#he put it on repeat after the pizza place monologue

[mikeslawyer]

just found out that this song came out in 1986 and i’m so sure mike had it on repeat for like 12 hours straight. tell me i’m wrong.

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (10/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9]

The play wasn't horrible by any stretch of the imagination. It was the most fun Clarke had had in a long time. She laughed so hard at parts that tears sprung to her eyes and her cheeks started to hurt by the end of it. The 1920s décor and costumes were stunning, the performances captivating, and the story the perfect balance between humor and social commentary. Even Lexa, who already knew the jokes and twists, still laughed loudly.

Clarke took as much joy from the sound as she did the play. When the curtain fell for the last time and the lights fully came on, she looked over at Lexa and found herself captivated. Lexa was still clapping for her cousin’s success, her face beaming with pride, and Clarke couldn’t really explain why it made her adore this woman so much more.

"Are you hungry?" Lexa asked her.

Clarke nodded mutely, unsure what to do with the intensity of her feelings. She let Lexa take her hand and lead her out of the theater, where the crowd spilled out of the great glass doors.

Cocoa Street was the longest street in Costial, cutting through the city in a curving fashion. Clarke's favorite part was the food trucks; rows of them on both sides with their own specialties and flair. You could very well order duck à l'orange with mashed pumpkin at one truck and a burger with fries at the next one. The Italian ice cream truck was between the rival crab cake trucks and the Noodle Brothers were right next to the Pizza Sisters. There were lines wherever you went, sometimes even street performers to soften the blow of the waiting time. It was absurd and it was wonderful.

They ate Chicago-style hot dogs and curly fries, slowly walking down the street as they laughed about the play. Lincoln had relied on alternate history to weave the visions into his tale, using them for comedic effect in the more dramatic beats. A secondary character had one in the middle of a monologue, suddenly passing out while a crowd rushed over to him. The visions were reenacted with tricks of light and masked characters, reminiscent of interpretive dances.

"Okay, I have to ask," Clarke brought up while they meandered down the street. "The castle on the hill - that's the Polis Hotel, right?"

Lexa nodded. "Lincoln has a complicated relationship with his heritage, to say the least. He's keenly aware growing up in a luxury hotel was a great privilege, but it also messed with his head. He basically shared a home with thousands of strangers for eighteen years."

"I'd always admired Polis from afar, but I can't imagine growing up there. Don't get me wrong, that was one hell of a party, but-"

"It's not a place for a kid," Lexa finished, in agreement.  

Clarke ate the last bite of her chocolate waffle and threw the paper in the trash. “You must be pretty familiar with it.”

Lexa glanced at her and smiled. "The cat and I go back."

"Right. That night was a bit intense, even for you."

Lexa let out a laugh, looking away with a hum. "You know, you make me sound quite strange."

Clarke bumped her shoulder. "You pinned me against the staircase - you are strange."

"I didn't… pin you," Lexa replied with a huff. "I was drunk, high off an excellent game of poker… and I saw you. And I needed to be close to you."

Clarke stopped them in the street, grateful they'd left the busy part. "And the Gazette?"

“What about it?”

"You offered me a side job. Just like that."

"Oh," Lexa remembered. "I genuinely thought you'd be good at it. Still do. Your style would be perfect."

That was surprising, but Clarke wasn't convinced. "It wasn't because of your vision?"

"It was a way to talk to you, yes, but I meant it. I know the visions were… well, the reason for this, that they nudged us together, but I'd noticed you drawing before."

They walked a bit further before Clarke took a small breath. "I, uh, may have looked at the pages in older prints."

Lexa glanced at her. "And?"

"It could be fun. I'm just not sure-" Clarke scrunched her nose. "I'm just so rusty. Art is what I got into college for, but then I took up business classes and… I don't know, it just felt so much easier. Don't get me wrong, managing the café kicks my ass every day, but I like the challenges. With drawings, paintings, whatever… it feels like putting your heart on the line each time. And nine times out of ten, your heart ends up getting trampled."

Lexa took her hand to stop her. "I would never suggest you do something that makes you uncomfortable. If it's truly just a hobby to you, a way to pass the time, you should keep it that way."

It wasn't like Clarke hadn't considered it. Drawing, sketching; it came as naturally as breathing. She'd done it since she could hold a pencil and she still did it whenever the world became too loud. It was an escape; a different way of thinking. Her own little world. Illustrating short stories could be a welcome breath of fresh air. A way for her brain to snap away from bills, calls, deliveries, and the hundreds of post-its in her tiny office.

"And for the record," Lexa added as she stepped closer, her voice impossibly soft, "I would very much stand in the way of whoever or whatever would try to trample you."

Clarke grinned, very much aware that, not so long ago, these were not words she could have ever imagined Lexa Woods telling her.  

* * *

As she had the last time, Lexa insisted that she walk Clarke back to her apartment. After a night full of laughs, great food, and Lexa's hand in hers, Clarke still didn't have her fill and so didn't tease Lexa too much for also wanting to enjoy every last second. When they made it to her door, Clarke turned around and leaned against it. Tonight couldn't end here.

"By the way, you were wrong earlier. My vision isn't the reason for this." Clarke waited a beat before playing her last hand: "It's not the vision I thought about that night after the rooftop."

Lexa's mouth parted open and she glanced at Clarke's lips.

"I was going to," Clarke continued, "but it didn't hold a candle to how you made me feel when you grabbed my hand."

Lexa swallowed when Clarke reached for her jacket to tug her closer. "How did I make you feel?"  

Clarke pulled her in until their foreheads touched. "Warm. Dizzy."

"Dizzy on a rooftop? That's a safety hazard."

"Are you trying to turn me on or are you trying to make me laugh?"

"They're not mutually exclusive."

They broke into laughter anyway. Lexa leaned in to kiss her, only to stop just as their lips brushed.

"You never told me about your vision," Lexa pointed out. "Not… not exactly."

Clarke smiled, smug. "Oh you want details, hm?"

"I'm a journalist. A thorough account would be nice, yes."

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her before crushing their lips together, unbelievably pleased when Lexa moaned and wrapped her arms around her waist.

"Shut up, journo," Clarke husked between kisses.

Lexa kissed her with little restraint then, moving until Clarke was pressed against the door. Each one of Lexa's kisses felt like something special; like finally she'd shed her old fears. Clarke didn't even want to think of not being close to Lexa right now. The night couldn't end - not like this. She pulled back and gazed at Lexa, trying to catch her breath.

This close, Clarke could commit to memory every detail of her face. She'd always thought she got a good look at Lexa at the café, even with the counter between them, but it was nothing compared to this. Lexa's lips were full and at their most tempting when slightly parted, betraying her own desire. Her eyes were hooded now, longing, and Clarke had little doubt hers reflected the same want. She threw caution to the wind:

"Come inside?"

Lexa hesitated, visibly torn.

"We don't have to do anything. I have a nice wine we can try. Some of Gus's tartlets left over. We can even sit with the box between us. I just… I don't want tonight to be over yet."

* * *

It was not what she'd had in mind. She swore it. Nevertheless, when Clarke found herself straddling Lexa on her living room couch with the box of tartlets discarded on the floor (the tartlets well finished by then), she couldn't remember why the hell not.

Maybe the air had already been too charged by the time she wiped her thumb over Lexa's lip to catch a crumb there, and maybe Clarke had liked playing with fire, but now she was well on her way to being burned. Lexa's hands palmed her ass while they kissed, but it was the boldest she allowed herself to be and Clarke was quickly reaching her breaking point.

"Touch me," she pleaded between kisses.

Lexa let out a choked moan when Clarke reached for her hand and guided it to her breasts. She paused, looking up. The green in her eyes had darkened, especially in the dim light, and she breathed deeply.

"Clarke…"

"I know, I know, just - something. Anything." Clarke leaned her forehead against Lexa's. "I feel like a fucking teenager."

Lexa let out a small laugh before kissing her sweetly, slowly. It had the soothing effect she had intended, and before Clarke realized it, Lexa had lied her down on her back. She hovered over her, then looked down at her cleavage and pressed her lips against the exposed skin.

"Is that better?" She asked.

"Close…"

Lexa let out a hum against her skin, pressing another kiss lower. Clarke brushed her fingers in Lexa's thick hair, digging just slightly in her scalp, surprised when Lexa let out a small moan and then froze with wide eyes, like Clarke had just found her secret.

"Oh," Clarke breathed out, her smile widening. She repeated the gesture, pressing her fingers just a bit harder.

Lexa immediately grabbed her hands and pinned them down on each side of Clarke's head.

"Don't do that," she warned her, breathless.

Clarke smirked. "I think I will."

"It was just a reflex," Lexa blushed. "It's been a while."

Clarke couldn't help but laugh, happiness bubbling in her chest at how comfortable she felt with Lexa's body slotted between her legs. "Well, I'm very happy to find out whatever draws out those sounds from you."

Lexa seemed to realize just how close they were, locked together with their fingers entwined. And just like the rooftop when she'd suddenly grabbed her hand, her expression changed. Confident. Eager.

She sat back, eyes trailing down Clarke's body before she let go of her hands to touch her thighs.

"You like control, don't you, Clarke?" She asked. She ran her hands up her thighs, caressing them slowly. "But not now."

Clarke nearly lost her breath, not expecting the way Lexa had shifted so quickly from embarrassed to self-assured. She watched as Lexa drank her in, from her bunched up dress to the fast rise and fall of her chest.

"Touch yourself," Lexa told her, and then leaned down to brush her lips against hers. "The way you did after the rooftop."

"Lexa-"

"I want to watch you."

Clarke nodded, her hand trailing down her own body to the bottom of her dress. Lexa watched as she reached beneath the fabric, eager to follow her command. She slid her hand beneath her tights, beneath her underwear, moaning at the relief when she finally touched herself. She knew Lexa could feel her heat; knew they were both reaching a point of no return. It had started when Lexa had kissed her at the start of their date, but Lexa's hands on her ass while they'd kissed had awakened her completely.

Lexa briefly glanced between their bodies, groaning when she saw Clarke's hand moving.

"Is this how you did it?" She asked. "Two fingers?"

Clarke let out an obscene moan, too far gone to care. "Three," she whimpered.

Lexa's jaw clenched, but her control was remarkable. "Did you imagine it on the rooftop? Me inside you against that wall?"

Clarke's eyes squeezed shut as she bit down on her lip. "Yes. Fuck."

She swiped her fingers over her clit, but the angle and her tights restricted most of her movements. She was fairly certain Lexa knew it. Lexa leaned down again, kissing her neck.

"How did I fuck you?" She asked by her ear, one hand reaching up to lightly brush against her breast.

Clarke panted, fighting the unbearable need to penetrate herself. She needed release, and fast, but a part of her was too stubborn to give in just yet.

"You pressed me against the wall," she revealed, burying her face in Lexa's neck. With her free hand, she dug her nails in Lexa's ass, feeling a thrill when Lexa bucked against her. "And then- I… I needed more. I needed you deeper."

"So I turned you around," Lexa guessed, squeezing her nipple over the fabric of her dress.

"I- oh, fuck, I couldn't stop thinking about you inside me; how well you'd fill me," Clarke said, her middle finger trembling from the angle, desperate to inch inside herself.

"Jesus, Clarke," Lexa breathed out in the space between her neck and shoulder. Her lips felt like heaven against her skin. Clarke couldn't get enough.

"Clarke," Lexa repeated, raising her head. "Look at me." It was softer then, more of a plea.

Clarke opened her eyes and felt her movements slow down. It was like experiencing déjà-vu, except of course that was impossible. They'd never done this. But she suddenly realized it had all started here. She'd had her vision on this very couch and here she was - not fulfilling it, exactly, but close. Yet what she'd seen and even felt had never been like this. It had been purely physical - an erotic thrill in her otherwise predictable life. But she hadn't felt her heart beating out of her chest. She'd had a sense it was more intimate than what she was used to, but hadn't been able to quite grasp what that meant. She knew now. Their intensity wasn't so much physical as it was emotional.

She felt safe with Lexa. They still had so much to learn about each other, but she felt safe. And Clarke had never realized the importance of it. Lexa had trusted her with her pain and her heart - that wasn't something Clarke took lightly. It was a feeling not even her vision could have conveyed.

"Fuck, wait, wait, stop," she abruptly panted, pulling her hand out of her underwear.

Lexa backed away immediately, but Clarke sat up to stop her from moving off the couch.

"Lexa, I… I want to be with you," she said, as if remembering her vision had suddenly clarified everything. "When you're ready, I want to be with you completely."

"I want that too." Lexa still seemed confused, or maybe surprised Clarke had done the equivalent of dunking ice cold water atop her own head.

“Right. And - this is fun. I-” Clarke’s eyes briefly closed as she bit her lip. “Fuck I really want to get off-”

Lexa smiled.

“-but not like this.” Clarke reached out to cup her cheeks. “Not without you.” She kissed Lexa briefly, barely a brush of lips, and watched as her eyes followed her every move so tenderly. “Not if I don’t get to touch you too.”

"Clarke…"

Clarke shook her head, kissing her way down Lexa's jaw and neck. "Not if I can't see all of you. Can't hear you moan my name." She licked over Lexa's pulse, enjoying the way her hips bucked against her. "Not if I can't taste you while you come undone."

Lexa pulled back and brushed away some of Clarke's wild strands of hair. "Such words… You should be a journalist."

"I hear they have egos."

"Oh yes, terrible."

"I'm glad I found one that's not so bad then."

They smiled at each other, then took a breath.

"Sorry," Clarke sighed. "I feel like I'm the one giving you whiplash now."

"No, it's only fair. If anything I admire your restraint."

Clarke leaned back against the arm of the couch. "Maybe you'll just have to work harder next time."

Lexa smirked. "I can do that." She glanced at her breasts. "At least I made new friends."

Clarke let out a laugh, enamored. "Alright, well, you and my tits can pick up this conversation another time. I need a shower and if you're not gone in two minutes, I'm definitely dragging you in with me."

Lexa hummed in agreement.

After Clarke walked her to the entrance and watched Lexa put on her shoes and jacket, they lingered in the doorway.

"Thank you for tonight," Clarke said. She had never felt like this before - a part of her desperate to find a way for Lexa to stay. A way to prolong the conversation. To ward off the night so that Lexa and her could just live in this moment a while longer. "The play, the food, this… Everything."

She hoped Lexa felt the same.

"Trust me, it was my pleasure," Lexa replied, her face still slightly flushed.

"You've set the bar high."

"You took me to a secret hike. I was just trying to catch up."

At Clarke's smile, Lexa bit her lip and toyed with the button of her jacket. "Anya used to say I reacted to everything with either fight or flight. I didn't prove her wrong when I left for Costial, but I don't want to run away again."

Clarke nodded in understanding.

“It just… creeps up on me sometimes,” Lexa continued. “I could be having the time of my life one second and the next my chest gets tighter and the world gets smaller. Suffocating.” She gave her a resolute look. “When I meant slow, I meant… I just need to be sure that feeling won’t come between us again." She glanced at her lips. "But… It also means that once we do cross that line, I intend to make up for lost time.”

Clarke swallowed, fighting the urge to drag Lexa back inside. "I'm a patient woman."

Lexa smiled. "Goodnight, Clarke."

"Mm. Text me when you get home?"

"I will."

-

[part eleven]

[rkivepacks]

TITLE: surprise in two Pairing: Jung Hoseok - Member x Reader Rating: R18+ Genre: fluff, smut, little crack Word Count: 3,372 Trigger Warning/s: swearing, smut Cross-posted on: AO3/dtgloss

Disclaimer:  Should there be similarities with the works of other respected artists are purely unintentional. This also do not reflect on the real lives of the artists portrayed in this work. Comments, suggestions and any other concerns are accepted in my inbox. Thank you!  ©  AO3/dtgloss / tumblr/rkivepacks

NOTES: ∟ This is a prompt submitted by @himbeaux-joon​ to @ficswithluv ‘s changeswithluv that allows lovely people to send in commissions for donations to BLM charities and organizations. P.S. I hope i did the prompt justice ∟beta-ed by the lovely @meowxyoong who helped me the whole time!!!

∟ banner by @rkivepacks​ ∟ request banner here ∟ request prompt/fic here

Prompt:   Strangers!AU: You hooked up with a hot guy named Hobi at your best friend's birthday last night. The next morning you realize he's also her little brother Hoseok.

You love all things organizing, decision-making; the works.

But you don’t love stress.

What your best friend’s boyfriend is giving you now reads along the lines of stress.

[New Message] I’m sorry my advisor wanted to reschedule our meeting to today. Forgive me!!!! I PROMISE I HAVE SOMEONE ELSE DO IT DON'T WORRY

You reread the message again before typing back a I will cut your balls off

He replies a I AM REALLY SORRY , followed by a series of hand emojis that you surely know is supposed to be depicting two hands clapping and not to be mistaken as a begging emoji but you let it go.

There are more important things that need your attention.

Like the cake that will apparently just appear later at the surprise party from someone you don’t know and forgot to ask among other things, like organizing the whole party for your best friend.

In their defense, Jiwoo’s boyfriend volunteered to get the cake at least, saying he does not have a bone in his body that is inclined in organizing and left that part of the party to you.

Everything is out of the window now that he had a meeting and would not be able to get the cake in one piece himself on time to the party.

Plans changed and so has your level of patience.

╫

The plan should go like this; let Jiwoo be distracted on her own knowing, that putting someone else for that task will only make it obvious that something is up, meet on the apartment and put up the decorations with Hana as fast as you can before Jiwoo gets back for your ‘planned small get together for the three of you’.

You are currently working on the two-toned tassel garlands that're too slippery to come together when Hana pads into the living room. “The cake is here, Hope said he’ll be back with the pizza.” You hum in acknowledgement, although you do not know who Hope is.

Twenty minutes later with everything set up, you try to have a sip of water when your phone pings.

[New Message] You’re at the apartment? Can you take out the chicken pops from the fridge so I can cook it when I get there hehe

You reply a quick yes and think to yourself sorry, no chicken lollipops today

After a few minutes of checking and finalizing the place, the lock from the main door beeps, signaling that it’s unlocked. Like clockwork you and Hana stare at each other, eyes wide, before she runs to where the light switch would be and quickly turns it off, engulfing the room in an almost pitch dark black just before the door fully opens.

╫

If success is measured by the surprise on Jiwoo’s face, you’d say you did, a hundred percent. Greetings and loves are passed around, pictures are taken and the party is now in full swing.

The preparations tired you out and you end up sitting down by the window that overlooks the back garden, a cup of soda in your hand. Jiwoo and her boyfriend are within your range for now and every time he catches your eye he sends you a sheepish smile and apologies come off of him in airwaves.

You decided to sneak off to the kitchen with a slice of the cake and another glass of soda and get back to your spot on the window as fast as possible.

“Is it good?” You hear a voice not too far from you.

You look at the stranger and assess him, quickly realizing you have not seen the man before as you don't recognize him.

To his credit, he looks handsome in a simple oversized black shirt and jeans, his head covered in a black bucket hat that adorably covers his head perfectly, little hairs peeking out from under it.

“Sorry?” You answer back, unsure.

“Is the cake good?” He repeats.

“Oh yes. Would you like some?” You try to be nice and offer your piece, tilting the plate towards him as he rests on the wall in front of you.

“Thank you, maybe later.” He smiles. “I’m Hoseok.” He introduces himself and you do the same, shaking his hands.

“So are you not in the mood for people? Or…” He trails off and you don’t expect him to stay longer. Not that you mind the company but you had the impression that he was only going to stay to make a small talk to avoid coming off as rude.

“The party just drained me out. And I wanted to have cake in peace.” You explained, tilting your head back as you remember the hecticity of the day.

“Oh you came with Hana, then?” Hoseok asks.

“Yep!” You reply and down the rest of your soda.

“How about we get another piece of cake and soda, and hide somewhere nicer?” He asks, shifting off of his feet.

“Sure.” You smile at him and he leads you back to the kitchen. As Hoseok is slicing the cake for the two of you, Hana comes in skipping into the kitchen. Clearly the alcohol has hit her, considering her face has become red and her hair is almost at rest with what probably is the heat and sweat coming off of her body. Hana comes and wraps two arms around you, swaying you both from right to left before doing the same to Hoseok.

You don't know how the two knew each other and just laugh at Hana’s antics.

“Go away, Hana, you’re drunk.” You shout over the loud music hoping it reaches Hana’s ears but to no avail, the black haired girl just continues her skipping out of the kitchen the same way she entered the room.

╫

Cake and Soda acquired, Hoseok leads you to the guest bedroom that is surprisingly empty. The two of you sit on the floor by the bed, sharing the cake between you. You have been sharing small talk and stories to entertain yourselves.

“I just realized something.” You stop after you hurriedly swallow down the cake, fork midway in the air as you speak. “You’re Hope.” You point the fork towards Hoseok, your tone almost accusatory.

“I am Hope.” Hoseok nods as if the fact is obvious. It’s not for you, apparently.

“Yes you are.” You continue to prod, eyes wide. You realize it as you eat the cake, remembering how Hana has mentioned a certain ‘Hope’ who apparently is about to get the cake instead. You also remember how Hoseok said thank you when you said the cake was delicious.

Hoseok was Hope.

Hoseok was giggling at your serious internal monologue while your brain surely creates an unwarranted mind map between the two names and one person.

“Are you drunk?” Hoseok jokes and you take another bite of the cake and scowl at him. “Speaking of drinks, would you like another glass, I’ll get myself one.” He stands and looks down to where you stay seated, you shake your head and wave your hand to signal him a ‘no, thank you’ before he replies, “Please wait here, I’ll be right back”, and goes his way to the door.

Hoseok stops midway before turning around to go back to you. “Just in case you need to leave and couldn’t wait until I get back,” he pecks you on the lips fast before sprinting towards the door, hoping that being fast would somehow make you stay inside the room.

After a short while, the door opens again and peeks into the room, his face contorted into what shows curiosity before relief washes over him as he sees you still seated on where he last saw you.

“I’m still here.” You wave to him, eyes following his form as he takes his seat again, drink in his hand.

“So, that kiss was like uhm, a deposit.” He clears his throat, eyes searching yours. “I’d like to claim it back, if you wish.” He grins sheepishly and you tip your head back laughing. You shift to your knees, supporting yourself on one hand with the other cupping his face, as you do exactly what he did just moments ago.

When you pull away, he tilts his head back and groans, taking off his jacket.

“What?” You ask, giggling.

“I think it got hotter in here, I don’t know.” He fans himself before he sighs and retreats with his back on the floor, completely laying down making you laugh.

“I think you’re fine, Hoseok.” You laugh, moving to sit near him on the floor before copying his position on the floor and shifting to your side, body turned to him.

“The floor is stiff on my back.” You whisper, shifting on your place as you try to find a comfortable position.

“I like your thinking.” He appraises before he stands up with ease and turns back to you. He stretches out two hands and pulls you up as you reach up to him.

You notice he used more force, not too hard but enough to have your chest press to his once you’re completely up on your feet. As you reach him, he keeps you in place with a hand on your hips, pressing his lips to yours softly, as if not to surprise you.

He pulls away, not leaving too much space between you but enough to allow you to pull back completely if you wish. When he sees no refusal from you, he tilts his head to the side and slots your slips together, this time more firm. You place your hands around his shoulders, your left hand tracing the hair at the back of his head.

You pull away to drag him into bed, your back turned to him but he takes the opportunity to take steps closer into you, crowding into your space. With his chest pressed to your back, he nuzzles into your neck, his hands softly caressing your arms.

You giggle as you lean back to him, “I tickles.” you tell him as you sit on the bed, pulling him towards you and he mutters a little ‘sorry’ although the smile on his face tells otherwise.

“No you’re not.” You huff, he continues to crowd into your face until your back is on the bed and he’s hovering over you.

“Hm. I like this.” He lightly tugs your off-shoulder yellow top, peering down at you. “It’s my favorite color.”

“Is it? Lucky for you I match everything.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him.

He groans and he continues mouthing at your collarbones exposed to him, your body moving with your laughs.

“Let me know when to stop.” He whispers to your ear and you felt ticklish with his breath hitting your skin.

“Eyes up.” You tilt his chin and catch his eyes, slowly he untugs the strings that keep your skirt secured and pulls it down altogether, you assist him without much movement from the two of you.

You pull him closer and kiss him again, tugging his jeans and he pulls away to get it off before returning to his previous position. His eyes never leave yours through the whole accord.

With your senses heightened, you are both hyper aware of your actions and each touch the both of you leave on each other’s has only left you both feeling the hair on your skin rise.

“Still not looking.” He whispers to your lips before slotting them back together, his right hand tracing your hip bones, fingers ghosting over where the line of your underwear rests.

It’s obvious he is trying to get consent even after he’s told you to let him know when to stop. It’s in his looks as he catches your eyes for a few seconds before continuing with what he is about to do next.

He pulls away and grabs something a few steps from the bed. “I’ve felt that I would need this today.” He smiles, in his hands a packet of condoms and lube, before slotting in between your legs only this time, his face is not as close to yours as before.

He softly traces your stomach with gentle fingers, following his own traces with his lips. He continues his movements until he’s mouthing at the waistbands of your underwear, his left hand fumbling with it.

He pulls it off, his fingers trailing after as it runs down your legs. He continues with his ministrations with his hands on your thighs, his presence felt everywhere on your skin. When he gets back up to level his face with yours, he presses his hips to yours and you rest both hands on his hips, tugging on his boxers.

Off it goes and he wraps both of your legs around his waist, at least one hand never leaving your thighs, his lips never leaving yours.

“Ready?” He scans your face for any discomfort and your heart swoons.

A handsome and respectful man? Your heart swelled. .

His hands move with confidence but prove to be gentle as he holds your hips and lines himself up with you.

“Fuck.” He mutters as he slowly eases in, mouth pressed to yours.

You try to not crush him in between your legs as you feel yourself become putty each time he moves, but it proves to be difficult when he moves with practiced ease. He knows how to activate your senses and which actions and movements he could do, sometimes in between intervals and at times a meddling of the two.

You feel yourself sag down onto the bed, his hips continuing his movements, providing you with much pleasure.

Reaching the climax, your legs clamp up on his hips from where it rested on his hide and your arms smoothing down the expanse of his back, unable to apply much pressure as the relief washes over you.

He follows suit, pulling your hips closer to his and stays pressed to each other for a second, before he lets you down gently.

You stay still and connected for a little while, basking in the aftermath of your pleasures. When Hoseok regains his strength and senses, he helps you rest down your thighs to where you would be more comfortable, gentle hands guiding you.

Swoon.

He presses soft kisses to your forehead as you cool down, and quickly finds the thin blanket to cover your body, his eyes never leaving your face.

Soon you feel yourself slowly regain your strength as well. You sit up, holding the blanket to your chest and pick off the underwear from where it was thrown to the edge of the bed. Hoseok gives you privacy as he sits on the other side of the bed, already dressed in everything except for his shoes and his black shirt, back turned to you.

You quickly dress and smooth your hair down from where it was messily tied up.

Your phone buzzes from where you left it on the floor with a text from Hana telling you that she left the place already.

“I think I’m gonna head out.” You say as you stand in front of him.

“Let me get you a ride.” He stands up and you move to the side as he quickly dresses into his shirt and slips into his shoes, leading you back down to where some people, although a little less compared to what they left off a while ago, are still up and drinking.

“I’d drive you, but…” He trails, pertaining to the alcohol he has in his system.

“It’s ok. I can handle myself.” You look up to him and he laughs.

“I know you can. Let me know when you get home.” He says. He gives you a quick peck just before you jog over to where the car was waiting for you.

╫

To: Hoseok I got home safe, thank you!

From: Hoseok That’s good. Would you be free for a late breakfast tomorrow?

To: Hoseok If I wake up before that, yes

From: Nice. Good night :)

To: Hoseok Night, Hope!!!

╫

You do wake up before lunch time. Actually, you wake up way earlier than you should have considering you got home at two in the morning and went to bed at least thirty minutes after.

You contemplate what time to send a text to Hoseok about your meet up when your phone vibrates with a message from another person.

From: Jiwoo You left your subway card here!!! Come get it and I’ll make you breakfast <3

You read the message and sigh. Maybe the late breakfast will be postponed. You text Hoseok informing him that your best friend needs you this morning and ask for a rain check. Thankfully, the nice man takes it well and lets you off easily.

An hour and a half later, you arrive at Jiwoo’s, “Come with me to my room and help me.” She pulls you to the direction of her bedroom. When you get there she hands you the card you apparently left behind.

When you are done helping Jiwoo with an inexistent problem, you come out of the bedroom first while she follows suit, ranting about the mess the party made last night. You hear the door to the guest bedroom open and you stop on your tracks when you look up to the person in front of you, Jiwoo almost knocking on your back on your abrupt stop.

It’s the handsome and respectful guy from last night. Your late breakfast buddy.

Hoseok reacts better than you, face alight with recognition, “Hey!” He greets you and his eyes switch back and forth between you and Jiwoo.

“Oh? You know each other?” Jiwoo takes over and walks in front of you. You follow on autopilot and Hoseok trails behind you.

“Yep.” Hoseok answers.

Yes, if a one night stand counts as ‘knowing each other’.

“Yep. He brought the cake over.” You reply, sitting down on the dinner table.

“Ah, I’ve heard of that from Sowon. He said he was supposed to bring the cake but he had a surprise meeting and he texted my brother instead. Right, Hoseokie?” Jiwoo explains, biting off an apple slice.

Brother? Stress on the question mark.

Jiwoo and Hoseok are related.

Jiwoo and Hoseok are actual siblings.

Jiwoo and Hoseok actually do look like each other if only my brain functioned enough last night.

Your eyes move from Jiwoo to Hoseok, the latter at ease from his seat as if the situation does not bother him as it did to you. It probably doesn’t.

“I think I left my phone in your room.” You say and retreat back upstairs. If they see your phone peeking out from your back pocket, they don’t say anything.

╫

To: Hoseok I DID NOT KNOW ??????

From: Hoseok Sorry?? Do you guys like have some sort of rule or something…

To: Hoseok It does not exist just like my dignity.

From: Hoseok Come back here already Jiwoo’s chill dw

To: Hoseok …

╫

The breakfast went as smoothly as it could. You laughed over and over, enjoying Hoseok's company. Although, it was mostly Hoseok laughing at your despair as you recount the morning you found out Jiwoo and the embodiment of the man of your current dreams are blood-related.

The late breakfast was only a one time thing, with you having research during normal hours and Hoseok balancing a masters and a dance class with his time. You meet on nights your free time would be fitting with his, and on the weekends you get to do more and spend more time, most of it spent with Jiwoo at her apartment. That's when you realize Jiwoo would actually be chill with the whole thing.

Well- Jiwoo was chill with it until she found out that you actually did sleep over at her apartment, seeing you sleeping peacefully with Hoseok cuddled behind you, arms wrapped around your waist.

[mypassionfortrash]

Do More of What Scares You (Part 13)

You're shocked to find out how Roger's been living since you left him - and since the end of Queen's American tour. But you're also determined to find a way to bring your relationship back from the brink. Will it work? 💡Catch up: 1&2 ~ 3&4 ~ 5&6 ~ 7&8&9 ~ 10&11 ~ 12💡

Notes: Thank you so much for reading! This is the penultimate chapter of this, with the final chapter going up tomorrow. It’s also the first Queen fic I’ve ever finished... it’s only taken me ten bloody months! How will it end? It's anyone's guess! Enjoy.

Roger resembled nothing of the man you fell for. His once vibrant blue eyes were weighed down by dark purple bags; his grown-out dye job left him with matted, unwashed tresses topped with inch-thick roots and his pyjamas hung around his frame like a sack. He was always lean, but now, he looked like a gust of wind could topple him. Standing in his doorway, he swayed with determination to keep his eyes off of you as he uttered a feeble, almost inaudible: “What’re you doing here?”

You sucked in some air, feeling the pressure of the words you needed to say threaten to choke you. The trembling wasn’t far behind.

Roger contorted his face into a scowl that twisted with every second of hesitation.

“I-” you began. The words stung. You couldn’t get them out. 

“I don’t want to see anyone right now.” 

The scene unravelled in slow motion. The door was a mere inch from being slammed in your face before you caught up.

“Wait!” you piped up, thrusting your foot between the door and the frame. “Jim came to see me.”

Roger stretched the gap in the door again - enough for one tired, sunken eye to peer out. His voice was still obscured by a sheet of oak. “I need a break. From Queen. It’s not good for me. I can’t see you right now.”

”I don’t know why I’m here,” you implored. “I thought things were getting easier since I got back. But it’s been hell.”

Roger emerged from his house, on to his porch for the first time in weeks. He sagged against the wall and folded his arms. He gawked at his feet. He gnawed at his lip. 

You couldn’t be certain whether he was grasping anything you said or simply bolstering himself against the autumnal nip in the air.

“I thought I was ok. And then Jim showed up,” you continued, your tone softening. “And I don’t even know how I got here. That’s the worst part of all this! I guess I just wanted to make sure you’re ok.” Your speech faltered. “I still care about you, even if…”

Roger peered at you through his lashes, through you. “Well, I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“And you’re starting to sound like me. That’s no way to live, Roger.”

Roger’s shoulders softened as he pulled his focus back to you.

“Can I come in?” you asked.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

Roger trailed off as you swept past him and into his home. Wandering through the dim, dusty hallway, you recalled him mentioning that a maid would visit him twice a week when he was here. However, judging by the stench of mouldering rubbish that permeated the place, that hadn’t happened recently. The living room was a splendid space, tastefully furnished and filled with photos of Queen in their heyday, and Roger’s mother and his sister, and pop culture posters neatly framed and hung from the dark crimson walls. Ornate gold lamps lit the high-ceilinged room and illuminated the flecks of dust that danced around you as you ventured further into Roger’s personal cesspit. He had made a nest on the plush looking sofa in the centre of the room; a bundle of blankets and books sat on the soft leather seats, and empty bottles of wine and pizza boxes lay strewn on the floor around it. This was the spot where he whiled away the weeks since the tour, trapped inside his head.

The scene made your soul ache and a numbness claw at your bones as your brain bleated on about how you did this. You were to blame. 

Roger stood in the doorway, fumbling with his hands as he witnessed you getting to grips with how he had been living.

“I did some shopping today,” you croaked. “I can cook something if you like? While you clean yourself up.”

“What’s the point?”

“Because we need to talk, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

Roger sighed and stopped his anxious handwringing. “Ok.”

You moved closer, trying your hardest not to startle him. “Take a shower. Take as long as you need,” you said, pushing your fingers through his hair and down his chin. “I’ll tidy this place and fix you something to eat. You look like you’re starving.”

———————————————————

Egg and chips.

Two plates of egg and chips sat on opposite sides of Roger’s dining room table as you paced the length of the room, waiting for him to join you. You wracked your brain for something to say to him. Something to make it all better for both of you.

None of this was your fault.

You repeated it over and over again above the crippling fear that, actually, you were to blame. You wrestled with your brain to convince yourself otherwise.

The door creaked open, interrupting the conversation your brain had with itself.

Roger slipped inside. He had changed into another t-shirt and another pair of pyjama bottoms; both drowned him. He folded in on himself as he took his seat the table. But at least he didn’t stink. You could bow to the urge to give him a cuddle without the possibility of vomiting over him. That was a start.

Sitting down at your food, your stomach growled. And yet you lacked the strength to pick up your cutlery. As soon as you had them in your grasp, your fingers let go. It was like they weighed a ton.

Roger, on the other hand, was ravenous, wordlessly devouring his food, but at the same time, getting no pleasure from it. It was just a function to keep him from dying. Nothing else. He kept his eyes on his plate.

“Are we going to be ok?” you asked.

He winced in response.

“Because I miss you.”

Roger put down his knife and fork and hardened his posture. “You left me.”

“I felt like I had to. I didn’t think there was any way out. You hurt me.”

“I know,” Roger grimaced. Then he finally looked at you. “And I’m never going to forgive myself for that.”

“We need to find a way to move on. Either together or apart. Because this-” you began, swinging your hand in his direction, “isn’t sustainable. For either of us.”

“I just needed time to think straight.”

“But you’re not going to find any answers festering here on your own. And I don’t want to go back to going out on awkward dates, or having my friends try to set me up with people who don’t even understand me. It’s humiliating. I don’t want it.”

Roger’s eyes glossed over. He enveloped his arms around his torso, clawing at the hairs on the underside of one of them. “You’ve been on dates since…”

You nodded. “Alex set me up with her boyfriend’s brother. Dragged me out to some Greek place last night. All three of them were a nightmare,” you explained. A scowl flitted over your features as you recalled the rest. “He works in finance. What a fucking catch.”

“How did it go?”

“How’d you think it went? I climbed out the bathroom window and legged it home.”

Roger smiled for the first time in weeks. An innocent, childish smile. “That sounds like something you’d do.”

You shook your head at the thought of the stunt you pulled. “Do you know, I never once felt like that with you?”

“That’s because I never worked in finance, so I’m not fucking boring.”

“Touché,” you giggled, settling back into your chair. “Touché.”

The air between the two of you grew cold again as that line of conversation died. You and Roger searched for something else to say. Something kind, or familiar.

“How was the rest of the tour?” you asked.

Roger exhaled with a pained laugh. Then he shuffled forward. “On or off stage?”

“Both.”

“Fucking awful. I don’t remember any of it. I can’t even remember how I got home - I just woke up here at the end of it all with a headache and a nosebleed.”

“Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?”

Roger shook his head. “S’just what happened.”

“You know you’re supposed to be in Munich tomorrow?”

“You know people jump off the roof of that fucking recording studio? How depressing is that? I can’t spend four fucking months holed up in there.”

“Jim’s worried.”

“He should be. There’s too much out there. I might…”

“What are you saying, Roger?” you asked, leaning in.

“I’m saying, I don’t want to go there while I’m in this state.”

“But the label-”

“Fuck the label.”

“Maybe we should just focus on getting you in a better headspace.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Both of us… in a better headspace.”

Roger nodded.

“It’s not going to be easy. But we need to talk about it,” you continued. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the lightning speed of your conversation. You and Roger - finally together and singing from the same hymn sheet.

“What do you want out of all this?” Roger asked.

“I want to feel better. And to have you back.”

“Would you really have me back? After everything?”

“In a heartbeat.”

—————————————————————————

“I don’t think I’ve ever slept over at yours,” you mumbled, attaching yourself to Roger to block out the sunrise slicing into Roger’s bedroom through the curtains.

“Hm?” he purred. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and pulled you even closer. “Hopefully we can do this more often.”

“I’d like that.” Your fingers curled through the soft smattering of hair on his chest as it rose and fell steadily. “Are you going to Munich?”

His movements stilled. “I’m tired of it. Everything… I’m just glad to have you back.”

“There’s still a lot we need to work on, though. You know that.” The wires in your mind untangled as you thought all of this through. Maybe he was right. Maybe going to Munich wasn’t a good idea.

“What was that?” Roger asked.

“What was what?”

“If you don’t want me to go to Munich, then I totally agree with you.” 

You were completely unaware that you had verbalised your inner monologue, but you could hear the smile behind Roger’s words. “Did I just say that out loud?” you giggled. “I just don’t want you throwing all of this away for me,” you continued, rolling on top of him. “I made you happy once. But if you decide to abandon this - if you get tired of us - what’s to say you’re not going to resent me for it? That’s all I’m saying.”

He hummed in response while his calloused fingers rubbed contemplative circles over the small of your back. “The parties would have to stop, for starters. And I just… don’t want to go to fucking Munich. All there is is cocaine and strippers and those god awful clubs. And touring’s a fucking drag these days anyway. We’re getting old. Due a rest.”

“Maybe not now, but you’re going to have to go at some point. Your friends are relying on you for some drums,” you grinned, slapping his chest.

“Mmmm,” Roger sighed, flopping his head back down on to the pillow. “When you’re right, you’re right.���

“You don’t have to go to the strippers. Or the clubs. Or snort all the coke under the sun.”

“No coke. No clubs. No strippers. Got it.”

“Have you apologised to Freddie?”

Roger groaned.

“He’s your best mate.”

“He’s my best mate who left my girlfriend for dead outside one of those seedy little knocking shops. If anything, I think he owes both of us an apology.”

“But he was so kind to me, otherwise. And I don’t think it was his fault. You know how he gets carried away. And I’m a bit of a flake on nights out. You know what I’m like.”

“When I see him again, I’ll make sure he apologises to you.”

You rolled your eyes and prodded his chest: “Roger…”

He fluttered his lashes, looking down at you and acting oblivious. “Yes, my love?”

“Please?”

“Oh, alright!” He huffed, squeezing you in his arms. “But can we agree on one thing?”

“What?”

“Munich’s out the window until further notice?”

You nodded, burrowing your face into Roger’s chest. You missed this. “Can we just stay like this for a bit?”

“How do you feel about a holiday? Just the two of us? Where no one can bother us?”

You glanced up at him, feeling a wave of excitement course through your body. It made your heart thud. “Where to?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

“We could get on a plane in an hour and go anywhere.”

“But I haven’t even packed a suitcase,” you giggled, getting on to your knees.

“That’s the beauty of it.”

You sighed. Not a pained, exacerbated sigh, no. This was a content, over the moon sigh. The kind of sigh you might give when everything just falls into place and you just go along without a care in the world. Fuck your job. Fuck your friends. Fuck the life that had beaten you down for so long. 

It was time to take a risk - a bigger one than ever before.

“What do you say?” Roger grinned, squeezing your hips. “Anywhere you want.”

——————————————————————————————

The last time you found yourself inside an airport, you could barely navigate your way through it. Your body was so wracked with sorrow, guilt and shame.

But now, every thing was ok. Roger clutched your shaky, sweaty hand and led you out on to the tarmac where a private plane waited. 

The pair of you were bound for the south of France, but who knew where you’d end up? No plan, no luggage, no worries.

All that mattered was that Munich was on the back-burner. You wouldn’t have to go on any more forced, awkward dates. And you and Roger could finally be together in peace for a while.

Fuck everything else.

[theclaravoyant]

the right people ~ holt x kevin

As long as we’re with the right people, we can handle anything. - Amy Santiago - and also Raymond Holt, later that day.

AN ~ for the Anon who prompted: “Kevin comforting Holt when he doesn’t get the Commissioner position or celebrating with him when he does”. (And also for me, because it’s what we deserve.) This is emotional hurt/comfort so there’s some mild angst in here but it’s all wholesome I swear. Enjoy <3

Read on AO3 (~1800wd)

the right people

Kevin knew better than to wait up for Raymond on a night like this, and though he would have liked to spend the evening together – an increasing rarity in their lives of late – he could not begrudge Raymond the celebration of Peralta and Santiago’s wedding. Instead, he simply passed along his well-wishes for the newlyweds, and set peaceably enough about his evening routine. He cooked and ate tea, washed up, walked and fed Cheddar, pressed Raymond’s suit for the next day, and then retired to the lounge. There, he browsed Le Monde for a time, and then returned to his place in The Brothers Karamazov with a glass of port in his hand, ready to settle in for an evening of literary leisure.

It was at this moment that he was interrupted, and by the sound of Raymond’s keys in the door no less. Kevin glanced at the clock. It was hardly early, but still, something didn’t seem quite right.

“Raymond?” he wondered. Uncertainty tempered his joy at the thought of being able to spend the evening with Raymond after all. For a man whose friends had just celebrated their marriage, Raymond seemed awfully sullen. Kevin frowned, and set his book and drink aside. “… Is everything okay?”

Raymond did not bother to remove his coat or bag at the door, and instead headed right past Kevin and into the kitchen. Kevin leapt after him, now especially concerned that Raymond had apparently surpassed the melodramatic monologuing stage of whatever this was and had moved straight to something more drastic. Kevin’s concerns were only compounded when he found Raymond in the kitchen, having finally abandoned his coat and bag, staring deep into the soul of the microwave oven.

“Do we have ketchup?” Raymond wondered half-heartedly, watching goodness-knows-what spin around on its plate inside. There were only a few seconds to go.

“Ketchup?” Kevin’s frown deepened. “No, though if I remember correctly there is some tomato chutney in the-“

“Salt, then?”

“Top shelf, leftmost cupboard I believe. Why?” Kevin asked. “Raymond, what’s the matter? And what is…“

He trailed off when he saw the tell-tale red packaging strewn across the bench. The microwave chimed, and his stomach turned at the mere memory of the smell. Oh yes, he knew what that was.

Pizza pockets.

“Oh, no,” he objected.

“Oh, yes!” Raymond cried, raising the pizza pocket on the plate high as if it were some kind of holy punishment from ancient times. “I am a failure, Kevin, and so I shall eat the food… of failures.”

“I highly doubt that-“ Kevin began, only to find that Raymond had apparently recovered sufficiently from his initial disappointment to have re-entered the monologuing stage of… grief, or whatever this was.

“Peralta calls this his ‘comfort food,’” Raymond mused, turning the plate this way and that to study the pastry from all sides. “He assures me all will be well should I allow it to cradle me against its sodium- and preservative-filled bosom. Of course, I do doubt it, but then again, if today has taught me anything, it is that my opinion is meaningless. Everything is meaningless, except for this. This… pocket full of pizza is the only small chance at joy I have left in this world, Kevin. It is the one cheese- and bacon-filled star that remains in the black, burnt-out husk of the sky that is my career. It is… What. I. Deserve.”

Kevin could not stand idly by and untangle the net of mixed metaphors Raymond had just weaved for himself; not when, right before his very eyes, Raymond – with all the resignation of a heartbroken hero in a Shakespearean tragedy – plunged his teeth deep into the pizza pocket’s cheesy depths.

“No!” Kevin cried, knocking the plate and the rest of the pastry out of Raymond’s hands. “Don’t be ridiculous, Raymond. Why would you do this to yourself? Whatever is the matter, please tell me. It’s not about the wedding, is it? Because I already told you, I have no regrets about that.”

“No,” Holt agreed. “It’s not about the wedding. Such as it was. It is about… the job.”

“The Commissioner job?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t get it?”

Kevin blinked, flabbergasted. He was frozen in place, paralysed by confusion and no shortage of indignant fury, as Cheddar ran into the room and gleefully began licking up the cheese-and-bacon-flavoured mess he’d made. Raymond knelt to scratch Cheddar’s ears and murmur sweet nothings. Kevin’s brain ran the gauntlet of the Kubler-Ross Model.

First, denial. Could Raymond be joking? If so, it would not have been the first time he had used his subtle manner to extract humour of a practical nature. Immature though such a joke may have been about a thing like this, he was undoubtedly a little tipsy and may not have been thinking as clearly as he usually did.

Then again, the pizza pocket spoke to that well enough, and the amount of drink he had consumed had no doubt in itself been influenced by the receipt of such terrible news. It was not fair, it was simply not fair, Kevin thought. Raymond had worked impossibly hard, and fought frankly ridiculous odds, to stay with an organisation that had never cared for him. What else could the NYPD have possibly wanted Raymond to do? He could hardly have spent more early mornings or late nights at work. He could hardly have conducted himself more professionally. He could hardly have given up more than he did, or believed in the purest most idealistic heart and soul, the intended purpose as he saw it, of the NYPD any more than he did. Serve and protect. Kevin defied anyone to have done it better.

And yet, they had both seen this coming for a long time. Raymond had had to fight for every scrap of recognition, every case, every promotion he had ever received. He was a proud black man, and gay too, and not remotely ashamed of either of those facts. He had come out in the midst of the AIDS crisis and never looked back. Never backed down. He had stood up for Sergeant Jeffords, advocated for Santiago, and fought racial bias in the NYPD where ever he had found it. That had to be intimidating for an organisation chaired by white men who were comfortable in their ways, who baulked at change, who served the mission of the organisation to their own end. Maybe the other candidates for Commissioner had indeed been quality officers – Kevin knew himself better than to assume he would give any officer besides Raymond a fair assessment – but after watching his husband be systemically undermined at every turn…

The urge to march into the new Commissioner’s office and have a strongly worded discussion with him (if not an outright swordfight, which Kevin had also briefly entertained) began to fade. The inevitability of it all did sting, but Kevin realised, there was only so much he could do about it at this point. No doubt all of these thoughts, and more, had been running through Raymond’s mind ever since he’d found out about the board’s decision. It was no wonder he’d resigned himself to pizza pockets. And no matter what the reason, Kevin reminded himself, the fact remained that his husband was clearly extremely upset. Maybe he could not single-handedly fix the prison system or end mandatory sentencing, but pizza pockets? Not in his kitchen. At least that much, he could handle.

Taking a deep breath, Kevin brushed Raymond’s shoulder to regain his attention.

“Take a seat, Raymond,” he offered; for both their dignities, ignoring that Raymond was still all but curled up with Cheddar on the kitchen floor. “I have a plate for you in the oven. There is no need for you to torture yourself any further with that… ‘food’.”

Raymond sighed as well, and hefted himself off the floor with a visible effort.

“You are too good to me, my dear,” he declared, catching Kevin’s hand and squeezing it, leaning in for a brief embrace as they passed each other. “What would I do without you?”

“Experience an ischemic cerebrovascular accident, no doubt,” Kevin offered.

“No doubt indeed.” They had passed each other like orbiting planets as Raymond moved toward the dining table and Kevin toward the oven, but Raymond took his time releasing Kevin’s hand. He picked up the packet of pizza pockets from the bench, with three remaining pastries inside, and glanced over the list of ingredients on the back. To think, what he had been about to put into his body? Thank goodness for Kevin helping him see the light. Raymond dropped the box into the bin, and for the first time since reading those fateful words – we regret to inform you - a smile touched his lips. And not just because he was glad to be rid of those awful frozen pockets of pizza.

“Raymond, may I request back the use of my hand?” Kevin asked. “The plate is hot and it will be safer for both of us - and for your dinner - if I am able to use my full faculties.”

“Of course.”

Raymond released Kevin, and watched as he pulled a plate of roast cauliflower, broccoli, pumpkin, carrot, and lamb from the oven with all the grace and strength and decorum with which he had always conducted himself. The plate itself was nothing special, all of it unseasoned to perfection, and yet Raymond found himself staring rather moonishly as Kevin turned back and saw him.

“What is that look for?” Kevin wondered; flattered, if a little confused.

Raymond was thinking of what Amy had said earlier. What he himself had repeated at the bar. That as long as we’re with the right people, we can handle anything. His squad, certainly, was comprised of good people and he was proud to be their leader and their friend, but there was one ‘right person’ he had come dangerously close to overlooking tonight. How was he to convey how sorry he was, or how happy, how grateful, how loved? How could anyone bring themselves to write wedding vows at all? Then again, why did they need to, when three little words could achieve so much?

“I love you,” Raymond said.

Kevin’s expression softened.

“I love you too,” he said. Then, as they walked to the table together like it was any old Parisian street, he added: “Would you still like that salt?”

Raymond shook his head as they sat. “I don’t need it. Thank you.”

“No trouble at all, my love,” Kevin assured him. Of course, there was no need for the extraneous pet name, but after a long day, it never hurt to indulge. “No trouble at all.”

[jflashandclash]

Traitors of Olympus: Fall of the Sun

Eight: Ajax

How to Quiet a child of Poseidon in Two Seconds Flat

           Pax was impressed: no one punched anyone during his recap of their early adventures, from kidnapping Rachel Elizabeth Dare, to stealing the coals of Kronos’ sword and stealing the Golden Net from Bunker Nine, to the trials of Psyche, to tricking Leo into reforging Backbiter, and to Santiago’s Mayan temple, where their father killed Joey, and Euna killed their father.

           Axel, Calex, or Kally chimed in to explain parts where Pax wasn’t there or where he exaggerated how important the weasels, Hunnie and Baller, were to the mission—always vitally important, even when unconscious. Pax was sad Axel didn’t give the full rendition of how he fought off Aphrodite’s giant doves with a frying pan[1] and how Euna got temporary god pills out of it, but Pax figured they could save the long version for Axel and Reyna’s children to assure the kids that their father was versatile with all weapons and cookery.  

           They got through the misunderstandings of what led up to their fight against the heroes of Olympus and why Jack had murdered his half-brother, Will. Well, that last part was less a misunderstanding and more a psychotic break, but Pax hoped they got the picture.

           When Pax mentioned the Princess Andromeda, that’s when things went down a tiny, Everest-sized hill.

           “The Princess Andromeda?” Travis interrupted before Pax could explain in full. “I thought that sunk after Beckendorf…”

           Yep, that was the weird part, Pax thought. That and not that the passage of stairs in the middle of their cabins that led down to an ocean. Or it used to. Pax had to wonder if magical passages like that got bored and moved places. He would if he were a magical passage.[2]

           Alabaster set his glass of strawberry flavored water down.

           Pax was pleased that Merry had commanded the satyrs bring everyone drinks, especially since—with his hand condition—the satyrs had taped three straws together so Pax could sip from his without leaning forward or using his hands.

           While blowing bubbles into his drink, which took awhile and required three straws-worth of backwash, Pax glanced over to Alabaster’s side of the table.

           The child of Hecate’s knuckles were white as he clutched one of the ingredient satchels that dangled from his neck. His other hand casually clinked the ice in his glass. “Beckendorf?” he repeated. “Was that the name of your suicide bomber?”

           Clarisse choked in rage.

           Most of the other counselors went still.

           “Charles Beckendorf was a hero,” Percy said, scowling.

           “As were the kamikaze pilots in Japan and the jihadists for ISIS,” Alabaster said, his eyes boring into Percy with a scary intensity. If Pax had some, he was pretty sure he could roast marshmallows between the two of them.

           Percy’s face went red. He shot to his feet, had a foot on the table, and Riptide in hand before Jason and Hazel grabbed him.

           A baby cried.[3]

           All eyes turned towards the mirror at Percy’s side.

           Throughout the explanation, Hiro had finished several puzzles and eaten a full pizza. When Percy stood, Hiro snatched Percy’s little sister from the crib-cage, where he’d put her down for a nap.

           With his other hand, Hiro snapped out a switchblade the size of her arm.

           He pinched her hand and dabbed one of her fingers.

           For the first time since Hiro had gotten his hands on the baby, she squealed and squirmed.

           The color drained from Percy’s face as he scrambled back into his throne of Saturnalia. Baby Cry Shock Collars—highly effective against children of Poseidon.

           “I’m sorry—I—I didn’t mean—” Percy stammered.

           Hiro pointed the knife at Axel. Then he carefully set the whining baby back into her crib and folded the knife up beside her—the proper way to store weapons around tiny children. Pax swallowed as Hiro made a motion, like he was holding a zucchini in one hand and his other hand were a butcher knife chopping it. To finish the comment, he held one hand out, grabbed his index finger, and shook it.

           Although Pax doubted anyone needed translation, Axel puffed up and popped his cheeks. “He says he’ll start cutting fingers off if you stand up again.”

           “I won’t,” Percy said through gritted teeth. “Just don’t hurt my little sister.”

           After reading both of their lips, Hiro nodded cheerfully. He turned back to the baby, made a goofy face at her, and wrapped her up in his arms, careful to dodge around the darts lining his suspenders. Hiro gave her finger an apologetic kiss and rocked her to some unknown tune.

           “Man, maybe we really shouldn’t have left Hiro with Dad for those years,” Pax muttered. He waved a hand at Hiro and made sure his lips were fully visible as he said, “Hiro, do you want someone to take you to the park to play ball? Or get you ice cream or a puppy? That you won’t kill—okay, maybe not a puppy—I guess I’m trying to say that Axel and I will give you attention without you committing several felonies and doing the whole, ‘creepy villain…��”

           Pax trailed off when he saw the look in Hiro’s eyes.

           Pax liked to remember Hiro as the tiny, happy child that would crawl onto Pax’s shoulders to pretend Pax was a horse and followed Pax around Frasco’s circus to learn everything Pax knew.

           But now, Hiro’s eyes weren’t alight with admiration. They were narrowed with malice. The look told Pax that no number of hugs, or hand knit sweaters, or crazy moon bounce parties would let Hiro forgive each night that Axel and Pax hadn’t come to save he and Lapis from their father.

           “--ait until I can get out of this chair—”

           Pax felt numb as he tuned back into Percy’s threat.

           Alabaster cut him off with a shrug. “We never bombed any of your living quarters, neither cabin nor barracks. We didn’t want to support that kind of blind murder.”                

           Clarisse snorted. “You probably couldn’t think of a lot of different tactics.”

           Something, Pax thought, one really ought to be proud of, Oh damn, I’m so uncreative in my terrorism.

           “No, we did,” Axel said, as calm as Alabaster. “Luke didn’t want to fight that kind of war.”

           “I find that queer, coming from the Cloven Terror and Leonis Caput,” Reyna said. She appeared to regret throwing her knife at Pax, as she now resorted to twirling a ring on her finger. As a show of good faith towards a future sister-in-law, Pax almost considered tossing it back to her, but—judging by the tense environment—that might not be the best way to express his positive emotions.

           Axel didn’t buckle under her scrutiny. “You pick your battles. We would carefully chose and eliminate a few selective leaders to immobilize an army and minimize overall killing instead of attacking a majority, especially not an area with noncombat units.”

           Alabaster sighed and Pax found himself wishing he had his headphones so he didn’t need to hear this argument again. “Grassroots versus trickle down approach. Axel strongly believed in trickle down.” Alabaster rolled his eyes.

           “Hey!” Kally’s shout made Pax jump in surprise. “This isn’t helping the camp full of kids that are going to be obliterated at sundown. Plenty of which know nothing of the Titan war.”

           The table quieted. Everyone but Axel and Alabaster looked off to the side and grumbled.

           “Sorry,” Kally said as an afterthought, exhaling.

           As best Pax could, he rested his hand atop hers under the table.

           Merry gave Kally an encouraging nod from across.

           Although Pax didn’t want to talk after seeing Hiro’s expression, he managed, “If I were an evil goddess with an amazing fashion sense and great monologue skills, this is exactly the kind of internal fighting I would want to cause to waste time and distract everyone.”

           “The daughter of Apollo and counselor of Eris are right,” Reyna said. “We can discuss ethics and wartime philosophy later.” Her gaze lingered on Axel.

           Axel raised an exhausted eyebrow at her.

           Pax wondered if Axel could find a way to make a discussion on ethics and wartime philosophy into some weird flirting. Twenty Reese’s said he could, and could make it end with some weirder make out/wrestling session.

           Moving on from his brother’s creative Top Ten Questions to Ask a Girl on the First Date, and the debate of who murdered whom more ethically, Merry directed them back onto the subject at hand.  

           Pax finished off his story and Percy filled in the gaps from his party.

           Hazel chimed in on Will’s behalf—since he still couldn’t speak for himself—narrating Will and Joey’s adventures through the Underworld before Joey became real competition for Medusa’s Best Statue of the Year award and about how the dead told Will that something had upset Nyx.

           Merry’s jaw jutted to one side as she watched Hiro tuck the now-sleeping baby back into her crib-cage. “Gothic architecture… Everyone else heard some lovely chimes this morning, right? Just after sunrise?”

           Percy groaned and glared sideways at the mirror. “Yea, they were right in my ear.”

           Annabeth’s eyes went wide. “Chiming as in bells? Like church bells?” She turned to Percy, looking more awake than she had the whole meeting. “Did Eris say anything else? Anything when she was threatening your sister?”

           Pax was glad Athena had decided to click on some lights above Merry and Annabeth’s heads, because his mind was still skipping in the dark as were the minds of the other fifteen or so cabins present.

           “I didn’t exactly take notes,” Percy said.

           “Anything could be important, Water Muffin,” Merry said.

           Percy’s brow furrowed, though Pax wasn’t sure if it was from Merry’s nickname or from thought. “No warriors can be sent after her or he’ll drop her three hundred feet onto concrete…”

           Annabeth and Merry made eye contact. Merry grinned. “Annabeth, what Gothic churches are three hundred feet tall or above in the USA?”

           “Not many.” Annabeth pushed some of the curls out of her face. “The Washington Cathedral, the Riverside Church…”

           Percy’s face brightened, in direct contrast to his words. “She also said something about falling to concrete to put more weight onto Atlas’s shoulders. Last I checked, Atlas is stuck on Mount Tams. Any of those churches in California?”

           Annabeth frowned. “No—”

           Merry snapped her fingers. “Our little Hiro and bae are right next door.”

           Annabeth blinked for a second before saying, “Of course! Saint Patrick’s Cathedral by the Rockefeller Center.”

           “The weight of the world is on the Rockefeller Center?” Travis whispered loudly to Connor.

           “Talk about performance pressure,” he responded in kind.

           Merry chuckled. “Only when they’re putting up their Christmas tree. No. There’s a pretty statue of Atlas between it and the cathedral.”

           A slow, methodical clap chilled their celebration at the discovery and reminded everyone that they had forgotten to cover their mouths when facing the mirror. Hiro gave them a half-grin, one a little too close to Pax’s devilish smiles.

           “So we know where she is,” Clarisse said. “But what good does that do us? No one can go there.”

           “I can go.”

           Everyone glanced over to where Merry had leaned forward, stretching her hands out in front of her in a way that—Pax suspected—she did to distract Calex with how much it pinched her chest between her arms.

           Merry relaxed, so she could put an elbow on the table and lean her head against that hand. “Eris specified big bad warriors, right? I’m not a big bad warrior. I’m a demigod contradiction: a pacifist. I will only lift a finger for dancing, partying, and sacrificing good grades to Annabeth’s mom—not to violence.”

           Her gaze switched from the counselors over to the mirror. “And, I’ll bet Hiro and Lapis saw that when they were creeping on our group. What do you think Hiro? I won’t bring any weapons. Can Aunti Merry drop by for a hug without you having a baby shower?”

           Pax wanted to hug Merry for the ill-timed pun, but he sensed a flaw in her plan, one that Axel stated perfectly for the group. “That will probably just give Hiro two hostages.”

           Calex swallowed. “No offense, Merry... but Axel is right.”

           She winked. “Trust me. I got this. How’s about it, Hiro?”

           Hiro considered, bobbing his head from side-to-side and making his long, black hair flutter. Then, Hiro rapidly signed something that Pax didn’t catch.

           “Hiro!” Axel snarled disapprovingly in a way that made Pax want to say, Oh yea, NOW is when you want to chastise him for being rude.

           Hiro signed slower.

           Pax frowned, wishing his brother was a bit more like a cute panda. “So you won’t defend yourself if attacked?” he translated in place of Axel.

           Merry’s honey skin paled a shade, but her relaxed smile stayed strong. “Won’t lift a finger,” she repeated.

           Hiro clapped giddily and jumped in place. Pax imagined—if Hiro were an animated character—that his hair would take more time to draw then the background.

           “Augh, what a creep,” Miranda grumbled.

           There was a grumble of agreement, especially from the victory twins. Though Pax still didn’t know what people were expecting from someone who had threatened to play Fruit Ninja with a baby’s fingers.

           Calex gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles paling. He whispered something into Merry’s ear. She gently touched one of his hands to calm him.

           The pit in Pax’s stomach had grown from a baby stream to the size of the Grand Canyon. When Hiro began to sign again, Pax wondered if he could pretend he’d experienced sudden amnesia and could now only sign the words Doritos are awesome.  “No weapons. No backup. Only mortal transportation. We can have lunch. Tell Pax and Axel that they are dumb f—hey!” Pax huffed. “My face is adorable!”

           Merry folded her hands in front of her, straightened her shoulders, and closed her eyes. “Axel. Pax. You are dumb faces.”

           Hiro’s shoulders shuddered with a giggle.

           Axel sighed. “Hiro, when this is all over and I get my hands on you, I’m dragging you all the way back to Chiich and making you tell her everything you’ve done.”

           Pax’s ear hurt at the thought and he wasn’t even the one who would be in trouble.

           Hiro huffed, crossed his arms, and turned his back to the mirror.

           With Hiro’s back turned, Merry’s smile weakened. Even from where Pax was sitting, he could tell she needed a huge hoard of weasels to hug her. That always made him feel better.

           Percy glanced at the mirror back to the daughter of Dionysus. “Do… do you really think you can help my little sister?” he asked. “Especially with the whole no-kicking-ass thing?”

           “Who needs to go fisty-cuffs when you’ve got a noggin?” She tapped her forehead.

           Clarisse scoffed, “Hippie.”

           Annabeth gave Merry an exhausted smile of appreciation. “I assume you have a plan?”

           Merry nodded.

           Axel scowled. “Don’t let your guard down just because he’s a child. He can throw darts as quick as Ajax and I don’t know what Santiago has been teaching him… I refuse to let you be the next Joey.”

           The cheer in Merry’s face erased at the mention of their ghostly, petrified friend.

           Pax could feel Kally trembling violently under his hand. “Merry… are you going to be okay?” she asked. Although everyone else might not notice, Kally had put her other hand on the table in a thumbs down position.

           “I’ll be careful, sweeties,” Merry said, looking across the counselor table to make eye contact with Kally, Pax, Axel, and ending on Calex. Subtly, she put a thumbs up on the table in response.

           From the looks of it, Calex was two seconds away from exploding into a panicked array of shiny, Eros arrows, hopefully putting on the best fireworks show Pax had ever seen and ending with the least PG twist for any demigod.

           Except that ex-Roman son of Jupiter was here.

           Pax vetoed the non-PG Eros ending for this counselor meeting.

           “I don’t like this, but we don’t have any choice except to trust that Merry knows what she’s doing.” Thalia drummed her fingers along the table. Pax found it weird to look at Thalia’s silvery camo and dark hair in full daylight. When Matthias was feeling better, they would have to make a little moonlight screen to put behind the Lieutenant of Artemis during all meetings, complete with deer-shaped nightlights and cartoon constellations. “We don’t have a ton of time, and I think we need to talk about how a demigod with god-power eye drops and a singing head that can blow a hole in the camp are on their way to Tartarus.”

           Axel’s eyes narrowed. “We do. The longer we wait, the more distance Euna puts between here and Tartarus, and the harder it will be for me to catch up with her.”

           Pax felt like Phobetor had snuck up on him and used that piccolo-hatchet to hack out his heart. “You’re going back there? To the happy land of fratricide and cheesy, cop out villains?” he said, not realizing until the very end that his squeak had come out in Mayan. “What are you going to do if Mrs. I-want-inside-your-pants and Mr. And-I’ll-cut-off-what’s-in-your-pants show back up?!”

           Those dark, Mist-covered eyes sank down to his hands. “I think they got what they wanted. Besides…” Axel cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the table. “I’m not sure if Euna’s stairwell has connected with the labyrinth yet or what is down there, but if I enter the labyrinth via Zeus’s fist, I should be able to navigate it easily and avoid godly confrontations.”      

           Pax prayed no one would connect that knowledge with the Battle of the Labyrinth.

           A few displeased grumbles came from Frank, Hazel, and Reyna.

           “Assuming we let you go,” Reyna said, twirling her ring while scrutinizing him, “Someone needs to go with to assure that you’re not convincing Euna to join the gods attacking camp—”

           Pax thought nothing could distract Calex from fretting over Merry, but those words made him gawk. “Euna wouldn’t do that. She blames Eris for her sister’s death.”

           “And,” Reyna said, her eyes flashing over to Calex to silence him before returning to Axel. “If you were stricken with madness again, you would need someone that can hunt you down in the event that you rampage and attack allies.”

           Although Axel maintained eye contact and posture, Pax knew Reyna could hurt Axel less by putting her metal greyhounds into a ballista and firing them at Axel than by saying that. Axel didn’t try to defend himself; his expression broke.

           The worst part: Pax couldn’t defend Axel either. She was right.

           At least one good thing could come out of this: maybe Axel and Reyna could take a romantic vacation to Tartarus to talk about their feelings, punch daimons, and—

           “I can,” Thalia said. “Euna was close to joining the ranks of Artemis. If Artemis isn’t around to do so, it is my responsibility to help a maiden in my goddess’ absence. And,” Thalia raised her fingers, snapping them so a burst of static electricity arched. “I can take Axel.”

           Axel, though still looking appropriately sulky, raised an eyebrow again in amusement.

           Calex cleared his throat. His wary gaze shifted from Merry, back to Axel in uncertainty. “I can come too. I know Euna, a medic is always useful, and three is a sacred quest number.”

           “That would outnumber Thalia two to one if you decide to turn on her,” Frank said.

           “Frank!” Piper chastised, touching her nephew’s shoulder to show her disagreement.

           “Uh, Calex is pretty cool,” Percy said. “But… going to Tartarus…” He trailed off, looking to Annabeth for help.

           She gave an exhausted sigh. “I don’t think Calex would betray us. But, without Chiron’s healing, we need all the medical assistance and fighting power we can have here. You shouldn’t go to Tartarus.”

           Those words were like putting a parental lock on Calex’s quest options. Although none of them said it, Pax had the distinct feeling, from the glance Percy, Annabeth, and Axel exchanged, that none of them thought Calex would enjoy the walk through the River Acheron. However, Pax wanted to point out that Calex had probably been an Arsenal hooligan at a West Ham stadium after West Ham lost a match, and which likely had similar conditions.

           “I think your skills are better suited here,” Axel agreed.

           Calex looked unsettled, but was unwilling to contradict both Annabeth and Axel.

           “It’s alright,” Axel said, “We’ll get her home safely.” He scooted his chair back, stood, and rested one hand on Alabaster’s shoulder. “If we have any hope of intercepting Euna, Thalia and I need to pack up now.”

           Pax caught Axel’s eye. They both puffed up their cheeks and popped them. Pax wanted to tell Axel not to go, that there were scary bad guys in Tartarus, that Pax had no way of keeping Alabaster from pigballing Percy to make bacon for the group, and that Pax would inevitably stuff his face with tree nuts without Axel around, puff up to the size of a condo, and fly away into the sun. And they all knew how that turned out for Icarus.

           But Pax also didn’t want to go anywhere near Axel. He got the distinct feeling this was Axel’s big boy version of needing a stroll to cool off.

           Thalia stood up and unslung a silvery backpack from one side of her chair and her unstrung bow from the other. “Done packing,” said the huntress. She rolled her eyes at Axel’s half-smile. “Ugh, boys always take so long to get ready.”

           There was a brief vote, something that clearly made Miranda and Butch uncomfortable without Chiron’s approval. The overwhelming majority voted in favor of their departure, with Clovis abstaining due to a nap, and Jason the only one uncomfortable with sending his sister to Hell with a beast.

           As his brother walked away with little more than an awkward wave, like Pax’s mother, Hiro, and Lapis had abandoned him previously, Pax realized that he’d need to learn how to take care of himself and he’d have to learn fast.

Thanks for reading! Anyone surprised by the Tartarus promenade pair? Tune in next week for Axel’s chapter: Hot Women Need to Stop Sneaking Up on Me.

Also! Sorry if my edits were sloppy this round. Mel was awesome in giving me a rush delivery on betaedits, and I completely butchered them XD

  Footnotes:

[1] Mel Betanote: “I was about to say ‘PAX, THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN’ but then I remembered that it did and now I can’t tell the difference between what actually happened and Pax’s exaggerations because they sound the same!”

Jack’s response: My work here is done.

[2] China Mieville.

[3] So, if I had more sleep, I could more artfully slip this in here…. But sound can come out, it just can’t go in. This footnote is to remind Jack not to be a lazy jerk and clarify this properly in writing! *tsk tsk* to Jack’s lazy footnoting.

[jxminsdna-blog]

twenty-eight days | park jimin x reader

A/N: Hello!! I used to use tumblr like eight thousand years ago, but since I enjoy reading fanfictions and writing so much I decided I would try to make a writing account of my own. This is pretty much the first story I’ve ever published, so I hope to anyone who reads it that they enjoy it!! 

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Genre: angst

Word count: 1.4k 

Prompt: Person A talks through Person B’s door thinking they’re not home but Person B hears everything.

Twenty-eight days.

It had been twenty eight days, five hours, and sixteen minutes since you and Park Jimin had the most epic fights of fights possible. In the two years that you two were together, Jimin had never yelled at you, not even when you were accidentally dropped his phone and cracked the screen, not even when you lost the really expensive ring that he had bought for you for your birthday.

Hearing him yell at you wasn’t the worst part, though. Seeing him look at you, as if he hated you, had shattered your heart into a thousand tiny pieces, that you’d never be

able to get back together.

You weren’t able to out of bed for four days. You didn’t leave your house for twelve. Finally, on the thirteenth day, Seokjin came over, and dragged you out of your apartment.

“Your life can’t just stop because your relationship is over, Y/N,” he kept repeating. “You have to move on.”

But how were you supposed to move on, when everything reminded you of Jimin?

The coffee shop two blocks from your apartment, where you met Jimin. You had accidentally spilled coffee onto his shirt, and to repay him, he had shyly asked for your number.

Your favourite pizza place, two left turns away. You had taken Jimin here for your first date. You two had spent the whole night talking, barely touching your food, until the restaurant had finally closed.

And the hill, the hill that you could hike up to look at the whole city. It was an extremely special place to you, the place that Jimin had told you that he had loved you for the first time.

All places, close to your heart, tainted, with Jimin.

Fifteen days, two hours, and two minutes after, you go to work for the first time in two weeks. Your boss and your co-workers tell you how good it is to have you back, and give you words of encouragement. You brush them off, stating that you’re fine. When you reach your office, you realize that the photo of you and Jimin, the one of him kissing your cheek, is still propped up. You leave your work, your eyes slightly puffy, your mascara slightly smudged. You think that your coworkers don’t notice, but they do.

Seventeen days, an hour and thirty minutes after, you smile for the first time. The cute boy at the coffee shop winks at you, and you smile back, your cheeks burning. But really, all you’re thinking about how much he looks like Jimin.

Twenty days, eight hours, and 4 minutes after, you laugh for the first time. You’re watching TV and your favourite movie comes on. Your laughing dies as quickly as it came though. You remember watching it with Jimin, as he played with your hair.

Twenty-two days, three hours, and fourteen minutes after, the first article comes out. “IS JIMIN’S BTS SINGLE AGAIN? SHOCK SPLIT FROM GF”. Your phone is flooded with texts, your instagram crashing with comments. That night, you go out with your friends. Drunk, surrounded by sweaty bodies in the dark club, you block his number.

Twenty-five days, and fifty-two minutes after, you wake up for the first time with dry eyes. Seokjin visits, bringing along Taehyung. When they walk in, immediately Taehyung pulls you into a bearhug.

“I’m okay, Tae, I really am,” you assure him several times, as Seokjin busies himself in the kitchen. “I’m doing okay today.”

Taehyung and Seokjin stay for dinner. It’s a quiet, but pleasant evening. You laugh, and smile, and when they bid you goodnight, you sigh.

It’s like you can you literally feel Jimin’s lips on your forehead as he whispers, “Goodbye, baby. I love you,” as he exits with them.

But it’s all in your head.

The twenty-eighth day starts like any other day. You order a coffee, smile at the boy who looks like him, and head to work.

At noon, you fumble through your bag, looking for your lunch. You curse under your breath, realizing that you left it at home. You walk back to your apartment, and notice something strange.

Is that… Jimin’s car?

Why would Jimin be here?

Many people have that car, Y/N. you tell yourself.

You’re looking for signs that aren’t there.

Why would he come here?

You head upstairs, and eat your lunch quietly. Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. Frowning, you head to the door to check who is it. Could it be the mailman? He never knocks though.

“Y/N?”

You freeze in place. You’d know that voice from anywhere. It’s his voice.

How does he know you’re here? Did he see you when you were coming up?

Jimin laughs bitterly to himself.

“Jimin, get a grip. She’s not going to be here.”

He doesn’t know that you’re here.

You hear the creak as Jimin’s back makes contact with your door, and he slides onto the floor. Silently, you sit on the other side. Can he hear your heart beating, a thousand miles a minute, as you realize this the closest you’ve been to each other in four weeks?

He starts talking again.

“Me and Taehyung are fighting.”

You want to ask why. But you can’t. Your tongue doesn’t seem to work anymore.

“It’s not one of those usual petty fights you know we have.”

You know which one he’s talking about. The ones where they steal each other’s stuff, tease each other, or pay attention to other members instead of each other.

“It’s about you.”

…

But, why?

“He’s mad at me because I hurt you. When he came home from your house a couple days ago, he started yelling at me. He said that he could see how bad you were hurting, how crushed you are, and how I don’t even seem to care.”

Does he care? As soon as the thought escapes, you don’t actually want to know the answer.

“I started yelling back. I don’t know what I was saying, but we were screaming at each other at the top of our lungs.”

His voice starts wavering.

“Does Taehyung even know how much I’m hurting?”

If even possible, your heart shattered even more. You just wanted to open the door and fling yourself into Jimin’s arms. But you couldn’t move. It felt like you couldn’t even breathe.

“I have… I have to put on this facade for the fans. That everything is alright. So that they won’t worry, and to protect you, since I don’t want fans to come after you because I’m sad. But inside… Y/N, it hurts so fucking much and I feel like such a dick for keeping it up in front of the other members too but it just- it feels so much easier than coping with it.”

“I just… I miss you so much. I miss coming over to your house to make cookies and watching romantic comedies that you cry in every time but you always deny that you are. I miss whenever you came to the dorm, you stole some of my shirts and hoodies and you’d return them a couple weeks later and they’d smell like you. I miss falling asleep with you. I miss texting you, and calling you, and just being able to talk to you.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you saw the tears hit the floor.

“I know I fucked up. I never should of yelled at you. I feel horrible, Y/N.”

“I’ve wanted to call you so many times. To tell you how I’m feeling. How I miss you so much and how every fucking girl I look at reminds me of you, and how I’m never gonna forget you.”

You’d never even know he’d tried to contact your number anyways, if he tried. You blocked his number.

“You… you probably should just forget about me anyways. I’m never gonna be enough for you anyways. You deserve someone better than me.”

No.

He can’t be giving up, can he.

You’re so close to opening the door. But you can tell that his monologue isn’t over yet, his speech to his lost love, who he has no clue can hear him right now.

“I will always, always, care for you, Y/N. You can’t hear me right now, but I hope you know this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be the one for you. Goodbye.”

It takes you for approximately thirteen seconds to register what Jimin had just said. Shaking, you threw open the door, and called out his name. You screamed, and screamed.

But he was gone.

You were too late.

After twenty-eight days, five hours, and twenty-five minutes, your final goodbyes had been said to Park Jimin.

[the-11-doctor]

  Hellooooo mon cherie, as I am sure you are aware, it is a very important date today. We have made it to two years together in our relationship! As I have said in previous posts to date the universe is ridiculously challenging towards us (and whether that is due to the universe strengthening our bonds before we truly come together to be or not, I do not know) and it has been a shit year – not in terms of our relationship. Nonetheless, somehow, we have survived this over four-thousand-mile distance with all the ups and downs of the never-ending rollercoaster that is life. I want to say it’s been easy and full of happy days, but without the sad days and the bad days there would strictly speaking, be no good days. 

  You probably thought I wasn’t going to be prepared for today, but this is the least I can do for you for all the shit I’ve been putting you through recently. And yes, the baby picture is potentially what Ollie will look like – he will be a stunner like his father – and yes, that is total permission to use that picture as blackmail for whatever dastardly deed you may need it for. It has been a wild two years with you in ways I cannot say out loud for many explicit reasons, but after five/six years of knowing each other and still being able to carry out the friendship we had from the beginning – on a higher level (obviously) is something amazing.

   I’m probably repeating myself from last years anniversary post, in a lot of what I’m saying, but I think you deserve to know how I still really feel about you. This is my inner monologue and I am just saying how weird the sentence “you deserve to know how I feel about you” seemed creepy; I don’t know why. Regardless, Mrs Edwards, you are my world and you continue to become a bigger part of my life day by day. Ever since I asked you to marry me (and for the many more times that I will) you have made me realize how much a future would mean to me. I used to be a twelve-year-old idiot (now going on nineteen hh thirteen in your eyes) who didn’t think he would ever want a future to settle down, or even thought about settling down with anybody – people sucked back then. But you don’t, not all the time, and certainly not for free.    You changed my mind, you were the one who I matured down for, too – if I was going to have a life with you and make you my wife and have our weans then I was going to have to put a ring on that finger and mean it when I ask you the question. Whether that is in a Starbucks in Edinburgh or happens to be Cosmo when you can’t find any food you like, and I get annoyed with you, I’ll just distract you from the fact that our date goes disastrous (and we’ll get pizza or something on the way back). That’s not a plan, by the way – that’s not how I’m going to properly propose – but idea nonetheless.

  Rambling. Right. Inner monologue. I didn’t want to word this as if it was an essay because if I don’t get out my inner thoughts then it’s drafted; scripted, even – and I want this to come from the heart so ignore the often-incessant nonsense I spout between the lines. We have made it this far, and you’ll properly be with me soon – and everything will be much better than we could have ever imagined it being. Obviously, that comes with its own issues and temporary delays (as everything does in LDR), but once we are settled in together (hopefully in a place of our own) life can truly begin for me.    The life you have made me yearn for since I ever realized that I wanted to make you my wife, and have you in my life forever – the younger years that I realized shit, maybe soulmates exist. I was always meant to find you, my fish out of water – The TARDIS always takes me to where I need to go, never where I want to go – that’s why she took me to you. The man from the stars, that’s me – the sad old soul who is usually alone until somebody like you comes along, my companion.   Every milestone we hit is technically a step further into the future together, and the future is scary, so hear me out – we face it all together… and then nothing can go that wrong. I know you’ll come out to me in January, and we’ll start the rest of our lives together (for you it will be starting over, which will be the biggest thing you’ve ever done, but you’ll always have me there by your side). Anyway, darlin’ before I rattle on for a few years (and end up with five thousand words) about how the rest of our life is going to be amazing and full of spontaneous, touristy adventures and road trips and babies, and dreadful college, I guess I better wrap it up. 

  This is the only thing I will wrap before I tap. Fuck, these inside jokes are gonna confuse the hell out of whoever reads them. Nevertheless, brain, stop rambling off into tangents. Focus.   Megan Edwards, my wife, my life, my soulmate, my fish out of water, my companion, my best friend, my girlfriend, my fiancé, everything in between, my sweetheart, my baby girl, my love, mon Cherie, my beautiful ginger princess/to be made Queen. I am sorry for all the hell I have been putting you through, because I know I can treat you so much better and I know you’ll give me that chance for which I am forever grateful (bc I never know how you manage to put up with an angry Scirishman for so long – especially with my shit).   I hope you will forever understand, forever be my best friend and my wife and so much more – and we will work on everything together… even if that takes time (unless the extreme were to happen – obviously). The fight of LDR is nearly over, January is not that far away. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you and officially get to call you my wife, my Mrs Edwards. You are the most beautiful woman I have genuinely ever met, inside and out, regardless of what I say or do sometimes to show otherwise or not to convince you otherwise. 

  I know I treat you like shit sometimes, and if you would allow me the honor then I have a lot of life left in me yet to make that up to you and make sure you are loved, remind you that you are the only woman I ever need in my life, and the only woman I will ever want or need. You are unbelievably attractive in your personality and you dazzle me with your looks (you won’t believe this, but you still do) – we are going to make the most good-looking babies planet Earth could ever produce. I can see it.   I am Still rambling, alrighty then – good job, me – finishing my novel three hundred words ago. You’re worth a lot more than a thousand words, so who cares. I hope you don’t mind this rambling sappy nonsense I put to this picture – I thought I’d provide some context alongside why I made it – and I hope I never have to eat my words. Because you are my one and truly – the only one I’m devoted to. And I love you, I do. As much as you judge me saying that and I hate that, I still do. Nothing will ever change that. Unless you did something horrendously criminal. Remember, I’m Bateman, not you. I hope I can help make our 2nd anniversary a good one. I wish we could get lots of pictures together and vlog it, to make the memories, but such is life (until January). Joyeux anniversaire, mon amour. Je t’aime, mon Megan. J’adore vous ma reine. (Dѐsolѐ for embarrassing you in advance!)

[blyanten]

THE DUCK AVENGER PK2: #4 MEMORY LINES

It’s Stella’s birthday! And Rupert has no idea what to give her, despite having bought enough gifts to fill a shelf in his locker. The man needs to relax.

He asks Donald for help to find a good gift, but Donald is distracted by some work happening outside. There’s some people working on an antenna, including Anymore Boring, and surely Everett wouldn’t send one of his personal assistants unless it was important.

Anymore is also annoying the actual workers, because Everett has given his own personal instructions on how this job is supposed to be done, and it goes against the ten years of experience the workers have.

Donald didn’t get any of that as he’s too far away, but Rupert interrupts his staring, asking if he’s still with him. He goes on to say that Donald has a girlfriend, so surely, he knows what to get on an occasion like this.

Because if one woman likes something, surely another one will as well. There’s a reason this guy is single, despite being hung up on a woman who’s so into him she tolerates repeated instances of him shoving himself up against a window and drooling at her.

Donald tells him to forget Daisy, asking what he got Stella the previous years.

Yeah… though I think he’s getting somewhere, notice how Stella’s outfit gets fancier every year.

Rupert and Donald are in fact finished for the day, but Donald still doesn’t get to focus on what Anymore’s doing. First Rupert distracts him, and then shouting can be heard from the mall. They go back in, getting to the electronics store before the guards currently on shift, to find an old lady smashing up the place with a umbrella.

I appreciate the detail on the umbrella here. You can tell that thing is going to be ruined.

They take her down, thought she lands a blow on Rupert’s head. This is when the actual security guards show up, acting more like emergency personal. The old lady doesn’t remember anything, but Donald makes note of the incident and the man with long grey hair and a green coat that was taking notes.

Not suspicious at all, right?

It’s not the first incident though. So far a plumber has blown up fifteen hydrant and a postman set eighty mailbags on fire. While Donald ponders this, Rupert is sharing his romantic woes and failed attempts at asking Stella out. From the sound of it, the problem is that he’s not actually asking.

Damn right it does.

Donald, not actually thinking about Rupert’s problems, goes with it anyway, and tells with him it’s time to be honest with Stella. Also, he’ll deal with the gift. Rupert thanks him, claiming he wouldn’t know what to do without him.

This is a great panel.

Donald goes on patrol, having gotten used to relocating every night. This night, he’s been hiding in a Duckmall mascot. It turns out to be an easy night as far as finding trouble goes, since the sound of sirens is pretty much the first thing he hears.

This time, it’s a guy threatening to jump of a building. And just for fun, he’s wearing a bomb. People panic, the guy jumps and the Avenger grabs him right out of the air.

Sure, because if One told you to let the guy fall, you’d have let him become street pizza. Sure.

The bomb turns out to be fake, it was all a show. A quick chat with the cops also reveal that the guy was squeaky clean, no reason to think he’d ever do something like this.

The Avenger turns around and grey hair/green coat is back.

I keep getting distracted by the guy in the orange t-shirt. Damn, son, might want to focus on something other than the chest muscles in your next workout.

While it’s not impossible that some people are just unlucky enough to end up in two different incidents in the same day, especially not loud and messy ones guaranteed to draw an audience, the Avenger is feeling a bit short on ideas and decides to follow him.

Grey hair is named Hired Squarie and works at Duckburg University as a professor in Sociology of Urban Legends.

Considering Duckburg, I feel this explains his chill.

He also has some questions about emotion sucking extraterrestrial vampires, which I appreciate on a continuity and a “no, you actually can’t cover that up 100%” level, but the Avenger isn’t interested in talking. Not about that anyway.

So the prof. invites him down into his secret archive, complete with a hidden entrance behind the bookshelf. The archive is gigantic, so presumably it’s a quirk left over from the building’s previous owner.

The prof has also done research on every person who’s recently shown signs of disequilibrium, putting it mildly, and guess what they have in common?

Yep, they all worked for Everett Ducklair.

Which brings us to this scene!

Liathcat called Everett the King of Creepiness, and he earns the title in this scene.

Listen, by the time it seems reasonable to install a one way mirror in your daughter’s bedroom and watch her sleep, at least one of you should be in the hands of professionals. Note that I don’t say what kind of professionals.

When you have more money than God, you can find a better way to keep an eye on your kid than this. Come on.

Anyhow, while Juniper wakes up and gets dressed (no, he’s not watching that part), Everett does a vaguely menacing monologue about how she looks like her mom (please… stop. This is sooo not the time or place for that kind of talk, no matter how true) and how he’s trying to be a good father for both her and Korinna. 

That’s why he took them away from their mother.

Back to the Avenger, who is trying to break into Ducklair Tower. This time it’s actually pretty easy, which seems weird, considering how it usually goes, but he gets to Everett’s office without incident.

Everett isn’t there, but Birgit Q is.

Are you trying to claim that chair is comfortable?

She claims ignorance, but the piles of papers on the desk proves she’s lying. She gives in, telling the Avenger that they’ve noticed both the incidents and the connection, but beyond working for Everett, there isn’t one. They worked on different projects, in different departments and never had any contact.

But, hey, if the Avenger thinks he’s better than her, he can take the information and knock himself out.

He does.

And then heads straight for Duckmall because he’s late again. He’s also forgotten Stella’s present. After considering a power drill, jewelry, and other option, he goes for perfume, and manages to buy it before running into Rupert.

Rupert is grateful, and takes the present straight to Stella.

Donald’s problems are not over, however, as someone’s noticed his incursion in the Duckmall mascot, and Fitzroy is on his way to check it out. Donald offers to go, but for some reason this is worth fighting over. 

I guess the entrance is really boring.

While Donald runs to hide his equipment, Stella opens her present and finds anti-wrinkle cream for aged skin. So after running up every stair in Duckmall, Donald now has to deal with that.

That’s one hell of a “I’m surrounded by idiots” face. Or, y’know, he’s tired, but I like my interpretation better.

Donald takes Stella aside and tells her Rupert chose that cream because he wants to be near her until she actually has use of it. It’s a very symbolic gift.

See, this is what happens when you actually make a move.

Stella melts and accepts the invitation to watch a movie. Rupert is on cloud nine, but Donald has no time to listen to his thanks as Angus is on TV, because a teacher has taken a train filled with schoolkids hostage.

That... didn’t actually escalate fast, considering that explosions and fire have already happened off-panel.

Angus tries to interview a cop by claiming that the parents have a right to know. The cop points out that the parents have already been informed, because duh.

Birgit shows up, along with a team of mercenaries, and attack the train from the other end, where no one can see them. 

In an armor with ED written on it. Secrecy, not found.

The Avenger shows up and stops them, refusing to let them play games with the lives of children.

Unfortunately, it’s his appearance that makes the teacher start shooting. Thankfully, through the roof. Birgit and the Avenger springs into action.

At least they’re efficient.

Birgit and her team takes the teacher with them, because Everett wants to know what’s going on. The Avenger tries to make it clear that he wants to speak with Everett personally, but the cops show up, and Birgit leaves him to handle it.

The Avenger does, leading to this.

Suck it, Angus.

The Avenger convinces the cops to let him handle the teacher, Angus realizes he now needs a new target and Hired shows up with new information.

Turns out the people going crazy all over town does have one more thing in common.

Microchips in the brain!

The Avenger is now pissed, and takes the short route to Everett’s office. 

Straight through the window.

He ties up Birgit and orders her to talk. She snarks at his tough guy routine, but does talk.

The chips are from an old project, made during Everett’s “everything can be a weapon” phase. The chips controls people’s behaviors, making them perform certain actions. Remote controlled suicide bombers, basically. Though, less on the suicide part.

Unfortunately, Everett is just too busy to deal with this himself, so Birgit got the job, and as far as she can tell, there’s one left.

Who could have seen this coming?!

The Avenger decides to go alone at first, but when Birgit tells him he has until 18.00, at which point Hired will blow up a building, he decides to accept some help.

He leaves and Birgit notes to herself that her mom always did think she could have been an actress. In case you were still under the impression this wasn’t some kind of set up.

They barge into Hired’s office, terrifying his secretary. The Avenger leads them down to the archives, but to avoid potentially causing Hired to set off the bomb early, the Avenger sneaks in through the airvents.

Unfortunately, going too close to Hired causes him to threaten to blow the bomb right there and then. Backing off calms him down, but that leaves them with the problem of how to stop him.

Birgit, having entered the archives properly now, wants to do it the easy way and shoot him. The Avenger refuses to sacrifice anyone to Everett’s craziness. They then proceed to argue until time runs out.

Saved by slow human reflexes!

The day is saved, Birgit will take Hired with her to get the chip removed and he’ll remember nothing. The Avenger is okay with this, because… the fight with Everett is a private one, I guess? He’s still angry though, and tells Birgit he hopes Everett will stay out of his way from now on. She argues that the Avenger is in Everett’s way, but suggests they put that aside to celebrate.

The Avenger turns her down, as the last few days lack of sleep is catching up to him.

Back at the tower, Birgit changes back into her business suit, feeling rather satisfied with herself. Great mission results and no losses this time. It’s a win.

She finds Everett in his office, reporting that the mission went great. Everett says he had no doubt, but remarks on the broken window. But it’s all just details.

Birgit is a bit insulted by that, not considering her mission a detail, and Everett agrees. It was all part of a greater plan. He then asks Anymore Boring how his job went, and Anymore reports that it’s done. Whatever was up with those antennas, they’re now ready.

A shame we never got to see you two really work together.

Everett tells them to go back to their ordinary jobs, unless Birgit has questions. She does. Like why she has to distract the Avenger for two days, while Anymore does his job? The last part she only said in her head, but Everett responds by saying that Anymore’s work is just as important as hers, and sends her away.

She goes, not liking the feeling that sometimes, it’s like Everett can read her thoughts.

We know. You already said that in #1.