#i mean genuinely look at the first image - his hair is fucking engulfing his face - i'm not complaining cause I like it but holy shit

[fully-caulked-wagon]

D'you think if you stuck an apple in Zoro's mouth he'd grow roots and return to the soil? Drew this just over two weeks ago. Didn't post it becauseeeeee uhhhhhh- Every time I draw Sanji his hair just gets bigger. It's out of control istg. Next time I draw him he's going to be 9 parts hair 1 part face.

[pinkmirth]

—𝟑𝟒 + 𝟑𝟓 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐀𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝗺𝐚𝐧 🍓🥛

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《𝗺𝗼𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐀𝐔 + 𝐬𝗺𝐮𝐭 + 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠) + 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼/𝐜𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐬 + 𝐛𝐥𝗼𝐰𝐣𝗼𝐛 + 𝟔𝟗 + 𝐟𝐞𝗺𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝗼𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 + 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝗼𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐧𝐚𝗺𝐞 “𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭” + 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜 ‘𝗺𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 ��𝗼𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝗼𝐧𝐠’ 𝐭𝐫𝗼𝐩𝐞 + 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐥’ 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝗺𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢 + 𝐬𝐡𝐡𝐬𝐡𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝗼𝐫𝐥𝐝》

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Levi trotted with a scoff, grumbling profanities as always. He practically manhandled the doorknob to his living quarters, mind blurring between the basic elements of push and pull. 

“Shitty door,” murmurs Levi, not used to being this out of it, “and that even shittier company, makin’ me work overtime. I oughta quit—“

The knob then rattled from the other side, and he couldn’t help but let the briefest chuckle slip past his lips over your incoherent giggles, seeming to be rooted from excitement.

“About time, ‘Vi,” with the whish of the opening door, you set your eyes upon Levi with a grin, taking hold onto the black tie of his work attire to pry him further inside the house. 

“Is that supposed to mean you missed me?” Once again, Levi characteristically scoffs, despite his wholehearted smile. 

“‘Course I missed you, even if you came back by— what time is it, eleven..?” You recalled with a hum, engulfing your lover-man into a hug regardless. Sure, Levi finally arrived with less than an hour left of Valentine’s Day, but you couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t as though he wanted to come home at such a time..

Besides, it seemed as though he was a little caught up with last minute gifting as well, deeming by the pink festive gift bag he held in his unoccupied hand.

“Whatcha’ got there?” You queried jovially, pressing a chaste kiss upon his soft cheek before urging him to sit on the couch, plopping down beside him. The dark haired male sets the bag beside his feet, resting his elbow upon the puffy armrests.

“Whatever it is, it’s for me, yeah?” He snickered over the evident cockiness in your question, though you couldn’t have been closer to the truth. “No, I only bought it to sit and look pretty. Of course it’s for you, brat.”

He exhales, shifting around on the leather seat as subtle sounds emitted in response to his movements. “You know I hate to say the word, but..” you face Levi once you hear his lowered tone, the dark haired male prodding at his inner cheek with his tongue. 

“Sorry. For showing up late, I mean. Had to work overtime, out of all the damn days..” He kicks off his shoes all the while, huffing through his nostrils with a subtle eye roll.

“Hey, it's okay. At least you’re here now.” Your reply is genuine, soft. It causes Levi to smile to himself. 

“But I’ve just gotta say, That isn’t very fair of them to keep you so late.. Don’t they know you have me to come home to?” You address yourself with a teasing grin, inciting Levi to show a brief one of his own before his expression fell flat as always.

“It’s not as if they care about me. For all I know, they probably think I’m single,” was what he mumbled, watching you nod subtly to show he had your attention. Well, not exactly.

“You just gonna keep glancing between me and the bag or should I take everything in there for myself?” He snickered, picking it up by the drawstrings before allowing it to plunk down upon your lap.

“No, I wanna listen to you before anything else,” you told him, setting it down with a pout. “I’m all ears, ‘Vi.”

“I don’t have much left to say, though,” Levi shrugged, “I’m just..”

“Stressed?” You finished off your boyfriend’s weary statement, earning his lowly huff in reply as he threw his head back onto the sofa’s headrest, eliciting yet another sharp sigh.

“Yeah. More than usual.” admitted Levi, tugging at the base of his tie, which was beginning to feel rather contracting.

 “You want a little shoulder rub, my love?” Your suggestion caused the tips of his ears to go red in an instant.

Subtle massages always resulted in something much more lewd than intended with you and Levi, and maybe that was why you’d offered such a thing in the first place. Though, who was he to deny?

“..Yes, please.” His response came out gruff and brief, the grumbling male beginning to rid himself of his blazer. 

“The shirt, too.” You mused, gesturing towards his buttoned up dress shirt. “—And what if I don’t?” It was merely a part of his nature to rebel, so you didn’t mind his taunting query. He was simply acting resistant, but that was the Levi you knew and loved. 

“Then forget about the massage. It won’t be as effective with clothes in the way,” you stated matter-of-factly, tugging at his collar all too teasingly.

“Bullshit.” He spat, begrudgingly undoing his buttons nonetheless. “Such a good boy,” Levi practically growled in reply to the nickname. You were obviously enjoying this way too much for his liking.

He withdrew his hands from the sleeves with a hint of aggression, tossing it aside before allowing his bare back to press along the cool leather of the couch.

“Quit your damn staring.” Levi said, clicking his teeth before emitting another round of incoherent murmurs. “Calm down, I’m just— admiring.” You whispered, eyes trailing along every ridge and curve of muscle on his body, drinking up the physique of the man before you. 

With a height like Levi’s, it would never be expected for him to have such a defined frame. Despite that, you knew well of all the muscle that rippled underneath his button-up shirts and tucked-in ascots.

“Alright, you ready, ‘Vi?” You queried your lover with a grin, albeit you definitely weren’t finished with eyeing his toned abdomen until the image was burned into your visual memory. Although, knowing Levi, he was bound to grow restless if you didn’t make a move.

Shimmying over to straddle Levi’s slim waist, your fingers began off thrumming against his tensed shoulders playfully, earning a groan from him nonetheless. “Relax for me, won’t you?” You muttered, skilled digits threading along his skin, kneading over his contracting muscles. 

You were fixed on being painfully teasing, sliding your palms along his bulging triceps while veering closer, lips ghosting along his earlobe. Levi hoped you didn’t catch the way his breath hitched.

“This doesn’t seem like a massage anymore.” Levi spoke strainedly, “You feeling any better?” Was all you asked, averting from his earlier claim, “Well, you’re not doin’ so bad..” he then murmured, subtly shivering over the way your breath fanned upon his neck. He began to tilt his head expectantly, giving you leverage to bombard him with a kiss or two.

“Hey, Levi,”

“Yeah?”

 With the mischievous gleam you send him, his stomach delightfully twirls. You run your hands along his firm chest, palms gliding across his flawless skin before you tuck aimless strands of hair behind his ear, fingers grazing against his undercut.

“You want a blowie, too..?” He practically chokes, albeit his hooded obsidian eyes peering up at you yearningly. “You horny little monster—“ he isn’t even halfway through with his sentence when you slide yourself off of him, your knees meeting with the fuzzy carpet below.

“Yes or no, ‘Vi?” Your query is accompanied with a persuading smile, hands running along his slack-clothed thighs, threateningly close to his zipper. 

It wasn’t always like this; Levi would usually be the one having you blubbering and whining for his touch in mere seconds. Though, he was going to let you have this, just for today. It was the most he could do to make it up to you after leaving you by your lonesome on Valentines. Besides, it’d be a blatant, almost painful lie if he claimed that he wasn’t already enjoying it all.

“Just touch me already, dammit..” his grouching sounded more pleading than he’d wanted it to come across, but it seemed to work in his favor, considering how your hands dove to undo his belt.

Your fingers move nimbly, tugging at Levi’s slacks until he complies with the lifting of his hips, aiding you in slipping them past his hips until they pool at his ankles. To your delight, his member was already protruding underneath the thin of his skin tight briefs, subtly twitching while clad in his underwear. 

“You’re too cute, ‘Vi.” you swoon, dragging your fingers along his drool-worthy bulge. He then averts his obsidian eyes from yours, light hues of pink gracing his cheeks, breathing growing ragged. “Gettin’ all excited just because of a shoulder rub—“

“Fuck you.” he rasps, thighs tensing as he claws at the armrest.

“Geez, babe,” you chuckled lightly over his vulgarity, “I just wanna make you feel good after such a long day..” he was sure you were more fixated on sucking his cock, but sure, your statement worked out too..

The expression you held was one that Levi knew all too well, from the moment you'd pulled him in from the length of his tie to now, ridding him of those all-too-restricting boxers. 

Need. You needed him. Luckily, your loverman was more than willing to give in to your fervor for him.

You release the elastic of his briefs with a light snap before watching his cock bob against his abdomen, the lubricating precum causing the swell of his cockhead to look so sheen, so suckable.

“I don’t like the way you’re eyeing me, brat,” Levi heaved, eliciting a choked gasp once your dainty hands wrapped around him, “Should I look away, then? Your dick is out, so I really can’t help but stare.” You voiced out a taunting giggle.

They’re such a fuckin’ brat.. Levi had to scowl internally, since he was too busy stifling his pretty little groans on the outside. 

“You were all I could think about today, ‘Vi.” You whisper, your fingers pressing firm along the underside of his cock, “I'm trying so hard to hold back from touching you all over,”

“I ain't stopping you,” retorted Levi breathlessly, expression smug albeit his reddened cheeks and hooded eyes. Your unoccupied hand inched along his knee, achingly dragging your fingers across until you reached his athletically firm inner thigh.

“Fine then” you mused, “Just try not to cum so early, love.” 

Levi relentlessly stirred in his seat just as you decided to implement something that was sure to drive him mad; your tongue. His twitching cock prodded at your anticipating lips before sinking into your mouth swiftly, weighty and resting on your tongue with a repetitive throb. His saline-like precum tasted borderline saccharine as you relished the feel of his thickness encasing your mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” Levi voiced out an explicit moan with his head thrown back, the swirl of your tongue lathering at his cockhead causing him to seethe in pleasure. You ran your tongue against the underside of his length, trailing your wet muscle along the healthy veins that littered his dick.

By the moment his breathing picks up, you pull yourself off with a faint pop. Saliva coating your lips as you pressed them against his pink, raging tip, eyeing your boyfriend as he drank up each and every one of your wet kisses.

“I love having you in my mouth, baby,” you swooned, your dainty hand gripping him at the base as the other slid over to his balls, fondling and kneading until Levi elicited a lengthy grunt.

“I wanna taste you too,” He eventually uttered out, breathless but determined. “But I wanted to please you..! Leviiii—” he suddenly teeters towards you, cutting off your anticipated whine with a kiss, fervent and open mouthed, darting his tongue within your mouth just to hear your squeals.

“No buts. Let me, [Y/N].” He drawled out his plea, voice deep and guttural, bubbling with lust. 

“I want you to sit on my face,” Levi narrated his desire between your shared kisses, “But if you really wanna suck me off that damn bad, I've got a clue of how we could make it work.” Your ears perk up at his offer, your lips curving into a grin against his.

“A six-nine, huh? Who knew you could be so fun?” You taunted, punctuating your claim with the tug of your teeth upon his bottom lip. 

“Just get on top of me before I change my mind..”  hissed Levi, shifting over from being seated and  looming over you to lying flat on the couch. “Come,” he induced you to crawl towards him, his expression holding a complacent beam once you made your way over, his hands immediately beginning to roam along your ass while you pressed yet another chaste kiss on his tip.

“Take these off or they’re gettin’ ripped.” he’d demanded of you, eyeing and plucking at your polka-dot baby blue panties with a glare so craving that you could feel it— and it made your essence seep into the sheer material.

“So fuckin’ wet. You’re all riled up for me, yeah?” He murmured lowly, allowing you to raise your legs from either side of his face, tugging and shimmying your underwear down until you kicked them off of your ankle.

“Only you, Levi,” your words were hardly above a whisper, his member standing erected before your face, throbbing from the way your breath fanned upon it. 

“Fuck, just look at the way you’re dripping..” just as he spat his vulgar words, his strong hands finding their way upon your ass once again, he’d bucked his hips up, lunging his cock straight into your awaiting mouth, cockhead nudging at the back of your throat.

“Ngh—!”

“‘Bet you want me to fucking devour this cunt of yours, don’t you, brat?” Levi seethed, his breathy chuckle causing your pussy to throb, sounding almost condescending. “Hm? Is that what you want? Eat you out ‘til you’re crying?”

Levi then thrusts up into your mouth yet again, his pace steady as your saliva trails along the side of his pulsing dick, your murmurs converting into pleasurable shivers that ran from his sensitive tip all the way to the tensing in his abdomen.

“M-mhm..” your humming earns a guttural groan from the male underneath you, his warm breath fanning along your fluttering cunt. As much as you anticipated his touch, he found great fun in making you whine and wait. But that teasing entertainment would only last for long. Afterall, he practically pleaded to get a taste of you..

Once he finally ran his tongue along your slicked folds and lower lips, it was pure bliss. You shuddered over how he groaned against your heat, sinking lower onto his cock, as his wet pink muscle began to traverse through your cunt all the while.

“Damn,” Levi merely chuckles somewhat drunkenly, swiping the tip of his tongue against your awaiting clit, grinning once you begin to spasm above him, subtle but noticeable.

“You like that?” queries Levi, tongue making contact with your delicate bud as he suckles and licks, earning your muffled moans vibrating along his throbbing girth.

“Don’t stop sucking my cock, brat,” he then warns, popping his lips off of your convulsing heat, hips swiftly rolling up as his thick shaft stuffed your mouth.

You grind yourself against his mouth in response, eliciting a croaked sob when he abruptly jutted out tongue, gliding it from your puckering, drooling hole to your puffy clit.

“L-Levi—!” You pop your mouth off of his cock, emitting a warbled cry of his name. “Keep touchin’ me,'' he breathes, slender fingers digging into your hips as he grinds your saccharine, sopping cunt along his flickering tongue, your fervent rocking leaving him gasping for air.

You can’t help but bite your lip over his ministrations, getting your hands to work as they twist and writhe around his length. “I-inside, ‘Vi, inside,” you plead of your lover, lightly bouncing your pussy against his essence-lathered lips.

“Want me to tongue fuck your pretty pussy? Make you feel good?” He snickers darkly, prodding the oral muscle at your fluttering hole mockingly, “Then beg.”

“You’re so mean,” you whimper while your hands continue working at his cock, quickly giving in to his demands nonetheless, “Please, put your tongue inside me, Levi—“

A lengthy wail is forced out of you before finishing your statement, his tongue inserting you with a swift and warm thrust, swirling along your clenching walls before retracting back into his mouth and propelling right back inside, lewdly slurping at your juices with a lustful vigor.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!” Your repetitive cries of stimulation cause Levi’s tensing member to throb heavily, pulsing against the messy, pleasureful rubs of your fingers. 

“Tastes so fucking good,” he incoherently grunts beneath you, gently rotating his hot, salivating tongue inside your spongy, rapidly tightening walls, his own climax beginning to evolve from indistinct twitches to lurid shudders.

The sloppy and brisk flicks of your wrist cause vulgar, arousing squelches to elicit as your palm massages his fairly wet thickness, shakenly licking and sucking at his cockhead as his tongue’s ministrations did none but continue,  ravaging at your swollen clit despite the way your body violently shuddered above him.

“—g-gonna cum!” Levi simply hums against your cunt in response to your moaned sobs.

“Then cum. Cum in my mouth.”

You squeeze at his shaft, as if bracing for the blissful impact before emitting a lengthy, dulcet moan, your essence gushing upon Levi’s skilled tongue, legs trembling. He does nothing but drink you up lewdly, brows deeply furrowed as he groans into your pussy.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” Levi then curses within a low, strained groan of his own, thrusting his hips up vigorously until thick, white ropes spurt out from his throbbing cock and onto your agape mouth, dribbling down your lips as you lazily dart out your tongue, letting it run down your throat with a sleepy hum.

You gradually settle your spent body on his own, resting your cheek against his firm thigh as he rubs at your hips consolingly, fingers skimming along the small of your back. 

“...You’re the most admirable brat I’ve ever known, y’know. Made this shitty day a little bearable, made me feel good.” you elicited a soft chuckle over Levi’s uttered attempt at a compliment. At least he had the right spirit, you’d say.

“Love you, ‘Vi,” you murmured genuinely.

“I love you more.” whispers Levi, arms circling around your waist from beneath you. “By the way, there’s money in the bag.” 

You suddenly spring up from your lax position, lidded eyes peering at the gift bag with newfound vitality.

“How much yen, ‘Vi?” You question, grinning widely.

“See for yourself.” retorts Levi.

You crawl off of his toned but relaxed form, peeking into the red-magenta bag expectantly as you dig past the pink bows and layering paper. He can’t hold back his grin when you emit a grateful squeal.

You turn back to Levi, laying your head right against his bare chest, bodies mingling as his hands run down to encase your hips, while your hand runs along his subtly barbed undercut.

“You’re the best, sugar daddy~” he grunts in distaste over your snickered joke, “I’m not your gotdamn sugar daddy, you little brat..” he grumbled, his palm landing against your ass with a faint smacking sound.

You take his ministrations lightly, giggling over the subtle spanking. Though, it seemed that Levi merely  wasn’t in the joking mood. It isn’t even five seconds after that when you’re flipped over, practically manhandled with Levi’s raw strength, the dark haired male now hovering over your pretty frame upon the spacey couch.

“Now that I think of it,” you’re anticipating his answer more than anything else, smugly grinning up at him expectantly as his hands encase your wrists, pinning them beside your head. Levi’s breath fans and tingles against your ear, your boyfriend apparently harboring a new surge of libido, “It seems like this brat needs a bit of punishment.”

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[egyptsblackrose]

Dancing with Strangers

Ok here’s part 2 I guess, this is a bit longer than the first one, I was listening to the playlist again and kinda got into the zone. This chapter is where things get a little hotter but theres no sexy time still...I don’t know do you guys want that? Do you want more plot? I don’t know how long I wanna make this story guess I’ll leave it up to you guys so let me know what you think. Also the image included is one I drew digitally from a template found on Pinterest, if you repost or use it please give just mention me :)

Warnings: swearing in this one, very suggestive behaviour and language, nothing to spicy

Like to Part 1 here-https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/648370506842701824/dancing-with-strangers-ok-so-theres-a-playlist

Part 2-

You were grinning from ear to ear, a gentle happy buzz fizzing under your skin as you entered the heat of the club your friends insisted was the best in town. Been an exchange student in a very different country like Japan could have been a scary experience for anyone, but you had actually spend some of your young life living in Hiroshima and made life long friends, 2 of which were currently pulling on your hands to lead you to the bar as they laughed loudly. Japanese was your second language, one you adored and had kept practicing through the years, and when the chance came to study at the same uni as your best friends for your final year, you couldn’t buy the plane ticket fast enough!

“Y/N! What are you drinking?!” Miku shouted to you over the music, Sakura already flirting with the barman.

“Same as before, just a vodka and coke please Mi-Mi.” She nodded and turned to Sakura, yelling at her to order the drinks already. You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at your friends antics. They never seemed to change, no matter how many years passed.

Taking a look around the club, you was somewhat relieved that the crowd on the dance floor wasn’t too crazy. You could hold your liquor pretty well, hence why you weren’t as effected as the others in your group, and you didn’t want to loose people in the crowd.

A sudden shiver took over your body, heat stroking your skin like a touch, trailing over your form. Not so surprising, people were often surprised to see a foreigner in the clubs, so you brushed it off. Taking the drink Miku had bought you for her round, your group cheered and took a drink. As “Such a Whore” finished, you and your friends cheered as “Sexy chick” began, quickly finishing your drinks and heading to the dance floor.

———

Blue and black eyes roamed the foreign beauty with no attempt at hiding their interest. She was stunning; her lush hair shimmering in the flashing lights and flowing with every move she made, dressed in something skin tight and pretty to show off her curves but not too revealing and flashy, make-up made to look natural and only flatter her already pretty features. Her body rolled in controlled rhythms to match the beat, her feet shuffling. God she was a sight for sore eyes.

Her face lit up as she and the group surrounding her recognised the beginning of “Lights down low”. Then the real show began. It was like she rehearsed the dance before, singing along to the sinful words. Gojo licked his bottom lip slowly, his blue eyes glued to the way she threw her head back and grinned cheekily at no one. Kakashi couldn’t stop staring at how her hips snapped and thrust like she was acting out the song from both male and female perspectives, his hand tightening dangerously on the glass bottle now finished in his hand. Images of possibilities filled their minds.

“Damn,” Gojo sighed almost to himself.

Kakashi nodded in agreement anyway. “Please tell me you don’t want her for yourself.”

Gojo grin was devilish. “Now where’s the fun in that?” He chuckled, passing his brother another beer he’d just bought, sipping as the foreign beauty dancing like a damn belly dancer to “Culo”. “Do you wanna try make the first move this time?”

The other white haired male shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to risk loosing this one.” Gojo patted his back good natured lay. He was proud of how far his best friend had come in his confidence and prowess, but he knew he had a way to go yet.

“I know what you mean though pal, what a catch.” His blue eyes narrowed at some men clearly eye-fucking you. “I’m gonna make our play before one of those wolves takes a bite.” Kakashi levelled the group was a fierce glare of his own, nodding in approval. This was their hunting ground after all, others had to wait their turn and take the scraps.

Handing his half empty bottle to his still glaring friend, Gojo gracefully weaved through the crowd, gently easing past the many women trying to dance with him. He was determined, his goal set, eyes locked on you.

Your friends span you, making you laugh, but you paused for a second to grin as “Promiscuous” opened up. What you hadn’t expected was a very hot, very pleasant voice to gently sing the beginning “How you doing young lady,” into your ear.

Surprised, you turned only to pause as the most amazing blue eyes you’d ever seen pierced through your gaze and stared right at your soul. Your cheeks heated as the man grinned, pleased at your staring and continued his singing. Blinking to clear your mind from the surprise and shock that a damn MODEL was hitting on you, you began singing too.

“You expect me to just let you hit it, but will you still respect me if you get it.” Your tone held a warning in there somewhere, wether he picked up on it over the volume was another matter. The white haired beauty before you laughed cheerfully, smoothly taking your hand and spinning you to face away from him, before pulling you back so you were pressed up to him.

“I’m curious about you, you seem so innocent.” He teased, hands squeezing your hips. You didn’t even pause, singing the reply but focused more on moving your body to the beat, and into his. “Promiscuous girl, your teasing me. You know what I want, and I got what you need.” He growled in your ear, causing your spine and insides to shudder in delight. You tilted your head back and laughed, only hitting his chest. God this guys tall.

You dipped to the floor and brought yourself up elegantly against him, now facing the dazzling stranger with a teasing grin of your own. “I’m a big girl I can handle myself, but if I get lonely imma need your help. Pay attention to me, I don’t talk for my health.”

The male’s grin turned hungry, his large hands dragging up the side of your body from your hip, tracing your collarbone, before wrapping his hand around your throat. There was no pressure, he just rested his big hand there, engulfing your neck easily, making you look at him as he bit his lip. “The names Gojo Satoru, and you beautiful, can call me Sensei.”

“My names L/N Y/N, not beautiful, flattery only gets you so far...onii-san.” You smirked back as the song changed to “Where have you been”.

Gojo smiled genuinely, letting out a long hum of amusement. “Then let me start by buying you a drink beautiful, I left my brother all alone at the bar just to try talk to you.”

Laughing, you raised a brow. “Talk? Yeah right. I’m sorry but I’m out with my friends, and I don’t want to leave them, I’m the most sober one after all-”

“Of course she’ll have a drink!” Miku all but screamed excitedly. You turned to her with a frown, opening your mouth to refuse, but she grabbed your arm and whispered loudly in your ear. “He’s Gojo Satoru, and his friend is Kakashi Hatake! They’re like small time celebs around here, they’re both hot as fuck and close. Like REALLY close, they only ever take a girl home who they both want, they know what the fuck they're doing too and they’re policemen! Trust me, go with them and thank me later! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Miku all but pushed you into Gojo waiting arms, the male chuckling charmingly at the scene. You watched as your group of friends gave you thumbs up and shooed you away, Sakura and Miku blowing you kisses and winks. “What the?”

“So, what can I get you beautiful?” Gojo purred in your ear to distract you, his arm wrapping comfortably around your shoulders and leading you back to Kakashi who had ordered another drink, and was straightening out his shirt and hair out of nervousness. “Don’t worry, just one drink, anything you want and if your not having fun by the end of it, then I’ll escort you back to your friends myself.”

You bit your lip, about to glance back at your friends to check on them, when another handsome white haired male gently smiled at you, with stunning black eyes, an adorable beauty mark on his chin, a dangerous scar over one eye and a perfect jawline. “One drink wont hurt then, I guess.” You replied, almost shyly as you stood between both men, leaning against the bar.

One drink turned into four, and they were not drunk quick ether. You had lost track of time and songs playing as Gojo and Kakashi bantered easily, always keeping you involved and centre of attention. You were beyond grateful that you could hold your liqueur and hadn’t being going crazy like your friends, it made it easy to follow along with the conversation. You were quick to pitch in effortlessly with cheeky and teasing remarks that had the 2 men both in stitches with laughter, and enamoured with you all at once. Most women were happy to sit and giggle, focus on looking pretty and flirt with suggestive touching, not really focus on what they were saying. You were intelligent, modest and sweet with undertones of naughty delight. It excited both men more than anything had in a while.

When a more suggestive song came through the speakers, Gojo sent Kakashi a discrete look, both leading you to the dance floor after your drinks were finished. Once in their favourite spot, their stage was set to begin the best part of the hunt. This part was more than just seduction, this was about using the music, their words, bodies and heat to turn yours on to the max, until you couldn’t take it anymore. And their favourite spot held just enough cover and darkness to keep all sinful acts a secret.

You inhaled sharply as Gojo’s large hands spread over the front of your thighs, pulling firmly so your back and body were pressed into him, while Kakashi’s rough hands gripped your waist, one of his legs pressing between your own. The two moved in synch perfectly like a well oiled machine, Gojo rolling his body into yours as his feet shuffled. The roll forward would drive you into Kakashi, and more importantly your core onto his firm muscular thigh. The male in front of you would gently shuffle and thrust forward as well, the action meaning there was absolutely no space between you and their hot hard bodies. Their hands would guide and encourage your own dancing, focusing on your hips and slow movements that was driving them just as wild.

You felt like you were melting from the inside out, there was a craving for more deep within you, and it was burning hotter the more they teased. Fingers would lightly graze your breasts and a insincere “sorry” would be breathed into your ear through a smirk, lips would brush your neck, hands would squeeze and tighten their grips at random intervals, keeping you tense and senses focused on them and them alone.

Only when you were a dazed, panting mess did Gojo deem you wooed enough, and Kakashi insisted on getting you another drink. At some point, Gojo had picked you up by your hips as Kakashi had pulled up a bar stool for you, easing it under you. The action was so quick and effortless for both men you couldn’t help but blush, especially as Kakashi kept a hand gently resting on the small of your back, drawing soothing circles there. Gojo’s hand was rested on your thigh as well, like it was nothing, and smirked at you now not hanging to look up so much to meet their eyes.

You stuck your tongue out at him in response. “Careful beautiful, I might just take that tongue if you don’t watch out.” He growled hotly into your ear. Holy-

“I think she’d like that Sato.” Kakashi grinned, groaning the words into your ear. You’d noticed how he’d relaxed more and more as the night went on, becoming a little bolder with you when he saw you weren’t pushing him away or favouring Gojo. The touches were turning less and less innocent or ‘accidental’, and the way they looked at you... Gojo had no shame, staring hungrily at each and every curve, licking his lips hungrily as his hands would skim the line between teasing and inappropriate, working slowly to drive you crazy. His blue eyes drank in every hitch in breath, every shudder, his own patience thinning as he watched your perfect teeth graze your wet lips. Kakashi had a different approach, he wanted the eye contact, he want you to look into his eyes and see he wanted you. “She’s panting, poor thing.”

You hadn’t noticed how your chest was rising and falling rapidly, too busy trying to hide the fact of how turned on you were caught between these gorgeous men. “Your right brother, her thighs are clenching too. What images are forming in that naughty mind of yours beautiful? Care to share? We’d be happy to make them reality, wouldn’t we Hatake?”

The most sinful, hungry groan rumbled through your ear in response as Kakashi stood forward and shielded your body from view of everyone else in the club, sneakily easing a hand up your thigh. Up and up and- you gasped, the single finger making you jump and let out a whimper. “God yes, I want her to make more of those sounds Sato.

“I’ve already called a taxi.” Gojo said lowly, pushing his body into your side so you could feel every hard line and ridge of his toned form, and something poke your arse. “You ready to go beautiful?”

All you could do was nod, too afraid of how desperate you’d sound if you tried to speak. Downing the rest of your drinks, you squeaked as Kakashi eased you off the stool and immediately directed you towards the exit, Gojo leading the way to the taxi and opening the door for you, both always touching you as your legs wobbled and mind raced.

Part 3 - https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/648557120920354817/a-rose-by-any-other-name

[stopeatingwhales]

about a girl (pt.2) x kurt cobain

hi guys :) so sorry for my inactivity, but i’m here finally lmaoo, this is a part two to my kurt fic that i wrote about a month ago, due to school its been much harder for me to keep up writing as usual, but i will absolutely try my best to finish your guys’ requests soon! anyways, hope you enjoy this <3 Pairing: pre-bleach era kurt x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.167

Requested by anon (the second part was my idea, but i felt like i should still credit the anon for giving me the idea for this x) 

༉‧₊˚✧

The wind exhales short, breezy waves as you lay there, engulfed in your dreams. From the night succeeding to your outstanding performance, you were requited to a favourable hibernation which by admiring you, was needed for not only the sum of a few hours. Your solemn features are painted still, the only movement stimulating from your body is heavy breaths accompanied by a light snore from time to time. I question whether it's righteous of me to allow my eyes to adorn themselves in your serene features, yet I simply cannot stop myself. I find it surreal to witness you in such fragility; for all the pain and sorrow you’ve had to experience in your life, it’s almost like you shouldn’t be sleeping in such a tranquillic state. I wonder if you prefer sleeping than being awake, I wonder if you think it’s a chore to get out of bed. Does the world haunt you? Every click, flash, snap of a camera, does it devastate you? The image you portray to the world is magnificent, yet flawed. It’s almost as if you’re hiding something, yet you don’t care what others think of you, so you do whatever you please. My heart skips a beat every time you shift slightly, cradling your body in the duvet. I advert my stare to your arms, sculpted perfectly in God’s chamber, the lankiness of your bones withering an appearance of discrepancy. You’re not like the rest of them. Your steady breaths softly ease in and out of your flawless torso, your hair so impeccable it looks untouched even when you’re shifting around in your slumber - the hair you willingly dyed and strained with a flavoured drink mix. As I admire you, sleeping beauty, it reminds me of how lucky I am to have you in my life - regardless of where we stand. When you’re awake, you’re the only thing keeping me sane during the day; spending even just a day without you would feel as if I had lost my legs, lost what’s kept me steady for all these draining years. In all my time of knowing and understanding you, have you never not known what to say, for you have such a way with words, it's unfathomable. You carry a sort of intelligence that no one can seem to obtain; you speak words out of a bible and it’s ironic I say that, Mr ‘God is gay’, but it’s true. You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. You’re like a hard candy, sweet and delicate, although the texture is very hard making it a burden to get through to you. I want to taste you on my tongue every morning, if you would like me to be honest. I crave for things as little as your scent even before I’ve risen from the cushion. Your grace must be envied by the heavens; there is and will never be anyone as alluring as you, not that I’m surprised. 

As my eyes continue to wander on him, a sudden stretch of his arms and a small groan echoing out of his vocal chords results in my body almost instantaneously sitting up. I watch him as he blinks his eyes a few times, his vision still not clear enough. “Good morning,” he whispers, his arms thrown to the skies; he’s like a baby, reaching out for their mother in the early hours of daylight, moaning and whining for affection, warming my heart with soreful ease. Quickly taking note of the small clock situated beside him that I was aware of for the many hours I had been trapped in thought, it read a bright and early 11am. My stare continues to linger onto him as I watch him shifting around, the heart situated in my upper chest now beating as fast as drum solos in heavy metal songs. A short silence stood in between both presences; I assume that he hadn’t taken note of my pondering state adjacent to him, though was that idea contradicted by his light greeting. “Did you sleep well?” he chirps, now using both palms to rub his what-seemed-like itchy eyes.

Now what is humorous from this scenario is that he asks this as if it means nothing; a simple conversation starter it may be, though, to me it means so much more hearing those light words roll off his tongue, compared to if someone else had said it, even if it was in the exact same moment living right now. A whiff of bad breath hits my face as I laugh lightly, shaking my head in a sort of admiration towards the man lying down ahead of me. He again blinks a few times, now in attempt to adjust the bright scenery to his view. For a couple seconds the room is frozen, Kurt’s alteration in position to sitting up becoming the only sound ringing through both our ears. As I find my gaze glued onto him once again, I subconsciously repeat the question he asked me, this time directed for him. However, from what I’ve seen, I’m certain he slept wonderfully.

A tired chuckle escaped his mouth. “I asked you first,” he mutters, the morning rasp still prominent in his vocal chords. This makes me smile. The raw, genuinity forwards the idea of realism that this moment was actually happening, coming like a pinch snapping someone out of their daydream, though my thoughts will never be known to understand how I was able to spend time with such a man. “I slept well, though.” he adds, a warm smile playing on his lips. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered, my face now being cradled by my palms. 

I now feel the stare of Kurt burn onto my face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, a hint of annoyance laced in his words. “We could’ve stayed up together,” 

A small chuckle breezes out of my nose. How considerate, how caring must you be to, even when you have performed such an exasperating gig, stay awake with me because of one night of my mind’s continuous ambles? For all I know, Kurt wouldn’t sleep for days if it meant I would be in absolute glee. It’s those sorts of traits in those who are lost which draw you towards them becoming the significant other to stay with for life. It’s that sense of attachment, connection you hold with someone, so strong that you would give up the roof over your head if it meant a smile to be drawn on their face. ”You looked so peaceful in your sleep,” I replied, staring directly into his loveable eyes, the shade of blue brightening as the sunlight melted onto his face. His hair was now a little more messier compared to how it was less than ten minutes ago, and the urge of me running my fingers through his golden locks only seemed to grow even more as time passed on. For a moment I decided to hold back my words, inhaling sharply to gain composure to my fatigued state. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” 

Kurt sighed - knowing that he needed sleep more than anything, though a hint of sadness dwindled in his stomach, his mind conflicted from the idea of me drowning in worry as I tended to do when I couldn’t sleep. Reaching his arm towards the table sat beside him, his fingers got lost in between the opened packet of cigarettes that slept reverently on the white wood, grabbing a random one at choice before placing it in a loose grip between his lips. With the known information that you need a torch to light a cigarette, I threw the one I had on his lap, a small laugh escaping my lips for no apparent reason. Actually no, there was a reason. “Who the fuck smokes first thing in the morning?”

Before he torched the lighter, he stopped, his piercing blue eyes locking in contact with mine. “Me, I do,” 

Another laugh tempted to flee itself from my throat, yet I held it back. If you would’ve said that to me the first night I met you, in that small, cramped room, littered with amps that Krist had dragged me into going in to listen to your material, I would’ve scoffed at your blown attitude towards such a random question. Watching you now as you’re admiring the cancer stick with pure attachment, my mind begins to wander over such a topic. I look at you and see a troubled, young kid who just wants love and affection because he seemingly never got enough from the people who designed his childhood; for you haven’t grown up since then. Perhaps in size and features, yes (and definitely the fact that children do not smoke), but hidden inside you is the same boy that was hidden away all those years ago - following onto your parents’ divorce. You say you’ve never been happy since then, you’ve never been able to think optimistically, and maybe you haven’t. Maybe the smile you give to me isn’t genuine; with continuous assurance I’ll consider it to be. Maybe I’ll never heal those bruises that were once your only source of living, and that’s okay, if you’re able to cope with the imprints. If you’re the Kurt Cobain that prefers smoking than having a normal breakfast, so be it; I’d give up my heart for you, and if anything, you’ve already stolen it. Words merely brush the surface of my adoration for you, and sometimes I believe that I’m just lying to myself, that nothing I’m saying in my head is true. Yet, as every minute, every second passes throughout the day, even in silent, contented situations with ceilings bright as yellow from the smoke like these, everything I say to myself simply strengthens in morality. My sweet, you deserve more than one could wish for. You deserve things that this world cannot give you, yet all you believe is that you are worthless. If only you saw yourself in my eyes, maybe then you’d realise, realise the impact you’ve sincerely doused onto me and my mind, you’ve got the moves to empower a generation and perhaps hundreds more - even if you don’t see that yet. 

“Give me one,” He hands me one, the strong gusts of cloud escaping his mouth creating a want for the rough substance to coat my throat in brutal ways; even if it’s slowly murdering me. It was a murderous addiction, nicotine, yet it kills us all, our addictions; and we are too blinded by the goodness it seemingly overshadows what we force to neglect in our minds - the bad in it all. We become so unbelievably enthralled by the pain we choose to accept it; we believe it is favourable, not disastrous and catastrophic. Drugs are frowned upon dearly, as they should be, but once you’re stuck, it takes more than simple courage to escape out of the deadly grip it chokes you in. Placing the cigarette in between my lips, identical to how he had just done, I reached my arm out to obtain the lighter that was in my clutch merely seconds ago, swiftly lighting it with one hand. As I breathed out the first tar-filled cloud from my cigar, I fixed my gaze onto him once again, sucking in my top lip as I allowed the droplets of ash fall onto my shirt. “I know I always say this,” I began as I studied his features, trying to identify any solemn, unpleasant emotions, noticing that there was none at all for the time being. “You’re going to make it big one day, I’m now for certain you’re going to take over the world,”

His eyes now locked into mine, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he blew out an even bigger gust of smoke. “I don’t want that,” 

Smiling, I took hold of my cigarette and inhaled deeply, holding it in my mouth until my body was unable to carry on without oxygen for longer - not that the air in the room was even oxygen; it was more corrosive chemicals than anything else, yet we’ve become so dependant on a small roll of tobacco to guide us to a path of slow death, its unnoticable. I watched as Kurt’s eyes drifted on to admire the elusive sunlight gleaming through the window, the whiffs of grey contrasting the happiness that was attempting to journey itself into the silent room. No matter how many times I may tell, his belief that he will never be as big as acts like the Sex Pistols will empower over anything I endevour on to phrase. It was inevitable though, whether he dreamt of it or not, that they will be big, bigger than anything they’ve ever seen. The path bridging onto it may cause destruction, heartbreak, and even more addiction, but the future is never in our hands - only until it is close enough for the present to capture it. Time is simply a mantelpiece, the light eventually burns out when there’s not enough coal to keep it going. You continue to refill it as the days go by until you simply cannot any longer, which is what all youths fear and avoid. Surprisingly enough, Kurt wasn’t one of the many crowds in devastating apprehension; he wanted to burn out more than anything else, for there were only small things keeping him going, or perhaps he was waiting for a longer, more agonizing death, hence the many packets of cigarettes vanished in a day.

There was nothing left to say in the room; there was no need for a response - it was only going to result in the same bicker as it resulted in many a time. The room, now physically undergoing a change in colour from the smoke, held a significant ambience, one so serene it left you more relaxed than the aftermath of a crazy high in drug use, though sometimes the relaxation is more pain than anything else. Even when my mind was so consumed in ideation earlier in the morning, my thoughts were louder than ever in this given moment. My mind was mulled over the concept of Kurt and stardom. He would never like it, nor does he even want it. It’s humorous to an extent; how much authenticity can one acclaim, to not even look up to the sugar-coated concept called ‘fame’? You’re not like the others. You don’t want fame, you want to create music. And in all honesty, I wish I lie through my teeth whenever I mumble those encouraging words of how you’re going to make it big; I can’t stand the idea of losing you, but like I said, it's inevitable, one day simple moments like these will just be memories to look back on when you’re old and laughing about your previous attachment to drugs. Maybe you won’t look back on times like these however, maybe you’ll remember the more vivid, buzzing moments like your first gig as Nirvana, and maybe I won’t remember this either, maybe these moments aren’t to be remembered, to be lived in instead. If only you knew how much I loved you, would you be surprised that I haven’t ruined my life because of it. You mean more to me than the stars mean to the night sky, more than a memory means to a person’s mind. It hurts my heart knowing I can’t heal you, though I dream that one day, you’ll wake up, just like you did today, turn to me and say, ‘I’m happy,’ because that’s all I ever dream of you to be.

[hood-ex]

I know DC won’t do a good job addressing Dick’s issues post-amnesia arc, sooo I decided to go ahead and write a lil fix-it fic where Dick talks to Clark about how the batfam treated him as Ric. 

Read on AO3

Summary:

“Pretty much everyone has. Missed the old me, I mean,” he says distantly, incapable of keeping the bitterness from bleeding into his tone.

Unfortunately for him, Clark’s emotionally intelligent enough to pick up on it.

“I miss you every day, no matter what name you go by,” Clark says, jostling him slightly.

Dick leans further away from him so he can look Clark in the eyes. Clark’s expression is as genuine as ever, blue eyes roaming over Dick’s face in concern.

Dick’s throat feels tight. “If that’s true… why did you never come see me? Why didn’t you try to help me?”

Dick finds himself sitting on the ledge of a building in Metropolis one Tuesday night in July.

He’s in the midtown district that’s a halfway point between the downtown and suburb area. It’s always been Dick’s favorite part of Metropolis other than Clark’s apartment.

Most of the businesses in this area are family-owned. They’re decorated with fresh coats of white paint, green plants, pretty lights, and handpicked decor that gives each place it’s own unique feel. It’s the type of place where the owners know you by name and bend over backwards to get you what you’re looking for.

It’s that personal connection that Dick loves the most. It gives the whole place a very welcoming and homey vibe that reminds him a lot of the circus. It’s nothing at all like the fake illusion of community that holds Bludhaven together like an overused piece of scotch tape.

The only downside is that it’s a little too humid for his liking, but the warm breeze that keeps ghosting through his hair makes it bearable. Plus, the fairy lights that are strewn between a lot of the restaurants across from where he’s sitting are mesmerizing to look at. They make it easy to forget about things like the weather.

Dick wishes the restaurants were still open at this time of night. The longer he eyes the Mexican restaurant down the street, the more his stomach starts to rumble insistently. He hasn’t eaten anything since lunch and he’s starving. A few tacos and some salsa would really do wonders for his mood.

Dick crosses his arms over his increasingly loud stomach.

“Sh!” he hisses at it in the same way he hisses at his teammates when they’re being too rowdy.

He clenches his fingers in the fabric of his shirt and lets out a shaky breath, chest feeling too tight for comfort.

Teammates. Friends. Right. He had those once.

He doesn’t want to think about that. About his friends. Or what’s left of them, anyways.

He came here to forget about that stuff. To forget about everything that happened to him in Bludhaven. The destruction of Gotham and his family. The loss of...

“Shit.”

Dick forces the image of Alfred’s smiling face out of his mind. He already cried about Alfred this morning. And yesterday. And the day before that. And a lot of days before that.

He’s tired of crying. Tired of feeling like he’s a stupid piece of Swiss cheese that’s got too many holes in it. Too many pieces missing. He’s just…

So tired.

Dick threads his fingers through his hair and pulls it back out of his face. The more he soaks in the tranquil atmosphere of the street, the more he feels like disrupting it by screaming into the night. He won’t do it, though. It may be Troy Bolton’s style, but it sure isn’t his.

“Thought I recognized your voice.”

Dick looks up, not all that surprised to see Clark gliding down towards him in his Superman gear. Clark’s eyes are warm and friendly, just like how they always are whenever it’s just the two of them. Dick’s glad that at least that hasn’t changed.

“Supes,” he says, sporting a genuine smile. “Long time no see.”

Clark returns the smile easily and floats closer until they’re face to face. He holds out his blue-clad arms in invitation.

Dick feels himself hesitate for a split second. He’s never been hurt by those hands. By a lot of other hands, sure. But never Clark’s.

He dives forward and wraps both his arms around Clark’s shoulders, pressing his cheek into the crook of Clark’s warm neck. Clark hums in happiness and returns the embrace, leaning his head against Dick’s.

Clark is bigger than Dick. Always has been. Getting hugs from him feels like being engulfed by an impenetrable teddy bear. It’s… nice. Feels safe.

Dick likes feeling safe.

It takes a long, long time before either of them pulls away. And even when Clark moves to sit on the ledge, he stills keeps his arm around Dick’s shoulders, pulling Dick close into his side.

Dick lets Clark take all of his weight, and he sighs in relief, feeling the tension drain out of his shoulders.

“I don’t mean to get all mushy on you,” Clark says through a laugh that sounds a little too wet. A little too fake. “But I’ve really missed you.”

And just like that, Dick suddenly feels cold inside. Detached. Like he has to shut his emotions off before he explodes.

He’s heard that same sentence uttered by his family ever since he got his memories back. Part of him understands what they mean. They were emotionally attached to Dick Grayson, not the person he became after he got his brains scrambled. Obviously, they would miss who he used to be.

The other part of him, the more fragile part, feels rejected by them. Because for a period of time, Ric was all he ever was. The only thing he ever knew. The only thing he could be. And his family rejected that part of him. They didn’t want him around unless he was the person they knew.

Even Babs, who had been there when he was learning how to walk again, only showed up in Bludhaven to try and get him to remember who he was before the accident. She didn’t want to support him as Ric. She wanted what was best for her, not what was best for him.

Dick still remembers every detail from those days. It’s not easy for him to forget how his family tried to make him step back into his old life rather than help him move forward into a new one.

Even though he’s had his memories back for a few weeks now, he’s still not over it. He’s not sure he’ll be over it for a long time, if ever.

Clark’s arm suddenly tightens around Dick even more. Shit. Dick must have spaced out. He does that a lot more now these days. That, and he gets really intense headaches a few times a week. Side effects from brain damage and all that.

“Pretty much everyone has. Missed the old me, I mean,” he says distantly, incapable of keeping the bitterness from bleeding into his tone.

Unfortunately for him, Clark’s emotionally intelligent enough to pick up on it.

“I miss you every day, no matter what name you go by,” Clark says, jostling him slightly.

Dick leans further away from him so he can look Clark in the eyes. Clark’s expression is as genuine as ever, blue eyes roaming over Dick’s face in concern.

Dick’s throat feels tight. “If that’s true…why did you never come see me? Why didn’t you try to help me?”

Dick knows it’s not fair to ask that to Superman of all people. Clark can’t save everybody. He can’t be everywhere at once taking care of other people’s problems, especially when things have been so crazy lately with his own son and all the hero deaths...

Fuck. He’s got tears burning in the corners of his eyes now. He refuses to let them fall. Refuses to let himself crumble when he’s spent weeks trying to put himself back together.

“I visited you once while you were in the hospital,” Clark admits with a color of remorse. “Bruce didn’t think it was a good idea for anyone to come see you once you woke up.”

Bruce. Typical.

“He told us you were having a hard time adjusting. Said you didn’t want to be around your family and friends.” Clark eyes him closely. “I’m guessing it’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?”

Dick’s laugh falls flat. “Isn’t it always when it involves Bruce?”

“Touché.”

Dick pulls part of Clark’s cape into his lap and rubs the fabric between his fingers. He’s been sitting up here for way too long. He can’t help but fidget under Clark’s arm.

“You know what he did the first day I got home from the hospital?” Dick asks, focusing on the cape instead of Clark’s gaze. “I didn’t even have time to change out of my hospital gown before Alf—they shuffled me down to the batcave.”

He remembers how confused he’d been at that time. How awestruck he was at the very idea that he apparently grew up in a mansion with a butler. It didn’t make sense to him back then. Not when he only had a few select memories from the circus days and nothing else.

“Imagine my surprise when a man in a bat costume greeted me by jumping down from the goddamn rafters.”

He feels Clark’s stare burning into the side of his head.

“He did not,” Clark says in a tone that’s part disbelief and part oh my fucking god my best friend is a moron.

“Yup,” Dick says with a pop. “Right after that, I was treated to a video of me getting my brains blown out.”

Clark’s mouth drops open in shock. “What the hell?”

“My thoughts exactly. I booked it out of there and never went back.”

“He can’t just… why would he…?”

“Listen, I’m just happy to know that you’re acting like this isn’t normal. Everyone else was perfectly fine with it, and I thought there was something wrong with me for thinking it was insane to watch one of the most traumatic experiences of my life fresh out of the hospital.”

Clark groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ. There’s nothing wrong with you . Bruce on the other hand…”

“A real piece of work,” Dick nods in agreement. “He wanted me to be the same as I was before a bullet snatched my entire life away from me. Everyone did. That’s why they showed me that video, and that’s why I didn’t want to be around anyone I knew. They were only interested in getting me to remember stuff I had no chance of remembering. Shit sucked.”

And it still does. It really, really sucks.  

Clark takes a second to process all that. “I can’t even imagine… I’m really sorry, Dick. Really, I am.”

Dick finally raises his head to lock eyes with Clark. He almost does a double-take when he realizes how upset Clark looks with his furrowed brows and deep frown.

“I didn’t know all that was going on. If I had, I would’ve checked on you even if Bruce didn’t want me to. Even if you didn’t want anything to do with me at that point, I still should have tried. I could’ve at least pestered Bruce into helping you more. I never was very good at trying to fix things between you two, though.”

Dick smiles sadly. “No, I guess not. That’s not part of your job description anyways.”

Clark squeezes the back of Dick’s neck. “It’s my job as your friend to give him a kick in the ass for you. How about that?”

“I think I could get behind that. Just… go easy on him, alright? He’s been dealing with a lot of shit lately.”

Clark gives him a pointed look. “You’re his kid. Your health and safety should have been his priority. Not getting your memories back. He needs to know that.”

“I know, I know,” Dick grumbles and crosses his arms. “I just think that with everything that’s happened recently, he’s not going to give you an explanation you’ll be satisfied with. There’s a lot of things he’s lost control of, and honestly, catching the third degree from you probably won’t register with him in a good way right now.”

Clark whistles short and low. “Even when he’s the one in the wrong, you’re still looking out for him. You amaze me Dick Grayson. Always have. You mind if I start sending Jon your way? I think he could learn a thing or two from you. ”

Dick feels his cheeks get hot at the praise. When he was younger, he always felt like a million bucks whenever Clark complimented him. Brain damage or no, that still hasn’t changed.

“From me? I’ve got nothing on you.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my favorite hero like that,” Clark says, booping Dick on the nose.

Even though Clark is probably just teasing him, Dick can’t help but soak in the happiness at the very idea of it.

“And don’t worry about Bruce’s problems right now,” Clark says, voice taking on a concerned tone once again. “If he needs help… I’ll do my best to help him. But I’m still going to talk to him about all of this because he needs to hear it.” Clark’s blue eyes are so intense that Dick almost looks away from him. “You just focus on yourself, alright?”

Dick wants to laugh at that because he’s so tired of thinking about himself. He spent practically an entire year having an identity crisis as Ric, and now that he has all of his memories back, he feels lost all over again. It’s like a rollercoaster he can’t get off of.

“Thanks,” he says anyway, because what the hell else is he supposed to say?

Clark claps him on the back, and just like that, the atmosphere suddenly feels lighter.

Dick feels lighter too. Kind of. Maybe it’s just the humidity making him feel a certain way.

“You know,” Clark says as he peels himself off the ledge and starts floating, “Lois cooked up a mean lasagna earlier. We still have half a pan left. Think you’d be interested in finishing it off with me?”

Dick’s stomach growls at the mention of food. He’s had hunger pain for hours now, and he can feel it reaching a peak. Even if Clark had just asked him to eat a seasoned rat, his answer still would’ve been the same.  

“Hell yeah.”

He pulls himself to his feet and jumps forward, knowing that even if he’s uncertain about everything else in his life, the one thing he can rely on is that Clark will catch him.

And he does.

[redhawtriot]

Wanna Win? (Kirishima x Reader ft. KiriBaku)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated����

If you have seen the movie Hitch, you will know where I got my inspo from lollll

HnM💕

Hey I have request on Kiri x f!reader prompt: 3&9 “I think I love him/her” “When I think of my future it always has you in it.”

“I-I think I love her. I don’t know how to tell her, man. I have been thinking about this for days, but every situation that I can think of where I tell her how I feel ends with her breaking up with me, or punching me in the balls, or something…”

Holy shit. Bakugou knew that Kirishima was a hair for brains loser, but he never expected him to be the type of loser that thought with his short hairs. Jesus, was he the only person in this entire fucking school that hadn’t let his hormones think for him? Pathetic, really.

“Do you think that maybe I am moving too fast?” Kirishima pitifully fell back onto Bakugou’s bed alongside him with a deep sigh, igniting a low growl of annoyance from the latter. Kiri payed no mind to the display of aggression as he stared longingly at the ceiling above him, “it just feels so right. I wonder if she feels the same.  It’s just everything about her is so perfect. Her eyes, her hair, her smile—god, her entire body. How can a fucking neck be so hot? I mean…”

As Kirishima sat up and continued with his ramblings, Katsuki honestly didn’t know how many more eyerolls that he could withstand before the optic nerve that held his sight together tore off. Oh, well, at least he wouldn’t have to see his best friend—damn, it felt so lame to think that this groveling idiot was his best friend—could fall apart so easily over a damn girl.

You know what? It was almost like that stupid ‘Toostie Pop’ commercial. You know, that one with that bitch-ass nerd owl?

How many idiotic sentences does it take before Bakugou looses his shit?

One,

Two,

Three,

‘SMACK!’

The sound clapped against the walls of the dorm room as Bakugou swatted his friend on the back of his hard head, “I get you it, you idiot!” he screamed before settling back into a state of grump,  “I don’t understand why you are telling me all of this shit! I sure as hell don’t have anything to do with your creepy ass pining! I am not Y/N!”

Suddenly Kirishima got a hopeful look in his eye that Bakugou did not appreciate, “That’s it!”

“No.”

Kirishima laughed proudly, “I have an idea!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes once more, slightly hoping that this would be the one to end the torture, “Well, I don’t wanna hear i—”

“You can pretend to be Y/N, so I can practice how I am gonna tell her that I love her!” Kirishima threw his hands up before settling them into a gratified crossed position—a smile plastered onto his expression as if he had just had the eureka moment to solves all of life’s issues.

Bakugou was almost at a loss for words— almost. This was Katsuki Bakugou after all, “Do you ever listen to yourself, dumbass? Like really listen?”

“Oh c’mon, Bakugou! Please!”  the red head threw his hands up into a pleading position as he prayed that his friend would help him, “It’d mean the world to me. I just… I really like her. I don’t wanna mess things up. I need you to let me know if I am coming on too strong, or not strong enough. It has to be perfect for my baby girl.”

Bakugou felt a chill filled with disgust run down his spine at the corny-ass pet name, “Okay fine! But only because I don’t want your sorry ass loitering around in my room when you fuck up and get your heart broken,” he scowled.

“Yes!” Kirishima shouted as he held a victorious fist into the air, “You’re the best, man!” He suddenly fell into a bout of seriousness as his expression became determined, “Okay, picture this: I take her to the first place we kissed—the community room kitchen counter—and…”

Hold the fucking phone. Bakugou’s face shriveled into a level of disgust that he had not yet reached before.

Matter of a fact, hold all of the fucking phones. The kitchen counter? You mean the one that he uses every god damned day!?! He just ate his fucking rice at that counter!! For fucks sake.

The blond boy was hardly even listening at this point as the mental imagine of you pressed up on the counters in the downstairs kitchen buzzed around and infested his mind.

“…I am thinking I wake her up at like 3 am and set some candles down there. You know? To set the mood. And then--”

“JUST FUCK ALL THAT CORNY STUFF!” Bakugou screeched as he tried to shake the scarring sensual images out of his mind, “You storm up to her and knock her off her weak ass feet. That’s it. No kitchen, got it? Be straight up with her and don’t hold back.”

“That was… actually not terrible advice,” Kirishima gave him a small, appreciative smile.

Marginally offended, Bakugou narrowed his eyes at the red-head, “Shut up. So, what are you gonna say?”

Kirshima earnestly thought for a moment, leaving Bakugou to hold back a quip of “don’t hurt yourself” as silence engulfed the two boys. Finally, just as Bakugou was about to snap at him to hurry the hell up, Kirishima spoke up with a soft smile, “You’re a beautiful woman. You’ve made me feel like more of a man than ever. I love you,” as Kirishima finished, he tried to fight the genuine smile that spread across his expression as he searched for approval in his explosive buddy’s eyes.

He found nothing of the sort,

“LAME,” the blond buzzed and gave a thumbs down.

“What?!”

Bakugou didn’t even falter in his reasoning, “That was trash. Try again.”

Obviously a little frustrated, Kirishima searched his soul for a different choice of words. He began once more, this time a little less sure of himself, “I… think of you in everything that I do. When I am busy, when I am free-- every single thought leads me back to you. When I think of my future it always has you in it, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, Y/N.”

Once again, as Kirishima searched Bakugou’s crimson eyes he was met with a disapproving glare, “Look. If you’re not gonna take this seriously then stop fucking wasting my time,” Katsuki snapped.

“Bro, I felt good about that one!” Kirishima stood up from the bed and threw his hands in the air in frustration.

Bakugou followed him from the bed, “Do you want to win her over or not, idiot?!”

Of course Kiri did! But... He wasn’t sure if this was the way to go anymore, “W-well,”

“DO YOU WANNA WIN OR NOT, SHIT HAIR?” Bakugou barked as he shoved a rough finger into the other boys chest.

“I WANNA WIN!” Kirishima screeched with resolve, his manly aurora radiating from his being. Bakugou’s eyes were filled with fury as the two men hyped each other up,

“YEAH?”

“HELL YEAH!”

“ALRIGHT THEN!” Bakugou smirked at his handy work, “I AM Y/N FUCKING L/N! NOW, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND MAKE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH Y—”

“What was that noise?” Mina question from the couch beside you. Yao-Momo and Jirou also spoke up about the noise coming from upstairs, causing your heart to drop a little in mortification.

You could recognize that scream from a mile away. You sighed as your circle of friends one-by-one realized that it was indeed your boyfriend, Kirishima, making all of that noise upstairs.

Well, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. He could honestly be doing one of his workout videos…

As soon as you heard Bakugou’s voice enter the mix, your heart dropped. Well, so much for that theory. Mina spoke up, “Maybe.. you should go check on them?”

You pitifully obliged and went to check on the two knuckleheads.

You could very easily hear the deranged screaming of the feral Bakugou from the other side of his door “…NOW GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND MAKE ME…”

You nonchalantly gave two quick knocks before twisting the doorknob and swinging the door open—fully prepared to beat some blonde and red-headed ass for making you come all the way up here.

“What are you two—” your words were caught in a gasp as you witnessed your boyfriend aggressively tackle Bakugou into a rough kiss. Your mouth instinctively opened to scream, but nothing came out but a high pitched and strained squeak.

Bakugou almost instantly blasted Kirishima in the face, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING???” you had actually never heard Bakugou’s voice like this. It was almost as high pitched and frantic as yours as the smoke from his attack set the building fire alarms off. Water began pouring from spouts on the ceiling.

“K-kiri!” you exclaimed—the two boys finally recognizing your alarmed presence, “What the fuck!” you cried out in shame.

The boy’s red hair—now soaking wet—clung to his horrified expression as his face flushed into a deep red to match it, “Y-Y/N, You make me manly. Every thought, everyday leads me to my future w-with you in it… Marry me?”

“God dammit.” The sound of Bakugou slapping his forehead echoed throughout the room as water dispersed from his dripping figure.

[starlightsearches]

Okay so I'm in love with the oneshot you did of Hux x Reader graduating from the academy. I would like to request a part 2 please, where Armitage sees Reader again for the first time on the Finalizer. Thanks, hun!! ❤❤❤

Graduation pt. 3

Hello friends! I was feeling really guilty about opening up my requests before I finished some of the older ones, but now I’m very glad that I did because i was able to combine these two, and I love the way that it turned out. Hope you guys like it!

Requests are closed  ✨

Armitage Hux x Classmate! Reader Pt. 3

(Here’s part one and part two if you’d like a refresher 🥰)

Warnings: Discussions of an injury, and I think that’s it!

He’s still not sure why he had volunteered for the mission, not really. It was uncharacteristically impulsive, as he had been sitting in the meeting with his head down, occasionally flitting his glance in your direction. Captain Prayjor had made the opportunity sound exciting: the chance to be on the ground during an attack, a time to use the skills he had so carefully cultivated in all those simulations, but even then he had held back, unwilling to make the choice just yet.

Life on the Finalizer was different from what Armitage had expected; some of those differences were good, others were . . . less than ideal. Perhaps the most surprising was also the best: he rarely saw his father aboard. Apparently the general was much too busy to concern himself with any of the new lieutenants, including his own son, and Armitage liked that well enough. Unfortunately, he didn’t manage to see much of you either.

He had thought that things would be different, after the cadet’s ball, after the kiss you had given him in the moonlight on Arkanis, but he had managed to fuck that up. It was just so hard, now—to speak to you, to look at you, to be normal. Every time he tried, the memory was conjured again, and each time in more devastating detail: how pretty you had looked inching closer to him outside your dormitory, how his skin had turned to fire and melted away under the pressure of your lips on his cheek, how bare he felt in your presence. Every time he looked at you, he was overcome with a flood of desires, and the inability to act on them. He wasn’t brave enough.

It was natural, for the distance to grow between you, a spreading crevasse that Armitage widened every time he caught your eye and then looked away, with every curt answer he gave to your genuine questions, and he didn’t know how to stop it. He knew you’d give up on him soon enough, though, and it would tear him apart.

Captain Prayjor had finished his presentation, waiting patiently for the first brave volunteer, but the room stayed silent. Hux watched you closely as Jamisa, one of the other new additions to the Finalizer crew, leaned over next to you, whispering just loud enough for Armitage to hear, “sounds dangerous, I don’t think I could do it,” and you had nodded in assent just as your eyes met his. Electricity had filled the air, and he hadn’t noticed that his hand was raised until he heard Captain Prayjor calling his name.

“Yes, lieutenant?” he had said, and everyone turned to Armitage, waiting to see if he would really agree to this, if he would be the first of them to take all the theoretical learning that they had done and see if it really worked.

No one breathed, no one moved, the weight of all the eyes and expectations of everyone in the room rested upon his shoulders, but only yours mattered in that moment, to Armitage. He needed to be brave. He wanted more. If this is what it would take for you to finally see him as more than just a friend, then no amount of danger would make him turn away.

“I’d like to volunteer for the mission, captain.”

In the days leading up to the event, Armitage couldn't keep his mind from wandering with outlandish fantasies, his thoughts filled with images of himself, a little bruised, a little bloody, but also victorious and vital, returning to the Finalizer. And you would be there, of course, waiting for him, eager to see that he had returned alive. Things would change, in that moment. You'd see him the way he wanted to be seen by you, and everything would be different. He’d close the divide that he had created.

The reality was much more pathetic, of course. He and Prayjor hadn't even been on the ground for the fight, instead directing troopers from a command ship, only leaving the safety of the transport once everything was finished. He had surveyed the battlefield after the fact, stepping over the charred landscape of discarded blasters and fallen troopers with a distinct feeling of dissatisfaction.

He only found out what really happened much later, about the rebel in hiding, the blaster shot and how they had rushed him, unconscious, back to the Finalizer, to the medbay. So his return had not been what he had expected at all. But then again, neither was anything that happened after.

He wakes with a headache, his limbs sore from the lack of movement, and even with his eyes closed there's too much light. He grunts and shifts, testing out the limits of his body, but his limbs haven’t quite woken up yet, left weighed down and immobile. He waits patiently, working up to the point that he can flex his fingers, but he freezes when something in his palm impedes the movement.  His eyes flash open, and you're the first thing he sees, sitting at his bedside, facing away from him, towards the door. He sees you first, and then his gaze wanders to his hand, where your fingers are intertwined with his.

You don't notice that he’s awake just yet, focused intently on your data pad, which rests in your lap. Despite the effect it had on him, the light in the room is dim; most of the overhead lights are off and the majority of the light pours in from the corridor outside of his room—it must be the middle of the night cycle.

A familiar feeling of panic rises in his chest, but not for any normal reason, not because he’s woken in a strange place with no memory of how he got there. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out he’s in the medbay—not with the medical equipment and the thin mattress beneath him and the remnants of sedatives he can still feel running their course through his veins. No, he’s panicked because of you, because he can already feel his palm grow moist against your own, because any moment now you’ll realize that he’s awake and he’ll have to find something to say.

He stays as still as he can manage, ignoring the pain that emanates from his side, trying to relax into this moment. He watches you as he tries to maintain the steady, sleepy rhythm of his breathing, paying close attention to every detail he can, because he’d like to savor this moment, and what it means. You’re here. You care about him.

You shift in your seat, removing your hand from his and turning to face him. Armitage manages to close his eyes again, just in time, pretending to be asleep.

He feels the gentle brush of your fingers against his hairline, and he has to remind himself to breathe as your touch sparks against his nerve endings, your fingers curling through his hair with an affectionate gentleness that he hadn’t felt before.

Can people blush when they’re asleep? Armitage can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, up to his forehead, and his breath stutters through his nose, the beep of the heart monitor beside the bed following suit. Your fingers still, and he can feel you waiting to see if he might wake.

Armitage lets his eyes fall open, and they meet yours immediately, like fate, like it was meant to be. You’re beautiful, even without sleep, even with bloodshot eyes that tear up when you realize that he’s awake. For a moment, you’re both motionless, and there’s a silent communication that flows between you—for just a moment, he believes with every fiber of himself that you might actually kiss him.

But just as soon as it was created, the connection is broken. You break away from him, pulling your hand from where it rests in his hair, embarrassed, your eyes traveling to the doorway before they return to his, guarded now.

“You’re awake,” you whisper, fiddling with the sheet at the edge of the bed, maybe to give your hands some purpose besides touching him, “how are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” he responds, and the rasp of his own voice surprises you both. You search the room, your eyes landing on the stand beside the bed and you take the cup that rests there into your hands, holding it out to him. Armitage shifts into a sitting position, wincing at the sharp, smarting pain that engulfs his side when he moves. Your other hand reaches out to steady him, and he flushes again at the contact, just now realizing that they had left him bare from the waist up, your palm warm against the pale skin of his rib cage. He settles back into a sitting position, but you don’t remove your hand just yet, waiting until he stops before you pull away. 

“Do you remember what happened?” you ask as you hand him the cup, pausing to make sure that he has a good hold on it before you let go. Armitage thinks he should probably be embarrassed with the way that you’re doting on him, but he finds he doesn’t mind the attention. He shakes his head before bringing the glass to his lips and drinking the water in long, slow sips.

“You were shot twice,” you say as he drains the glass, “before the troopers could apprehend the rebel. They only just missed your spine.” Your voice cracks on the last word; and a tear slips down your cheek before you brush it away. Armitage goes rigid, watching you carefully as he sets the glass back down. Maybe he’s misreading the signs, but that tear holds meaning. He thinks that this might be the first real sign that you care about him—as more than a friend.

“Thank you for being here,” he whispers, and he inches his hand across the crisp, white sheets towards the place where your hand rests on the edge of the mattress. A surge of warmth flows through him as he takes your hand in his—he’s feeling brave.

“I’m glad that you’re alright,” you say with a sniffle, trying to stay any more tears that threaten to fall as they pool in the corners of your eyes, “if you hadn’t been, if it had been-”

Pain shoots up his side again as Armitage lunges forward, but it doesn’t even register, not when he’s focused on the infinitely more pleasurable feeling of your mouth on his as he kisses away the worries that you were unable to express. A white-hot thrill shoots through him as you kiss him back, your lips parting with a little laugh, your hand resting against the crook of his neck as you pull him closer, his fingers already entwined in your hair.

It’s the alarming of the heart monitor that finally makes you pull away from him, the shrill measure of his accelerated heartbeat echoing through the room. You’re shy all of a sudden, brushing your fingertips over the small smile that rests on your lips, and the realization hits him with force: you’ve wanted him all this time, just as much as he did. How could he be so foolish? How could he have let his fears deprive him of something this wonderful?

Armitage struggles to get his breathing back in check, and he can feel that he’s blushing all the way down to his chest, his skin flushed with delight. 

“I should probably let you rest,” you say when you look at him again, brushing your fingers down the length of his arm, leaving a pleasant chill in their wake. “I’ll be back tomorrow?” 

“I’ll be out of here by then,” he responds, grabbing your hand as your fingers dance over his palm, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. If he had his way, they’d let him out of the medbay right now. He wants to be with you, and he knows that you want to be with him. And nothing, not even a blaster wound, was going to keep him away from you anymore.

[wroteclassicaly]

Dibs

A/N: Heeeeeeeey, loves! I’m back and pretty proud of this one! It’s a two part story, this obviously being the first part. Smut will be in the next one. I’ve wanted to write this idea since I came up with it the night of the season premiere. 

Reader is plus size in this one. She is also Chef Bertie’s daughter. There’s some major self-esteem issues and some self-bashing in this one, so be warned. I hope ya’ll enjoy! Lemme know what you think? :) 

P.S. I’ve changed a few things around to fit the reader in. Dialogue, mostly. It’s not that much of a change though, so don’t worry. 

Also, I can’t seem to get my taglist to work right, so I don’t tag anyone. I’m sorry. :(

Pairing: Xavier Plympton x Female reader

Word count: 2,691

Warnings: Explicit language, references to smut and virginity, self-esteem issues, poor body image issues

Looking forward to something during the summer months wasn't usually your forte, but this season seemed to be taking drastic approaching turns already. You'd been coerced into coming help your mom work the kitchen of Camp Redwood. Massacres and legends galore, bugs and snakes touring your housing. Sounded so fun to you. Your mom didn't want to leave you at your home alone, so you hesitantly agreed to get away from the dangers in Los Angeles and help out at the camp with her.

The drive up you imagined all sorts of various and vile scenarios. Woods and stories caught your imagination and refused to leave without a searing tongue lashed haunting. Your mom had assured you things would be okay this time around, that she wouldn't let anything happen to you, but it still felt so unsettling to be surrounded by nothing but dirt and trees and a large body of midnight fresh water. For your mom, however, you opted for the positive side of things, and sucked it up. You met with the eccentric and eerie Margaret, hovering closely to any exits you could think about, then escaped to the cabin you would be sharing with your mother to put your things away.

Margaret had informed you and your mom that a group of counselor volunteers would be arriving in the afternoon, leaving your stomach to tumble into the anxiety founded pits it always was. You hated much social interaction, even living in one of the world's largest cities. You avoided leisure activities and parties that were too high octane. You cared only about the peace and quiet, a few close friends, your books, and your music. You were grateful you had been permitted to bring along some albums and your record player, because without it, you could not function.

Setting out your music, you had tasked yourself out to sweep and mop the dining hall and kitchen. Covered in sweat and grime, hair pulled back into a messy mopped bun, the entire area became brand new once more. So much so that you had to stand and admire, the enriching draped melodies from Stevie Wonder casting a serene, echoing production to highlight your hard work. You hadn't noticed until Margaret jabbed a nail into your tank top clad shoulder, causing you to nearly deck her in the face with your broom handle. She raised a manicured brow, annoyance perched on her poker faced features, asking you to come meet the newest additions to the staff, as they would be arriving soon and you still had to bring food into the kitchen pantry.

Reluctantly, you followed your camp leader out into your new life for the next few months.

~*~

Present day: The First Night

Your insides feel as if they have all been twisted together like licorice, coolness spreading through your veins, erecting goosebumps all across your flesh. You self-consciously grip your noticeable stomach, already prepared for an array of flashy and skimpy clothed girls to accompany muscular, tight fitted guys. You don't fit in. Not being more than overweight, but what doctors seemed to call obese, with a swell to your face and the rest of you in places all around your thick form. In this day and age, not many girls your size are praised or celebrated in music and on television.

Sure, there were a few, but the movies you have seen are the overweight girl being an extra, a classmate, the bestfriend, the loner, the reject, or the propping joke. Fat is funny in LA, you aren't stupid. And no matter how far you run from it, you'd have to face scrutiny, even here. Your thinking is pregnant with triplets on this one, as you don't even bat a blink walking out with the Carrie White's mother - Margaret White -esque Camp owner, to meet everyone. Worn sneakers and boots from different brand names dusted in California soil is what you see before meeting the eyes of a very petite brunette.

That's the first counselor that smacks your self-esteem straight into the pits of hell. And the blonde girl near her in the colorful and tight outfit? Yeah, you want to find a hole and dig it twelve feet under. Six feet for your humiliation, adding on an additional six for your fat ass body. You want to run, but, yeah, right.

If you don't speak then you will look stupid, more so than you do now, covered in perspiration and dirt smudges. Margaret makes an introduction that collides right into you stepping behind your mom, getting an eyeful of the two handsome guys with the girls, reaching for a crate of eggs, attempting to look busy as to bay the awkward pause. Everyone says a few brisk words of greeting, those male counselors snickering. Why did you come here? The risks back home are far more tempting right about now.

Your nose catches the scent first, the sound of the person's shoes hitting ground second. Clad in this overly musky scent that seems to glide itself across the air, a rapturous, creamy silk-like voice hits the atmosphere and flips you head over ass.

"Dibs."

Your mom is snapping back with her wit, shoving her crate into his hands and moving away from his speechless face to leave you visible. Standing still, your box seemingly heavy, body light, you can't but help yourself to a heaping serving of observation. His pants are tan, or white, belt tightly securing those defined hips, his sneakers stretched over long feet (don't they say long feet mean... okay then, holy fuck), and sea-foam green muscle tank that leaves nothing to the imagination, except how much leverage you'd have to straddle his chest...

"And this is Y/N. She's joining us with her mother, whom is Chef Bertie. She won't be bunking with the ladies, however. But I still expect of all you to get along and make her feel apart of things, as she will also be partaking in counselor duties for the summer." Margaret's voice interjects, right smack into your looking into this guy's angelically crafted face.

You can't see what color his eyes are over his designer frames, just blue hued glimpses reflected off California sunshine. His plump lips are wet with amusement and surprise at your reveal, jaw sharp and alert, so arching and shaped it can cut through glass. There's a small cross dangling from his left ear, his hair is frosted at the top. He looks like some guitarist that has actual angel wings. His arms are steady, hands big.

You can swear there's a saxophone player somewhere playing a soundtrack for this very moment. You kind of, no, record SCRATCH that, you definitely need to find a seat somewhere and pour a glass of ice water over your head. For a fleeting moment you think you might need to attempt Olympic running towards the infirmary, cause this is some sort of General Hospital soap opera scene. You can't stop yourself from how you do react though. Biting your upper lip, eyes dashing mad all across his body, you're engulfed in more than the summer California heat.

You see the metal of his silver cross earring catch the light, and you know that even God himself can't help you now. Looking at this man in the blue shirt, you feel as if you've committed a lifetime of the most blood deep sins. You feel the need to ask Margaret to save you in the lake, some prayer needing to happen before you feel anymore guilt for objectifying this stranger. What feels like never-ending hours is merely a minute at most, making you look even more awkward and ignorant. Margaret does save you this time, introducing each counselor, the sensual blue eyed boy called Xavier Plympton, to your amusement, then with a seemingly arrogant grin on her peach painted lips, demands you take Xavier and the other two attractive male counselors - Ray and Chet, to finish carrying the crates of fruit and eggs to the kitchen pantry.

A dying 'hi' towards the friendly faces of the group is all you muster, rolling a shoulder back to the truck for the boys to take the hint. Xavier already has his share from what your mom gave him, so it's quick work for the other two. You don't talk, don't look at any of them on the way into the large dining area and back into the kitchen where your mom is hard at work. All the guys pile beside you, so you figure that now is the time to find your damn voice box and activate its fucking switch.

"You can just leave the stuff here, guys. Some of the other staff is in charge of stocking it anyways. They're real particular on everything, you know? We appreciate your help!" You ramble on, eyes widening when you spot Xavier - shades now clipped to his collar - smirking at you, pearly whites gleaming tauntingly.

Everyone, yourself included, all discard your food onto the chipped wooden counter. You fold your hands into fists on its hard surface, knuckles pressing together, lips pinched tight, feeling this tickle attack you from the tips of your toes and back, leaving you absolutely parched and winded both.

"So you're the Chef's daughter, huh?" Ray is the first to speak to you.

You turn to his direction to see him leaning a few feet beside you, propped against the end of the countertop by his elbow. His smile is genuine, calm, excited even.

He must really have wanted to be here this summer.

"Yeah." Is your proud response. Your mom is a hard worker with a zero tolerance policy for bullshit or dumbasses, so you're very proud to call yourself her child.

"Kind of a given you'd be here with her, right? That's cool. Most kids wouldn't volunteer their time to help their Mama at some sweaty ass camp in the middle of nowhere. You even gettin' anything in return from this?" Ray questions again.

Your body warms a little, not used to this duration of a conversation, let alone by someone this cute, this cool, who seems nice enough. You find yourself softening towards his presence, friendly and open in your answers.

"She'll share whatever she makes with me, so it's a win win. I have to clean the camp, so I'll also pull in my own money, then we put it all together. Living in LA is fucking expensive."

"Wait-" Chet cuts in. "You still live with your mom? Aren't you in your twenties or some shit? Don't you have any plans back home?"

Yup, there it is.

You were expecting some sort of snide commentary from at least someone in this group. You're unsure how to answer. It's not that your lifestyle is something you're ashamed of, it's just that you're beyond sick and tired at the ridicule it brings. Your mood is deflated, head bowing a little at Chet's laughter. Maybe it's not malicious, but to you, it isn't funny either.

"At least she didn't blow a chunk of cash on condoms and cheap ass cologne to impress Brooke. No one likes a cocky counselor, Chet." Sounds to your left.

Ray snorts into his hand, easing back at Xavier's biting remark. Your jaw becomes unhinged with a loud giggle that makes Xavier lick his tongue across the top edge of his teeth. He's super focused on you, sharing this knowing that eases and unsettles you all at once. Ray and Chet begin a bicker at Chet's expense, Xavier continuing to watch you in a similar fashion as you were observing him earlier. The floor feels like lava under your feet, your legs jello.

"Better get back outside, kids. Boss lady will be getting impatient." Your mom's helper speaks to you from the kitchen.

You give him a nod, trance broken. Moving one foot in front of the other is hard, but you get it right, breezing past Xavier and the rest, right back into the summer heat wave.

~*~

After the conversation your mom directed over her history with this Camp and her current decision to return, Margaret invited you to tour the grounds again with everyone else after formal introductions were completed. You weren't going to disagree, not with the possibility of sneaking looks in Xavier's way, hearing the things that came from his perfect mouth. You're fucking sickening, like some dingbat ditz on a sugar high that's having an affair with lust. The whole tour was boring and subpar, but worth it to see Xavier in action. Margaret stops everyone outside the cabin with, in your opinion, the finest views, to preach her rules onto everyone.

You're cringing, already choking on heaps of unshed laughter and snorts. Everyone but Brooke seems to be amused. Brooke seems the most like you, so it's a comfort. Xavier has his debate locked and gone, metaphoric smoke trailing behind of his tongue, following his words like a steaming mug of honey-hot tea. After his fist bump with Ray he makes sure to give a nodding little grin your way.

A bashful smile colors your mouth.

"Y/N is true to her pure body, to herself, to the Lord. She hasn't polluted it with the perversions of today, have you, sweetheart?" Margaret's voice is that bucket of ice water you could've used earlier.

You have to grab onto the other side of the doorway to keep it together, your heartbeat in your throat. How in the fuck does she know what you do, or for that damned matter, if you've done anyone before? The entirety of everyone's attention is on you now. Your eyes are sharp on Margaret's, her joy apparent. You see right through her bullshit.

She can read people, and she's just used that to her very public advantage.

Whatever. Fuck her.

"I don't know how you’d know about my personal life, or why it matters towards the situation of a damned summer camp, Miss Booth." You snap, cheeks hot with anger, neck flushed with adrenaline. 

Her head twitches as if she's some robotic experiment in a lab, but she catches herself, a plastered on smile melting back into place. "Damned is the farthest thing from the grounds on which this Camp sits, Y/N. And as for your earlier inquiry? I have known your mother for half of my adult life, so that means I also know you."

You're in place, still stunned. How does knowing your mom have anything to do with Margaret knowing you're a virgin? It's not something your mom would broadcast to anyone. Luckily, it's a dropped topic. You're given looks you expect, especially by Chet and Montana. Ray and Brooke, who stops to turn around and give a compassionate smile, are the more sympathetic and understanding.

That leaves... him. You're petrified to turn and see his cliché reaction. He doesn't say anything, not at first, only moving past you. But when stops, a partial pivot, there's an almost relieved expression on his face. The breeze picks up a little, making you brush a lock of escaped hair from your messy style.

The grass and dirt crunches under his weight as he approaches you, stopping a decent distance. You can't breathe, can't comprehend anything out of this shared airspace. The wind has the little cross swaying against his lobe, his lips are plump, the blue in his eyes darkening to the shadows of the summer shade. There's rain on the air. It's going to rain tonight.

"You know I teach at an exercise studio in Los Angeles, Y/N? I'm good at helping people learn."

So he's baiting me to come to his gym with my fat body? Prolong the shame?

You want to further scold yourself for thinking he'd be anything but a shallow Hollywood hottie. Typical.

Before the tears even make themselves form, Xavier is moving closer. You don't stop him, don't take the out his slow and respectful pace is giving you. He's tilting in a little more so that wisp of frosted hair brushes your nose, his breath warm and minty.

"A virgin, huh? I guess it works out that I'm a teacher."

[krizaland]

ok, so imagine this, yandere zim has a nice and obedient friend but zim takes it too far and she reaches her limit. Sorry if it's a bit odd and not specific but can you do something with that?

It’s all good! I got the perfect idea! I took a little inspiration from my childhood nightmares of Zim turning me into an Irken.

I even drew up a picture to go with it!

Be warned: Reader will be experimented on! Also, Yanderes are creepy fucks. There won’t be anything sexual but things will get very creepy and disturbing. 

You had been friends with Zim for over 6 months now! Zim never knew why you would always be so nice to him.

At first he thought you were trying to expose him but after learning that you were just genuinely nice, Zim decided to let you live.

Zim had to admit, you did start to grow on him.

You would always compliment him on his various gadgets and would listen to him whenever he needed to vent.

You weren’t too clingy and gave him the space he needed.

Soon, Zim learned that you seemed to enjoy helping him out from time to time.

You would often bring him homework he had forgotten and even acted as a human shield whenever Dib decided to try to start a food fight.

Zim thought it was strange at first but appreciated your dedication.

“Y/N, I’d like to take a moment to thank you for your services.You have been most useful to me!” Zim explained as he patted your head.

“Of course, Zim! I’d do anything for you!” You chirped.

“Anything?” Zim parroted as he tilted his head.

“Well, anything in my power anyway.” You laughed.

“I shall hold you to that promise then.” Zim mused as he narrowed his eyes.

As time went on, Zim found himself falling in love with you.

At first he had a meltdown! He couldn’t be in love with a filthy human! This would ruin his mission!

Why couldn’t you have at least been Irken instead of human?! At least then he wouldn’t have to destroy you!

Suddenly, he got an idea.

An awful, nasty idea.

“Computer! Get me in contact with Prisoner #777 on planet Vort!” Zim ordered as he pointed to the ceiling.

“GETTING IN CONTACT WITH PRISONER #777!”

Soon the monitor crackled to life and revealed Prisoner #777 sitting in his usual prison cell.

“What is it this time, Zim?” He groaned as he turned to look at him.

“I need you to get me blueprints for an Irken PAK!” Zim demanded as he put his hands behind his back.

“Why would you need PAK blueprints? What’s wrong with the one you have now-”

“DO NOT QUESTION ME! I HAVE YOUR CHILDREN REMEMBER!” Zim roared as he gestured to a small tube with Prisoner #777′s kids bouncing around inside.

“Just give me what I asked for.” Zim growled.

“Ok! Ok! Fine! I was just asking! Here you are.” Prisoner #777 squeaked as he sent Zim the blueprints.

“Excellent.” A massive grin spread across Zim’s face as he downloaded the blueprints.

“Now, I’m sill in prison so if you could just-”

“END THE CALL!”

Zim’s grin grew wider as he looked over the blueprints.

“Yes! Yes!! With these blueprints I can create a PAK to store Y/N’s personalty and memories and upload them into a SUPERIOR IRKEN BODY!” Zim let out a  maniacal laugh as he raised his hands in the air.

Wasting no more time, Zim threw on a lab coat and green goggles and got straight to work.

Once his hard work had been completed, Zim threw on his disguise and made his way to Skool. Zim could hardly contain his excitement! He couldn’t wait to put his plan into action!

Zim let out a squeal when he spotted you walking his way.

“Hey, Zim! Looks like someone is in a good mood today!” You giggled as you took notice of the massive grin plastered on Zim’s face.

Zim cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

“Y/N? Is it true that you would do anything for me?” Zim purred as he circled you.

“Well, I have my limits but yeah.” You felt yourself get a little nervous as Zim sauntered closer.

"Very well. If you speak the truth, then you shall follow me to my base-I mean house! You shall follow me to my perfectly normal house and not question a thing.” Zim’s voice lowered a bit as he spoke.

“O-Ok then. Is something wrong?” You asked as you followed Zim back to his base.

“Oh don’t worry, sweet Y/N. I can assure the problem will be solved once we get inside.” Zim stifled a sinister chuckle as he opened the door.

“Welcome home, son!” The Robo parents eagerly greeted as they stepped aside.

“So these are your parents?” You asked as you tried to inspect the robo parents.

“Yes. Yes. I love them with all my heart, now keep following me.” Zim grumbled as he dragged you along.

“Wow, your house sure is um...interesting.” You murmured as you looked around at all of Zim’s bizarre decor.

“Alright, Y/N. Just stand right here for me!” Zim commanded as he pointed to a spot in front of his toilet.

“Ok then...” You were horribly confused but did as you were told.

“Excellent! Now hold still.” Zim chuckled darkly

“Zim what’s going on-Ack!”

PAF!

You were engulfed in a sea of bright pink mist.

You let out a few coughs before collapsing to the ground

“Sleep well, my sweet.” Zim’s voice melted into a dark whisper as he scooped you off the ground.

Zim dragged your unconscious body into his lab and strapped you down to a large metal table.

He changed back into his lab coat and goggles and placed a strange Irken helmet over your head.

“I’ll admit, you’re actually quite attractive for a human. I almost feel bad about letting such a lovely form go to waste.” Zim mused as he caressed your cheek.

“Oh well! I’ve come too far to turn back now!” Zim chirped as he hooked up the helmet to the new PAK he had just built for you.

Zim erupted into thunderous maniacal laughter as he flipped a large purple switch.

ZAP!

Zim’s laughter echoed throughout the lab as your mind and spirit was slowly uploaded into the PAK.

“Awaken, my sweet.”

You let out a gasp the moment your heavy eyelids opened.

Your world was encased in a murky purple bubble. All you could make you was a distorted image of a bug like creature staring back at you. His voice sounded muffled but you could still understand his words.

“Computer! Release, Y/N!” Zim commanded as he pointed to the ceiling.

CRASH!

The glass chamber you were floating in was shattered to the ground.

CLANG!

You let out a yelp as you felt a large metal object being injected into your back.

ZAP!

A small electric shock surged through your body for a moment.

You let out a groan as you tried to process what was going on.

"HA! Success!” Zim squealed as he zipped to your side.

His ruby eyes twinkled with excitement as he took in your new form.

You were beyond perfect! You were breathtaking!

Your antennas were perfectly curled and your F/C eyes sparkled under the lab’s dim lighting.

Even your height was perfected as your new Irken body was a foot taller than your old human one.

Zim became so entranced by your beauty that he fell to the floor for a moment.

You let out a gasp and tried to check on him. However, there was no need!

“REACTIVATING!”

ZAP!

Zim’s PAK sent out a small electric shock and revived him from his trance.

Zim shook away the excess shock and turned his attention back to you.

“Oh my god! Are you alright?!” You squeaked as you covered your mouth.

“Never better, my sweet, Y/N! The real question is how do you feel?” Zim crooned as he pointed at you.

“Oh? Well, I feel kinda out of it, now that you ask.” You explained as you held your head.

“I see. Well, your entire human brain has been uploaded into your PAK. So I guess you need some time to get used to things.” Zim hummed as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Wait what?!”

“Oh ho! Oh yeah! You were unconscious when all the stuff happened.” Zim chuckled.

“When what stuff happened?! What’s going on here?!” You demanded as you put your hands on your hips.

“Weeeell, I removed your brain data from your old PATHETIC HUMAN BODY and transferred it into a SUPERIOR IRKEN BODY!” Zim sang.

“WHAT?! I’M NOT HUMAN ANYMORE?!” You shrieked as you frantically patted all around yourself.

“Nope! You are no longer a FILTHY HUMAN! You are now A SUPERIOR IRKEN LIFE FORM!!! See?” Zim sang as he held up a small mirror.

You let out another shriek!

You couldn’t even recognize yourself anymore!

Your skin was green and your eyes were F/C and bug like! Any traces of hair were gone! Now all you had were two curly antennas on your head.

You backed away and almost slipped on the left over purple goo on the floor.

“Now. Now. It’s alright! You just need to take some time to adjust to your new body!” Zim reassured as he gently took your hands in his.

“No! Let go of me, you freak!” You seethed as you snatched your hands away.

“But, Y/N! It’s me, Zim!” Zim insisted as he gestured to himself.

“What the-Zim?!  You’re an alien?!” You yelped as a shudder ran down your spine.

“Indeed I am! I’m sorry, my sweet Y/N but Zim is not a normal human worm baby. Zim is a MIGHTY IRKEN WARRIOR! SENT ON A SPECIAL MISSION TO DESTROY THIS MISERABLE PLANET FOR MY LEADERS, THE ALL MIGHTY TALLEST!” Zim cackled as he threw his hands into the air.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing! The green skinned boy you called your friend was an evil monster from beyond the stars!

“I can’t believe it! Dib was right about you! You are a monster!” You choked out as pink tears streamed down your face.

“Monster?! Zim is no monster! I did this to protect your precious life! When the armada arrives they will fire a cannon sweep to eradicate any remaining non Irken life forms. This was the only way to spare you from the armada’s wrath! I couldn’t bear to live with myself if I lost you! I care about you far too much!” Zim explained as he activated his spider legs to reach your face better.

“If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t have done this! Change me back, Zim! I can’t live my life like this!” You wailed as you gestured to yourself.

“Never! This is for your own good! You’ll thank me once the armada gets here!” Zim snarled as he drew closer.

“Zim! Listen to reason! You can’t keep me like this!” You pleaded as you backed away from him.

“Oh but I can! And I will. You might as well forget about your pathetic former human body! I’ve already disposed of it!” Zim chuckled darkly as he circled you.

“WHAT?! THIS IS INSANE!” You screeched as you tried to get away.

“Isn’t it though? Don’t worry, I think you’ll find your new body to be a major improvement.” Zim purred as he grabbed your arm and rubbed his face up against it.

“GET OFF OF ME!” You tried to pull your arm away but Zim’s grip was far too tight.

“No. I don’t think I will....Mmm you smell divine my sweet. No longer are you plagued by that DISGUSTING humany smell! Now you’re perfect. Perfect in every way.” Zim’s voice melted into a soft whisper as he kissed his way up your arm.

SMOOCH!

He planted a large kiss on your cheek.

You let out a startled yelp and tried to shake him off of you but yo no avail.

“Stop your struggling, my sweet. I’m not trying to harm you,” Zim purred as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“You’ve already hurt me, Zim! By turning me into a freak!” You sobbed as Zim begun to pepper your neck with slightly rough kisses.

“Oh you say that now, yes but I don’t think you really mean it.” Zim let out a few chirps as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I mean it, Zim! You’ve hurt me! I can’t believe I actually thought you were my friend!” Your voice cracked as more pink tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I am not your friend. Maybe I am something more...” Zim circles around to properly face you.

“What are you-MMPH!”

Zim grabbed your face and crashed his lips onto yours.

He let out a low, growly moan as his worm like tongue forced its way into your mouth.

You tasted so divine. Zim couldn’t get enough of you. His tongue curled around yours and playfully wrestled with it.

You let out a muffled yelp as your eyes widened in horror. You wanted to fight back but Zim had already overpowered you.

Soon Zim released you and licked his lips.

“Maybe I am your master...”

[i-write-about-anything]

Trauma

Prompt: The reader has PTSD from being shot back in riot night and the fireworks spark a fear.  

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader (obviously I mean look at me, obsessed with the asshole) 

Happy 4th of July guys, ya’ll stay safe.

Third Person POV

It had been four months since the incident, the bullet was intended for Fangs but (Y/N) was hit instead. The incident had taken a toll on her and she was doing a good job at hiding it. Sweet Pea was completely terrified when it happened. Although he was a Serpent, he had never seen anyone get shot, let alone his own girlfriend. He spent endless nights in the waiting room of Riverdale General Hospital, Betty and Jughead keeping him company. She stayed at the hospital for three weeks before getting released. She returned to her home only to be thrown out once more, her parents had warned her about the South Side Serpents and their troubles but of course (y/n) didn’t listen as she continued to see Sweet Pea behind their backs. Betty and her mother gladly took her in, (y/n) taking Polly’s old room. She didn’t sleep well for the first two weeks, constantly waking up in the middle of the night, sweat covering her body. 

She had returned to school only a week after being at the Cooper resident, Sweet Pea extremely excited that he’d finally get to spent some time with her outside of Betty’s home, he missed her, and he was still terrified of losing her but he knew (y/n) and he knew that she hated being smothered. She stuck by Sweet Pea her entire time back at school, at lunch she sat close to him, not taking a bite of her food. It was then when Reggie and the bulldogs entered the Cafeteria, the school band behind them as they announced their upcoming basketball game. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as the sound of the drum traveled through her ears. Her hands instantly covered her ears as she closed her eyes. Sweet Pea had wrapped his arms around her before rushing her out of the cafeteria. He walked into a classroom, shutting the door behind him before sitting her down. That was the first time it happened, and it continued to happen for a month before she got used to the loud noises. 

Today was the Fourth of July and (y/n) was at Sunnyside trailer park celebrating with the Serpents and her friends. She sat on a bench with Toni and Fangs, all three of them with a beer in their hands. Sweet Pea was engaged in a conversation with Jughead, his eyes on his girlfriend as she smiled taking a drink of her beer. It had been the first time Sweet Pea had seen her happy. “How’s she doing?” Jughead nodded to (y/n) and Sweet Pea sighed crossing his arms over his chest. 

“She’s been getting better; I still can’t wrap my head around it.” He looked at his girl, Toni wrapping her arm around her. “She got shot Jughead, and she’s all fucked up and I know she’s trying to act like she’s fine but I know she’s not.” Jughead put his hand on his shoulder. 

“You know, Fangs feels terrible about it, even after all this time. We all do.” Jughead sighed. “I know she’s not the same, she hasn’t been zoning off, today’s the first time she’s smiled.” Jughead crossed his arms over his chest before looking at (y/n), Fangs handing her another beer. “That’s a good sign.” Sweet Pea nodded before walking over to the bench, sitting down next to his girlfriend who leaned her head onto his shoulder. He kissed her head before he rubbed her back with his hand. 

“You good?” Sweet Pea whispered into her ear and she simply nodded giving him a small smile, there it was again, she was pretending to be okay and she was fooling everyone but Sweet Pea. “Can we talk?” Sweet Pea’s voice got Fangs’ attention. (Y/N) nodded before standing up, Sweet Pea grabbing her hand in his before they moved away from the Serpents. 

“What’s up?” (Y/N) sipped on the beer, emptying it before frowning and tossing it in the nearest trash can. 

“How many beers have you had?” Sweet Pea looked at her and she rolled her eyes, she loved Sweet Pea but he acted like a concerned father sometimes. “Baby.” Sweet Pea sighed rubbing his hand on her arm. 

“Just three, it’s fine Sweet Pea.” (Y/N) gave him a small smile before she placed her hand on his chest. 

“I’m worried about you.” He bit his lip and (y/n) looked down to her dirty white converse. “Talk to me, please. I know you’ve been going through some shit but you don’t have to go through it alone, that’s what I'm here for.” His hands cupped her face and her eyes met his. “Jughead told me about the nightmares.” (Y/N)’s eyes looked for Jughead who was happily engulfing Betty into his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Tell you? Sweet Pea, I'm fucked up. I don’t want you to see me like this, I don’t want anyone to see me like this.” Her eyes had started to create tears and Sweet Pea sighed before (y/n) removed his hands from her face. “I got shot Sweet Pea, me, the girl who’s never even been in a god damn fight, the girl that cried when a bee stung me. It’s all I ever think about; all I ever see. I can’t fucking escape it and I’ve tried everything.” She wiped away her tears turning her back on Sweet Pea. “I don’t want to be like this anymore.” She sobbed out causing Sweet Pea to wrap her arms around her. 

“Princess.” He sighed. “I know what you went through was tough, it was tough seeing you like that, laying on the floor, bleeding out. I know it’s not the same, and I know that I should have protected you better that day and I'm sorry. But I'm here for you, anytime of day. Let me in, please. I’m tired of watching you slip further and further away from me, from everyone.” Her eyes met his. “I’ve noticed, it’s you (y/n) of course I've noticed.” She shoved her head into his chest and he kissed her head. 

“I don’t want to be this way, I want to be able to feel something other than fear again.” Sweet Pea sighed once more. 

“We’ll get you help, if that’s what you want.” She nodded and looked at Sweet Pea, his thumb wiping away the tears she had shed. 

“You’re too good for me.” She whispered and Sweet Pea chuckled. 

“Oh baby, you’re the one that’s too good for me.” He kissed her causing her to smile, a genuine smile for the first time in four months. The sound of a firework popping had her on the floor in seconds, her hands covering her head as her knees rested on her chest. 

“No!” She yelled out causing everyone to look at her, she cried into her knees as she rocked her body, Sweet Pea getting down on her knees, his arms wrapping around her. 

“Shit, I'm so sorry.” Fangs ran up to the couple, his heart racing as he looked at (y/n) as she quietly repeated no, Sweet Pea waving him off. (Y/N) closed her eyes, her mind instantly taking her to the moment the gun was pointed towards her, her eyes were stuck on the gun as she shook her head, her hand moving up. The gun rang and she instantly fell to the floor, her voice letting out a scream that she didn’t hear. Everyone ran as the Serpents looked at Fangs, expecting him to be shot. His eyes immediately landing on (y/n) who was on the floor looking down at her stomach. Sweet Pea looking at her with wide eyes, paralyzed in fear. She closed her eyes tighter as the image replayed in her mind, Sweet Pea doing his best to talk to her, calm her down. 

“Give her some fucking space.” Sweet Pea yelled as his attention went back his girlfriend. “(Y/N), listen to me.” He sighed when she continued to rock, her mouth releasing no’s and her eyes releasing tears. Fangs ran his fingers through his hair, feeling like a complete asshole for even lighting up the firework. “(Y/N)” Sweet Pea whispered before his hands finally got a hold of her face. “Open your eyes.” He was as calm as he could be. “Come on, open your eyes, you’re safe, you’re here, not there.” Sweet Pea continued, Toni and Jughead looking at each other as their concern grew. Sweet Pea rubbed his thumb on her cheek. “Open your eyes baby.” He whispered once more, her voice going silent before she stopped rocking, she slowly opened her eyes looking at Sweet Pea’s face. “You’re okay.” He whispered before her eyes moved around her surroundings, noticing the worried faces of her friends. “Hey, you’re okay.” Sweet Pea whispered once more before her hands wrapped around his neck, his wrapping around her waist before standing her up. 

“I’m so sorry.” Fangs replied and Sweet Pea shook his head, (y/n) not moving her face from Sweet Pea’s chest. 

______

forever tags; @bojabee @imperfect-circle @dakotapaigelove @a-gir1-has-n0-name @riverdalehoeeeeeee @sabertooth-potato @heyitscam99 @peterstarksstarker @royal-fanfic @vixengustin88

[shawnpetermuffins]

Pictured with You (iv.)

A/n: I got super excited writing this let me just tell you.

Summary: Shawn gets a little too excited after a show and Andrew has to pull him aside before things go too far

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.9k a little shorter than the last 2 sorry

***

This show is insane! The energy of the arena is almost tangible, it's so amazing. I've never felt so at peace while at the same time so off the walls. If I knew I wouldn't break anything, I would probably jump off stage and into the crowd, or maybe do a backflip. But we all know I physically can't do that. And after what happened last time I jumped off a stage, I'd like to refrain from becoming a meme again.

And y/n is definitely feeling it too, because every time I throw a glance her way, she's smiling, even when she's holding the camera up to her face, snapping pictures of me and then the crowd too. I'm grateful that she does that, it's always fun to look back on when I'm on break, missing the tour life. I asked her one night, early on during tour, why she does that.

"I did yearbook in high school. My teacher was all about candids and reactions. Especially during games and stuff, she wanted to have crowd reactions. I think I just found a special kind of appreciation for them. And now it's just something I always get; it's second nature. She's really the reason I fell so in love with photography."

I thought it was cute that she started doing what she does because of her yearbook teacher. The idea of it just fills me with happiness, because she's told me before how much she struggled emotionally in school and it makes my heart happy to know that she found her escape.

And I can hardly take my eyes off her during my - what the fans love to call - emotionally raw performance of Why. But if she noticed, she doesn't show it. She's in work mode, and I should be too. But I mean every word spilling from my lips.

We want each other, no one will break first.

I wish that I could tell you that you're all that I want.

The post show adrenaline is one I wish I could have contained. But I'm still bouncing around to release what's still left in me while we all gather in the green room. The band is buzzing, talking about how great Zubin's solo was or how Mike absolutely killed it with the intro. But I'm not talking. My eyes are focused on the door. Brian and Cez walk in and clap my shoulders.

"Bro, that was amazing! You fucking killed it out there!" Brian squeezes my shoulders and I manage to smile widely at him.

"Thanks, man. It was… better than any show I've ever done." But I don't say anything after that because I'm waiting for y/n. Ready to engulf her in my sweaty embrace that she claims she hates, but I know she secretly loves. But she's taking so long to get back here. She's usually one of the first because she fully follows me to get more photos. But I'm looking around and the two people missing are her… and Connor.

I know I shouldn't think anything of it because she's not mine - she's her own person and she can do whatever she wants. But my mind still betrays me thinking of all the things that she and Connor could have done before this tour - what they still could be doing. And I think that's why I do what I do when she finally enters the room, our friend right behind her.

She smiles when she sees me and instead of just going to wrap my arms around her in the most innocent hug that I could possibly give, because I'm aware for everyone (especially Andrew and Cez) watching our every move, I pick her up and spin her around.

She lets out a surprised squeal, but her arms still enclose around me, her head buried into my neck, covering up her giggles that make me weak. "Well hello to you, too, rockstar. What was that?" She asks when I set her back down, but I don't answer.

I push a strand of hair out of her eyes and hold on to either side of her face. I don't give myself a chance to second guess my actions because within a second my lips are on hers and I'm pulling her closer to my body. She doesn't react at first, but then she's kissing me back and I can feel how awkward it is for her because she's still holding her camera in the hand that's reaching for my sweat glistening bicep. Not to mention everyone's eyes are no doubt on us now, as if they weren't already before.

Neither of us want to pull away and I'm teasing her bottom lip with my tongue when I'm wanked back by the collar of my tank top. Andrew doesn't stop pulling until we're in the dressing room. "What the hell was that?" He asks, slamming the door behind us.

But I'm too focused on the way she felt against me, how soft she was. I'm smiling like an idiot in the mirror, my fingertips tracing my mouth, red and swollen from her lips. "Shawn!"

I, at last, look at him, my smile fading. "What?"

"You said there was nothing going on. You said that nothing would go on. I trusted your judgement on hiring another friend because Brian has worked out so well. But this is unacceptable! You can't be with y/n, she works for you!"

"I'm not with her, Andrew! It was -"

"It was what, Shawn? Because that wasn't a friendly kiss. You two have been flirting like crazy for months. You think I don't know about what happens on the bus? Or about your late night milkshake dates? I saw her wearing your hoodie. This is more than just a friendship, and you know I'm right."

"Don't use my own lyrics against me! I know, what I'm doing, Andrew. Just let it go."

"I can't just 'let it go.' This compromises the entire aspect of tour."

"How?" I throw my hands up, "How does it affect you in any way? It's not your love life!"

"You promised me when we hired her that nothing was going to happen. Do you remember that? We were in my office and before I could even ask you if you had feelings for her you said that nothing was going to happen. Remember?" He pushes his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well now we're three months in you're kissing her in front of everyone! This wasn't just a private thing that happened one night in a hotel room that you can just brush under the rug like nothing happened. You did this in front of the entire team!"

"Okay! I get it!" I run my hands roughly through my hair, "I messed up! Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry that it happened in front of you, but I'm not sorry I kissed her."

"Shawn."

"I'm not. I wanted to. And if you weren't yelling at me right now, I would kiss her again and again and again." I say, a defiant smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.

He let out a deep breath, "Okay, listen. I understand that it's your life and you can do what you want with it. But let me make myself clear. She works for you. That's what she's here to do. She's not here to work you. But you want to hook up? Fine, hook up. But when this ultimately gets too messy - because you know it will - Don't come to me begging for a new photographer. She's gonna stay and it's going to be the most unpleasant remainder of tour ever. You got that?"

"What happened to 'we don't want to lose another photographer'? Knowing that we won't get rid of her if this happens only makes me want her that much more."

"Jesus Christ." He shakes his head. "You're twenty-two, Shawn. Okay? Think about this. I know being a pop star at a young age kind of cut you off from going and hoeing around. But at this point in the game, you need to decide if you want her just because she's here and it's easy. Or if you want her because you genuinely think your relationship could go somewhere. We've worked so hard on your image and for seven years of work to go down the drain because you can't keep it in your pants? I won't have that. The label won't have that. But you know the second something happens with y/n, the fans will talk. The media will get a hold of it. It'll be everywhere in just days and you won't even have muttered a word about it." He claps my shoulder. "You might be used to them watching your every move, but you're bringing another person into the spotlight, who very clearly loves being behind it. So think about that. Hook up, don't hook up. That's up to you. But do something that's going to benefit both of you. Because I'd hate to see her get hurt."

"What about me?"

Andrew scoffs with a sad smile on his face, "You're the one doing the hurting."

---

I may or may not have been avoiding having to spend too much time alone with y/n this past week. Neither of us have said a word about the kiss, not that I expected her to bring it up anyway.

But just because I haven't been around her, doesn't mean I haven't been watching her. (And no, I don't mean this in a creepy way. I just mean I pay attention. I want to make sure she's doing okay.) She's isolated herself, so it seems. I haven't seen her around Connor as much either, and while it makes me happy to see her finally create some distance from him, I know that the cause of the distance is me and that hurts a little. But what hurts even more is that this morning when I was going through my suitcase to find something to wear, I found that hoodie I let her wear when we got our milkshakes. I hold it up to my nose and sigh loudly; it smells like her - clean with just slightest hint of sweet, vanilla definitely.

My phone buzzes from the bed and I shuffle over to it, still only in my boxers.

Drinks at a bar up the street. You down???

I read over Brian's text three times before responding.

Who's going?

The reply is almost immediate.

Almost everyone. Andrew and Cez are out. Already in bed. Bring y/n?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I don't know if she want to talk to me or not, but I'm pulling clothes on as fast as I can. Black jeans - of course - the hoodie I just threw on the bed. And a denim jacket over that.

Give me ten minutes. We'll meet you in the lobby.

I'm rocking back and forth outside her room. With a final deep breath, I knock on the door, my eyes closed. I'm not waiting more than ten seconds before she comes into view, still in her jeans from earlier, but now an old t-shirt swallows her frame. Looking just as beautiful now as she does every time I see her.

"Shawn, what are - what are you doing here?" Her arms cross over her middle, shielding herself, no doubt.

"We're going out for drinks. You coming?"

***

Tags: @curlyshawny @shawns-badreputation @anamariel2301 @turtoix @tomshufflepuff @ivegotparticulartaste @bbellbagel @dino-16-avocado @sleepybesson

PWY tags: @lifeoftheparty74 @alinaxxshawn @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @rosesfromcth @bodacious-5sos @sweetheartmendes @shawnwyr @strangerliaa

You're in for a ride starting next Sunday! Hope you're enjoying it so far!!

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[wistfulcynic]

Finding The Altar: The New Beginning

Summary: The only person Killian Jones loves more than his best mate David Nolan is David's sister Emma Swan. He knows he can never act on his feelings... but what happens when she acts on hers?

Read it on AO3: The Beginning : The Middle : The End : The New Beginning

On Tumblr: The Beginning : The Middle : The End

Tagging:  @wellhellotragic, @teamhook, @kmomof4, @resident-of-storybrooke, @rouhn, @let-it-raines, @deathbycaptainswan, @jennjenn615, @tiganasummertree

The New Beginning: 

Six months later

Emma opened the cardboard box as quietly as she could, but no amount of stealth could defeat Killian’s Vulcan hearing. 

“That had better not be a box of Milk Duds!” he shouted from the living room. She sighed. “Oh come on, I’m eating for two now.”

“That is precisely the issue darling,” he said, coming into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I won’t have you teaching my child—”

“Our child.”

“—our child poor eating habits in the womb. At least wait until she’s born for that.” 

Emma grinned, knowing he was only half-serious, that if she truly wanted Milk Dud popcorn or any other terrible foodstuff, he would move heaven and earth to obtain it for her. Knowing also that he knew how much she secretly loved his nagging her to eat more healthily. 

She leaned back into his embrace. “Still think it’s gonna be a girl, huh?”  

“Oh, aye. A beautiful little girl with her mother’s green eyes.” He caressed her slightly rounded belly as he pictured their daughter in his mind, a mini-Emma that he could shower with all the love that her mother hadn’t known until Ruth and David had come into her life. 

“What about a handsome little boy with his father’s blue ones?” inquired Emma, and the image in Killian’s mind shifted. 

“Well, I suppose that would be acceptable as well,” he conceded. “After all, a face as devastatingly handsome as mine should be passed on.” He grinned as she huffed in feigned annoyance and elbowed him in the ribs. “Now step away from the chocolate caramels, my love, and let’s put this movie on.”

He took charge of the bowl of popcorn before she could adulterate it with her gooey candy and sat down on the sofa, wrapping an arm around her when she joined him. He couldn’t help remembering a year ago, when they had sat together on a different sofa, trying to focus on a different film as tension and desire simmered between them. The desire was still there —he could never stop wanting her— but it was softer now, more comfortable and far less desperate. His fingertips stroked the bare skin on her arm while hers traced nonsensical patterns on the inside of his thigh. A year ago even such light touches would have set him on fire, burned him alive with frustrated passion. Now the coals of that fire were pleasantly banked, content to glow faintly in the background as they cuddled. He loved that they could happily spend hours curled up together on the sofa wearing flannel, then do filthy things to each other in bed just a few hours later, with just as much enthusiasm as their first time. 

(His whole body lit up when her lips touched his, every coherent thought burned from his brain as his animal instincts took over, driving his hands into her hair and his tongue into her mouth before he could stop them. Her moan was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into his bare shoulders the most welcome sensation. He was rock hard in an instant, and when she crawled into his lap, cradling his aching erection against her hot core, he nearly came. 

“Fucking hell, Emma,” he moaned against her mouth. 

Her eyes flew open. 

“Oh my gods,” she cried. “Oh no, oh fuck, I’m so sorry…” She scrambled out of his lap and off the sofa, looking distraught and rumpled and gorgeous. “I shouldn’t have done that, Killian, I know you don’t— it’s just, I— Oh what have I done?”

She turned to run but he leapt off the sofa and caught her wrist, pulling her back against him and cupping her cheek in his other hand. 

“Why did you do it, Swan?” he asked, his voice gravelly, his heart pounding so frantically he could barely think. “Why did you kiss me?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and devastated. “I didn’t mean to,” she said, “I just couldn’t stop myself.” “You couldn’t stop yourself,” he repeated, trying desperately to read between the lines of her words, hoping like hell he wasn’t wrong about what they meant. “Why couldn’t you?”

“Killian…” 

“Why couldn’t you, Emma?”

She pulled away from him and turned her back, wrapping her arms around herself. “Because I’m in love with you, okay?” she snapped. “Because I’m an idiot and I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages, and then you were there next to me looking so stupid hot and I just couldn’t help—” She broke off as he spun her back around into his arms, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss. 

“I love you too, Emma,” he panted several long minutes later, resting his forehead against hers. 

She was equally breathless. “You do?”

“Aye. From the moment we met.”

“Oh, Killian, me too.” 

 They kissed again, deep and hard and frantic, and when she took his hand and pulled him towards her bedroom, he didn’t hesitate. Somewhere deep within his consciousness a tiny voice was howling in protest, trying to remind him that this was David’s sister, that there was a reason he’d fought so hard against his feelings for her, that this would bring consequences he might not want to face— but that voice was annihilated by the pounding of his blood through his veins and the heady sensation of all his dreams coming true. 

Her skin was cool silk beneath his fingers as he stroked them up her sides, pulling off her tank top and caressing her pebbled nipples with his thumbs. Her fingers raked through the hair on his chest, down his abs and under the loose waistband of his sweatpants, fisting around his cock and and he hissed out his breath through clenched teeth as his vision went black around the edges. Desperately he tried to tamp down his hunger, the driving need to get inside her so intense he feared if he let it run free he might injure her, but when he made to pull back, to give them some room to breathe, she merely pushed him down onto her bed and pulled off his sweats before shimmying out of her own pyjama bottoms and climbing up to straddle his hips. He gazed up at her, at her rosy-flushed skin and wild hair and wondered if it was possible for a heart to explode with joy. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told her and she smiled, a surprisingly shy smile considering she was stark naked atop him. 

“So are you,” she said. 

“I think you’ll find that’s 'devilishly handsome’ darling,” he growled, flipping her onto her back and lunging for her, trailing his lips down her neck and up to to tips of her breasts as she shrieked and then giggled, arching her back as he sucked on her nipples. Her laughter drifted into a moan and she lifted her hips, rocking them against him, coating his cock in her slick moisture. She was so wet, he thought wildly, so ready. Catching his face in her hands she pulled him off her breasts, forcing him to meet her eyes. Their expression was dazed, their green nearly eclipsed by black. 

“Please, Killian,” she whimpered, “Please…” and he could wait no longer. 

 With shaking hands he grasped her hips and thrust inside her, groaning through gritted teeth as her soft, hot cunt enveloped him. 

“Fuck… so good… Emma… gods… so tight… so soft…” The words spilled from his lips, disjointed and as harsh as Emma’s panting breath in his ear as she thrust up to meet him, matching his frantic rhythm, her fingernails raking bloody trails down his back as her thighs gripped his hips and her heels dug into his ass. 

“I love you,” she moaned, “Love you. So much, Killian. Wanted this forever. Oh gods I’m so close…”

“I love you,” he growled in her ear, thrusting harder, grinding his pelvis against her clit. “Now come, my love, come for me, darling…”

With a high, keening cry she did as he urged, gasping and trembling as pleasure engulfed her, her inner walls clenching around his cock and sending him tumbling into ecstasy. 

 With his last ounce of sanity he managed not to collapse on her with his full weight, instead rolling them until she was cradled against his side, his face buried in her hair. 

They lay entwined until their breathing steadied, then Emma stretched luxuriantly and nuzzled Killian’s neck. 

“That’s never happened to me before,” she purred. 

“What, darling?”

“I’ve never come just from, well, from that before.” She gave him a cheeky grin that he could swear he’d felt on his own face. “I always knew you’d be able to live up to that innuendo.” 

He felt the tips of his ears turning pink, that one spot just below the right one beginning to tingle. “I’m not quite sure how to respond to that,” he said, torn between delight at having thoroughly satisfied the woman he loved and embarrassment at her teasing. She chuckled.

“No need to say anything,” she replied, her voice sleepy. “Just promise to keep doing it.” 

He smiled, stroking her hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead as her eyes fluttered shut. “I think I can promise that, my love,” he said.)

The film she had chosen wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared. The lead actress was charming in her dual role, her fake “British” accent not as cringey as so many were. The plot was silly but engaging. He had to admit that Emma's love for these films had genuinely rubbed off on him. They were undeniably comforting. 

There was only one thing that grated on his nerves. 

“Wembley Studios, in Belgravia?” he grumbled. “It’s like someone chose these place names by closing his eyes and stabbing a map of London with a pushpin.” 

“Wait… there really is a Belgravia?” asked Emma. “Aye. It’s a very posh neighbourhood in west London.” 

“Huh,” said Emma. Her forehead crinkled, and he could almost see the gears turning in her head. “Maybe we could we go there sometime,” she said.

“To Belgravia?”

“To London. To England. You’ve been basically everywhere while I’ve never even been out of the US, and… I’d like to see someplace new. I’d especially love to see where you came from.” “Well, I definitely didn’t come from Belgravia. But I’d like that too, love, to show you something of my origins. If you’re interested.” 

“Of course I’m interested. I’m interested in everything about you,” she replied.

“Well, then, what do you say to New Year’s Day in London?”

“What, this year?”

“Love, by next year we’ll be someone’s mum and dad. Let’s have a last hurrah before we settle down to domesticity for the next fifty years.” 

“Well, I can’t hurrah too hard, the rugrat won’t like it.” 

“So we’ll both drink club soda and make fun of all the drunk people. What do you say?”

“I say it sounds like a plan.” 

Swept up in the excitement of their spur-of-the-moment decision, they spent the next two hours booking flights and AirBnBs and planning things to see and do. 

“We’ll have to tell David and Mary Margaret that we’re going,” said Emma when they finally took a break, sipping the hot chocolate she’d wheedled from Killian, with whipped cream and marshmallows since she’d forgone the Milk Duds earlier. (‘The rugrat needs sugar, Killian!’ ‘I’m certain that’s the last thing she needs, love. But if you insist…’)

“Naturally,” he replied. “I don’t dare keep anything from Dave these days, not even the colour and style of my underpants.” 

“What? Ew.”

“Aye, your brother’s opinion of the daily underpants reports is very much along those same lines, but then he did insist on there being no further secrets between us.” 

“‘Daily underpants reports’?”

“You think I should call them daily briefings?”

Killian looked so delighted at his ridiculous pun that she couldn’t help laughing. He had the dad jokes down already and their kid was only the size of a lime. He was going to be great at this. “You’re an idiot,” she said fondly. 

“Just taking all necessary precautions, love. A good sailor doesn’t tempt the fates. We’ll tell them this evening. One more revelation to add to the pile.” 

(Killian arrived at Granny’s early and sat alone in a corner booth, tapping his fingers nervously on the tabletop and watching as the steam from his teacup wove intricate patterns through the air. Granny had brought him the tea without being asked, a sympathetic expression on her face. She couldn’t possibly know why he was there, but he supposed his face must hint at his anxiety and Granny was nothing if not perceptive. David arrived precisely on time, giving Granny a tight smile when requesting his usual drink. He sat down, not meeting Killian’s gaze. 

Tense silence settled heavily between the two old friends, likely for no more than a minute or two, but to Killian it felt endless. He was just on the verge of taking desperate measures, upending his teacup perhaps, or squawking like a chicken, when David finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice.  

Killian blinked in astonishment. “You’re sorry?” he spluttered. That was just about the last thing he’d been expecting to hear. 

“Yeah. I’m still fucking pissed that you lied to me, but I’m sorry for the things I said yesterday. I was out of line.” 

“I’m sorry too, mate,” said Killian. “I hated lying to you. We both did. We should have told you from the beginning, but I just… I couldn’t find the right words.”

“You couldn’t find the words? Mister ‘mot juste’ himself?”

Killian wanted to laugh with relief, or maybe weep. David taking the piss out of him was a very good sign. He put on his best wry smirk. “To tell my best friend that I’m in love with his sister, no, those are words that I confess even with my considerable talents I struggled to find.” 

David actually chuckled, then finally looked up to meet his friend’s eyes. “You really love her?”

Killian met his gaze unflinchingly. “Very much,” he said quietly. “More than I can express. I fear that my much vaunted wordsmithing skills fail me on this subject as well.”

David was silent for another long moment, then he seemed to relax, releasing a long breath and sitting back in the booth. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Killian’s. “You know, when my mom first brought Emma to live with us, she was like a wild animal. She jumped at every loud noise, flinched at every touch. She was so scared, and so wounded, and trying so hard to hide those things behind this facade of toughness, and all I wanted to do was help her. I loved her right away; I knew from that first moment that I would do anything for her. She wouldn’t even let me hug her for months, rejected every single attempt I made to show her love, even though it was obvious that she desperately wanted it. It took the best part of a year, but she finally started to let me in, to trust me, to believe that I really did care about her and would be there for her. And then you know what I did? I left, went off to college. Left her, just like everyone else.”

“Mate…”

“And even though she still had my mom, who loved her just as much as I did, she took my leaving pretty hard, and she acted out. She was still only fifteen, and had a lot of emotional baggage from her foster homes. Years of feeling worthless and unloved, being abandoned by everyone she dared to care about.”

Killian knew all this already, had heard it from Emma herself, but he could sense that David needed to tell the story so he sat and sipped his tea without comment. 

“It seemed like every time I came home she was involved with some new boy,” David continued, “all of them scumbags who treated her like shit. I couldn’t figure out why she always seemed to go for that type when she was so pretty and bright that she could have had anyone. I finally realised that she thought that kind of treatment was what she deserved.” David’s voice dripped with disgust, his face twisted in remembered pain. “I tried to talk to her about it but naturally she wouldn’t listen to reason, didn’t believe me when I told her she could do so much better. I kept those little bastards away from her as much as I could, but I was in Boston, first for college then work, and I couldn’t get home as often as I should have. I wasn’t there when she needed me. I wasn’t there when that asshole Cassidy got her sent to jail.” He paused and ran his hand over his eyes, dashing away the tears that had formed in them. “I’ve never forgiven myself for that.” 

Killian’s heart ached for his friend. “But you came for her right away,” he pointed out. “You got the charges dropped, got her out. She only spent one night in jail.” David coming to her rescue had meant everything to Emma. It was what had finally convinced her that he would always be there for her, no matter what. ‘No one ever fought for me before’, she’d said.

“She shouldn't have spent any nights there!” growled David. “That experience, that betrayal from someone she thought loved her, just when she’d started to trust again… it was devastating. It’s the reason she left Storybrooke and got into bail bonds. I hated her doing such a dangerous job, but she told me she needed to do it. She needed to be the one to catch people trying to evade justice, the way Cassidy had done. She caught him eventually, did she ever tell you that?” “Aye.” 

“I’ve never been so proud in my life as when she hauled that piece of shit in. For skipping bail on a robbery charge, if you can believe it. He framed her for one robbery, then went straight off and committed another. Arrogant prick. She brought him in to the station where I was working in Boston. Her face when she presented him for booking, man, I’ll never forget it. She was like a — what are those warrior women from mythology?”

“Amazons? Valkyries?”

“That’s the one. She was like a Valkyrie.”

Killian could easily imagine that. His Emma was as fierce as they came, and he shared David’s pride in her. It would take a far cleverer man than Neal Cassidy to ever get the better of Emma Swan. 

“After Cassidy, she dated a bit here and there, but mostly she kept to anonymous hookups, one-and-done, no emotional attachment. Better than the scumbags, but only just. Still men who didn’t respect her or treat her as she deserved. It got a bit better when she moved back home, but still you saw the guys she went for here..."

"Aye," growled Killian. Not one of them had been fit to lick her boots.

"When I found out about you two, the way I found out, walking in on you like that, all I could think about was your track record with women —yes, even though I know the reasons behind it, it was still my sister you were touching— and the first thought in my head was to protect her from being fucked around again. Protecting her from her own worst impulses is something I’ve done for half her life, it’s so ingrained it’s almost an involuntary reaction. All I could think was why would you hide it from me? If you really cared about her why would you keep it a secret? It’s not that I don’t respect Emma or trust her judgement, it’s just that she has a long history of bad relationships and I couldn’t stand the idea of her getting hurt again.”

“David, you must know I’d never hurt her. Even before we got romantically involved, you knew that I cared about her.” 

“Of course, but I thought you cared about her as I do, as a brother. I guess it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t have any reason to see Emma that way until Mary Margaret kinda… forcefully… pointed it out to me last night. She’s my sister but that doesn’t make her yours. To me she’ll always be that terrified little girl, at least a bit, and I’ll always want to protect her. But I do know that she’s grown up now, and that she’s strong and tough and beautiful. I get why you’re attracted to her. I don’t like to think about it, but I get it.”)

Emma answered the buzz of the doorbell, flinging open the door and grinning at David and Mary Margaret. They both looked tanned and relaxed, and couldn’t have more obviously just come from two weeks in Hawaii if they’d carried signs announcing it. 

She laughed lightly and leaned into Mary Margaret when the other woman immediately pulled her into a hug. MM gave good hugs, she thought contentedly. 

David hugged her as well and she leaned into that one too —it had been two weeks since she’d seen him— then did the same to Killian, who returned his hearty embrace enthusiastically and whispered “Boxer briefs. Black.” into his ear before smiling angelically and turning to kiss Mary Margaret on the cheek. David winced.

“Please stop doing that,” he muttered, but Killian only smiled wider. 

“No secrets, remember, Dave,” he said cheerfully. “Your rule.” 

“You know I didn’t mean about everything—” David protested to thin air, as Killian had already taken Mary Margaret’s arm and was leading her into the living room. David shot Emma a pleading, desperate look, but she merely shrugged. 

“Just be glad he hasn’t worn the ones I got him for his birthday yet,” she said, and David groaned. 

“I really do not need to know any of this,” he grumbled. Emma laughed. 

“You knew he was annoyingly literal when you told him not to keep anything from you in the future,” she said. “You gotta be more careful with your phrasing.”

“I love how this is somehow my fault,” said David, not quite under his breath, as he followed his sister into the living room where Killian and Mary Margaret were already ensconced on the sofa, deep in conversation over a glass of wine. They got along incredibly well, especially considering that Mary Margaret had once tried to set Emma up with another man. But that misunderstanding had long since been forgiven, along with so many others. 

“How was the vacation?” Emma asked David, pouring wine for him and hoping he wouldn’t notice that she wasn’t having any herself. 

Her brother’s expression immediately went soft and dreamy. “It was magical,” he replied, drifting off into memories for a moment before shaking off his reverie with a slightly wry grin. “I thought I’d be bored with nothing to do all day but sit on a beach, but… well, we found ways to pass the time.” 

“I’ll bet you did,” said Emma, then marvelled at how a year with Killian had opened her up to the point where she was tossing saucy innuendo at her own brother. 

“Seriously?” David’s voice rose to a painfully high pitch. “You too?”

Emma just laughed at him again. 

“Actually,” said David, speaking loudly enough for all to hear and stressing the word. “Speaking of our vacation, Mary Margaret and I have an announcement.”

Killian and Emma exchanged a glance. “Um, we do, too,” she said. “Do you mind if we go first?”

Frankly, she thought, she could easily guess what Mary Margaret and David’s announcement would be, but hers and Killian’s would come as a bit more of a shock. 

“Uh, sure, I guess,” said David, and Mary Margaret nodded. 

Killian stood, placing his wine glass on a side table and coming to stand beside Emma, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

“So, I know we all promised we wouldn’t keep anything from each other any longer, and you know how diligently I have been adhering to that directive,” he began. 

“Don’t I just,” muttered David. 

“But there is something Emma and I have known for several weeks now, and we haven’t mentioned it because we wanted to be certain there would be no complications. But we saw a doctor last week and all seems to be well, and so we wanted you to be the first to know.”

Emma could tell by their faces that David and Mary Margaret had pretty much guessed what was coming next, so she decided to come right out with it. 

“We’re having a baby,” she said. 

“Aaaaaaahhhhh!” shrieked Mary Margaret, leaping from the sofa to pull Emma into another hug, hopping with joy as she did so. “That’s fantastic!” she cried. “Oh, I’m so happy for you!” She pulled back, and Emma could see that there were tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be the best mom!”

Emma wasn’t so sure, but she mentally stomped down her fears and smiled. “I’m going to try,” she said. 

David was shaking Killian’s hand. “Congratulations,” he said, and the joy in his smile was genuine. “Although I might have preferred if you’d waited until you were married…” 

“Ah,” said Killian, scratching nervously behind his ear. “Yes. About that.” 

Mary Margaret spun around to face him. “No!” she gasped. 

“Well, you see, it turns out Emma actually shares some of Dave’s more traditional views, and she wanted her child to be born into a stable family.” 

David caught Emma’s eyes, smiling warmly at her. He understood, she thought, as she’d known he would. It wasn’t that she was traditional, she just wanted to ensure that her baby would have everything that she herself had lacked. 

“So last weekend we flew to Vegas and got married,” concluded Killian, and Mary Margaret shrieked again. 

“Vegas?” David’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “Not very romantic.” 

“It actually was romantic,” laughed Emma. “We’ll tell you the story. But also, we thought speed was more important than finesse in this case—” 

“Only in this case, mind,” interrupted Killian, with a smirk.

“And so we’ll have a blessing ceremony with the white dress and the flowers and all that jazz, after the baby’s born.” She looked up at Killian. “Maybe for our first anniversary?”

“That’s a lovely idea, darling.” He smiled, tightening his arm around her. 

“Oh, and we’re going to London for New Year’s,” Emma concluded brightly. 

“What?!” 

“So, that’s all our news. What did you want to tell us?”

David’s jaw was hanging ajar as he tried to process everything he’d heard. Mary Margaret laced her arm through his, patting his bicep comfortingly as she replied to Emma’s question. “Well, you’ve pretty effectively stolen our thunder,” she laughed, “but we did want to tell you that we’re engaged.” 

“That’s great, you guys!” cried Emma. She might not be surprised by the news, but she was genuinely thrilled. Mary Margaret and David were perfect together. Like her and Killian. 

Killian who had tears in his eyes as he clapped David on the back. 

“Well done, mate,” he said. 

“Thanks,” replied David, “Though I never would’ve guessed that you’d be married before I was.” 

“No, nor I.”

“Are you really going to London at New Year’s?

“Aye. Care to join us?”

David looked at his sister’s glowing face and at Killian’s bright smile, and thanked the gods for the millionth time that he hadn’t let his pride get in the way of their happiness.

He shook his head. “Maybe next time,” he said. “I don’t think I could handle you two being newlyweds all over each other for that long. Let’s give it a year or two so you can cool off a bit.” 

“Well I can’t promise anything to that effect, mate. Your sister is really hot, you know.” At his friend’s scowl, he threw up his hands, his face a picture of innocence. “Hey, just being honest. No secrets, remember? Your rule.” 

David groaned. 

[waywardrose13]

The Hunter Diaries- Chapter One

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader Word Count- 2068 Warnings- Language, self doubt, self image issues 

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester had been your best friends for as long as you could remember. Being Bobby Singer’s adoptive daughter, it was sort of inevitable to know the brothers. You knew you’ve had a crush on the elder brother for a long time, but you always thought nothing would happen between the two of you. You’re not the picture perfect model and you aren’t the image every girl strives to be. But maybe, just maybe, you were wrong, and he would like you too.

SERIES TAGS, CHARACTER TAGS, FOREVER TAGS AND REQUESTS FOR FICS ARE OPEN! SEND ME AN ASK!

A/N- Here it is guys! Finally! I’m so freaking excited for this series. I’m still not 100% happy with this chapter but it’s the best I got. The other chapters will be better, the first chapter is always the hardest for me. Alright nerds, I hope you enjoy! Love y’all:)

Dear Diary,

Today was no different than yesterday. The same trees outside my window and the same cloud over my head. With Carter’s death hanging over me, I can’t help but feel worthless. It was my fault, no matter what dad says. I should have been there for her but I wasn’t. Now she’s dead because of me.

Your eyes began to tear at the thought of your best friend’s death. It’s been a week since you watched the flames engulf her pixie like body, and everyday you felt even worse, everyday another bottle or two of whisky stashed underneath your bed to hide them from your dad. He repeatedly told you it wasn’t your fault. But how were you supposed to believe that when she was killed by the demon who killed your biological parents, the demon who’d been tracking you for the last twenty-one years.

You slammed the leather bound diary closed and tossed it onto your bedside table. You were currently propped up against the headboard of your bed, staring outside into the cloudy day. You hadn’t left your bedroom for much, only to use the bathroom and get more booze. You hadn’t eaten in the last two and a half days and your stomach growled violently.

The smell of bacon and pancakes wafted up from the kitchen and you sighed. He never cooked. He was doing this for you.

You rolled out of bed and padded over to your door, opening it and stepping out into the hall, the smell even more prominent. You made your way down stairs and into the kitchen where your adoptive father, Bobby Singer, was at the stove flipping pancakes.

“Dad?” You rasped. Your throat was dry and your voice was hoarse due to lack of use over the past week. Bobby turned to look at you, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Hey, birdy,” He said. You smiled slightly when he called you by your nickname and went over to the small table. He brought a plate over to you and set it down in front of you. “It’s nice to see you up and around.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled. You took a bite of the fluffy pancake on your plate and moaned at the taste. Bobby chuckled and made his way back to the stove. He soon joined you and the two of you ate in a comfortable silence, the only sound the low hum of the rain pelting the world outside.

“So,” Bobby said clearing his throat. You looked up from your plate and raised an eyebrow. “The boys are coming over. They’ll be staying with us for awhile.”

“Really?” You asked.

“Yeah. That’s alright with you?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah! Totally. I haven’t seen them in forever.” You smiled. You hadn’t seen your best friends in over a year. Whenever they’d drop by, you’d always end up being on a hunt with Carter. But you were finally going to see them. See him. Your heart swelled at the thought of the green eyed hunter and you found yourself genuinely smiling while you ate.

After breakfast, you went upstairs to take a quick shower and get ready for the day. You weren’t planning on going anywhere but the brothers would be at the house in a little less than two hours.

You washed and conditioned your hair, scrubbed your skin until it was pink and smelled of your lavender soap and shaved your legs. You stayed in the shower for longer than you needed to, allowing the scalding water to run over your muscles and loosen the tense knots.

It felt good, to actually look forward to something after a week of moping around. You were usually the smiling, kind hearted person in the house. The one who could cheer someone up with a single smile or make someone smile when you laughed. You automatically lit up the room with your personality, a trait Carter loved in you. But you hadn’t been that person lately.

You stepped out of the spray once it turned cold and wrapped yourself in a towel. Slipping back into your room across the hall from the bathroom, you flipped on the radio and began getting dressed into your outfit for the day.

You brushed and dried your long, Y/H/C hair, pulling it up into a ponytail at the crown of your head. You applied light makeup and took a peek in the mirror, frowning slightly at what you saw.

You crossed your arms around your middle, trying to find a way to hide how your shirt clung a little too tightly around your hips. You tried hiding one leg behind the other to see if that would help make your thighs appear smaller. It didn’t.

You were incredibly self conscience of the way you looked. You never were one of the “smaller” girls. You hated doing it, but you often compared yourself to Carter. She was small, with a flat stomach and slim legs. Your thighs were a bit too big and your hips were a little wider than you’d like. Not to mention the feeling you’d get when you saw the man you’d fallen in love with years ago flirt with other girls. Girls who were skinny, pretty and model material.

You sighed and shifted uncomfortably under your own gaze. Did you really think you’d have a chance with him? Honestly, you weren't sure. You’d like to think he wasn’t all about looks. And to be frank, you weren’t bad looking. Actually, you were a very attractive woman. It was just your body men didn’t like.

The doorbell rang, pulling you out of your thoughts. Your heart fluttered in excitement and you immediately headed to your door. Throwing it open, you stepped out into the hallway and bounded down the stairs.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean’s voice echoed. You smiled at the sound and rounded the corner to see your dad and Dean embracing each other.

“How are you boys?” Bobby asked. He moved to Sam next.

“Not bad,” Sam said. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Bobby said.

“Guys!” You exclaimed. Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice.

A smile spread itself on Dean’s face and he rushed over to you, engulfing you in his embrace.

“God, I’ve missed you, Y/N/N,” He sighed. He kissed the top of your head and pulled back to smile down at you.

“Ditto,” You smiled.

“Don’t hog her, Dean,” Sam complained. He stepped back to let Sam take his place.

“It’s so good to see you guys,” You said. “You have no idea.”

“Bobby called a few days ago. He told us what happened,” Dean whispered. “I’m so sorry about Carter, Y/N.”  He gave you a sympathetic smile and you sighed.

“Yeah. Me too.”

The night was spent catching up and reminiscing in old times. None of you had brought up Carter the entire night and it was nice to have something to take your mind off her. Being with your dad and the brothers was something that has always made you happy. Being able to laugh and be yourself.

“So, Y/N,” Sam began. You raised a questioning eyebrow at the youngest Winchester. “Anyone special you want to tell us about?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Nope.”

“Aw come on,” He whined. “There’s gotta be somebody.”

“No one,” You said. He groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Why not?” Dean asked. You shrugged.

“I don’t know,” You answered. “I guess no one is interested. But who would be?” The last words were quiet. You didn’t think anyone heard but you were wrong.

“Bullshit,” Dean growled. Your eyes widened a little at his tone. You looked over at Sam who just shrugged at his brother’s attitude. Everyone was focused on Dean who sat with his arms crossed. “You’re smart, you’re funny and you’re totally hot. Don’t tell me there’s no one interested.”

His words stunned you. You weren’t sure if he was telling the truth or if he was taunting you. He’d never said anything about the way you looked before. Not even to compliment the way you wore your hair one day or a t-shirt with a band he liked on it. He’d never given you two looks, so why the hell did he say that? Maybe it was the alcohol he had consumed. Yeah, that must be it. Because there was no way Dean Winchester could be interested in you.

“You’re drunk, Winchester,” You said. You forced a smile and rolled your eyes. He slumped in his seat and mumbled something under his breath. You didn’t like when people toyed with your feelings. You’ve had enough of that from from people in your past. And coming from Dean, it was just another stab to the heart.

Sam cleared his throat and stood from his position on the couch. “I’m gonna turn in.”

“Yeah, me too.” Bobby yawned. “I’ll see you kids in the a.m.”

As Sam and Bobby made their way to the respective rooms, you stayed seated on the couch across from Dean. He was looking at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his green orbs flitting back and forth across your face.

“Did you really not believe what I said?” He asked suddenly. You looked back at him, your Y/E/C eyes locking with his. You sighed and leaned back into the couch cushions.

“Honestly? No,” You said. He scoffed.

“Why?”

“Look, Dean,” You said. “I’ve had enough people taunt me and I don’t need it coming from you, too.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He demanded. You felt tears prick at the back of your eyes. This was just plain mean.

“You can’t honestly believe that I’d take your words seriously,” You muttered.

“What? Kid, what are you saying?” He squinted at you in confusion.

“Don’t call me that.” You gritted your teeth. You hated when he called you kid. It made you feel weak.

“I’m sorry,” He said. “Now, please tell me what’s going on.”

You fiddled with the bracelet on your wrist. It had been your father’s, a simple leather bracelet with a single tiger’s eye bead. You never took it off, not since he died.

“What you said before,” You began. He cocked an eyebrow and kept his eyes on yours. “It’s hard to believe what you said when you’re… you and I’m me.” Your voice was low and soft, the tears in the back of your eyes betraying you, allowing one to flow down your cheek.

“What do you mean?” He asked. His voice was sincere, which confused you. He really didn’t know what you were talking about.

“I… I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” You stood up from the couch and made your way to the stairs.

“Y/N, wait!” Dean called behind you. He leaped up from the couch and towards you. He grasped onto your wrist and spun you around. “Please. Talk to me.”

“What’s the point, Dean? It’s not going to change how I look. It’s not going to change the fact that men don’t like women like me. Women with thick thighs and extra weight.” You said, the tears falling freely now.

“I that what this is about?” He whispered.You looked away, ashamed at what you said. But he cupped your cheek, turning your face to look at him. “Because that’s bullshit.”

“W-what?” You stammered. His face was dead serious, not a hint of sarcasm or bluff.

“You heard me. It’s bullshit and I never want to hear you talking about yourself like that ever again, you got that? You’re gorgeous.” He stressed. You nodded and the corners of his lips raised slightly. “Good.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips soft against your skin. He pulled away and brushed the baby hairs away from you face.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” He said.

“Goodnight.”

He walked past you and up the stairs, leaving you frozen and confused. What the hell was that? You touched the spot that Dean kissed, the skin still slightly tingly. Your heart was racing in your chest and your eyes were blown wide. You no longer felt that Dean was pulling on your leg. He seemed deadly serious when he said what he said. Maybe what he said was true. But it still seemed unlikely he’d ever want to be with you.

But a girl could dream.

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Behind The Scenes 4 (6/?)

Author’s note: This whole part is in Jungkook’s POV. It feels likes its been awhile doing his pov so this was really fun. This whole part went over board ad didn’t follow my outline so it was interesting.

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1730

Summary: Jungkook finally gets to talk a bit with y/n

JK POV

“Why are you so useless?” Rap monster asked Jungkook before he pulled the trigger of his own gun.

Jungkook saw the man in front of him fall to the ground. Deep red soon pooled under him.

“When I say shoot, you fucking shoot!” his leader lectured. “Just get rid of the body. You know how to do that don’t you?” his tone was as harsh as could be. There was a mix of disgust and disappointment as he spoke to him.

“Answer me!” he growled.

“Y-yes!” Jungkook replied, still shaken from the man’s bloody corpse sprawled on the ground.

Rap monster walked off. V however stayed behind. “Dude, what’s with you?” he whispered.

Jungkook remained silent.

“Get your head back in the game bro. Our live on on the line too, don’t forget that. And its not only against these guys, Namjoon can turn on us at any second, don’t give him a reason to do it.”

“Yeah… Yeah I know. It just… I just couldn’t this time.” he choked on his words. It was like he became more of a pussy since the last deal. This was the third time he wasn’t able to take a shot a person. Not since he shot that dad, driving around the dead girls’ car, it all messed with him somehow and he couldn’t go back to his old self.

“Look, just burn the body so we can go. I’m gonna go help Namjoon out, keep him from getting more frustrated. V told him before he walked off the the direction Rap monster went off to.

Jungkook looked over at the body. The clothing was soaked in blood, the room was now filled with a foul smell, the man’s eyes still wide open almost staring at him.

Jungkook forced himself to do what was almost just as bad as having shot the man. “Find a barrel, stuff the body, douse it, light it up.” he repeated the steps over and over in his head as he went though with the order.

Next thing he knew, the body was engulfed by the flames and he was being ordered into the van so that they can go back to the dorm.

He sat in the crowded van packed with the usual crew, he was quiet unlike the rest of the guys who celebrated the small victory. He however, just tried to not think about how this last deal went. It was hard though. Not only because it just happened, bbut because the stench of smoke, blood, and other horrid odors clung to his clothes and filled his nostrils. He couldn’ escape the smell that wasn’t only on him but those crammed around him.

-

“Dude get off” V said, nudging him with his shoulder, breaking him out of his thoughts. “I can’t stand myself I seriously need to shower.” He complained

Some how they were all back at the dorm, the rest of the crew gone as if they were the only ones that were ever in the van.

He slid off the seat. His mind was fuzzy as he followed his hyungs into the dorm. He was the last inside walking into an empty living room.

“Hey y/n!” he could hear v’s voice down the hall.

“Y/n” his tired feet immediately carried him down the hall to her room.

He stood at the doorway, finding V crouched in front of y/n. They spoke in a hush. He couldn’t exactly make out what they were saying but he could have sworn he heard one of them say his name. Their expressions were serious as they whispered to each other. Jungkook couldn’t help but hate the fact that they were just so close to one another. He hated how y/n was looking V in the eye. He hated that they were so into their conversation that they didn’t even notice him standing just a few feet away from .

It wasn’t fair. “Why does V get all her attention?” he thought. Ever since the proposal, Y/n barely so much as looked in Jungkook’s direction. No matter how many attempts he’s made to be alone with her, how hard he tried to start conversation, how he tried to look after and prove that he was there for her, all she ever did was tell him to get away.

Oh but when V was around y/n and V were just the best of friends though. She went to V for everything. As each day went by Jungkook found himself more and more irritated their growing friendship. The more V was around, the less y/n need him, the less she wanted him.

He must have been standing there for a good three minutes and still they didn’t notice him. That’s when Jungkook decided to knock on the door, breaking them out of their bubble. Immediately they stopped talking and swung their heads in his direction. Upon laying eyes on him, neither one of them seemed too pleased.

‘Uh… Well, I’m gonna go take a shower. I’ll make sure to be extra fast so we can watch tv.” V aid to y/n as he left the room.

Jungkook couldn’t help but glare at his friend as he walked passed him.

Y/n stayed at her spot on her bed. She was looking up at him with that same annoyed expression she had the last few weeks.

“I feel exactly how I did this morning. Nothing’s changed.” She said in a groan. She had answered the question he was about to ask.

That drone like tone in her voice was still there. Like her expression, the done-with-life tone was how she answered all his repetitive questions (repetitive because she only let him ask one thing before she pushed him away in frustration). Many times that tone and her annoyed look were accompanied by an roll eye but  right now she didn’t do that… so that had to e a good sign right?

“That’s good.” He said in his scrathy throat. His voice came out so soft, his inside still suffocating from the smoke.

He closed her door and moved closer to her. This was the first time in a long time that they were actually alone. Despite how ugly he felt, he was determined to have a talk with her, to feel normal again.

“I’m surprised that Hoseok and Yoongi aren’t in here.” He said to bring up something that wasn’t her health.

“We had an argument that other day.” She said with slight frown.

“Yeah?” he could help but have a hint of a grin on his face. This was good for him, this meant he could have more time with her and he wouldn’t have to worry about stupid ass Yoongi taking y/n’s attention away from him, turning her against him.

“And why are you so happy about that?” Her voice was suddenly so cold

He was caught off guard. “What?”

Her hands went to her temples. “You know what? I don’t want to talk have this talk with you right now.” She dragged herself to the edge of her mattress and began to maneuver herself in attempts to stand up.

“Let me help” he gently held out his hand to her, only for her to slap it away.

“No!” she protested.

Stubbornly, he tried once more to help her only to get the same result.

“I said no! I can do it myself!”

It was struggle for her, but eventually she got herself on her feet in a labored breath.

“I’m so fucking tired of you hovering over me!” she grumbled

“Well I’m sorry that I’m concerned and want to care for my girlfriend!”

“Shut up!” she growled. ”Don’t be saying that out loud!”

“Oh yeah, that’s because you are my fiancée now!” He said it louder.

“Like hell I am!”

“Last I checked that’s what an engagement ring symbolizes!”

“We aren’t shit alright! That ring means nothing!”

“Exactly! So why are you so fucking pissy at me! I know you are being a bitch about the proposal, even when it changes nothing!”

“Oh now you want to bring up the proposal! That would have been nice before you dragged me out in front of thousands of people and fucking proposed!”

“I would had told you about it in the car ride to the stadium but you were being a bitch then too and wouldn’t let me do or say anything!”

“Is it so hard to say “Y/n we are getting engaged” or “Y/n Namjoon is making me propose to you in the middle of the concert.” No! it isn’t you could have just opened that stupid mouth of yours!” she shouted. “Why don’t you ever take your head out of your ass and use it to think?”

He stepped up to her, getting in her personal space. “You don’t know what’s going on in my head alright!” he shouted back. “You aren’t the only one that-“

“Jungkook!” V’s low voice boomed thorugh the room.

Immeditaely Jungkook shut his mouth.

“What the fuck is going on in here?!?” V’s eyes burned through Jungkook’s skull. His face was a mix of shock and rage. Soapy water dripping from his hair and chin, but he didn’t seem phased by it. V’s faded red shirt was a genuine red from being soaked with water. It clung to his skin in an awkward way, somehow making him look more frantic, more enraged that he really was.  “I could hear you guys shouting from inside the shower!”

“We were just talking.” Jungkook said through his teeth.

V walked into the room, pushing Jungkook back and placing himself in front f y/n. He stood as power stance, ready to fight. “Well you don’t talk to her like that!”

Again Jungkook saw an image he hated to see. V was glaring at him, completely hiding y/n behind him, as if Jungkook was the threat in the room. Jungkook wasn’t the threat, no, it is Jin and Hiro and Namjoon that they were supposed to be defending her from. How could V actually see him as someone that could hurt y/n?

“You don’t fucking tell me what to do!”  Jungkook snapped. “ especalliy when you don’t know whats going on.”

‘So! You still shouldn’t raise your voice at her like that!”

V had a point, Jungkook knew that, he just didn’t want to admit it. Instead of apologizing on the spot like he knew he should, he decided it was better to runaway from the situation. “Fuck this! I’m going too the gym.”

[jubilantwriter]

Makes Pandora’s Box Contents Look Non-Violent

A/N: A character study of the most mysterious character in Dear Evan Hansen.

Connor Murphy, in all of his pathetic glory, is a shitty person.

He knows this pretty well.

He knows this when he rolls a blunt and smokes it, knowing full well that no matter how much he wishes it, no matter how many times he tries, the weed that burns and turns to smoke for him to inhale won’t calm him down.  In fact, it works in making him feel worse, but he’s built this horrible dependency for it, this placebo thinking that maybe, maybe this time, this time he’ll experience that fabled chill and mellow feeling that he’s heard about from all the other stoners.

And like all placebos, it works - but only for a short period of time.  His mind will grow hazy, and he makes himself think that he’s in a nice, chill daze and that no, he’s not feeling the paranoia, the anger that borders on the edges of his senses, ready to lash out the minute someone so much as looks at him funny, and it doesn’t help that everyone aggravates him so much just please, leave him alone-

But he’s Connor Murphy, the disgrace, the psychopath, the freak, the crazy asshole, the stoner-

He has too many nicknames to count, so he stopped trying to count them all once he entered high school.

It doesn’t matter how he behaves, or acts, or lashes out.  He’ll somehow always manage to fulfill one of his nicknames’ connotations without even trying.  So he stops trying to be different from how everyone expects him to behave, and he goes to school high, and he goes to school filled with anger and pain and intense self-hatred and desolation because no one cares-

Home is no better.

Home is where his parents’ disappointment and scorn are found, where his mom tries to help him, but it’s all half-hearted and he wonders if she’s just doing it because he’s ruining her image and reputation with the other rich mothers, who sit around a fancy table eating fancy food and working on the latest fads and trends and they all gossip about those other freaks and wow, doesn’t it suck that her own son is a freak too?

But she makes an effort.  It’s small, barely helpful, annoying at best, but at the very least, he can pretend that she does sorta care about him.

(If she doesn’t, he can just fuel his anger and pain with that later.)

At least his dad is more honest about his opinion of Connor than his mom.  Not that it helps.  It only serves to make him feel worse, makes him want to fight back and yell and scream because he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be trapped and tormented in your own head, to feel like you’re standing between the ocean and a wall and it only takes one, small step to the side to drop-

Of course he wants attention.  He wants to be noticed.  To be loved.  He doesn’t know when he went to shit.  When everything started to fucking suck all the time, when his parents stopped looking at him with smiles, when his sister stopped looking at him with all mischievous intent rather than malice, when the edges of his mind screamed for death and the loneliness engulfed him until all he ever knew was loneliness.

His nails are painted black, and he half-jokes that the shade isn’t nearly dark enough, that it can’t match the true black that is his depression.  But he doesn’t have any friends, so he doesn’t make the joke.

He exhales, and the haze that surrounds his mind turns into a sense of paranoia, and he feels like he’s being stared at from everywhere, that everyone is judging him, even though he’s secluded in his room, and he can hear his mom call him down for breakfast, and god, can’t they just leave him alone for one minute?

But he leaves his room, passing by Zoe’s room where the door has a dent, where his fist lodged itself into it after an argument with his sister, when she called him a freak and a monster and ran into her room to hide from him, and he was so mad and so high that he felt justified in punching her door, saying he’d kill her he swore the minute she stepped out he’d kill her that damned bitch-

Then he was sober, in his room, pretending that he couldn’t hear her sobs from though the walls, because the walls are never thick enough to hide all the sounds that echo in this hellhole.

He stares at the dent a little longer than he wants to, and the self-hatred comes back full force because he knows, he knows that Zoe was right that day, that he was a freak and a monster because every-fucking-day, when he’s high in all the wrong ways, he churns out word after wretched word of hate and acid, trying to make his family feel the same agony and burn that he feels in his mind and soul and heart because maybe, this is the only way they could possibly understand what he’s going through.

But it never works.

All they hear behind his words are hate and anger and attacks aimed at them, and yeah, he is attacking them, and he knows he should stop, that it’s not helping him, not helping them understand, not helping anyone build sympathy for anyone, but he just… can’t.  So he continues this fucked up ritual, and the yells continue, the arguments continue, and the tears continue.

It’s a shitty circle, but they continue it nonetheless.  Familiarity builds something, he supposes.

His feet move him downstairs, and there’s a pounding in his head, and god, why does he keep smoking weed again?  There’s talking around the breakfast table, his mom flitting around his dad and sister to make sure they’re eating or something, and they all ignore him as he comes down to the table and rests his throbbing head on his hand, ignoring his family as they talk over him.  The only things that register are the pointed remarks, words sharp like knives because his dad and sister just know that he smoked weed again, and there’s that daily argument, insults being thrown around like grenades meant to blow up in the other’s face because they all just hate each other don’t they?

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck YOU!”

The classiest of comebacks.

He hides his head, trying to hide from the venom all around him, all inside him, and look, that urge to punch something is so close at hand, and Zoe is right there she did start it, wouldn't he be justified-

But his mom is defending him and oh god, she always manages to put her faith in the wrong person, doesn't she?  So he brings his head up ever so slightly, proving her wrong with his silence because of course he's high, he's always fucking high and there's the disappointment in her voice because of course he's a disappointment, he's always the fucking disappointment.

Well, at least he has SOME excuse not to go to school now.

Or at least, that's what he tells himself as he storms away from the table, grabbing his bag, and leaving the house through the back door.  None of them would notice if he was gone anyways, and he's saving Zoe the effort of having to share a ride with him, so there's that silver lining!

He doesn't feel like driving anyways, which is a bummer since he has to drive to school.  And he's high.  He could get arrested…

Fuck it.

He gets into his car, bad decisions galore, and drives himself to school.  Zoe can drive herself to school, or take the bus, or something.  He doesn't really care, it's not like he was already brother of the year anyways.

In hindsight, he's not sure why he's pulling into the school parking lot when he would rather hide at some back alley or behind a grocery store where no one can stop him.  But here he is, in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel.

He can feel the stares again, but this time he knows it's coming from the other students, and they're all staring at his familiar car ‘cause look, the resident school psychopath is back, he can practically feel their whispers as he leaves his car and begrudgingly walks into the building.

Why is he here?

Why did he come here?

It's all so pointless, so pointless.

There's no one to greet him, no welcoming hugs or friendly smiles.

No, those are all reserved for Zoe (the one good Murphy the only good Murphy, monster she called him a monster a monster a monster just shut up-), and the greetings and yells just serve to remind him how he is not welcomed here.  Because none of those calls are for him.  Because all of those jeers are for him.

The haze in his mind is becoming an uncomfortable fog, one that he’s familiar with, and if everyone would just shut up and leave him the fuck alone then maybe they can all get through this first day back in hell without any INCIDENTS FOR ONCE just let him get to his locker PLEASE-

“Heey, Connor, loving the new hair length!  Very… school shooter chic!”

Goddammit.

This bitch.

He stares at Kleinman, hand still on the strap of his shoulder bag.  Some kid - Even maybe - hangs around behind Kleinman, looking down and avoiding Connor’s gaze.  Kleinman himself looks stuck between awkward and mocking, like he can’t decide whether or not he wants to be genuinely mean or not.

“I was just… kidding.  It was a joke?”  What a shitty joke.  It’s a joke at him, to laugh at him, to make fun of him, he’s so tired, so SICK of it, fucking KLEINMAN, and he can feel that anger boiling boiling boiling under the surface weed being calming is a fucking lie-

“Yeah- no, it was funny, I’m laughing, can’t you tell?”  Kleinman’s face contorts into… something, but Connor thinks it’s most definitely something like disgust and something that’s judgmental and he hates it so much this fucking kid, he’s so angry why do they always go after HIM- “Am I not laughing hard enough for you?”  And then the sneer is clear on Kleinman’s face, there’s no mistake there, even he can tell through the foggy high, and of course Kleinman wasn’t going to be making nice, no one ever makes nice with HIM-

“You’re such a freak.”  Kleinman walks away briskly, leaving that kid behind with Connor.  And then, the kid, of course the fucking kid, he snorts or laughs or SOMETHING but it’s enough, it’s e-fucking-nough to set Connor off because he knows, he KNOWS it’s about him, about that stupid, annoying joke about his HAIR of all things, this kid is LAUGHING at him, THE FREAK, look at him look at him the druggie the stoner the violent asshole everyone hates-

“What the fuck are you laughing at?  Stop fucking laughing at me!”  The kid looks up, stares at him with wide, scared eyes and starts babbling but Connor can’t listen, won’t listen, because he knows he knows- “You think I’m the freak?!  I’m not the freak!”  He rushes the other kid, and good he’s scared shitless he better be this is what you get this is what you get asshole asshole asshole everyone is against him fuck off fuck off FUCK OFF- “You’re the fucking freak!”  Connor shoves him down and storms off.

Connor doesn’t go to class.  There’s no point to going to class.  He runs off to behind the school, where no one can be bothered to bother him.  No one goes looking for him, because why would they?  He wouldn’t go looking for him either.

Instead, he sits with his back against the wall, taking deep breathes and clenching his fists tight, tight, tight, until his nails break through the skin and he can feel the sharp pain ground him.  He closes his eyes tight and lets the breeze cool him down.

This is why he didn’t want to go to school.  Everyone knows that when he’s high, he’s more likely to strike back, to fight, to break, to scream.  But they bother him anyway, like it’s some cruel game of “poke the bleeding tiger”.  He groans and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes.

God, he’s so tired.  He’s not sure how long he hangs out there, behind the school.  His high wears off, and he can think clearly again, and god he really, really doesn’t want to be able to think clearly.  Because now he’s more aware of things, and now he can doubt his stupid actions and doubt his reasoning and doubt his very existence because fucking hell, he hates being here and he hates being him.

Vaguely, he can hear the sound of the bell going off, but he’s not sure what class it is, whether it’s lunch time, or if it’s the end of school.  It doesn’t matter, he can check his phone later.  Right now, he’s too buried in his thoughts of what Kleinman said, of what that kid did, of what HE did, and thinks and realizes that shit, that kid, that kid was Evan Hansen, the one kid who didn’t throw a printer at a teacher, but instead became known for being an overall messy wreck of a human being, who had a breakdown before a presentation, who goes by being unnoticed, lonely, who can’t be mean because he just physically CAN’T, he’s always too busy freaking out about NOT insulting people or making them bothered by him and-

Fuck.  Shit.  That Hansen kid most definitely, did not laugh at him.  Out of all the people in the school Connor could have possibly chosen to be physically violent with, it just had to be the one person who, with utmost certainty, did not deserve it.  Hell, the kid is more pitiful than he is, and Connor is the school’s resident stoner and outcast.

Well, he supposes that he’s not the only outcast if he counts Evan.

And now guilt is mixed in more strongly to his mental cocktail of self-hatred and misery.  What a combination.  He groans again.  The bell rings again.  He checks his phone.  School’s over.  What to do.

Guilt guilt guilt guilt.  He doesn’t want to go home.  Guilt guilt guilt.  Well.  He might as well.  Apologize.  He supposes.  If it means the guilt could maybe, just a little bit, subside.

(It’ll never go away after all, because Zoe Zoe Zoe does she really deserve all of that does she really does she really she’s his little sister remember remember remember he’s such a fuck up-)

He gets up.  He doesn’t know where Hansen could possibly be, but his feet are already moving, so he wanders around, glancing over people’s heads, peeking into classrooms, avoiding the stares and glares of everyone around him, and if he can’t find Hansen what the hell is he going to do with all this godforsaken guilt-

In the end, he wanders into the computer room, because he couldn’t really find Hansen, but he also doesn’t want to go home yet, so he might as well just watch some mindless videos until some teacher kicks him out.  He’s just about to log onto the computers when he hears the door open and- what do you know.  It’s the elusive Hansen, shuffling quickly towards one of the computers and logging on.  Connor has no idea if the kid even knows he here, or if he’s just ignoring him out of fear.  It’s not like he can really blame him, of course.

He’s unsure as to whether or not he should just approach the kid, but it looks like he’s typing frantically about something (then again, he’s always had this sort of frantic energy to him, like if he doesn’t do something fast enough someone will get upset at him fairly quickly) so he leaves him alone.  A soft sigh escapes him once, and the typing gradually slows down, surprisingly Connor since he didn’t think the kid COULD slow down.  He hears the printer chugging away, and ah, it looks like Hansen is done with whatever it was he was doing.

But.

He doesn’t get up.  Hansen just… sits there, staring blankly at the screen.  The document is already closed, so the blue generic background is the only thing that Connor can see on the screen.  Connor gets up, picking the paper up and heading towards to Hansen.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do.  Or even say.  God, what is he supposed to do?  Would Hansen even want to talk to him after he shoved him down like that?  Should he just leave the paper next to him and leave?  Should he even try or bother with apologizing to Hansen?  Connor considers running off, paper to just be dropped onto the kid’s lap when he recognizes the familiar slump of Hansen’s shoulders.

The kid is listless, a defeated slouch that’s practically ingrained in Connor’s own posture, and suddenly, he feels so uncomfortable, watching Hansen just breathe and looking all for the world like he doesn’t want to be here, like he doesn’t want to exist anymore, like he doesn’t know whether or not he should just stop breathing, like-

He looks like how Connor feels everyday in his life, and it disturbs Connor.

It makes his chest hurt, and he takes in a sharp breath like he’s been stabbed, because it’s one thing to be filled with misery, but it’s another to look at someone else and see them so alike to him, yet so different, and then he sees the cast and-

He doesn’t let his mind wander there.  That territory is dangerous enough on its own, but to even imagine someone else going there, someone else like Evan-

(It’s not surprising, says a thought, but he shoves it away because he doesn’t want to imagine this boy broken and sprawled out, blood leaking from his head- you two are similar so similar)

“So- uh, your arm.”  Hansen jolts upright, the tenseness returning to his shoulders as he stands up, turning to Connor with shock and fear in his eyes, and Connor clears his throat.  He knows he deserves that kind of reaction.  “How did- how did you uh, break it?”  Hansen flinches slightly, his hands gripping and rubbing the edges of his shirt as though trying to comfort and calm himself.  Connor watches as his eyes flick from side to side, looking for words, trying to form a sentence that’s coherent.

Nervous.

“O-oh, uh, I-I just um, I fell.  Out of a tree, actually.”  Connor relaxes slightly, because of course, of course Hansen wouldn’t do something like THAT, only Connor has tried something like that before, he was just thinking too deeply, seeing himself too much in Hansen.

“You fell out of a tree?”

“Y-yeah…”  So far so good.  The kid hasn’t bolted yet.  They were talking.  And no one has gotten threats or hurt yet.  There’s hope yet.

“...Well that’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard oh my god.”  Connor gives an awkward laugh, and Evan answers with his own weak laughter, mumbling his agreement after it.  Holy shit they were laughing.  Maybe for a second but holy shit.  Holy shit.  Maybe, maybe Connor has a chance?

Maybe…

“No one’s uh, no one’s signed your cast.”  He doesn’t want to flub this chance, this one chance to connect with someone, because even if it’s Hansen, he just feels, knows, that maybe, maybe this kid understands what he’s going through, because they’re both lonely, aren’t they?  Just a pair of friendless nobodies that no one spares even a glance for.  His tongue flops awkwardly in his mouth, unsure of how to form the right words, the right things to say that won’t scare the kid away.  Hansen looks down at his blank cast, as if only realizing it just now that it was still on his arm.

“Mm, no, I know.”  His voice sounds too forcefully peppy, but he know that the kid is still disappointed - he can hear it in his voice, and Connor reacts quickly, before the kid can deflate in front of him.

“Well I’ll sign it.”  Hansen jolts again, looking at Connor finally, surprise and shock on his face, as though he can’t believe someone would actually take the time and effort to even suggest that.

“Wh-what?  I mean, y-you don’t have to-”  Connor interrupts him, before Hansen can convince him that he really doesn’t need to bother with signing his cast.

“Do you, uh, have a sharpie?”  Hansen takes out a marker without hesitation, and it only confirms to Connor that maybe, maybe Evan needs this sort of human interaction too.  Even if it’s coming from someone like Connor.  He takes the sharpie that’s handed to him and grabs Hansen’s cast, forgetting, for like, two seconds, that he’s actually grabbing a cast.

“Ow.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.”  Smooth moves, Connor.  As if to make up for it, he writes his name down in all caps, the letters taking up the entire front of Hansen’s cast.  He caps the sharpie and hands it back to Hansen, admiring his John Hancock of a signature.  Sure, the letters didn’t look nice, but at least it was obvious that at least ONE person actually took the time to sign this kid’s cast.

“Oh.  Great.  Thanks.”  Hansen looks at his cast, one part unsure gratitude, two parts deadpan.  In his defense, if someone did that to Connor’s cast, he probably would have hit them.  With the cast.  The kid was just too polite to actually say that huge scrawl was really… unnecessary.  And he probably didn’t want the school’s resident druggie’s name emblazoned like that on his cast.

Welp.

He clears his throat.

“Yeah, well, now we can both pretend we have friends.”  They both shuffle their feet around awkwardly, Hansen’s eyes glued to the “CONNOR” that now decorates his cast.

“Yeah, that’s a good point…”

Connor doesn’t want to pretend though.  He doesn’t want to start to pretend because, because because because maybe, maybe the two of them, they both need it, right?  They just need some reason to talk, right?  They both want friends, right?  Even if they’re stuck with just the two of them, at least, at least they’ll be stuck with someone who understands them, someone who understands loneliness, and pain, and being unwanted, unnoticed, losers, god they were both such outcasts-

He remembers the reason why he originally approached Hansen.

“Oh, yeah, uh, this- this is your… paper, right?”

“Huh?”  Hansen looks up at Connor briefly before darting his eyes down to the paper he holds out to him.

“I found it on the printer.  It says, ‘dear Evan Hansen’, that’s you, right?  Evan?”  There’s panic in Hansen’s eyes, and he tries to take the paper back.

“Yeahitwasjustastupidassignment-”  A name catches Connor’s eye.

Zoe.

Zoe?

He pulls back, reading the line more carefully.

“‘Because there’s Zoe…?’  Is this about my sister?’”  His blood goes cold.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?

WHAT THE FUCK?

Why was this KID writing about his YOUNGER SISTER in a LETTER to HIMSELF?

Hansen’s babbling and trying to frantically take it back from Connor, but he easily holds it over his head, familiar anger flooding his senses.

“No please-”

“You uh, you wrote this.  Because you knew I would find it, didn’t you?”  Of course of course of course why did he even think for a second that this kid would want to be friends with him he was just like everyone else always picking on him poking him with knives trying to rile him up trying to prove that he was a FREAK-

“What-?”

“Yeah, you uh, you saw that I was the only other person in the computer lab and, you wrote this and printed it out so that I would find it.”  He jabs his finger at the paper, feet moving with riled up anger, and his voice is so fake, because it’s calm but he’s not calm he’s angry and livid and he was tricked by this fucking kid into think that for once EVERYTHING would be okay but nononono of course not why would it be nothing is ever OKAY for Connor because everyone thinks he’s a good for nothing piece of shit-

“No why-”

“You wrote this because you knew I would read some creepy SHIT you wrote about my sister and then FREAK OUT.”  why why why did he think this kid was like HIM why did he let himself try why did he let himself randomly pin all his hope on this one FUCKING KID stupid stupid stupid HE’S JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE

“No I didn’t-!”

“So YOU can go around and tell EVERYONE that I’M CRAZY, RIGHT?”

“CONNOR PLEASE-!”

“WELL FUCK YOU!”

Connor storms out as Hansen screams at him to give the paper back, mind full of screaming rage because he’s so stupid how could he just randomly trust this one kid, to try and reach out like they were the same because of course they weren’t he was just some kid that hung around Kleinman and they probably talked about him and how he was crazy and a psycho and uncontrollable and dangerous and he should be avoided no one likes him anyways hey let’s kick the tiger again it’ll be funny watch how he lashes out what a dangerous animal bad bad bad bad bad-

He gets into his car and slams the door shut, slamming his foot down on the gas and racing back home, and then he’s home, and he’s slamming the front door shut, and he’s running upstairs and he can hear the yelling but he doesn’t know or care who’s doing the yelling because his door is slamming shut too and it’s locked and weed he needs his weed so bad right now where’s his weed where’s his WEED-

Shaky hands drop the paper onto the floor and he’s scrambling to grab his stash and it’s a quick fumble before the little green nuggets are haphazardly gathered into a meager roll and it barely registers that there’s only enough for one more roll after this one but he doesn’t care now is not the time he needs his weed he needs it RIGHT NOW-

There’s a flame-

quick quick quick quickquickquick

it lights

that’s it right there in his mouth quickquickquick

inhale

smoke in his lungs let it sit let it sit now release

puff

inhale

smoke in his lungs let it swirl let it swirl

his head is throbbing so take another puff

release inhale release inhale

he can breathe again and it feels like he’s grabbed a life preserver, one that’s weak and flimsy but it’s enough for now because no one else is willing to reach out a hand or give him a better life preserver so he clings to his weed to breathe and to stay afloat but it won’t last long it never lasts long-

Breathe.

The smoke curls in the air as his fingers clench to the poorly made blunt, and he takes a deep breathe, lungs cleared of smoke and mind filled with haze and the weed is just a placebo, a pretend solution to all his problems but he needs this, he needs this for all this bullshit, can’t the world cut him a break?

Breathe.

He smokes.  He smokes until the joint is done and used up, and he rolls up another blunt, this one more put together and neater, and he’s not nearly high enough to even consider thinking about that white piece of paper that’s laying on the floor, the source of his problems, the reason why he’s feeling so shitty hurt broken betrayed angry sad despair regret-

Breathe.

He smokes.

And he smokes.

The air fills up with smoke, and he needs to get up to open the window before his parents and his sister scream at him for smoking weed again, but he’s too tired and not nearly high enough to fucking care, so he smokes.

The blunt becomes null as he uses it up completely.  He reaches for his stash but finds it empty, and damn if that doesn’t suck.  But his mind is hazy enough to pass as high, so he accepts it, lying down on his bed and staring up at his ceiling.

He wants to say he’s feeling calm.  He really does.  He wants to say that he’s feeling chill, that he wasn’t on the verge of having a complete breakdown earlier, that he really is feeling the weed kick in, that he’s relaxed and can stare at a tree and admire its inherent beauty.

He really, really wants to feel that.

Instead, he just, acknowledges.  That he feels.  Empty.

Empty.

He blinks, slow and dazed.  The ugly discoloration of his ceiling is oddly comforting.  It’s constant, something he can look up to and understand that at least some things stay the same despite everything.  The haze lets his mind wander somewhere away from the usual topics, the usual thoughts and urges and temptations.  He remembers something white.

Paper?

That’s right.

Maybe he’s high enough that he WON’T react too violently.  Or maybe he’s just too tired to really act on his anger and frustration.

He sits up.  In a fucked up way, he wants to know what that kid wrote about his sister.  It’ll probably upset him.  But he’s also curious, and the weed is only helping him fuel that curiosity, because curiosity feels better than despair pain anger sadness loneliness-

He picks up the paper off the floor.

He reads it.

Dear Evan Hansen,

Turns out today was not an amazing day after all.

Huh.

This isn’t going to turn out to be an amazing week, or an amazing year cause, why would it be?

...It sounds oddly familiar.

He wants to stop reading, but he keeps going anyway.  Something builds inside him.

Oh I know.  Because there’s Zoe- he finds the sentence, the fragment that started it all, and he prepares himself to feel angry, to feel justification for what he did- and all my hope is pinned on Zoe, who I don’t even know.  And who doesn’t know me.

But maybe if I just talked to her, maybe…

Maybe nothing will be different at all.

He clenches the paper tightly.  This isn’t right.  He’s supposed to feel angry, justified, but Hansen just can’t let him have that, can’t he?

I wish everything was different.  I wish I was part of something.  I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone.

This isn’t supposed to feel FAMILIAR.

I mean, face it, would anyone notice if I just… disappeared tomorrow?

Tears drip onto the paper.  He’s not supposed to be feeling sad, dammit.  He’s not.  He’s not supposed to sympathize, empathize with this shithead who’s just like EVERYONE ELSE-

(but he’s not, he’s not like everyone else because he’s just like him, just like connor, and it hurts doesn’t it, doesn’t it evan, it hurts a lot)

Sincerely,

Your best and most dearest friend,

Me.

He folds up the paper carefully, stowing it into his pocket.

The feeling builds.

The edge from his high is already starting to fade, and those feelings that he’s so desperately trying to push back, trying to keep away are threatening to overtake him again, and he needs to feel high again but-

No more weed.

He looks around.

There has to be something, anything-

(disappear, if he just disappeared, would anyone notice, would anyone care)

He looks under his bed, trying to find any extra weed, any secret stash that he forgot about when his fingers wrap around a bottle-

(evan knows how he felt, didn’t he? why was he wearing a cast did he really fall out of a tree did he really)

He brings it up to his face and reads the label.

Painkillers.

Can he get high off of painkillers?  Is it possible?  He remembers hearing something, vaguely, about a type of medicine that can induce a high, but he can’t remember what type of medicine it was, what was it again what was it he needs it he needs his high-

(they could have been friends, maybe)

He opens the bottle and pours out a handful.  Some of the pills spill onto the floor, but he can’t find it inside of himself to care.

(but it’s too late now because connor fucked up like he always does, a fuckup a mistake a disgrace, idiot stupid, no good brother no good son, he doesn’t deserve to exist much less have a friend)

They go down with some difficulty.  There’s no water bottle in his room, so he takes them dry, one by one.  The pills travel down his throat like little ships, slipping down like the wrecks they are, like they’ve hit an iceberg and now there will be no survivors, nobody to live to tell his story.

(he deserves to be forgotten)

He downs half the bottle.

He hopes that it’s enough to get high.

And if it doesn’t work.

Well.

...Who cares, right?

(no one fucking cares)

Connor Murphy, in all of his disgusting, useless glory, lays back down on his bed, his eyes forcing themselves closed.

A/N: I love Connor Murphy, and as much as I want him to live (because god, he died so young and that makes me cry, because he never got that chance that Evan did), I fully get why he had to die.

So I did my best to capture the Connor Murphy that we see for the ten minutes he appears for. I rewatched those scenes so much, and did you know that he smiles when he returns Evan's paper to him? He was so eager and hopeful *cries*

I wanted to capture some of his unstableness in the writing, so hopefully the writing and organization reflects this? If it doesn't make sense, then that's on purpose lol.

[baekhyunsahoe]

pt 1 revised

“HOT GRILL!”

Chanyeol presses himself into the wall corner as a server passes through with a steaming iron plate in tow. He can feel the heat radiate right against his apron clad crotch and he holds back a whimper.

Whoever said working at EXO Korean BBQ house was easy clearly lied. Then again no one told him that. It’s Chanyeol’s fourth day as a runner and one thing he’s learned is that the floor is definitely a battlefield, a dimly illuminated in blue lights battlefield with each table armed with tongs and scissors as they throw their raw meat of choice onto the circular grill and watch it sizzle as the smoke rises and engulfs half the restaurant with fumes from the all-you-can-eat Korean barbeque goodness. They dine like kings seated upon white leather seated booths, employees their bitches for the night as they yell their order left and right. It’s loud in there after all. Deafening decimals of the top 40 booming, or when it’s near closing, trap music. It’s busy. Completely overwhelming. Chanyeol’s never really been too coordinated to begin with. He finds himself on his toes every second.

Upon finally deeming it safe to remove himself from becoming one with the side station, he finds the lapse in his judgment too late and nearly crashes into another coworker decked out in the all black button up collared dress shirt they all have to wear. BAEKHYUN, his name tag reads. He’s a rather pretty little thing with kohl rimmed eyes and soft looking dyed blonde hair. But then –

“Say corner next time,” he hisses, shoving Chanyeol deliberately with a bony shoulder.

“Got it,” Chanyeol winces with a pained smile. Sheesh.

Six more hours to go…

  --

  His break comes as a small miracle in life. It’s basically closing when Suho, the manager, pulls him aside, floor plan in hand.

“Go on your thirty.”

Chanyeol nods. He ignores his reflection staring back at him in the spectacles of the polite well-mannered yet just as aggressive as everyone else manager. He knew he looked like a hot mess, oil spills on his shirt and apron. What once was a youtube tutorial attempt at an updo probably a chaotic mop of hair on top of his head, black bangs sweaty and his forehead shiny with gel. You could honestly cook some Korean bbq on his face by this point… for free.

The fresh air of the outside world feels like heaven. Chanyeol takes a deep breath. It was dark out, and it’s probably way colder than it feels, but the restaurant is a nonstop overheated smoky pit of bulgogi and kalbi fumes, making the temperature outside beyond refreshing in comparison.

Chanyeol’s feet are killing him even as he sits on curb. The parking lot is still full and he sees customers walking in despite them basically reaching closing time. This establishment never turns away anyone though, so even at 11 o clock they accept business with open albeit aching arms.

It must be the longest time he hasn’t touched his phone in one day. He pulls it out of his backpack and sees a few snaps from Jongin. The fool’s drinking while studying for midterms. Chanyeol shakes his head a small smile on his face when he hears a loud bang from the kitchen back door behind him.

Out comes Baekhyun, apronless for once. Chanyeol’s never seen him without the apron, and he can’t help but check out his figure, tight black slacks hugging his noticeably shapely hips and slim thighs. He forces himself to look up before he becomes known as a creeper.

“Hi.” He greets somewhat scared because Baekhyun wasn’t exactly the friendliest person on the planet.

“What.” Baekhyun snaps at the same time he pulls a personal bottle of what looks like Hennessey from who knows where. He chugs it as Chanyeol blinks in shock and mild amazement. What a baddie.

“Um.”

“Are you gonna snitch?” Baekhyun drawls but shows no fear. His pink lips are wet. The light from the back of the building highlight him in an almost dramatic way. “Or did you want some?”

Chanyeol seriously goes over his options for a second. Accept and be a badass or refuse and basically write pussy BITCH on his forehead.

“Yeah sure.”

He gets up to his full height of 6 feet 2 inches. Baekhyun looks up at him and it’s the first time Chanyeol feels like he’s actually being seen as a person instead of a runner noob.

Baekhyun looks impressed himself, handing him the personal.

Chanyeol chugs it mindlessly trying hard to be cool but damn near chokes when he remembers how disgusting Hennessey was when warm and worse, no chase. He’s trying not to grimace but the laugh that comes out of Baekhyun’s mouth confirms his failure. He cant help but feel a little good about himself that he got Baekhyun to laugh though, or maybe it was the hot alcohol going down his throat and his body reacting immediately after not eating for almost 12 hours.

“Thank you.” Chanyeol breathes, wiping at his mouth. Baekhyun takes another swig killing the little bottle.

“You owe me.” Is all he says with a handsome smirk before walking back in leaving chanyeol buzzed and suddenly feeling the cold.

By the time he’s over Baekhyun’s laugh, his thirty is up.

   -----

  “Hey.”

Chanyeol’s grabbed roughly by the arm, no introduction no explanation, and dragged to section one – the godforsaken high-tops near the host stand.

Baekhyun lets go but not before shoving a broom and dustpan into Chanyeol’s hands.

“Clean my section for me,” Baekhyun orders, looking up at Chanyeol with an expectant look of sorts.

“Uh,” Chanyeol starts.

“It’s simple. Degrease the bowls, degrease the tables, sanitize it, sanitize the chairs and chair legs, wipe down the light and wooden panels, then sweep and mop the floor,” Baekhyun lists and Chanyeol has to seriously wonder if Baekhyun even knew what the word ‘simple’ meant. Before he can dwell too long Baekhyun finishes with a passive aggressive, “You owe me remember?”

Wow. Baekhyun really came to collect within an hour time frame. Is that how it was at this place?

“Okay,” Chanyeol agrees accepting his fate. That miniscule shot of heem wasn’t worth it to be honest. Like Chanyeol was buzzed for twenty minute then it went away.  

Baekhyun steps closer. “Are you mad?”

“No!” Chanyeol splutters.

“Good,” Baekhyun smiles with satisfaction. “Don’t forget to do the set up. Plates, napkins, chopsticks.” Baekhyun retreats to the side station in two steps and comes back with a utensil in each hand. “Scissors and tongs. Got it?”

“Okay,” Chanyeol nods feeling tired already.

“Have a good night,” Baekhyun trails off, squinting at Chanyeol’s nametag. “Chanyeol.” He adds as if acknowledging Chanyeol indeed had a name makes the situation any better. Hearing him say his name did send a strangely delightful chill up Chanyeol’s spine though. “Bye.”

He leaves without wasting another second.

Chanyeol sighs, staring at the mess that is section one. Other people already look halfway done with their cleaning. Loud ratchet music is blasting from the speakers and everyone seems to be chilling but Chanyeol doesn’t know anyone and it seems people here aren’t too interested in getting to know fresh meat.

He gets to work, pulling on gloves after finally locating where they were stored to begin with. He regrets not bringing his earphones because the trap playlist was really not what he needed right now.

It’s been half an hour and he’s only on grill number two at table eleven. Chanyeol’s not sure if he’s slow af and sucks at this or if everyone else were just born with god given grill cleaning talent. It was probably a little of both.

He senses someone’s presence behind him right when he sees a shadow loom onto the table.

“Ha.”

Chanyeol turns around curious as to who decided to give him the time of day.

It’s a tall boy. He looks young with gaunt facial features and a big nose, but a baby face. He’s pretty cute like all the servers, Chanyeol guesses they all had to be attractive to work here however shallow that sounds. This particular staff member’s sleepy eyes are full of amusement and his black hair rocks high school style bangs making him look even younger.

“Yes?” Chanyeol prompts unsurely as the guy proceeds to just linger.

“He better be paying you for that,” he says.

Chanyeol finally notices his nametag – Sehun, it reads.

“What do you mean,” Chanyeol asks slowly.

“Baekhyun. Making you his bitch and all. Cleaning his section and stuff,” Sehun flicks a piece of kalbi bone off the table. “He should tip you out for it.”

“Oh.” Chanyeol doesn’t know why but his face burns at this. Is he really Baekhyun’s bitch? Why did he strangely have no problem with that? He shakes his head, “No it’s cool. I owed him a favor.”

“Already?” Sehun looks genuinely surprised. “You’ve barely been here twenty four hours.”

“It’s my fourth shift actually.”

“Exactly.” Sehun purses his lips as he nods. “Tell you what. I’ll help you clean once I’m done with my section but only if you personal run for me tomorrow.”

“Personal run?”

“Yeah. Wait do you even work tomorrow?”

Chanyeol thinks for a moment, summoning a mental image of his schedule into his mind. “Yeah.” He confirms. “Four to close.”

“Perfect! It’s busy on Saturdays and Suho doesn’t break me til 12am that fuck,” Sehun pouts a little. “I definitely need a runner if I want to make decent take home.”

Chanyeol’s never run for anyone before, mainly floor running with no designated server to attend to. Picking up empty plates off tables and clearing the expo line until it was time to go home. He still hasn’t mastered the art of carrying two trays which is pretty pathetic seeing as he is one of the taller workers and should be swole. Coming out with one tray looks sad.

“I’m down. I’ll be your runner,” Chanyeol confirms with finality and a genuine smile. Alas, someone was treating him like one of humankind!

Sehun grins back at him. “Sweet. I’ma teach you all you need to know.”

“Gee thanks!”

“I gotchu,” Sehun does the finger gun thing. “Baekhyun’s gonna be so jealous.” He snickers but before Chanyeol could ask what he means for the second time in barely a minute, goes on, “I’ma go finish up the plates, then I’ll be back to help you.”

“Thanks man.” Chanyeol says again, truly grateful.

Sehun does the finger thing once more and walks away, half twerking to ‘slob on my knob’ that booms loudly over the stereo.

--

   Chanyeol can’t help but feel awkward hovering around section six as Sehun goes table to table taking orders. ‘Table touching’ he had called it. He squats to talk to customers, being tall as a teenage tree and all. Chanyeol takes note to do the same when he finally gets to be a server.

He observes the sweet eye-smile Sehun almost robotically has on his face like a mask. With every word he says to the guests, the smile is there. Then the moment’s over and Sehun rushes him to the side.

“I just fucking got slammed the host is such a cunt,” Sehun whispers loudly. “Tao’s lucky I got side and sauce setups or I’d beat his ass.” Sehun takes a deep breath appearing to do some practiced meditation breathing as Chanyeol sends a prayer to whoever this Tao guy is. “Anyway, here’s a list. You memorized the table numbers right?”

Chanyeol wants to say he barely gave the four by two section map a spare glance opting to inconspicuously peek at the written numbers on the table but nods instead. “Yup.” He says confidently.

“Awesome.” Sehun rips a piece of paper from his notepad. “Thirteen rice total and don’t forget the forks and all that extra shit these bitches asked for.”

“Okay.” Chanyeol can barely comprehend Sehun’s chicken scratch handwriting but okay.

Sehun salutes him, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks hyung.”

Feeling good about himself at the respectful term, Chanyeol gets to work.

The first slam is a breeze. Twenty minutes in, Sehun pulls Chanyeol aside again and gestures to the section much in the way Mufasa did in the Lion King when he was explaining Pride Rock.

“You see this? This is the chill stage. Everyone’s chilling,” he dramatically points at random guests. “She’s chilling. He’s chilling. They’re chilling so we’re chilling,” Sehun smiles looking like a proud father. “They got their first round of meats and their drinks,” he pauses, squinting at a cloud of smoke. “Actually. Have you ever changed a grill before?

“No…” Chanyeol answers slowly secretly hoping it would never have to come to this. Grill changing anxiety was real.

Sehun claps a hand on his shoulder.

“You gon learn today.”

It’s a terrifying experience, being in control of people’s lives by the burning hot grill in your hands, trying to make sure no dumbass accidentally touches it or moves in the way. You gotta be a hundred and one percent aware of your surroundings. Chanyeol now understands why most servers yelling hot grill look intense and stressed, near death experiences and all.

The new grill slams down atop the burner and the customers are amazed. Chanyeol’s amazed at himself too.

“Thank you!” They say enthusiastically. Chanyeol smiles as beads of nervous sweat form and drip down his face.

“HOT GRILLLLLLLLLLLLLL.” He screeches as he walks. “Hotgrillhotgrillhotgrill CORNER.” He makes it to the dish pit and drops off the grill. Success, he thinks.

When he turns around, Baekhyun’s leaning against the wall, sipping on his straw with what looks to be soda. Or it could be Hennessey again who knows.

“Good job,” Baekhyun tells him but despite the compliment sounds sarcastic as hell.

Chanyeol nods in a half bow and rushes out. Damn Baekhyun looked good. He must have just clocked in because he was sans apron and full view of sexy hips and – Chanyeol chances a double take and yep. Baekhyun had a nice ass. It wasn’t really a surprise. All his personality traits just screamed ‘I can act like this because I have a nice ass’.

When nine pm rolls around, Chanyeol’s previous assumption that things would slow down is shoved down his throat. The wait is at two hours, the lobby is swamped, no one’s gone on their break, and Chanyeol doesn’t even have time to spare to take a much needed piss.

Sehun’s warped into a military commander, barking orders with a hot flush on his face and sleeves rolled all the way up.

“Tao’s slamming me for fun,” Sehun pants, eyes narrowed to slits, pretending his hands are binoculars as he glares straight into Tao’s being at the host stand. “That asshole. There’s other sections open too you know but he doesn’t care. Too lazy to walk to the other side of the damn restaurant. Ugh, fuck this shit.” Sehun looks on the verge of an emotional breakdown. Chanyeol feels bad that he couldn’t make things easier for him. As far as hes concerned runners are there to allow the server more time with their tables.

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol apologizes.

“Nah you’re good. We’re just understaffed. Like severely understaffed. No one’s bussing the tables. No one’s changing the grills fast enough. And last but not least, no one’s running the food.  When the kitchen gets backed up, we’re all fucked.” Sehun looks at his ipad. “It’s been more than ten minutes. I gotta get table sixty five’s meats. Shit, I haven’t even gotten their drinks yet. Can you grab them some waters at the bar?”

“Got it!”

Chanyeol’s never actually gotten drinks for tables before. He’s never even met the bartender. The bar zone is another battlefield altogether. A bunch of drinks are on the black mats atop the red marble counter. Tickets are sloppily stuck on the side of the glass, labeling the drink, server name, table, and even the time. Some are from twenty minutes ago. That wasn’t good. Chanyeol moves into action, grabbing six water glasses and puts them on the circular tray, praying he won’t drop this shit as soon as he runs it.

He’s pouring the water and ice, half missing as he tries to multi task and shove straws into each cup.

When he’s done with the pitchers, a dark looming presence that’s impressive from a rather short guy makes itself known.

“Are you not capable of the simple task of placing empty pitchers to the right side of the bar?��� Kyungsoo, his name tag reads, apparently the bartender, says calmly but with a cut throat icy tone. His big eyes beat Chanyeol’s own wide ones.

“My bad.” Chanyeol says distractedly nearly spilling a glass of water.

“Put the empty pitchers on the right side of the bar.”

Chanyeol does as he told and gets another scolding. “My right,” Kyungsoo emphasizes.

Chanyeol wants badly to answer back because he did not clarify that but he bites his tongue and does as he’s told.

He barely hears a ‘behind you’ of a familiar voice as he’s lifting his tray of glasses and if Baekhyun hadn’t swerved left when Chanyeol turned around a full on wet collision would have taken place.

“I said behind you,” Baekhyun snaps at him.

Chanyeols pouting now, tired of getting yelled at. “I didn’t hear you.” He says under his breath not making eye contact.

“Then fucking listen next time. Your ears are big enough.”

Chanyeol’s taken aback at the unsolicited insult. R00d, he thinks.

He miraculously makes it back to section six without spilling his tray, and drops the drinks off at 65.

They’re a group of young guys around their early 20’s all dressed fashionably in snapbacks and hoodies. There’s a few bottles of soju and giant Hite bottles already on their table despite having just got seated not too long ago. Must have started drinking during the wait time.

“Yo thanks!” One of them with bunny teeth and an innocent boy-next-door face whoops. Buzzed, Chanyeol observes.

“No problem.”

“Are you a server too?”

“Where’s Sehun?”

“I’m hungry!”

“Is Jin hyung working today?”

Chanyeol’s bombarded with questions and suddenly feels overwhelmed. Maybe he isn’t suited for server life. Having to actually be constantly interacting with tables no with strangers basically... hungry strangers. Drunk strangers.

“Sehun’s getting your food, guys.” Chanyeol says politely. “And I’m not sure who Jin hyung is. Sorry.”

“Aw man! No hooks up today.”

“It’s his birthday!”

“Can you sing for him?”

“Shut the fuck up!” the one who’s birthday it apparently was hisses. He’s a really pale slim guy on the very end of the booth near Chanyeol. He seems to be consumed by his oversized black hoodie and looks miserable but chill at the same time.

“But Yoongi-hyung! You get pineapples!”

“I loathe pineapples, Jimin.”

Jimin frowns as ‘Yoongi hyung’ stabs at a spicy radish banchan.

Another male on the opposite of the end of the booth tugs at Chanyeol’s sleeve. His melanin is popping and he’s got a video game character slash manga boy look about him along with a quite charming box shaped smile. “Can you guys sing for him later? His name is Yoongi, say he’s turning 87 years old.”

“I can hear you, Taehyung,” Yoongi seethes. “I’m not 87 years old.”

“Then stop acting like it!”

Chanyeol finds himself with the plastered on robotic smile like Sehun earlier and finally understands why. Customers be so needy and they all talk at once! He couldn’t imagine what it’d be like if it was a bigger party, or when they were ordering side dishes. Shudder. He wishes badly for Sehun to pop up and take him away from all this… this… customer service.

“Don’t mind them. They’ve had a few,” a smooth voice from the far end of the table says. This guy looks more mature and notably more sober than the others. His silver hair peeks out beneath a black beanie with the letters RM. “Just checking up but no rush or nothing, do you know if our food’s coming? We’re famished.”

“Oh! Yeah lemme go check in the kitchen for you.” Chanyeol’s right about to flee the scene when he sees Sehun approaching with 2 trays in hand. Full hands in full hands out yo. He passes one to Chanyeol and steps into the limelight.

“Hey guys! Sorry about that! I had to run some food but I’m back and I got your order! Yay!” Sehun drops the food one by one with lightning speed. “Beef bulgogi, double order brisket, beef belly, and spicy calamari.” He turns gracefully and grabs at the food in Chanyeol’s tray. “Also the appetizers, popcorn chicken, fried calamari and  japchae.”

Jimin is about to open his mouth to say something but Sehun cuts him off. “Don’t worry your soondooboois on the way. Just about 5 min, okay? They gotta make sure the soup is nice and hot for you! Sorry about that!”

“No, it’s okay! Thank you!”

Sehun walks Chanyeol away and sighs. “Thanks for taking care of them. Theyre regulars. Young but they tip pretty fat. Rare for millenials let me tell you that. Jin’s friends though. Before you ask, Jin’s main cashier. He’s off today. I’m surprised he’s not with them – ”

“— it’s the Yoongi guy’s 87th birthday.” Chanyeol blurts before he forgets.

Sehun laughs. “Oh god. He’s gonna kill us for singing. I’m so excited. This is gonna be fun. I’ma send in the pineapples in about 45 minutes.”

“Why pineapples?”

“We don’t have any birthday specials here but we do give a free plate of pineapples and sing.”

“Oh.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Sehun shrugs. “Anyway, once I get those, I want you to ask everyone available to do a birthday for us.”

“Copy that.” Chanyeol salutes. Sehun grins.

“You’re doing great by the way.”

Chanyeol grins back.

--

    Time passes differently inside EXO Korean BBQ house. One second it’s five pm the next it’s been three and a half hours. It’s a bit insane and almost feels like Chanyeol is in a whole other world completely. Hence, the forty five minutes until the birthday comes in the blink of an eye.

The adrenaline rush is definitely hitting Chanyeol by this point.

Sehun’s been reminding him a catchy but kinda lame ‘teamwork really makes the dreamwork’ with every checkbook he obsessively opens once the table is out the door, never failing to grin borderline maniacally at the 25% tip they’ve been getting.

“Bless,” Sehun cheers. “Suho better give me a strawberry soju cocktail for this.”

Chanyeol laughs. “I wouldn’t mind that either.”

“Yeah sure you deserve a shot! You’ve done well Yeollie. Can I call you that? Do people call you that?”

“Not really but it’s fine.” Tbh Chanyeol hated that nickname bc wtf. “As long as I get to call you Sehunnie.”

“Nevermind.”

They share another laugh and then lo and a behold, a random fellow server pops out.

“Hi Chen.” Sehun chirps. “Whatcha got there?”

“Your birthday pineapples, bitch.”

“Damn you stay on them birthday pineapples.”

“Well when you got vocals such as I then yes. You never know when you’ll get discovered and if it’s through singing happy birthday at a restaurant then so be it,” his finely chiseled jawbones are more pronounced as a foxy grin spreads across his face. He turns to Chanyeol. “Hi. Don’t believe we’ve met. New guy right?”

“Yeah that’s me. New guy.”

“Ha you’re funny. I like you, new guy.”

“Watch out. He says that to everyone he think he can take advantage and manipulate into doing his dirty work,” Sehun warns playing around on his ipad.

“Hey!”  Chen interjects. Chanyeol grins, feeling more at home and part of the EXO fam now. It was a good feeling.

“Anyway. Birthday time. Get like two or three more people, okay? And maybe a clean grill so you can bang on that shit and get everyone’s fucking attention.” Sehun dictates.

“On my way.”

Chanyeol speeds around the restaurant looking for non-busy folks. Fail – everyone basically says no or ignores him when he asks, sad face. Alright then, so maybe not quite part of the EXO fam yet.

He bumps into Baekhyun unintentionally. A cute shocked ‘ah!’ leaves Baekhyun’s mouth, and seriously it’s so cute but almost sexual that Chanyeol’s face burns. Wild, wild thoughts.

“Say ‘behind you’!” Baekhyun practically shouts at him looking scandalized. Chanyeol just stares, a bit flabbergasted at the feisty little thing Baekhyun was. A loud huff. “What do you want?”

“Birthday?” Chanyeol finally remembers his mission in life.

“Ugh,” Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Fine. Come on.”

Chanyeol can’t help the big goofy smile on his face at Baekhyun actually agreeing to do something nice for him well technically for Sehun but still. Progress, people.

They weave through the crowd of servers and customers alike with the grace of a seasoned employee. For once in Chanyeol’s life his clumsy demeanor is absent. Maybe actually putting a conscious effort to stop fucking up was all it took. Or maybe motivation. He stares at Baekhyun’s fluffy blonde hair and swears he can catch a whiff of mild sweet cologne. Of course Baekhyun probably had magical powers to still remain bulgogi and kalbi scent free even halfway through his shift. This guy was just way too attractive for his own good. Chanyeol is wondering ridiculously what his zodiac sign is when Baekhyun abruptly stops.

Chanyeol crashes right into him just as Baekhyun throws his hand behind him to stop Chanyeol albeit a little too late. His hand lands directly where the sun don’t shine, against Chanyeol’s groin or in Layman terms – full on dick smack. Ouch.

Chanyeol groans, low and pained and would very much like to keel over at his premature demise, but with the intertia still in full effect, he stumbles into Baekhyun’s shoulder instead. This brings him right against Baekhyun’s ass and despite just getting hit down there, feels his cock twitch as blood rushes down. Oh no noono.

“Can you watch out?” Baekhyun asks as if it was his fault and blatantly ignoring what he had done to Chanyeol’s family jewels.

“I am sorry.” Chanyeol dryheaves, seeing stars.

Still in the midst of getting it together, Chanyeol sees a server in front of Baekhyun pulling back after replacing a burnt grill from the table right in front of them. So that’s what caused this random traffic jam in the first place. Then Baekhyun’s peering back at him.

“Are you okay?” Baekhyun asks with an amused smirk.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s not.

Baekhyun looks down for a brief moment then back up into Chanyeol’s eyes again. “That was your thing wasn’t it?”

OH my god, Chanyeol thinks. Is he seriously asking that right now?! Freakin’ specifically and shit? Chanyeol doesn’t know what to say! And he’s sure his face is red as a tomato.

“I – it – “

Baekhyun laughs again. The second time Chanyeol’s got him to and the 77% chance of never being able to have children due to untimely hot grill induced dick smacks seems worth it.

“Well get used to it,” Baekhyun advises. “It happens a lot here.”

Chanyeol has no idea why the hell that is a thing that happens a lot here and truthfully that’s a little scare and almost enough to make him turn in his two weeks but then Baekhyun’s snickering giving Chanyeol reason to believe this little shit was just fucking with him. Heck, that was probably on purpose. They finally make it to section six, Chanyeol speechless the whole way not trusting himself to not blurt out WHY YOU HIT MY DICK and dramatically explain it has feelings too, you know.

Sehun, Chen and a few others have already appeared to have gathered around table sixty five.

“FINALLY!” Sehun shouts.

“Shut up,” Baekhyun says with no bite.

“His name is Yoongi,” Sehun tells everyone then they’re in a single file line of tall men in black looking like a squad. Gang gang.

Sehun suddenly bends down and brings his hand to his mouth as he booms,

“Ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee we got a birthday.”

“AYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WE GOT A BIRTHDAY!” the rest of group echos almost deafeningly. Table sixty joins in, cheering madly looking incredibly shit faced.

“Hey everyone we got a birthday in the house. His name is Yoongi and he’s turning 87 years old today!” the crowd laughs as Yoongi looks absolutely livid, mortified, and tipsy all at the same time. He sinks down into his seat. Sehun’s got the pineapples in front of him and three hands reach out with torch lighters lighting up almost comically. “Let’s all sing him happy birthday!”

Chanyeol thinks he’s singing loud but it’s drowned out by the whole crowd. It’s a bit moving, hearing everyone sing. Strangers who don’t even know you all singing and helping you feel special on your birthday. It was making Chanyeol weirdly sentimental. The added ‘WOO’ with every line also made it fun and silly. Chen apparently wasn’t lying about his vocal skills. Hella extra but damn. People were loving it even as he did an unsolicited high note of Yoongi’s name in the background for no real reason.

Chanyeol’s enjoying the whole scene unfolding when he finally hears Baekhyun singing. If he wasn’t already sprung off his ass for the guy he would be now. Even though it’s quite a ruckus in there, he can clearly hear him and if that wasn’t the loveliest sound he’s heard in his life... he doesn’t realize he’s staring, captivated, until Baekhyun turns his head and catches his gaze.

His eyes are lit up from all the flames of the torch lighters, red orange embers dancing in his dark irises and Chanyeol cannot fathom how anyone can be so heartstoppingly divine. He’s effortlessly gorgeous and he’s more beautiful than the moment.

Its over too fast. There’s yelling, clapping, some howling and a random ass Lil Jon style YEEEEEEEEEEA-YUHHHHHHHHHH.

The rest of the servers disperse just as quickly as they assimilated.

Sehun’s just finished having a conversation with table sixty five – all chanyeol heard was soju cocktails on the house – and then he finds himself huddled in a nearby corner, Sehun on his left and Baekhyun on his right.

“How is he?” Baekhyun asks Sehun, and Chanyeol realizes he’s referring to him but straight up acting like he wasn’t there.

Sehun gives a thumbs up with no hesitation. “Good! He’s good.”

“Hm,” Baekhyun doesn’t look convinced. “I wouldn’t know. Never had him.”

“Yet!” Sehun gestures almost lazily at Chanyeol. “Do you want him?”

The question is about serving and running but geez it sounds weird and questionable and makes Chanyeol’s cheeks burn a little at the words if taken out of context.

“I’m good,”  Baekhyun says flippantly, but then he moves up against Chanyeol, real close, so close it brings his soft looking lips millimeters away from Chanyeol’s collar as he looks up at him. “He’s all yours.”

Chanyeol can’t meet his gaze, his eyes drop to those kissable lips, he can’t stop staring at them. Baekhyun licks said lips, wetting them probably because its’ so smoky in here so they had a tendency to get chapped but haha was that not sexual as fuck? Or so help me. Or help Chanyeol. Yeah Chanyeol needs help. Baekhyun’s really making him question his morals because his presence alone is enough to get Chanyeol junior stirring in the confines of his slacks.

“You owe me again.” Is all Baekhyun says but in a quite voice intended for only Chanyeol to hear. Then he’s walking away without sparing him another glance.

Chanyeol feels frozen to the spot but hot all over.

God, Baekhyun…. He was so damn fine, fuhhhhhhhhh. FUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

“Soooooooooooo,” Sehun raises an eyebrow slowly, arms crossed, seemingly picking up on the thicc sexual tension lingering in the air. “Wanna run for him?”

“Huh?” Chanyeol’s still out of it.

“Baekhyun. He doesn’t like to admit it but he needs a runner sometimes. I seen his section burning because he’s too busy flirting with customers.” Sehun picks at a fingernail.

“What makes you think I want to run for him?” Chanyeol gets defensive, feeling a bit ashamed at being so easy to read.

Sehun rolls his eyes. “Please like I haven’t seen the way you look at him. He’s got the same effect on half the human population.”

“Are you saying I look at him?”

“Yes, Sherlock Holmes.”

“I don’t look at him,” Chanyeol denies hurriedly.

“Relax,” Sehun laughs. “I’m not gonna tell him. Though he probably already knows. But I can request Suho to put you on the floor plan as a runner for him.”

“Would that really be a good idea…”

“Sure! One of the things about EXO, is we are one! There’s no front of the house or back of the house we are all one. We like to make sure we’re a team and that we can work well together. This will be the perfect opportunity to develop a good relationship with Baekhyun hyung. He’s an amazing server. He makes the most tips every shift. You can learn a lot from him.”

Develop a good relationship? Chanyeol’s got different things in mind. Shit. nooo. Can’t think that way. Unresolved sexual tension will not help this situation.

“I don’t know... he doesn’t seem to like me very much.” Chanyeol  sighs piling up a few empty plates.

“Nonsense!” Sehun booms throwing his hand up for emphasis and nearly smacking a guest in the face as he does so. He leans closer. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you too.” He winks and goes back to table touching.

Chanyeol bites his lip, eyes searching for Baekhyun through the busy bustling restaurant. His heart stops, then skips several beats and refuses to go back to normal when he sees the object of his desire staring back.

--

    Chanyeol goes home that night with more than house tip. His first runner tip out. Sehun had been generous. Fifty bucks is pretty good for a tip out. Most runners only get 10% but Sehun said he had kicked ass and was a natural and I quote ‘would be serving in no time.’

Jongin’s still up at their shared one bedroom. He’s in the living room which is technically his area of the apartment, six beers deep, still in his pajamas, and playing Monster Hunter.

“Yo.”

“Whaddup.”

“Tired as shit,” Chanyeol kicks off his shoes.

“You smell like straight up Korean samgyubsal dude,” Jongin scrunches his nose.

“And you smell like bad life decisions,” Chanyeol eyes the empty pack of beer and the half full bottle of jameson. “What’s the occasion?”

“Midterms over. Got a D. I’m celebrating.” Jongin shrugs. “Wanna join me?”

“Wow you finally got the D.”

“That joke is as old as your virginity.”

“I am not –  “

Okay, but he is. Was it weird??? He’s like twenty four… he may have never had a real relationship before but that doesn’t mean something was wrong with him! Was it his fault if his three focuses in life growing up was family, school, and gaming?! ‘Scuse him if he never took the time to hoe around. Matter of fact,  a lot of girls and even guys found Chanyeol attractive. Things just… never worked out. And and and it’s not like he was a pure holy virgin angel nun or something! No he’s seen a boobie or two. He’s definitely  kissed before; drunken make outs reign supreme in the formative college years. So yeah! He was like Mother Theresa on the hood of a Mercedes Benz. Innocent, but not thaaaaaaaaat innocent... or something. Damn, it’s hard to defend his honor. Deciding vehemently in his mind, this was HIS choice and it’s totally normal and ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE HIM and he’s actually lucky because he is waiting for someone special, Chanyeol gets back to the subject at hand.  DRINKING.  Chanyeol doesn’t know why the hell not he wouldn’t. His body is aching all over and the exhaustion is starting to set in. A beer or two sounded wonderful. He opts to take a quick shower to get the stench of bulgogi off him but the quick shower turns in to a twenty minute jacking off session.

Dark eyes, light hair, the hottest piece of ass he’s ever seen…

And an aggressive but beautiful and intoxicating Baekhyun telling Chanyeol to fuck him harder.

“Ah fuck,” Chanyeol hisses as he comes everywhere. What a huge load.

If Sehun’s true to his word and gets Chanyeol as a runner for Baekhyun, it’s gonna take a lot of pre shift jizz sessions to stop the inevitable boners a certain server will give him.

Chanyeol ignores the beer and goes straight for the hard liquor, hating how everything was more and more reminding him of someone he’s only known for a few days and didn’t really respect him but was slowly taking over his existence.

“You good?” Jongin slurs, looking worried but mostly drunk.

Chanyeol gives him two thumbs up and reaches for the controller.

--

  Running for Baekhyun turns out to be as sexually frustrating as Chanyeol’s fantasies predicted it to be.

At first, the animosity was strong.

“Who said you could run for me?” Baekhyun had asked when Chanyeol was clocking in fumbling with his apron trying not to stare at Baekhyun’s ass. “I don’t need a runner.”

“Am I running for you?” Chanyeol asks innocently, deciding to play dumb like he did not know that that was the original plan Sehun had made last night.

That gets Baekhyun shoving the PM floor plan to Chanyeol’s face. “What does it say?”

“Oh. I guess I am.” Chanyeol gulps nervously. Why the hell was Baekhyun so worked up, sheesh. “I can just not run for you, if you want…”

“And have Suho up my ass? No thanks,” Baekhyun pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. He steps closer. “Are you even good?”

“W-what,” Chanyeol stammers at the close proximity. Baekhyun’s breath smells just like the minty gum he was chewing.

“Are you good?”

“Uh, Sehun said I was good.”

“Sehun also said you wanted to fuck me,” Baekhyun says with a roll of his eyes and it’s not sure if its jokingly or sarcastically, if it was a test, or what.

Chanyeol opens his mouth to say something, he doesn’t even know what there is to say to that but then Baekhyun goes on.

“Anyways, I want you close to me at all times. Bother me. Ask me what I need. I don’t wanna see you running off helping others. If someone else asks you for something, ignore them. You’re my runner, so you run only for me. Do you understand that?” Baekhyun’s speech sounds like a weird bdsm euphemism but Chanyeol nods repeatedly to every word he says.

“Okay,” Baekhyun’s voice is sweet. He must have a thing for telling people what to do. “Let’s go then.” There he goes again…

“ESKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETIT!” Someone yells from the dish pit, adding comedy to the otherwise tense moment.

Chanyeol follows behind Baekhyun, eyes trying not to enjoy the view too much.

He’s failing miserably though. He keeps glancing down – down at Baekhyun’s ass. Ugh. He’s so sexy. He wants to reach out and touch it. But he’s sure Baekhyun wouldn’t appreciate that so he keeps his hands to himself. It’s getting impossible to keep his thirst lowkey when Baekhyun’s around though and Baekhyun being all nice and cordial isn’t helping. Chanyeol knows it’s simply because he’s basically his slave today and tips depend on how well they perform as a tag team duo.

But… like…

Baekhyun is touchy feely as fuck.

It’s half way through the dinner rush when Chanyeol begins to reach his limits. Baekhyun wasn’t like this the first few hours, but in the next few hours that followed Chanyeol noticed Baekhyun’s been on three bathroom breaks which were probably not for peeing but for chugging more of his personal. Each time he returns, his breath no longer smells of minty gum but instead pure alcohol of the cognac variety.

And the alcohol definitely loosens Baekhyun up.

It’s small and subtle gestures that Chanyeol doesn’t notice at first. Baekhyun constantly asks if he’s okay, but in a sweet touchingly concerned tone with matching sincerity in his beautiful perfect eyes. Second, he keeps thanking Chanyeol and using the word ‘please’ when he needs something. That was doing bad things to Chanyeol’s mind but let’s not go there. It’s little things like this that’s got Chanyeol feeling like he’s gonna spontaneously combust. Now when Baekhyun asks for something, he leans in so close, the way he looks up at Chanyeol with a smile, the same smile Chanyeol knows is the fake sweet robotic smile all servers do but to have it directed at him from Baekhyun – shit’s got him weak. Baekhyun is cute, sexy and irresistible. He’s charming when he wants to be and not only using it on his tables but he’s using it on Chanyeol too. And Chanyeol doesn’t really know why. He hopes there’s more to it thant the alcohol talking.

“Chanyeollie,” Baekhyun tugs him to the side station and proceeds to eliminate the space between them, bringing their chest right against each other as he moves his mouth to Chanyeol’s ear. It seems to be done in an effort to get his words to reach Chanyeol since it’s extremely loud in the restaurant at the moment but wasn’t this a bit much?

“Y-yes??”

“I need you,” Baekhyun breathes against his neck. So so wrong, Chanyeol thinks. That sounds so wrong. Ugh. He swallows hard.. Baekhyun continues. “If you didn’t know,” he murmurs, “We just got slammed. I’ve taken all their drink orders, and I can get the rice and side dishes but I want you to get the drinks. Can you do that for me?”

Chanyeol’s heart is racing. It’s hammering so loudly in his chest at how close Baekhyun is to him, Chanyeol doesn’t think its possible for his heart to beat this rapidly but here we are.

“Okay, I’ll get it.” Chanyeol tries stepping back but he’s trapped against the wall.

Baekhyun looks up at him. They’re within kissing distance for crying out loud. There’s a pink flush high on Baekhyun’s cheekbones, another give away he certainly has been drinking. He looks adorable… and so doable. Shit.

“Thanks,” Baekhyun’s sultry gaze drops down to Chanyeol’s lips. Chanyeol thinks it’s his imagination he swears it is but nope, Baekhyun’s hella staring right at his mouth. “I owe you,” He says slowly and just as slowly drags his gaze back up to meet Chanyeol’s eyes again. Then he licks his lips and smiles. “Go.”

Chanyeol’s temporarily stunned into the side station even minutes after Baekhyun saunters back to section seven.

Shit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit. Chanyeol can’t feel his legs. He can’t feel anything but the shameful tug of arousal pooling in all sorts of heated desperation and lust around his lower stomach and groin. He’s never felt this turned on. He never wanted someone this much. Baekhyun could probably burn his ass with a hot grill and he’d still wanna hit that. This was getting out of control.

“Are you okay?” Sehun asks him at the bar as Chanyeol robotically fills 16 glasses of water on one tray.

“Yes.”

“That’s a lot of waters.”

“Yes.”

“Baekhyun making you do all the hard labor huh?”

Chanyeol snaps. “What exactly is his deal anyway?”

Sehun looks amused. “Watcha mean?”

“Why is he so. He’s acting different today.”

“Probably drunk. He always drinks on the job when he has a runner.”

“I know he’s drunk or whatever. But like. I’m getting whiplash here. One second he’s – but then. Ugh. Is he usually, you know. Like that…?” Chanyeol makes wild gestures that don’t mean shit.

Sehun snickers. “The fuck?”

Chanyeol doesn’t know how to say it. He’s probably trippin’, this is wishful thinking and Baekhyun isn’t making moves or seducing him, he’s just being nice and Chanyeol’s taking it the wrong way because everyone’s kind of a dick here and speaking of dicks apparently his is a poor depraved soul that needs some bad.

“Nevermind,” he says instead feeling stupid. He distractedly grabs sixteen straws and starts stabbing them into the water.

A laugh from Sehun. “Oh boy. Don’t tell me he’s already got you all riled up? It’s been three hours.”

Yeah three hours of nonstop touches – touches to Chanyeol’s bicep, lower back, and Baekhyun had a habit of backing up into Chanyeol I’m talking ass to groin and remaining in that position while he tells him what to do. To ‘overlook his section’ most likely but WTF. Who talks to people in that position? Baekhyun that’s who. Chanyeol’s already practiced blaming any felt hardness on his ipad in his apron pocket if anything were to pop up. Which it almost did… many times. Chanyeol was having a record of how many semis he can get in one day.

Shaking his head, he lets out a frustrated groan, the most distraught emotions he’s ever shown at EXO. “He’s hella on me,” Chanyeol blurts feeling dumb again and very teenage boy.

Sehun stirs a strawberry lemonade. “Uh yeah. That’s Baekhyun. You should be happy though.  It really seemed like he hated your guts but now it looks like he’s tryna get you up in his. Teambuilding!”

Somehow Chanyeol doesn’t think hoeing around with your coworkers means team building but sure. Let’s go with that.

He decides not to say anything more. Can Sehun even really be trusted? All the servers here seem to have a dark side. It was like an anime where all the heroes have an alter ego or some shit.

Dropping off the drinks is like the hard level of a roblox obstacle course. Everyone’s literally in the damn way even on a Sunday evening. No one seems to care when he says behind you. Chanyeol was steadily heading towards his first EXO mental breakdown.

“There you are,” Baekhyun calls out heading towards Chanyeol once the drinks were all set. “Are you ok?”

“Yes. Hi.” Chanyeol says through gritted teeth. Baekhyun may as well be the devil in disguise. All the sins in Chanyeol’s mind were making him want to drown himself in some holy water. He didn’t get it. He’s never usually like this. It was making him a bit disgusted with himself.

“I’m going on my thirty. Can you watch over the section?” Baekhyun strokes Chanyeol’s arm as he asks. What the fuck –

“Yeah I can do that. Is everyone good right now.”

“Mhm.” Baekhyun gestures to a party of sixteen. “I know those guys. They’re hella chill. They shouldn’t give you any trouble. I’ve already told them I’m going on break. So just 74 or 75 arent part of their group. 74 are harmless little ahjumma’s, charm them with your dimple. The other is a group of thots, charm them with your deep voice, maybe act like you wanna bone them or something.” Baekhyun explains quickly then pulls Chanyeol down by the collar, “ – but don’t actually do that.” He glares playfully then nearly gives Chanyeol a heartattack as he shoves his ipad into Chanyeol’s apron pocket which is oh you know, right near his crotch. Dear god, Chanyeol thinks. “You got this!”

Then he’s off, and heading towards the back room.

--

    Chanyeol doesn’t notice it’s Baekhyun at the party of sixteen until 8 minutes later. He’s got a burgundy windbreaker on over his uniform and he’s pulled up a chair right next to an extremely good looking mofo that makes up head count number one in the cockfest of chinese dudes at the table. Chanyeol had to admit, the guy had the face of a model and he looked tall too if his giant yaoi hands were anything to go by. He was also a blonde, dyed and dirty with an undercut that looked fresh. This guy must get haircuts every two weeks to maintain that shit. Do you even know how much haircuts cost these days?! This guy’s loaded. There was no other explanation. His resting bitch face only disappeared into a gummy smile whenever they raised their soju bombs to cheers or when Baekhyun opened his mouth.

Baekhyun was clearly lit by this point, he had taken way too many shots of the cocktail and the soju bombs. Chanyeol didn’t know if it was jealousy that was pissing him off or the blatant disregard to the rules. Then he sees Baekhyun massaging the Ballin Bi-weekly Haircut guy’s thigh from under the table as he giggles and Chanyeol nearly walks out. What. A fucking. Hoe.

“Excuse me, can we get a grill change please?” one of the girls from the table of thots ask sweetly, batting her fake lashes.

“Okay.” Chanyeol lifelessly grabs a clean grill from the side station making sure to mean mug Baekhyun's fine ass man friend as he does so. He gets ignored, existence forgotten and sighs as he switches the grills at 74.

“Thank you! You’re the best!” the girls gush.

“No problem,” Chanyeol’s mastered the fake smile early in the game. He wonders how many smiles here were actually genuine because he knows his isn’t anymore. Can he have a fucking shot right now too?

Speak of the devil – Baekhyun looks up just as Chanyeol booms ‘hot grill’ like a war cry.

“Chanyeollie! Hey. Want a shot?” he offers as if he’s part of this table, not working or anything.

“No thanks.” Chanyeol says, pride stopping him.

“Come on, dude. Live a little.” The guy beside Baekhyun says, smiling. The fuck, why was he smiling? Once again – WERE ANY SMILES SINCERE HERE? The world may never know.

“I’m working,” Chanyeol says politely but it comes off harsh.

Baekhyun laughs. “Sorry guys. He’s new.”

“It’s cool. I respect his work ethics.”

“What about my work ethics?”

“What work ethics?”

Baekhyun hits him. It’s flirtatious. “Kris!” he whines. That was flirtatious too. Chanyeol’s eyes darken and he angrily moves away. KriiiiiiiiiSSssssss, his mind mocks.

They’re so casual with each other. Definitely fucking. Chanyeol wants to die. Why must all the good ones be hoes?

He drops off the dirty grill and notices the time. Hasn’t it been more than 30 min? Where the fuck was the manager? Did he not care?

He sneaks into the back to peer into the office and sees Sehun in there, back facing him talking to who was probably Suho.

“My schedule is fucked. I asked you for Wednesday off weeks ago!”

“Sehun, please calm down.”

“I’ve been waiting for so long but you’ve still never made the time. You suck!”

“Sehun – babe, please – ”

Babe? Woooooooooooooooah.

Realization dawns upon Chanyeol that this is most likely not a conversation he should be hearing. He’s about to slowly walk away like a ninja in the night but Sehun senses him and catches his eye. Shit. Chanyeol runs off.

He gets the check for 74 and 75. Takes orders for the other side of the party and even grabs rice for another servers section. By then Baekhyun is still straight chillin.

Chanyeol can’t stand anymore of this BS. He’s not gonna make a scene or anything he wasn’t the type. But his aura wasn’t something he could hide. He tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve and face. Baekhyun looks over and although shit faced seems to finally come back from whatever hell planet he was on right now.

He gets up. Kris guy tugs him.

“I have to go back now.”

“Just clock out. I’ll tip you your other two hours pay.”

“You’re gonna tip me it anyway,” Baekhyun sasses then walks off, but as he does he grabs Chanyeol by the sleeve without saying a single thing. Chanyeol’s forced to follow suit. They pass Chen in the expo line.

“Watch my section,” Baekhyun orders like a boss. Chen scowls but doesn’t decline. Damn was everyone Baekhyun’s bitch around this place.

Chanyeol’s about to ask where they’re going but it could only be one place seeing as he’s being dragged past the host stand, past the waiting area and there’s only one area to go here – the bathroom.

He’s sure Baekhyun is gonna yell at him for something or the other. The lobby has cleared out at least, so the bathroom is empty when he’s all but manhandled into it.

“Take your apron off.” Baekhyun commands instantly.

“Why?” Chanyeol asks defiantly.

“You can’t wear your apron in the bathroom, dumbass!” Baekhyun says loudly as if this was a piece of information passed on from generation to generation at an early infant age. Chanyeol doesn’t like it.

“Well my bad. I didn’t even know I was going to the bathroom.” Chanyeol mutters, feeling like a rebel. His heart beats wildly for even talking back.

Baekhyun ignores him, grabbing at the string of Chanyeol’s apron, right atop his crotch and undoing it himself.

“Whoa – “

“I said take it off.”

The apron is thrown in the little gold tub where clean towels are supposed to go below the sink. Baekhyun does the same for himself then grabs Chanyeol again and shoves him inside the stall. It isn’t until he’s locking it that Chanyeol’s alarm bells go off. Dude what was this. Was he gonna kill him? Omg.

“Baekhyun – “ Chanyeol starts.

“You are so fucking distracting.” Baekhyun growls once again putting hands on Chanyeol – pressing him against the cold marble wall behind him as the music booms around them.

“What? I’m sorry?“ Chanyeol’s adrenaline rush is waning, he feels dizzy and disoriented.

“You should be,” Baekhyun stares seriously at him. His cheeks are even more flushed, lips a kissable dark red from the strawberry soju cocktail. “I can’t work properly with you.”

Chanyeol feels his stomach flip. “I’m sorry…” he says sadly, anger forgotten just like that and suddenly feeling like a failure.

“Stop apologizing, you idiot.” Fact; Baekhyun even rolls his eyes while drunk. Noted. He also still looks damn good. Blonde bangs fall into his eyes as he shakes his head in unexplained frustration. “I mean I can’t work with you. Properly with you because I’m distracted. You’re distracting me and I NEVER get distracted.”

“Why are you distracted.” Chanyeol gets the question in, having a weird feeling about the direction this conversation was going.

“Because of you,” Baekhyun spits and his tone sounds disgusted, but he’s looking into Chanyeol’s eyes like he wants him. “All I can think about is getting you alone.”

Chanyeol’s mind goes blank.

Then races.

“What?” He’s blushing. He can’t not be blushing. What did Baekhyun just say? His cheeks are positively burning and he feels like the drunk one with how his brain isn’t functioning right now. Had he heard him correctly? Is he going crazy? Was he fantasizing? Is this real life?

“You know what I mean.” Baekhyun says this with confidence. “You seem innocent but you can’t be that innocent.” Of course no, for he was mother Theresa on the hood of a Mercedes Benz we went over this remember.  

“Umm,” Chanyeol is speechless, shook, and trying hard to make sense of the situation. “I think I know what you mean? B-but I’m not one hundred percent sure so I don’t want to assume anything.” Wow, talk about ruining the moment. Spoken like a true loser. Go chanyeol.

Baekhyun stares at him. He seems to be having a hard time understanding things at the moment too but at least he can blame it on the alcohol. “What? Are you telling me you don’t want me?”

“Um,” Whoa. Where that come from. He didn’t know how to say ‘yes I want joo’ without sounding like a complete fuckboy so instead opts for a, “Y-you’re very attractive.” Hurriedly with no swag, stammering as he does so, feeling a w k w a r d. No one says things like this out loud these days! Don’t fuck this up, his mind and libido screams at him. But at the same time… Baekhyun’s drunk isn’t he? Does he even know what he’s saying?

“I know,” Baekhyun nods with a slight daze eyed smirk. He’s cute af. “And you want me?”

“I do.” Chanyeol admits in a half whisper. He was scared to say it, to let Baekhyun know already but put on the spot like this he was more scared if Baekhyun thought the opposite. The truth shall set you free.

Baekhyun smiles looking extremely pleased with life. “Okay good.”

He presses against Chanyeol but unlike during their shift where Baekhyun would be close but not close enough no just a tease, this time – their bodies meet perfectly. Their height difference feels as though made for each other. Baekhyun rubs his lips into Chanyeol’s neck, placing wet kisses. Chanyeol can’t believe this is happening Chanyeol can’t even breathe.

“How do you want me?” Baekhyun asks tongue swirling around Chanyeol’s adam’s apple.

Chanyeol’s about to bust a nut forreal.

He’s hard already and its been two seconds since this physical shit even started. Baekhyun can probably feel it no Baekhyun can definitely feel it, there’s no way he can’t, plus he reaches down and squeezes, looking up to smile sweetly at Chanyeol. OH MY GOD –

“That was fast,” Baekhyun comments, stroking Chanyeol through his slacks.

“Ah – ! Ahhhh – fuck,” Chanyeol groans squeezing his eyes shut because this was all too stimulating and he didn’t trust himself not to come right then and there. WAS THIS REAL.

“That is the plan.” Baekhyun grins. “Do you have lube?”

“Wait.” Chanyeol snaps out of it. “Wait. Stop. We can’t … do this… here.”

“You don’t have lube?”

“No! I mean – “

“Then why not?”

There were a million reasons why not! Uh, they were on the clock? It was a filthy mens bathroom at their work for the love of god don’t tell him this did that not bother Baekhyun at all!

“You’re drunk.” Chanyeol says instead, trying not to think too much about how he missed Baekhyun’s lips against his neck already.

Baekhyun laughs. “I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re hella drunk,” Chanyeol says firmly and with great effort pushes Baekhyun off. He regrets it immediately when he sees the flash of hurt on Baekhyun’s face so he rushes to explain. “I don’t want to take advantage of you or anything.”

“Oh god.” Baekhyun rolls his eyes looking offended. His whole demeanor does a 360. He apparently isn’t used to getting ��no’ for an answer. “Forget it! I should’ve known.”

“Known what?“

“That you are a pussy ass loser bitch noob. This never happened.”

“Baekhyun – what – “ He frowns, hurt. “I’m not a pussy bitch.”

“Pussy ass loser bitch noob,” Baekhyun corrects.

Chanyeol ignores it. “Listen, I do like you, I know we just met but I’ve never felt so strongly for someone before it’s weird and scary but all I know is I like you. You make me happy. I even liked running for you. Seeing you smile… “ Baekhyun’s staring at him with glassy eyes. He seems to have reached the drunk emotional stage of no return. Chanyeol gently puts a hand on his shoulder. “And of course I want you…” He decides to leave out the ‘nice ass’ part ( maybe some other time ) and continues with sincerity, “But this isn’t – you’re drunk. I don’t want it like this.” Chanyeol thinks he did a good job explaining himself but Baekhyun’s facial expression is devoid of anything but drunk anger and rejection.

“No, fuck it. You’re judging me like everyone in the fucking world does. And you’re lying just like everyone else too! So I’ll just go find someone else.” Baekhyun waves him off preparing to leave.

Chanyeol panics. “What the fuck – don’t do that!” Chanyeol shouts, a spike of jealousy and possessive ness and the image of Kris in his mind.

“Why the hell not? I can do whatever I want.”

“You should respect yourself. If you wanna do that, don’t just go to random people when youre drunk. You deserve more and youre better than that.”

Baekhyuns gaze is cold as death. “you don’t know me you don’t know anything. Fuck off. This was a mistake. You can go home. Like I said, I don’t need a runner.” Baekhyun turns his back and when chanyeol tries to grab him shoves chanyeol back with unrestrained anger and strength. Chanyeols back hits the wall. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Baekhyun walks out after that leaving chanyeol alone in the bathroom. The music plays loudly. But chanyeol doesn’t hear anything but the harsh words replaying themselves in the his head.

He feels like hes been stabbed. Had he fucked up by saying no to baekhyuns advances? He think he did the right thing here. most guys would probably go for it, but this wasn’t okay. It was totally taking advantage if he did what Baekhyun wanted. Shit did Baekhyun even want him or was he the closest available hot blooded male? He didn’t wanna think if this was a normal thing Baekhyun did when hes had too much to drink or if Baekhyun had actually been feeling him.

He knows Baekhyun is more complex than what he lets people see. Most people act the way Baekhyun do if they’ve been hurt before and developed a guard around themselves to avoid being betrayed again. Trust issues and shit. chanyeol doesn’t know why hes so torn up about this because baehyun wasright he didn’t know him at all. But he just felt this strong connection to him. he really fucking like him… the few moments where he got to see Baekhyun smile and laugh made him happy and he didn’t know why. Shit feelings were really such a curse. This is why he stayed single like his whole damn life. Feelings just got in the way and made you depressed.

But Baekhyun…

He couldn’t stop these feelings even if he tried.

He has no idea what to do, he picks up his apron and wraps I around his waist. He looks at himself in the mirror. He looks flushed and sweaty and miserable. He splashes water on his face. It doesn’t help. He feels feverish and a little sick to his stomach the though of Baekhyun hating him.

He sees another apron and realizes Baekhyun forgot his. Hes picking it up when a piece of paper falls out.

To; chanyeol thanks for being an awesome runner. Drinks on me >.> I owe you, remember? 925 237 2372

~Baek