#did i ever mention that licorice is a flip

[velpup]

red velvet and licorice playdate

[elysianslove]

please use this ask to elaborate on mattsun’s dick <33

AH YES THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING gotta do this before i start fasting lmfao.  this ended up being sadder than i thought, but it just ends up being kinda sweet and sorta hot. also this was way longer than i intended. post in reference.  

warnings; big dick mattsun, throwing up, pain kink (?), painful sex, insecurities, consensual taping  

okay remember when i mentioned the insecurity thing? let’s dive deeper into that; third years and mattsun are at some sleepover thing. it’s a little before graduation, and they don’t when they’ll see each other next, so they’re trying to make most of the time that’s left. the conversation progresses to sex, as it naturally does, and each of them admits some horrifying or embarrassing sex story. 

iwaizumi had sex with a girl who was extremely kinky and asked him to slap her, but— they don’t call him ace for no reason. 

oikawa lost his virginity to this girl and she started her period halfway through, but he was really young and didn’t realize that was something that could just happen? it wasn’t that he was immature about it. it was more that he fainted. 

hanamaki found out he was allergic to flavored condoms when he lost his virginity, and it was not fun. 

but then it was mattsun’s turn, and they’re all waiting for his embarrassing sex story, till he hits them with, “i’ve never had sex though,” and each and every one of their eyes bulge out of their heads. it’s the last thing they’d been expecting from him, from cool, suave, charming mattsun, but he continues to swear by it. and when they demand the reason — surely you’ve gotten the chance to before? — he admits it to them: “apparently my dick is too big.” and it’s comical to say out loud, because he’s only gotten with a handful of girls, barely any for it to be firm hypothesis. he thinks he’ll one day meet someone that doesn’t think it’s too big, it won’t fit, um i can give you a handjob, if that’s okay? 

all that evidently leads to a dick comparison, because how big can it really be? and once mattsun sees his best friends’ eyes widen at his hardened dick, it sinks in. shit, he really is big, isn’t he? 

“holy shit, mattsun,” makki says, and he’s bashful as he stares at his best friend’s dick. “how would that fit inside anyone?” and mattsun’s already growing soft, tucking his dick back in his pants and moving to wash his hands after kicking makki rightfully in the chest. 

college comes around, and he passes by a thousand girls crying about how the boy from last night’s dick was so small, ugh i wish i had an 8 inch, and the things i’d do to have my guts rearranged. he sees a little light in this tunnel of endless blue balling, and meets a girl, takes her back to his dorm with his lips biting at her neck and her hands fumbling with his belt. as soon as he falls onto the bed, as soon as she straddles him, naked, and moves to slip off his trousers, anxiety meets him halfway again, and he holds in a breath as she pulls at the hem of his pants and takes his boxers with her.

the gasp his half hardening cock pulls out of her is confusing. he can’t tell what to make out of it, but she spits on her palm and grips his hefty cock in her small palm, unable to have her fingertips meet. her eyes are wide, but she seems determined, even tilts her hips forward, but she resorts to, “can i just suck you off?” 

and mattsun thinks alright, that’s an upgrade. 

when she ends up throwing up because she underestimates his size and overestimates herself, mattsun offers her his bathroom to clean up, and grabs her a bottle of water as she leaves. 

he ends up losing his virginity to some masochist, and it’s not very memorable or anything he’d ever imagined it be. it sits high on his list of regrets: he cums way too early, and hurts the masochist too much for it to be enjoyable in any way. but he texts the old third year groupchat and types in “i lost my virginity 😎” and receives the praise he had expected. 

for months to come, he fucks his fist every other night to amateur porn and watches as some camgirls’ cunts swallow inches and inches of plastic cock. he hooks up with some girls only to have them sit on his face and kitten lick at the head of his cock. some swallow a little bit of his cock, some fondle at his balls, but none ever let him fuck them. oikawa sends him links for sex toys, and mattsun feels as pathetic as ever, but he buys a fleshlight anyways and finds purchase in how tight it feels around his cock, how wet and slippery it is, how it properly milks him dry. makki meets him during a break and offers to suck his dick for him, but mattsun flips him off and kicks at his stomach again. 

it’s during his third year that he meets you. 

you’re sweet and charming, , and you have pretty hair, and he likes your style, and you laugh at his stupid jokes. you call him handsome, and you call him pretty, and you compliment his hair when it’s at its curliest. you send him the weirdest memes and tell him it reminds you of him, and you pick him up at obscure times because you’re craving nuggets or ice cream or ramen or licorice. he asks you to be his girlfriend and when you say yes, he blushes so forcefully that he has to scrunch up his face to try and hide it. he lets you meet his friends through a screen, and he buys you matching rings because he enjoys the subtlety of it all, and he orders donuts to be sent to your place  during your exam week. 

being with you is a dream, so much that when he hovers above you, kissing at your lips like he always does and sucking at your neck the way you love, and you murmur that you want him, want all of him, his hands fumble and shake. he tries to hide it, but his breath is shakier and his chest is flushed, his eyes a little hazy. you’re so gentle with him, and he hadn’t known he needed it until you’re straddling him and slowly smoothing your hands down his chest, palming him through his too tight briefs, squeezing softly. 

when your hands reach for his briefs, his own snap to your wrist, and he dares to beg, “please stay,” and you kiss him in response. your breath hitches at the sight of him, and your hand shakes when you spit on it and grip at his cock, but despite your initial hesitance you don’t falter. 

you stroke tentatively at his cock, squeezing him tightly, and fall closer to him, hovering your lips by his as you ask of him, “stretch me— stretch me for you.” 

there’s only one word to describe everything mattsun had been feeling in that moment, and it’s overwhelmed, but it’s somehow in the most positive way. he sits up straight, keeping you on his lap. his fingers find your dripping cunt and he pushes one, two, three, four fingers inside of you. he makes you cum twice, fingers curled and rapidly thrusting into you, other hand occupied with your sloppy clit and mouth latched onto your nipple. you praise him and thank him and cry for him and writhe in his hold as he pleasures you, and when you’re breathless and limp in his arms, he waits for the ball to drop, for you to give into your anxiety and hesitance. 

except you don’t. 

you lift yourself up on trembling knees, hands settled on and gripping his shoulders, and with teary eyes, you say, no, you beg, “make it fit.” 

he has stars in his eyes as he grips his cock tightly with one hand, the other holding you to him by your waist. it’s slow, it’s painfully slow, but mattsun has never treasured time as much as in that moment. he takes in everything, from the way your body tenses at the first intrusion when his tip presses against your hole, to the small gasps and moans as you take more and more of him in, at the sweat that beads at your temple and that rolls between your breasts. he marvels at the heave of your chest and the roll of your tummy as you curve in yourself, and he revels in the press of your lips to his, in the pull your arms looping around his neck and pressing his chest flush to yours. 

he does cum too early, but you don’t chastise him. you only continue to ride his soft cock, his cum messily dribbling out, and he ignores the sting from his sensitivity in favor of rubbing at your clit, sending you over the edge eventually. 

he texts the old third years groupchat that night again, with you sleeping soundly by his side, comfortable beneath his blankets, “why didn’t you guys tell me sex was this good? fake friends,” and sends a picture of him shirtless, sweaty, and with a post-sex flush to his cheeks and messy curls, with the middle finger. 

maybe you shouldn’t have let him have a taste of you, because he fucks you in bed the next morning, sleep still settled deep in your bones, and then he fucks you in the shower, and then he eats you out splayed out on his dinner table. he videotapes you sucking him off, with your permission, and watches it when you’re too far out of reach. he sends you pictures after a shower, gripping his cock through the briefs he’d quickly slipped in, hair wet and curly and matted to his forehead, skin damp and glistening. and when you react so positively, he blushes, to his dismay. you meet his friends and they joke about how you’re still alive, but you brush them off and tell them you’ve never felt more satisfied. 

with every single time he watches his cock sink into your warm, tight, sloppy cunt, and every time he watches you swallow around him, and every time he makes you cry and leaves you braindead, leaves you mindless and begging for more, his confidence grows. so much until he learns to be cocky about it, so much that when he barely preps you and pushes into you, he shivers at the way you whine and tense up, at the way you flinch and lightly thrash. because you’re a good girl, aren’t you? always take my cock so well, don’t you? nobody but you, nobody like you. 

and it’s true; it’s nobody but you for him. in every single way.

hello what the fuck am i doing. i did not think this was gonna escalate like this hfskjfns but anyways, big dick mattsun for the win <3 

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

BBRAEWEEK 2021 July 26th – Poolside

Getting a pool on top of Titans Tower was honestly not the Sisyphean task Cyborg had expected it to be.

Finding a space in the Justice League and Titans’ schedule when everyone would be free to come to said pool’s christening party? That was an event the Catholic Church would probably erase to make sure their Easter Calendar would fall on the proper time table.

But however they managed it, Cyborg thought, as he flipped another burger onto the grill, the fact that all charter members of both teams were able to attend was a helluva turn out.

Especially considering the party pooper who was standing beneath the griller’s sun umbrella in full bat-regalia, probably trying not to die from heat stroke.

“I got some plastic forks just for you,” Cyborg said.

“It’s not funny anymore,” Batman said, watching as Bart tried and failed to dunk Kiran under the water. The young speedster instead found himself forced underwater by a sneak attack from Donna.

“It’s funny as until you use your hands to eat a burger.”

Batman grunted, shifting out of the grill’s smoke when the wind changed. Note to self, Cyborg thought, invent smoke inhibiting device for grill.

“I hope I don’t have to tell you that pools require maintenance. And showers afterwards.”

“The pool contains a bacteria-eating enzyme that’s safe for contact with the skin,” Said Cyborg, throwing some asparagus on the grill, “Also means that teammates who breathe water don’t have to worry about burning their nose hairs off.”

“That explains why Arthur has just been sitting on the bottom,” Batman said, “but then again, he’s mentioned sleeping in the bathtub more than once, so I thought it was just something he did.”

Cyborg had to laugh at that.

“It also dies on contact with saline. So it’s also environmentally friendly.”

“Did you see Tim put on sunscreen?” Batman said, giving no sign he’d heard the last part (a shame, thought Cyborg, I’d trust him with the patent).

“I think so,” Cyborg replied, “Would you hand me that corn?”

“What about Dick?” Batman asked, handing Cyborg two ears as Superman landed, carrying a king-sized cooler.

“If he’s not wearing sunscreen, he should at least be wearing a hat.”

“Wearing a hat? Man, you’re wearing a cape in July! At the pool!”

“You’re wearing a hat.”

“It’s a chef’s hat. It’s called loosening up. Ever thought of it?”

Batman’s frown deepened, but Cyborg did notice how he wasn’t corrected.

“By the way,” he said, ignoring the Dark Knight’s grimace, “have you seen Gar? He said he had to go get a pool noodle.”

“That was the last time I saw him,” Batman replied, “Raven too.”

Cyborg looked up from the grill.

“Raven’s gone?”

Batman pointed to a lawn chair beneath three beach umbrellas, a book sitting where a girl had once been.

“She was reading Clive Barker’s Imajica when I arrived.”

“Maybe she finished the book,” Cyborg said with a shrug of his cybernetic shoulders.

“That book has 824 pages if it’s a first edition. It would take 21 hours and 39 minutes to finish that book if she read 250 words per minute.”

A scream drew their attention to the pool, only for the tension to drain when it turned out to be just a splash fight between Diana and Billy.

“I can do a search of the tower, if you can give me security clearance and…”

“Found her.”

Walking out of the rooftop entrance, Raven had returned, seemingly unharmed. She made her way past Wally and Hal who were unboxing Super Soakers (no doubt to begin an all-out water war) and sat back down in her shaded chair.

“Any idea where she’s been?” Batman asked.

“Probably in the mystic realm of “not our business,” Cyborg said, flipping a burger onto a bun and handing it to Batman.

“Here. Go see if she wants a bite. She hasn’t…”

Cyborg trailed off before squinting towards the direction where Raven had come.

“What is it?” Batman asked.

“I’ve got a database that says leopard geckos aren’t native to North America. Also, they’re not primarily green and don’t wear Kat Von D Everlasting black Liquid Lipstick. Would you mind bringing that to me?”

With speed and agility only found in most Olympic hurdlers, the Dark Knight had crossed the roof and snatched the lizard from its resting place, returning to his place by the grill.

“I assume that this is actually Beast Boy?” said Batman, holding the gecko by its mid-section.

“Yup.”

The tiny lizard’s form changed, going from reptile to human in the time it took to blink. And he was indeed wearing smeared black lipstick.

“Hey guys,” Beast Boy said, sheepishly, “couldn’t find the pool noodle. Think Star would mind if I used her inner tube?”

“Bats, would you mind giving us some privacy? Young people talk.”

Batman shrugged and headed for the row of chairs where Raven was sitting. Cyborg turned back to Beast Boy, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“So, what’s with the make up?”

Beast Boy pointed to his mouth.

“Oh! This! This is just from a black licorice lollipop!”

Beast Boy licked his lips, trying to hide the grimace from the taste of what obviously wasn’t black licorice lollipop.

“Mmmm. Good.”

“Really?” Cyborg said, “because I could swear that I’ve seen Rae wear that exact shade of lipstick. In fact, I think she’s wearing it right now.”

“EVERYONE IN THE POOL!!!!”

With bounds worthy of a gazelle, Beast Boy charged towards the water, leaping gracelessly into the pool.

Cyborg smiled and shook his head before returning to the grill. Maybe he’d throw an extra vegan kabob on for BB to make up for the ribbing.

[tootiredmotel]

He’s 42, and he’s loved

I did it, I freaking did it, here’s the Happy Birthday Dean fic.

AO3

After so many years of living in the bunker, Dean was no longer wired to sleep only four hours a night out of necessity. He was also not a morning person, never had been, so most days he allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in.

Today, however, something deep in his belly– anticipation, excitement– pulled him out of unconsciousness against his will. Eyes still closed and mind still jumbled, he couldn't imagine what it could be about, until the steady thumping underneath him was replaced by a hum and a voice so deep it never failed to send a shiver down his spine.

"Good morning."

Green eyes met loving blue, and Dean didn't bother fighting a smile or the urge. Not today. He reached up to run a finger along Cas's jaw, under his lips, down his neck. He kissed him, a hand cupping Cas's face as he used the other to push himself on top of him. He kissed Cas, whose fingers entangled themselves in Dean's hair, longer than he'd ever let it grow before. He kissed Cas, and by now it was both as natural as breathing and as striking as a blue moon. 

Cas's hands traveled from Dean's hair down the nape of his neck and onto his shoulders. "It's early," he mumbled into Dean's lips. Dean shifted to check the clock, 5:32 am, and caught sight of the duffle bags next to their nightstand.

"Big day," he breathed out, propped up on his hands.

Cas donned a half-smile and a twinkle in his eye. "That it is," he said, and flipped them over. Once settled on top, Cas started trailing feather-light kisses along Dean’s jaw and down his neck, stopping to pay special attention to that one spot just under his ear that Cas knew drove him insane. His hands found their way under Dean’s t-shirt, caressing at his hipbones and traveling up his belly, not as solid as it once was. Dean could feel the love, the reverence, in every touch and kiss that Cas, his Cas, laid upon him. It left Dean a total mess. 

Cas slowly found his way back to Dean’s lips, brushing over them with his tongue and seizing the opportunity Dean’s small gasp gave him. He swept over every crevice and corner of Dean’s mouth, once, a fleeting thing, before pulling away. It generated a whimper from the back of Dean’s throat that Cas had the audacity to smirk at.

“I love you,” he said, low and hoarse like a prayer, as he rested his forehead on top of Dean’s, breaths mingling together and eyelashes brushing against each other. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

42. Wow.

“So far?” Dean brought his hands up to grab Cas’s face like he was his lifeboat. “The best.”

Cas kissed him one more time, short and chaste, before dragging them both out of bed to get dressed. They found the others already waiting in the war room with their own bags. Sam and Eileen were still blinking sleep out of their eyes, but Jack had the energy of a golden retriever puppy and was the first out the door.

They stopped for breakfast at the 24-hour diner in town. They were the only lunatics there at 6 in the morning on a Sunday, and Dean made sure to tip that poor waitress well since she had to tolerate their growing rowdiness and excited chatter as they ate and gained their strength. Dean had to admit though, the energy that other townspeople were walking into was fantastic, especially after Cas went and chose some song by The Temptations at the jukebox (yes, there was a goddamn jukebox), prompting Dean to take him dancing around the place as best they could.

By the time they got back to the car, everyone was in great spirits, any and all morning grouchiness long vanished. They joked around and jammed the whole way, two hours passing by in seemingly nothing.

Warm sand and whispering freshwater welcomed Dean like they were created for him. Maybe they were. Maybe Cas made this particular lake. Dean looked ahead at him and Eileen, signing away at each other in between setting up the towels and chairs. So normal, so lively, so overwhelmingly human. The thought of Castiel, a creature of power beyond all mortal comprehension, molding mountains, and valleys, and lakes; it all seemed so foreign to Dean now. He was just Cas, standing there in a t-shirt and swim trunks, feet sinking into the sand, golden-rooted overgrown hair shifting in the wind. And it was all because of him. Cas was there, and Cas was human, for him. It’s something that hit Dean in waves sometimes, knocking the wind out of him and reminding him how absurdly lucky he is.

There was a chilly breeze in the air, the water was freezing, and they had the whole beach to themselves (because, again, lunatics). None of them ever waded too far into the water (pneumonia was still a very real thing), but none of them escaped un-splashed either. 

Dean watched whatever game was being played without him as he came back from the bathroom at one point, Jack sitting on Sam’s shoulders and trying to avoid the water Cas tossed at them. Eileen was sitting on one of their chairs, reapplying sunscreen, and Dean alerted her of his presence with a hand on her shoulder before sitting on the chair next to her.

“So,” she started after a while, handing Dean a water bottle and opening her own. “Forty-two. How does it feel?”

Dean thought about it. He was alive. He was topside. He was at a goddamn beach, watching his kid fall off his brother’s shoulders as his… whatever Cas was, cackled in pure delight. 

“Like a goddamn miracle,” he finally answered, and Eileen nodded. They tapped their bottles together, drank, and it wasn’t long before they were being dragged over to the water by their soaking wet significant others.

Not long before noon, they'd changed into everyday clothes and were walking back to the car, exhausted and starving. Their lunch stop had been picked out days beforehand, a steakhouse in Ellsworth where Dean made sure to mention it was his birthday before paying.

“Why do you need a discount?” Jack asked, once the waiter was out of earshot. “Aren’t our credit cards unlimited?”

“They are,” Dean replied. “We’ve got our Charlie to thank for that.”

Not that they still had her, of course. But Dean liked to thank her anyways.

“I wish I could’ve met her.”

Dean tossed an arm around Jack’s shoulders, ruffling the back of his head in the process. “So do I, kid.”

Dean decided Cas was riding shotgun on the way back to the bunker. Sam, exhausted from having lugged around both Jack and Eileen on his shoulders for a better part of the morning, had no complaints. He fell asleep not long after taking off, Eileen and Jack next to him following suit. 

Dean turned down the pop station playing on the radio and rolled down the windows as he merged into the highway, letting the soft music and the wind rushing past his ears meld into a single background track. That track was sometimes interrupted, enhanced, by Cas humming along to whatever song was playing. Dean didn't recognize a single one, another reminder of how heartwarmingly human Cas was, developing his own taste in music and sharing it with him just as Dean had done for years.

The first time he hummed along, Dean reached over and laid his arm on the back of the seat, running his fingers through the strands at the nape of Cas's neck for a while. The second time, he placed his upturned hand on the seat and didn't have to wait long before Cas's hand snaked its way into it. The third time, Dean couldn't take the whole reaching over thing anymore, and tugged Cas's arm so he'd scoot closer. He planted his hand on Cas's thigh, and Cas rested his own hand on top of it. They stayed like that the whole ride back, only interrupted by Dean bringing Cas's hand up to his lips, or the other way around.

They only stopped for gas about twenty minutes out of Lebanon. They had enough to get home, but Dean hadn't let Baby's tank run empty since he was 25, and damn him, he wasn't going to start at 42.

They had nothing else planned, but Dean had full immunity and control over the day, and as he pulled into the gas station, he decided: movie night. He gave Cas a quick peck before heading inside and picking up some popcorn, M&M's, and licorice. He glanced outside, saw Sam had woken up and was on the phone, and grabbed even more licorice. He couldn't bitch about it today.

Sam hung up as soon as he caught sight of Dean walking back to the car.

"Who was that?" Dean asked.

"Oh. Uhhh… Jody."

"Oh, uh, Jody?"

"Yeah," Sam stammered. "She says happy birthday."

"Huh. Thought maybe she'd call me herself." 

"She's busy, I guess," Sam said, quirking his head like he couldn't help but do when he lied.

"Right."

Dean slumped against the car as he filled the tank, and as Sam climbed back in, Cas climbed out, settling next to him.

"Is Sam lying to me, Cas?" He asked, studying the car wash sign far ahead.

"No, Dean," he heard Cas reply. "That was Jody he was talking to."

"But he is hiding something."

"Dean," Cas beckoned, and Dean turned to meet his eyes. "Trust him," he said, lacing their fingers together. "We wouldn't be devising anything malicious on your birthday." 

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "We?"

Cas simply smiled and said “I love you,” kissing the back of his hand and then returning to the car.

In contrast to how fast two hours went by that morning, those 20 remaining minutes back to the bunker felt eternal. Sam kept texting on his phone, occasionally showing Eileen something on the screen, to which she'd smile and nudge him excitedly. It was driving Dean up the wall the more he watched them through the rearview mirror, and he was about to say something when Cas placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. Patience, his eyes said. Also I love you. Always, constantly, I love you. It calmed Dean down. At least, enough to reach the bunker without peeking at the backseat again.

Dean stepped through the threshold, formulating the movie list for tonight in his head, when-

"SURPRISE!" 

Dean almost startled out of his skin. Streamers, balloons, confetti of every color imaginable, and a war table decked out in snacks awaited him below, along with a sea of faces of some of the best people he knew. Sam stood next to him and patted his back, wearing a proud grin on his stupid face. Dean turned back to find matching smiles on Cas, Eileen, and Jack, so taken aback that he wouldn't have started down the stairs had Jack not pulled him excitedly along.

Claire tackled him in a hug the second he came down the last step. "Now you're old," she said in his ear. 

Dean didn't argue, just mumbled a quiet "yeah, yeah" as he squeezed her, planting a kiss on her hair before she pulled away.

Jody and Donna followed, then the other girls, congratulations and "happy birthday"s left and right. Garth awaited his turn, and Dean made sure to initiate the hug with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. 

Over Garth's shoulder he spotted some faces. They were vaguely familiar, but one in particular was prominent in his memory, one he hadn't seen in far too long and now looked much older than at their last encounter. "Krissy?"

She smiled that cocky, crooked grin of hers. "Happy birthday, dweeb."

"Krissy Chambers, what d'ya know." He engulfed her in a hug, smiling at Aidan and Josephine behind her. "And you're all still together."

"Duh," Krissy scoffed, pulling away. "We're family."

Dean nodded, looking around as Sam, Cas, Eileen, and Jack said hi to everyone. A damn family alright.

And so the evening began. Everyone caught each other up, told some stories. Claire and Kaia were officially together, Krissy and Aidan were very much not. Baby Sam and Castiel were growing up great, and Garth was ecstatic to finally meet his son’s namesake. Donna brought freaking karaoke machine, so in between stuffing their faces with snacks (yes, licorice included, much to Sam’s disgust), everyone would take turns at the mic. Among the highlights: Alex, Patience, and Claire’s Since U Been Gone, Dean, Jody, and Donna’s Bennie and the Jets, Jack and Cas’s Don’t Stop Believing, and of course, a valiant collective effort for Sweet Caroline. Dean spent the night answering the "how does 42 feel" question. Made sure to give a different answer every time. "Like thirty." "Like sixty." "Like hell, and I would know." "Like heaven. Actually no, not that bad." Eileen smiled at him every time, because she knew. Like a miracle.

Dean was almost (almost) tired by the time the pie came around and the incredibly out of tune Happy Birthday chorus began. He was wearing two party hats at that point. Jack placed the pie in front of him, ‘HaPPy B-daY D!’ written in crust on top and Rice Krispy treats framing the plate. Dean sent Jack a knowing smile before reaching over to ruffle his hair in thanks. 

“Make a wish,” Sam said beside him. Dean regarded him for a moment, then Cas at his other side, then Jack and Eileen and Claire and Jody and everyone around the table, all with a soft smile. He blew out the candles.

---

“I would really like to ask you what you wished for, you know?” Cas said later that night, as he sat down next to Dean in their little library nook, everyone else long asleep. “But they say it’s supposedly bad luck to say it out loud. That it won’t come true.”

Dean pressed play on his phone and stood up. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, holding his hand out for Cas to take. Some Harry James piece filled the air as Dean pulled Cas close, studying every shade of blue in his eyes, every wrinkle that surrounded them, the outline of his lips and the shape of his jaw. He turned for a second to look at the party mess everyone promised to help clean up in the morning, then turned back to Cas. He met his lips, soft and deliberately slow, trying to speak volumes without saying a single word. It’s this. It’s you. It’s us. It’s love and family and peace. That’s my wish. That has always been and always will be my wish.

He pulled away and said, “It already came true.”

Cas happily nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean’s neck as they started swaying back and forth. They lost themselves in the music and each other, hands caressing and lips leaving soft kisses wherever they wanted. After who knows how many songs, neither of them could say, Cas mumbled into Dean’s shoulder.

“I love you.”

At long, long last, Dean finally replied.

“I love you too, Cas.”

Cas’s head shot up, and Dean caught only a brief sight of his eyes turning glassy before Cas pressed their lips together again, wanting and caring and so, so incredibly loving. It was as Cas pulled away that it dawned on Dean: he’d never, in his life, felt as happy, as satisfied, as loved as he did on this day.

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

And it was. It definitely was.

[societybabylon]

Across from her, Harry’s eyes glittered dangerously. He looked tired but wild, like there was something lurking under his skin that only revealed itself in the dark.  

It was at that moment that she realized how little she knew him.  

“I remember waking up on that day, the day of your birthday,” Harry said, still cast in darkness. “I remember seeing the tattoo for the first time. I was terrified and angry, but I wondered…what if? What if we didn’t deny the bond?”

Lifelong enemies Allie and Harry are devastated when they learn they are soulmates, so they form a pact to never act on their bond. Unfortunately, fate has other plans for them.

[read on ao3 here]

“Do you want to know your fate?”

Allie watched the old man place a crystal ball on the table in front of him. The bauble was unassuming and slightly dirty. Honestly, Allie wouldn’t have been surprised if it were made of plastic. It, like everything else in the cluttered store, looked cheap and fake. But then again, what did she know about the world of psychics? That’s why she was here, after all: she wanted answers about her future.

It was the day before Allie’s thirteenth birthday, and she was at a fortuneteller’s shop. Her friend Becca had insisted they come here to celebrate her impending soulmate reveal. Perhaps, Becca said, they could get a little insight into who she would be paired with.  

Allie’s world revolved around soulmates. When two people were ideally matched, an unbreakable soul bond tied the pair together. And two rules applied to all soulmates:

First, the bond was manifested in a tattoo. Everybody had their partner’s name written on their body somewhere. These tattoos didn’t require needles or ink; they showed up on their own, as if by magic.

Second, the tattooed names didn’t appear until the thirteenth birthday of the younger person in each couple. On that day, both soulmates would wake up to find themselves marked with their other half’s name.  

Assuming Allie’s soulmate was older than she was, there was only one day left until she learned who she was bonded to.  

Allie gazed at the crystal ball. Behind the fortuneteller, a pink neon sign buzzed an electric tune. The lights cast a dim glow throughout the small store.  

The psychic seemed over-the-top to her, not that she would ever tell Becca that. The man sitting across from her seemed more like a crackpot than a sage. His greasy hair hung in his face, so long that it nearly obscured his eyes. He reeked of licorice and burnt lavender. But they had already paid the man his fee, so they might as well hear what predictions he could conjure up for them.

“Do you want to know your fate?” he repeated. “Once you learn it, you can’t go back.”

“Yes,” Allie said. “I’m ready.”

The fortuneteller muttered a few unintelligible words and stared deeply into the crystal ball. “Hmm...it’s foggy, but some images are starting to come into focus. Ah, yes. I can see it now.”

To Allie, the crystal ball looked exactly as it did before.  

“I see money stained with blood. Tears and white bedsheets. Two bodies, submerged in water. A cellphone is ringing, but no one is picking up.”

“Okay,” Allie tried to figure out how to respond to this prophecy. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but she certainly hadn’t thought he would list such unpleasant images. “But what does that mean?”

“These images foretell rejection and denial. You will learn who your soulmate is tomorrow, but you will be unhappy when you learn who you have been paired with. This bond will confuse you and bring you unhappiness. Yes, I definitely sense rejection and denial.”

Allie was stunned. “Do you see anything else? Like, happiness and love, maybe?”

“I cannot see specifics,” he responded with contempt. “That is not how my gift works.”

Of course the fraud fortuneteller wouldn’t be able to see specifics. She had shelled out good money for him to ruin her day. She protested, “But—”

The man cut her off with a dismissive wave. “Do not disrespect my craft. Just because you demand answers of me doesn’t mean that I’ll give them to you. I only see what the universe shows me.”

Allie glanced back at the crystal ball, which was still maddeningly clear. There were no bloodied dollar bills, no ringing cellphones. The fortuneteller could have invented any story he wanted. He could have reported that he had seen her in a happy relationship and with a successful career. And yet he deliberately chose to give her a bad fortune.  

“You must see something good in the crystal ball, right?” Becca murmured. She had been quietly listening in on the conversation between Allie and the psychic for the last fifteen minutes, mostly content to observe. “I mean, it can’t all be bad.”

“Actually, it can,” the man snapped. “I do not control your future. I merely pass on the messages that the universe sends me.”

“So you’re saying that rejection is my fate, and there’s nothing I can do to change that?” Allie said.

The man nodded eagerly, as if glad that she was finally catching on. “Precisely.”

“And why should I believe that?” Allie usually wasn’t so confrontational, especially with adults, but this fortuneteller was an exception. What did he know about her soulmate? Nothing.

The man scrutinized her frowning face. His lips went thin with irritation. “I think we are done here. I’ve told you what I saw. It’s not my problem if you don’t like the truth.”

Allie nearly scoffed. He read tea leaves and tarot cards for a living. He probably got pleasure out of ruining his customers’ days. Staring into a crystal ball and mumbling about dark visions wasn’t the truth, it was a cruel joke.

At least, she hoped it was a joke. There was a part of her (a part she tried to ignore) that worried that his predictions might come to pass. She pictured the images the man had mentioned—blood, tears, bodies in water—and she saw death. She shivered at the thought.

“Thanks for the crystal ball reading,” Becca cut in before Allie could offend the fortuneteller even more. “Well, we should probably go. My mom’s waiting for us outside.”

The fortuneteller wasn’t even listening. His attention had strayed to a stained, crumpled box of cigarettes that sat by his side. He picked one cigarette from the pack and sparked it with a pink lighter from his pocket.

Allie felt anger on her tongue, ready to be sharpened into spiteful words, but she could see that Becca was anxious to leave. She smothered her fury for her friend’s sake. “Yeah, thanks for the fortune.”

She stood up and walked out of the store with Becca. As the wooden door swung shut behind her, she turned around to give the fortuneteller one last glance. Thick smoke swirled around his head. His eyes were closed as if he had already forgotten that they were there.  

What did a man like that know about her fate?

+

The next day, Allie woke up at five in the morning. She was too giddy to go back to sleep. Despite how horribly the visit to the fortuneteller had gone, she was still excited by the potential of finding out who she was bonded to. She’d been waiting her entire life to see her soulmate’s name tattooed on her.  

She checked her wrists, a common spot for soulmate marks. They were blank. Her arms and legs, too, were bare. In fact, every visible inch of skin was unmarked.

Don’t worry, she reminded herself. It’s probably just hidden under some clothing.

She lifted the edge of her pajama shirt and walked to her mirror to get a closer look at herself. As she scanned over the planes of her stomach and saw more blank skin, she felt growing disappointment. It seemed that she hadn’t gotten her tattoo after all. Her soulmate was probably younger than she was, which meant she would have to wait until his thirteenth birthday to find out who he was.

But then she spotted a scribble of black near her waist. The writing was scrawled across her left hipbone in messy, boyish letters. She bent down to get a closer look at the words.  

Harry Bingham.

She gasped.  

Harry Bingham? No, it wasn’t possible. Harry had been her sister’s sworn enemy since preschool, which meant that by default, she and Harry were also enemies. Almost every time they had a conversation (a misfortune she did her best to avoid), he was arrogant and entitled and cruel.  

“No, no, no,” Allie said to herself. “This can’t be real.”

She paced her room, trying to rationalize why she was paired with Harry. She and Harry were nothing alike. It should have been impossible for them to be soulmates.  

Maybe this was some sort of cosmic joke, or the universe’s revenge for the times she’d been a bad person. Or maybe, while she had been sleeping, her sister decided to write Harry’s name on her as a prank. All those explanations were more logical than the thought that she might actually soulmates with Harry Bingham.

“This can’t be real,” she repeated.

But the ink was underneath her skin. As much as she wished that she could blink and watch the tattoo vanish before her eyes, she knew the mark was permanent. It would stay on her body forever, reminding her of the boy she’d been chained to.

When she took her shower later that morning, Allie tried, in a half-crazed stupor, to wash the name from her body. She scrubbed with her loofa until her skin was raw and red. But Harry’s name was still printed on her hipbone.  

After the shower, Allie dressed hastily, as if covering the mark would mean that it no longer existed. She even considered stealing a bottle of concealer from her sister’s room and smearing the makeup over her hip, but she feared that Cassandra would catch her in the act. Her mind was racing for solutions, and yet she was paralyzed by inaction.  

She curled up on her covers, her hair still damp. She was too stunned to cry. Instead, she just stared at the walls, trying to decode the mess she had landed in.  

By ten, Allie knew she could not hide in her room any longer. She crept downstairs to the kitchen, where her dad was flipping pancakes and humming along to a pop song. Cassandra and her mom were setting the table for breakfast. They had even put out a vase filled with her favorite peonies.  

“Morning, birthday girl,” her mom said.  

“Morning,” Allie replied, faking a grin. Her lower lip trembled from her anxiety.  

“I’m surprised you woke up late,” her dad said. “I remember waking up at the crack of dawn on my thirteenth birthday. I was so anxious I almost got sick. And then it turned out that there wasn’t even a tattoo on me!”  

“Sorry, dad, but even my birthday isn’t enough to get me to wake up early.” Lie. 

“You ready for breakfast?”

“Of course.” Another lie. Truthfully, she was terrified. She knew her family would use breakfast as an opportunity to spring the dreaded question: do you know who your soulmate is?

Her dad plated the golden pancakes and coated them with pats of butter and gooey, sugary syrup. He brought the food to the table, and they all sat down to eat.  

Allie shoved pieces of pancake into her mouth as if she were Joey Chestnut on steroids. She hoped that if her cheeks were stuffed with food, her family would let her eat her breakfast in peace instead of poking her for information.  

Across from Allie, Cassandra was only on her second bite of breakfast. She had cut her pancakes into delicate, precise slices and had taken care to ensure the syrup was evenly distributed. Even when taking sips from her orange juice, she was polished.

Perfect Cassandra, Allie thought. She would never be bound to someone as awful as Harry.  

“I remember my thirteenth birthday,” Allie’s mom said in between bites of pancake, seemingly clueless to the turmoil tearing her daughter apart. “I woke up and saw your dad’s name on the inside of my arm. But I had no clue who he was! Your generation is lucky to have the internet. You can Google your soulmate’s name and immediately find out who they are. We were in the dark about our soulmates until we met them in person.”

“Unless you knew your soulmate before you turned thirteen,” Cassandra pointed out. “Like, if you were paired up with someone that went to elementary school with you. Then you wouldn’t need the internet to help find them.”

Allie almost choked on her juice. That comment was uncomfortably close to her reality.

“I suppose that’s true,” her mom said. “That’s very rare, though. Your dad and I met when we were twenty-two, and we met earlier than most.”

“Well, I think it’s better not to use the internet to find your soulmate,” Cassandra declared. She said this frequently, especially when she was asked why she didn’t have social media. “I think you should meet your soulmate naturally, as you were supposed to.”

“So, Allie,” her mom turned to look at her. “Do you have any news for us yet?”

Allie went red. This conversation felt intensely wrong. Worse than the “sex talk” her parents had given her when she was eight. Although she had never considered it before, she wondered why her family felt like they were entitled to this information about her body and her future. Their society had bought into the idea that everyone should wear their soulmate tattoos like a badge of honor—but shouldn’t people be allowed to keep this information private?  

Allie was ashamed of her mark. She didn’t want to admit that she had been paired with West Ham’s most obnoxious idiot.  

“I don’t have a tattoo yet,” Allie lied, desperately hoping that her family would buy her act. “Guess he must be younger than me.”  

“Oh,” her mom said, clearly a little surprised. Her mom and her dad shared a look. “Well, that’s okay, honey. I’m sure you’ll find out who he is soon enough. Your thirteenth birthday doesn’t have to be all about finding your soulmate. You’re so young! You can worry about that later. Today’s still going to be a great day. ”

Allie almost laughed. Her parents thought she would be upset because she hadn’t gotten her tattoo. If they knew the truth...

“Yeah,” Allie said, grateful that her family didn’t prod further. And then she told her greatest lie of the morning. “I don’t really care about soulmates, anyway.”  

+

After breakfast, while her parents washed the dishes, Allie went back to hiding in her bedroom. She buried her head in the covers of her bed and let her emotions swallow her.

Harry Bingham, she thought again. How on Earth could I have been paired with Harry Bingham? We’re nothing alike.

She startled at the sound of her door swinging open. It was her sister. Cassandra wore a small, close-lipped smile that set Allie’s nerves on fire. Allie realized immediately that despite escaping the breakfast interrogation, she hadn’t escaped her sister.  

Cassandra sat down on the bed.

“You know you can knock, right?” Allie asked sharply.

“Sorry,” Cassandra said, entirely unapologetic. “So, who is it?”  

It was unlike Cassandra to be so upfront. Usually, she was the more reserved one, always telling Allie to calm down or be more patient.  

“It’s nobody. I told you, I didn’t find a tattoo on my body.”

“I know you’re lying,” Cassandra said. “I can hear it in your voice. You can fool mom and dad, but you can’t fool me.”

Anxiety shot through Allie. She thought that her performance at breakfast was Oscar-worthy, but as always, Cassandra saw through her lies. “I don’t want to tell you, okay? It’s none of your business.”

“I told you the second I found out who mine was.” Cassandra emphasized her point by sticking her wrist, which was encircled with blank ink, in Allie’s face.  

Allie could feel her panic growing. Her sister had a point, but Allie couldn’t possibly tell her the truth. How could she?

Allie imagined speaking Harry’s name aloud. She pictured her sister’s reaction, her mouth gaping wide and her eyebrows raised in shock. Cassandra would stutter out a kind response. She would try to make her congratulations sound convincing. Yet no matter what was said, they would both know the truth: Cassandra hated Harry, truly hated him. And that would never change.  

No, Allie could not tell the truth.  

“Just tell me.” Cassandra pushed. “I’m your sister. You can trust me.”

Allie’s eyes filled with stinging tears. “I do trust you, I promise. But I can’t tell you. Please, Cassandra, please just take my word for it. Please.”

Her sister looked bewildered. Allie knew Cassandra had never seen her beg like this before.  

“Fine.” Allie could hear the hurt in her sister’s voice. “You have to tell me one day, though. A soulmate’s not the kind of secret you can hide forever.”

Maybe not, Allie thought. But I can try.

+

When Allie arrived at school the next day, she was determined to corner Harry and confront him about the tattoo.  

As it turned out, she didn’t need to search for him. While she was walking down the hallway, a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her behind the lockers into a tight nook. It was Harry. Anger blazed in his eyes. He held up a cautious finger to his lips, shushing her. “Don’t say a word.”

Allie nodded. He stared at her suspiciously, as if he was worried that she would start screaming.  

“I think you probably know why I wanted to talk. I’m guessing it was your thirteenth birthday yesterday, Pressman. I don’t know what else could explain the tattoo I woke up with. And to think that I thought I would have a soulmate I liked.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. “You probably prayed every night that you would end up with someone like me, huh?”

He was infuriating. She couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to think that she would ever be interested in him.

“You think you’re so special, don’t you?” Allie said. “Harry, you’re pretty much the last person I’d want to be bonded to.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual. You think I want to be part of your shitty family?”  

That was one step too far. She was half considering throwing a punch at him. She could do it if she wanted; in this nook, they were hidden from the eyes of their teachers and classmates.

“You’re an asshole,” she spat.

“Bitch.”

Allie wished she could vaporize him on the spot. How could she have been chained to such a callous jerk?  

She thought of clever retorts she could say to him, insults that would permanently puncture his inflated pride. Though Cassandra was usually in the spotlight for her intelligence, no one could beat Allie’s wit. She could trade barbs with the best.

Allie considered those rumors that she had overheard about his parents’ loveless marriage. Yes, that would be a fertile site for insults.  

She opened her mouth, prepared to escalate the argument. But she stopped herself before she could say anything.  

What good would fighting with Harry do? At the end of the day, she would still have his name written on her hip.  

Looking at him, she found that he, too, appeared to be at a loss for words. Though he still wore an angry sneer, his eyes were sad. It seemed that they both came to the same realization: they could hurl nasty words at each other for hours, but it wouldn’t fix their situation. If they wanted to overcome their bond, they’d have to work together.

“We’re stuck with each other until we die, aren’t we?” Harry let out a deep sigh. His furious mask cracked, and Allie glimpsed genuine misery and anxiety on his face.  

For a moment, neither of them said anything.  

Then, a brilliant thought struck Allie. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. “We don’t have to be stuck with each other. There are plenty of soulmates who reject the bond.”  

“I guess.” Harry scrutinized her. She could tell he was considering her suggestion. “But how would we make sure that we’ve rejected it permanently? I wouldn’t want you falling in love with me five years from now, Pressman.”

Allie rolled her eyes. “Harry, it’s us. There’s literally no way we’re ever going to be friends, much less…well, you know.”

He nodded. “Okay. So what are you thinking?”

In her mind, a plan started to fall into place. A simple, perfect plan. “We both have to promise that we’ll never speak of this…this bond to anyone else. Ever. We have to keep it a secret until the day we die.”

“Like a pact?” Harry asked.  

“Yes, a pact. Except a pact isn’t enough. We have to do more than that. Before we turn twenty, we both have to agree to get our marks covered up.”

Harry seemed much less certain about this suggestion. Covering up soulmate tattoos was technically illegal. Most tattoo artists outright refused to do it, and those who were caught in the act could face up to a year in jail time. Eventually, however, he conceded, “Okay, fine. I can agree to that. But you need to swear on your life that you’re going to get yours covered up, too. This is a two-way street, Pressman. If I’m going to jail, so are you.”

“I swear on my life I’ll...,” Allie paused, considering her words. “You know, I feel like we should have some official pledge or something. For example, I, Allie Pressman, swear on my life that I will never mention that my soulmate is Harry Bingham. I will do everything in my power to keep my tattoo hidden.”  

Harry snorted. “Who do you think you are? The queen? Let’s just shake on it and call it a day.”

Allie glared at him. “Just say the damn words, will you?”

“Fine. I, Harry Bingham, swear on my life that I will never mention my soulmate is Allie Pressman. I will do everything I can to keep my tattoo hidden. Yada yada yada, you get the gist. Can I go now?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were the one who pulled me behind these lockers in the first place.”

“Touché.”

Just like that, it was settled. Their soulmate marks were a secret that they alone would keep. And they would never, ever act on their bond.  

+

For two years after that, neither Harry nor Allie spoke about the curse they shared. They didn’t interact in the hallway or the classroom. They both pretended that the other didn’t exist, and they were both happy with this arrangement.  

While her classmates celebrated their budding relationships or dreamed of the day they met their other half, Allie fantasized about getting a new, large tattoo to cover up the one on her hip. She was fifteen now; there were only a few more years until she could write Harry off as a memory.

Sometimes, she heard murmurs about him in the hallway. Sometimes, it seemed all of West Ham High School wanted to know his soulmate’s identity. Between his looks and his wealth, Harry was considered an ideal match. But no one was ever able to discover whose name was on his body.

Harry was hardly a factor in her life, much less her soulmate. He was a problem that she had solved, and she was content to let him stay that way.  

+

Mid-October during her sophomore year of high school, Allie planned a trip to Manhattan. Her aunt, who lived in Virginia, was having a weekend getaway to the city, and she had invited both Allie and Cassandra to join for the last day of her vacation.  

A week before the trip, Allie reminded Cassandra (who was swamped with homework as always) about their aunt’s visit. “Do you want to come?”

“What day are you going?” her sister replied.

“This Sunday.”

Cassandra frowned. “I can’t. I have to study for a math test that day. My grade is on the edge right now, and if I do poorly on the exam, I’ll get a B+ in the class. I can’t risk it. Trust me, I would go if I could.”

Allie understood. She knew her sister wanted to go to Yale, and she had seen the statistics. The admissions rate was around six percent. Even for the best of students, Yale was a reach. Allie was a bit sad—the city was always more fun with Cassandra by her side—but she wasn’t a child anymore, and she didn’t need her sister to accompany her everywhere.

“It’s no problem,” Allie reassured. “Just let me know if there’s anything that you want me to buy for you while I’m down there.”

+

Allie went to the city alone, bringing only her black purse and her cell phone with her. She arrived at Penn Station in the early morning. Aunt Carly, decked out in her characteristic prints and bold colors, was waiting for her.  

“Allie!” her aunt hollered. Her obnoxiously bright orange-red lip gloss matched the color of her handbag perfectly. “It’s been so long since I last saw you. You look taller—have you grown?”

Allie gave her aunt a tight hug and laughed. “Since August? No, I don’t think so. Same height as always.”

“Any boys?” Her aunt asked with a wink.

Allie’s chest tightened. She hated that question, truly hated it. “Nope, no one yet. But I’m happy being single.”

Luckily, Aunt Carly dropped the subject, and moved on to talking about a list of all the clothes and books and trinkets the two of them would be splurging on throughout the day. There was no budget, it seemed; Aunt Carly acted as though her pockets were bottomless.

They spent the first part of the day shopping on Fifth Avenue and hopping into trendy boutiques. Aunt Carly bought dozens of clothes with dizzyingly high prices. By the time they went to eat lunch, her aunt had seven large shopping bags in her arms. Allie was more frugal; she had bought one bag’s worth of clothes.

After lunch, they spent their time exploring Manhattan. They meandered through the streets, grabbing snacks in between people watching. Allie loved the vibrancy and anonymity of urban life.  Here, she shed the labels that followed her in West Ham.  

After ending the day with burgers and fries at the Shake Shack in Grand Central Station, her aunt prepared to board her train back to Virginia. Her tiny frame was dwarfed by the assortment of large bags and suitcases she carried with her.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay walking back to Penn Station?” Aunt Carly asked. “I wish we had arranged a train for you from here. The walk is so far.”

“I’ll be fine,” Allie promised. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Actually, you know what?” Aunt Carly pulled her green wallet out of her purse and grabbed a couple of twenty-dollar bills from its folds. “I just don’t feel comfortable with you walking all that way. Take this money and take a cab. Please, do it for my peace of mind. I would feel much safer if you did.”

“Okay, I will,” Allie said, knowing full well that she was lying. “Have a safe trip home!”

Allie watched as her aunt took her bags and boarded the train. As soon as Carly was out of sight, she pocketed the money for herself. That money could be useful for another day. And, she thought, there was something kind of peaceful about a solitary night walk.

She left Grand Central and pulled up the directions to Penn Station on her phone. It was dark outside, but the way was straightforward enough, so she put away the phone and let herself fully absorb the city. She was mesmerized by the myriad of people who surrounded her. It was truly electric.

Allie peered into clubs where the night was only beginning, and where men and women knocked back liquor like it was water. She walked by a row of cramped food trucks, where the heavy scent of spices soaked in through her lungs and warmed her to the core. Compared to West Ham, New York City might as well have been another planet—a wondrous, delightful alien world.  

She must have taken a wrong turn, because she realized she had walked halfway down an alleyway she didn’t recognize. The near-omnipresent city crowd had disappeared. The only sounds were the quiet hum of cars on busy streets and the plinking sound of water dripping from a drainpipe onto the street.  

Allie suddenly felt very, very small.

She couldn’t have gone too far from a main street. So she told herself that she shouldn’t be worrying, really. All she had to do was walk through to the other end of the alley. Once she was back on a major road, she could pull out her phone again and check for directions.

Allie walked down the narrow street, thinking, for the first time, that maybe she should have taken that cab after all. In polluted Manhattan, there were no stars to light her way. The drainpipe’s dripping water drummed an eerie rhythm—plink, plink, plink.

Behind her, slow footsteps made squishing sounds on the wet pavement. She glanced over her shoulder quickly. It was a man, tall and blonde, strolling nonchalantly toward her. He seemed to have emerged fully formed from shadow. His eyes traced over her with feigned disinterest, only to light up when he set his sights on her purse and shopping bag.  

She picked up her pace. The footsteps behind her sped up to match her strides.  

That couldn’t be a coincidence. A host of horrible nightmares burst into her head. Assault, murder, robbery...

She needed to walk faster.

Allie started scurrying down the street.  

So did he.  

When Allie glanced over her shoulder again, she could see the man closing in on her. Terrified, she broke into a sprint. But just as before, he mirrored her actions, and from the sound of it, he was a faster runner than she.  

A cold hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her back mid-run. Allie tripped and went tumbling to the ground. The palm of her left hand scraped across gritty gravel, tearing her skin open. Blood oozed out from the cut and dribbled onto the street.

Allie stared up at the man with wide, stunned eyes. He whipped out a black glock from the pocket of his oversized jacket. His hands shook as if he had never pointed a killing weapon at another person before. Up close, he looked young, perhaps only one or two years older than her.  

Adrenaline jolted through her body, waking her up from her dreamy wandering. The pain of her injury receded as she focused on the weapon in front of her. This could be life or death, she realized. She had taken one wrong turn and ended up against the barrel of a gun.

“Give me your bags,” the man demanded.  

“What?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” And indeed, though his hands shook, his voice was calm.

The man jerked his gun in the direction of her purse and shopping bag as if his threat hadn’t been clear enough.  

“Okay, okay,” Allie said in rushed breaths.  

She took off her bags with her wounded hand and held them out to him. She stifled a cry as her purse’s handle bit into her skin. Her blood smeared over the metal, streaking it with red.

In a swift move, he snatched her belongings from her fingers. It amazed her how deftly he could move while still managing to point his gun at her.  

He quickly pulled her wallet out of her purse and rifled through paper bills quickly, including the money that her aunt had given her for a taxi. In the dim light of the alley, she could see her blood glistening on his fingertips, marking up every paper bill he touched.

He shut the wallet with a snap. His eyes darted nervously to each side of the alleyway, presumably checking to ensure no one had seen him rob her.  

“Now, close your eyes and count to thirty,” he ordered. For added intimidation, he waved his gun at her again. “And count slowly.”

Allie nearly whimpered with fear, but did as he said. She let her vision go dark. Without her sight, she couldn’t help but imagine his finger on the trigger, ready to kill her. She wasn’t putting up a fight. It would be an easy crime.  

“One. Two. Three…” she counted.  

But the shot never came. She heard the muffled thunk of fabric meeting heavy plastic, and then the squish of his feet as he sprinted down the alleyway. In seconds, she could no longer hear him at all. The city had swallowed him up. She was alone again.  

Allie opened her eyes and slowly rose from the ground. She winced as she plucked jagged pieces of gravel from her hands. She could still feel cold fear curling in her chest, although that emotion was quickly being replaced by the panicked realization that she had just lost her money and her ticket back home.

She was lucky about one thing: he hadn’t asked her to empty her pockets. Her phone was still tucked snuggly in the back pocket of her jeans.

+

Allie dialed Cassandra’s number. It was past midnight, so there was a high likelihood that her sister would already be asleep, especially since she had a test the next day. Her parents, notorious for going to bed early, would certainly already have dozed off.  

The line rang and rang, but Cassandra didn’t pick up. Then: Hi, you’ve reached Cassandra Pressman. Leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.

Since her sister’s phone had gone straight to voicemail, she would have to rely on someone else. She went through her contact list one by one, praying that at least one of her friends would pick up. Will, Becca, Gordie, Bean: none of them answered her calls.

The blood on her left hand had started to clot. Her cell was rapidly running out of battery. She needed someone to pick up.  

She scrolled through her contacts again, calling people she barely knew. She even called Elle Tomkins, who she had spoken maybe a total of three words to. Over and over, she was met with disappointment when no one picked up.

Allie was quickly running out of options when she came across a person she had tried to push to the corners of her mind. Her finger hovered over his name in her contact list. 

Harry Bingham.  

It seemed wrong to call him. Wrong, when he was constantly at Cassandra’s throat. Wrong, when they had done everything possible to ignore each other since she turned thirteen.  

You know what? Allie thought to herself. Fuck it.  

Before she could stop herself, she called him.  

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Hey. It’s Allie.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s the twenty-first century. I have caller I.D. What do you want?”

Ugh. Though his rudeness was no surprise, it still irked her. But at this point, it seemed like he was her only hope, so she tried to suppress her irritation. “Can I ask you a favor? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I have no one else to turn to and I’m scared and I don’t know what else to do.”

“Shit, Allie. Just spit it out.”

“I’m stuck in New York City. A man mugged me and took all my money and my ticket back home. I wouldn’t have called you, except I’ve already tried my family and all my friends. Can you come get me?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. In her head, she pictured him lying in bed, half-asleep and sneering at her. She imagined that he was hovering his finger over the red button on his phone, ready to end the call at any moment. Knowing Harry, he would probably hang up on her and go right back to sleep, and in the morning he’d forget that she’d ever called him.  

“Hello?” she said, breaking the silence. “Harry? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.” He sighed. “You’re going to owe me for this, Pressman.”

Relief rushed over her. “So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, I will. Might be a couple of hours before I can get to you, though. I’m going to have to take an Amtrak or something, because my dad will get pissed if I start racking up miles on my car.” The trains from West Ham to Penn Station took an hour and a half minimum, and since fewer trains ran at night, the next train to the city probably wouldn’t be for a while. “Do you have somewhere safe to stay until then?”

“Um, I was just planning on waiting around at the train station.”

“Jesus Christ.” He cursed under his breath. “You so owe me for this. Alright, walk to the Waterwhite Hotel. It’s only two blocks from the station. Tell the person at the front desk that you’re a friend of the Bingham family. They’ll let you wait in the lobby until I show up.”

A cool rush of relief flooded her. “Harry? Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it. Like, seriously. Don’t mention this to anyone.”  

+

Harry arrived at the Waterwhite a little over two hours later. His shirt was rumpled and he looked like he desperately needed two shots of espresso. Allie had never seen him look so disheveled. He must have come immediately after she called him.  

Allie was waiting for him on a modern, dark blue couch in the hotel lobby. She watched as he walked over to the tall brunette working the reception desk. He smiled and said something to the woman. Her previously bored expression turned happy, and she pointed to where Allie was sitting. Allie could see him thanking her with one of his classic Bingham smiles before walking over to where she was waiting. Even bedraggled, he still somehow managed to charm.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. If he noticed her state of distress—her grimy shoes, her still-bloody hand, her tired red eyes—he did not comment on it.  

She nodded. “Thank you, again, Harry. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”  

He didn’t respond. They walked to the train station in near silence. The clacking of her shoes on the pavement was the only sound either of them made on the way there.

When they reached Penn Station, Harry paid for her Amtrak ticket back to West Ham in cash. This, too, was a near-wordless exchange. She thanked him. He merely grunted in response.

After waiting for thirty minutes, their train arrived. Unlike most trains out of the city, this one was near empty, occupied only by sleep-deprived workers commuting to their morning shift and a few odd stragglers.

Allie slid into a seat near the front of a car. Rather than sliding into the seat next to her, Harry spread himself out on the row of seats across from her. He rested his back against the window, stretched his legs across the seats, and let his feet dangle into the aisle.

Allie pulled out her phone to check the time. 3:23 a.m. was etched in glowing lights.  

The train rolled to a start. Harry closed his eyes and slouched in his seat as if he hoped to resume the sleep he had been enjoying before she had called. When he stretched his arms behind his head, his shirt rose to expose a sliver of skin by his hip.  

She could see the start of her name, inked on him in her penmanship. Allie Pressman. She had never seen it before. It pained her to look at it, although there was an almost beautiful quality to the tattoo. Unlike tattoos done by hand, a soulmate mark would never fade or need touch-ups.

He dropped his arms. The tattoo vanished under a cascade of black fabric.  

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” He was looking at her with half-shut eyes. So, he’d caught her staring after all.

Maybe it was sheer curiosity, or maybe her tiredness had made her weak, but she wanted to see those words on his skin.  

Without responding, Allie lifted the edge of her top and nudged down one side of her jeans so that his name was fully revealed. The tattoo was the same as always, stark black ink against pale skin. It felt strange to have her mark exposed to the world. No one had ever seen it but her.  

Harry followed her lead. He lifted the edge of his shirt, showing his tattoo to her once more. This time, she could see the entirety of her signature, like a claiming brand on a boy who despised her.  

They sat in silence, examining each other’s inked skin with fascination.  

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Seeing your name on someone else’s body,” she said.

“Yeah, very weird.” Harry tore his eyes away from her skin. Then, with a wry smirk, he said, “Almost as weird as having to cross state lines at three in the morning to pick up your enemy’s little sister.”

“Why did you help me?” she asked, genuinely curious.  

He looked surprised at her question. “Allie, I know what you and your sister think of me, but I’m not a bad person. I wasn’t going to leave you stranded in New York.”

Allie didn’t quite know what to say to that. Harry was right—she and Cassandra thought he was all West Ham’s worst traits distilled into one human being. Could it really be that after years of hating him, he was worth redeeming?

The train swayed hypnotically on the tracks. The cabin was quiet except for a man snoring three rows away from them. She and Harry stared at each other silently, truly seeing each other for the first time.  

He seemed different in this setting, she noticed. Away from his callous friends and his detached parents, he seemed lost and sad and beautiful and kind.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” she finally said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? And what exactly do you think of me? I know you don’t like me, so don’t even try to deny it.”

Allie rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t know, Harry. I think you’re richer than I’ll ever be. I think you’re smart but overconfident. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t think about you much at all.”

Harry smiled at her. Had she ever gotten a genuine smile from him before? She didn’t think so. She was used to his cold glares and bitter frowns, so this unfamiliar expression sent a shock of warmth through her.  

“Don’t think about me at all, huh?” he said. “I’m hurt. Here I was, thinking I’d been in your dreams since thirteen.”

“Haunting my nightmares, maybe,” she retorted.  

“Ouch.” He turned away from her to look out the window.  

Guilt flared up in Allie, although she wasn’t quite sure why. “As if you care what I think of you.”

He turned back to face her. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Why would you think I don’t care?” He sounded surprisingly genuine, completely dropping the teasing tone he’d previously used with her.  

Allie suddenly felt anxious. She was trapped on a train with Harry Bingham, and he kept subverting her expectations. Without the judgment of West Ham hanging over her head, she didn’t know how to behave around him.  

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I think that because of a conversation from many years ago, when we both agreed to pretend that there was nothing between us.”

The train’s fluorescent lights flickered out above them. For a moment, they were plunged into the dark. The only light was the blue glow of the city outside, which bounced brilliantly off Allie’s white sneakers.  

Across from her, Harry’s eyes glittered dangerously. He looked tired but wild, like there was something lurking under his skin that only revealed itself in the dark.  

It was at that moment that she realized how little she knew him.  

“I remember waking up on that day, the day of your birthday,” Harry said, still cast in darkness. “I remember seeing the tattoo for the first time. I was terrified and angry, but I wondered…what if? What if we didn’t deny the bond?”

Allie could feel her whole body tense up with renewed stress. She was grateful that the lights had gone out—hopefully, he couldn’t see her blushing.  

Why was he divulging this to her?

Harry laughed. The sound was sharp. When he spoke again, his voice was newly guarded. “I never wanted to be bonded with you. I still don’t. But when I look at the ink on my skin, I think of you. Always. So yes, Pressman, I do care what you think of me.”

The train’s lights startled back on. In the full light, Harry studied her for one more moment. His gaze was so intense it felt like it was burning her. She searched for the words to respond to him, but they kept getting stuck on the way to her tongue.  

Before she could come up with anything, he pulled a pair of earbuds from his pocket and shoved them in his ears. He closed his eyes, too, blocking out the sight of her. And just like that, he was back to ignoring her.

+

They arrived at the West Ham train station at five in the morning. The sun had not yet risen, and the dark sky was speckled with tiny stars. Just a short train ride had separated her from the everlasting citylight of New York. Her shopping spree and mugging almost felt as if they were figments of her imagination, although her scraped hands and the missing weight of her purse were painful reminders that the past twenty-four hours had been real.  

“Need a ride home?” Harry asked.  

“If you don’t mind.” She felt guilty for asking so much of him. She hadn’t even expected him to answer her call, and he had ended up coming all the way to New York to get her.  

“It’s whatever,” he said. He rubbed his tired eyes and took out the keys to his Maserati.  

Harry had parked next to the station. They got into the car like phantoms, sucked of all their energy.

Five minutes later, they turned onto Allie’s street. Harry made sure to pull over three houses before hers. That way, her family wouldn’t hear the purr of his engine or see her coming from his car.

“This is just between you and me, right?” Allie asked. “Just like before?”

Harry jerked his chin in response—a drowsy, clumsy attempt at a nod, she assumed. After a beat, he said, “Right. Just like before.”

There was nothing left for her to say to him. So she just said thanks, and then she exited the car.  

He zoomed off the second her door shut behind her. As she watched the silhouette of his Maserati drive out of sight, she was struck once more by what a wild night it had been. She had been saved by her worst enemy. She had sat by him on an old train and in a luxury vehicle. She had shown her mark to him. How out of character—perhaps she had been seized by a bout of insanity after she was mugged.  

She was thankful for his help. She was also ready to go back to forgetting that Harry even existed. With any luck, their relationship would return to the exact state it had been in before: nonexistent.  

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

YO YO yo so I just got a fucking hilarious idea. What if Blake's eyes are reflective? And like one night Yang gets up to get a midnight snack and when she gets back to bed Blake is sitting up and looking at her and Yang sees just this floating yellow orbs and absolutely flips her shit.

Pfft. I had to write this one.

Also a little nod to my headcanons about the girls’ favourite snacks; Yang loves salt and vinegar chips and Blake hates them because they taste like pain. Blake loses her shit for chocolate covered licorice bullets while Yang thinks that they taste like death.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Yang hummed happily as she entered her Beacon dorm, her two bags of salt and vinegar chips in hand. She had been pleased to find that the nearest vending machine still had a couple of them left.

‘Nice and quiet now, Yang.’ She thought to herself, not wanting to disturb her teammates. But alas, as she turned around from shutting the door, she saw it. Two glowing, golden orbs floating in the darkness, right above where Blake slept. Something was in the room with them, possibly about to hurt her partner. She quickly threw both bags of chips at it in hopes of distracting it… only to hear a feminine voice yelp in surprise. Wait… that almost sounded like…

“Yang!” The golden orbs hissed as they narrowed dangerously at her. “What the hell?! “

“Blake?!”

“Yes, Blake!” Blake whisper shouted, as Yang grabbed her scroll and shined it’s light on a now very pissed off looking Blake. “You just threw chips at me!”

“I thought that something was about to attack you! I was defending you!” Yang whispered indignantly as she moved over to Blake and sat on the edge of her bed, her heart rate still incredibly fast. “God. I just saw two glowing golden orbs and freaked out.”

“I’m a faunus, Yang. Specifically, a cat faunus. Our eyes tend to glow in the dark.” Blake huffed, her ears flat in agitation as she glared at Yang. Her hair was ruffled from sleep, the fur on her ears looked scruffier than normal and mildly appeared to be contemplating murder...

... so why the hell did Yang think that she looked so goddamn adorable?

“Well, it was terrifying.”

“Oh. My apologies for inconveniencing you. Truly.” Blake drawled sarcastically as she threw one of the bags at Yang, making her fumble with it for a moment.

“Hey!”

“Oh shut up.” Blake snorted, rolling her eyes and throwing the second and last bag of chips. “You literally threw them at me with all of your strength. You can handle me gently tossing them to you.”

“It wasn’t that bad…”

“Yang. You are basically goddamn tank.” Blake stared at her incredulously. “Seriously, you’re built like a brick outhouse. I honestly think that I’m concussed.”

“A little dramatic but... Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Yang sighed, smiling apologetically. “I thought that I was taking aim at… well. I don’t know. But if I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have thrown them. Did… did I actually hurt you?” She added in concern, fighting back the urge to brush Blake hair back from her face and check for injuries. She had seen Blake flinch away from physical contact multiple times now and that was just from a simple hand on a shoulder. She suspected that a hand coming towards her face might get the best reaction from Blake, even if it was from a worried friend. She still remembered how badly Blake had recoiled from her when she threw her arm around her shoulders the first time.

“No, no.” Blake muttered rolling her eyes again, this time with a small smile gracing her lips. “Just my pride.”

“Would a bag of chips help th-“

“Absolutely not.” Blake made a face. “Eating salt and vinegar chips is like eating the food embodiment of pain. No, thank you.”

“Then what snack do you like?”

“Chocolate covered licorice bullets.”

“Ew. Those things taste like death.” Yang scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Ugh. I knew that there had to be something about you I didn’t like. You’re, like, too perfect.”

“E-Excuse me?” Blake’s brows shot up to her hairline, her ears going rigid as her eyes widened in shock.

“Yeah!” Yang grinned at the flush that covered her friend’s cheeks. It didn’t happen often (usually it was Blake making Yang blush) but she always enjoyed it when it did. “You’re like a ninja or a samurai! You’re good at everything! I’d be pretty annoyed if you weren’t my partner. Huh. I guess that I got pretty lucky with you, huh?”

“Luck… isn’t the word I’d use.” Blake mumbled, fidgeting with her blanket nervously, a start contrast to the girl that so many others saw as distant and even apathetic. Yang had heard what people said about Blake. That she didn’t care. That she was bland or boring. Reserved. Hell, she’d heard somebody call Blake a stick up bitch at one point. Yang had almost lost her temper at that one.

But Yang could tell that that couldn’t be further from the truth. Blake cared so much. She just didn’t feel comfortable showing it yet. She was fiery and determined and always ready for an adventure with Yang, more so than anyone Yang had ever met. And that’s without mentioning that Blake never stood down from a challenge. There was so much more to Blake than met the eye. But people judged her based on their first meeting of her and forced her into a box. Maybe that’s why Yang got on so well with her. She knew what that was like.

“I would.” Yang smiled as she prepared to jump up to her bed. “Goodnight, Blake.”

“… Goodnight, Yang.” Blake said softly, smiling gently up at Yang.

There was still so much to learn about Blake. About her culture (Yang knew that she still had a lot to learn about the faunus and how to be a good ally), about her as a person and about how they work together as partners and friends.

And honestly? Yang couldn’t wait.

[radioheadyaoi]

@pope-obx i mentioned my “award winning story” you’re in a car with a beautiful girl (that’s a joke, it won one thing) and you said you didn’t want anyone to take my idea but my name was already in the city newspaper and you can see it online so i decided to share it anyways!  (please ignore any typos)

you’re in a car with a beautiful girl you're in love with her. you're in love with her so much, it makes your heart ache to think about how she doesn't love you back. The way your mind fills with galaxies she's created and she'll never know.

you're in love with the girl who wears pink sweaters with white jeans, who will only chew grape bubblegum, whose lips taste like the thousands of cotton candy lollipops she sucks on in class instead of taking notes, who puts mayo and relish on her burgers instead of ketchup and mustard like everyone else.

she's a million mysteries wrapped up in a neat little package with chalk on her knees and smudged mascara around her tired eyes that light up only for you and you're in love with every single one.

her cherry perfume fills up the little spaces between you and her, but somehow, it will never be enough to cover all the cracks and bruises she leaves.

you love her. but she doesn't love you.

every 'i love you' that floats from her cotton candy lips followed by a laughter so sweet, you can taste the candy its created.

but it leaves a bitter after taste.

because she'll never love you the way you love her, if she ever loved you at all.

but you're too caught up in her blonde ponytail and her glittering eyes and her soft smile that stretches all the way to the pearls in her ears. too caught up to notice that she's never loved you and that she's only ever said she did when she had drank too much, let the poison fill up her body and make her feel warm and safe inside. and then she stares into space and giggles out words that should taste like green apples and the cinnamon bread your mom makes and the cherry pie with whipped cream at the diner and the mint chocolate chip ice cream that's been sitting in a freezer a bit too long coming out. instead, it tastes like stale black licorice sticks that can be found at the back of a dusty cupboard and over baked cakes that are burnt on the bottom, like lies and dirty secrets.

"i love you"

she whispers into the starry night as the moon shines down through the windows of your car, just loud enough to be heard over the radio but if you hadn't been listening, you wouldn't have heard it.

the thing is, she never loved you. she's lying to you, she's lying to herself. she thinks that love will fill the void that holds sadness and tears and anger and pain, that someone's love can take it all out, put a bandaid on and make it all better.

she doesn't love you, she never has and she doesn't think she ever will. she just wants something beautiful to take her by the hand and lead her down the crazy road called life. but you can't give her that, you know it, she knows it. but you can't let go, so you cling tighter to the girl next door and hope that all these midnight nightmares will be replaced by daytime dreams.

but it hasn't, and your candyland fantasy is coming to an end, quicker than you had ever thought.

she doesn't love you, you know that, she knows that.

all good things must end, but she's the best thing that's ever happened to you, but you can't let go, you don't want to let you.

you want her to love you, even though you know she won't.

but with those three words, hope fills you up like pacific waves crashing on a sandy beach and filling all the craters left by little kids from playing games.

that's all it is: a game. a game guided by self destruct and blindness, and people fooled by love and pain, by bubblegum lollipops and pink lip gloss and grape bubblegum and the comics you bought for her that she never picked up or flipped through.

it's a game played by broken angels with no wings that just need a way to be okay and find a way home.

find a way home without you.

she doesn't love you, she never has.

and you know that now. you can't ignore the lips covered in lip gloss and grape bubblegum, all you can do is let her go.

no matter how much it hurts.

[kiwi-stan]

Southern Belle Part 2

Read part 1 here

“Okay,” Eve said, stalling for time as she thought. “Celebrity crush?” 

“Currently?” Harry asked. They were lying on the floor in his living room, both staring up at the ceiling fan and trying to stay as still as possible. It was the beginning of July and the summer days were just getting hotter. Eve had never known that the guest house didn’t have air conditioning, but since she’d been spending the last few weeks sneaking out after dinner to meet Harry, she’d decided that she would try to convince her father to renovate. She had no idea how he managed to sleep in the heat. 

After their night at the pool-or neg-gate as Harry had started calling it-Eve had been on a strict diet that cut out almost any sugar and carbs. She’s lasted about 36 hours before she was banging on Harry’s door and begging him for any sugary snack he had on hand. He’d invited her in and they’d been spending almost every night for the past two weeks hanging out. Eve knew her parents would flip if they knew she was sneaking into a boy’s room late at night, especially since that boy was their gardener, even though what they were doing was strictly platonic. They played twenty questions (with Twinkie as their safe word if a question was too edgy to answer), watched TV and movies (Harry had tried to introduce Eve to baseball but she hadn’t really liked it), listened to music (he considered it a tragedy that she only knew top 40 songs and had made it his mission to introduce her to pop-punk) and sometimes played card games. 

“Yeah. Right now.” Eve said. She waited impatiently for his response. She was waiting to see if he would name someone she somewhat resembled. After the tame cheek kiss that night at the pool, she’d been waiting for Harry to make another move. He hadn’t. Eve had been trying to drop hints that she was into him, but he seemed totally clueless. She’d developed a new tactic, using their games of twenty questions to try to determine if he were into her. 

“Mila Kunis.” Harry said quickly, like he hadn’t even needed to think about it. Eve considered that. They didn’t look much alike. But did that really mean anything, though? She was so distracted she almost missed him throwing the question back at her. “Yours?” 

“Jake Gyllenhaal.” 

“Wanna play again?” Harry asked. That had been her twentieth question. 

Eve sat up enough to glance at the digital clock on the end table. It was nearing two am. She had to be up at six for yoga with her mother and she wanted to be at least somewhat well rested for that. She had no idea how Harry was working all day doing manual labor with long nights like these, though she expected Red Bull had something to do with it. 

“I should probably go.” Even as she said this she pulled another Twizzler from the package lying between them. “I’m going shopping with my mother tomorrow and I’ll need my energy for that.” 

Harry sat up too so he could look her in the eyes. “Shopping for what?” 

“There’s this huge banquet at the end of the summer that we all have to go to. I don’t know if you’ve heard anyone else talk about it.” 

“I think Tim said something about it.” He said, naming the family’s driver. “The Summer Splash?” 

Eve nodded. “Yeah. It’s crazy fancy. We’re going to look for a dress. Or a gown really. It’ll probably have to be altered, which is why we’re going now,” 

“You can’t wear something you already have?”

“You know Queen Steph won’t let me be seen in something I’ve already worn.” Eve couldn’t believe she’d gone 19 years without hearing the nickname the staff used for her mother. Harry had mentioned it to her one night and she’d picked it up too. It was fitting. She sighed and shoved the last of the licorice in her mouth. “I’d much rather do that though. Shopping with her is going to be torture.” 

Harry’s expression softened. He’d overheard two more Montgomery family dinners since that first one, so he knew the put-downs Eve faced from her family were common. He still hadn’t gotten over what he’d heard that first night. “I’m sorry.”

Even got to her feet. “It’s okay. I can handle it. I should go now though.” 

“Come see me tomorrow? I have some cinnamon rolls I’ve been saving for a bad day.” 

Eve smiled. “Of course.” She wanted to say something flirty like “it’s a date” but didn’t. At times like these she cursed her lack of experience around guys. Instead she left the guesthouse and silently slipped back into her room. 

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

Eve was already cranky by the time Tim pulled up outside Blossom, her mother’s favorite boutique in the area. She’d woken up to find that her mother had laid out clothes for her like she was five years old and had been even more annoyed when she walked downstairs and found that her outfit was a replica of her mother’s, head-to-toe Lululemon. Her mother had tugged Eve’s hair into a tight ponytail, deeming the braid she’d done herself “too boho”. Eve had rolled her eyes at that, earning herself a lecture that lasted the entire drive to the yoga studio. After an hour of both her mother and the instructor correcting her form, her mother had tugged her into the dressing room (not locker room) and told Eve to put on makeup. 

“Why? Aren’t we just going home?” Eve had asked. 

“No, Evelyn, we’re going dress shopping for the Summer Splash.” 

“Mom, it’s only eight. All the stores in town don’t open for hours.” Eve had pointed out. 

“Audrey is opening early for us. Hurry up. I told her we’d be there at 8:30.” 

Eve wracked her brain as Tim found a parking spot and pulled open the passenger door for her mother. Audrey was one of her mother’s best friends even though both women had volatile personalities and they frequently fought. Eve was trying to remember if she’d heard her mother say anything indicating what kind of ground they were on lately, though she’d been spending so little time around her mother lately she felt like she didn’t really know anything about her mother’s life. As Tim pulled her door open and escorted her out of the car, Eve decided to take the fact that her mother was patronizing Audrey’s store as a good sign. 

“Don’t stare at Audrey’s lips.” Her mother murmured as they approached the store. 

“What?” Eve wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. 

“Don’t stare at Audrey’s lips,” Her mother said a bit louder. “She got them done again and they don’t look good.” 

Eve’s mother tugged the door open, making the bells attached to the handle rattle. Eve was immediately assaulted by the smell of potpourri and the color pink. The last time Eve had been in the store, it had been decorated with white and classy neutrals. Audrey had redecorated and now everything was pink. Eve watched her mother frown as she surveyed the store, already knowing that her mother thought the pink was too juvenile (she’d forced Eve to repaint her pink bedroom to a light blue once she turned twelve, claiming that pink was for little girls). Though Eve figured the decor didn’t really matter. Audrey’s husband was almost as rich as Eve’s father and the store was really a hobby for it. It could operate in the red for years-which now that Eve thought about it, it probably did given that it had limited hours and insanely high prices-and Audrey would be just fine. 

A squeal came from by the register. “Steph!” Audrey came rushing over as fast as she could in her impossibly high heels. “You look as gorgeous as ever.” She continued, embracing Eve’s mother. They did the European kiss on both cheeks that Eve thought was incredibly phony. 

Audrey turned her attention to Eve.  “Evelyn, you look lovely as well.” Eve didn’t feel lovely, but she accepted the compliment anyway and surveyed Audrey so she could return the compliment. Audrey and her mother could be sisters, they shared the same light blond hair, tiny frame, and bright blue eyes. However, Audrey had a tendency to overdo it with her hair, makeup, accessories, and cosmetic procedures (Eve realized that her mother was right and Audrey’s lips were way too big). “Thank you. I love your dress.” She said finally. Audrey’s white lace sundress was the only thing not completely overwhelming about her appearance. Eve’s mother nodded next to her, satisfied with the compliment. 

“Anyway, y’all can come on back. I’ve pulled some things already and I’ve got you set up in a room.” Audrey led them to the dressing rooms along the back wall. Eve bristled. Audrey’s taste was questionable at best. 

Her mother didn’t seem happy either. “I was hoping to look around myself.” Eve noticed there was no mention of her picking out her own dress. Between that and her mother laying out her outfit and styling her hair that morning, she was starting to feel like her mother’s dress up doll. 

“And you can do that too!” Audrey said quickly. “How about you do that while Evelyn starts trying things on?” 

“Alright, but I want to see everything.” Eve’s mother gave her a pointed look before walking off. 

“You’re still a two right?” Audrey asked, pushing Eve into one of the dressing rooms. 

“Yes ma’am.” Thanks to Harry continuing to provide snacks, Eve knew her diet wasn’t working quite as well as her mother had hoped. However, she still hadn’t gone up a dress size, which she knew would probably send her mother into shock. 

“Great. Let me know if you need help getting into anything. I’ll be just outside.” Audrey closed the curtain behind her, leaving Eve alone in the dressing room. Blossom’s dressing rooms were the size of the kitchen in the guesthouse.  A mirror took up the entirety of one wall, like in a dance studio. A rolling clothing rack with several dresses on it was pressed up against another wall. A couch just as nice as the one in the Montgomery family living room was the final piece of furniture in the room. Eve spent a few minutes looking through the dresses on the rack, finding only one that she liked. She decided to save that one for last and started with her least favorite, a white dress with a sweetheart neckline and a skirt full of flowers that looked more like a wedding dress than anything else. 

Eve managed to wiggle into the dress without any help and emerged from the dressing room to find Audrey waiting for her. Audrey gave another high pitched squeal. “Steph! Come see how cute she looks.” 

Eve waited for her mother to make her way back to the dressing room. Her mother frowned the second she saw her. “Evelyn, put your hair up. None of these gowns will look good with a ponytail.” She waited as Eve rushed to put her hair in the best bun she could manage. “That looks like a wedding dress.” Eve cringed at the fact that she and her mother shared an opinion on something. “Try something else.” Her mother went on. 

Eve obediently went into the dressing room and tugged on the next option, a lavender dress that she knew would clash with her hair. A glance in the mirror confirmed this. The look on her mother’s face further confirmed this. “Evelyn, that looks awful with your hair. Try something else.” Eve went back into the dressing room, closing the curtain behind her, but she could still hear her mother talking. “That wouldn’t look so bad if she’d bleach that awful red hair of hers.” Eve moved further away from the curtain. For all the luxury in the store Audrey couldn’t afford real doors? 

Eve tried on the last of the ugly dresses, a green dress with a corset style top that Eve definitely didn’t have the figure to fill out. She didn’t even want to show her mother, but she stepped out of the dressing room again. Her mother’s frown deepened. “Evelyn, you don’t have the body for that dress. I saw one I liked. Let me go get it.” As her mother walked away, Eve entered the dressing room again. She was pulled on the only dress she liked, a simple black dress with a halter neck and a low back. It fit like a glove. Eve spun around in the mirror a few times, loving how she looked and feeling confident. She liked how the low back made her look taller, how the tight fit of the top and the skirt emphasized her figure, and how the black color complimented her hair and eyes. She heard the bells on the door jingle, followed by a sequel from Audrey. 

Eve stepped out of the dressing room to find her mother standing there alone, a blue dress in her hands, her hands gripping the hanger so tight Eve was worried the plastic might snap in her hands. 

Audrey was standing at the entrance, greeting another blonde woman with a double cheek kiss. When Audrey stepped back, Eve realized why her mother was so mad. Karen Walcott, her mother’s main social rival had just entered the store, her daughter Andrea on her heels. Eve felt herself growing tense as well. She and Andrea had never gotten along in high school, and since her mother and Karen had been rivals for years, Eve knew time didn’t exactly heal all wounds. Eve didn’t know the exact origins of the rivalry, only that it had been long and seemed to have no end it sight. They’d probably still be feuding in the nursing home. 

“Stephanie,” Karen began, stepping toward Eve her mother. “Lovely to see you. You look lovely. Black is very slimming.” Eve felt her mother bristle, recognizing the subtle way bored, rich housewives fought. “And Evelyn, you’re looking lovely too. You stayed here for school, isn’t that right?” 

Eve recognized the implication, that she hadn’t been smart enough to get into an out of state school and that her parents couldn’t afford to send her to one. Her mother slid an arm around her, the gesture making Eve jump. It had been forever since her mother touched her with any sort of affection. “You look lovely as well. Though I’m surprised to see you. Audrey assured me I would have the store to myself,” Eve caught the death glare her mother shot Audrey and had a feeling they would soon be on the outs again. “Evelyn is at Barnard actually. How about Andy?” She continued, using the nickname she was well aware that no one had used for Andrea since she was about six. 

Andrea smiled sweetly. “I go by Andrea now ma’am. And I’m at Bryn Mawr.” 

“4.0.” Karen jumped in. “You aren’t worried about Evelyn all alone in that big city?” 

Eve felt her mother’s manicured fingernails dig into her shoulder and knew she was mad she couldn’t throw Eve’s academic achievements back. Eve wanted to squirm to get away but knew her mother would be livid. “Not at all. She’s very responsible.” 

“I felt very safe, Mrs. Walcott.” Eve added. 

“Is that your dress for the Summer Splash?” Andrea asked. “It’s great you have the confidence for something like that with your body.” 

A comment like that from her mother stung, but Eve could handle it, like a bee sting. A comment like that from someone else, someone her own age, felt worse, like being attacked by a swarm of killer bees. Her mother looked over at her for the first time. “You’re right, Andy. This dress won’t work for Evelyn. She gained some weight at school and hasn’t lost it yet.” 

“Really? Andrea is the exact same size as when she left.” Karen mused. 

It was on the tip of Evelyn’s tongue to tell her that Andrea had almost gained a lot of weight this year thanks to a pregnancy scare with her high school boyfriend toward the end of senior year, but she was too shocked to do so. As bad as she could be in private, her mother was usually nicer to her in public. Being around other people was like wearing a suit of armor. She had no idea why this interaction was bringing out this side of her mother. 

Eve’s mother said something about how that had best keep shopping, took her wrist, and tugged her away. Hard. “Try this on and let’s go. I’m going to kill Audrey.” She said, shoving the blue dress into Eve’s hands. 

“But mom, I think-” 

“Don’t argue.” Her mother pushed her none too gently into the fitting room. 

With a last longing look at herself in the black dress, Eve took it off and pulled the blue dress instead. She hated it instantly. There was no real shape to it at all, the top resembling a mumu and the bottom resembling the poofy prom dress that she’d hated but had also been forced on her by her mother. Her mother really thought she needed to be hidden away like this? 

Knowing her mother expected to see her in the dress, she emerged from the dressing room. Her mother smiled for the first time all day. “Wonderful! We’ll take it.” She directed the last part of the sentence toward Audrey, though she didn’t make eye contact. 

“But mom-” 

“Don’t try to argue with me.” It was quiet, a warning. 

“You do look darling.” Another voice said. Eve turned to see Karen waiting outside the next fitting room. Though there were six, Audrey had set the two girls up in adjoining rooms. Her mother was going to be furious with Audrey. “Just like you did for prom.” Eve noticed the backhanded compliment, but her mother didn’t seem to. 

The curtain to the other dressing room flew open and Andrea emerged, looking stunning in a fitted white dress not unlike Eve’s favorite black look. Karen immediately started fussing over her, heaping more compliments on her in two minutes than Eve had heard from her mother in her entire life. 

“Go change. I’ll go pay. Then we can get out of here. We’ll go somewhere else to look for your dress for the Christmas banquet.” Her mother raised her voice on those last words so Audrey would be sure to here. “And we’re going somewhere else for alterations. Or Joyce could to them.” 

Eve obediently headed for the dressing room with her self-esteem at an all time low. Her mother had insulted her in front of her old high school enemy. She was buying her a hideous dress after rudely rejecting all other options. Outside, she could still hear Karen complimenting Andrea. Eve finally realized why she’d never really liked Andrea in high school. Though she’d been on top of the social ladder, Eve had felt horribly insecure the whole time. Andrea had walked with a practiced confidence that Eve now knew came from having supportive parents. It also was why Harry seemed so sure of himself. Thinking about Harry reminded Eve that he hadn’t tried to kiss her yet and made her feel even worse. It seemed like she would never be good enough for everyone. Eve quickly tugged the dress off and put her workout clothes on, wanting to get home as quickly as possible so she could cry these feelings out in private. 

She carried the dress in her left hand, using it to block her view of Karen and Andrea as she made her way to the register where her mother was finishing paying, still not making eye contact with Audrey. Her mother signed the receipt, grabbed the bowl of complementary expensive mints by the register, and dumped the entire thing into her purse. Eve knew that Audrey could easily afford more mints so that wasn’t really a huge loss, but now wasn’t the time to point that out. She took Eve’s wrist in a viselike grip and guided her toward the Range Rover where Tim was waiting. Once there were inside with the doors locked and Tim was pulling out of the parking lot, she exploded. 

“I am going to kill Audrey. Really. I know I say this every time but I’m not speaking to her again and she’s not getting anymore of my business…” Eve zoned out as her mother ranted on about Audrey, only tuning back in when she heard her name. “And, Evelyn, I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. She glides in looking so perfect with Andrea looking like a doll and you look like something the cat dragged it.” Eve wanted to point out that it was her mother’s idea to go straight from yoga to shopping, but didn’t. She didn’t have the energy to fight back. “And Andrea’s doing so well at Bryn Mawr and I can’t even say anything about your academic accomplishments back. I just wish you were more like her sometimes.” 

With that final blow to her self-esteem, Eve felt tears welling up. Fortunately, she’d gotten very good at hiding them over the last few years and stared out the window as Tim sped through the last few blocks to the house as her mother ranted on about Andrea’s perfect hair and perfect body. As soon as Tim pulled into the driveway, Eve ran into the house, up the stairs, and into her room, slamming the door behind her. She knew running away like that would earn her a lecture later, but she didn’t care. The tears started and she threw herself down on the bed, hoping her mother was either still downstairs or better yet out of the house so she couldn’t hear. Under no circumstances could her mother hear or see her crying. 

Eve’s sobs were so loud she almost didn’t hear the rock hit the window. She ignored it. She knew it was Harry and the guy who wasn’t into her and who had been indirectly responsible for her breakdown was the last person she wanted to see right now. Another rock hit the window. Then another. Then another, all in quick succession. Eve wiped her nose on her pillow case and got up, intending to tell him to beat it. 

The second she pushed the window open, Harry was looking up at her with concern. “Are you okay?” He asked before she could even open her mouth. “Tim told me what happened and said you seemed really upset. He took your mother to the spa for an emergency massage. We’re alone if you want to talk.” 

“Harry, I-” She stopped herself before she could say she wanted to be alone. It was sweet of him to come check in on her, and he was the only person all day who’d shown that he cared about her feelings. Talking to someone did sound kind of nice. “I’m coming down. Meet me in the guesthouse.” 

Eve shoved flip flops on her feet and made her way downstairs. Joyce, who was preparing lunch, gave her a sympathetic look. Apparently family gossip traveled fast among the staff. Eve made her way into the backyard and sulked toward the guesthouse. She knocked on the door five times, the signal she and Harry had come up with so he’d know it was her. He pulled the door open immediately. 

Once Eve was inside, he led her toward the couch. “What happened?” He asked. His concern set Eve off crying again, she hid her face in her hands, not wanting anyone to see her cry. Her parents had taught her from a young age not to show weakness and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d openly cried in front of anyone other than her parents. Harry gently pried her hands away from her face and pulled her in so she her face was resting on his shoulder instead. He was sweaty and smelled like fertilizer, but she didn’t care, Eve was just grateful to have a warm body to cry against. He silently rubbed her back as she continued to cry. 

Once she’d cried herself out, Harry asked again what had happened and Eve could finally detail the events of the morning. Harry had let go of her but was still holding one of her hands as she talked. She watched as his eyes widened at certain points in the story. She finally got to the end of the story and he was quiet for a few moments, seemingly speechless. “Eve, I’m so so sorry.” He said finally. 

Eve sighed. “I don’t know why I’m crying. Usually I can handle it.” 

“I hate when you say that. You shouldn’t have to.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Really. You shouldn’t.” 

Eve ignored him. It seemed hard to convince herself of that when almost all she heard was the opposite. “I think it feels worse this time because she told me she wished I was more like Andrea. She was so awful to me when we were in high school. I wouldn’t want to be anything like her. And the fact that she was insulting me in public. That never happens. I work really hard to keep up the perfect family facade and that’s all ruined now. Plus I was already feeling bad about you so-” She stopped short when she realized what she’d said. She’d been on a roll with her ranting, the last part had popped out before she could stop it. 

She hoped that he hadn’t been paying attention, something that she’d noticed was all too frequent with most guys. Unfortunately, he was looking at her with enough concern to let her know that he’d heard. “Why would you be feeling bad about me?” He asked. 

“No reason.” She said firmly. She hadn’t been raised to talk about her feelings. Her parents didn’t do that. The words ‘I love you’ were infrequent between them. Eve hadn’t cried in front of her parents since getting cut from the sixth grade cheer team, which had been followed by a long lecture from her mother about not crying in front of people and private lessons from an instructor hired by her father to ensure that she would make the team next year. This was foreign to her. “Thanks for listening, but I know you have to get back to work.” She pulled her hand away from Harry’s and stood up.

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her down again. “Eve, I know we didn’t exactly start off on the right foot but I thought we were good now. Did I do something wrong?” 

Her nights with Harry had been really the only positive to her summer. Their games were the most fun she’d had since coming home and he was really the only person who could make her laugh these days. She couldn’t let him think there was something wrong with him. “It’s just....I don’t have a lot of experience with guys so I could be wrong but that first night at the pool you were complimenting me and I kind of thought you were flirting. But then that stopped so I started thinking there was something wrong with me to me you not want to flirt anymore.” 

Harry stared at her blankly. “You really think that?” He took her hand again. “Eve, I thought you didn’t like me like that. Then I started thinking about it and I realized I’m not the kind of guy your parents would want for you. So it made sense that you would be blowing me off. I didn’t want to do anything you didn’t want so I just stopped.” He hesitated. “You liked it.” 

“I liked it. I liked you since that first night out at the pool. No one’s ever looked after me like that. All the nights we’ve spent together have just been me falling for you more.” 

“I liked you when I first saw you. I thought you were pretty, as you know,” Eve smiled at the reference to their awkward first meeting. “And I was annoyed you were trying to tell me how to do my job, yes. But you walked out to yell at me and I thought ‘Here’s a strong, confident girl who isn’t afraid to stand up for herself’. Then during the dinner I realized I’d been wrong, but it didn’t change how I felt. I wanted to help you, to bring the girl from that morning back.” As he spoke he’d been moving closer to her. He slid his arms around her and pulled her into his lap, keeping eye contact and watching for any sign of discomfort. “Good?” He asked. Eve nodded. One of his hands cupped her cheek. “Can I kiss you?” They’d been talking long enough that she seemed calm, she’d been sobbing less than an hour ago and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. He waited until she nodded again to kiss her. 

Eve had been kissed before. She’d had her first kiss at her first boy-girl party back in the sixth grade. She’d had a few boyfriends back in high school, and she’d been kissed good night by almost every boy who had taken her to a dance or party. But it had never been like this. This was the electricity, the butterflies, everything a kiss was supposed to be. It was also harder and faster than she’d ever been kissed before. Every boy she’d ever dated had been raised like her, to believe the public displays of affection were tacky and that even being overly affectionate in private was frowned upon. Harry was holding her tight, pulling her body close to his as the kiss deepened. As amazing as it was, Eve’s mind started to wander, wondering what would happen if her parents knew she was playing tonsil hockey with the gardener. 

As if reading her thoughts, Harry pulled away. “Eve, your parents-” He started. 

She cut him off. “Do you really think I care what my parents think?” As she said it, she realized it was true. She wanted to be with Harry. Her parents be damned. He smiled, pulling her in for another kiss. 

[remywrites5]

1. with spideypool or wolfstar, please? ❤️

Hi! I hope you meant number one for the Halloween prompts because that’s what I did. If it wasn’t just let me know and I’ll write you something else! 

******************

           Wade could not believe he hadn’t realized it was Halloween. That’s what he got for being stuck in Monaco on a job for over a month. He’d been to three different stores and all of them only had black licorice and candy corn left. Wade wasn’t about to give those out. He’d get on the bad side of the children and who knew what they’d do then? Children were terrifying.

           Wade went into a Walgreens and prayed for something that wasn’t shit. His prayers were apparently answered because standing by the register was none other than Peter Parker (aka Spider-man, aka Wade’s not so heterosexual man crush, aka dat ass). “Please tell me you have some candy left?” Peter asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. Wade wished he didn’t have such a thing for hot nerds because Peter was currently working it.

           Wade quickly dashed towards the candy aisles and grabbed up the last few bags of stuff that were chocolate and not The Worst TM . He had just finished bundling them into his arms when Peter joined him. “Wade?” Peter called out, crossing his arms over his chest. “Please tell me you didn’t just take the last of the edible candy.”

           “So what if I did?” Wade asked, hoarding it close to him. “Finders keepers, baby boy.”

           Peter sighed. “Okay Wade, what do you want?”

           Wade shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

           “For the candy,” Peter said, flicking his chin towards the bag in Wade’s arms. “I promised my Aunt I’d get it and I completely forgot. So unless you want my sweet Aunt’s house to get egged, you will at least hand over one of those bags of candy. Just name your price.”

           Wade looked down at the bags and then back up to Peter. “Come over tonight,” he said after weighing his options. Asking for a kiss felt a little to creepy, even for Wade, and he didn’t want to go too small with his request. He’d never have this kind of power over Peter again so he might as well take advantage.

           Peter’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “That’s…not what I was expecting,” he told Wade honestly. He scratched his chin; a little bit of stubble growing there and Wade couldn’t help awing to himself that his baby boy was growing up. “Okay, fine. I promised I’d help my Aunt pass out candy for a while but I could come over around eight?”

           It was Wade’s turn to be surprised. He had never thought in a million years Peter would actually go for it. “Really?”

           “Sure,” Peter said, shrugging his shoulders. “Now hand some of that over, you candy hog, and don’t even think about just giving me the milk duds. I’m watching you.”

           Wade laughed and handed over a bag of Snickers and a bag of Kit Kats. “You know where I live, right baby boy?”

           Peter nodded. “Had to drag your ass there enough times,” he joked with a grin. He turned around and Wade absolutely took the opportunity to stare at Pete’s ass. “See you at eight!”

                                                           ***

           Wade was a nervous wreck. It had taken an hour arguing with himself about whether to wear his mask or not. Peter had seen his real face before but that didn’t mean he wanted his hideousness on full display. But Petey had mentioned other times he didn’t mind the face, whether he was just being a sweet kid or not. Finally Wade decided on no mask with the right to change his mind after Peter showed up.

He’d ordered a pizza for them and had eaten most of the candy himself to keep from eating the pizza. He wanted eight o’clock to come sooner but was also absolutely dreading it. It was his one opportunity to be super fucking cool and hang out with Spider-man. It wasn’t as if their studios played well together anyway.

           Eight o’clock rolled around and Peter wasn’t there. Wade felt crushed that he’d gotten his hopes up. Of course Peter wasn’t going to come around to his shitty apartment and hang out with him. He’d just been saying that to get Wade to give up the candy.

           Wade looked around his dingy apartment and thought about killing himself in front of some kids to give them a good Halloween scare. He was just about to go find his gun when there was a knock on the door. Wade grabbed the last few scraps of candy (milk duds of course because eww) ready to throw them at the kids at the door.

           Instead he found Peter standing there looking soft and cute in a t-shirt with a pumpkin face on it. “Trick or treat,” he said with a small smile.

           Wade held out his hand and offered Peter the candy. Peter’s nose wrinkled in distaste and Wade thought it was the cutest fucking thing he’d ever seen. “Sorry baby boy, it’s all that’s left. But I’ve got pizza if you’re interested.”

           Peter slid his way into Wade’s apartment. “That sounds good,” he said, walking over to the kitchen counter and grabbing himself a slice.

           “It would have been warmer if you’d been here on time,” Wade grumbled, shuffling his feet against the carpet.

           “I don’t mind cold pizza,” Peter said around the bite in his mouth. “Besides I get held up with my Aunt. I tried to call you but the number I have is disconnected.”

           “Oh yeah,” Wade said, scratching the back of his head. “I change numbers a lot.”

           Peter hummed thoughtfully and continued to eat his pizza. Wade grabbed a slice and picked at it, having stuffed himself on candy with his nervous eating. He still couldn’t believe Peter Parker was in his apartment, willfully, eating pizza and carrying on a conversation like it was no big deal. “Wanna watch a scary movie or something?” Peter asked, breaking Wade out of the internal argument he had been having.

           “Sure!” Wade said, bounding over to the sofa and sitting down. To his surprise, Peter came over and lay down sideways on the sofa, his feet dangling off the end and his head in Wade’s lap. “P-Petey?”

           “I’m exhausted, Wade,” Peter informed him with a yawn, stretching his long lanky body like a cat. “You don’t mind, do you?”

           “Nope,” Wade said, shaking his head emphatically. “Not a care in the world. Just, you know, don’t think less of me if I get an erection because your face is like right there.”

           Peter laughed. “I won’t hold it against you, Wade. I know you think I’m sexy.”

           Wade sputtered. “You’re not sexy, you’re cute.”

           Peter raised a knowing eyebrow. “Is that why you were staring at my ass today in the store? Because you think I’m cute?”

           “Damn your spidey-sense,” Wade said, curling his hand into a fist and shaking it as if cursing the heavens.

           Peter laughed again and Wade took it as a personal victory. Most other heroes never laughed at his jokes. Most heroes never gave him the time of day. At least Peter was kind enough to tolerate Wade. “Comes in handy,” Peter murmured, sliding his hand up and cupping the back of Wade’s head. Before he knew what was happening, Wade was bending over, being led by Peter and their lips were touching and oh.

           Wade broke the kiss and stared down at Peter incredulously. “What’d you do that for, Petey?”

           Peter shrugged. “Been thinking about it since the store this morning,” he murmured softly. “Thought maybe you would ask me for a kiss in exchange for the candy.”

           “Blackmailing heroes into sexual favors isn’t really my thing,” Wade said, shifting on the sofa because hello Mr. Erection nice of you to join us. “Or at least I would never do that to you. Wolverine, maybe.”

           Peter grinned. “Does it count as blackmail if I really wanted to kiss you?”

           “Had an inkling to make out with the outside of a cantaloupe, did you spidey?” Wade quipped, confused by what was going on. He hadn’t hit his head at some point had he? Maybe he really had killed himself and this was just a wonderful dream as his body mended itself.

           Peter sighed and let his thumb graze over Wade’s cheek. “Maybe I like you more than I let on,” he said quietly, staring up at Wade. “Maybe over the past month I’ve missed the way you’re always interrupting my missions just to flirt with me.”

           Wade tentatively reached out and brushed his hand over Peter’s stomach, feeling the muscles underneath his t-shirt. It sure felt real enough. Wade slipped his hand under Peter’s shirt and felt the warmth of his skin. Peter was biting his bottom lip and his cheeks had gone pink.

           “I am aces at flirting,” Wade managed to joke, playing with the bit of hair on Peter’s stomach leading downwards into the danger zone.

           Peter smiled. “Most of the time I’m glad I’m wearing a mask because you make me blush like crazy.”

           “I like it when you blush,” Wade told him, cupping Peter’s cheek with his free hand. “It’s cute as fuck.” Peter pulled Wade down into another kiss and if this was just his mind playing tricks on him he would happily never take another treat in his life. “Please be real.”

           Peter smiled against Wade’s lips. “I’m real,” he whispered softly.

           “Yeah, well, this isn’t the first time I’ve hallucinated making out with you, Spidey.”

           “And how long do those hallucinations usually last?”

           “An hour, maybe two.”

           “We spend that whole time just kissing?” Peter asked, looking skeptical.

           Wade shook his head. “The you in my mind is filthy.”

           Peter laughed. “You said an hour or two, right? Well put on a movie and when it’s done in an hour or two and I’m still here, you’ll know I’m not a hallucination.”

           Wade beamed at him. “You’re so smart, Petey.” Wade flipped through Netflix and put on Scream. Wade continued to let his fingers dance over Peter’s skin, memorizing each scar that he could see.

           “Wade,” Peter whined, wiggling when Wade accidentally touched a ticklish spot. “You’re not watching the movie.”

           “I’d rather watch you, baby boy.”

           Peter chuckled. “You can watch me later,” he said, lacing his fingers through Wade’s so they were holding hands.

           “Promise, Petey?”

           Peter nodded. “I promise. Now shh, this is the good part.”

           Wade turned his attention to the screen for a moment before being distracted by Peter again. As the credits rolled, Peter was still there, on his sofa, real and soft and warm. Wade hadn’t woken up from some kind of dream. Peter was still holding his hand.

           “Told you I was real,” Peter teased, giving Wade’s hand a squeeze.

           “It’s a Halloween miracle!”

           Peter laughed. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

           “Sure it is, baby boy,” Wade said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Now, trick of treat?”

           “Treat,” Peter said, already meeting Wade halfway for another kiss.

           If that wasn’t a fucking Halloween miracle, Wade didn’t know what was.

[softjeon]

Save me, I’m fine | Final

• Pairing: Yoongi x Jungkook • Genre: Angst / Smut ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 15,5k | Co-Writer: @cassiavioletblue | AO3 • Disclaimer: mention of alcohol, drugs, insomnia, anxiety, abuse

↳ He was young and dark; black hair, blacker eyes and he moved with a kind of energy that reminded Yoongi of a fire burning up. Something in its final throes. […] A sudden urge to protect that boy from himself, to keep him from tearing himself apart heated his chest. But it simmered down just as quickly. He didn’t know him. And he couldn’t even handle his own life so how on earth should he ‘guide’ a lost boy like Jungkook.

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can you make it feel like home;

Yoongi had tried to be more responsible, he really had but it had kind of turned into his guilty pleasure. It was easier than to think about what was exactly between them. Yoongi didn’t want to reason about Jungkook and he wasn’t mad when his confident mask was slipping back on as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t showed up in a vulnerable state and how Yoongi hadn’t gotten lost in the younger’s eyes that night and he wasn’t so sure if he ever would get out of that maze. Maybe he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to live.

The moment Jungkook smirked at him from afar, Yoongi knew he needed to have that boy - one way or another.

Whenever he felt tense and lost or had been stuck with his music for too long to get out of this mindset himself he came to the club and he would fuck Jungkook right there. Jimin had thrown them out once, when they had stumbled into his dressing room, already undressing each other, blind to everything else but them, when the dancer had yelled at them to “get a fucking room you assholes” and “if you fuck in here one more time I’m going to tell Jin!” - which left them with a little problem right now because although Yoongi had initially wanted to do it ‘right’ and take Jungkook home or even take him out for dinner before, now after all of their casual hook ups it felt incredibly awkward to ask Jungkook out.

Their relationship was strictly physical on all levels. None of their conversations going too deep, both too scared to be hurt if they let someone in, when at the same time it was clear that something pulled them together. Yoongi couldn’t deny that he wanted to protect Jungkook, even though he had no idea what the younger was up to each time. He had seen a few strangers around Jungkook and when he had observed the barkeeper, his friend, eyeing the stranger just as warily as he did, he knew Jungkook was into some pretty deep shit again.

His own insomnia kept him awake, but his constant thoughts about Jungkook didn’t let him sleep either way. Everything circled around him. His songs. His lyrics. And he wanted Jungkook to sing for him. He was his nightingale, and so listening to his voice was Yoongi’s favorite way to fall asleep. He needed more recordings, more of Jungkook. In a way, Yoongi didn’t want to share his voice, keeping it all and Jungkook to himself, but everyone knew that if you would cage in a nightingale it would die. And how did you catch someone that didn’t want to stay? That learned to run was the only way to feel safe? Jungkook deserved a blooming garden, when he himself knew that he couldn’t provide that. He was an asshole, carrying around as much darkness as the younger. Sometimes words spilled from his lips so fast, that he didn’t realize that it could hurt someone, hurt Jungkook. He wasn’t good for him and Jungkook meant trouble for him. But as soon as he looked into his eyes again, held him, pushed into him, Yoongi was lost again. Nothing made sense and everything circled around Jungkook again.

Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook.

“Fuck,” Yoongi cursed as he pulled out of Jungkook again, patting the younger one’s ass and caressing over the soft skin. Jungkook looked over his shoulder and giggled, blissfully gone in his post-orgasmic state. His eyes shiny, lips plumb and red from all the biting. Yoongi definitely was fucked. He couldn’t get enough of him.

He had gotten a free day after finally, finally turning in a mixtape’s worth of songs to the underground label he had wanted to work with for practically forever and he had wanted to celebrate it. But they had mostly been fucking, just like they had now, so asking Jungkook to celebrate a personal achievement with him, the other knew nothing about, felt strange. Intimate. So, he tried to pull it off a little more casual.

“You know you got to treat yourself to something fancy every once in a while to make yourself feel worth it, right? So... do you want to join me tonight? I’d like to go all out, we could go for lamb skewers again and then grab ourselves some ice cream at that sweets place where they have caramel toffees and chocolate chip cookies the size of your palm. You in?” Because Jungkook didn’t answer right away he got a little nervous and tried to play it cool so he added, “We could go to my place after because it’s closer and fuck in a proper bed for once now that Jimin is onto us. Or if couches are your kink we could use the couch.” He’d really like to sleep with Jungkook in a bed again – even without the sex, just like the first time Jungkook had come into his apartment. He was feeling a little needy for closeness tonight and if the way Jungkook was soaking up attention in general was anything to go by he could use the affection as well.

Jungkook pulled his jeans up, looking at Yoongi a bit confused. “Are you asking me out in a fucking bathroom stall after you fucked my brains out?” He chuckled, turning to Yoongi to help him get dressed, because the other was looking a bit dazed.

Jungkook’s heart was still beating a little too fast and he could swear that it had jumped when Yoongi had asked him out. “I don’t want you to spend your money on treating me again,” Jungkook said and wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s neck to keep close to him. He had learned to accept the closeness that Yoongi was offering him. Never before did he have so much sex with just one person and no one had ever treated him so well. It definitely took some getting used to and a few, literal, pull backs from Yoongi when he was about to run again. But it was easy. Yoongi had never asked for more than what Jungkook was willing to offer and the other way around. Neither talking about their feelings and just accepting the kind of shelter both were providing for each other in a physical way. Jungkook unlocked the door and got out, followed closely by Yoongi as they made their way outside of the backdoor of the club again. It was quite a routine already. Yoongi flipped a box upside down and sat down, pulling Jungkook on his lap, sharing a cigarette in silence.

He sighed, thankful with the way he sat on Yoongi’s lap, so he hadn’t looked into his eyes. “I’d like a bed to fuck in for once,” Jungkook inhaled the smoke of the cigarette and blew it out. It was his way of saying ‘I’d like it if we go out for a meal again’.

Unfortunately, that night the lamb skewer place was closed so instead they went to get Jajangmyeon from a place at the street corner where you could sit or stand on tables or just take the food with you. As he had promised Yoongi took to the sweets store later and Jungkook had been absolutely overwhelmed by the excess supply of hard candy and toffees, lollipops and chocolate drops, chewing gum, licorice, soft fudgy desserts and cookies, most wrapped in colorful paper that looked almost too good destroy. To Yoongi it had been worth it to go there the second he realized that Jungkook was behaving like a child on Christmas; he was absolutely fascinated and his gleeful expression when the salesperson gave him a toffee for free to try out their new taste had Yoongi smiling himself. He could have watched Kook for hours like this, so young and carefree as if only the world inside the store existed for now and nothing else but them in the current moment were important. He let Jungkook chose a dessert and then bought him a little bag of sweets for later, ignoring the voice of reason that told him that what he was doing was just downright wrong and instead focusing on Jungkook’s rosy cheeks and his happy, nose-crinkling bunny smile.

After that they went to the store and bought a bottle of whiskey that Yoongi said Jungkook needed to taste. The younger wasn’t so sure if he would like it, so he quickly bought two beers on top.

He grimaced at the bitter taste of the whiskey, “That’s…strong.” Coughing a little, Yoongi burst out laughing at him and Jungkook hit him playfully. It was the perfect end to the night as they walked back to Yoongi’s apartment. Jungkook slowly got used to the taste of the whiskey and just as he was about to take another sip he realized the bottle was empty already. Pursing his lips, he pouted. “That’s not fair,” He slurred a little, stumbling behind Yoongi as he opened the door to his apartment. As soon as Jungkook felt the familiar warmth surrounding him, he smiled. “Do we have more somewhere?” Jungkook asked, wrapping his arms around Yoongi from behind like a clingy koala as he followed him into the kitchen, “I need some shots or…anything else really.”

Yoongi laughed, both at Kookie’s clinginess and his absurd request. “Boy, what kind of stomach do you have to swallow all this down and have room for more without getting a stomach ache!” Yoongi himself had opted for a sweet hotteok as dessert (that he had shared with Jungkook because how could you not with Jungkook looking all doe eyes at you) so now he had the sweetness of his dessert mixed with the taste of whisky on his tongue and it made him feel warm and relaxed and sated. He somewhere warily registered that they might have drunk a little bit too much a little too fast but then Jungkook hugged him again and all his caution went out the window.

“If you promise not to curse me for your headache tomorrow and to not throw up on the carpet or the bed then I might have something you might like in the kitchen.” Someone had gifted him a bottle of strawberry liqueur once for helping him with the chorus line of a track but as Yoongi didn’t liked his liquor that sweet he hadn’t opened it till now. “Make yourself comfortable on the couch if you want, I’ll go get it.” He picked up the bottle, hoping it was still drinkable and then two shot glasses that he rarely used so he quickly wiped them over with a kitchen towel.

Jungkook happily nodded and walked into the living room area. He smirked as he sat down and pulled his shirt up with a sigh. His body had heated up so much from the alcohol, his cheeks rosy and Yoongi had said he should get comfortable, so he did just that.

Getting comfortable - shirtless.

Reaching for the bag of sweet he had gotten from him, he was munching on them while waiting for Yoongi to come back.

Yoongi stopped short in the door frame at the sight of Kookie eating sweets shirtless. “What are you doing? You playing drinking games without the liquor with yourself? Or just randomly stripping down for me?” He quickly snatched Kookies shirt away before sitting down beside him, placing everything down on the table before he accidentally could knock something over. “I hope you know I’m going to demand that you always sit like this at my place now. It should be a crime for you to cover yourself up anyway.” He trailed a hand down Jungkook’s side and over a tattoo. “I didn’t have the opportunity to ask what they mean till now. Are you down to explain them to me? You’ll get a shot of strawberry stuff for each tattoo explained,” He teased him cheekily, leaning into him and nipping on his neck without any forewarning. Alcohol made him needy - and with being needy for Jungkook anyways that was quite a combination.

Jungkook poured in some shots for both of them, smiling at the attention Yoongi was giving him. “It’s just a bunch of random stuff and lyrics and just things that either mean something or are just pretty,” Jungkook said and downed a shot, before he gave it over to Yoongi. He moved closer and easily got onto Yoongi’s lap with a smile and instead of taking the shot glasses, he simply took the bottle to take a sip and pouring in some for Yoongi right into his mouth for the second shot. He let his thumb caress over his lips, completely transfixed for a moment. “I tell you about one tattoo,” Jungkook could feel the effects of the alcohol, his words sounding slurred and he had to rub over his eyes to keep his focus, “You see this one?” He pointed on a small tattoo, “It says ‘to lose your path, is the way to find path.’ It just that…life is not always straight forwards and sometimes you’re drifting and unsure and you lost your dream on the way. But maybe I am not lost? Maybe i’m just finding the path...or something. You should write a song about that.” Jungkook looked at Yoongi with a faint smile, caressing over his cheek sweetly, before he interrupted the beautiful moment with taking another big gulp. He watched the older take a sip, too and cocked his head to the side, tracing the line of Yoongi’s jaw, feeling absolutely hypnotized by him. “Oh fuck, I really want to suck your dick so badly right now,” Jungkook slurred the words his hand soothing over the nape of Yoongi’s neck, the moment of vulnerability completely forgotten again, “How are you so fucking handsome…” A groan left his lips and Jungkook took another sip from the bottle, giving it over to Yoongi.

Yoongi easily put the bottle aside, ignoring Jungkook’s little whine and instead ripped his ass. He liked it, the way Jungkook sat in his lap like he belonged there, smile cocky and expression proud, as if he owned the world. “Yeah, about fifty percent of my songs are about being lost - but if this leads me to having you in my lap I’ll happily get lost more often.” Jungkook leaned forward to try and grab the battle again and Yoongi took this as invitation to roll his hips against Jungkook who couldn’t move or else he would have lost his balance which meant he just had to take it. Funny how Jungkook told him how handsome he was when Yoongi was head over heels for Jungkook’s beauty. “You know, you should let me tie you up some time. So that I can kiss down each and every inch of your skin uninterrupted, worshipping your body like you deserve. You’re so fucking beautiful it‘s unreal. You‘re almost perfect.“

Jungkook didn’t answer to his question and instead was kissing down Yoongi’s neck. He was ignoring the ‘almost’ that hurt too much and left him aching. Instead Jungkook shifted down and in between Yoongi’s legs while he pulled up his shirt over his head. His hands followed the path he was leaving with his mouth all the way down the waistband of his pants. He palmed his cock through the jeans, opening the button slowly, while licking his lips. He pulled down the fabric easily, a smile appearing on his face when he saw the already hardened length only waiting for his attention but instead of going for it, Jungkook stood up. With a little swing in his hips, he simply turned and made his way over to Yoongi’s bedroom.

Almost. At least he was good at this, Jungkook thought.

“You’re fucking tease you know that?” Yoongi was up in a heartbeat, reaching out for Kook before the other could even reach the next room, turning him around so the younger’s back hit the wall with a soft thump. Yoongi was caging him in a little, the way he knew made Jungkook gasp if he placed his hands on his hips and controlled his movements. The way the younger was looking up at him made a fire lick at his stomach. He was so perfect, so.. well, almost perfect.

Because no matter how desperately he wanted to Jungkook wouldn’t let him kiss him. Yoongi slowly dragged his thumb over Jungkook’s bottom lip feeling jealousy rise in his chest.

“I wonder who’s the last person you kissed. And what exactly makes him different from me,” He murmured only half aware that he was talking out loud. “Probably everything. Maybe it was a girl. Maybe you just love girls and fuck men. Do you?” The hand that had sneaked onto the small of Jungkook’s back pushed the younger closer to him until he could bury his face in Jungkook's neck. “I don’t even want to know how many people you’ve seen those last week, how many men you’ve been with.” His voice turned darker, almost dangerous. “Don’t want to know how many made them fall apart on their cock like I do.” Without warning he bit into the juncture of Jungkook’s neck, hard enough for it to sting. “Don’t want to share you.” He soothed over the bite with light little kisses as if he was apologizing. “Shit, I want to fuck you so badly again it’s like I didn’t just had you before. You‘re so fucking addictive – I always want more!“ He grabbed Jungkook‘s ass as if he were setting claim to it.

Jungkook’s eyes had widened at Yoongi’s sudden attack of words. A gasp fell from him, when he had grabbed him so tight pushing him on to him. Yoongi basically called him a whore and it hurt.

Again.

His words piercing right through his heart, making Jungkook whine quietly. But he couldn’t blame Yoongi, he could only blame himself for it and he felt sorry.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, as he wasn’t so sure what to say, or how to soothe Yoongi, so he just let him take Jungkook. Just like he wanted.

Rough.

Hard.

Possessive.

They had made it to the bed but in his alcohol-fueled state he let the possessive side of him take the better of him, ruining his plans of seducing Jungkook properly, of giving him something nice and warm and gentle. There was way too much insecurity in him, way too much darkness and he let it all out on Jungkook, the last person who was at fault for any of that. When his hand closed around Jungkook’s throat and he pushed into him roughly, Jungkook reached to cup his cheek, caressing over his skin soothingly. “Shh, babe, I’m here, I’m yours,” Jungkook let his hands wander over his shoulders, holding Yoongi tight to him and letting him hide in his neck.

It was rough and quick and heated and afterwards when Yoongi was catching his breath again he didn’t feel the same high he normally felt with Jungkook. It took him a while to catch up with his mind and then he realized what felt wrong; Jungkook had tried to calm him.

Jungkook, sweet, vulnerable little boy that he was had let Yoongi talk over him and then take him rushed and hard as always, although they weren’t at the club anymore, and they had all the time in the world and a soft bed, and they just had a nice evening together with food and drinks and Jungkook’s shining eyes…

When Yoongi looked up Jungkook’s eyes weren’t shiny and joyful any longer. He looked sad. But not the way you looked when you lost something or got surprised with something bad. Instead he looked like he’s had it coming. Like he deserved no more than this. And it was like a slap in the face that instantly sobered him up.

“Oh shit.”

Jungkook turned to look over his shoulder and showed off a faint smile as he put back on his boxers and jeans. He raked through his hair in a desperate manner, trying to focus as he was still feeling a bit too drunk and his body feeling heavy and exhausted from the sex. Yoongi had taken him quite rough and Jungkook grimaced when he got up, feeling the sting of some bruises.

“I’ll see you at the club, okay?” He smiled at Yoongi and then got out of the bedroom, searching for his t-shirt quick. His heart was beating fast in an anxious state, his hands shaking and Jungkook had to fight the urge to run away fast.

“Jungkook!” Yoongi got up so quickly that he stumbled, not sure if he was dizzy from the alcohol or from the sheer panic that he had fucked everything up. He had promised Jungkook a ‘nice night out’. Not giving him attention and food - and then using him like this. He could only guess how Jungkook must feel - and it was an awful guess. He felt stupidly lost, not sure if he could run after Kook without pushing him further away or if he should let him go, give him time alone before apologizing, if it would be better to do it now while there's still time to mend the damage - or if Jungkook was too shaken to really listen to him now. The worst thing was that Jungkook didn’t even look like he was disappointed or hurt. There was still a smile on his face, he still looked soft and kind. Somehow…pliant as if he tried to be as pleasant as possible for Yoongi. As if Yoongi deserved it in exchange for the little gifts he had given him today because he had bought his kindness for a few hours with that. As if this was what Yoongi had wanted all along. He couldn’t help it, he pulled Jungkook in as his throat was closing up.

“Oh fuck, Kook, I’m… shit, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to.. I didn’t.. I only wanted to…,” The emotions choked him and rendered each and every try to explain himself useless, so he hugged him close with desperation, hoping that Jungkook would understand nonetheless that he knew that he had fucked up and that he hadn’t meant to be an arsehole. “Please don’t run away from me now, you can stay. Come back to bed… for… for cuddles - or not if you don’t… I - fuck I don’t even know if I got you off! Please stay! Not… not for that  I meant you can just…stay? For ... for nothing or for… me?”

Jungkook was overwhelmed, stunned and completely confused. He couldn’t utter a word for a while, his mind going crazy with his thoughts as he spiraled. Everything was too loud, too much and he felt too dizzy. Jungkook took in a shuddering breath, his heart aching with every beat of it. “For nothing?” He chuckled low, rubbing his hands over his face. Jungkook felt so tired and exhausted. He didn’t want to fight with his anxious heart and mind right now about what was wrong and right. “It’s okay, you didn’t…but you were overwhelmed. I can take it, please, don’t worry. I figured that it’s because of me and I didn’t want to give you more reason to feel bad. It’s better if I just go…” He loosened Yoongi’s hold around him, “I’m sorry I mean so much trouble for you.”

Hearing Jungkook tell him that he could ‘take it’ had him aching for him, even more so as the younger himself didn’t seem to feel it himself. It sounded as if he was used to it, to being let down and used and then send away. “But you should have to! Why on earth are you the one apologizing when I just treated you like shit? If… if you want to go now I could understand but if there is even I tiny little part of you that wants to stay then please stay and I promise I won’t... won’t touch you or ask you stupid things or pretend like you owe me anything. You can do whatever you want, Kook. I know that. I won’t cage you in. I have no right to and I’m sorry I said… stupid shit. I don’t know what came over me. I sincerely apologize.” His head felt like it was still filled with cotton and his tongue didn’t work properly. Why did he drink so much. He could only hope that if he was really lucky enough for Jungkook to stay that he wouldn’t talk shit again.

“Because it’s my fault, you felt overwhelmed. It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to just…,” Jungkook sighed defeatedly, “C’mon let’s get you into bed.” He took Yoongi by his wrist and pulled him along and back into the bedroom. When he had made sure that Yoongi laid down, he brought them both a glass of water. “Please, shut up now, okay?” Jungkook simply shushed the other when he was trying to apologize again, reaching for his wrist that the younger had pulled away to keep Yoongi from pulling him in. Jungkook walked around the bed and got out of his jeans to get back under the covers. The younger one shifted closer, so that he could lay his head onto Yoongi’s chest. But he wasn’t tired, his heart was thundering, and he felt a headache coming through.

Again, it was Jungkook who took care for him not the other way round and Yoongi let it happen, stunned into silence. When had the younger started to dismiss his own feelings for the sake of his? And even more important: why was he doing this? Nonetheless he was thankful that Jungkook stayed so he kept his mouth shut, following Jungkook’s directions. He even got an armful of Jungkook when the other cuddled closer, but it felt stiff and strange. With a sigh, Jungkook got up on his elbows and looked at Yoongi. “Stop calling me a whore,” Jungkook’s voice was quiet, low and he averted his gaze.

Yoongi almost teared up at the way he said it. Hopeless. Lost. He was ready to explain, to tell him that it wasn’t meant that way, but he stopped himself short. He would probably only make it worse right now. And this wasn’t about his feelings but Jungkook’s. So, he said what he meant and what Jungkook needed to hear. “You’re not. I know you’re not. And I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. It wasn’t your fault. And I won’t do it again.” Jungkook had simply laid his head back onto Yoongi’s chest, waiting until the tiredness washed over him and let him forget, even if it only was for a few hours.

The next morning, he was gone before Yoongi was awake again.

…

“For how long are you meeting up with him now?” Taehyung asked while he was counting the bottles behind him. Jungkook groaned, taking a sip from his water as he watched him clean up the bar for tonight’s business. “A few weeks now. I don’t know…I think I like fucking him,” Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, “Fuck, man, do you have an aspirin around maybe?”

Jimin hugged Jungkook from behind, placing his chin on his friend’s shoulder, not caring about the other’s groan when he accidentally moved Jungkook’s head with it and made it spin. “Don’t lie, sweety. Also, you’re not fucking him, he’s fucking you. Up, apparently. I haven’t seen you look that shitty in quite a while. And considering how you’re normally doing a pretty good job at fucking yourself up that means something.” He smiled sweetly at Jungkook ignoring the younger’s murderous gaze.

“Oh, shut up, Jimin,” Jungkook cursed at his friend, but pulled him onto his lap anyways. “Yoongi and I…we were just a bit too drunk last night. Hadn’t much sleep, either,” He shrugged his shoulders, thankful for the second glass of water Taehyung was offering him. “He seems nice though,” Tae added to the conversation, “Way better than…what was his name again? Jooe? Jo?”

“Jooheon,” Jungkook said and rubbed the side of his temples, “Do you think so? I mean…that Yoongi is good?” He quickly took a sip of water, trying to not seem as nervous as he suddenly felt.

“Wait, what happened?” Jimin straightened up, alarmed. “Why are you asking this? I thought it was obvious with the way he was looking at you like a fool and trying to be subtle about it or how he tried to ask Tae random stuff so that it wouldn’t be too obvious what he was really interested in when he asked about you - as if we hadn’t caught on already. But you wouldn’t have to ask if everything was fine. What is it?” Jimin’s eyes filled with horror as he whispered. “He didn’t.. did he hurt you?! Kook, are you alright?”

“No, no, I am alright. It’s just…sometimes he says stuff,” Jungkook vaguely explained, “He’s always playing this game of hot and cold and it’s getting annoying. One moment he’s the sweetest guy and in the next he says something, that I know he doesn’t mean but it…it hurts?” He bit his lip, his cheeks dusting in a light rose color. He never really liked talking about his feelings and doing so, even if these two he considered his best friends, was strange. “It isn’t the first time he says that he ‘doesn’t want to share me’. He said some stuff last night. I am not good with this, you know that, but I think I like this guy…but then…fuck, god, I hate this.” Jungkook raked through his hair in a desperate manner, “I don’t want to open up to him if he’s going to throw me away like a piece of trash just because he thinks I’m a whore, a fool, or a stupid lost boy. I don’t want him to try and save me, but…but I don’t know?” Jungkook looked at his friends with big eyes and he cursed again when he felt a tears sting in them, apologizing quietly, mumbling something about allergies.

“Kookie, sweety…,” Jimin didn’t let him off like this, cuddling him like a plushy because he felt with him, too much actually. “If he’s mean to you then cut him off. You don’t deserve this. You need someone who can…be kind to you.” Jimin had almost stumbled over his own words and said someone who can take care of you. Jungkook might have gotten angry at that as he insisted that he didn’t need help and no taking care of and was absolutely and totally fine on his own. Which was bullshit but he didn’t want to upset the younger further.

“You deserve respect, just like everyone else. If you don’t get it from him then dump him. You can find someone better than that.” Jimin was eagerly talking, trying to build Jungkook up while he internally frowned. He had been so happy for Jungkook when Yoongi had seemed to be a nice guy that made Jungkook smile. Actually smile, not because he told him too or because Jungkook was so out of it that smiling was his default mode. Jimin had seen his fair share of assholes around Jungkook and he still knew that he hadn’t even scratched the surfaces. It had been enough to see Jungkook beat up and crying on the middle of the street once he never wanted to see the younger so hurt again. So, he would chase away everyone that didn’t make Kookie better, even if they seemed nice at first glance.

“He’s too good for me already, Jimin. He’s more kind to me than anything else…it was just last night. It had been weird. He apologized, though. Right after,” Jungkook explained, “I just don’t know if he wants me for real or not. I’m too scared to ask. Because why would he? I have nothing to offer but…but myself. I am an awful catch. I didn’t even let him kiss me, yet.” He chuckled when he saw the other’s expression, “I don’t want to lose myself in this and I am already falling. Help me, guys, please!”

Jimin’s eyes teared up at hearing Jungkook talk like that. “Don’t say that, please. You can’t mean that! You are such an amazing person and it’s not your fault that your life didn’t turn out all flawless and perfect, not everyone has the ‘basic conditions’ for a comfortable life with loving parents and the right amount of money. That doesn’t mean you’re worth less!” Tae gave him a warning glance to not delve deeper into Jungkook’s backstory because it always mostly ended with the younger shutting everyone out. “What.. what did he do, Jungkook? An apology is worth nothing if he doesn’t mean it or hurts you in other ways later.“ He blinked in surprise when Jungkook mentioned the nonexistent kissing. “What do you mean? I know you two had sex so why wouldn’t you let him kiss you? Don’t you like kissing?”

Jungkook shook his head, ignoring Jimin’s first question on purpose and explaining, “It’s just a stupid rule I came up with to keep them away from me when I just…had fun. I didn’t want anyone to just kiss me. You…you can easily see if someone is respecting your boundaries or not with it, you know?” He looked at Jimin with sad eyes. It hurt to open up to his friends like that. He had never done that before and if one put one and one together, it was easy for them to notice the reasons why he was trying to keep the control. “Anyways, it just…he respected it and never kissed me on the lips. And I want him to…now, I think. But I am scared that if I kiss him that I will be bound to him. What if he finds someone new soon? Someone that is better? Someone more good-looking?” He sighed and then threw his hands up, “Fuck this. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Jungkook nodded over to the drinks and then at Taehyung, “Can I get a shot please?”

Jimin pressed his lips together. Talking with Kookie about his feelings felt like playing minesweeper. If you were lucky and found the right words he opened up but if you went wrong or Jungkook got scared it all blew up. And also, he just didn’t answer stuff he didn’t want to talk about by simply pretending to not hear you talking. He sighed deeply. In his own world Jungkook’s little rule made sense. Sadly, it wouldn’t keep him from harm though. And it also didn’t make this any easier.

“Just one thing and then I’ll let you be: If you’re in danger or if you feel like you could be then call me, please. I don’t want to have to visit you in hospital or wake up to you being a name in the newspaper. Please. Call me if you need help. I know you won’t do it for regular things, and I’ve accepted this but if you’re ever caught up in something you feel like you can’t get out then tell me. And I can be there for you or get help or just make you hot chocolate.” He kissed Jungkook quickly onto his head and then went back to get changed before his next number would start. Tae took a glass and filled it with lemon, lime, a mint leave, some ice - and then filled it with water. “There, that’s all you get from me tonight. You won’t lose your headache with more booze. Also, heartache and drinks aren’t a great combination. If you want to make things worse. So be good and drink water and then go back to sleep. There’s no delivery for tonight. So, you can rest.”

“Yoongi wouldn’t hurt me like that,” Jungkook almost hissed at Jimin but the other was already gone. He was feeling annoyed and just wanted to close up completely. He took the drink Taehyung had made and downed it in one go even though it was only water. His brows furrowed deeply, as he listened to Taehyung. “Yeah, I guess,” He got up and looked at his friend with a tired expression. “I just wish I knew what Yoongi really felt,” Jungkook whispered, “It probably won’t change anything. I’m staying here for too long anyways already.” He shrugged his shoulders, not waiting for an answer as he turned around and did what Taehyung had ordered him to do: sleep.

Not thinking about something when you knew you shouldn’t think about it was absolutely impossible. Just like that game where you told someone ‘don’t think about an albino llama’. Yoongi had tried to do that with himself and Jungkook but he knew that it didn’t work. The only thing that have given him some piece of mind was when he decided to come to the club at night. Until then he could stop thinking if Jungkook being gone in the morning meant that he was gone from his life too - or just his usual ‘I don’t do mornings’ kind of thing.

He actually managed to be vaguely productive and catch up on ‘adult’ stuff, make boring phone calls and pay bills and all that stuff you had to do when you didn’t want to be bothered by people more than they already were bothering you. He waited exactly till it got dark before he grabbed his jacket feeling somewhat proud that he had stuck to his decision. He would sit down at the bar, no matter if Jungkook was around or not and then let the other decide if he wanted to talk or not (and hope that it’ll be soon or else it would put an unhealthy kind of strain on his heart)

Jimin had spotted Yoongi right away when the rapper came into the club. He had come up with what he was about to do about half an hour ago, talking to Taehyung and seeing Jungkook sleeping on the couch so peacefully in the storage room. He couldn’t let him get hurt no more. It had pained him enough already to see Jungkook be so confused about Yoongi’s intentions. So, there was only one way to find out.

With a determined mind and a smile on his face he walked up to him at the bar, where he had ordered himself a drink just now. “Hey! You’re Yoongi, right?” Jimin asked, sitting down next to him and ordering a bottle of water from the barkeeper. “I see you around our little baby boy a lot.” He chuckled, cheering his bottle towards him with a wink.

Yoongi cocked his head. ‘Baby boy’? Either Jimin was very, very affection towards his friends - or he was hooking up with Jungkook as well. There was something bitter in his throat and he swallowed it down with his drink. “Yes, why?” He answered cautiously. He hadn’t seen Jungkook around and he wasn’t sure if the younger was even there and he absolutely did not want to think about where he could be if he wasn’t here considering he still didn’t know if Jungkook even had a home, so any kind of distraction was very welcome right now.

“Just curious,” Jimin shrugged his shoulders, “I just saw you guys together a lot lately…I mean, I caught you two once or twice. But who am I to judge?” He chuckled, reaching out for the other, “I never really introduced myself. I’m Jimin. You’ve probably already guessed so, but I am a dancer here.” Jimin winked at him, turning his body a little more towards him. “You looking for him?”

Yoongi just nodded as a sign that he had listened, shaking his hand once before letting go. “Not really, no.” What else was he supposed to answer? If he said yes then Jimin might ask why - or even worse get Jungkook for him while he had wanted to leave it open to the other if he wanted to talk. Or…come home with him. Yoongi swallowed hard. It had become routine already and just the thought of never being able to take Jungkook out or hear his sexy little gasps made his stomach churn.

“Oh, well, if you’re free then. Do you mind helping me with something?” Jimin said, blinking his eyes innocently, “Jungkook told me you’re great with anything technical? I desperately need help because Jin refuses to update the audio system so I can’t seem to get my laptop to work and connect with the stuff…you know…that makes the music here?” Jimin held onto Yoongi’s arm, putting on his best innocent impression and acting a little dumb and as if they hadn’t a DJ for that kind of stuff. “Maybe there’s something wrong with my music program? I always cut the music myself…and when I try, it either doesn’t connect or it doesn’t play the music here.” Jimin bit his lip, putting on his best puppy face, “Please? I don’t know who else to ask.”

Yoongi arched his brow. He didn’t buy the act 100% but maybe Jimin just acted dramatic because it was his personality and not because he tried to get Yoongi’s attention. “I’ll see what I can do - but I won’t be held responsible if it turns out that this thing is beyond fixing, just so you know.” Yoongi downed his drink and then placed the money under the glass.

He knew what he had to pay for his drink by now.

Jimin grabbed Yoongi by his wrist and pulled him along happily, guiding him back into his private room. “Here, this is it,” Jimin said and gave his laptop over to Yoongi. He hadn’t much time until Yoongi would see that the program was working fine, so Jimin acted casually. Leaning over his little dressing table, he looked at himself in the mirror, applying a bit of makeup before he simply took off his t-shirt as if he was about to get ready for a show.

Yoongi got to work immediately, checking the different functions of the program but everything seemed to work just fine. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jimin undressing and looked up to see what this was about. As the other rummaged around, apparently looking for some stage outfit Yoongi filed it under ‘habit of someone who undresses too often to care for naked skin’ and simply closed the laptop. “The program’s fine. So, it must be the cable that’s the problem. Maybe you can get someone to lend you another for tonight and then buy a new one.” He got up, ready to leave.

“Thank you! I guess that’s what I will do tonight. You don’t have a cable with you, do you?” Jimin chuckled, not ready to let Yoongi go, yet. There was some things he needed to do first. He couldn’t let him hurt Jungkook, not before knowing what his true intentions were and if his interest for the younger was real or just for the show. “Why don’t you stay here a little?”

“Yeah, sure, I always take cables with m…” the sentence ended abruptly when Jimin made him sit back onto the couch and suddenly he was pretty close and pretty much on his lap and also still pretty shirtless. Jimin’s hands wandering up Yoongi’s chest and to his neck, as he shifted a little closer.

Yoongi blinked, trying to process how it had come from talking cables to having a half-naked dancer in his lap. A damn attractive one at that. His hands went to Jimin’s hips out of habit, half because that’s what he always did with Kook and half because he wanted to keep Jimin from scooting closer. He didn’t quite get what the other was doing there. “You’re Jungkook’s friend right?” If Jimin was and he knew that they were fucking than that left two options: Jimin wasn’t a really good friend - or he knew that Jungkook wouldn’t mind because it was just a casual hook up to Kook. Neither was a very pleasant truth.

Jimin moved his hips a little, grinding against Yoongi. “You’re not his boyfriend, right?” He simply answered and leaned in to him more, his hot breath fanning against Yoongi’s neck. “You can do whatever you want, right? Jungkook isn’t here.” A moan slipped past his lips and Jimin bared his neck a little, giving his act his all. “Please,” Jimin mouthed along his neck, leaving a few kisses there, his own lips now only inches away from Yoongi’s. “Kiss me, please.”

Yoongi suppressed a sound at the way Jimin moved his hips absolutely perfect against him. He definitely didn’t lie about being a dancer, he knew how to use his body. And he was right, he wasn’t Jungkook’s boyfriend. And Jimin knew that because Jungkook must have told him. Or because he didn’t do boyfriends at all. Which was fine. Because he, Min Yoongi, didn’t do boyfriends either. He was free to do whatever the fuck he wanted just like Jimin had said. Getting your heart involved only made sure you got hurt.

It was nice what Jimin was doing. And the others plush lips looked they were absolutely made for kissing.

Still this didn’t feel right.

Even if Jungkook didn’t mind, he did. And right now, Jungkook was too close to his heart for him to just go fuck around even if he had the perfect opportunity and Jimin was downright amazing and it would probably end in mind blowing sex. But he could lie to himself all he wanted - he couldn’t get rid of his feelings.

“Ok, that’s enough. You look great and I’m sure you’re an awesome fuck. But I’m not feeling it right now. So, could you please get off my lap?”

Jimin froze still, not moving an inch just looking at Yoongi closely. He could definitely feel the heat coming from him, the arousal that he had from his movements on his lap – so…Sex couldn’t be what he was interested in. He pursed his lips into a pout, pointing at his chest, right above his heart, “Is there someone else already waiting for you, huh? Someone better?”

“No, there’s not. As you said I’m not Jungkook’s boyfriend. But I don’t need anyone else right now.” He had already said too much. Jimin didn’t need to know that about him. He pinched Jimin’s thigh to get him to move off of him. He had already asked once he wouldn’t do it again. If Jimin wouldn’t move he would simply throw him off. “Is this what you do? You and Jungkook?” Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that Jimin had brought him here. Maybe the reason why Jungkook knew Jimin’s schedule by heart was because he was used to coming here… when Jimin was there to do whatever Jimin had been planning on doing with him. Or he used the free time otherwise. With other people. Yoongi frowned.

“Don’t talk such nonsense!” He said with a bitter but amused tone, “As much trouble Jungkook can be he would never play around like that. Especially not with you.” Getting up from his lap, Jimin rolled his eyes but didn’t move much so Yoongi still couldn’t get up completely. “You fucking with me, huh? Don’t play the ‘I don’t need anyone’ card with me. You may not be his boyfriend, but you want to be. A blind man can see that,” Jimin said and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You, my dear, are in love or otherwise you wouldn’t have cared to fuck me. Jungkook means something to you. More than you like to admit, right?”

Yoongi jumped up immediately. It was one thing to get close to him physically - but a completely different thing to try and get close to him emotionally. He barely knew Jimin. How dared he assuming to know his heart?

“I thought you were a dancer not a psychic?” He answered sharply. “And what do you mean Jungkook would never play around like that? You know how we meet? I pretty much doubt I’ve been the first one he’d gone on his knees for in a bathroom stall. You don’t do it like that if you haven’t done it before. And even if he is promiscuous, I don’t care, we’re not a... a thing and that’s fine because I don’t even know him! I don’t know where he lives, I don’t know if he has family. Hell, I don’t even know his last name. Maybe his name isn’t even Jungkook.” His hand started shaking like it did when he had been stuck in his head too long. “I don’t need to listen to you. I need a drink.”

Jimin shook his head, chuckling low, “You really don’t see it? Jungkook never comes back around.” Taking a step closer to him, Jimin kept Yoongi from moving further, but his voice was sounding a lot calmer now, “C’mon. I will show you something.”

Walking ahead, Jimin was waiting for Yoongi to follow, “Just…come, please. You will understand if you see it.” His heart was beating a little too fast, when Jimin opened the door to the storage room, guiding Yoongi around a few shelves. They hadn’t had much time, because Jimin had no idea where Jungkook was and if the younger ever found out he showed Yoongi this – he would freak out completely. Yoongi followed Jimin with a nervous little buzz under his skin, still on edge. He wasn‘t sure if what Jimin was trying to lure him in again or piss him off or if he really wanted to show him something. He felt uncomfortable the more they had to round shelves and boxes because what on earth could be in the furthest hidden corner that he had to see?

A little space opened up behind them, just about a few feet wide, enough for an air mattress to fit there and Jungkook’s things to have a safe place. Jimin, who still was shirtless, was shivering. It was cold in here, way too cold for someone to stay here.

“You wanted to know where he lives…”

When Jimin stopped he didn‘t have to say a word for Yoongi to understand. It looked similar to the sleeping place that he had seen when Jungkook had led him out the back door the first time. It had been cleaned up the other times he was there, so he had thought that Jungkook had stayed just once or simply taken a nap. And asking personal stuff straightforward made Jungkook close up like a clamshell most of the time so he hadn‘t asked about any of this. Maybe Jimin could give him some answers instead, if he was already showing him this. Yoongi pulled his hoodie tighter around him. It was pretty damn cold in here. “Where did he sleep before this?“ He tried to keep it vague because this way Jimin could tell him as much or as little as he deemed fit.

Jimin motioned for Yoongi to follow him back again, not wanting to get surprised by Jungkook. He only answered his question, when they were back in Jimin’s dressing room. “We actually don’t really know,” He answered honestly, “He had been gone for a couple of months and just recently came back. Kookie does sleep here a lot though, refusing to go home with us or Jin.” With a sigh he added, “His name is Jeon Jungkook. And I think the rest is up to him if he ever wants to decide to tell you. I am sorry I tried to trick you into making out with me. I saw him getting hurt one too many times.”

Yoongi scoffed, “So you were testing me, trying to see if I’m “faithful”? What would you have done if I’d said yes?” He was rather amused than offended. Also asking this kept his mind off the thought of where Jungkook was from - and if he’s had to sleep on the street before staying here at the club. “I would have murdered you,” Jimin stated coldly, staring right back into Yoongi’s eyes and not moving an inch. Only then he laughed but quickly added, “No but seriously. If you hurt him, I will fucking come for you.” Yoongi smiled humorlessly. “Just a little tip, try to put a shirt on next time you try to be intimidating. And maybe try to look less sweet.”

Yoongi hesitated and then nonetheless pushed further. “I know Jungkook would never move in with me and I don’t know if I could handle a constant presence at home - or if he could handle me, that is - but I wouldn’t mind him staying over more often. Or staying till breakfast for once, actually. Any idea as to how I could achieve that without creeping him out?”

Jimin only shrugged his shoulder at Yoongi’s question, “Maybe start with admitting that you like him and stop playing games with him? He will be too afraid to do something on his own,” Jimin sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he leaned over to Yoongi, “Listen, he came here today and was pretty out of it. He likes you and I think for once, you could be someone that he can open up to again. I don’t know what happened, but please, be gentle with him.” Reaching out for Yoongi’s hand, Jimin looked at him in all earnest, “If you want Jungkook, really want to try to work things out, then please be patient with him and his run away antics. He deserves to be cared for.”

Yoongi shook his head, “I’m not ‘playing games’ with him. I’m just… I’m not the easiest to be with. And sometimes I don’t know if I can trust people or like them at all. I’m…” He stopped, he didn’t want to tell Jimin all this about him, no one was supposed to know. He would have preferred to ignore it himself if it didn’t come back to bite him in the ass every now and then. “It’s just difficult, okay? Besides I did treat him to lamb skewers and asked him to stay and all that shit I’m not going to spell it out for him. Who knows if he even likes me. Maybe I’m just a lesser evil in his life. One can’t be picky if you have no one else. Doesn’t mean he has to like me.” He sounded like a stubborn child and he knew it, but it still bothered him that there was a teeny tiny potential chance this was true for Jungkook. “Everyone deserves to be cared for. It’s just that life doesn’t give a shit about that and fucks you over nonetheless.” He pulled back his hand, “I’m neither a good person nor a safe place for him. I’d like to be but I’m not. So, I can’t promise him - or you - things I know I cannot keep.”

Jimin nodded at that, “Life isn’t fair and maybe I articulate myself wrongly… I can tell you that Jungkook likes you. And how can you blame him, when never in his life anyone treated him to anything? The first time we took him out to dinner, he ate so fast that I was scared he would get a stomach ache from it,” Jimin chuckled at the fond memory, before he stood up from his chair again, his voice getting a serious tone, “Either way. You don’t have to promise me anything. But if you think you’re not good for him and that you will seriously hurt him, then I want you…”

“Don’t go,” A whispered voice behind Jimin said and made him jerk around, his eyes growing wide as plates when he saw Jungkook standing at the door frame. His breathing was shallow, his heart beating fast with his anxious mind racing with the words that both had said. Jungkook hadn’t heard it all, but enough to make him feel scared.

“I…I don’t think you’re difficult…”

For a second Yoongi felt angry because he thought Jimin had led him on only to see the shocked expression on the others face. Then he felt scared. How much had Jungkook heard?  Had he scared him off? Was he an easy target now? Had he made himself vulnerable? The silence weighted heavy on him, heavy enough to take a step back. Jungkook looked small, holding onto the door frame as if he needed support. He looked like Yoongi felt; on edge, put on the spot, exposed, vulnerable. It took a moment but then it clicked.

Jimin must be right.

For Jungkook to look like that he must mean something to him. Because he only felt like he did right now because Jungkook meant something to him.

Carefully he got closer to him, turning his back on Jimin. “I don’t plan on going anywhere. And… are you sure that I’m not difficult? Especially after...last night?” He hoped that Jungkook wouldn’t tell right now, here, in front of Jimin. He could barely take the shame and embarrassment as it was. Jungkook shook his head, “Not any more difficult than I am.” Jungkook took a deep breath, averting his gaze, his knuckles turning white with how hard he gripped the door frame. His heart was beating too fast right now, aching with every thought. He gasped for air quietly, as it felt like his throat was closing up making it so much harder for him to breathe. “I…I like you, but I am sorry, really sorry that I mean so much trouble for you,” Jungkook mumbled and turned around, stumbling along. He needed air. Needed to get out, when it suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on him. He wanted Yoongi so much, but his heart was screaming for him to keep himself safe.

Yoongi didn’t wait, he came after him right away and caught up with him right at the club, in midst of other people.

“Jungkook, wait!” He held onto him, gently because right now Jungkook looked as frightened like a bunny in a trap, “You might be trouble - but not more trouble than I am.” He repeated Jungkook’s words with a smile, hoping the other would understand that he knew that both of them were fucked up - but he wanted to make it work, nonetheless. “Do you.. do you want to go home?” He didn’t mean for sex and for a second he hesitated before just spilling everything on the tip of his tongue, “For a warm meal, a quiet night in, maybe some TV and tea and… some cuddling.” The last part was so quiet he was sure Jungkook couldn’t have heard it with the music around him and he was almost thankful for that. There was no need to overwhelm the other like this.

“Home?” Jungkook’s eyes gotten a teary glint in them and the younger looked horribly lost for a moment. He got pushed by a dancing couple and Jungkook held onto Yoongi’s arm tight to not fall. Staring back at Yoongi, the younger gulped hard against the lump in his throat not sure what to answer. He looked around, seeing Taehyung at the bar, then Jimin who stood at the entrance of the backstage area with Jin. Then he looked at Yoongi again and suddenly it hit him. Pretty painful actually, something that he hadn’t ever felt before. It felt like a punch to the heart, or like someone squeezing it pretty tightly but still – it felt surprisingly good. A weird feeling in the pit of stomach added on to that and it took him just a few seconds to understand. He had butterflies in his stomach. Literally, small, weird butterflies flying around, whenever he looked at Yoongi. There was a warmth surrounding him and it didn’t come from the hot air in the club, but from the way Yoongi was holding onto him.

With one step, Jungkook jumped forward pressing his lips onto Yoongi’s. Something that he should have done a while ago.

Yoongi stiffened, just for one heartbeat and then he melted against the other. Jungkook’s lips were a little rough probably from chewing on them but they were warm and plush, and it was nonetheless the most amazing kiss Yoongi has had in years. His arm had found a way around Jungkook’s waist and he pulled him closer. Their bodies fitted together so naturally and perfectly that it felt so absolutely right and the sudden realization shook Yoongi to the core.

Yoongi really liked Jungkook.

And the other liked him back.

There was an actual human being in front of him, someone beautiful and soft and stubborn and complex and loveable that had seen him, even parts of him he didn’t like himself - and he had still chosen to stay. Overwhelmed by his feelings he squeezed Jungkook a little tighter, giving him another little kiss and then another. “I love breaking this rule,” He whispered against the other’s lips and then just hid his face in his neck and hugged the younger close because even though they weren’t kissing he didn’t want to let go of Jungkook yet.

They stayed like this for a while, not caring that the beat of the music was making the people jump around them when for them, only they mattered right now. Jungkook felt too choked up to say more, so he simply followed Yoongi, who was holding onto his hand so tight as if he was afraid that Jungkook could run away again.

“I’ll just get my things, please, wait here, okay?” Jungkook said and leaned in to give him a quick kiss and then ran off to the storage room and behind the shelves to grab his bag. He didn’t know that Yoongi had seen his little hide-out, yet so he rather wanted him to wait for him, too scared that he wouldn’t want him anymore. There were too many insecurities and too many questions. But it didn’t matter right now. Yoongi liked him, too and that was all that he wanted to focus on. And oh, of course kissing Yoongi. The way back from the club to Yoongi’s apartment took longer than usual, because neither could resist kissing the other again and again. Jungkook felt like what he thought would a ‘high’ feel like. He was giggly, happy and coming back to Yoongi’s apartment felt so right. So right, that it frightened him again. He stiffened when the other opened the door and just walked along, when Yoongi pulled a little at his arm, his smile so reassuring that it soothed him.

Yoongi did everything that he had promised and Jungkook had never felt so warm and safe before. Feeling like puzzle pieces were falling together and out of a sudden it all made sense to him. He fell asleep in Yoongi’s arms on the couch, empty pizza cartoons on the table, a half emptied cup of tea right next to it. Cuddling closer to the warmth, Jungkook held on tight to Yoongi’s shirt.

He never wanted to let go again.

The next morning, Jungkook woke up before Yoongi like always. The other must have gotten into bed way after him. He couldn’t even remember how he had gotten into bed? He sighed quietly, wanting to give Yoongi a bit more space and quiet to get his rest. Jungkook knew about his insomnia by now, so he wouldn’t want to wake him up. Instead, he grabbed one of Yoongi’s shirts and walked around the living room.

The morning sun was shining brightly through the blinds and into his eyes, almost as if it was mocking him. For a moment Jungkook thought about making breakfast, but then roaming around Yoongi’s apartment sounded more interesting than cooking (especially knowing that Yoongi was the better cook). After a while of looking through some not so interesting stuff (mainly books and magazines) Jungkook let his hand wander over the notes on his piano, leaning in to read a few lines of a song Yoongi was working on. Sitting down onto the stool, Jungkook pulled one leg in. Biting his lip, he searched for the right key that fitted the song and pushed it down. He jerked a little, when the sound was way louder than he had expected and Jungkook looked over his shoulder to see if he had woken up Yoongi.

He wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to touch his piano? But luckily for him, the other was sleeping like a rock.

Then he pushed it again, humming the note to see if he was in the right key. Jungkook really didn’t know much about music, but in the time he had been around Yoongi, the other had shown him a few tricks and the basics. He was really good at following Yoongi playing notes by now and if he believed what he said, Jungkook was pretty good at hitting the keys spot on. He murmured the words of the lyrics and then very slowly he tried to follow the notes of the song, pressing the right key in the right sequence. Biting his lip in concentration, the clipped sounds were slowly turning into a melody and Jungkook smiled. Then he began to sing to it, not too loudly too scared to wake Yoongi.

“So... far away, if only I had a flying dream,” His voice added perfectly to the melody and Jungkook began anew, singing that one line over and over again until he could play the keys in a rhythm where it didn’t sound clipped at all, but just like it should be.

Yoongi awoke slowly, feeling warm and well rested - and therefore completely different than normal. It took him a while to clear the haze of sleep from his mind and when he did his first thought was Jungkook - and the second was music. Because he heard the piano playing softly in the background. It sounded simple but still nice and curious he got out of bed, taking the very first shirt with him that he could reach and putting it on while tapping silently on bare feet towards the music.

Jungkook played the few notes a few times again until he felt like it sounded perfect, smiling to himself proudly. The minute he felt a presence behind him though, he jerked around, looking at Yoongi with wide eyes. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry I woke you up, right?” Jungkook hastily got up almost knocking over the stool in the process, “I wanted to make breakfast first but then I saw the lyrics and I just was…playing around. Am I even allowed to touch your piano? I am sorry if I’m not. I just wanted to try and see if I was able to do what you taught me.” Jungkook bit his lip, his cheeks dusting in a rose color.

Yoongi smiled softly. “It was beautiful. Don’t worry, this is like the best way to wake up. Music - and knowing that you’re still there.” He pulled Jungkook in and nosed along his jaw, still soft and openly affectionate from being sleepy. “I don’t even need breakfast. I got you.” He didn’t mean it as dirty as it sounded, what he had meant to express was that with Jungkook's presence his heart felt so full and his mind so sated that there was no need to fill his stomach. Jungkook embraced Yoongi with his arms, letting him cuddle into him without any worries. His hands wandered up his shoulders and to his neck, before he cupped Yoongi’s cheeks and pulled him away from him and onto his lips. The younger kissed him softly, while his arms wrapped around him a little more. “Me? So, you want to suck my cock for breakfast? I’m all for that…I think you still owe me one,” Jungkook answered and pulled off Yoongi with a smirk.

Yoongi almost choked on that, “Wh…what the.. there I am trying to be romantic and all that shit and you shatter my lovely little rose colored glasses with one dirty comment.” He laughed at Jungkook's shamelessly proud expression. “Hm, maybe I do. Do you really want to do that onto an empty stomach or should be include some breakfast into our foreplay?” He teased him lovingly

Jungkook bit his lip in excitement, feeling the heat of the arousal already in the pit of his stomach. With one quick movement, he pulled Yoongi in by his shirt, his lips only a few inches away from his. “I…want…you…now,” He whispered against his lips, kissing him once, deep and heated only to let go again. With a giggle, he jumped around and back into the bedroom. He didn’t care about empty stomachs, especially not if he had someone like Yoongi lusting after him.

How could Yoongi say no to a sexy demand like that. Besides, Jungkook was right and he still owed him. And he had absolutely nothing against lying back down in bed. When Yoongi came into the bedroom Jungkook was already on the bed, looking at him expectantly and looking kind of like a bunny ready to play. Yoongi gave him an amused look. “And now? Do you actually want me to blow you? Or do you just want to get off? I could rim you if you like?”

Jungkook leaned back on his elbows, listening to all the options that Yoongi was laying out for him but none of them what was he wanted. Getting up on his knees, he got over to him and wrapped his arm around Yoongi to pull him onto the bed with him. “I want you to kiss me and fuck me, I want to feel you everywhere, inside of me, on me, with me,” Jungkook’s hot breath was fanning against his lips, as he placed a few kisses on them, “Do anything you want with me!” Normally Jungkook wasn’t the one who decided how he would get off, so it felt more natural to him to let Yoongi take control. He couldn’t even say what he would have preferred, but as long as it was Yoongi he was doing it with he would be fine. Because he liked him. Just as much as he liked Yoongi.

“Hm, your wish is my command, Cutie. I just have one request; can you lie on your back this time? I want to see you, all of it, the way you open your mouth when you gasp and the expression on your face when I enter you. I want to look at you when you come. Every second of it.” He reached out for the pillows. “We could make it more comfortable for you, put something under your lower back for support.” He had only taken Jungkook from behind so far because Jungkook had turned around immediately when things got heated so Yoongi thought that Jungkook might not like the more intimate position that much. “I’ll make up for it, I promise, by making you feel as much pleasure as your body can take.”

Jungkook gulped and the moment Yoongi started talking, he could feel his heartbeat quicken. It wasn’t like he hated that position, it just felt too close, too personal. But Yoongi was someone he wanted to be close to, right? And if Yoongi wanted it, it would make him happy, too. Jungkook nodded a bit hesitant, hoping that the other would be guiding him and not let him drop. To get some control back, Jungkook reached for the hem of his shirt, wanting to pull off the fabric swiftly but Yoongi caught his wrist easily and the younger one’s eyes turned big and doe like not understanding if he had done something wrong. He always undressed himself? Jungkook pursed his lips a little, too shy to ask what he was supposed to do now.

“Let me do it.” Yoongi whispered against Jungkook’s heated skin, “Let me unwrap my precious gift.” He got interrupted by his urge to kiss Jungkookie’s sweet mouth before he gently undressed the other, caressing each inch of skin that he freed, taking it slow and relaxed. He loved morning sex like this. He felt the softest and the most in balance with his heart like this when there’s been nothing from the outside tainting his feelings or stressing him out. That’s why he only ever had morning sex with people he loved.

Jungkook was completely out of his depth with the way Yoongi was handling him. He gasped when Yoongi’s lips were touching him so softly, his hands caressing over his heated skin and pulling his shirt off slowly. Too slowly. When he laid onto his back, Yoongi on top of him, he was pulling him in, arching his back to move against him to get some friction in between them but it seemed like Yoongi was eager to explore whatever there was on his neck first. He moaned, when he sucked at his skin, licking over it and making sure that Jungkook could feel his own sensitivity. But he only whined in response, his own hands wandering down Yoongi’s back and onto his hips.

“Shht, slow down, Sweety. We’ve got all the time in the world. Just relax and enjoy. I’ve got you covered.” Quite literally, as he was covering Jungkook’s body with kisses, just as he had promised him before. Slowly he kissed down the youngers body, avoiding his nipples or any other spot that would rile him up too quickly before he reached his hips. Jungkook parted his thighs willingly and so Yoongi comfortably settled down in between. Then he made sure to make Jungkook lose his mind as he was attacking the inside of his thighs with love bites, nipping on the juncture of his hip, kissing into the dip of his hip. Anywhere but where Jungkook needed it most but always close, so close that Jungkook could feel it in his groin.

The younger was twitching and whining so easily under Yoongi’s touch and Jungkook wasn’t so sure if it because he was working him up so easily or because he had no control over what he was doing or where the other would go next. “Yoongi, please,” Jungkook pleaded, not really sure for what. He could feel the arousal rush through his veins, mixing with the anxious feelings and Jungkook felt light headed. Laying back down, he moaned when Yoongi sucked in another love bite.

“Patience, my love.” He answered softly, too occupied with what he was doing to listen to what he was saying. The pet names and affectionate phrases came so easily with Jungkook that he didn’t even realize he did it. Only when Jungkook started chasing his mouth with his hips, moving restlessly the whole time Yoongi had mercy with him. “Careful, you’re going to pull a muscle if you keep being so tense,” He teased him before slowly, torturously slowly swallowing Jungkook all the way down from tip to shaft.

Jungkook moaned unabashed when he finally sunk down onto him. He had needed the friction, anything really, to relax again. Trying to not chase after Yoongi’s mouth, he let the other work him up and lick along his length so beautifully that Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off of him. Reaching out for him, he caressed through Yoongi’s hair while he was bobbing on his cock, making him moan for him. “Fuck, your tongue…fuck you’re so good, we should have done this…way before,” Jungkook couldn’t help but jerk his hips, chasing the delicious, wet heat that was Yoongi’s lips.

It wasn’t like Yoongi could have answered him with his mouth so full therefore he confined himself to holding Jungkook’s hips down, firm and secure before continuing to work him up. He’d let him fuck his mouth some other time, now he just wanted to make him so aroused that he was ready to be fucked and prepping him would be really easy.

He whined helplessly when Yoongi pushed his hips down, keeping him still while he was sucking on his tip so deliciously that all Jungkook wanted to do was to thrust his hips. Jungkook was fully aroused, his breathing coming in short pants already while he holding onto the bed sheet tight and only when Yoongi finally let go off him with a smile, he relaxed again. “Will you fuck me now?” Jungkook asked innocently, looking down at Yoongi, with his chest and cheeks flushed in his arousal.

“Of course, I will. How could I resist you looking so delicious. And you’re so good for me, willing to let me have you the way I want, right?” He leaned over Kook to give him a kiss on the tip of his nose while reaching for the drawer where he stored the lube and condoms. He took both out, slicking up his fingers expertly. Then he scooted closer, placing Jungkook’s thighs left and right over his own so the younger was spread open for him, completely exposed. With a grin Yoongi gently prodded Jungkook’s hole, teasing it, swiping his thumb over the rim until it fluttered under his touch because Jungkook was clenching in desperation. Jungkook reached for Yoongi’s wrist, his heart skipping a beat as he looked up at him like this. A whimper escaped his lips and he closed his eyes for a second when Yoongi teased his hole once more, before looking at him. Suddenly it seemed so hard for him to speak, a lump in his throat keeping him from breathing properly. Yoongi looked at him so softly, his eyes full of love and Jungkook couldn’t tear his gaze away from him. For a moment he said nothing, before, “N-no condom, please. I mean…if you…are okay with it.” He shivered a little as he held onto Yoongi’s wrist so tightly, feeling weirdly exposed with the way he was laying underneath him. Yoongi had always been the dominant part when they had sex, but something about this felt different from the start. It made him fidgety and at the same time excited and completely overwhelmed.

“Oh…,” his breath left him in a rush and his hand stilled. “You want me to…” A tiny part of him, the bitter and paranoid one was freaking out that trusting Jungkook would mean risking his health - but the other, much, much bigger part was completely, positively overwhelmed at the thought of feeling Jungkook without any boundaries between them. It wasn’t so much a physical difference than it was an emotional one because it was as if Jungkook was pulling down his last defense, baring himself completely to Yoongi, making himself as vulnerable as he could be in front of the older. He kissed him with pure joy, long and deep and with so much feeling that it stole the breath right from Jungkook’s lips. “I’d love to,” He whispered against the others parted lips before finally pushing his fingers in. He had been turned on before but with the prospect of having Jungkook like this he could barely wait.

Jungkook smiled against Yoongi’s lips, it only being interrupted by a gasp that fell from him when he felt himself getting stretched and prepared by Yoongi. Completely addicted to his lips, Jungkook wrapped his arm around the other’s neck keeping him close while he was working him open and preparing him. Kissing along his jaw and down Yoongi’s neck, Jungkook nuzzled his face there, his breath fanning against his skin as he held onto him as if he was scared the moment he let go, he would fall apart already. Jungkook couldn’t explain the feelings, he didn’t know why he felt so scared all of a sudden when this was what he had done so many times before, especially with Yoongi. Looking up at him, Jungkook eyes wandered over his body and up to his face, searching, trying to find the answer in Yoongi’s eyes – but there was nothing but love.

He could feel Jungkook shudder and reassuringly kissed his cheek. “It’s alright. You can tell me if it’s too much. We can stop anytime. I won’t be mad or anything.” He withdrew his fingers with a feeling of longing and a little disappointment because Jungkook was just ready and he could have slid it right away now, enjoying the warmth and perfect tightness that would engulf him...  however, Jungkook looked fragile right now, almost scared and he definitely not wanted to do anything that would be too much or go too far. They had made big steps from being ‘casual hook up partners’ to making love with kisses and caresses and the prospect of sleeping with each other without protection. Maybe it had happened to fast. “Do you want me to stop? I could get you off another way and then do some lazy cuddling if that’s what you prefer. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The way Yoongi was talking to him, so sweetly, so caring was only making it worse and Jungkook gasped for air in a weak moment. He shook his head, biting his lip harshly to keep his eyes from tearing up, “N-no, please, keep going. I am fine, really. I want you!” Leaning in, Jungkook kissed Yoongi softly, trying to reassure him that he was indeed okay. With a smile, Jungkook let himself fall back onto his, taking another deep breath. He nodded towards Yoongi, spreading his thighs a little more for him. His heart hammering hard against his chest, while he held onto Yoongi’s arms for support. “Please.”

Yoongi hesitated for a moment before he gave in. Jungkook had no reason to lie and his eyes looked so open and honest that Yoongi was sure he’d see any kind of discomfort immediately. “Then I’ll have you,” He answered simply before soothing a hand down Jungkook’s side and letting it rest at his hip so that he could steady and position himself. It was easy to push in, Jungkook was relaxed and well prepped and slippery and the feeling of his pure, unprotected skin was heavenly around his cock. Yoongi moaned low and desperate, stopping to catch his breath for a second because it felt so good he felt like he could come right away. Inch by inch he pushed into him, dragging it out until he was fully inside of him, so deep that the thought alone made him twitch with lust. “So good…,” He groaned, experimentally rocking his hips a little bit, “You feel so fucking good..”

The moment when Yoongi pushed in, it finally hit Jungkook like a million bricks. He tightened his hold around Yoongi’s arms immediately, his eyes wide open and tearing up as he felt like his heart was bursting from whatever he was feeling right now. He couldn’t understand it, not decipher it. He had never felt it. It was like the butterflies in his stomach were going crazy. Jungkook gulped heavily, a single teardrop falling onto his cheek when he realized what Yoongi had been doing. The way he had undressed him, kissed him, made sure that he was okay with whatever he was doing. At first Jungkook thought it was his way of apologizing again for last night but then he realized it was way more. He whimpered quietly with each push into him, as he was starting to shiver from the intensity.

Yoongi was making love to him and Jungkook was completely and intensely overwhelmed with it.

Quickly, he pulled him down onto him, hiding in the crook of his neck as he tried to cover up his own vulnerability with kissing along his soft skin. Yoongi had his eyes closed, losing himself completely in the moment. So, he only realized that Jungkook had been crying when Jungkook hid his face in the older’s neck and he could feel the telltale wetness on the other’s long lashes. Yoongi stiffened up, coming to a halt immediately. “Jungkook?” His voice sounded brittle and breathless. “Are you alright? Did I.. did I hurt you?” He was about to pull out but Jungkook’s tight hold prevented him from moving away. “What’s happening? Talk to me, please. Please, just... I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you...,” He repeated the words as if it would make Jungkook stop hurting and his heart clenched painfully when he realized he couldn’t. He had no idea what he had done wrong.

Jungkook shook his head, his voice only a whisper, “I’m not hurt.” It was the only thing he could say before a sob broke through him and he held on tighter to Yoongi, trying to soothe him at the same time. “Shh, n-no,” Jungkook shivered in his hold, only looking at Yoongi when the other made him and cupped his cheeks. His own hands wandered down to Yoongi’s hips, making him stay buried deep inside of him.

“You…you’re…m-making love to me,” Jungkook averted his gaze at first, then looked up at Yoongi, only realizing now what a mess he was. He was making himself vulnerable, he was falling apart right in front of Yoongi. And it was scaring him. The fact that he was giving himself over to the other right now. Completely. Naked. And that Yoongi had the power to destroy him right now. He closed his eyes, turning his head as if he was expecting a blow.

Yoongi’s face softened. He could feel Jungkook’s fear and he knew it himself. He wanted to take it away from the boy so badly it made him ache with it too. Gently he took Jungkook’s face in his hands, soothing over his cheek before kissing his forehead, his nose, his closed lips.

“Yes. Yes I am. And if it’s too much I can stop. I will only do what you want me to. But if you want to go on then I want you to know that this is exactly what you think it is. I’m not using you for pleasure. I want to feel you, in my heart, in my soul and through my body. You are precious to me, Jungkook. I know trusting is as difficult for you as it is for me so I understand if you can’t believe me right away though I’ll still tell you: I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to feel good, to be happy. To feel safe in my arms. And whatever you need, whatever it is that I can give you to make you feel at home with me I’ll happily give it to you. You’re a part of me now. And I don’t want to change that, ever again.” He wasn’t a great talker and especially not right in the middle of sex but Jungkook had obviously needed that and Yoongi himself had felt like his heart was about to burst if he didn’t speak his feelings out loud. He might be embarrassed later or scared about his own bravery. But no matter how he would feel about this later on, it wouldn’t make what he said any less true.

Jungkook stared up at Yoongi, the tears flowing down his cheeks on his own, while he was listening closely. He couldn’t stop sobbing, Yoongi’s words hitting him so hard and Jungkook wondered when he had fallen for that man above him? When the exact moment had been, but he didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. But his heart had chosen him anyways.

He sniffled cutely, wrapping his arms around Yoongi closely to feel even more of him and his warmth. “You make me feel good. Always,” Jungkook mumbled, his cheeks heating up, “Please, I don’t want you to stop. I’m sorry.” He let go off Yoongi a little more, so he could move his hips more freely. A kiss was placed on his lips and Jungkook smiled.

”Don’t be sorry. I want all of you, all parts of you, the happy just as much as the vulnerable and insecure.”

Moving again after being motionlessly inside of Jungkook drew a sharp gasp from him. He had concentrated on Jungkook so much that he had almost forgotten how hard he was. “Fuck! If... if there’s anything else you want to talk about you need to do it now or else I'm going to lose my breath,” He told him, with a grin on his lips and a dark, hungry fire in his eyes.

Jungkook shook his head but then stopped again and pushed his hand onto Yoongi’s chest. There were still tears on his cheeks and eyes and Jungkook hiccupped a little. “D-does this make me your…you know…,” Feeling anxious he bit his lip again, before he whispered as if he was afraid someone else could hear it, “…your boyfriend?”

The way Jungkook said it and his wide, dark eyes that made him look so soft and beautiful had the heat rushing into Yoongi’s cheeks until he felt like his face was on fire. He felt like a teenager again, young and naive and swept away by love before his heart had been broken and scared over and before he had sworn to himself that love and boyfriends was only something to believe in for the ones believing in miracles and unicorns. Apparently he had found his own unicorn right now. To his own surprise he heard himself saying, “If.. if you want to? You can be my boyfriend, my partner, my love… however, you want to call it.”

Jungkook nodded eagerly, moving his hips restlessly against Yoongi, before he added, “Only if you want to of course.” He smiled against the kiss that Yoongi was pressing onto his lips right away, taking away his worries and his fears right with it. His heart was beating into overdrive nonetheless and he moaned the second Yoongi was moving inside of him again. “Please, do what you promised me before now,” Jungkook smirked, wiping over his cheeks with his palm, still feeling a little out of it, “Make me forget my name.”

Yoongi didn’t need to be told twice. He had pushed his own body to the edge as well so as soon as Jungkook gave his okay he started moving again, pushing into him with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips. He wasn’t taking him as roughly as their sex normally was when they were rushed and heated and a little drunk (on each other) but it was nonetheless passionate. Just a little more sensual, a little drawn out. Though no matter the tempo Yoongi made still sure to push right into Jungkook’s sweet spot. He knew the other’s body well enough by now to be able to hit it dead on and so he kept the younger in place while rocking into him again and again, moaning helplessly at the tight, velvety perfect heat that was Jungkook’s body. He kissed every inch of his body, listening as he made soft whimpering sounds. Tears stung behind his lids. His body yearned for more, his heart crying out to taste his sweetness, feel his love and become one. Jungkook cried aloud, his fingers pressed hard into his shoulders. His skin tingled, Yoongi’s arms protectively around him while he was saying his name against his mouth over and over and he cried again as they came together in explosive release. Jungkook felt safe and in the right place. It was like they fitted perfectly together.

He couldn’t explain it, but he knew they belonged together now.

Yoongi didn’t let Jungkook out of his sight for a moment afterwards. They cleaned up a little (mostly Yoongi because Jungkook’s legs were giving out under him as he tried to get up) and then cuddled back into bed right after. They didn’t care about the time or what they should be doing, they were happy, perfectly content in their own timeless little bubble of bliss.

Yoongi breathed in Jungkook’s scent and whispered sweet little nothings into his sweaty hair. Jungkook trembled a little, maybe it was the tension melting out of his limbs, maybe exhaustion or maybe there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe that all this was happening. Whatever the reason Yoongi made sure to tuck the cover in around Jungkook, to hold him a little closer, kiss him a bit more softly, tell him wordlessly in a hundred ways that he was safe and cared for - and would be for as long as he chose to stay with Yoongi. “You good?” He mumbled, placing a kiss behind Jungkook’s ear, pulling him a little closer.

Before, to Jungkook, the piano had been just a huge piece of polished wood placed in one corner of Yoongi’s apartment with random sunlight beating down onto its black and white keys. There was no grey, nor other colors in between. Just like in his life.

That was until Yoongi started playing, filling the empty space with vibrating colors and even though Jungkook had his eyes closed, he could see it all every time. And just like the melody surrounding Yoongi, he filled Jungkook’s empty spaces with colors.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook whispered and reached to intertwine their hands, “I’m fine now.”

A/N: Another “short” story done! Jungkook finally found his home. How did you like it? The story was supposed to be far longer in the beginning, giving more insight on Yoongi’s troubles and Jungkook’s of course - but we kept it short for now. Maybe one day there will be a sequel to it. Cat and I just decided to concentrate on a few “shorter” stories rn. We already are working on a smol Easter Special, a sequel to the Minjoon ‘Mile High Valentine Club’ that many of you requested and another new Yoonkook AU as well. Can you see who our favorite pairings are? *cough* I will upload a new trailer for it tonight!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND SUPPORTING THIS STORY! REALLY! THANK YOU!!!! ❤❤❤❤ Don’t forget to subscribe to my list to get tagged into new fanfic works and also to add yourself in the ‘pairing’ section so we know what kind of pairings you’d like to see from us! 

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Ojen Cocktail - Mardi Gras Favorite Prevents Bad Luck

Picasso Puts The 'O' In Ojen

Aguardiente de Ojén or just Ojen (pronounced “oh-hen”) is an anise based liqueur similar to absinthe, but minus the wormwood. A fact that's reflected in the name which is actually shortened from the Spanish word ajenjo (ah-hen'ho) meaning artemisia absinthium, or grand wormwood, in the melodic language of Spain. Aguardiente, in Spanish, or Aguardente, in Portuguese is a combination of the Iberian languages' word for "water" (agua in Spanish + aiqua, água and auga in Catalan, Portuguese and Galician respectively) plus "burning / fiery" (ardiente in Spanish, ardent in Catalan and ardente in both Portuguese & Galician). Like absinthe, Ojén creates a louche when mixed with water or frapped which turns the mixture milky looking. Other anise flavored liqueurs / liquors include Arak, Greenopal, Herbsaint, Ouzo, Pastis, Pernod, Sambuca, Raki and more.

Pablo Picasso, the most famous native of Málaga, Spain, was definitely a fan as he himself dually noted [sic] in two of his paintings. Ojen's original coffin shaped bottle was captured on the artist's canvas inside an oval in his 1912 Spanish Still Life shown above.

He followed that cubist style masterpiece up a few years later with a Bottle of Anis del Mono resting on a wooden bartop alongside a wineglass and playing cards. See below.

History Of Ojen Liqueur

First Produced

1830 or so - the Pedro Morales family distillery began producing Ojen in its namesake city east of the sherry triangle in Andalusia the southernmost region of Peninsular Spain.*

1870 - Anis del Mono anisette starts production in a factory in Badalona, Spain. This sweet aniseed liqueur in particular is often mentioned as an Ojen substitute, though its not quite the same.†

1874 - Pedro Morales sets up a second location in Malaga, Spain to increase capacity.‡

1883 - Paul Gelpi and his brother Oscar own a liquor distribution company located at 43 Decatur Street in New Orleans and advertise 50 cases of OJEN of Majorca for sale which they claim is superior to ABSINTHE as an appetizer and tonic.1

Original Ojen Cocktail Created

1886 - Paul Gelpi was inaugurated as a member of the elite gentleman's club The Boston in February and it was there that the Ojen Cocktail was first mixed by adding a couple of dashes of Peychaud's bitters and soda water over cracked ice. Gelpi's role in the recipe is unclear as L. E. Jung suggests he or his company had invented the Ojen Cocktail.2,3

1910s - other Spanish brands of Ojen like Joaquin Bueno of Malaga and Manuel Fernández of Puerto de Santa Maria / Jerez (formerly called Xerés) along with New Orleans, Louisiana based manufacturer L.E. Jung & Wulff Company were gaining prominence.

1920 - the Morales distillery had to close due to a phylloxera plague that killed the vineyards around Malaga and apparently the last male heir took the secret family recipe to their grave.

1946 - Brennan's on Royal Street, a Creole restaurant in the French Quarter which started as the Vieux Carré located on Bourbon Street, opens and later features the Ojen Frappé on their brunch menu along with originals like Bananas Foster and Eggs Hussarde.

1961 - Juan Espada Fernández, who claims to be in possession of the original Ojen recipe via his father who is said to have been an employee of the Pedro Morales distillery, launches production of Aguardiente de Ojén after buying the still in 1958.

1974 - internal company conflicts cause the Juan Espada distillery in Ojén, Spain to permanently cease operation.

1990 - in the late 1980s, with sagging sales, the Fernandez family in Jerez de la Frontera was the last remaining ojen producer and decided to stop production but made one last batch of 500 cases totaling 6000 bottles for export to Martin Wine Cellar in New Orleans, Louisiana.4

Hoard Your Bottle Of Ojén - You Can't Buy Anymore

2009 - the last bottle of the Manuel Fernandez White Label Ojen was officially sold by Martin Wine Cellar.5

Fat Chance you'll be drinking Ojen on Fat Tuesday much longer.

Salvation

2013 - following an analysis of a specimen of the original brandy which showed 16 distinct herbs from the Sierra de las Nieves were used, Dominique Mertens Impex S.L. produces the first 3,000 bottles of an aniseed flavored spirit made from prickly pears on Ojén soil using traditional methods called ‘Aguardiente de Ojén La Giralda.’ 6

2015 - after sending samples of classic Ojen to the lab to reverse engineer and spending over two years of R&D time and talent developing its own distillate recipe labeled as Legendre Ojen after J. Marion Legendre, the inventor of Herbsaint, Sazerac Company was able put some of their new bottles of Ojén on the shelf between Christmas and New Year’s Eve well ahead of its goal for the February 9, 2016 Mardi Gras.7

Looks like the phrase “Una copita de Ojén” (a little glass of Ojén) followed by seven musical taps on the bar that was a ritual toast heard all over Spain for more than a hundred years can be resurrected once again now that this drink that starts with 'O' is back on the table.

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Behind The Bar - How To Make Ojen's Namesake Drink Recipes At Home

Ojen Cocktail (American / New Orleans Style):

2 oz Ojen

2 - 3 dashes Peychaud's bitters

Add the Ojen to a mixing glass filled with fine ice and dash on the bitters. Stir thoroughly with a bar spoon and strain into a long stem glass.8-14

The bitters give this Ojen a delicate rose-colored tinge. Therefore it masquerades under the name of “Pink Shimmy,” or pinque chemise, if you prefer the language of the fifty million who can’t be wrong.15

~ Stanley Clisby Arthur

Perfect for parading around during Mardi Gras carnival celebrations!

Note: many also add seltzer water to the formula above similar to the next recipe below.16-21 Sort of makes them the same then. Right down to the bitter end.

Ojen or Spanish Absinthe Cocktail:

1 jigger Ojen

2 - 3 drops Angostura bitters

seltzer water

Combine Ojen with ice in a large glass. Keep pouring seltzer into glass while stirring constantly with a spoon until the outside of the glass is frosted, frozen and frapped. Then add a few dashes of Angostura bitters and strain into a cocktail glass.22-26

Like above, many recipes eliminate the soda water, but the Angostura & Ojen only formula seems to originate and/or be preferred in Cuba.27-30

Ojen Special

1 ½ oz Ojen

2 - 3 dashes Peychaud's bitters

1 tsp sugar

2 - 3 oz seltzer

Stir all the ingredients together in a mixing glass filled with ice, strain and serve.31,32

Adding sugar to the recipe didn't start appearing in bartending books until the early to mid 1940s, but this may have been what the proprietor at the Lilac Time bar served to Mistah Gordon in To Have and Have Not.33 Or, at least, that's what another writer's interpretation of 1937 Ernest Hemingway was.34 Here's the passage:

"'Allo, 'allo, Mist' Gordon. What you have?" "I don't know," said Richard Gordon. "You don't look good. Whatsa matter? You don't feel good?" "No." "I fix you something just fine. Fix you up hokay. You ever try a Spanish absinthe, ojen?" "Go ahead," said Gordon. "You drink him you feel good. Want to fight anybody in a house," said the proprietor. "Make Mistah Gordon a ojen special." Standing at the bar, Richard Gordon drank three ojen specials but he felt no better; the opaque, sweetish, cold, licorice-tasting drink did not make him feel any different "Give me something else," he said to the bartender. "Whatsa matter? You no like a ojen special?" the proprietor asked. "You no feel good?" "No." "You got be careful what you drink after him."

Words to live by!

More Anisette Cocktails

Albion - dry gin, French vermouth, Cointreau, lemon juice and Ojen bitters.

Anis Del Mono Cocktail No. I - dry gin, Anis del Mono, bar syrup and thick cream with grated nutmeg.

Anis Del Mono Cocktail No. II - Anis del Mono, Cognac, Fernet Branca, Angostura bitters and lime or lemon juice.

Battle of New Orleans - bourbon, orange bitters, anisette, Peychaud's bitters, simple syrup and absinthe.

Beaux Arts Cocktail - gin, dry vermouth, sweet vermouth, orange juice, pineapple juice and anisette.

Black Gold Shot #2 - Goldschlager and Opal Nera or Romana Black sambuca.

Borden Chase - a Rob Roy with anise liqueur Pernod and orange bitters or you can use another pastis, like Ricard, Herbsaint, Absente, or Pastis Henri Baudoin.

Broken Spur Cocktail / Broker's Flip - white port, dry gin, sweet vermouth, egg yolk and anisette.

Café de Paris Cocktail / Hankow Special - egg white, anisette, fresh cream and dry gin.

Cattlin Cocktail - 1/4 each dry gin, Picard vermouth, Cora vermouth and ojen with one egg white.

Colony Club - gin, anisette and orange bitters.

Dream Cocktail - Cognac or brandy, orange liqueur and anisette.

Dubonnet Special - Dubonnet, dry gin, absinthe and anisette.

Dulcet - vodka, apricot flavored brandy, anisette, cream, lemon juice.

Green Opal Cocktail - Greenopal, dry gin and Ojen with both orange and Peychaud bitters.

Herbsaint Frappé - Herbsaint, simple syrup and carbonated water frapped in cracked ice.

Jellyfish Cocktail - blue curacao, Irish cream and white sambuca anise liqueurs with grenadine.

Jitters Cocktail - equal parts Ojen, gin and French vermouth. Note: this recipe first appeared on the back of Fernandez White Label Ojen bottles and was then published on page 39 of Famous New Orleans Drinks and How To Mix ’Em in 1937.

Marguerite Cocktail #3 - gin, French vermouth, orange bitters and anisette.

Narragansett - rye whiskey, Italian vermouth and anisette.

Pick-Up - 1/3 jigger each of Ojen, dubonnet and rum with one egg white and a dash of grenadine will pick up your spirits.

Slippery Nipple - Sambuca (Italian anise-flavoured liqueur) and Irish cream liqueur.

Snowball - creme de violette, anisette, white creme de menthe, sweet cream and dry gin.

Suisse Cocktail - pastis, anisette and egg white.

Turf Cocktail - gin, dry vermouth, anisette and bitters.

Yellow Daisy - dry gin, French vermouth, Grand Marnier and anisette.

Yellow Parrot - apricot brandy, yellow chartreuse and anisette.

Zazarac - rum, anisette, gomme syrup, whisky and angostura bitters.

Zenith Cocktail #2 - anisette, Angostura bitters, dry gin and whiskey.

References

* - Aguardiente de Ojén. (2021, January 27).

† - New Orleans Nostalgia, "Banana Republics and Ojen Cocktails Update.", Ned Hémard, 2011.

‡ - "Ojén, the rebirth of an anise." WHISKYMag.fr 20 September, 2018.

1 - "50 Cases OJEN of Majorca for sale." The Times-Picayune from New Orleans, Louisiana. 27 May, 1883.

2 - Landry, Stuart O. History of the Boston Club (New Orleans: Pelican Publishing Company, 1938), 229. Print.

3 - The Mixologist - How To Mix The Mixings (New Orleans: L.E. Jung & Wulff Co. Inc., 1933). Print. via Picken, Conor and Dischinger, Matthew Southern Comforts: Drinking and the U.S. South (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2020). Print.

4 - La Fille. "Classic New Orleans: A Brief History of Ojen." La Fille De La Ville 1 April, 2009.

5 - Price, Todd A. "Last bottle of locally popular Ojen liqueur sold." The Times-Picayune from New Orleans, Louisiana 16 July, 2009.

6 - Pérez, Mónica. "Belgian business revives the production of a traditional spirit from Ojén." SURinEnlish.com 14 February, 2014.

7 - Forbes, Seánan. "Ojen Makes Its Long-Awaited Comeback." Tales of the Cocktail 09 February, 2016.

8 - J. A. Grohusko, Jack's Manual on The Vintage and Production, Care, and Handling of Wines, Liquors, etc. A Handbook of Information for Home, Club or Hotel, 3rd Edition (New York: McClunn & Co., 1910), 69. Print.

9 - Jacques Straub, Straub's Manual of Mixed Drinks (Chicago: The Hotel Monthly, John Willy, 1914), 33. Print.

10 - Hugo R. Ensslin, Recipes For Mixed Drinks (New York: Fox Printing House, 1917), 62. Print.

11 - El Arte De Hacer Un Cocktail Y Algo Más (Havana: Imprenta Fernandez Solana Y Ca. - Obsequio De La Cia Cervecera Internacional S. A., 1927), 173. Print.

12 - Herbert Jenkins LTD, A Life-time Collection of 688 Recipes for Drinks (London: Purnell and Sons, 1934), 37. Print.

13 - John Held Jr., Peychaud's New Orleans Cocktails (New Orleans: A. M. & J. Solari, LTD., 1935), 27. Print.

14 - Patrick Gavin Duffy, The Official Mixer's Manual. The Standard Guide for Professional and Amateur Bartenders Throughout the World (New York: Blue Ribbon Books, 1940), 201. Print.

15 - John Held Jr., Peychaud's New Orleans Cocktails (New Orleans: A. M. & J. Solari, LTD., 1935), 32. Print. Pink Shimmy is a copyrighted and trademarked name for The Ojen Cocktail (American / New Orleans Style) owned by Solari's New Orleans. It was sold pre-mixed and bottled using either Fernandez White Label Spanish Ojen or Solari's Ojen and Peychaud's bitters.

16 - Geo. R. Washburne and Stanley Bronner, Beverages De Luxe (Louisville: The Wine and Spirit Bulletin, 1914), 93. Print.

17 - J. A. Grohusko, Jack's Manual on The Vintage and Production, Care, and Handling of Wines, Liquors, etc. A Handbook of Information for Home, Club or Hotel (New York: McClunn & Co., 1916), 61. Print.

18 - Jere Sullivan, The Drinks of Yesteryear - A Mixology (New Haven: J. Sullivan, 1930), 24. Print.

19 - Albert Stevens Crockett, Old Waldorf Bar Days (New York: Aventine Press, 1931), 152. Print.

20 - Stanley Clisby Arthur, Famous New Orleans Drinks and How To Mix ’Em (New Orleans: Harmanson Publisher, 1937), 40. Print.

21 - Owen, D. (Writer), Lealos, C. (Director). (2015, February 9). Dead in New Orleans (Season 1, Episode 15) M. Bukhonina, E. Comerford-Rubin (Executive Producers) Booze Traveler. Travel Channel. Jack Maxwell hunts for the "almost extinct" liqueur Ojén which is the official booze of Mardi Gras and is seen as bad luck not to drink it. Fortunately he scores at Brennan's Restaurant where he is served from a secret stash of Fernandez White Label Ojen that is kept under lock and key. His first reaction is that it tastes like liquid Good & Plenty, the sweet black licorice barrels coated in bright pink and white hard candy shells.

22 - Jacques Straub, Straub's Manual of Mixed Drinks (Chicago: R. Francis Welsh, 1913), 35. Print.

23 - Thomas Bullock, The Ideal Bartender (St. Louis: Buxton & Skinner, 1917), 44. Print.

24 - El Arte De Hacer Un Cocktail Y Algo Más (Havana: Imprenta Fernandez Solana Y Ca. - Obsequio De La Cia Cervecera Internacional S. A., 1927), 51. Print.

25 - Gerardo Corrales, Club de Cantineros de la Rupublica de Cuba - Manual Oficial (Havana: José Cuervo, 1930), 54. Print.

26 - Pedro Chicote, La Ley Mojada (Madrid: Sucesores de Rivadeneyra, S. A., 1930), 203. Print.

27 - Segundo Menénez & Manuel Rodriguez, Bar La Florida Cocktails (Havana: Obispo y Monserrate, 1930), 64. Print.

28 - Bartender's of the Hotel Lincoln, Hotel "Lincoln" Cock-tail Book (Havana: Excelsior, 1937), 52. Print.

29 - Salvador Trullos Mateu Recetario Internacional de Cocktails (Havana: O'Reilly, 1937), 112. Print.

30 - Constantino "Constante" Ribalaigua, Floridita Cock-tails (Havana: El Floridita, 1939), 52. Print.

31 - Oscar Haimo of the Hotel Pierre, Cocktail Digest (Brooklyn, New York: Comet Press, 1943), 55. Print.

32 - Lucius Morris Beebe, The Stork Club Bar Book (New York: Rinehart, 1946), 89. Print.

33 - Ernest Hemingway, To Have and Have Not (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1937), 191. Print.

34 - Philip Greene, To Have and Have Another: A Hemingway Cocktail Companion (New York: TarcherPerigee , 2012), 180. Print.

[mintyvan]

22 - smoke in your window

A mini-fic based on a dream @you-andthebottlemen had!

___________________

You were happiest when you were close to him. His little freckles, crooked smile, and lingering touches set your heart ablaze. Not to mention how he romanticized everything, bringing fairy-tale feelings into whatever situation, or person, he encountered.  

He was a year older than you, but you loved it - the increase in unattainability made him that much more attractive.

In your room, his hands brushed over yours as he selected a record. Sparks flew up your arm wherever he touched, and you tried to hide your blush, letting your hair fall from behind your ears. When the first song began to play, he starfished out on the floor, and you followed: your head leaned on the back of his arm. You were dreamy-eyed, staring up at the white ceiling, hoping some divinity was finally noticing your yearning for Van and letting the cards play out in your favor.

Larry stretched out next to you both, elbow propped in your side, munching on licorice twists.

This was how it usually went.

After a while, Van slowly stood. He shook out his shaggy hair, and your heart ached. You wanted to run your fingers through it and kiss his cheeks.

“M’ goin’ out for a smoke,” he said in that thick accent of his. Larry nodded, and stayed behind. The record fell silent, and all you could hear was Larry’s chewing. You crawled across the floor to the record bin, and Larry followed suit.

You rifled through your records, mumbling to yourself, trying to remember Van’s favorite songs from each, and finally settled on a record you knew you’d both love to hear.

“That’s a good one,” Larry said, leaning over your shoulder, a bit too close, making you jump a little. You could feel his presence behind you.

"Larry..." you said, warning him, turning around, hoping he'd back away a bit. He did just the opposite.

He leaned in before you could think, pressing his thick licorice-stained lips to yours, and you felt yourself kissing back for only a moment, derived from instinct and pure shock.

You pushed him off at the same time you heard Van's feet on the stairs.

"Fuck!" you whispered, and moved back to your original place on the shaggy carpet, knees drawn up, still staring wide-eyed at Larry, wishing he hadn’t just done that. Larry stood, smile on his face, with a hand on his hip.

"The mood in here has shifted. I can feel it," Van said when he entered the room, setting his cigarette packet on your dresser. His intuition never failed him.

"Maybe you should write a song about it," Larry confidently called out to him. Van looked at him, and noticed how out of place Larry’s comment seemed. He ticked his head to the side at Larry before diverting his attention to the silence in the room.   

"Let's pick another record, shall we?" He rifled through the bin, flicking his long fingers over each of your records, studying them. You held your breath. "Ooh! I like this one." He held it up and showed it to you. It was the same record you had thought to choose before Larry kissed you.

Larry sat too close to you as the first song played, and Van sat down next to you again, lips between teeth in frustration as he tried to re-roll a joint that had unravelled in his pocket. You watched his tongue dart between his lips, and you tried to count the freckles on his nose. You got to forty-eight before Larry's arm rested across your shoulders. You froze.

"What's this, then?" Van said into the wrapper, and you felt your ears burn hot. But he wasn't talking about you and Larry; he'd found a piece of his pocket lint in the stash on the rolling paper. You breathed a sigh of relief.

You scooted closer to Van, and out from underneath Larry's arm, hoping he'd get a clue. Your heart pounded when you realized how close you’d managed to sit next to Van. He finished rolling the joint, and held it up to you to observe. You took it between your fingers, studying his handiwork, happy he selected you to judge.

"Larry, run to the store to get more candy. None of that licorice shit you always eat though," Van said, to which you replied, "yeah, Larry, it tastes like shit" and Larry stood up, winking at you obviously before he left.

Van missed the exchange, thankfully. However, he saw you shiver, and immediately pulled a blanket from your bed and wrapped you in it after taking the joint back from you. The blanket he grabbed was the one he cocooned himself in last night after the mini-party you’d hosted for the band. Snuggled in the lingering warm scent of him, you were content for the moment. You forgot how Larry's lips felt.

“We should light this,” Van started, sparkle in his eye.

“In my room? Like, right now?” you asked, nervous. Your parents weren’t supposed to be home for a few hours, but you had never done something so scandalous in your childhood room.

Van’s bright, mischievous smile and his eager body language convinced you to give in. You fumbled for your lighter; you usually hid them with your cigarettes in a shoebox under your bed. Van laughed, dimples and all, at your method of hiding, and you wanted to jump into his arms right there.

“Almost forgot,” he stated, rising from the carpet, wiry legs stepping over your huddled frame to open the window. He sat on the bed underneath it, and motioned for you to bring the lighter.

You sat across from him on the bed, and your breathing picked up. Smoking weed in your room and being on the bed with your crush while your parents weren’t home? Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Relax, love. I’ve done it a million times at mine. You just have to make sure you dispose of the evidence and fan the smoke out the window.” 

Eyes silently asking your permission, he held the lighter under it. You had no objections. He flicked the lighter flame on, and sucked in from the other side of the joint as the tip blazed a golden orange. His cheeks hollowed and his eyes focused on keeping it lit as he breathed in, lips gently settled around the end. His eyelashes fluttered as he breathed out, accidentally blowing some smoke toward your face before remembering to blow upward and out the window. His chin tipped up and his adam’s apple bobbed as he released the rest of the smoke outside.

You thought you’d pass out right there. He was beautiful.The sweet smoke lingered in your face, and you took the joint from his long fingers. You closed your eyes tightly, inhaling deeply, enjoying the hot feeling in your lungs before blowing the smoke skyward over Van’s head. You felt his weight shift and then leave the bed.

When you opened your eyes, the record had been flipped and Van was back on the bed, his face much closer to yours now.

“This stuff is really strong,” you said to him, feeling your senses already heightened. Van looked prettier than ever. His eyes seemed brighter, hair smoother, cheekbones more pronounced. You couldn’t help it; you reached out a hand and brushed his hair back behind his ear.

Your favorite track on the record started, and Van giggled because it was his favorite too. It was the cutest sound you’d ever heard. You huddled farther into your blanket, hunched and cross-legged in front of Van, who was cross-legged and propped on your pillows. Slowly drifting.

The record ended, and you didn’t even notice. Your eyes couldn’t tear away from his face. You both were staring into each other’s eyes, trying to memorize every feature.

By now, you’d climbed next to Van, and were stretched into his side, blanket forgotten and tangled between both your legs. Whenever you got high together, you always ended up pressed into his body one way or another.

“I’m reeeeeeally fucking high,” you say, hearing floorboards creak down the hall, enjoying the contrast of the noise to the sweet feeling in your head.

“I’m really fucking in love with you,” he says, goofy smile plastered to his face.

Your breath hitched. His eyes were so blue. You wanted to swim in them. He was lying. He had to be. But he never lied.

“Since always,” he added.

He came closer to your face, and placed a hand on your cheek. The pads of his fingers, rough from the guitar, felt good against your skin. His eyes fluttered closed as he lowered his lips onto yours.

They were softer than you could have imagined; they moved in perfect sync with yours. His tongue lazily grazed your bottom lip, and you felt as if no one had ever kissed like this before.

Hazily, you broke apart and noticed Larry standing there with an upset look on his face. He dropped the newly purchased bag of candy on the floor and walked down the hall.

“Ah… I’ll go…. talk to him,” Van said, faint smile still lingering on his face despite the change in mood. He stood up, looked at his feet as if he just remembered he had them, and walked across the room in a daze.

He slowly spun on his heel before exiting the room, holding onto the door frame with a hand supporting his weight.

“Save summa-that for me, would ya?” he said, grin sneaking up on his face again as you lit the end of the joint, inhaling.

“‘Course,” you replied, breathing sweet smoke out your window shakily, not believing your luck.  

[whittlebaggett8]

20 products and apps we swear by to fall asleep faster, stay asleep longer, and wake up well-rested, Defence Online

Insider Picks writes about products and services to help you navigate when shopping online. Insider Inc. receives a commission from our affiliate partners when you buy through our links, but our reporting and recommendations are always independent and objective.

caption

Tom Brady sleeps in Under Armour’s Athlete Recovery Sleepwear, which is soft, stretchy, and helps sore muscles heal.

source

Under Armour

Ever since I graduated high school and college, I’ve been steadily getting more hours of sleep per day, and boy do I appreciate those extra hours. I’ve realized how important sleep is for everything from skin health and mood to energy and memory retention (turns out all-nighters usually don’t help you ace the final), which is why I’m now especially frustrated on those nights when I can’t fall asleep right away and clock in my precious eight hours.

Your body should be in the optimal state to rest – calm, relaxed, warm (but not too warm), and still – not tossing, turning, and getting yourself worked up. Everyone has their own little tricks to help them achieve this ideal sleeping state, so I consulted the rest of the Insider Picks team to learn about their secrets.

It’s not surprising that many of their essential products are the ones directly related to sleeping: pillow, comforters, and mattress toppers, for example. Auxiliary products and apps also help our team out, whether they fill the air with soothing scents and sounds or make your body feel extra comfortable.

For some of the top products that can help you get the best sleep, check out these in-depth Insider Picks buying guides:

These are the 20 products and apps the Insider Picks team uses to fall asleep faster, stay asleep longer, and wake up well-rested.

A soft, cooling mattress topper

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Amazon

KLOUDES Mattress Topper (King), $149, available at Amazon

“Even though I have back pain and logically understand that I should be sleeping on a firm mattress, I live by a mantra of ‘the squishier, the better.’ My partner finds this mattress topper to be a little too soft for her liking – especially on top of an already pretty plush mattress – but I love it.

Normally I have a hard time falling asleep because it takes me forever to figure out how I want to configure my sheets and blankets to account for our room’s ever-changing temperature. But because this topper is made from a cooling foam that helps regulate warmth, I have a much easier time getting comfortable and settling in. It also diffuses some of the body heat we each give off at night so neither of us wake up sweaty anymore.” -Sally Kaplan, Insider Picks editor

A convenient pillow spray you can bring anywhere

source

Amazon

ThisWorks Deep Pillow Spray, 75ml, $24.65, available at Amazon

“I’ve lent this spray out to friends, roommates, and family to help them sleep, and I’ve always had trouble getting it back from them. The power blend of lavender, vetivert and chamomile is unbelievably soothing, and it helps set up a sleep routine for me that signifies to my body it’s time to relax.” -Mara Leighton, Insider Picks reporter

A travel pillow so you can finally fall asleep on your flight

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Trtl

Trtl Pillow, $29.99, available at Amazon

“At first glance, the Trtl pillow looks nothing like a pillow. It seems more like a scarf or blanket, and in some ways, that’s actually what it is. A soft, lightweight fleece wrap hides and cushions a plastic neck support on one side, which rests on either shoulder or your chest to keep your head in a comfortable position.

The neck support consists of a few stiff ribs on one end of the scarf. To use the Trtl, simply place the ribs in the position you find most comfortable, then wrap the scarf around your neck. Velcro on the other end of the ribs holds the wrap in place while you doze off. The ribs have a little bit of flexibility to eliminate any pressure points or discomfort.” –David Slotnick, Insider Picks senior reporter

A hybrid pillow

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Leesa

Leesa Hybrid Pillow, $99, available at Leesa

“Leesa’s hybrid pillow is pretty much my dream pillow. The gel pillow base is firm enough to make me feel like I’m still sleeping on my memory foam pillow, but the soft, quilted down alternative topper makes it more comfortable to rest my head on the pillow at night. I’ve been using it for a few months now and I’ve never slept better.” -Malarie Gokey, Insider Picks senior editor

Incense sticks

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Amazon

Nag Champa Incense Sticks, $11.77, available at Amazon

“I was recently gifted an incense holder, and I’ve been getting used to the happy luxury of falling asleep to the calming smells of sandalwood and jasmine. I use candles, too, but this is my cautious option for when I’m already feeling drowsy.” -Mara Leighton, Insider Picks reporter

A pillow that strikes the balance between down and memory foam

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Casper/Instagram

Casper Pillow, $75, available at Casper

“I’m a light sleeper who changes her position all night long, so I need a pillow that can truly keep up with me. Casper’s pillow is arguably the best I’ve tried so far. The first night I slept on the pillow I started out on my left side, then moved onto my back some hours later, and ultimately woke up on my right side staring into the face of my very hungry cat.

So I can confirm that Casper’s claim that it made a pillow that works in every position is true. It’s a really nice marriage of a regular down pillow and a memory foam pillow – simultaneously fluffy and firm, and very comfortable.” -Ellen Hoffman, director of content strategy for Insider Picks

A good old-fashioned crossword puzzle

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Target

The New York Times Take It Easy Crossword Puzzles: 75 Easy Puzzles, $8.99, available at Target

“I do a crossword puzzle pretty much every night to help me wind down. Not only is it good for my long-term cognitive function, it’s also the perfect way to tire my mind after a long day (without resorting to screens). I suggest doing them with a gentle light on once you’re already in bed – that way you can just zonk out as soon as you’re ready.” –Sally Kaplan, Insider Picks editor

Chamomile herbal tea and a brewing basket to make it

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Finum

New Moon Tea Co. Sweet Dreams Herbal Tea, $9.91, available at Etsy

Finum Brewing Basket, $10.99, available at Amazon

“I like to brew this hand-blended chamomile herbal tea a few hours before bedtime. The tea relaxes and hydrates me at the same time, so I can sleep well and sip away the stress of the day. My best friend actually bought me this tea for Christmas last year, and I’ve been a huge fan ever since. I love the mix of chamomile with lavender, spearmint, rose, licorice, and lemon balm.

If you’ve never used loose-leaf tea before, you’ll also need Finum’s brewing basket or a nice teapot with a brewing basket to make it.” -Malarie Gokey, Insider Picks senior editor

A fluffy, comfortable bathrobe

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Snowe/Instagram

Snowe Bathrobe, $98, available at Snowe ( all orders placed now will ship by 10/31)

Alternative: Parachute Classic Bathrobe, $99, available at Parachute

“I hate to say it, but as I’ve mentioned in my full review, I’ll pull on this fluffy, luxurious Snowe robe after a shower and settle into bed for a few Netflix episodes before doing my nightly routine in earnest. I can’t count how many times I’ve woken up in it eight hours later. It’s more absorbent than my towels and dangerously comfy.” -Mara Leighton, Insider Picks reporter

A diffuser you can plug into any USB port

source

GuruNanda

GuruNanda Natural Mist USB Wall Plug-In Diffuser, $24.99, available at GuruNanda

“I’ve found that aromatherapy significantly affects my mood, which is why I use this convenient diffuser to calm my mind and body down, especially if I’m feeling stressed or upset. It’s easy to operate by screwing the bottle directly into the top of the diffuser, then flipping it over so the oil starts dripping. After that, just plug it into a USB port or USB adapter in a wall outlet to start diffusing your favorite essential oil.

Because of the plug-in feature, you can bring the diffuser anywhere. If you have trouble falling asleep in unfamiliar places such as hotels, it’s an easy way to make your body feel more at ease.” –Connie Chen, Insider Picks reporter

A reading app

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Scribd

Scribd Monthly Membership, $8.99/month, available at Scribd

“I hate feeling idle, and that becomes a problem at bedtime. Instead of relying on TV shows, I’ve started setting a sleep timer on audiobooks in my favorite reading app and letting that lull me to sleep. I don’t think I’ve ever lasted more than five minutes awake.” -Mara Leighton, Insider Picks reporter

A down pillow

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Boll & Branch

Boll & Branch Medium/Firm Pillow, $80+, available at Boll & Branch

“I didn’t know how much of a difference a pillow could make until I tried one sent to us from Boll and Branch. My neck feels supported in a way it never did when sleeping on other pillows, and that’s helped me get to sleep faster and wake up more refreshed. Beyond support, it also happens to be the most comfortable pillow I’ve ever used, which makes reading in bed and other pre-sleep activities that much more enjoyable.” -Brandt Ranj, Insider Picks associate editor

Stretchy, moisture-wicking joggers you could get away with wearing outside

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Tommy John

Tommy John Go Anywhere Jogger, $148, available at Tommy John

“I’m pretty selective with what I wear to bed, but lately I’ve been sleeping in Tommy John’s Go Anywhere Jogger, which is another Insider Picks favorite. It’s light and feels soft on my skin, so I change out of my work clothes and right into it within a few minutes of walking into my apartment.

Unlike traditional pajama bottoms, this Jogger is perfectly acceptable to wear during a quick walk to the corner store, but is so comfortable I never feel the need to take it off to go to sleep. A solid win-win.” -Brandt Ranj, Insider Picks associate editor

A white noise app

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Noisli

Noisli, $1.99, available for iOS and Android

“Maybe it’s because I’m a New Yorker and used to hearing sirens and the piercing screeches of subway trains coming to a halt, but my mind needs background noise to fully relax at night. Right before I’m ready to go to bed, I pair a white noise app called Noisli via Bluetooth to my speaker. I customized a setting that emits the soothing sounds of wind and light rain all night long.” -Ellen Hoffman, director of content strategy for Insider Picks

A warm yet breathable comforter that’s surprisingly affordable

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Amazon

Equinox All-Season White Quilted Comforter (Queen), $31.99, available at Amazon

“This highly-rated comforter is warm, soft, and breathable – and such a bargain at $26. I’ve slept with the comforter by itself as well as with a duvet cover for two months now, and both versions have allowed me to settle into bed more quickly than ever because this blanket is so comfortable.

It’s made from alternative down, prevents dust accumulation, and is resistant to bacteria, making it the optimal choice for people who are sensitive to allergens.” –Connie Chen, Insider Picks reporter

Pajamas that athletes use to recover from workouts

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Under Armour

Under Armour Athlete Recovery Pants, $59.99, available at Under Armour

Under Armour Athlete Recovery 3/4 Sleeve Henley, $59.99, available at Under Armour

“I go to the gym at least three times during the week after work, so I’m pretty sore by the time I’m ready for bed. Instead of wearing normal pajamas or loungewear, the Ultra Comfort Pants and 3/4 Henley have become my favorite pieces to sleep in. They’re extremely soft, stretchy, and have a next-to-skin fit, without being too tight.

In addition to basic comfort, they do a great job at preventing me from waking up with lingering soreness or pain from the gym. They have a bioceramic print on the inside, which reflects Far Infrared – a type of energy that is proven to promote cell regrowth in the body. You can read my full review here.” –Amir Ismael, Insider Picks reporter

The Ambient Noise Alexa skill

source

Amazon

Ambient Noise, free to enable, available at Amazon

Amazon Echo, $99.99, available at Amazon

Our vice president of commerce, Breton Fischetti, calls this free Alexa skill “fantastic.” You can play the sounds of thunderstorms, crickets, birds, a fireplace, and even a washing machine, along with many other high-quality ambient noises. Your Amazon device will play the noise until you tell Alexa to stop, but you can also set specific time durations.

Micromodal lounge pants

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MeUndies

MeUndies Women’s Lounge Pant, $68, available at MeUndies

“Unless I’m wearing some version of recovery compression clothes to bed, I rely on these MeUndies loungers. I bought them based off of many, many recommendations from coworkers and wasn’t disappointed. They’re incredibly soft, feel like nothing, and don’t trap heat. Their underwear is also awesome for bedtime, as well as Tommy John’s and Everlane’s.” -Mara Leighton, Insider Picks reporter

A stretchy tank top

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Tommy John

Tommy John Lounge Tank, $46, available at Tommy John

“I’m obsessed with this soft, super stretchy tri-blend tank. It clings to my body nicely instead of restrictively and it doesn’t hurt that it has a flattering v-neck so I don’t feel like a slob in bed. The thin, barely noticeable hems and lack of clothing tags are blessings that ensure optimal comfort. I’m always reluctant to change out of it in the morning.” –Connie Chen, Insider Picks reporter

An e-reader with adjustable brightness settings

source

Amazon

Kindle Paperwhite, $99.99, available at Amazon

“I try to end every night with a good story. My Kindle goes with me everywhere, including in bed. It has a high-resolution 300 ppi display so I’m not squinting at the words on the page, and the brightness settings let me adjust the light to whatever level I’m comfortable with. Since it only weighs seven ounces, my arm is relaxed, not strained.” -Connie Chen, Insider Picks reporter

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[jobethdalloway]

Hogwarts AU Prompt:  you are already dating someone else, and during our love potion unit, you get asked to explain what you smell, and of course you’re gonna be smelling things that describe your partner right? uhm, but then why are you explicitly describing me…?

Jane couldn’t help scowling as she watched Maura walk past her compartment on the Hogwarts Express, holding hands with Cormac McLaggen.

“Don’t pay him any mind,” said George, noticing Jane’s gaze following the couple. “He’s nothing but a sleazy git.”

“Maura’s not stupid, though, she wouldn’t get with a total sleazeball if that’s all he was,” Jane mumbled, sitting all the way back once the couple was out of sight. “How’d they even get close?”

“I don’t mean to say I told you so, but you should’ve taken us up on our offer and stayed with us over the summer,” said Fred. “You lose out when you go all the way back stateside for the off-season.”

“That wouldn’t have helped; their families both spent the summer at Maison Magique,” said Angelina, naming an elite wizarding getaway in southern France. “My dad took me there to visit my grandparents in July. Mostly Beauxbatons kids, I met some cool blokes. Maura and McLaggen stuck together, though. They were nose-to-nose by the time I got there.”

The Weasley twins whistled and shook their heads in sympathy. Jane stayed silent, restlessly twirling her wand.

“I…know you mentioned liking her before last term ended,” Angelina said, which Jane had to laugh at because it was such a kind way of referring to the cartwheels Jane had done around their room while shouting “I’m in love, I’m in love, and I don’t care who knows it!” “Did you ever actually tell her?”

“No,” Jane sighed. “We just…we had some moments, you know? And I thought they meant we were on the same page, but I guess we weren’t.”

“You must’ve written to her, yeah?” asked Fred.

Jane sighed again. “Yeah, but not a ton. I still don’t understand how owl post is the most common form of communication for underage wizards; it’s so slow! If Maura had a damn cellphone-”

“Not this again,” George mumbled.

“-maybe that would’ve been different! There’s more of an immediacy with stuff like texting. What was I gonna do, write her a love letter? When we hadn’t even actually, I don’t know, confirmed anything?”

Over the summer it had felt way too vulnerable to put down any of her feelings on paper. There were some conversations she felt ought to happen in person, or at least ought to happen with a quick exchange possible, which owl post could not provide. She and Maura had exchanged a few letters at the beginning of the summer, but it must’ve been before she’d gone to France because she’d made no mention of the trip and certainly no mention of Cormac McLaggen. Now what if it was too late? Maybe it had been stupid not to write more, not to be forthcoming about her feelings. She hadn’t thought there’d be any risk, but that was stupid - of course a girl as pretty as Maura Isles would attract attention.

“If you want her to choose you, she’s got to know you’re an option,” Angelina said, putting her arm around Jane’s shoulders.

“What good’s that advice?” asked George. “The choice has already been made, hasn’t it? We don’t want her forcing her way in there like a jerk. Jane, why don’t you let us fill in Ginny? She’s a master at the bat-bogey hex and could turn Cormac’s-”

“Right, that’s not what a jerk would do,” Angelina cut him off, rolling her eyes.

“Well if it was coming from a different source-!”

Jane decided to let them argue about it, trying to distract herself by playing a game of exploding snap with Lee. Her spirits were getting a little higher until the trolley cart came through, and there were no pumpkin pasties left. They had been Jane’s favorite wizarding treat since her first ride on the Hogwarts Express and sadly also seemed to be the only one that didn’t transport well when she asked her friends to send them overseas. Buying one for the ride to school was something she looked forward to all summer, and when the trolley witch apologetically offered her a licorice wand instead, the compartment fell silent as if one of Jane’s best friends had died.

Fred bought his usual box of Bertie Botts for everyone to gross each other out with, but Jane didn’t feel like playing. “I’m gonna hit up the ole water closet,” she muttered, moving to the door.

“Uncanny!” cried George. “I’m pretty sure I just ate a toilet water-flavored bean.”

Jane was determined to look straight ahead rather than scan the windows for Maura. Her heart seemed to fly up into her throat when Maura leapt out of a compartment in front of her.

“Jane!”

“Maura, hi! H-hello. Hi.”

“How was the end of your summer?”

“Good, good, it was good. How about yours?” She couldn’t help glancing into the compartment where McLaggen was unbuttoning his shirt. “Uh… d'you realize your boyfriend is disrobing?”

Maura’s eyes flicked over to McLaggen, and Jane frowned as they lingered on an objectively attractive body. Jane did her best to retain a polite smile when Maura looked back at her.

“I was helping him revise an essay for Binns and he spilled some ink on his shirt,” Maura explained. “I guess he’s choosing to get into his school robes now.”

“Bet that’s not all he’d like to get into,” Jane mumbled under her breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” Jane had hoped Maura would correct her on the “boyfriend” label. “You guys, you two are…”

Maura folded her arms, looking a little uncomfortable but trying to sound chipper. “We spent a lot of time together this summer. He’s quite a fascinating boy.”

“Mm. Okay.”

A short and painful silence passed before Maura said, “I was going to write you about him, but… you hadn’t answered my previous letter and I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“What?” Jane asked, more sharply than she’d intended. “I answered your last letter! I remember because you mentioned these sisters who lived across the street from you and they reminded me of the witches in Hocus Pocus and I wrote out this long plot description and I thought maybe you didn’t write me back because I talked too much about my mom’s obsession with Bette Midler-”

“What’s a Bette Midler?” Maura asked, looking confused.

“You didn’t get that letter? Didn’t Bass come back?”

Bass was Maura’s owl. Jane didn’t have one of her own; her parents didn’t think it was worth the money or the mess when Jane could borrow one at school and use her friends’ at home - which meant communication depended on them to start.

“He did, and he wasn’t injured or anything, so I don’t believed he was attacked in transit.”

“Has he ever lost mail before? It happens to muggle postal workers now and then.”

“He would never!”

McLaggen opened the compartment door, tired of waiting for the conversation to wind up. “There a party going on out here? Can I join?”

“Thanks, I was just on my way to the restroom,” Jane said, shooting him a scowl. “Your girlfriend here ambushed me.”

He smiled at the term, and Jane tried not to read too much into the flicker of discomfort (?) in Maura’s expression. She composed herself as Jane was about to walk away and said, “Wait, I wanted to give you this!” She handed Jane a small orange box. “The trolley witch was short on pumpkin pasties, and she said I bought the last one. I remembered you really liked them, and I didn’t want you to have to go without…”

Jane was touched by the gesture, and couldn’t help a small smile as she took the box. “Thanks, Maura. That’s really nice of you.”

“No problem,” said Maura, looking happy that Jane was pleased. “See you later?”

“Sure, yeah, see you around…”

On the night of sorting first years, students were encouraged to sit at their own house tables. Jane’s eyes were on McLaggen most of the evening, and she almost gave herself a headache twisting (as subtly as she could) to see Maura’s reactions when he winked or waved or puckered up. Once the dessert course arrived, he finally got up to go sit by her.

“Cheer up, mate,” said George, flipping a spoonful of chocolate pudding at Jane. She made no indication that she was aware it’d landed on her cheek. “There’s plenty of other fish in the black lake.”

“My life is a black lake,” Jane mumbled.

Angelina frowned, cleaning the pudding off Jane’s cheek. “Don’t be thick, you’ll be all right.”

“Yeah, I hear McLaggen’s gotten almost as many death predictions from Trelawney as Harry Potter,” said Fred. “Maybe that’ll turn out to be one of the old bat’s accurate ones! I’m sure she’s due; it must’ve been decades from her last one.”

The three of them spent the rest of the night attempting to cheer Jane up, and she was grateful for the effort. She even managed to laugh a few times.

What really got her spirits up, though, was watching Maura and McLaggen throughout the week. At first they had been very touchy-feely, cuddly even, but by mid-week Jane thought she detected a change in Maura’s attitude. She excitedly shared her observations with Angelina - Maura looked a little more somber with him; she didn’t seem to like his arm around her as much - but Angelina warned her not to get her hopes up. Maura was a serious person most of the time, she reminded her, and maybe she’d found that PDA really wasn’t her thing.

On Friday, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had their first Potions class together. Jane had barely managed to score high enough on her OWLs to meet Snape’s standards, and several of her classmates were shocked to see her there. This included McLaggen, who watched with unflattering surprise as Jane and Angelina sat down at the table next to his and Maura’s.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Haven’t you lost Gryffindor enough points in this room?”

“Nothing we haven’t earned back tenfold with our Quidditch matches,” Angelina said, blindly giving Jane a high-five. “Fancy trying out again this year and losing another spot to a second year, McLaggen?”

“Jane wants to be an Auror,” Maura said, preventing McLaggen from responding to Angelina’s bait. “Potions is a required course for that career path. She’ll do great.”

Jane was heartened by Maura’s warm tone. “I probably only did so well on my OWLS because of your help. Thanks for being so patient with me.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Snape swept into the room just then, instantly silencing the group. He narrowed his eyes at Jane as he walked by, but made no comment about her presence. He instead drew everyone’s attention to the cauldrons positioned in the middle of the classroom.

“If you have done your assigned reading for the summer, you will be able to identify the extremely advanced potions before you,” he said. “Regrettably the use of many of them is restricted for students, but Professor Dumbledore is of the opinion that it would still benefit you to be able to recognize them lest someone’s hand …slips. McLaggen.”

“Professor?”

“Come forward and identify the first potion.”

Few things gave Snape more pleasure than putting Gryffindors on the spot - especially jocks. He knew McLaggen was a capable, even good student once the year really got started, but his first few weeks back were abysmal as he readjusted from summer mode. He was a proud boy, and Snape smirked as he swaggered up to the cauldron and frowned. McLaggen leaned over it, giving it a stir and trying to smell it.

“Um…liquid luck?”

“We use proper names in this course, Mr. McLaggen, and furthermore you are wildly incorrect. This is not Felix Felicious; return to your seat. Who next?” he asked, his dark eyes scanning the room to see who looked the most nervous. “Rizzoli. This one should be simple enough, even for you.”

Jane got up and McLaggen bumped her on his way back to his seat. She refrained from retaliating only because she didn’t want to prove his point and risk losing them house points today. Clearing her throat, she leaned over the cauldron and almost laughed. “Unless I’m much mistaken-”

“Which is entirely possible.”

“-that is a love potion. I mean, amortentia.”

While this might’ve earned her a few points from a teacher who didn’t harbor genuine loathing towards their students, Snape merely sent her back to her desk by saying, “Congratulations on meeting the minimum standard for competency on your first day of class.”

“My parents will be so proud!”

His eyes narrowed again as Angelina laughed. “It is essential to use as many of your senses as possible aside from taste to identify potentially harmful potions such as these.”

“A love potion, harmful?” McLaggen scoffed.

“I know stories about the effects of this potion that would curl your hair, McLaggen.”

“But his hair’s already curly, sir,” Jane pointed out.

“It’s………an expression,” Snape said through his teeth, his lips barely moving. “Miss Isles.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Come share with the class your observations of this potion,” he said, gesturing again to the first cauldron. This was always a sure fire way to embarrass a student, and a sensitive intelligent type like Maura was perfect. “What can you tell us about it?”

“I know it’s scent is unique to everyone who smells it.”

“How so?”

“Well, it smells like whoever the person is attracted to. For example, I smell lavender and pumpkin pasties, and…”

She came to an abrupt halt, her cheeks starting to redden.

“What an abominable sounding combination of scents,” Snape said flatly. “You may return to your seat.”

Jane tried not to stare at her, then jumped when she realized Angelina was leaning indecently close to her. “Dude! What the hell?” she whispered.

“Just checking to see if you wore your lavender perfume today.”

Jane stole furtive glances at Maura throughout the rest of the class. Her expression belied nothing but intense concentration on the coursework. Jane was barely able to concentrate; her heart was pounding so hard she almost worried it might lead to an attack. When class ended, Maura leapt of her seat, cleaning her space with a sweep of her wand and all but running from the dungeon. Snape smirked as he watched McLaggen hurry after her, followed closely by Jane.

McLaggen headed towards the Hufflepuff dormitory, but Jane tried her luck in the nearest girls bathroom. Maura was indeed standing by one of the sinks, and as they stared at each other, Jane realized she had no idea what she actually wanted to say. She barely knew what to feel, let alone knew what Maura might be feeling.

Angelina’s words came back to her: “if you want her to choose you, you’ve got to let her know you’re an option.”

Jane had finally caught her breath from running to catch up, but her breathing was still a little shallow and her voice shaky when she said, “Look, I don’t know what just happened back there- and I mean for all I know, McLaggen grows lavender and really likes pumpkin pasties but …in case he doesn’t, I j-just wanted to tell you that I… I really like you. I like you and I kind of wish I’d asked you out last year. But I also really like being your friend,” she hurried to add. “I really, really do, and I don’t want you to think I’m not interested in friendship. But you didn’t seem as sold on you and McLaggen as he does, so in case you weren’t and in case that stuff in class just now was about me, I wanted you to know that I… I am definitely interested.”

There had been no change in Maura’s expression during this entire speech. Her countenance was guarded, like she was fighting not to emote, and Jane wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that. Silence loomed between them, becoming more awkward as it stretched on.

“Okay,” Jane whispered. “Um, that was kind of a lot, so I’m gonna … unless you wanna talk about it, I’m gonna leave. Let you think about all that, and um…you go ahead and uh, you can ignore everything I just said if you want to. But come find me any time if you want to talk.”

Throughout the rest of the day, Jane kept waffling on wishing she had a cellphone. The immediacy of it was something she craved, but on the flipside, she was sure it would be stressful holding onto one and waiting all day for Maura to text her. She asked Angelina not to tell the Weasley twins what’d happened in class; she was sure Maura was embarrassed enough without bringing anyone else in. Jane loved Fred and George, but they could be relentless when it came to teasing, and she wasn’t sure Maura would handle it well.

When Maura didn’t show up for dinner, Jane told Angelina in whispers about their conversation in the bathroom. She was just as befuddled by Maura’s lack of reaction as Jane had been. It was a small comfort that McLaggen didn’t look too pleased himself.

After dinner, Jane and Angelina had started their Charms reading in the Gryffindor common room. About half an hour into it, Jane heard a tapping sound at the nearest window. Even in the semi-darkness she could recognize that it was Maura’s owl, Bass, and she rushed to get him. He deposited a small piece of parchment into her hand and took off right away.

Jane unrolled the scroll, detecting a light trace of lavender: “meet me by the Transfiguration classroom.”

Without offering an explanation to her friends, Jane sprinted for the portrait hole and hurried off to the classroom. Her heart felt like it was creeping into her throat as she ran, and the feeling was exaggerated when she turned the corner and saw Maura standing there. She tried to act like she wasn’t totally out of breath, leaning against the wall a few feet away from Maura and exuding the most casual air she could.

“So what’s up?”

“I found out why I never got your last letter,” Maura said in a small voice. “It seems Bass brought it in while I was at brunch one day, and Cormac took it upon himself to discard it.”

“Son of a witch! Are you serious?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“How’d you even get him to ‘fess up? Did you slip him some of the veritaserum Snape had on that table?” That prompted another thought, and Jane concernedly asked, “He never gave you a love potion, did he?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Maura said. “He was quite charming over the summer, and really attentive in a sincere way. I’m not used to much positive attention outside of academia. Outside of you. And I worried when you didn’t write back that I’d put you off. I kept waiting, and then I thought maybe I’d waited too long and it would be awkward to write you again, so I …I didn’t. Anyway, Cormac talked to me after Potions today - after you did - he was waiting by my dormitory. He has no idea what lavender smells like and he hates pumpkin pasties, but he knows you like them so …so he asked if I liked you.”

“What’d you say?” Jane whispered.

Maura continued as though she hadn’t heard: “I didn’t say anything and he got more upset, and he said he shouldn’t have even bothered taking your letter. He’s different here, Jane.”

“He didn’t steal my letter here.”

“I guess that’s true,” Maura conceded. “But I mean, he comes off much more pompous here. He’s cocky. He was polite to the Beauxbatons students we met in passing in France, but for the most part we were just focused on each other. Here, he’s always trying to act tough. Thinks it makes him cool or something, I guess. That is so unattractive to me.”

Jane waited for more, but Maura had fallen silent. “Did you like him?”

Maura sighed and shrugged. “I liked spending time with him. I don’t anymore. And I’m furious with him for intervening in our letters.”

Jane was already plotting ways to get back at him for that one.

“There are a lot of things about that that I find upsetting,” Maura went on, “but one of the most frustrating is that he robbed me of time.”

“Hm?”

“Time I could’ve spent writing to you, telling you how I was feeling. I write excellent letters, Jane.”

She had to smile at Maura’s never-faltering honesty. “I know, you’re really good at it.”

“No, I mean…” Maura stepped closer, fidgeting while trying to look seductive at the same time. “I write really good romantic letters.”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up and her throat went dry. “Oh?”

Maura nodded. “I’d started to think about what I wanted to say in my next note to you. I was trying to muster the courage to say I was really developing a crush on you, but then…”

“Then McDoughebag stole my letter and swept in, all tall and hunky and there in person.”

“He was a distraction.”

“So…so you still like me?”

“Amortentia doesn’t lie,” Maura said. “But I’d have known that without its help. I was going to tell Cormac tonight that I didn’t want to see him anymore, but he beat me to the punch.”

“I’ll beat him with a punch,” Jane growled.

“Jane.”

“Sorry, too violent?”

Maura laughed, taking gentle hold of Jane’s hand. “No, just inefficient. You could curse him and that way wouldn’t risk breaking the bones in your hand on his thick head.”

“Wouldn’t be as satisfying, though,” Jane murmured, forming her hand into a fist.

Maura brought Jane’s hand to her lips, lightly kissing her knuckles. “Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“R-really?”

“Yes,” Maura chuckled. “I’d like to, if you’d like to.”

She didn’t need to ask twice.

[ask-crutchy]

Crutchy, could you answer 2 and 3 please?

Oh, hey there! Sorry I didn’t see this one for a while...ever since it got warmer, the fellas and I have been spending most of our non-selling time at the swimming hole down the road! In fact, they’re calling to me and splashing around like a bunch of frogs right now, but of course, I’d love to take the time to answer a question, especially from an old pal! 

2. What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

Well, my ma was really sweet and caring, so I suppose we got along pretty well most of the time! (I say “most” instead of “all” because there were a few times maybe I did something I shouldn’t of, or she made too big of a deal out of it, but didn’t turn out too well for either of us. Take the time she had nice folks over and they asked to see me, and I happened to have just come from a street scuffle-guess I should’ve followed her advice and played with Butterscotch inside, because she was really mad after that. As soon as the folks had left, she made me sit in the corner and “think about what I’d done”, but all I could see that I should have done better was, “What if she’d seen the other guy?”) She made cookies or tarts every Saturday, and always used to jokingly scold my father or me if one of us took too many. My mother also hugged people a lot, and always addressed at least one of the presents in my Christmas stocking to Butterscotch. Her only major flaw, I’d say, was that she didn’t think in a threatening situation, she just acted on impulse-but even then, she still prepared for emergencies before she had time to flip out, so she was still near-perfect, at least to me. (Apart from “cookie shortages”. She laughed, but didn’t make the necessary preparations when I told her there was going to be a cookie shortage sometime in the next week.) 

3. What is/was your character’s relationship with your father like?

Well, he was pretty good too-hugged me a lot, not to mention that he was the one who bought Butterscotch for me-except he had a few more flaws than my ma. He liked to drink a lot, so I eventually realized to water down the bottles in the cupboards and sneak money out of his wallet before he left the house “to meet with his friend”-not so much that he would notice, but say, a few of the paper bills and some quarters. If he actually were just visiting a friend, a few dollars would get him a good seat at a play with a pack of licorice, say-but not enough to get him more than a few drinks at a bar. Then, in the middle of the afternoon, I’d say I was going to play with my toy soldiers, and then I’d filch his wallet again so I could sneak the money back in.

 My father was also really good with games. He’d make my cow dance for me, or tell us a story about pirates or mermaids if we asked him-(in fact, that’s why I still like to tell stories myself)-or participate in a game of marbles if nobody else was on the streets. So yes, even though he sometimes lied and drank to the point of hitting me or my ma unless somebody watered his drinks down when he wasn’t looking, (once she gave him half regular whiskey, half sarsaparilla, and he didn’t notice!), my father was actually a nice guy who loved me a lot. Reminds me of Jack, in a few ways, when I think about it.

Well...I guess that’s all I have to say, so I’d better hit the swimming hole now before it gets dark (yes, I can swim-a lot of people are really surprised to figure that out, but you ain’t pulled as strongly to the ground when you’re in water, are you?), as the fellas are still splashing my paper bags-but thanks for coming by, Anonymous! I appreciate the visit!

[jghouse-asia-pacific]

New Post has been published on http://www.jg-house.com/2017/06/27/american-teacher-vietnam-episode-11/

American Teacher in Vietnam, Episode 11

District 5. I hadn’t been there before. Other parts of Ho Chi Minh City had become familiar to me during the previous month. But in a city of 10 million people sprawling across miles of wetlands, I still had a lot to see.

At 9:30am, Lan took me to a strip of herb shops between Lương Nhữ Học and Triệu Quang Phục Streets. She parked her motorbike in front of a store specializing in lavender oil, and we went down an alley.

“You can finish educating yourself about traditional medicine after I finish giving an overview,” Lan said. I wasn’t sure yet, though, how far I wanted to go.

The night before Lan had given me a concoction for a lingering cough, but I had refused to take it. She wouldn’t tell me what it was.

Today, Lan and I were visiting herb shops well known in Ho Chi Minh City. Her father, now deceased, had been a practitioner of traditional medicine. “My mom continues his profession,” she said.

“Here,” Lan said, opening a red door in the center of a small white storefront. I saw a sign with two words, Happy Herb.

Happy Herb

An old man with a white goatee wearing a long black coat, made of silk, stood behind a glass case and beside a floor-to-ceiling cabinet. He spoke to Lan in Vietnamese. They looked at me. They were developing their diagnosis.

The man turned, opened one of the drawers of the big cabinet, and took out a small bundle in brown paper. He opened the brown paper and displayed a fine, gray powder.

Lan removed a small bottle of water from her bag, took off its cap, and poured half of the powder into the bottle. She replaced the cap and shook the bottle.

“Drink all of it,” Lan said, putting the bottle in my hand.

When I drank it, I felt the muscles in my chest relaxing.

Lan said to me, “Good. Now let’s go. I have to be at work in 30 minutes.”

Country Life

Triệu Quang Phục Street

Lan put on her helmet. I put on mine. We went back outside.

Lan looked at me. “You just drank a mixture of herbs and roots, including licorice and ginger. We’ll discuss it more later.”

Lan got on her motorbike. “I was married once,” she said. “My husband didn’t believe in traditional medicine.” She paused. “But Western or modern medicine couldn’t save him. He had cancer.”

Lan paused again. “Have you ever been married?”

I was putting on my mask. I glanced at Lan, nodded, and spoke through my mask, “My ex-wife is a nurse.” I got on the motorbike behind her.

“Are you going to marry again?” Lan asked. She adjusted her mask, then turned her key in the ignition.

“Maybe,” I said. I fastened my own mask over my nose and mouth and felt my iPhone vibrate.

It was a message from Karen, who wanted me to meet her for an early lunch before my meeting with Duy at 1:00. I knew the place she proposed, Thai Express. It was across the street from the government school, SEAMEO, where she taught English.

I wondered if Karen had the information about Vietnamese public schools for me. I was paying her to conduct research and supplement my visits to the schools in person. “Can you drop me off in District 1?” I said to Lan.

Thai Express

When Lan came to a stop in front of Vincom B Shopping Center at 70 Lê Thánh Tôn Street in District 1, I told her I would meet her again that evening. We had to review the herbal medicine I was taking. I had many questions. I entered the mall and looked for Thai Express.

“Maybe you were right,” Karen said, looking a little worried, when I sat down. “I think that Duy does have a crush on me.”

Karen sat in a booth at the front of the restaurant. “I want to make it clear to Duy that I have professional relationships with students,” Karen added. “I don’t know what you should say to him this afternoon,” she continued, “but he needs to understand that I’m not interested in romance. I had a problem with a man recently.” She frowned.

A message appeared on the screen of my iPhone resting next to my plate of chicken with potatoes in red curry. It was Duy. He wanted to know where to send his driver to pick me up.

Karen watched me as she finished the phat thai with shrimp on her plate. “I like my new job at Hyundai-Vinamotor,” she said. “All of the students, including Duy, are highly motivated.” She paused. “They understand that speaking English means more money for them.” She took a sip of water. “Also teaching them means more money for me.”

“It’s common sense, isn’t it?” I said. “Children and adolescents don’t earn much money.”

Karen looked at me. “I suppose,” she said, removing a folder from her bag, “if you want to look at things that way. Here is the data you requested. You’ll see statistics for Vietnamese institutions seeking English-language accreditation.”

Butcher Shop

Thu Duc District

Outside the Vincom B shopping center, Karen started down Lê Thánh Tôn Street in the direction of the SEAMEO school. She stopped abruptly. “Don’t forget,” she said, turning toward me. “We’re meeting Emily and her boyfriend for dinner tonight at 7:00.”

An orange Hyundai sedan approached and came to a halt next to us. The driver waved at Karen and gestured to me. It was Duy’s driver.

The man was about 40 years old and had long, flowing hair, dyed blonde.

“I take Karen to and from her class at the Hyundai-Vinamotor offices two nights a week,” the man said as I got into his car. “Duy says she’s a good teacher.” He stopped the car in the middle of an intersection and made a U-turn in front of a policeman. The policeman stared at him. “The factory is in Thu Duc District,” he added. “It will take us about 45 minutes to get there.”

I looked at my driver. He spoke English with an American accent. “Let’s close the windows and turn on the air conditioner,” I said.

“My name is Sam,” he commented. Then he shook my hand. “I hear you’re from San Diego,” he added. “I’m from Gardena,” he continued, referring to a small city in Orange County south of Los Angeles. “My parents escaped Saigon when it fell to the Communists in 1975. I was born in California one year later.”

“I like your blonde hair. Is it natural?” I asked.

He smiled. Suddenly he accelerated through another intersection, causing an old woman pushing a wooden vegetable cart to drop a squash and two tomatoes on the pavement. She shook her fist at him. Even though the windows were rolled up I knew she was yelling at him.

“I saw Saigon for the first time three years ago,” he said. “I didn’t even know the communists had changed its name to Ho Chi Minh City.” He laughed. “But I don’t plan on going back to the States.”

Now slowing down for an old woman pushing a cart piled with watermelons, Sam said, “If it weren’t for Duy, I don’t know what my situation here would be. I work for him every day. Also I live in one of his apartments.”

Saigon River

Hyundai-Tracomeco Factory

Sam turned right on a road lined on both sides with industrial complexes. “When I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City,” he said, “I had nothing. No job. No money. No friends.” He paused. “For two months, I slept on the floor of my cousin’s apartment. I ate instant noodles every day. I was depressed and lonely.”

We passed through a side gate into a large compound surrounded by high fences. On the wall of one warehouse I saw the words, Hyundai-Tracomeco.

“But the day I helped Duy change a flat tire in front of my cousin’s apartment,” Sam said, “my life changed.” He looked out the driver’s side window. “No one in the U.S. cared about me. My parents had died. They never had learned English. I decided to go to Vietnam. For a while, I thought I had made a big mistake.”

As Sam brought the car to a stop, Duy emerged from a small office attached to a warehouse. He wore an expensive blue, tailored suit and a yellow bow tie.

On foot, Duy and I went to one end of the yard, beyond which the Saigon River flowed. It was more than a mile wide and looked placid, almost like a lake. It was coffee colored.

Ahead of us was a big concrete dock with two large cranes and a large ship tied up with thick hawsers. One of the cranes unloaded a container from the ship.

“We import our parts from Hyundai in Korea. Then we assemble our trucks and buses here,” Duy said. “Let’s go inside and see the assembly line.”

Duy opened a door on one side of a warehouse, and we entered. We ascended a set of iron stairs to a second level, open to the floor below. We passed through a conference room and an office, separated only by metal cabinets.

Duy stopped and gestured downward. On the factory floor, we watched a small army of men operating machines and fitting together parts of trucks. They were attaching fenders and doors to drive trains and engines. I saw flashes of light where men were welding, but, remarkably, I heard no voices. No one talked.

“Tomorrow none of these people and none of these machines will be operating,” Duy said. “The assembly line will stop.” He shrugged. “I received word just now there will be a power outage for 4 hours tomorrow.” He started toward an office. “The government gives us a 24-hour notice for a shutdown.”

Duy entered his office and came back out a few minutes later. He looked tired. “Sam is outside in the car waiting for you,” Duy said. So far he had not mentioned Karen. Maybe I had him figured wrong.

Long Neck

Hotel InterContinental

Back in the orange Hyundai sedan, Sam asked me where I wanted to go. “Hotel Vissai,” I said. Then I sent a text message to Howard, who, replying immediately, said that Emile wanted to see the two of us.

“No,” I said to Sam. “Take me to Hotel InterContinental.” To Howard, I added, “I’m on my way.”

When I entered the lobby of Hotel Intercontinental, Howard sat on one end of a couch. On the other end, I saw the boy I had seen in Howard’s company previously. Again, the boy was flipping through the pages of a comic book. Did he live in the hotel by himself?

Howard stood up. “Emile will buy us a drink,” he said, starting in the direction of the bar. “See you later, Reggie,” Howard called out, looking over his shoulder at the boy. Reggie didn’t reply.

Inside the Purple Jade Bar, Howard stopped. “I don’t think Emile will be distracted by Ngoc any more,” he said, referring to Emile’s personal assistant, who was beautiful yet somewhat formal and austere. I knew immediately that Howard was wrong. “I’ve noticed how excited Emile and Natasha are together,” Howard added, as if he could read my mind.

Walking a few steps more, Howard stopped again. “By the way,” he said, “Natasha no longer is interested in the apartments at the Sailing Tower.” He smiled. “Emile convinced her that he would find them a townhouse.” He smiled again. “He meant that I would find one.”

“But you don’t have any confidence in Emile, do you?” I said.

We sat down at a small table. Howard said, “I hope Natasha is reasonable.”

“But you aren’t convinced that Emile can stay out of trouble,” I replied. “He’s trying to be careful now, but he’ll slip up. Right?”

“Oh, God. Don’t say that.”

Purple Jade Bar

The waitress brought a wine list. After scanning the list, Howard selected the most expensive bottle of Pinot Noir. “Three glasses,” he said. The waitress walked away.

“I can’t stay long,” Emile said, suddenly appearing and dropping into a chair across from us. “I have a meeting in 15 minutes,” he added. “But it looks like we will start drilling soon.”

The waitress returned, placed three wine glasses on the table, and removed the cork from the bottle. She poured some wine into the glasses.

Emile picked up the glass in front of him. “I want to thank both of you for all of your help,” he said as Howard and I lifted our glasses. “Now that Natasha is here, I hope you will help her.” He took another sip of wine. “It’s important that my project is a success,” he added. “The one at Nha Trang.”

Howard finished his glass. Emile rose abruptly and left.

Turning to me, Howard said, “Emile is negotiating with the Vietnamese by himself today.” He poured himself another glass of wine. “Andrei had to go to Kiev and then to Moscow. I think Ngoc went to visit her family in Hanoi.”

Howard poured more wine into his glass and yawned. “I’m going upstairs to my room. I need a nap,” he said. “Finish the wine, if you can.” He turned to leave, but then stopped. “I think our job will be easier from now on,” he said, “but I’ve been wrong before.”

After Howard went upstairs, I called Binh, who said he could pick me up in 10 minutes. I drank a little more red wine.

I exited the lobby of Hotel InterContinental and stood under the shade of a small tree. Dark clouds hung low over the city. I looked at my watch. It was almost 4:00.

As I was opening the door to get into Binh’s taxi, I caught a glimpse of two people, a man and a woman, getting into a large, black Mercedes farther up the block. Emile had one arm around Ngoc’s waist.

Traditional Dress

Auntie’s Restaurant

At 6:15 in the evening, a steady rain fell on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City. Binh brought his taxi to a stop in front of a narrow, three-story house in an alley off Nguyễn Thị Minh Khai Street in District 1. It was the house where Karen rented a room.

“How was your tour of Duy’s factory this afternoon?” Karen said to me, after dashing through the rain and sitting on the back seat of the car next to me. She shook water off her umbrella onto the seat and all over me.

“Oh, no,” Karen said. “I’m sorry.”

“I think I was wrong about Duy,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Karen said to me and turned toward Binh, speaking in Vietnamese.

Karen turned back toward me. “Now Binh has the address of the restaurant owned by the aunt of Emily’s boyfriend,” she said. “It’s in Phu Nhuan District.”

“What’s its name?” I asked.

Karen looked impatient. “I don’t know,” she said. “Auntie’s Restaurant?” She laughed. “How were you wrong?”

“Well,” I said, “Duy seems to take his work, and all of the people who work for him, personally.”

Karen stared at me for a few moments. She squinted her eyes. “What did you talk about?” I told her. “What else?” she asked. I was silent. “That’s it?” She was dissatisfied.

Karen stared at me for another few moments, and then looked away.

“I received a text message from Duy a few hours ago,” Karen said. “Since there will be a power outage in Thu Duc District tomorrow, Duy has to shut down his factory during the day. For the evening, he also has cancelled my English class.” She paused. “Then he has invited me to go to the opera with him that night.”

I frowned. The prospect of going to the opera didn’t appeal to me.

“And he invited you,” Karen added.

“Duy is very careful, and he is very clever,” I replied.

Binh brought his taxi to a stop at the corner of Nguyễn Trọng Tuyển and Nguyễn Đình Chính Streets. The rain had stopped. Two couples were sitting at tables in front of a small restaurant. We had arrived at Auntie’s Restaurant.

Hotel Vissai

When Karen and I entered the restaurant a few minutes before 7:00, Emily stood up from a table against the back wall. “Cao couldn’t make it,” she said, referring to her boyfriend, a military officer. “He couldn’t leave the barracks tonight, after all. He couldn’t leave his men there. They were being punished. He told me to invite you to our place this week-end.”

I was in a hurry. After dinner, I told Karen and Emily I had to work and went outside. Binh waited around the corner.

At 8:30, I entered the lobby of Hotel Vissai.

I met Lan near the elevators. “Whatever you gave me this morning has cured my lung problem,” I said. “What time are you off work?”

“10:00.”

“Meet me at the pool.”