly.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says, and it’s the truth. “Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Seb.”

***

The next day, Jaylen Hotdogfingers aims a fastball directly at Sebastian’s chest, knocks him flat on the ground. He has to take a long moment in the dirt to catch his breath. The umpire looks like they want to incinerate him just for taking that moment, for delaying play at all before he drags himself to the dugout, sits heavily next to Leach.

She does him the courtesy of not asking if he’s alright.

He isn’t. He saw Sam and Marco go through instability and come out unscathed and thought, foolishly, that it would be easy. They hadn’t seemed any different after being hit. They’d looked exactly the same; perhaps a little more wild-eyed, but the game does that to people.

He looks down at his hand and it has smoke coming off of it already. The smoke before the fire. Events in the wrong direction, happening the wrong way.

“Do you see that?” he whispers to Leach. Holds his hand out in front of her.

“Your hand?” She tilts her head in what might be concern. “It’s the same as it was before.”

He yanks it back into his lap as if it’s been scalded by the words. He’s nervous enough without feeling burnt, even metaphorically.

He should call Jess after the game, he thinks. If something happens to him, she deserves to know beforehand. On the other hand — the video of three Steaks being struck by pitches won’t be plastered over every blaseball news website for the next twenty-four hours, and he knows she checks those religiously, has every stat and every schedule memorized. He’s seen her mouthing her opponents’ stats to herself when the Steaks play the Pies; some of them are numbers he’s never heard of in metrics he can’t fathom, even though they must exist applied to him, somewhere. 

She’ll find out. He’d be surprised if she didn’t know already.

He thinks, in the infield, at the plate, on the bench, about the pros and cons of calling and not calling. Pros: he could talk to her again. The weather forecast is predicting another eclipse in the next few days, and he feels feverish under his skin, like the fire’s just waiting to engulf him. She cares in a way his Jess never did, has replaced all the distance that used to characterize the idea of siblings in his mind with something else, and it’s taken him this long to even start to wrap his head around that.

She doesn’t want to lose him again. She’d been best friends with the other Sebastian.

And that leads him to the cons: it seems unbearably cruel to try to be her friend if he’s only going to die. If they won’t even be able to see each other in Philly, go out for lunch like he promised — the lack of closure might kill her, too. He thinks about the swirling storm of regrets he’d had when she’d been shelled, and thinks about the hopelessness of an incineration. No chance of being pecked free by birds.

He just has to survive the next week. Then he’ll call, and they’ll go out to lunch together. He can apologize for assuming she was the same as the Jess in his world, at first; he can apologize for pushing her away; he can apologize for not calling, as long as he survives.

When Jess calls him after the game, he lets it ring and ring. He does not listen to the voicemail she leaves.

***

Two days later, Sebastian Telephone is incinerated.

[demoisverysexy]

An Open Letter to the Person who Blocked Me for Being Mormon

For context:

If you’re reading this, I hope it finds you well.

This letter is mostly for me, so I can get my feelings out. I’ve already talked about this with a few of my friends, and I’m feeling better than I was than when you blocked me. I’m still upset. Mostly because of general trends I see on tumblr of hatred for Mormons. A lot of it comes from ignorance and misunderstanding. Some of it comes from a place of genuine hurt that can’t go unaddressed. I don’t want to be dismissive of those who have faced trauma at the hands of my church. I am one of those people, and I know how deeply pain associated with my church can be. After our interaction, I felt that talking about it would help me process this.

Before I go on, I must be clear that this is not an attempt to get you to unblock me. As nice as it would be to be able to see your blog again – you’re very witty, and I enjoy your content! – I can live without it. This is more a response to the trend on tumblr specifically of hatred against Mormons, and assuming that they’re all bad people who are complicit in every single bad thing that the church does. You just happened to force me to be a little introspective about my church and my relation to it. Thank you for that.

First, however, I would like to clear up some misconceptions:

Your initial joke that prompted me to tell you I was a Mormon was a joke about Mormons and polygamy. The largest two organizations that can be classified as “Mormon,” The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and the Community of Christ (which incidentally allows for gay marriage and has female clergy, though I am of the LDS sect), both disavow polygamy. There are other, smaller offshoot Mormon groups who do still practice this, which is where horror stories of polygamists marrying teenagers arise. These people are also Mormons, though I wish they weren’t, in the same way that problematic Christian groups are Christian, though many Christians wish they weren’t.

I do recognize that mainstream Mormonism has been labeled as a cult by many people, though the reasons people provide generally don’t hold up. Often the proof that people provide of my church’s cult-like nature is to take note of corruption that can be found in almost every church. These issues – such as racism, homophobia, and misogyny, to name a few – while real and important to address do not a cult make. Sometimes the proof is to point towards practices that are demonized in my church, but are practiced in other religions with no comment, or even celebration. Other times people will point to their own experiences with toxic church congregations, and while those issues are very real, they are by no means universal. My experience growing up Mormon was a lucky one in many ways. I personally don’t think that most people who study my church from an academic vantage point would call it a cult. I would consult them on this matter. After all, someone in a cult is rather hard-pressed to be able to tell whether they are in one or not.

Another point often levied against Mormonism is how it leaves its queer members with religious trauma due to its homophobic teachings. I understand this well. I have experienced deep religious trauma associated with my political stances in favor of LGBTQ+ rights (though that wasn’t the whole story). I won’t go into detail about this right now, but suffice it to say, I had a very traumatic time on my mission that led me to a very dark place, and ended with me contemplating choices I would never be able to take back. I’m fine now of course, but I carry those memories with me.

So why would I stay despite all this? Is it because I’m brainwashed? You would have to ask a psychologist about that, but I would say probably not. I knew, and know now, that the ways I was being treated were unfair and wrong. I don’t have time to go point by point to address every grievance I or anyone else has with my church and explain my position on it, as much as I would like to clear the air once and for all on this topic so there is no misunderstanding. Here’s the reasoning that has kept me here so far:

I think that every person of faith must, at some point, deal with the problematic aspects of their church’s history and doctrine. This comes with the territory. Whether it be disturbing stories in scripture, imperialist tendencies, doctrines that chafe against us, or problematic leaders, no person of faith is exempt from wrestling with the history that accompanies their faith. I have studied my church’s history in depth. Many of the horror stories I heard were provably false. Many were true. Where does that leave me?

I believe that God is bigger and better than us. We make terrible, awful mistakes all the time. But I don’t think that makes God less willing to work with us. If anything, I think it means he wants to help us more. He wants to help us move past our histories and become better. My church has a long way to go in this regard. For too long we have been silent when it mattered, and people have been wounded by our silence. Or even the words we have said out loud! If you look at my Mormonism tag on my blog, you will see some examples of what I am talking about. I have been wounded by the things my church has said and not said. It hurts awfully, and I ache for those who have been wounded more deeply than I.

But at the same time, I cannot deny the healing my faith has brought me. Whatever problems my church has – and it has many, deep and pressing issues – it is because of my faith that I am the person I am today. I can draw a straight line from my religion to the positions I hold today. Because I am a Mormon, I became a Marxist. Because I am a Mormon, I became nonbinary. Because I am a Mormon, I became a leftist. I cannot ignore that my religion, flawed as it may be, has led me to where I stand now. I am at the intersection of the hurt and healing the church offers. It is a difficult line to walk. But I hope that in walking it, I can bring healing and love to those who hurt in the ways I do. To let them know that they are not alone, and that they have a friend who can help them wherever they choose to go.

Yes I am queer. Yes I am a Mormon. I am here because I am trying to fix things. If at some point in the future I realize that I cannot change things, perhaps I will leave. I hope it does not come to that. And things are changing. They have changed before, and they can change now. I am confident that my God is willing to lead my church where it needs to go. I hope I can help speed things along. We shall see.

But spreading unequivocal hatred and disdain for Mormons does not help those of us who are Mormon who are trying to fix things. Yes, those who have left Mormonism due to trauma need a safe place to be away from that, and acknowledging the church’s many faults can be helpful to those people. I myself have criticized my church quite vocally. But refusing to listen to the stories of those of us who choose to stay, telling others that we are evil or stupid or what have you, is also quite traumatic to us. We are people too, with thoughts and feelings. It is easy to dismiss us out of hand if you assume we aren’t.

I try to be open about my religion and political stances on my tumblr. See for yourself: It’s a mix of Mormonism, LGBTQ+ activism, Marxism, and pretty much every other leftist political position you can find. Along with all the furry stuff, of course. But despite all this, I am still terrified every time someone follows me to tell them I am Mormon. More than I am to tell them that I’m queer. Tumblr is not representative of how things work in the “real world,” of course, but I have received hatred for being a Mormon there as well. And it’s mostly other Christians. So on the one hand I’m hated by LGBTQ+ folks, on the other hand I’m hated by my church for being queer, and on the third hand (as apparently I have three hands), I am hated by other Christians. I do not face hatred to the same degree from other Christians. I saw it most on my mission. But still, it exists.

(Incidentally, Evangelicals, who you seem to have problems with, and perhaps rightly so, though I have not done a study of the matter myself, largely despise Mormons, from what I have heard. Something to consider.)

I want allies. I want help. I want understanding. If I am to push back against bigotry in my church, I need your help. I need everyone’s help. Fighting bigotry wherever we see it is a worthy pursuit, I think. And if we can succeed, we can make the world a better, safer happier place. I want to fight off the ghosts that haunt my church. You don’t have to fight them with me, but I would appreciate it if I could have your support. It would make my job much easier.

We aren’t enemies. At least, I don’t think you’re my enemy. We both have been hurt by homophobia and bigotry. We live in a capitalist hellscape where police brutality and racism are on the rise. Fascism is looming over the political backdrop, along with the ongoing threat of ecological disaster. I think we would be better off helping each other than going after each other. I ask that you please listen to us when we say you are hurting us. The Mormons you blocked knowingly followed you, an openly queer person who calls out racism and bigotry and pedophilia. Yet you assume we are in favor of those things. Someone can at once be part of an institution while recognizing it’s flaws. (Aren’t we both Americans? Why not move if we hate it so much?) And perhaps we have used the “No true Scotsman” fallacy to justify why we stay. I don’t believe I have. I don’t feel I need to.

I hope that you consider what I’ve said here. I hope we can work together. And I hope that no matter what, you find peace wherever you end up.

Yours truly,

Demo Argenti

[aloysiavirgata]

The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Title:  The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG (language)

Timeline: Season 1

Summary:  Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor.

Author’s Notes:  Mulder reads Cicero and finds the method of loci tool useful in honing an eidetic memory. Also, the timeline of this show is absurd. Per canon, the Pilot is in March of 1992. But here it’s March of 1993 because...I just can’t, honestly. Thank you to @perplexistan for reminding me that I wrote this in 2013, and talking me through the timeline.

*** It's been a long December and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass - Counting Crows *** It’s gritty outside, gritty and gray with a rime of salt on everything. There are pockets of rotten snow for him to kick, slushy and satisfying against his heavy shoes. He pulls his coat tighter, feeling like a hard-boiled detective in a pulp paperback, thinking this would be a good time for a cigarette if he still smoked. His divorce papers were filed this time last year, just like his parents’ had been a couple decades back. The ink had scarcely been dry on the marriage certificate when they realized they didn’t know each other and changed their minds. It was the same time Diana left him and his - their - files for whatever the fuck had summoned her across the sea. Paperwork, as ever in his life, was all that remained of these experiences. If this were really a detective story, he thinks, stepping over a soggy Washington Post, a tall cool blonde would have walked in through the frozen mist and into his arms. Someone lithe, with red lipstick and half-lidded violet eyes. She would look like Veronica Lake and speak in a low, compelling voice, urging him to do brave and outlandish things to thwart the Nazis. He’d wear a fedora, buy a mink stole for the blonde. They’d drink martinis and make love in dark hotels smelling of leather and intrigue. But he’s not living in a dime-store novel, he’s living in Alexandria on Christmas Eve 1993 (“The New Age of Angels,” claimed Time magazine, somewhat cryptically) and is eager to turn the last page in his calendar. Mulder knows it’s symbolic only, that his Eurocentrism is showing, but he still watches the ball drop on TV. Last year he’d kissed a woman in a bar and gone home with her too, but doesn’t think he’d remember her face if he saw it. He hasn’t got the energy to entice a stranger this year, and Scully’s hardly his type. He shouldn’t be sleeping with coworkers anyway, it’s never worth the trouble and the FBI is full of people who are paid to do nothing but sniff out secrets. Besides, he is now 32 years old which is really about time to start getting your shit together even if your baby sister was abducted by aliens at Thanksgiving. Mulder generally holds the holidays in low regard. He pauses to watch a small flock of cats at an upended trash can, feasting upon pungent things like battlefield ravens. One of the cats glances at him sidelong, narrowing round yellow eyes as though Mulder has designs on the gray thing it’s gnawing at. He holds his hands up to show the cats he wishes them no harm, keeps walking. Scully had offered to drive him home but he thanked her and caught the blue line, the clank and rattle of the train making him feel like some variety of normal businessman. Maybe people thought he was a banker or a Congressional staffer, going home to a twinkling Douglas fir and a mantle hung with stockings. Nine months and a broken condom can, in many circumstances, result in a whole new person. But it’s been nine months with Scully and she’s still her own woman, though Christ knows Mulder’s tried to remake her in his own image. She’s trudged alongside him through graveyards, military bases, bad diners, and one memorable night in Pennsylvania where she had captured a frantic bat in the hotel lobby. (“Do you want to wait for it to take human form before I release it?” she’d asked drily.) Through all of it she remained disbelieving and supercilious, leaving him vexed. She’d chirped “Merry Christmas, Mulder” at him, assuming that he celebrated Christmas and was capable of merriment. He was afraid Scully’d bring in a little Charlie Brown tree for the office, ornaments smooth and shining as her earnest face. She is skeptical in all the wrong ways and probably has the Michael Bolton Christmas album on her stereo at this very moment. She probably has eggnog in the fridge and will drink it without rum. She probably likes fruitcake and ham with pineapple rings on it. Mulder, going home to the shadows of his apartment where he might listen to Pink Floyd and nurse his resentment with three fingers of whiskey, feels justified in his scorn. A couple loaded with gifts pushes past him and he nearly loses his balance on a patch of black ice, clutches at a lamp post. He gazes up at the endless sky as snow begins to fall again. (Scully’s probably delighted by the prospect of a white Christmas, probably whistling a few bars of the song as she puts on a green sweater.) But he’s being unfair, isn’t he? For all her tattling back to the higher ups, she’s never tried to present herself as an angel. Her primary fault is in not being Diana, not being a tall dark moon goddess. Being pretty rather than beautiful, being frank rather than alluring. He’s seen her smoking a couple of times, discovered that she says “Jesus!” a lot so that she doesn’t say “fuck” or “shit.” This amuses him; he thought the blasphemy would be worse. He knows Scully watches what she eats but turns to carbohydrates and wine in times of stress. He found out she was sleeping with that asshole Jack Willis, which really threw him for a loop because Scully has a schoolteacherish quality that led him to presume premarital abstinence. He thinks of her in that first motel room, her smooth back beneath his hands, her panic turning on some masculine caveman switch. It’s been a long year, perhaps she could be his type after all despite her sensible underwear. She’s attractive enough if you like that sort of Hibernian look. He can tell she’s a bit awed by him and he could manipulate that to his advantage. Mulder walks the last slushy block thinking impious thoughts about Catholic school uniforms and playing doctor. The honeycomb tile of his building is muddied, layered with fragments of leaves and footprints. A radio blares something about Barbra Streisand doing her first live concert in twenty years. Mulder shakes his head and imagines his mother on the Vineyard, frothing with excitement. “Merry Christmas Agent Mulder,” says Leo, the maintenance guy. Leo’s got some kind of intellectual disability that Mulder hasn’t bothered to diagnose, but he’s always quick to replace a kicked-in lock or a shot-out window, and Mulder therefore regards him as a master craftsman. He gives Leo money every year at Christmas. At present he’s attacking the hallway sludge with an ancient mop. “Merry Christmas, Leo.” He gets his mail, sorting through it as he ambles to the elevator. Bill; bill; Playboy; Christmas cards from his doctor, dentist, and insurance agent; coupons; a thick manila envelope from the divorce attorney. Mulder rolls it all into a bundle and shoves it under his arm. He’s fumbling with his keys when the elevator deposits him on the fourth floor. There are wreaths on most of the doors in his building, a handful of mezuzas. Number 42, as usual, conforms to no given standard. He stops when he sees Scully leaning against his door. “Um,” he says. “Hey.” She waves her fingertips, looking uncomfortable. She’s holding a cardboard FedEx envelope. “I forgot to give you this before you left.” “Okay,” he says, uncertain about the idea of Scully on his turf. “Hang on a sec.” He makes sure the packet from the lawyer is hidden, though she’s probably heard the whole story. He knows what the talk is. They all act like he’s John fucking Douglas, like he can guess what number they’re thinking of based on how they part their hair. He’s a sideshow act, the guy who can think like John Roche and Monty Props. A freak. Scully turns to slouch against the wall while he jiggles the latest lock open, wishing there were a convenient place to stash a can of WD-40. “So, uh, come on in, I guess.” She turns, walks under his arm as he hold the door open, and stands in the entryway. The door clicks shut behind him, a final sound. Mulder puts his mail on the kitchen counter, tossing his coat over it. “You want anything to drink?” he calls to her, unsure if he can make good on the offer. What the hell does Scully drink? Tea? Zima? He’s got a few beers in the fridge, his wife’s wine is long finished. “No, I’m good.” Her coat’s draped over her arm when he comes back out, and he hangs it up for her. He notices that she’s wearing jeans with a navy cable-knit sweater, no tartan in sight. Her boots are dark and practical. Mulder shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie out of its regulation noose. “Here, sit down. There’s, uh, the couch is right over there.” His couch is the atramentous green of algae, appearing black in the close room. “So what’s up?” She holds out the folder to him. “I realized I had this when I got home and since it’s a three day weekend, I wanted to make sure you had it. I thought it might be important.” Scully sits down close to the edge of the couch, much of her weight on her knees. She presses her hands together between them after Mulder takes the envelope, bouncing a little bit. He looks at the return address and groans. Arlinsky, that idiot from the Smithsonian. Mulder’s got enough credibility issues without this nutcase on his tail. He tosses the envelope on his cluttered desk for later perusal. Scully, as the messenger, looks apologetic. “Bad news?” He sits next to her, why not? “Nah, just…you know. The usual.” “Ah.” He watches her do a quick scan of his apartment. He has nothing to be ashamed of, she can look around. Mulder removes his tie completely now, untucks his shirt and leans into the corner of his couch. “So I’m surprised you’re here, Scully. I got the impression Christmas was a…thing. For your family.” He waves his hand vaguely, as though families are something he read about in a Margaret Mead article but never fully understood. Something closes in Scully’s face, which intrigues him. Discomfort usually comes with a good story, but he’ll tease it out of her later. She scratches her elbow, stalling. “I’m going to go by my parents’ house tomorrow.” “Not tonight? No big Scully celebration with stockings hung by the fire and cookies for Santa?” He has picked these ideas up from Oxford and Christmas music. Santa would probably prefer a cold longneck and some nachos. “My sister’s coming in tomorrow, she’s staying with my parents so they’re getting everything ready tonight. My younger brother and his family too, they’re getting in late.” Scully looks faintly guilty for this wealth of relatives. Which one of them are you avoiding, Dana? “Fun,” he says in a tone that he hopes is not sarcastic. Scully shrugs, picks at the cuff of her sweater. “Yeah, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see my niece and nephew. What about you? What are you doing?” “Oh, just…you know. Laying low.” He’s meeting up with the Gunmen for Chinese food and bootleg video games from some Japanese guy they know, but he’s not ready to tell Scully about them. In part because she might want to meet them and would end up charging Frohike with a sex crime. “Sounds good,” she says in a non-judgmental tone. “I could use some down time myself.” “Job wearing on you?” Going to wimp out and request a transfer? She puffs a breath of air out, pushes the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “No. Well, I mean, it’s hard. We travel so much, I didn’t do that before and it’s taking some adjustment.” Mulder drapes an arm over the back of the couch, wishing he could take his pants off and order a pizza. But he wants to know more about what drives her; Diana left him wary of unknown quantities, and this is his first opportunity to peer into Scully’s head. “Yeah, I guess they mostly shipped the cadavers to you before, huh? When you were doing doctor things?” He sees a slight narrowing of her eyes at this, the implication that she’s not a doctor now. The fact that she took it as an insult means it’s a vulnerability. “Mostly.” He decides to push it, being as he has home field advantage. “How come you decided to stop practicing medicine?” Scully sits up straight, her palms on the tops of her thighs. “I didn’t realize I had.” Prickly. “Oh, sorry, no offense. I just….you left your residency to join the FBI, right?” Faker, he knows her career trajectory down to the day. “My work as a Special Agent has always revolved around my background in forensic pathology. I just felt…called to the FBI as the place to best put those skills to use.” Called, religious imagery. Interesting. Her reply had a rehearsed sound, it’s something she’s repeated numerous times. Who gives her grief about being an FBI agent? A younger brother wouldn’t, would probably look up to that. Mom or Dad, most likely, though it could be one of the older siblings. He’d put his money on Dad or big brother based on the cold formality of her words. Both men are in the military, she’d speak to that. And big brother wasn’t mentioned as being in town, so Dad it is. He throws her a bone for revealing so much. “I’ve heard nothing but commendations.” “Thanks.” The appreciation seems genuine. “So what about you, Mulder? Why….this?” Scully holds her arms out like an orchestra conductor. The gesture encompasses his desk, the groaning bookshelves and fading newspaper clippings. Area 51, Reticulans, ectoplasm, and jackalopes. “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible,” he quotes. “Feynman.” Scully knows her physicists. “It’s the perfect con, really. I figured out a way to get the federal government to pay for my hobbies.” He hopes that will satisfy her, but knows better. “Why is it your hobby?” Ah, Scully. You little investigator, you. “I’m a lousy knitter.” She smiles. “Because of your sister?” He steeples his fingertips, taps them against his chin. It’s tempting to blow her off, but he considers the implications of her presence. There was no reason to bring that letter by; she could have called and he could have told her to round-file it. She’s trying to build something between them, she’s looking past his annoyance with her assignment and he’s not going to slap her hand away on Christmas Eve. “Hold that thought,” he says. Mulder goes to the kitchen for the beers and the churchkey magnet stuck to the freezer. He checks for food, but a cursory examination reveals that Scully is going to have to make do with some brews. She’s peering into the fish tank when he returns, scrutinizing the inhabitants. “I think one of your mollies is pregnant,” she says. “That spotted one.” “Yeah, they’re prolific little cannibals. Here, Scully. Have a drink.” He holds the bottle out to her when she turns, watches her hesitate for an instant before accepting. “Thanks,” she says. “Though I probably shouldn’t.” She pops the lid off when he’s done with the opener. Takes a long drink. “So,” he says, returning to his seat on the couch. “Why do I spend my time looking for ET and yetis, right?” Scully rolls the bottle between her palms. “It’s hard for me to understand why someone with your abilities chooses to use those gifts this way.” Once she rides out this dogleg, Mulder thinks, she’ll go far in the Bureau with her careful diplomacy. “When my sister was…taken, it was the first time that none of the authority figures in my life had an answer. Not my parents, my teachers, the police…no one could tell me what had happened. Years went by and there was still no solution. People stopped thinking about it, you know? They just acted like she was gone and that’s all there was to it.” “But not you.” Her voice is gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was a question with an answer, even if no one wanted to delve deeper into what that answer was. I became, well, obsessed with the idea that there were all of these mysteries out there with answers that people were uncomfortable finding. So when I found the X-Files…” He glances sidelong at his partner, her nutmeg freckles and her cinnamon hair. “Isn’t that what you were doing already, though? Solving impossible cases?” He shrugs. “They weren’t impossible. They followed a pattern if you knew what to look for. But what I do now, no one wants the answer, Scully. That’s the real challenge.” “You caught Monty Props. Props, Jesus, that case is legendary! I want to understand, I do. I see what you’re saying about the challenge, it does make a kind of sense. But when I think about the people you stopped…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. But she’s trying instead of dismissing him. That’s something. “That’s just it. Your reaction, it’s…look. Serial killers, they’re sexy. The public loves them. Everyone wants to be Bill Patterson or, or… Jack Crawford, right? People still read about Jack the Ripper, they practically turn these psychopaths into folk heroes. There will never be a shortage of people wanting to do what I did.” Half the beer is gone in his next swallow. Scully looks thoughtful, her thumbnail at the damp corner of the label on her bottle. “So this is like, what? Like a martyr thing? If you walk away from the limelight for this then it makes up for never knowing what happened to your sister?” She turns her head to give him a level gaze, her eyes so blue and clear they seem artificial at times. He’s been called worse than a martyr, but somehow it stings. “Martyr? That’s condescending.” “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, I guess it’s hard for me to understand what you hope to gain. What all this means to you in the end.” Mulder’s had enough of her analysis. “I’m not like you, I don’t crave approval.” It’s her turn to look stung. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He sighs. “Your questions aren’t unfair. It’s been a hard year.” “I heard.” There’s sympathy in her tone and he tries not to resent it. “Listen, Scully, I know you didn’t ask for this assignment and you’re doing your best with a bad hand. It’s just hard to share a career I’m passionate about with someone who pretty clearly thinks it’s a waste of time.” Scully sets her beer on the coffee table, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands cupped around her chin. Mulder props his feet up next to her bottle, patient in the silence. There are deep shadows in the room, illuminated by the ambient streetlight through the curtains, the cool blue aquarium lamp. Puddles of light leak from the kitchen, but they barely stain the rug. Scully looks like a Hitchcock girl, white and pure, untouched by the surrounding gloom. She reminds him of Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, her good bones and heavy-lidded eyes. “You know,” Scully says, muffled, “Pathology’s hardly the hottest specialty in med school. It’s not really seen as a place to make a career.” “The malpractice can’t be bad though, right?” She rolls her eyes. “You spend years of your life learning to care for the living and use it to examine the dead. People have…opinions about that.” This had not occurred to him, and he says as much. Scully sits up and settles back into the couch. “And to then take that to the FBI, well…” Full circle to the truth. “Lots of grief for that?” She shrugs. “From some more than others. My dad, he – look, Mulder. I’m not saying we’re in the same place or have the same ideas or that we’re both noble misunderstood renegades. I am not trying to oversimplify anything. I’m just telling you that I know what it’s like to care deeply about something that other people don’t necessarily understand.” She looks defensive after this, takes a fierce swig of her beer. Mulder eyes her up with a new appreciation. “I guess I just figured all doctors sit on pedestals.” “If so, some of the pedestals are much higher than others. I know you don’t like me, Mulder. Or at least you don’t like our partnership. We may never be friends, I realize that. But it’s been three quarters of a year, you have to let your guard down if we’re going to work together. I want what you want, answers to these questions.” He smiles at her. A real smile, and thinks that it’s been a long time since he’s done it. “But you still think I’m spooky.” Scully smiles back. “Absolutely. And I still don’t believe in aliens. Or yetis. Or missing time or vampires or Nessie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are answers.” He scratches his chin, five o’clock shadow rough on his fingertips. Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor. “I did say I wanted a challenge.” “You did at that.” She returns her bottle to the table, then turns to face him. The aquarium provides a ghostly backlight, her hair gleaming like rubbed copper. He holds this image of Scully in his mind until it is indelible, then tucks it away to remember her by. The Rhetorica ad Herennium advises sensory encoding to aid in recall, and so he places her in the sunlit portrait gallery of his memory palace. Scully stands, crosses the room to take her coat from the rack. “I’m sorry the letter wasn’t good news.” Mulder gets up to join her. “It’s okay.” He squints when she opens the door, the hallway so bright it hurts his eyes. “Thanks for bringing it by.” “Okay, well, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She seems hesitant to go. She probably feels sorry for him. “Thanks for the drink. And the company.” “Go,” he says. “You don’t want coal in your stocking for oversleeping tomorrow.” She laughs a little, then takes his hands in her small white ones. She gives them a squeeze. “This is going to be okay, Mulder.” He thinks she might be right, squeezes back. She lets go of him, walks out and turns right. He locks up behind her, her perfume still lingering on his side of the door. Diana’s not coming home. It’s time that he moved on.

[haikyuusugasuga]

- W A R M T H -

Hello! Here is a Kita drabble I've been working on recently! It is soft and sweet! Enjoy!!!

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1681

Warnings: Soft Cursing in one area

The feeling of the cold air sucking the breath out of you has never failed to shock you. Already cursing yourself for forgetting your coat in Miyagi, you shoved your hands in the pockets of your pants to keep your hands warm. Luckily, you at least brought your long sleeved Karasuno Volleyball Club shirt. Crisp air slaps you in the face as you push yourself further outside to go grab a few snacks for some of the guys on the Karasuno Volleyball Team you were a co-manager for. It was your duty as the second year manager to help with tasks like this. With it being below freezing, you especially didn’t want to burden the other managers, Yachi and Kiyoko, with a task you normally do anyways. The other managers stayed behind to make sure the guys were all settling down so that they wouldn’t be tired for their first match in the Spring Nationals the next day.

You went over the list in your head again. Sunflower seeds for Ennoshita, Miino for Suga, almond fish for Yams, and so on. Reading the list over and over was at least keeping you somewhat distracted from the cold. The view of Tokyo at night was definitely helping as well. The way the lights littered the sky was mesmerizing. It wasn’t something you were used to back home. However, it couldn’t keep you from shivering. You crossed your arms, gathering the last bits of warmth your body had to offer.

After fifteen minutes of walking in the cold, you finally made your way into a convenience store a few blocks away from the hotel. A happy sigh left your lungs as warmth finally enveloped your body. Although you were finally warming up, your frame still shivered a bit. Your numb hands grabbed a basket and you started walking down the first aisle.

You quickly made your way down the list until you needed to get Asaahi's almonds. They were not only on the top rack, but they were pushed back. If you really wanted to, you could stand on the bottom racking and maybe reach the bag of almonds, but that was a stretch and it would be rude. You usually had at least one of the guys around to reach things for you, but not wanting to drag any of them out the night before their first big game in the tournament, you were out of luck.

Or so you thought.

Down the aisle, two tall guys were pondering over the tea and coffee selection.

You shuffled towards them when you noticed they each had volleyball jackets on that read Inarizaki on the backs. You had heard Coach Ukai mention something about them while watching film earlier. The taller of the two had gray hair and an annoyed expression on his face, while the shorter one had a deadpan expression with two-toned gray and black hair.

“I wouldn’t have brought you if you and Atsumu were getting along. Screaming at each other the night before our first match isn’t going to help anything, Osamu. You both needed to cool down.” The shorter one stated plainly.

“Well maybe if he didn’t piss me off all the time, I wouldn’t have to knock him down a peg.” The taller one huffed and crossed his arms.

“E-excuse me” You interjected.

They both turned to look at you.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but could one of you help me reach something on the top shelf?”

“What’s the matter? Yer too short or somethin?” The taller one, who you could only assume was Osamu, smirked while he leaned against some racking.

The shorter one shot Osamu a sort of warning look. “I apologize for him. Yes, what is it?”

“Thank you.” You ignored the taller guy, “It is these almonds here on the top.”

You walked over to the bag and pointed. The shorter of the two walked over and grabbed them. He started to hand them to you, but didn’t let go when you grabbed the bag. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat? It is freezing outside.”

“Uu-um” You stuttered out, surprised at his tone. “I forgot to pack it, you see, but I’m fine!”

His eyes trailed down to your shirt. “Are you on the Karasuno’s girl’s team or are you a manager? Or are you just here to watch?” He asked firmly. Osamu was watching, somewhat amused.

“I’m one of the managers of our boy’s team. Our girl’s team didn’t make it this year.” You tried to pull the almonds closer to you, but he still wasn’t letting go. His golden eyes were eating into you.

“You’re going to get sick if you don’t stay warm.” He let go of the bag, put down his basket, and started taking off his jacket, then his sweatshirt underneath. “How is your team going to be at their best if you’re not at yours?”

“Kita, stop lecturing the girl, we gotta get back soon.”

“Take my sweatshirt.” The boy, who you now know as Kita, held out his plain, charcoal gray sweatshirt for you to take.

“No! I can’t do that!” You started waving your hands around frantically. “It was my mistake! It is only about fifteen minutes to get back! I'll be fine! I swear!” Your face grew warm with embarrassment, hating when you felt like you were burdening others with your own mistakes.

“Fifteen minutes is too long in this weather. Take it. You can give it back the next time we see each other.” Kita gave a soft, warm smile, still holding out his sweatshirt.

“I’ve never even met you before. What if we don’t see each other again?”

“Jesus, kid, just take his damn sweatshirt.” Osamu yanked the sweatshirt from Kita and slung it over your shoulder and started walking past you.

Kita began to follow. “We will see each other again.” He flashed another smile at you as he looked over his shoulder and waved.

You stood there bewildered for a second before finally deciding to pull the sweatshirt over you. The fabric was extremely soft, and definitely warm. It was just ever so slightly too big on you, which was perfect. It smelled like a pine tree on a hot summer day, perfuming a faint woodsy, sappy scent. You felt your cheeks warm up again, relishing the scent, as you finished up your list.

You found yourself still wearing Kita's sweatshirt overnight, and into the next day. The scent of it was so calming, and the sweatshirt in general was cozy. You didn’t want to take it off and were kind of hoping you didn’t see him again so that you wouldn’t have to give it back.

It appeared, however, that seeing him again was inevitable considering your boys ended up winning their first match. They just so happen to be playing Inarizaki tomorrow.

Nervousness pooled in your stomach. You were pretty certain it was because you were so hyped to see some of your closest friends play in such an important match, but part of you wondered if the butterflies were due to knowing you were going to see Kita again. Despite talking to him for less than five minutes, you already knew he was caring and had to admit he was pretty cute as well.

Even though you did both see each other the following day, and your eyes seemed to meet often, the chance to actually stop and talk, even after the game, just never really presented itself. Especially considering Karasuno knocked them out of the tournament and you and the rest of the team were celebrating. Although, before leaving, you did see Kita shoot you a warm, knowing smile as he waved goodbye.

So, in a small victory, the sweatshirt went home with you and became a staple part of your cool weather attire. The more you wore it, the woodsy scent faded, as did the association of the sweatshirt with the sweet captain of Inarizaki.

Approximately two years later, you found yourself pulling that familiar sweatshirt over your head as you were about to head to a local farmers market your friend recommended. It was about a 20 minute walk from The University of Hyogo, where your current home was and where you studied biology. You grabbed your list of various ingredients and dried herbs you wanted to stock up on.

Once you walked outside, you were hit with the crisp, cold morning air. You shoved your hands in the pockets of your dark gray, cozy sweatshirt, reusable bags swinging from your elbow, and strolled to the farmers market.

When you arrived, you were met with a bustle of people going about their days and children running about. A homey feeling made your chest swell as you started walking about the various booths and tables.

You stopped at a lavender booth, picking up some lavender honey and dried lavender before continuing to a rice booth. You were eying some rice cakes when you heard a soft chuckle.

“Do you really still wear that thing?” A voice startled you, causing you to look up and lock eyes with a familiar face.

You looked at him confused for a moment before making the connection that it was the Inarizaki captain you had ran into years ago. You then looked down and realized you were definitely wearing the sweatshirt that belonged to him. “O-oh!! It’s you! Uhh-” You smiled sheepishly, gripping your reusable bags tight to your side.

He chuckled at your startled self. “Kita Shinsuke.” He held out his hand.

You reached out and shook his hand. “I’m Y/N.” Your smile softened.

Your cheeks warmed against the cool air. “Absolutely.”

“What are ya doing all the way down here?” He let go.

“I actually go to school down here now. I’m studying biology at the University of Hyogo.” You beamed.

“Really? So you’ll be down here for a while then!” He smiled wider than you’ve ever seen. “You’ll have to try my granny’s cooking while you’re here.” His smile softened as his warm, golden eyes rested on yours.

[atths--twice]

Pinky Promise

Mulder and Scully in the aftermath of the “You should try it sometime” comment. But, Mulder and Scully style... so you know, the roundabout way.

Over the Rainbow played as Scully watched Sheila and Holman walk away, hands clasped and huge smiles on their faces. She could not help but smile as she watched them, obviously quite in love with one another.

She could feel Mulder at her side, his nervous energy nearly palpable. She glanced at him, and she saw his jaw clench as he stared after the couple. She looked at him more intently, trying to catch his eye. He caught her look, and he glanced at her, clearing his throat. He hit his hands together, fists on top of each other.

“Mulder,” she said, trying not to smile. “What did Holman mean?” He fidgeted a bit more, and she bit her cheek to stop her laughter.

“What did he mean about what?” he asked, not looking at her, but at the floor.

She could not stop her smile, so she turned slightly to hide it and give him a second to collect himself. He cleared his throat, and she turned back toward him.

“So, uh .. I don’t think we’ll be flying out tonight. Not only because of the weather, but I’m pretty sure that’s our pilot over there,” Mulder said, pointing toward the makeshift bar, toasting the people around him. Even from where she stood, Scully could see his cheeks were flushed from drinking.

“Huh,” she said, nodding and crossing her arms. She bit her lip as she looked around at the happy revelers, living their normal humdrum lives. She sighed, releasing her lip, feeling a pang of jealousy at the easy carefree lives they must lead.

An apparently popular song among the class began to play and everyone cheered. They all gathered on the dance floor, shoving past her and Mulder. She caught his eye, and he nodded toward the exit, stepping in that direction. One more couple hurried past her, and she followed behind him.

He waited at the gym door and looked back at the crowd once more, a small smile on his face. She caught up and watched him watching them. He caught her eye again and opened the door, letting her go through first.

She hid a smile as she rubbed her hands together before locking her fingers. The woman at the sign in table wished them a good night and Mulder answered in kind. Scully stopped in front of a case of trophies, looking at them as if they were incredibly interesting. Mulder walked up beside her and she could see him watching her in the glass.

“So, I was thinking, as Holman and Sheila left, the advice you gave him must have been pretty good. For it to work so well, I mean. What exactly did you say to him?” she asked innocently, turning to him with wide eyes.

He scoffed and shrugged his shoulders, his hands spread wide. “You know, guy stuff,” he said, tilting his head.

“Guy stuff? Hmmm,” she said, nodding her head and looking back at the trophies.

“Yeah, guy stuff,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I’m just curious what guy stuff a man who never dates and doesn’t have a significant other could offer up to a man who is basically in the same situation,” she said, turning to him with her arms crossed.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say never,” he said, in a wounded tone.

“Mulder, do you have a secret life I don’t know about? I’ve never heard you ever mention a .. date or someone you’re seeing,” she said, hopefully hiding the hurt she was feeling.

“Well .. it’s been .. I haven’t .. not for a while, but it doesn’t mean I’m not good at it,” he said in a hurt tone, stepping away from her and heading for the outside door.

She raised her eyebrows and followed after him, hurriedly walking through the door and avoiding a rather large puddle. He was a few steps ahead of her, and she had to almost run to catch up to him.

“You’re good at it, Mulder?” she asked, avoiding another puddle. “How would you quantify being good at dating?”

He stopped walking, turned around, and stared at her. “How? Scully, I can be, no, I am very charming,” he said, shaking his head. She finally caught up and stopped, watching his eyes.

“Yes, Mulder,” she said, licking her lips. “I am aware you can be charming, that’s not what I meant. I’ve seen your charm, been on the receiving end of it myself, but is date charm different than your regular run of the mill charm? I’m simply curious.”

He stared at her for what felt like a long time and then he stood up very straight, adjusted his tie, and buttoned his jacket. He smoothed his hair back and then extended his hand to her. She eyeballed it and looked at him with a frown.

“Hello,” he said, a big smile on his face. “I’m sorry if I’m a few minutes late. I had a work thing that I couldn’t get away from until now. It’s Dana, right?” His hand was still extended, waiting for her to take it.

“Oh. Are we doing this?” she asked in a stage whisper, to which he nodded. “My name is Dana, yes, but you can call me Scully,” she said, as she took his hand in hers and shook it, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Scully? That’s interesting. I’m assuming that’s your last name? I also go by mine, which is Mulder. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, squeezing her hand and then letting it go.

“Well, Mulder,” she said, smoothing her hair with her fingers. “I go by my last name for work, what’s your reason? Do you have a horrible first name or something?” she asked with a giggle.

He raised his eyebrows at her as his smile grew. “Well, it’s rather embarrassing,” he said, dropping his head and glancing up at her coyly.

Jesus Christ, she thought, her heart pounding, what were they doing? This was not what they did. Flirting with each other had been an unspoken agreed upon no-go area. Since that day in his hallway, they had not spoken of what happened, but let it slide like most things between them. Keep it hidden, never speak of it, until it or something else caused it to blow up, that was how they operated. Now here they were, having a faux date. And flirting, for fuck’s sake.

Yeah, this was a fantastic idea.

“Go on then, let’s hear it,” she said, smiling at him, the one she did not show him too often, teeth showing and everything.

He stared at her, his eyes on her smile, his own creeping back onto his face. “I’ll only tell you if you promise not to laugh,” he said conspiratorially, looking around and checking for other people, before looking back at her with his eyebrows raised.

She raised hers back and nodded. He leaned in and put his hand on her hip, pulling her to him. Her mouth went dry and her heartbeat ratcheted up when his mouth landed close to her ear.

“It’s Fox,” he whispered, his breath warm, causing her to shiver slightly. He pulled back and his fingers squeezed her hip before he let go. She swallowed hard, and she saw the happiness in his eyes.

Oh, that was how it was going to be. Okay, well two could play that game.

She giggled and looked down, before looking up through her lashes. “Well, the name suits you,” she said with a quick wink, before smoothing her hands down her blazer, over her breasts and down to her stomach. His eyes traveled along with her hands, and she knew she had him.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to change into something nicer for our date, Fox, I mean Mulder, but work kept me later than I had anticipated,” she said, her hands remaining at her stomach. “I normally don’t dress so stuffy for a date. I’d prefer to wear something a bit more .. revealing.” He exhaled loudly and she had to bite back a smile.

“You .. it’s .. I like what you’re wearing,” he said, clearing his throat and shifting his weight.

She put a hand on his arm and laughed. “This old outfit? Thank you, you are sweet. How about we go grab a bite to eat? It’s finally nice out. Would you like to walk to the diner close to here?”

He stepped back and gestured for her to go first and she did, again avoiding the larger puddles of water. They walked the few blocks to the diner not saying much, both undoubtedly thinking they were playing with fire. It was dangerous to be sure, but also deliciously so.

Arriving at the small diner, he held the door for her, smiling as she passed. She felt happy and lighter than she had in recent weeks. Being stuck on background checks, and practically chained to a desk, was enough to make her want to pull her hair out. Yes, they were not technically supposed to be investigating X-Files, but God, it felt good. She may gripe about it, but being in the field, discussing theories, and seeing Mulder’s over-exuberance made her happy. This was their bread and butter, and hell had she missed it.

“Welcome!” a waitress said as she spotted them. “Glad to see it finally stopped raining, but boy we sure needed it. Sit anywhere you like, not too many people out tonight. Must all be over at the high school celebrating the reunion. I don’t think I’ve seen y’all before.”

“Oh! We’re actually on a first date,” Mulder said, grinning at her and then putting his arm around Scully’s shoulders. She almost jabbed him in the ribs, but the waitress looked at them so happily, she forced a smile.

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest? Come on back, I’ll seat you now,” she said, grabbing two menus and leading them to a table. Scully pushed his arm off and gave him a look. He smiled and shrugged, clearly having a fun time.

“Here we are, you two just give a holler when you’re ready,” the waitress said as she walked away.

“Thank you,” Scully said, sliding into her seat and picking up her menu. She was not too hungry, but maybe a milkshake and fries would be good.

“Get anything you want, money's no object,” he said to her, winking at her above his own menu, before disappearing behind it. She said nothing, but rolled her eyes when he was not watching.

Deciding on their food, they called the waitress over. Scully ordered a chocolate milkshake and fries and Mulder ordered a patty melt. He told the waitress, with yet another wink and nod toward Scully, that he felt sure she would share her milkshake, so he would just get a water. She laughed and wrote it all down before walking away.

“See? Charming,” he said, leaning back and putting his arm on the chair next to him, appearing at ease and happy. Scully shook her head and rolled her eyes.

He perked up, cleared his throat, and smiled at her. “So, tell me about yourself, Scully. What do I need to know about you?” he asked with the grin that made her stomach wobble.

“Oh, you know, typical Navy brat. Grew up in many places, have two brothers and one sister, but she has passed. My mother is still living, but my father passed years ago. I’m a medical doctor and an FBI agent,” she said, smiling wide at him.

“Wow. An FBI agent. Working on any interesting cases?” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, the division I work in, it’s kind of different than the others at the FBI. We investigate .. the odd cases. The ones that other people might not find worth their time,” she said with a shrug.

“Odd cases? Wow, that sounds interesting. What kinds of cases do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Oh, well, at the moment, I’m actually stuck on desk duty. My partner and I have been .. downgraded to background checks and pulled from our regular cases,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oof .. that sounds bad. Is it boring? It sounds boring, especially when your other work sounded very interesting,” he said, giving her a sympathetic look. “Do you miss the other work?” He stared at her and she knew that this was the real Mulder asking, not charming date Mulder.

“I do miss it,” she said quietly, staring back at him. He took a deep breath and nodded at her as the waitress brought over their food.

They ate, smiling and stealing glances when the other was not looking. Mulder cut one half of his sandwich in half, and put it on her plate of fries, as he grabbed a handful of them and put them on his plate. She smiled at him, picked up the sandwich, and took a bite. He winked at her and then ate his own food.

By the time she had finished her food, she was too full to finish her milkshake, so she slid it over to him. He grabbed the glass with a grin and drank the rest of it. She shook her head, watching him with a smile.

Mulder paid for the bill, making a show of taking out his wallet and putting his card down, while she grinned. They walked back to the high school to pick up their car. Music still reverberated inside, along with cheers and applause. He nudged her and she smiled before they got in the car.

It was a quiet drive back to the motel. Scully looked out the window, the town still wet from all the recent rain. Hoping the motel would have no more catastrophes, she sighed, knowing they still had to share the room. It was not the first time and it would probably not be the last, but this time felt a bit different.

Before she could think about it too much, they pulled up to the motel and parked. Unbuckling their seat belts, they walked to the door of the hotel room. Deciding to continue with the faux date one last time, she stopped at the door and turned to him, her hand on his chest.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” she said looking at him sweetly. “It was fun and the company was enjoyable.” He put his hand over hers and held her gaze. She smiled and looked down before biting her lip and looking up again.

“I don’t normally do this, especially on a first date, but, would you like to come in? Stay the night?” she said, watching his eyes. She saw them darken and dilate, at the same time she felt his heart rate speed up. She grinned at him before dropping her hand, reaching for her room key, and opening the door. “I mean since all of your shit is already in my room ..”

Turning around, she looked at him and smiled. He swallowed and cleared his throat, before exhaling out a big breath. They both seemed to know that once they crossed the threshold, the pretending was over. He stepped toward her and blocked her in the doorway, making her heart race as he loomed over her.

“I don’t normally do this either, but considering the circumstances,” he said in a low voice. “I guess I’ll need to stay the night, eh?” He pushed back slightly and brushed past her, his body connecting with hers briefly.

The fucker, she thought, closing her eyes and taking a breath. She opened her eyes and walked into the room. He was standing in the room taking off his tie and his coat. Turning toward her, he grinned, and she shook her head.

“You want the bathroom first?” she asked, back to being regular old Scully and Mulder, and he shook his head. “Okay, I’m gonna head in then.” She grabbed her pajamas and headed into the bathroom.

She looked at herself in the mirror, shaking her head, before stripping out of her clothes. She took a quick shower, brushed her teeth, and put on her pajamas. She blew her hair dry until it was just slightly damp and then left the bathroom, all of her clothes in a bundle. She put them in her bag as she watched Mulder sitting on the bed, looking at the same papers from the other day.

“Think about it, Scully, the ability to control the weather because of one’s feelings. Unable to control how he felt, it just exploded out. It’s pretty amazing, and also sad,” he said, looking up at her. “But at least it had a happy ending. I have a feeling this little part of Kansas is going to be a little more colorful after today.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she groaned. He got off the bed with a chuckle and walked past her into the bathroom.

Her clothes put away, she walked to the bed, pulled the covers down, and lay on her side with a yawn. Tired after the last couple of days, she closed her eyes, hoping to get to sleep soon without too much thought of Mulder sleeping beside her.

The toilet flushed and then the bathroom door opened, but she kept her eyes closed. She heard him drop his things in his own bag, and then the bed dipped under his weight, his body close to hers under the covers. She opened her eyes and sighed, knowing sleep was going to be hard to find tonight.

Mulder was quiet, and she could hear every breath he took. As she was about to turn over and lay on her back, there was a thump against the wall. Then another three in quick succession, then two more.

“Are you kidding me?” she groaned quietly, as the thumps continued in the same pattern. She sighed and closed her eyes with a whine.

“Scully, listen. Do you hear it?” Mulder asked, excitement in his voice.

“Yes, Mulder, I hear it. That’s the problem. Jesus ..” she groaned again.

“No, no. Listen ..” he said, sitting up and hitting his hand against the bed in time to the thumps against the wall. She kept her eyes closed as he did it but opened them when he began to speak again. “We will .. we will .. rock you. I’m not crazy, that’s their pattern, right? There! It is!”

She sat up and looked at him and started to laugh. He was right, it was that pattern. “It’s .. an interesting .. motion. But,” she said with a giggle. Mulder started clapping to the beat and then began to sing, loudly.

Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise Playin in the street Gonna be a big man someday You got mud on your face, you big disgrace Kickin’ your can all over the place Singin' We will we will rock you We will we will rock you

The thumping continued. Laughing, Scully joined him, clapping out the beat of the song, and singing loudly.

Buddy, you're a young man, hard man Shouting in the street Gonna take on the world someday You got blood on your face You big disgrace Wavin’ your banner all over the place We will we will rock you Sing it We will we will rock you

Mulder threw the covers back and stood up. Scully continued to clap out the beat as they sang louder, and he danced around the room. She laughed as she watched him, and he grinned at her.

Buddy, you're an old man, poor man Pleading with your eyes, gonna make you some peace someday You got mud on your face Big disgrace Somebody better put you back into your place We will we will rock you Sing it We will we will rock you Everybody We will we will rock you We will we will rock you Alright

Mulder mimed playing the guitar at the end of the song, and Scully doubled over with giggles. A loud pounding was heard on the same wall and they both stared at each other, eyes as big as their grins.

“SHUT UP!” yelled a voice.

“WE’RE JUST ADDING TO THE MOOD!” Mulder yelled back, Scully’s giggles now deep belly laughs.

“FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!” the voice yelled back.

“NO, FUCK YOU!” Scully yelled back, amid her laughter, and Mulder’s eyebrows shot up. She shrugged and he grinned.

“ARE YOU DONE?!” he yelled.

“ARE YOU?” Mulder yelled, crossing his arms, his smile happier than she could ever remember seeing before.

“FUCK YOU!” he yelled once more.

“NO, FUCK YOU!” they both yelled simultaneously, staring at the wall, waiting for a comeback. When none came, he leaned across the bed for a high five. She slapped his hand, and they both laughed again.

He laid back down and she followed, both on their backs as they continued to laugh quietly. She was finally able to stop, and she wiped her eyes. No more sounds were heard from the other side of the wall and she heard Mulder let out a sigh.

“Actually, I hope we didn’t cause too much trouble. For the woman especially,” he said quietly.

Scully felt arousal course through her, hearing that his thoughts were focused on the woman’s pleasure. She always thought he would be a considerate lover and those thoughts were just confirmed.

Stop it, Dana, she thought. These thoughts are dangerous with him so close to you, after this evening, and this case. Wait until you’re home and then think about what that means. How it would feel to be on the receiving end of that focus. Stop it.

She stayed quiet, hearing his breathing began to even out. God, he could fall asleep so fast sometimes, it made her crazy. There she was, acutely aware of how close he was, how wonderful he smelled, how charming he could be, and apparently how attentive he was to his partner.

Partner, or lover? she thought with an internal scream. Which would you prefer, Dana?

She closed her eyes and was about to turn over and away from him, or maybe go sleep in the car, when the backs of his fingers brushed against hers and his pinky locked with her pinky. He said nothing, but held tight to her.

She noticed his breathing seemed to have stopped and when she squeezed back, it began again. She turned her head so he did not see her smile. At the same time, as though they had rehearsed it, she turned to her right and so did he, their joined pinkies settling on her left hip. She sighed and closed her eyes, his fingers resting on hers and his breathing slowing close behind her.

She lay there, happy in that moment. No threat or sadness had forced them to seek each other’s touch. He reached out because he wanted to touch her. He was not pushing for more, not saying anything, and yet they both knew that this was a big step.

Usually, if they had to share a room, they got a cot or there was a sofa. If they did have to share a bed, they did not touch, at least not consciously. She had woken with her body close to his, or his arm around hers, but she would shift as soon as she realized it.

This was different. She heard and then felt him fall asleep, his body twitching. Taking some deep breaths, she squeezed his pinky lightly. With a smile, as she began to fall asleep, she tapped out a beat against her pillow with her other hand.

We will we will rock you

Yeah, she grinned, one day he would.

After all, he did just make her a pinky promise.

[mytsukkishine]

udgdh maybe long request? so damien haas x reader where when ver the smosh gang go out to drink, damien and y/n are the sober ones that'll keep each other company but recently y/n has been drifting away bc she's in love with him. and one day damien gets hella drunk so y/n has to take him to her apt (which is roommates with Courtney) -maybe some drunk damien singing and giving y/n little kisses and he gets super hungover?? as well as angst/soft shiz?? sorry for the long request!! love yur fics!

A/n: whoa okay anon, I enjoyed myself too much in writing this and I hope this will be to your expectation. *wink wonk* u can anon me again if u liked it pls hahaha enjoy! Though I’m sorry because reader and Courtney aren’t roommates here sorrryyy!!!

summary: Drunk you accidentally kissed Damien. Then you avoid him for days until Courtney invited you out for a drink again. Feelings, kisses and drunk singing. What could go wrong?

a/n2: fluff and angstyy. ya’ll like hurting huh? haha

a/n3: hello, i made a Kofi account and I hope you would support me! I needed a little help with my financial shits and I hope my fanfics can be a little help. 

buy me coffee please, senpais

words: 2.4k

Also a little mature because of alcohol and kissing? lmao can u all guess the songs? it’s only two (I chose those songs because their voices suit Damien soooo much)

You sighed, empty beer bottle in hand as you looked aroundyou. Everyone was drunk. You saw Keith laying on top of Noah on the couch, bothguys in deep slumber. Courtney, Olivia, and Sarah were nowhere to be found, youjust assumed they had taken control over Shayne’s bed right now.

Oh right, the squad was at Shayne’s apartment. They had alittle drinking session, celebrated Shayne’s graduation. Speaking of Shayne,you saw him already fast asleep on the bean bag, empty drinks on the floor andhis Switch console in hand.

You slowly stood up, your head spinning a little and youstopped for a moment, eyes adjusting to the light that came from the kitchen.

You thought about turning the TV off but you scoffed, notwanting to step on Shayne because you knew your balance right now was not atits best.

As soon as you stepped on the kitchen- “Jesus!” You said alittle too loud, hand on your chest as you saw Damien on the floor, completelyhidden by the counters.

He smiled and waved, his cheeks pink and in his hand was abottle of beer.

You groaned, frowned at him but walked towards him. You tooka sit beside him, sliding down on the floor slowly as you cursed your back forhurting a little.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” You rested your head on his shoulder and took thedrink from his hand and chugged down its contents.

You felt the warmth radiating through Damien and you can’thelp but to get emotional. Was it from the alcohol? Might as well blame it ifgiven the chance.

You have liked Damien since the first time he told you hewatches anime. You were smitten, you were pulled towards his radiance that noone can escape.

Damien was the light that managed to blind you.

And now, seated side by side, with your feelings jumbled up.You can’t help but to want to hug him and maybe confess your feelings so theitching in your heart can stop.

He was a dream. Really. He’s a gentleman, loves anime,gaming, a very nice person, and funny. Ever since he became part of the Smoshfam, many people adored him. And you thought to yourself, you were lucky enoughto be his friend, might as well stay as friends than confessing your feelingsand turning into strangers.

Damien may be kind but you don’t know if he was the type ofperson that would avoid you if you confess.

“Y/N,”

“What?” You didn’t realize that you spaced out for a momentbecause Damien was chuckling as he took the bottle away from you.

Another thing that was stopping you from confessing wasbecause you heard something going on between Damien and his friend outsidework.

Of course, who were you to compete against a long-timefriend? One time you have seen Damien with this girl, she was pretty. Longblack hair and thin waist. They were talking animatedly as they walked towardsthe mall—and that pretty much hurt you.

They look so perfect.

“Hey are you okay?” Damien suddenly, his hands on yourcheeks. You realized you were looking at him with tears pooling in your eyes.You felt our insides churn as Damien wiped your tears away.

Your head was slowly spinning but you kept your focus onhim.

“Dames,” You murmured and Damien’s pink cheeks looked likethey were glowing. Maybe because of the alcohol. Yeah, the alcohol.

“I want a drink,”

Damien chuckled, tapping your forehead in the process. “Silly,you’re drunk.”

“No. I can still drink, hell I can even recite the company’smission and vision.”

“Really? Damien raised his brow as he looked down at you,then that’s when you realized your faces were to close. You were resting yourchin on his shoulder as you looked up at him with wide eyes, your noses almosttouching.

You were used to this. The closure. You were known for beingthe clingy, cuddly friend. You always hug your friends or cuddle with them.Whether it was Keith or Courtney, Shayne or Wes. Of course, Damien received themost cuddles from you.

“Damien,”

Your eyes were getting blurry, the spinning in your headintensified as you glanced down at Damien’s lips.

Blame the alcohol.

Your lips landed on his and it was so soft and—his lips werestill, you pulled back only to land a peck on his lips again.

You felt his hand on your cheeks and you wanted to kiss himagain but your eyes failed you as you closed them and drifted to sleep.

~

You groaned, the sunglasses you wore were not doing its jobbecause the sun was still blaring down on you, shaming you from what you havedone last night. After you woke up by 5AM, you found yourself on the couch,Noah and Keith on the floor sleeping soundly and no Damien to be found. Thenyou remembered what you have done and you immediately went home to find thenearest Starbucks.

You threw your empty cup in the trash nearby and sighed.

You have kissed Damien. Your friend.

Now he knew how you felt.

You felt a bile building up your throat but ignored it, theitching in your heart was worse. Maybe this was it, you thought, you hadpracticed what it would be like if you ended your friendship with Damien andthe time has come where your practice won’t go to waste.

Even though you were sobered up, your head still hurts. Andyou’re freaking nervous. It was a Sunday today, and tomorrow you will have togo to work and face Damien.

“Ugh!” You cursed up at the sun, wishing the ground belowwould just swallow you up.

~

The whole afternoon you managed to stay in your cubicle.With some short trips to the bathroom and pantry, you achieved to avoid anySmosh Squad.

It was going all too well when—

“Y/N!”

You squeaked as you looked up from your computer, only tosee Olivia, Courtney and of course Damien. You immediately avoided eye-contactto Damien.

“You startled me, Olivia,”

“Sorry! Just wanted to make sure how you were,”

“Sobered up.” You answered truthfully, eyes now back to thecomputer. You were glad you were wearing your hoodie over so they weren’t ableto see your blushing cheeks.

“You left before we all woke up,” Olivia whined followed byCourtney. “I’m sorry, I was in a hurry,”

“For what?” You just grinned at them. You all chatted for awhile, Damien remained quiet at the side before Courtney said goodbye andwalked away together with Olivia.

Now it was you and Damien.

You sink in your chair as you looked up at Damien.

“Can we talk—”

“I—”

“Y/N, can you come to my office for a while?” One of theproducers asked you, looking up at the file he was holding and gave a smallgreeting to Damien.

“Ah sure…” You gave Damien an apologetic look then left.

Not yet. You can’t handle the rejection yet.

~

It has been three days since you have hanged out with thesquad, and it has been three days since you have seen Damien. The first day wasyou plainly avoiding him and now it seemed that fate was on your side becauseyou haven’t really seen him.

It was a Friday, and the office was buzzing out of peoplewhen Courtney stopped you from leaving your cubicle.

“Hey pretty lady, care to have a night out with us?” She wasgrinning slyly and you rolled your eyes. “What’s in it for me?” You playedalong and Courtney wrapped her arm around your shoulder. “A very good time,”Both of you laughed out loud but you agreed anyway.

Even though you were cautious around Damien, it doesn’t meanyou would stop hanging out with the squad. They are also a friend of yours andyou kind of miss them.

When Courtney said that Olivia and the rest were already atIan’s place, you immediately raised your brow. “We’re not going to a bar?”

“Silly Y/N. Ian has offered free drinks!” She exclaimedexcitedly and you just shook your head, heading to the parking lot and in toCourtney’s car.

~

Three drinks in and the rest of the squad were singing alongthe karaoke Ian has set up in his living room. It was a mess, Shayne wassinging loudly with Olivia and Keith—he was using his CFM voice, Ian was alreadyhalf-drunk and Damien—Damien was on the loveseat, just drinking.

You sighed. When you and Courtney had arrived, you didn’tgreet each other and it honestly killed you. Courtney seemed to have noticedthe atmosphere and asked you what’s up, but being the introvert you were, youjust reasoned out that you were kind of tired.

It was this again. Alcohol.

You guessed since alcohol was involved right now, it wasthe right time for you and Damien to have that talk.

However, being the stubborn you, it was now past midnightand the squad was asleep, all through the night you didn’t get the chance totalk to him.

Courtney and Shayne were on separate bean bags, bothasleep next to each other, the TV still on. Ian was nowhere to be found, youguessed he was in his room. Keith was on the couch, drooling.

It was like déjà vu. Except you weren’t that drunk. You onlyhad three drinks and stopped as soon as you saw Damien drinking alone. Speakingof Damien, you looked at the seat where he was previously in and saw it wasempty.

You sighed.

Maybe he left.

You decided to maybe grab some water from Ian’s kitchen, andthen maybe sleep on the guestroom Ian mentioned to you earlier that that wasvacant.

You slowly stood up and stretch. You sluggishly walkedtowards the kitchen and gasped a little as you saw Damien hunched over thesink.

“Goddamnit Dames, you scared me,” He didn’t answer but youcan see that the tip of his ears was red. You walked up to him and tapped hisshoulders lightly, “Damien?”

“Hm?” He was obviously drunk because when he looked at you,he was sporting a wide smile, cheeks red and eyes squinted together. “Oh hey,Y/N,” He waved but lost his balance. You quickly took hold of his arm andpulled him towards you.

“Dames, how much did ya drink huh?” You got no reply asDamien draped his arm around your shoulder, “We should—sing!” He hiccupped andyou can smell the alcohol off of him. You decided that since you have been abad friend to Damien these past few days, you’ll settle him down on Ian’s spareroom.

“Come on big boy, let’s get you to bed,” You looked at thesink and saw it was clean, meaning Damien didn’t throw up. His hair was wet somaybe he washed his face.

“Whaaat? But we’re singing,” You just shook your head andguided him, thankful that he wasn’t putting all his weight on you. When youreached the spare room, you gently laid him to sit down but he fell on his backcausing you to lose your own balance, and you found yourself in Damien’s arms.

“Y/N,” He called out softly, his eyes closed and youremained still.

“Called her for thefirst time yesterday~” Damien started, even though he’s drunk, he was stillsinging beautifully. “Finally found themissing…. Part of me,” he stopped in the middle but he continued, he hashis other hand in the air, swinging with the song he was singing.

“Felt so close but youwere far away~ Left me without anything to say~~”

With hands on his chest, you pushed yourself up gently untilhis other hand stopped you.

“Y/N,” He called softly.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

Okay, the million-dollar question you weren’t expectingright now.

You were about to answer when Damien released a chuckle.

He released a sighed as he now sang another song, “To be drunk~” Damien started, eyesclosed but he pressed his forehead against yours. “And in love in New York City~” He sang, missing some notes butyou knew that song very well.

“Mmm into morningcoffee,” He murmured but still in tune, “Burning mmhm the hours talking,” he stopped and he opened his eyes.

You both stared at each other.

“Damn…” Hewhispered before leaning in and capturing your lips in a sweet, short kiss.

You instantly closed your eyes and savored the kiss.Damien’s lips were as soft as what you remembered and you want to cry.

Damien’s drunk and you shouldn’t—Damien pulled back, a shysmile etched on his lips as he continued to stare at you.

“Please don’t avoid me… I like you,” Your heart fluttered fora moment, fat tears pouring down your eyes as Damien pulled you in closer for ahug.

You stayed there, both of your feet still on the edge of thebed and you were sure it would hurt in the morning but you don’t care.

Damien likes you. And was hurting because of you.

Boy, you two have a lot to talk about tomorrow morning.

~

You heard a groan beside you and you squinted your eyes, themorning light through the window greeted you so harshly that caused you to buryyour face in a strong, warm chest.

“Y/N…” A surprised voice of Damien welcomed you, and youremembered that both of you fell asleep hugging each other. “Hey,” Yougreeted with a smile and Damien was confused. Confused because he woke up withyou in his arms.

“H-how? I’m s-sorry,” He stuttered but you just hugged him.

“No, it’s okay. I-…” You started, Damien visibly relaxing inyour hug.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you, Damien. After that kiss… I… Iwas a coward,”

“No, Y/N,”

“And I like you…”

Silence. You buried your face on his chest and you heard himsigh.

“If only we talked sooner, we would’ve been kissing,” Damiencommented and you laughed, hitting his stomach softly.

Silence covered the both of you before Damien cleared histhroat, “I… I remember singing last night,” You laughed out loud, hugging himtighter. “Yeah, drunk singing. It was adorable,”

Damien grinned, “Would you allow me to sing to you in thefuture?” You felt your cheeks heating up and you just nodded. You felt Damien’slips on your head.

Now, this wasn’t what you practiced for but you ain’tcomplaining.