#if you ARE telling people how much my halo fics suck

[ageless-aislynn]

For 10 years, my fic with by far the most hits on AO3 was "Five Times Oliver Held Felicity (And The One Time She Held Him)."

And I'm proud of it, don't get me wrong. I think it actually contains some of my better writing. 🤷‍♀️ But it ended up being a one-off sort of thing: I thought I'd write more Olicity or Arrow in general and then just... didn't.

However, it was so far ahead of all of my other fics in hits, I figured nothing would ever challenge it for the top spot. I hadn't checked my stats in quite a while and so I was surprised to discover that the "Five Times" Olicity fic was now in second place.

I've written 114 fics in the Flash fandom and none of them have remained in my top 5, that was another surprise! But 3 of my 11 Halo fics now are: "15 Minutes," (John/female reader) "Side Effects" (John/Cortana, John/Kai, very NSFW) and "Recreation" (Kai/male reader, same world as "15 Minutes").

Now, why is any of that important? It's for the sheer fact that I don't write sci-fi military fiction well AT ALL. My interest has always been in the more domestic and romantic themes, for lack of a better thing to call it. "You write the moments between the adventures" was what somebody told me about my Doctor Who fics ("Balancing Act," which is third place on that list, is a multi-chaptered Ten/Donna NSFW romantic fix-it fic where every chapter clearly takes place after some sort of new adventure that I don't show you but instead reference 😉). I agree with that assessment, that IS basically what I write.

A little while ago, I read somebody criticizing a particular type of Halo fanfiction. They didn't name mine by name but basically said it wasn't written "properly" like it's "supposed" to be and was everything that's "wrong" with uninformed people writing things they shouldn't be.

Here's the kicker: I think they're wrong. If they would've pointed at somebody else's fic and said that same thing, I would've wanted to jump in and tell them to get over themselves. People are allowed to enjoy whatever they want to enjoy! If somebody wrote a story that's "wrong" in your opinion, then all you have to do is scroll on by.

Heck, if somebody wants to write about Master Chief riding into battle on a T-rex while waving a glowing, magic sword given to him personally by Gandalf the Grey... Well, dang it, I'd read it, lol! Yeah, that wouldn't take place in canon but what is fanfic even for if not to allow all sorts of exploration? What if Halo had dinosaurs and magic swords? What if Chief and Silver Team or Blue Team or a brand new team of OC Spartans desperately needed to go buy new curtains for their apartments after they'd hung out for a while at the most happening coffee shop on Reach where Thel 'Vadam was the barista who made amazing specialty drinks while also heading up the local garage band?

(Yeah, I made that manip for something else but might as well get more use out of it, right? 😂)

Anyway, you get my drift. If one of my fellow Halo writers would've gotten criticism like that, I would've challenged it. But it was too close to my own work and instead, I absorbed it. I feel like I shouldn't be writing for Halo, I'm too wrong, I'm too off. I mean, no wonder I'm struggling to finish my WIPs, right? That's the first thing that pops to mind when I try to write anything: Yeah, but you're doing this all wrong. You should be ashamed of what you're writing. You're insulting the real fans of Halo by trivializing the characters like this. You're disrespecting actual military people living today by getting too much of this wrong.

And so seeing those stats at AO3 really meant something to me. I know I don't write authentic action-orientated sci-fi military fiction. I know that. But I love the characters and I love seeing them in situations they wouldn't be in in canon and I can't even tell you why. But people have been reading my fics? At least, I hope the hits aren't coming from people passing the links around with a big ol' ZOMG, please don't ever write Halo like THIS IDIOT, okay??? attached to them. 🤞😣🤞😉

This sounds pretty silly seeing it written down like this. I know, it's like, Get over yourself, Ais, not everything is about you! But I've been really struggling to get to the root of my writer's block so I could figure out what's keeping me from finishing my WIPs. And seeing those stats tonight and realizing how many more times my Halo fics seem to have been read over my other fandoms...?

Well, that might only mean that Halo is just the more popular fandom right now and it's nothing more than that. But it's nice to think that, even though there are people out there who think somebody unqualified like me shouldn't be posting their ridiculous little stories, maybe there are other people who've enjoyed them, even as unauthentic as they are?

I dunno. Food for thought.

I'm hoping this will inspire me to at least finish up the next chapter for "15 Minutes." 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Thanks for reading. *hugs* to you if you've ever or are currently struggling with anything like this. Tell your stories, they're worth it. I believe in you. 🤗🤗🤗

I just need to try harder to believe in myself, hm? 🤔

PS - I've gotten SO MANY wonderful comments on my Halo fics, so why is it that the hate that might not even have been meant for me is so much louder in my head and crowds the nice comments out? I hate that, I truly do. 😖

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I am tireddddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Professor Smith dresses you in a set of pajamas; white with blue stripes. They’re not your size, you assume they might be his. You’re not sure. You’re too woozy to think about much more than your throbbing hand. 

He lays you in the hotel bed as you shake uncontrollably. You’re freezing cold but he keeps touching your forehead and saying you’re burning up. How can that be when you can’t get warm? 

Your lashes flutter between glimpses of him pacing and sitting on the edge of the bed. When all is dark, you see his shadow beside you. His breathing suggests he’s asleep but you can’t tell. He’s up again as a halo of light shines around you. The lamp limns his figure as he pets your cheek. 

“Sweetheart, shh, you’re alright,” he coos, “no need to cry.” 

You’re crying? Why? You can’t remember. Your mind is a bubble of fractured thoughts and vague scenes. You can’t make scene of much between the visions of this man. 

“Fever’s broke,” he lays a wet cloth over your brow. “Very good. We’ll be off in the morning, won’t we?” 

“Mom?” You murmur in confusion. 

“Mm, let’s take one step at a time before all that, yes?” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Back to sleep.” 

He shuts off the light and you’re cast into grim blackness. His weight jostles the bed and you feel him spread out next to you. The bed is more than large enough for you both. 

“Professor,” you croak weakly. “What’s...” 

“In the morning,” he girds. 

You accept it, “sorry.” 

“Never be sorry,” he reaches over to squeeze your arm lightly.  

You lay in silence. Your eyes close on their own. You are completely drained. You sink down into a solid void that suffocates away all light and life. When you awake again, you’re alone. You might think it was all a dream if it wasn’t for the bright hotel walls. 

You remain as you are. You don’t have the energy to get up. You lift your hand and look at the bandage wrapped around it. It feels better and your fingers aren’t swollen. You bend them. It still hurts. 

The door opens and you drop your arm. You squeak at the pain. 

“Sweetheart, is all well?” Raymond rushes over, a tray in his hand. “I was only meaning to fetch some of the complimentary breakfast before we depart.” 

You blink and shake your head, “fine. I’m... fine.” 

“I hope you like coffee--” 

“Coffee?” You whimper and close your eyes. “Coffee...” you mutter. “I went to get coffee and...” 

“Yes, that fiend meant to attack you. You see, I did not come without purpose. How could I sit back and see you neglected?” 

“You don’t... I don’t know... you.” 

“Hush, hush, you must be hungry,” he insists. “It is good to eat. You are weak from the infection still. You must take care--” 

“My mom--” you look at him. 

He sucks in air and his jaw tenses. He steels himself and his fingers twitch. “Yes, a woman who allows her own daughter be abused.” 

“She... she couldn’t stop him--” 

“She should not bring the beast home with her,” he snips. “Please, you would not survive in such an environment.” 

“Why... would you come here?” 

He exhales and his eye bats, as if he can’t control it. “Why wouldn’t I after what I witnessed? Then you would not answer. I had half a suspicion you were dead.” 

“I’m sorry, I... didn’t mean to worry you but... it’s not your problem.” 

He hums and set the tray on the night stand. He offers a cup of coffee, “are you so used to being forgotten that you cannot accept kindness?” 

“No, it isn’t... I’m sorry.” 

“And the apologies. No need for it. I am not admonishing you. I am merely offering advice.” He takes your good hand and makes you take the cup. “There is much more you need to learn than accounting, I gather.” 

You frown and look at the dark coffee. 

“If you prefer milk or sugar, I grabbed some of each,” he explains and gestures to the tray. “Of course, you shouldn’t drink that in bed else you might stain the sheets.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you push the blankets back and move carefully. 

The pajamas brush against your stomach and you look down. You’re reminded of the day before. Naked in the tub. In front of him. You’ve never been so exposed before. You slump your shoulders and go to the table and sit. 

You look down at your burnt hand and bring up to examine the bandage again, “thank you...” you raise it higher. 

“Certainly. And who wouldn’t see to the festering infection? Are you not concerned that not even your own mother cared for that matter?” 

“Can we not talk about her?” You sniffle and rest your hand in your lap. “You should take me home.” 

“Home? That is no home. Now, you should eat. Keep your strength up so you can heal properly.” He girds. 

You nod and take a cautious sip of coffee. You’re still reeling, maybe even slightly delirious. You set the cup down again and lift your chin. You look at his neck, not his face. 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Why...” He echoes as he sits across from you. 

“Why help me?” 

He takes a packet of sanitizing wipes and uses them to clean the cutlery. You watch his diligent work. Everything he does is precise and purposeful. And cleanly. He seems to detest the thought of dirtiness and yet you can only feel like filth next to him. 

“Well, it should be a question, should it? It is humane. Decent. So, I shouldn’t need to name the reason for it.” He lays down each piece before he sets to claiming a muffin, then a scoop of the scrambled eggs, and strips of bacon with sausage too. “Though if you insist, I will give one. Firstly, let us underline that point. What you need, what you want, I would be more than willing to supply, but then, circle around to your query; why should I help you?” 

He takes the rest of the cutlery and wipes it then hands it to you. He makes you up a plate as he continues, “you, sweetheart, have great potential. I’ve seen it. And that would be spoiled all for a poor foundation. Now that is not your own doing, mind you, you cannot help where you come from, and more admirably,” he sets the plate before you, “you were fighting against it and so I only thought to lower the ladder for you.” 

You blink and focus on the food. You’re not very hungry. You feel slightly queasy but you would hate to be ungrateful. All these questions already make you feel so.  

“Thank you,” you croak and make yourself look at him. “Really...” 

You don’t know how to say it. You already feel pathetic and you don’t need to sink further. No one’s ever been that concerned about you. No one ever tried to help you. Most people just laughed, called you names, or pushed you down themselves. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself very much, eh? I have the means to help. It would be selfish not to. A sort of passing the torch. I wasn’t born to wealth myself, or peace. Life can be a war on its own,” he gives a gentle smile beneath his thick beard. “Oh, and I did take some clothing from your home before our flight. I was able to use the hotel laundry. It should suffice, though I hardly trust their cleaning staff.” 

“Yes, sir,” you answer. 

“Raymond, please,” he corrects you. 

📓

Professor Smith, or Raymond as he insists, drives you across the city. He turns in the car at the rental place then leads you into the train station a block away. He’s patient, not hurrying you, and he pays for your ticket and his. You feel guilty for the expense. 

As you sit and wait on the platform, you fidget. You chew your lip and curl your fingers, the burn stinging beneath the bandages. 

“Are you well?” He checks in. He does every now and then. 

“Um, yes...” you look at the tracks, “I’ve never been on a train.” 

“A first, very exciting,” he muses. 

You nod and let your eyes wander. You’re nervous but too much to ask what makes you so. He moves so his leg is against yours. 

“Your hand?” He prompts. 

“It’s feeling better,” you assure.” 

“Very well.” He sits back and puffs out through his nose, “we will go to my home. You can recover there and when you feel up to it, we will go over your last assignment and see you through the course--” 

“Professor-- Raymond,” you sputter as you face him. “You don’t have to do all this.” 

“I am not a man who does things he doesn’t wish to,” he replies. “I’ve explained myself enough. It is unacceptable to me to let you return to where I found you. I couldn’t allow you in such an unsafe circumstance. Especially after what I witnessed.” 

“It-- he just yelled, that’s all.” You murmur. 

“Is that all? He had nothing to do with this?” He points to your hand. 

You shrink and shake your head. He clucks. 

“You are honest and so you are a poor liar. What I saw was more than yelling, sweetheart. You will not convince me otherwise. I know, this is a peculiar situation, but it is your way out,” he says, “tell me, you never thought of it.” 

Your lack of response is enough of one. Your eyes are hot, and your mouth is dry. Your leg jiggles restlessly. 

A lull rises as the chatter of others rolls through the platform. Soon, you hear the whine of metal on metal, and a bright beam shines from the tunnel. The train speeds through and grinds to a stop.  

You follow Raymond’s every move. When he stands, you stand. As he grabs his bag, you go to do the same but he has it in hand first. He gestures you ahead of him. You reluctantly approach the train. 

“The second from the front,” he instructs from behind. “I’ve our tickets.” 

You follow his direction. You’re good at that. As a professor, he’s just as good at giving orders. As you approach the waiting attendant, he reaches around to hand over the tickets. The woman in her uniform tears of the ends and hands them back. 

You step onto the small metal footstool and then climb the stairs of the train car. You pause as he puts your bags into the netted caddy near the front. He urges you on with another point and recites the seat numbers. You find them and stare at the row. 

“Would you like window or aisle?” He tucks away the tickets. 

“Mm, what do you like?” You ask. 

“Please, have the window. You did say it’s your first,” he insists. 

You duck your head and sit. He lowers himself next to you and slips a bottle from inside his jacket. He pops the cap open and offers it quietly. You glance over at the sanitizer. You don’t want to be rude so you put your unbandaged hand out. He dollops it into your palm, then his own, and puts it away. 

He rubs his palms together and you sanitize around your bandage and your uninjured hand. You sit back and look out at the platform. He’s a very stringent man but you might only think so because you’re used to no rules at all. He’s thorough too. He seems to think of everything.  

You look at him but think better of asking what you want to. He catches your glance before you can turn back. He shifts toward you, leaning on the outer armrest. 

“Go on,” he urges, “you can say whatever you need.” 

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” 

“Please,” he opens his hand encouragingly. 

You drop your eyes and wet your lips. You’re going to sound so dumb. “Do you really think I could... I could do something? Like you? Like... like... accounting?” 

He chuckles softly. It’s not mocking or mean. It’s soothing. 

“I do believe so,” he says. “You needn’t fret. Let yourself time to heal, then all that will come after.” 

You sniff and sit back. You don’t know if you agree with him, but you’ll try. That’s all you can do. It’s what you should do after he’s gone to all this effort. 

[midnightshade]

𝐀 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞-𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 | Kenjaku

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 – 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏: 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Kenjaku has always been keen on breeding you, and this time, he's going to ensure it happens

𖤐 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,509

𖤐 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Breeding, Mentions of Pregnancy, Rough Sex, Marking, Biting to Break Skin, Hair Pulling, Vaginal Sex, creampies, third person p.o.v, not beta read

𖤐 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: My first post for Kinktober! I've never participated in this event before, so I'll try my best to post every day. I also wanted to try a new layout for fics and test out writing for many different readers. I don't know if I'll be able to do this with every fic, but I hope it allows other people to participate. Hope you enjoy ♡

𖤐 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𓇢𓆸 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 – 𝐅𝐞𝐦. 𝐆𝐍 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐜. 𝐆𝐍 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

[𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

He didn't know how many hours had passed, but Kenjaku didn't care. The only thing that mattered to him, that existed to him, was the inside of this room.

He drove himself deeper into his lover's cunt, his hips moving as if they had a mind of their own. He'd long since lost count of how many times he'd found release, his cum mixing with hers in a sticky mess as it coated both of their thighs and spilled out to stain the futon plush beneath them.

Kenjaku had her legs pushed back as far as they could go, folding them back against her chest as he held her down in a mating press. He mounted her, balancing all of his weight onto her as he pounded relentlessly into her tight heat, the room filling with lewd, wet slapping from his large, swollen balls hitting against her ass.

Kenjaku found her most beautiful in this position - her eyes glossy and unfocused, lips bruised and swollen from the rough, demanding kisses he'd given her, her silky hair splayed out around her head like a halo, just begging to be pulled.

He leaned over her, earning a broken moan as he hit deeper inside of her. "Does that feel good, darling?" He crooned.

"It must. I can feel you squeezing me. You're going to cum again, aren't you?"

Kenjaku only grinned when she didn't answer, only able to formulate a series of slurred gasps and groans.

"Use your words. I know you can do better than that," He said, slowing his pace to a tortuous degree. She whined when he all but stopped inside of her, but she could still feel him twitching and pulsing, desperate for his own release.

"Tell me how good this feels. Tell me how much you want me to fill you up and breed your fertile womb and maybe I'll let you cum again."

With eyes misted with tears from overstimulation, she stared up at him, uncertain whether to glare at him or kiss him. She settled for the latter, her arms reaching up to wrap around his neck as she pulled him down, teeth clanking together as their lips met in a passionate, heated kiss.

Kenjaku's eyes closed as their lips melded against one another, breathing life into each other as they fought for dominance.

She took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down suddenly, drawing blood. Kenjaku gave a pleased hum, enjoying the pain and the coppery taste that spread across his tongue. As thanks, he reached for her hair, yanking it roughly as he held her in place, his mouth meeting her throat.

He placed hot, open mouth kisses against her flesh, sucking along her pulse point before biting down. Just as she had with him, he made sure to break skin, licking up her blood with every pass of his tongue.

He gave a dark chuckle at the way she gasped and tensed underneath him, moving back a little to admire his handiwork.

"Beautiful," he whispered, watching the way her blood bubbled up from the fresh mark, a small bead of crimson trailing down her neck.

Without warning, he slammed his hips down in a manner that made her scream in a mixture of pain and pleasure, jolting her back to the present.

"You still haven't done what I asked," Kenjaku said, a grin pulling at his lips as his free hand traced her body. His fingertips lightly passed the marks he had given her, soothing the sore and abused skin.

Every bruise and bleeding wound he had left on her body was a gift and proof of who she belonged to. The stinging pain in his back was her gift to him, how she raked her nails harshly down his body, tearing the skin.

Beneath him, she pouted and glared up at him, fidgeting in place as she clenched around his cock, still buried to the hilt. All of her attempts to get him to move again were met with failure.

"You're such an ass," She managed, earning a chuckle from Kenjaku.

He released her hair, his hand wrapping around her throat as he forced her to keep her focus on him.

"Maybe, but you love it. Now, be a good girl and say it," he ordered.

He was so good at getting his way, and he knew it. He could see the struggle on her face between wanting to tease him and giving in.

In the end, she relented. It was hard to oppose Kenjaku, especially as he pressed himself down against her, those sharp eyes of his piercing into her soul.

She stared up at him, leaning forward, placing a gentle kiss against his forehead, right on his stitches. "I love how you feel inside of me. I want you to fill me up; Breed me, mark me as your own. Please give me your babies, Kenjaku."

The juxtaposition between her gentle kisses and the crudeness of her words sent Kenjaku into overdrive. His body shivered in delight, a soft curse escaping him before he held her down and started thrusting into her, filling the room with moans once more.

The sudden shift was overwhelming, and she clung onto him for dear life, her thighs shaking as her cunt was being so thoroughly abused. She cried out, half formed versions of his name and slurred pleas for him to go harder, mixing with declarations of love spilling from her lips.

She couldn't seem to settle on whether to kiss him or bite him, cycling between the two as she nipped and kissed the exposed flesh of his neck, earning a breathy laugh from the man above her.

"Kenjaku! I'm close! Please don't stop!" She ground out, her jaw clenched tightly as she whined.

He could feel her exhausted body tensing up underneath him as she fast approached the cliff's edge, her pleasure dancing on a knife's edge as the silky walls of her pussy clenched and sucked him in deeper, attempting to milk him of another load.

Sweat beaded his brow, one of the few signs of exertion as he chased his high. Kenjaku felt a familiar tension in his abdomen as the pleasure began to grow, his thrusts beginning to grow sloppy as his balls pulled up towards his body.

With a quick snap of his hips, his cockhead hit the spot deep inside of her, sending her careening over the edge. She gasped so hard she couldn't breathe, her orgasm tearing through her in a violent display as her head snapped back and her entire body locked up.

Kenjaku's mouth dropped open in a broken cry as her cunt clenched tightly around him like a vice, her plush walls massaging every inch of his dick as she creamed around it.

Kenjaku gave a final thrust as he found his release, burying himself as deep inside of her as he could. He leaned low over her, his cockhead kissing her cervix as he twitched and throbbed, spraying it with hot and potent seed.

The room that had once been filled with sounds of pleasure now was silent as the lovers stayed locked together, their voices stolen from them as they shivered in silent ecstasy before finally collapsing.

Kenjaku kept his dick buried deep inside of her, chest heaving as he rested against her. Both of them were a sticky mess, coated in each other's fluids and sweat, but neither cared as they held onto each other, limbs tangled up together.

He brought her legs down from her chest, gently rubbing her thighs in a subtle apology. She must be sore after being in that position for so long.

Soft kisses were pressed against her face, the same hand that one pulled her hair so roughly now began stroking it as he peppered her face with love.

When he finally pulled himself out, he laid down beside her. His arms wrapped around her midsection, pulling her back against his chest as he held her.

"You were wonderful," he praised, pressing a firm kiss to her temple.

Her eyes were closed as she focused on catching her breath, her chest heaving with effort. Her entire body was so sensitive and a little sore from all of his markings. It didn't stop her from caressing his arm and turning her head back to try and return some of his affections.

"I love you."

Those words were rarely spoken aloud between them, but it was felt in every interaction between them. Kenjaku basked in the way it made him feel, eliciting a warmth in his chest that was rare to come by.

He smiled as the word left her lips, a promise of devotion between the two of them. He kissed her shoulder, his hand rubbing circles against the soft skin of her stomach.

He closed his eyes, imagining her stomach swollen with his children. It was undeniable how much he longed for that reality, and he would find a way to bring it forth.

"I love you, too."

©Midnightshade. All rights reserved. Do NOT repost, reupload, or modify my works. Do not translate my works, do not link to them or recommend them on other websites, and do not use them for AI training

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

“I wanted to tell you” ~ Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader (One-Shot)

{Author’s Note} Thought I’d share something I wrote a few months back. It was originally for some friends but I’ve wanted to get my writing out there for awhile now and see what people thought. It is a reader insert fic but it’s written in the third person. If I post more in the future, I’ll probably change it to second person POV. Kinda cliche but oh well. Just wanted to see if people would enjoy this and be interested in more. Hope y’all like it :)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader (Alias: Halo)

‼️Content Warning: swearing, violence‼️

~ ~ ~

She was the only member of the 141 who hadn’t yet seen Ghost without his infamous skull mask. He didn’t realize that fact until she was bleeding out in front of him, her shaking hands pressed to a deep stab wound in her side. With the blood that was leaking from her lips, it was obvious the blade had managed to slip between her ribs and puncture a lung. She coughed and Ghost could hear blood gurgling in her chest, his eyes widening as she attempted a smile with crimson-stained teeth. 

“Just hold on, Halo,” Ghost said as he pressed his palm to her wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. He called for a medic, too afraid to move her and cause more problems than she already had. 

“Ghost.” She choked on his name, bloodied fingers grasping at his forearms. He hushed her but she only shook her head as her eyes began watering. 

“I wanted to tell you,” she gasped, trying to suck in as much air as possible. 

“Tell me what, sweetheart?” he asked, knowing he had to keep her awake. He glanced over his shoulder, searching in vain for someone who could help. “Where’s the fuckin’ medic?!”

She smiled again, eyelids drooping and head lulling forward to rest against his shoulder. “I never got to say it,” she mumbled. 

“Stay with me!” he demanded and sat her upright. “Keep your eyes on me, alright?”

She nodded weakly, fingertips brushing the edge of his skull mask. It was then that he ripped the fabric off his face, finally letting her past the wall he’d created so long ago. 

Her eyes widened upon seeing his features, the glaze of pain fading for a moment as she drank in the sight of him. She set her hand on his stubbled cheek and stroked his cheekbone, leaving a bloody smear across his skin. 

“Simon.” Her voice was soft and laced with adoration. It made his heart swell in his chest and he wished he’d shown her sooner just so he could savor that beautiful smile of hers. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” Soap’s voice sounded behind him and Ghost turned to see the man looking just as horrified as he felt. 

“Get the medic before she fuckin’ dies on us!” the Lieutenant ordered and Soap rushed into action. Ghost faced her again, only to find that she’d lost consciousness. 

“Dammit, Halo, wake up!” His voice nearly cracked with how loudly he screamed. “You can’t die on me!” 

With his touch lingering on her cheeks, she found comfort in knowing he was the last person she got to see. 

[greypetrel]

WIP (almost) Wednesday

Tagged by @star--nymph and @theluckywizard , thank you both so much! I worked in the weekend, but I am slowly making progresses on fics. I'm planning on a Halloween themed DadWolf chapter, so here you go a WIP from that. Featuring three young people discussing over this year's group costume.

Redcliffe, 9:25, 31st of Harvestmere “Why can’t you play Kiki?” Cullen grumbled, fixing his striped shirt as he scooted up Aisling’s bed to rest his back on the wall. “Because I don’t want to wear a wig.” Aisling answered, absent-mindedly enough, turning on herself with a fake cat tail in her hand. “And Dorian looks much better in red than I do.”

“But-” “What’s the matter?” The girl stopped to face him, tilting her head to the side. Doing so shifted the paper mache head that with a little imagination was that of a cat. She made it herself (it showed) and it was now wobbling dangerously, and she hissed as she side-stepped to avoid it falling down. Both hands rose to hold the structure, and the damage was avoided. “You didn’t want to play Tombo?” Aisling kept on, worried. “You won't ever fit in my costume, but you can switch with Dorian… We’ll make do without the wig.” “No, it’s fine…” “You don’t like the movie?” She went on, walking in zig-zags between discarded clothes, a set of bridles and random books on the floor to come and sit on the bed beside him, one ankle under the opposite knee. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We could have done something else…” “It’s not that-” “Aisling, can you help me?” Dorian entered from the door, all curved as he kept the black dress closed with one hand, the other clutched on a red piece of cotton. He marched in without knocking, as per his usual, and stopped in front of the bed, squinting at Cullen. “What’s the matter?” “Nothing!” Cullen protested. “Uh-uh, you have that face.” “It’s my face!” “It’s the face you make when you want to say no but you’re too shy to.” Dorian snorted, shrugging it off and turning around to present his back and the zipper to his sister. “Zip.” “Wow.” Aisling sighed, unimpressed. “Zip, please, mom.” “Urgh.” Aisling rolled her eyes and wobbling under the big cat head rose up, patting Dorian’s hand away and grabbing the hems of the dress. She wasn’t delicate as she pulled the zipper up, and at Dorian’s protest, she just told him to suck it up. “Cullen doesn’t want to go trick-or-treating.” She told, when she was done, jumping back on the bed. With a yelp, as the too sudden motion unbalanced her and she fell backward. “Watch out!” Cullen tried to catch her, but in vain: the big head bonked on the wall, rolling up and shifting to cover Aisling’s face. “Oh, well, that’s fine with me.” Dorian said, going to sit on the bed as well, on Aisling’s other side. “Let’s stay here and watch a movie, I know how to open the lock on Varric’s not-allowed-fiction cabinet.” “Ppppppft-” Aisling managed to slip the head off her own, placing it on her belly and turning her head, now bare, between her friend and her brother, a halo of brass hair slipping out of her ponytail. “What’s with the both of you today? We’ve been planning this costume since August!” “It’s stupid, we’re grown up for trick or treat.” “Yeah, sure, and babae and dad didn’t mope for weeks because this year we wanted to go on our own.” She huffed. “And they totally aren’t planning on following us anyway.” “A movie sounds nice, indeed.” “See? It’s two against one, so-” “Ok, ok, I’ve had enough.” Aisling grumbled, pushing herself up and facing the two boys with a pout her hands on her hips, over her bodysuit, in an attitude that was all Raina and felt nostalgic, now that both Raina and Garrett had moved back to Kirkwall. “I haven’t worked so hard to build a cat head so cool not to show everyone. You tell me what are you both moping for, we’re fixing this, and we can go and have some candy and another best group costume prize.”

Tagging: You who tagged me back, and you who came all this way to read. :3

[bethannangel]

Top Gun: Rooster movie I play in my head which really would be a great fic if I was any good at dialogue and setting scenes and wasn’t just doing this all by stream of consciousness.

How this mess is 5.8k I really don’t know. It’s basically Rooster figuring out whether or not he has a family with a little Hangster toward the end. Also speaks about being self destructive. Even has a 2D OC for Coyote to be engaged to.

How it looks so good luck if you try to read it: “here’s a quote” “here’s another quote” here’s one person laughing “and then they say this” and then person shakes their head, “and says this”

Also, the pacing sucks, but it’s my brain movie so whatevers

We see the mission ending real quick to give us a two years later title card.

It’s Rooster on another boat playing cards with a few other pilots we haven’t met before and Coyote right before they go on mission. They’re talking about their loved ones they’ve got back home and how Coyote is planning to propose to his SO, Sammy, after this deployment (they’re close to going home). It’s comes around to Rooster and he’s not sad about not having someone back home. Before someone could ask another question, alarms go off meaning they need to get in their planes asap. They end up losing one of the other pilots who had a wife and kids and Rooster was forced to eject again. He goes on forced leave from dangerous airspace.

Rooster’s on leave spending it with Maverick. While in the air (P-51), they’re talking about how Mav retired and is trying to be a family man with Penny and Amelia. How Rooster is always welcomed to stay with them cause he’s family too. He smiles but you can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes. Mav asks if he has met anyone yet and he says that he doesn’t know how to with the job and Mav nods in understanding and gives him some platitude about how maybe he’s already met them then (writing this as a underlying Hangster pitch but if it has to be someone we’ve already met, I’d want it to be Halo and not Nat). When they land, Hangman calls him and tells him to meet up at the Hard Deck cause it’s time to celebrate. (Hangman was over at Lemoore and came for the weekend, Phoenix and Bob are now Instructors at Top Gun) (I want more people there but it’s not gonna be easy to explain 12 people being there)

Sammy said yes! (Also on North Island to support Coyote after the loss of a wingman) Rooster hugs Coyote since they’ve gotten closer because of their last deployment together. Rooster sees the new fiancé(e) on the other side of the bar talking to Hangman and makes a comment about watching him before he tries something and Coyote laughs it off because Hangman is the reason they got together in the first place.

We get our awaited “you look good” “I am good”call back when Hangman and Rooster finally talk to each other. It’s a much lighter tension than when we first saw them at the Hard Deck, but there’s still this rivalry building underneath. They talk about their last deployments when Hangman’s smirk goes away and asks seriously how Rooster is handling the loss of his wingman. Rooster blows it off saying that he’s fine and another tease that hits a little too deep in the moment. Hangman is about to walk off when Rooster stops him and asks about how he got Coyote and Sammy together. Phoenix and Bob walk up, coming to ask him as well. Hangman says it’s a story for another night (glances over at Rooster and back to Phoenix) and asks them how it’s going at Top Gun.

The recruits are good but don’t know how to communicate and maybe Rooster wants to come through to help show them what that means. And Hangman makes a comment about teaching the kids to be slow and Rooster walks away to the piano to warm up. Hangman’s the one to unplug the juke. Rooster plays a song for the newly engaged couple.

Next we see Rooster in the office with Warlock, getting permission to fly and be a guest speaker for Phoenix’s and Bob’s classes. Warlock says he’s allowed to fly, but any infraction and he’s grounded for the rest of his leave. He leaves the office and gets a picture from Yale of his brand new baby girl.

He talks to Phoenix and Bob in the cafeteria about it and how Bob heard Yale’s thinking off discharging after this last deployment and they go over how Omaha stopped flying after he got married and Fritz put in for that promotion when his wife said she was pregnant. They talk dating and how they all have someone except for Rooster and Hangman. Even Bob has his person back home.

Phoenix introduces Rooster to the kids and no one can get tone lock on either Phoenix or Rooster. Rooster also does some dumb stunt to get out of tone lock which Phoenix calls him out on.

He calls Hangman later that night and the convo turns to would Hangman ever want kids (“You trying to give me kids Rooster?”) and it’s so late that Rooster can’t help but be honest. “I want kids but I can’t imagine ever leaving them” “It’s always been flying for me and for the last __ years, it’s been just me. Yeah I had Phoenix to check up on me but up until the mission, it’s been mainly just me.” “And Hangman asks why Rooster is asking and this, Rooster can’t be honest about. “Coyote getting married, Yale having a kid and discharging” and an unspoken and I’m all alone. “Hey Rooster, you know you can call me if you ever need to talk right?” “Yeah Hangman, but I’ll be fine” and something snarky with a smirk from Hangman that causes Rooster to scoff and roll his eyes with a small smile.

Rooster and Phoenix are teaching the kids communicating up in the air. There’s a student who’s a little too cocky like a certain pilot we know who likes to leave people in the dust. After this pilots first run, Rooster gets him to communicate with his wingman because he knows how to handle the guy. Kid and wingman get tone lock on Rooster. Phoenix says she’s had issues with him in particular and how did you do that? Rooster honestly has no clue. Rooster does some careless move again that almost put him and another pilot in jeopardy. Phoenix yells at him but doesn’t get any answers.

I wanna small scene of just Rooster lying in bed while we hear someone on the phone with a loved one in the background and he slowly closes his eyes to fall asleep.

The next day, someone quits Top Gun to Phoenix. Rooster overhears the convo and it’s about how they aren’t good enough and they can’t die because his parents are getting older and he needs to take care of them and they have a dog at home they need to get back to. Give me Rooster with a panic attack handling it by himself in the bathroom. Other students coming in talking about their families back home while Rooster hides in a stall. Give me Rooster screening Phoenix’s calls when he doesn’t show up to help teach. Doesn’t address why he shows back up.

Hangman calls and Rooster screens his call as well. Seems that he’s missed his calls over the past couple days. Maverick calls and Rooster answers cause he can’t push him away after he just got him back. Maverick asks how he’s doing and tells him to answer Hangman’s calls cause he’d rather Hangman bother Rooster than himself. Rooster laughs and says he’ll call him back. He doesn’t.

Hangman shows up. “Hangman what are you doing here?” “Phoenix said my mini me wasn’t enough to annoy you, think you needed the real deal (something to that effect)” Hangman is currently on leave since his detachment ended and says Warlock said he could be a guest teacher in the meantime. “Don’t you wanna go visit your family?” “I’ll see them another time” Rooster doesn’t like the answer but doesn’t push.

Hangman gets in the air with Rooster and the new cocky pilot/Hangman mini me and a wingman. Hangman pushed the buttons on the kid and goes after Hangman like his life depends on it. Rooster and the wingman just hang back watching them when the kid does same move Rooster did that Phoenix yelled at him for, that causes him and Hangman to have to punch out at a very low altitude.

Rooster is not okay, almost having another panic attack while in the air but it’s staved off with trying to make sure Hangman is safe and that search and rescue are on their way. Phoenix gets on the comma and basically orders Rooster to land. She meets him on the tarmac and Rooster is full blown panic attack mode now that it’s all sinking in.

At med bay, Rooster’s getting checked out while waiting for Hangman. Hangman rolls in on a gurney and sees Rooster getting his vitals checked and loudly asks if he’s okay. Rooster is like confused and is like yeah man I’m fine. hangman visibly relaxes and they take him in to really get checked out. A couple hours later, Coyote and his fiancé(e) walk in. And rooster is like “oh did Phoenix call you?” “No we’re his emergency contacts.” “What?” “We’re his emergency contacts?” “What about his parents?” “He’s not that close to his family” and Rooster takes that in as the nurses say he’s resting for the night and giving Coyote and Sammy the full run down.

Coyote’s fiancé(e) sits with Rooster and asks how he’s doing. Rooster says he’s fine. Sammy asks if he’s sure cause this is really soon compared to when his and Coyote’s wingman passed and Rooster is this close to blowing up but instead starts breathing really fast. Coyote shows up and calms him down and asks his fiancé(e) what happened. Says that they mentioned the wingman and Coyote gets it now. He apologizes that maybe it was sudden to bring the passed wingman up, but can he tell him a story. Rooster nods.

Now we get how Hangman introduced Coyote and the fiancé(e). It was Hangman’s deployment after getting his first kill. Hangman had to eject and was stuck in medical and his emergency contacts were the same as they were today, “me, his best friend and Sammy, his ex at the time.” Roosters eyes go wide and the fiancé(e) starts laughing. “You guys were together?” “Yep! We had just broken up before he left for the new detachment, but he never changed his emergency contact cause we’d been friends long before that. So I walk in and see this gorgeous human being and totally forget about Jake being in the hospital.” “I didn’t forget Hangman, I just really wanted to talk this beautiful person that just walked in. So we got to talking and grabbed coffee from the cafeteria and finally I asked who they were here to see.” “I said my ex which made everything awkward after that” “Babe no it didn’t, it wasn’t awkward.” “It was so awkward, Javy totally froze for like two minutes and only snapped out of it when my phone rang.” “Ugh yeah I forgot about this next part.” “Anyway, the number is the hospital and when I answer it, it’s Jake saying I don’t have to come in and I say, Jake, it’s fine, I’m already here and I’m having coffee with a really cute guy. But when I look back at Javy, his eyes are even wider somehow. So I tell Jake I need to call him back and hang up. I’m trying to get Javy to talk when his phone rings. Number from the hospital. And Javy, still staring at me, answers with “is Sammy your ex?”” Rooster starts laughing while Coyote is glaring at him. “And I can hear Jake laughing loudly from where I sit.” “It was not funny in that moment,” Coyote said still glaring at a laughing Rooster. “Anyway we go see Hangman and he said it’s fine that we were having coffee and he wiggled his brows,” Coyote stopping to act the action out. “and that the main reason Sammy was an emergency contact was for them to medically explain things to me since they were studying to be a nurse at the time.” Coyote fondly shakes his head look back to the ground trying to hide how wide his smile is. “I still thinks it’s a BS line, but we really weren’t that serious as a couple, we were just friends for years before we dated briefly.” Rooster nods in understanding.

Sammy makes a joke about how Hangman being in the hospital means that maybe Rooster will get lucky and find his person. Rooster is about to respond when the nurse walks up and asks if they’re ready to see Mr. Seresin. Coyote waves Rooster off that they’ll go after he’s done. So Rooster goes and sees Hangman anxiously shaking his non broken leg. “Rooster, what are you doing here?” “Had to make sure the second best pilot was still in second place,” Rooster says with a sad smile. “Rooster, you’ll always be in second place, you don’t have to worry about that.” “Whatever Hangman, Coyote and Sammy we’re telling me how you got them together” “oh yeah, just call me Cupid” “pretty sure that’s a taken call sign already.” “Well it would’ve been mine if I didn’t drag my feet on getting them to meet.” “Did you love Sammy?” “What, of course I did, just not like that. They’ve been in my life since I was a teenager and when I meet Coyote, I knew they’d be perfect for each other.” Rooster smiles at that and then the smile drops.

“Hey, so why’d you lie?” “About what? Rooster, you need to be more specific.” “About your family?” Jake takes a sharp breath in and slowly releases it when he says “I don’t know. I got this weird feeling when you asked and I didn’t want to trigger something.” Rooster nods. “Wanna tell me why you wouldn’t answer my calls?” “Not really?” They’re quiet as Maverick walks in.

“Looks like you found a way to get Rooster to talk to you, huh?” “Yeah, the worst way.” “At least this time he’s not trying to punch you in the face” Hangman rolls his eyes as Rooster says with a laugh, “the day’s still young.” “Shut up, what’s up with you pops.” “Nothing, had a mini heart attack when medical said both of you were in, thought maybe something went down with both of you in the sky together again.” “Nope, just me and another kid. Rooster was in the clear, but… why were you being checked out when I came in?” “What? No reason. I’m fine. They were just checking us out cause we were in the sky too.” It’s a flimsy excuse that both Mav and Hangman can see through. “Mav, they told you about Hangman?” “Yeah, I’m one of his emergency contacts.” “Is everyone an emergency contact for Hangman except for me?” “Didn’t realize you felt that strong about me Rooster. I’ll go ahead and switch out Pops next time,” Hangman says with a wink. Rooster rolls his eyes as Mav just fondly shakes his head. “Anyway, Bradley, let’s let Coyote and his fiancé(e) in. They said you’ve been in here forever.” Roosters say “it’s not been forever,” as Hangman responds with “they can wait.” “Yeah, right, we’ll see you later Hangman.” Hangman waves while he looks at Rooster with a piercing stare. “Hey,” he lowly whispers, “I’m okay. I’m here and I’m okay. Come by if you need to talk later.” Rooster gulps and nods just staring at Hangman’s eyes which tracked Rooster’s adams apple. He turns to the door where Coyote and Sammy are in the hallway talking to Maverick. He turns around and tells Hangman, “I’m glad you’re safe,” and turns back around and walks out and away from the group in the hallway.

“Bradley, wait up!” Rooster is trying to walk away as fast as he can without running, so Mav catches up to him. “Hey, what’s wrong.” “Nothing, I’m fine.” “You sure don’t seem like it” “I’m fine.” “Okay… wanna grab dinner tomorrow?” Rooster stops short of the door to the parking lot. “Dinner?” “Yeah” Mav is smiling. “Okay. Just me and you?” “Sounds great” Rooster nods and walks out.

He screens Mav’s calls as we see him lying in bed, visibly shaking. He goes to turn his ringer off, when the next text is from Hangman.

Now you’re ignoring Pops?

You should come and see me

Rooster doesn’t go. Instead, he calls Phoenix and she says to come to the Hard Deck and help her with the students. They’re all taking the ejections hard.

He drops his phone to his side, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes as he exhaled and gets up.

He walks into the Hard Deck and sees Mav at the bar. He walks past him to the back group where Phoenix Bob and Coyote are sitting with a bunch of the students who look like they lost their ball over the fence. Rooster sits next to Phoenix who hands him a bottle and asks after the young cocky pilot. “He a lot better than before. He’ll be flying by the end of the year, but he’s not gonna graduate.” Rooster blows out some air “sucks” “yeah.” They take a pause after a student asks Rooster if he’s ever lost a wingman. He doesn’t look up from the floor when he says, “you fly long enough, it happens” Rooster can see from the corner of his eye that Coyote is trying to get him to look at him. Coyote clears his throat, “Rooster and I just lost a friend. He was 28 years old. He had a wife and two kids. Losing a wingman is hard, but you gotta remember that we all signed up for this and we accept the risk because someone else can’t.” Rooster feels a hand on his shoulder, he looks up and sees Maverick with a glum look on his face. He cants his head to signal Rooster to go to the outside patio with him.

They go. “What’s on your mind, kid?” “Nothing, I’m fine.” “You’re not fine if you screened my calls and now ignoring Hangman again.” “Why do you talk to him about me?!” Maverick takes a step back “what?” “Why are you guys talking about me?” “Bradley, we’re worried.” “I’m fine.” “No you’re not. You’re screening phone calls from your friends and I, you’re not showing up to classes you promised to help teach, you’re being reckless with your flying” “it wasn’t even that reckless” “Bradley you almost crashed your plane and then today a pilot did the same move you did and had to eject him and another jet!” “I was just flying Mav, I can’t control what the kid did.” “Yeah but you weren’t flying like you and the kid would’ve never thought of it if you didn’t do it first” “so it’s my fault Hangman and the kid are hurt?” “No Bradley, that’s not what I’m saying.” “What are you saying?” “I’m saying you need to let us in, we’re the only family you’ve got.” “You aren’t my family, I don’t have a family.” “Okay fine, not me, but Phoenix? Bob? Hangman, the rest of the squad? They aren’t?” “no, they aren’t” “Bradley, you can’t really believe that?” “They all have their own families, Mav. They don’t need me.” “I need you. Before Penny and Amelia, before I messed us up, I had you and I had Ice and Sarah. Before that, I had your mom too. And before that, I had your Dad. You three were my family.” Rooster can’t look up. Can’t face Maverick. “Rooster, I lost my mom and dad whenI was young too, but after getting assigned with Goose, him and Carole always made sure I had somewhere to come home to when we were on leave. You all were the only family I had and I lost all of you.” Rooster looks up at this. “Don’t push people away because you don’t think you fit in their lives, let them decide for you.” Maverick walks away and Rooster’s phone buzzes again. We see 4 missed text messages and 2 missed phone calls from Hangman.

Are you coming?

Rooster, talk to me man

Are you ignoring me now?

Just don’t do something stupid, okay?

Rooster does something decidedly stupid. The first thing he says when he walks into Hangman’s room where he’s sitting up, with nurses calling after him that visitor hours are over, is “Why are you talking to Mav about me?” It catches Hangman by surprise. “What do you mean?” “You told him I was screening your calls, he told you I was screening his and then earlier you told him I was ignoring you again. Why are you talking about me?” “He’s just worried.” “Are you?” “What?” “Are you worried?” Hangman doesn’t look at him when he says Yes. “Why? Why is everyone so worried about me?” “Because we know what it’s like to lose a wingman and we can see how it’s affecting you!”

“I’m fine Hangman.” Rooster goes to leave. “Wanna know why I had to eject when Coyote and Sammy got together?” Rooster stops and turns around. “I was pulling some stupid stunt, not listening to my wingman. I was pulling hundreds of stunts like that, stunts that could kill me all because of the guilt I felt after my wingman died while I was getting my first kill.” “I forgot about (insert cool call sign here)” “I didn’t. I couldn’t. It was my fault he died.” “No it wasn’t.” “You’re right, it wasn’t, so why do you keep blaming yourself for his?” Rooster swallows hard. Refusing to look anywhere near Hangman. “Rooster, it wasn’t your fault. Come here.” Hangman reaches a hand out. “Please.” The hand hangs there waiting for Rooster to come closer. Rooster takes a deep inhale, sound of his nose clearing a little after the tears that threatened to form also let his sinuses go a little. He walks slowly to Hangman’s side and sits by Hangman’s legs.

“You need to let us in. Let someone in. Let Coyote in. He was a huge help for me back then. Talked a lot of sense into me” Rooster snorts. “Okay, some sense.” Hangman grabs Rooster’s should in an attempt to get him to look at him. “Let me in.” Rooster keeps his head down but dared to look up at Hangman. “I don’t know how.” “It’s okay, we can figure that out together.” Rooster looks back down at the floor. Takes a deep breath and let’s it go slowly.

“What happened with your family?” He can’t feel Hangman’s hand tighten on his should before he lets go. “Got into a fight about joining the Navy. Then they said that they rather lose me while I was still alive so my death wouldn’t hurt so bad.” Hangman shrugs, “been me and Sammy against the world since. They’ve been my main family since. Coyote joined our family shortly after they started dating. Sammy was head over heels immediately so that was an easy add on.” “So you’re friends are your family?” “Family can be anyone you choose to keep around.” “Why is Mav one of your an emergency contacts?” “Him and Penny invite me over for dinner when I’m in town.” Hangman sounds a little embarrassed over the next line. “He said something about having somewhere to come home to.” Rooster quietly laughs. “Not that I considered their house home, just-“ Rooster cuts him off “it’s fine Hangman, that’s just Mav trying to be Mother Goose” Hangman relaxes, “yeah, trying to take your Mother Hen status.” Rooster rolls his eyes for the thousandth time that day. He gets up with a groan from sitting on the bed. “Shut up, Hangman.” As Rooster walks out he hears “You know I can’t.”

Cut to the next day, they have a beach day outside the Hard Deck. Penny and Mav watching the students, Phoenix, Bob, Warlock and Rooster playing with the kids. Rooster takes a breather and sits with Mav and Penny. “Hey old man, why aren’t you out there?” “Need me to balance the teams out since Warlock is annihilating your team?” Cut to Watlock throwing the perfect touch down while taking a hit. Rooster shakes his head, “And I thought you were good.” Mav looks at Penny with fake offense and she just shrugs. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you guys, would it be alright if we did dinner tomorrow? Hangman gets out and I bet he’d love some home cooking.” Penny cants her head in questioning to Rooster. “Depends, are you making dinner?” Rooster quickly catches her eyes and nods quickly, “yeah I can cook. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” “It’s fine, Rooster,” she looks over at Mav who nods, “we were planning on having Hangman for dinner anyway. But you’re more than welcome to help me out in the kitchen.” Rooster nods as Mav say, “just call him and see if he’s good.” “Yeah, I’ll do that now.” Rooster gets up to grab his phone to call Hangman. Penny looks at Mav with a questioning smile. Mav just looks back over to a smiling, laughing Rooster on the phone who’s messing with the hem of his shorts, “I don’t know yet.”

We see Rooster in the kitchen with Penny while Amelia is doing homework at the dining table just off to the side. Penny instructs Rooster to work on the sauce while she finishes up with the meat balls. “Spaghetti?” “It’s his favorite,” Amelia supplies from the table. Rooster is surprised that Amelia knows this. “Amelia, if you’re not going to do your homework, can you set the table.” Amelia sighs and closes her textbook. “Okay.” She puts her books away and looks at Rooster, “last time, Jake said mom makes the best meatballs.” Rooster nods, “he comes over often?” She shrugs, “Sometimes, he’ll help me with my physics every now and then.” “I told her Mav could help, but-“ “Mom, he makes everything a plane reference. At least Jake leaves the problems alone and doesn’t confuse me more.” Rooster looks at Amelia as he stirs his pasta sauce, “I could help if you want.” “It’s okay, I usually just text Jake for help. He sends me videos that help explain the math.” Rooster looks back down at the sauce and adds a few more spices. He gets a spoon to taste it, needs more pepper. Adds the pepper and let’s it simmer. “Anything else I can help with?” “Just go ahead and add the pasta to the boiling water and you’re done! The squash is ready just in case Pete is on a health kick this week.”

Rooster laughs and adds the pasta when a loud “we’re here!” comes from the front of the house. “In the kitchen!” Penny yells back. Loud clacks from Hangman’s crutches with every step taken. Rooster is bracing himself to seeing Hangman. Maverick walks in to give hugs and a kiss Penny. Amelia rushes to hug Hangman when he enters the doorframe, “Jake! How are you feeling?” Hangman winces and gives a small chuckle, “I’m feeling good,” he looks at Rooster and winks, “I’m very good.” Rooster takes a quick look to take him in, “Hangman, only you’d be feeling good after all that.” “Better believe it Bradshaw. Cause I’m too good to be true.” Rooster scoffs with a smile and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest in the process, “right.” “Well, go sit down, Spaghetti will be done in 15 minutes.” “Hell yeah, I love your spaghetti and meatballs.” “Bradley did the sauce,” she says with a disgusted face. “You’ve never had my spaghetti sauce before.” “Don’t worry, Rooster, I’m sure there’s plenty of meatballs in case you made the spaghetti inedible.” “There are,” Maverick helpfully supplies. Rooster looks back at Maverick offended while we see Jake mock salute and head for the table. “Mav, you’re the one that taught me how to make Spaghetti.” “I don’t know what Spaghetti habits you’ve picked up over the years.” Rooster walks off like an indignant child. “So… them two,” Penny says as she reattaches herself to Mav’s side. “I think so. Would make sense.” “Baby steps though?” “Yeah, really tiny baby steps.”

Dinner ends up being great. Small montage of everyone enjoying the spaghetti, sauce included, and talking and laughing from everyone around the table. Amelia is drying dishes that Rooster is washing. “Hey Mel, I’ll dry so you can go finish your homework.” “Thank you!” Amelia throws the rag at him and runs off to her room. Hangman moves a chair closer to the sink and sits down to dry the dishes. “Hey.” “Hey.” “So how’s you make the spaghetti sauce so good? Spent a deployment in Italy?” “Actually yeah, but I got my base skills from Maverick.” “Ah that makes sense. He usually makes the spaghetti sauce.” Rooster nods, “Yeah, he taught me how to make a few basic meals after my mom passed.” “We’re yalls close?” Rooster looks over at him with a raised eyebrow. “I mean you and your mom.” “Oh yeah, we were thick as thieves. She got me in as much trouble as she got me out of. Taught me how to play piano, took me to my first concert, took me out on my first motorcycle. She would ride roller coaster after roller coaster with me until I threw up.” Rooster laughs at the memory, dishes forgotten. The smile disappears and Hangman can see it happening in real time. “She got sick when I was a teenager. I lost her when I was 16.” Hangman goes to grab Rooster’s arm to reassure him, but decides not to. “Maverick took an extended leave to stay with me til I graduated from high school. He taught me how to cook, how to take care of myself, and how to fly.” Rooster looks down back to the dishes after that. Hangman a bit confused by it, ignores it. “Too bad he didn’t teach you how to dress. But then you’d just be wearing tight tshirts with a leather jacket.” Rooster surprises Hangman with a loud laugh. His laugh tapering off to a giggle, “actually, we can blame Maverick for how I dress. He’s the one that kept all my dad’s Hawaiian shirts.” They laugh at this together. A quiet moment lingers between the two.

“Hey. Thanks for inviting me to dinner.” “Well, Mav and Penny were going to invite you anyway.” “Yeah, but Mav said you specifically asked to invite me.” Rooster nods and ducks his head down and to the opposite side to hide from Hangman a little. Rooster hands over the last plate to dry, turns off the water and dries his hands. “Yeah, well,” Rooster sniffs, turns to lean against the sink, arms crossed over his chest and doesn’t look at Hangman, preferring to look at the floor, “I wanted to make sure you still knew you had somewhere to come home to.” They let the moment sit. Hangman slowly stands up and puts a hand on one of Rooster’s forearms and lightly squeezes. “Seems like you do too,” with no hint mocking Rooster. Rooster looks up at the man in front of him through eyelashes, still keeping his head tucked into his chest. Hangman is giving him a half smile, but the emotions behind his eyes betray him. They show how much he really cares for Rooster. Rooster goes to lean in, when Mav walks in and clears his throat. “Hey, Penny wanted me to ask if you guys were staying or if you needed rides?”

They jump apart, Rooster not realizing how close they were. He coughs, “I’m good Mav, probably head out in a minute. I can take Hangman if he needs a ride.” “Yeah, that’d be great Bradshaw.” Maverick smiling and looking between the two, “Okay great, I’ll let her know,” and he walks off.

Rooster drops off Hangman and helps him to his door. They awkwardly say goodbye as we see Rooster walk back to his car and Hangman is just leaning against the door.

One week later title card. The week before graduation goes by fast. Rooster and Hangman talk everyday (evidenced by seeing Rooster texting Hangman that he just pulled up to the hanger and Hangman replying don’t fly too slow), but they don’t talk about what happened at Mav and Penny’s house. We find this out by Mav asking, “so, you and Hangman.” Rooster’s on defense, “what about me and Hangman?” “So are you guys official yet?” “Officially what?” “Bradley.” “Mav.” “Bradley.” “Mav. What?” “You guys kissed at the house last week.” “What? No we didn’t.” “You didn’t?” “No we didn’t.” “But you wanted to.” “Mav.” Rooster is glaring at him. “Okay,” Mav raising his hands in front of him, playing innocent. “I just thought since you all were getting close and all, that something shifted.” Rooster is quiet. “Did something shift?” “Mav, please.” “Okay, I’ll stop.” “Thank you.” “Just remember, if something did shift and you wanted it to shift, just go for it. Don’t think, just do.” “Mav.” Rooster is rolling his eyes. “Okay, I’ll stop. The kids excited for graduation?” “Yeah, think we have everything ready for tomorrow.” “Good, let me know if you need a last minute guest speaker.” “I’m sure Warlock has had enough guest speakers and teachers to last a lifetime.” They laugh.

It’s graduation and Rooster in his dress whites is sitting in one of the front rows of the audience watching Phoenix hand over certificates to all the new graduates. The ceremony is over and as every stands to head over to the reception, Rooster hears the unmistakable clacking of crutches walking toward him. There he is, Hangman wearing his dress whites there to support the kids. “Hangman, you look good.” “I am good, Rooster-” “You’re very good?” “You know it.” He winks at Rooster who smiles back. They walk into the reception and meet up with Phoenix and Bob. Phoenix grabbed four glasses and wants to make a toast. “To Phoenix and Bob,” says Hangman. “To Rooster and Hangman,” says Phoenix. “To the new graduates,” says Bob. Rooster takes a breath, “to family,” he says looking at the three of them.

They finish their drinks and Phoenix and Bob have to go off and speak to family members of the students. They promise to meet up at the Hard Deck later. Rooster asks Hangman if he wants to get out of there. “Honestly yeah, the uniform is so uncomfortable with the cast on.” “You still pull it off well.” Hangman snorts, “thanks Bradshaw, knew you liked me in uniform.” Rooster stops walking, which causes Hangman to stop and turn to face Rooster. “Never said I didn’t,” eyes not wavering from Hangman’s. He puts his hand Hangman’s shoulder and takes a step closer. Hangman is staring at Rooster’s lips. Rooster takes a sharp breath in and Hangman looks back to Roosters eyes. “Bradley?” “Yeah?” Rooster is searching his eyes. Hangman gives him a small nod. Lips attach, music swells, they separate looking at each other with huge smiles and start walking off again to the sound of clacking from crutches.

[ageless-aislynn]

First off, my apologies that I've no doubt missed a lot of things lately. Camp NaNo is taking it out of me but I'm sooo determined to emerge from the end of this month with at least another chapter of one of my WIPs done. And I'm struggling with it mightily.

That said, oh man, I'm so sorry about the lack of engagement in general. As somebody who regularly posts a bunch of Dead Rising stuff that gets absolutely zero engagement, not even a single like, I understand. I really do. It would be nice if this thing that's taken up residence in my fandom heart had others who enjoyed it as well. But I keep posting them anyway because it's truly just for me. This way, I have a place where I can come back one day and see a record of sorts of how much fun I was having with this game.

And that said, I've also tried in the past to keep going with something that was getting very little engagement AND that I wasn't really enjoying doing either. So it's all honestly in how you feel. If you're enjoying doing the AU Updates, if it's something that you're having fun thinking about, putting together and would like to be able to one day come back to to reminisce over, then don't give up. Somebody also might come along weeks, months, even years later and be like, "I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS AWESOME THING WAS HERE ALL ALONG, HOW DID I MISS IT???" 🥳🥳🥳 I've occasionally had that happen and I've been glad that I didn't take down a low-engagement post, fic or vid because I was bummed about how nobody seemed to care about it when I posted it. Sometimes the people who are actually looking for it just haven't found it. Or they haven't even gotten into the fandom yet but one day, they'll be scouring the tags, hoping to find exactly what you posted and they'll be so thrilled they did.

For me, I still know shamefully little of the Halo lore and characters beyond the show and what you learn in the games. So I don't always follow things well when they're referencing the books. I do really want to read them one day but they're kinda expensive and I also haven't been making a lot of time to read novels these days. My voracious reader younger self is looking at me in horror right now, lol! But I currently save my reading time for fics.

All of that now said, though, I really do enjoy reading all of your theories and AU. You're clearly very knowledgeable about the lore, to the point that you can alter and adapt it to where it still feels very authentic. I honestly wouldn't be able to tell what things are actual lore and which are yours because yours slots in so well with (and often seems to really improve) canon.

And that was a lot of words just to say: do whatever makes you happy. If the lack of engagement makes you feel sad when you look at your posts, they definitely let them go. They're not bringing you joy and so aren't worth it. (I have a couple of vids and fics that, any time I come across their posts, I instantly think, "Oh yeah, there's the one that nobody likes. Apparently, you suck." 😑 I try not to do that because I know when I made them, I loved them and did my best with them. But still. 🤷‍♀️)

I really do enjoy your posts and I always comment when I see them, so if I didn't, you know I just missed them. My notifications aren't always working well, either. I try to remember to go through and manually check if I was @-ed in something because sometimes the activity notifier doesn't show a number, yet if I manually check, yep, something is there. 😖

In conclusion, I wish I had this many words to write on my fics, I'd have all my WIPs finished by now if I did, lol! Seriously, though, I know it's easy to say "Do it for yourself!" but it's harder to put into practice. Lately, I've tried to adapt that to "Do whatever makes you happy." If posting something with no engagement makes me sad, I stop. If posting something with no engagement still makes me happy, I keep going. Yeah, I'd rather post things that other people liked, lol, but sometimes, it's just more a matter of timing and not reaching the right people who would otherwise engage.

Whatever you choose to do, just know you're very cool and you post awesome things!

Withdrawing AU Updates.

If it wasn't obvious by the fact that I haven't been posting much anymore these days, it's simply because I don't have anything to say anymore. I'm still gonna make my stuff because I like making stuff, but I'll be fairly radio-silent. You won't hear from me much anymore.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

[hunxi-after-hours]

Which do you think is more tragic, Yi City arc or BeefLeaf arc or the Fallout between Shen Jiu - Yue Qi?

you come to me with this question, me, whose first CQL fic was songxiao-centric, me, the person whose literal favorite arc of CQL is Yi City, and you expect me to be unbiased and reasonable? a bold, bold presumption to make

so actually in a surprising turn of events, my answer is still going to be Yi City, but not for reasons of favoritism (I mean, yes for reasons of favoritism, but also for reasons for personal preferences when it comes to characterization and narrative writing)

so, here's the thing when it comes to reading tragedy — nothing hits me harder than immense promise and potential that has been unceremoniously cut short. it is one thing for a character who has reached the end of their narrative arc to smile beatifically and walk into the fires of sacrifice, limned with an otherworldly halo and remembered with worshipful reverence; it is another thing entirely for a character, just barely at the beginning of their journey, filled with optimism and courage, only now daring to take that first step, or the second, or the third and yeah okay so Stormlight veterans know exactly who I'm thinking about right now, into realizing the vast potential who they could become, only to be cut down cruelly and unreasonably by the hand of fate (the author)

which is to say, death in narrative isn't necessarily tragic — the wasted potential of a person is. what could they have done? who could they have become? and how much of their greatness will we never see? that, I think, is loss — that is what characterizes tragedy in my media consumption, renders it separate from grief or sorrow or injustice

(which is not to say that other character death isn't impactful or evocative, and boy howdy do I have Strong Feelings about how grief narratives are handled in literature and media, but you asked for my thoughts on tragedy in particular so here goes)

I also must confess that I, as a person, with my particular preferences, am perennially unimpressed by the miscommunication trope. don't get me wrong, I can enjoy a moderate amount of angst, drama, clownery, et cetera based on miscommunication or lack of communication in a plot, but after a certain point I do lose my patience with it. as a very wise friend once told me, awkwardness is the price of clarity, so at some point you've just got to get over yourself and say the thing and clear the air

all of which is to say, I am unfortunately not as sympathetic to Yue Qingyuan's plight as I, ah, could be. oh dude, you cultivated too hard and ended up grounded for more time than you were expecting while you were forced to rebuild your cultivation from the ground up, and on top of that got stuck with a sword that eats your life? genuinely, that really sucks to deal with, my condolences on becoming a glass cannon in a world of stupidly OP characters. but your inability to tell Shen Jiu that you actually had very legitimate reasons for coming late to rescue him, for believing that he was dead and not looking for him for all those years? sorry mister peak lord, that's all on you. I know that attempting to reason with Shen Jiu is like trying to give a murderous cat a bath, but like. the man can't forgive you if you don't give him a chance to forgive you, and he won't have a chance to forgive you if he doesn't know that there were extenuating circumstances involved, seriously, in the ten seconds it takes for him to storm off angrily you could yell at least one (1) sentence of explanation at his back instead of bottling it all up and keeping it there until you die

anyway the whole Yue Qi - Shen Jiu business to me is like. tragicomedy at best because their inability to communicate reads as absolute clownery in my book rather than tragedy. have you met two people who wanted to forgive each other more but simply could not open their mouths about it. peak clownhood by the peak lords, rip to Yue Qingyuan but I simply would give in and start yelling because my doormat hours are finite

as for the fall-out of the Black Water Arc, the foundering of He Xuan and Shi Qingxuan's relationship on the shoals of their centuries-long blood debts is... it's not so much tragic to me as, er, "that's rough, buddy?" because here is the thing that strikes me about the Black Water Arc — there is a startling amount of agency involved on all sides, yes, even for the guy who gets his head ripped off his shoulders. Shi Wudu knows that he's committed a crime of cosmic scale, and when the reckoning comes, he owns it, claims it, declares that he does not regret it, even manages to take the shape of his death into his own hands. Shi Qingxuan freely makes the choice to befriend Ming Yi, despite Ming Yi's best attempts to push him away, and even after He Xuan reveals his true identity and purpose to the Shi brothers, Shi Qingxuan still chooses to appeal to their friendship, still chooses to believe in some deeply buried kernel of mercy. likewise, He Xuan makes the choice to seek his revenge to the utmost, despite various opportunities to give it up altogether, or to soft-pedal the consequences, especially in light of Shi Qingxuan's kindnesses

any tragedy in the Black Water Arc, I think, comes from the inevitability of it all, the house of cards that Shi Wudu built around his brother that was always doomed to collapse, but I don't find the Black Water Arc that tragic because... looking back over the narrative, I don't think any of the characters regret their choices. I think, given a second chance, Shi Wudu would still choose to protect his little brother at any cost, He Xuan would still choose to exact his revenge, and Shi Qingxuan would still choose to believe in friendship and kindness and warmth. if they regret anything, I suppose it was that it had to turn out this way, but I don't know what could be changed. and, at the end of the day — a reconciliation is not impossible. there's a hell of a blood debt stacked against it, but the ending of TGCF does leave that door deliberately open

but Yi City Arc? oh boy, now there's a masterclass in tragedy

remember what I said up there, about tragedy being by fueled by unfulfilled/truncated potential? yeah so that goes for every single character involved in this absolute trainwreck of an arc:

Xiao Xingchen: a student of the legendary Baoshan-sanren, was destined to become at least a legendary jianghu figure, only to dwindle into obscurity and a misunderstood legacy

A-Jing: the fact that she died so young is both a crime and a tragedy

Xue Yang: Song Lan's arrival caught Xue Yang in the middle of his heel-face turn; the man wasn't exactly working towards a redemption arc, but Xue Yang was just beginning to become someone more human and less monstrous before he backslides suddenly and decisively

Song Lan: I will allow the miscommunication/lack of communication trope here because it's done well — Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen split because of Song Lan's rage and grief leading him to cast misplaced blame on Xiao Xingchen, and now, years later, Song Lan is searching for Xiao Xingchen precisely to apologize. the man has every intent to resolve the miscommunication of years past! he is going to say things to Xiao Xingchen! songxiao are poised on the literal cusp of reunion and forgiveness and the narrative. denies them. this closure

because what is unfulfilled potential if not the eternal lack of closure? we'll never know who A-Jing, with her cleverness and charisma, could have grown up to become. we'll never see the sect that Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan dreamed of founding, one built on ties of belief rather than blood. we'll never know if Xue Yang could have learned to build with his hands as well break, if his genius could have created something good and right and lasting

you take all of this unfulfilled potential, this lack of closure, and then you sharpen this tragedy to a moonlit edge with sweet agony of time. how close all of them were to fulfilling their potential, to achieving their goals. songxiao were so close to reconciliation, just a name and a voice and a swordstroke away

yeah. now that's a tragedy

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked. 

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 

Some things never change, you suppose. 

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 

The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 

“I think so,” you heave out in response. 

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why. 

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 

���Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 

It’s getting easier. 

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit. 

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you. 

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 

It can’t be. 

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 

This place will never not remind you of him. 

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

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[something-fanfiction-ie]

The Years

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: *SMUT* So you embarrass yourself in front of Derek and Spencer, the details of the case are mentioned and are a little intense, and smut. Like, rough, Spencer smut because there is nothing you can say that could convince me that Spencer Reid is a bottom. And swearing.

A/N: AH THE ENDING PROBABLY SUCKS BUT I TRIED REALLY HARD I PROMISE. Also, this is ridiculously long and not all of it is smut. For a hot second this WAS an OC story but I thought you guys would enjoy a self-insert more so I changed it. LOTS AND LOTS OF THANKS TO MY FAV FIC WRITER AND NEW TUMBLR FRIENDS, @reidmorefanfics and @pomsephone Y’all are the best. Also, remember to shower me in reblogs, comments, asks, messages, likes, and anything else you can think of to boost my ego. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND THANK YOU GUYS FOR READING!!!

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“Actually, that reminds me of a joke that I know.” At the front of the crowded lecture hall, a young Dr. Spencer Reid looks over at his partner eagerly, a smile already splitting his lips apart. Derek Morgan, however, looks over at his partner with a mixture of fear and secondhand embarrassment.

“Reid, I don’t think-” Morgan tries to save him, he really does, but Reid tucks his hair behind his ears and ignores him by starting the joke.

“Einstein, Heisenberg, Newton, and Pascal are playing hide and seek. Einstein covers his eyes and begins counting. While Heisenberg and Pascal run off and hide, Newton takes out some chalk and marks a square on the ground with a side length of exactly 1 meter, then sits down inside the square. When Einstein is finished counting and sees Newton sitting on the ground, he yells, "Ha, I've found you, Newton!". Newton however replies, "No you haven't! You've found Pascal!’”

A short, surprised laugh joins Spencer’s small chuckles, dragging his eyes to the location the sound had come from. Derek looks too, completely taken aback that anyone other than Reid had actually understood the joke. Yet, lo and behold, a young girl sitting in the front row with her cheeks stoplight red and her hand nervously covering her mouth.

Proudly, Spencer nods for Morgan to end the talk, his chest a little puffed out and a smug smile twitching at his lips. They wrap things up quickly, eager to grab some food after leaving campus and before heading back to the BAU.

When Spencer turns to gather his things, grabbing his bag, he notices the soft shuffle of feet against the hardwood flooring of the stage. A pair of black converse peek into his peripheral vision, attached to a pair of long legs that make Spencer blush for noticing at all. Lifting his eyes further, he meets the shy gaze of the only person who had laughed at his joke. It came as no surprise when he sees that your tee shirt had a picture of a cat with the words ‘Wanted: Dead and Alive’ in block lettering.

“Dr. Reid,” Your left hand comes up to push a stray lock of hair away from your face, a single gold band wrapped around your left index finger, “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I just, uhm, I had a couple questions?”

Looping the strap of his bag over his head and letting the familiar weight of it settle against his hip before he responds, Spencer ignores the way Derek looks at him by pretending he isn’t there at all.

“Of course,” Spencer meets your eyes, which are a beautiful shade of (y/e/c). “I like the shirt by the way. I’m not usually much of a t-shirt person, but I might wear one like that.” You laugh, shifting on your feet and twisting the ring on your finger.

“Thank you, I got it as a Christmas present. Along with ten billion other nerdy t-shirts. But uhm, I was curious how old you were when you joined the FBI?” Morgan holds his tongue, pretending to shuffle papers around and not pay attention to the poor girl’s crush.

“I was twenty-two. I finished two of my doctorates the year prior.”

“I thought you had to be twenty-three? I’ve always wanted to join the FBI as soon as I could but I thought I had a little more time. That’s what I read anyways. I could be wrong, you would know more than I do.” You looked down at your shoes, kicking the toe of one converse into the wood, your hair falling forward over your shoulders.

“No, you’re right. I had an age waiver. You’re eighteen? Nineteen? You’ve still got some time to prepare.”

“I’m seventeen, actually.” Your lips skewed to the side, the confession barely above a whisper as you continued to stare at your feet. Spencer blanched, unable to contain his surprise. He was quick to school his features, though, when you finally looked back at him.

“You’re seventeen and you understood his joke?” Morgan couldn’t help but cut in now, stepping away from the table he’d been pushing papers around on and toward the two younger people left in the room.

“A pascal is a unit of measurement equal to one Newton per square meter. By sitting in a square meter, Newton was being one newton per square meter. Which is, again, equal to a pascal. So he was Pascal.” A smile had worked it’s way past the nerves that jumped around your body. You weren’t very used to talking to young, attractive, intelligent doctors who worked for the FBI.

“Although, even if I hadn’t understood the science behind the joke I might have still laughed. You see, there is this thing called the Halo Effect, which is basically a cognitive bias you might develop based on your initial impression of someone that can change how you feel about their specific traits. Essentially, one example would be that someone you find attractive may seem funnier or more intelligent simply because you find them attractive.”

It takes all of a second for your face to turn beat red as you realizes your nervous ramblings have made you reveal the silly crush you had started to develop on the young doctor. Derek’s lips purse in amusement when he sees the similar shade of red that has colored his partner’s cheeks.

“Not that I’m saying I find you attractive,” Your heart stops cold in your chest and you are quick to retract the statement. “Not to say you’re ugly either, because that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. Just that my first impression of you as a nice and attr- I mean, intelligent man could have very well made my amusement slightly biased because I was more willing to like you based solely on my first impression of you. Which was that you are very nice and, and intelligent.”

It takes all the willpower in the world for you not to throw yourself down the stairwell later that day, the embarrassment having barely faded even hours later. The two men had been quick to assure you they knew you weren’t saying you had a crush on Dr. Reid, but they were obviously just trying to protect your feelings. They wouldn’t be FBI Profilers if they couldn’t tell you had a crush on him. The conversation was pretty much over after that, you being suddenly desperate to make an escape and Dr. Reid just as eager to leave the campus grounds.

The whole team teased him about his teenage fan for months after it happened, Derek had been quick to let everyone know when they came back. Reid had tried to hide from them by scrunching down into his seat and covering his face with a book, but it hadn’t helped him at all.

Eventually though, both you and Spencer were able to move on from the embarrassing moment, though neither of you forgot it. Those moments where you’re all alone and the most embarrassing moments of your life come to creep up and embarrass you all over again? The memory always came back during those moments.

The team, however, seemed to forget about it, Gideon and Elle leaving and Rossi and Prentiss replacing them as the years faded the memory for them.

It wasn’t until JJ took her new position at the Pentagon and Ashley left after her brief consultation on the case in New Mexico that the memory came back to truly haunt you both.

The whole team had heard whispers of a ‘probationary agent’ that would be stepping in to assist wherever needed. Hotch was good at keeping quiet and avoiding questions on the matter, somehow keeping Penelope just as much out of the loop as the rest of the team.

No one was even sure when the new agent was supposed to be coming until the glass doors to the BAU opened and in stepped a young woman with (y/h/c) hair and (y/e/c) eyes. Derek squinted his eyes, your face tickling the back of his memory in a way that annoyed him. Spencer tensed, his eidetic memory quick to remind him of the seventeen year old girl that had basically confessed she thought he was cute, and then called him ‘not ugly’ to try and cover her tracks.

“Agent (Y/L/N), nice to finally meet you.” Hotch said, holding the door open as you nodded your thanks and slipped inside his office with a box in your arms.

“That must be the probationary agent.” Prentiss directed the comment at Reid, oblivious to the resurfaced embarrassment that boiled his cheeks to that same shade of red he’d been in that lecture hall seven years ago. He kept his book up in front of his face while he tried to cool his cheeks, looking over the top of the binding and into Hotch’s window.

You’re sitting ram-rod straight in the seat in front of Hotch’s desk that is closest to the door, your box of things clutched tightly in your white-knuckled hands. Your hair is still the same length, swaying at your shoulders. You’ve switched the Schrödinger’s cat shirt for a deep velvet red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled at your elbows.

But even with the obvious nerves displayed in your current body language, it’s easy to see you aren’t the same stuttering seventeen year old Reid remembers. You holds steady eye contact with Hotch, nodding and fluidly responding in such a way that the usually stoic unit chief actually breaks into a grin that dimples his cheeks. When he stretches over his desk for a handshake, your left hand comes up and grips Hotch’s firmly.

“I’m glad it’s a girl, it was starting to feel a little too testosteronie around here with JJ gone.” Garcia had made her way into the bullpen, a cup of tea balanced in her bejeweled fingers as she, and the rest of the team, size up the girl heading for Hotch’s door.

“I don’t think ‘testosteronie’ is a word, baby girl.” Derek teases, trying to ignore the nagging feelings that he knows this girl from somewhere. Maybe they’d met on a case? But no, that doesn’t feel right.

“It is now, Derek. Don’t argue with me or I’ll have to punish you.” She brings the lip of her cup up, sipping at the lukewarm tea still inside and patting Morgan’s cheek with her free hand. Hotch’s door finally opens again and you step out after Aaron.

A hush falls over the room, all eyes trained to the newest and now youngest member of the team.

“We’ll do introductions on the plane, for now I need everyone in the conference room for a case.” Hotch is quick to make eye contact with everyone, his gaze stern and demanding.

Spencer is the last one into the room, practically dragging his feet to one of the chairs around the circle table. Thankfully, you were sitting across the table. Somehow you haven’t seemed to notice him.

“Yesterday Dawes County police found the body of Julia Hastings along a hiking trail in Kladon. This is the second body they have found in the area in two weeks, the first belonging to Heather Greenaway. Both victims are in their early to mid twenties. Hands and feet bound, buried face down. Each victim was struck once in the back of the head, making cause of death blunt force trauma.”

From your spot at the table, you glance up with narrowed eyes as you open the file you’d been given at the beginning of the meeting.

“Where did they disappear from?” Reid asks, a connection forming in his brain as each picture and detail flies up from Garcia’s tablet and onto the projected pictures before them.

“Night clubs around the area, they were working on the night they each went missing. Both girls were bartenders, had been working at their new jobs a week before they were kidnapped.”

“Justin Millers had the same M.O., kidnapping new female bartenders fitting this exact victimology and holding them hostage for a course of five days, beating and raping them before eventually hitting them on the back of the head with a tire iron.” You don’t look up from the file as you speak, flipping through the pictures and quickly noticing the small odd similarities in the victims between this case and Millers’ case.

“Millers has been locked away for a year and a half.” Derek pointed out, using the opportunity to stare at the face of the girl he was sure he knew but still couldn’t place. When you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed in a way that reminds him of Reid and your head tilted just a little to the side, he can feel his brain grab onto the memory just before it slips back through his fingers.

“I’d guess a copycat. Something seems different, I just can’t put my finger on it.” Your gaze slides over the table, looking at faces to get a gauge of their opinions on you. When you make eye contact with Reid, your eyes widen just a little before you duck your head. You should have known he was still here at the BAU, you’d only hoped he’d went to another unit out of desperation for this job.

“We’ll look into that theory, for now I just want a profile as if this unsub is working from his own killing preferences. We’ll discuss more on the way there. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch stands, flipping the cover over the top of his iPad before making his way out of the room. Go bags are grabbed, certain persons avoid bumping into other certain persons, and then the eight hour plane ride to Kladon, Nebraska begins.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Emily tests the name on her lips, having chosen to move by the younger girl after the fourty five minute theory discussion that started the plane ride.

“You can call me (Y/N/N), that’s what my best friend calls me.” You had popped the first two buttons open of your dress shirt and slipped your shoes off to tuck your feet underneath you. Tucked between your thigh and the arm of the seat is a book with a Greek title, in your hands is the open case file.

“Just your best friend?” Rossi asks from across the way, just as curious about the new girl as the rest of them, but a little better at hiding it.

“She’s really my only friend.” You shrug, but not in such a way that you seem bothered by the fact. You reach up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. Reid notices the gold ring that still circles your left index finger, light coming from the window glinting off the metal when you move. It’s the only jewelry you wears.

“A bit of a loner?” Derek joins the conversation, moving up the aisle of the jet with a cup of something hot cradled in his hands. He takes the seat directly in front of you, blowing at the liquid in his cup.

“I was more focused on getting through school than making friends. Emma just happened to be the only person who wouldn’t let me shake her.” There’s a smile on your lips as you talk about your best friend, your eyes soft.

“What did you go to college for?” Derek is fishing, looking for something to tell him where he knows you from. It amuses Reid, who has sequestered himself into a corner a little further away from you than everyone else.

“I have a masters in philosophy, with a focus in Ancient Greek philosophy. I have a bachelor’s in Greek, which is the only other living language I can speak and read outside of English, and I have two doctorates; one in Classic Studies and one in Criminology.” Rossi whistles, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat to express what everyone else is feeling.

“You young people just keep getting smarter and smarter. You know how many doctorates I had at your age? None. You know how many I have now?” You look at him with genuine curiosity, drinking in all the information you can about the people around you like it was a class you were taking to survive.

“None.” The laugh that bubbles from your lips is infectious and carefree, it pulls Reid’s attention away from his book and it drags Hotch from the constant state of worry that he mentally paces in. Emily, Derek, and Rossi all exchange looks before their own laughter fills the air. It’s nice.

The feeling reminds you of that scene in Mary Poppins where Dick Van Dyke and Ed Wynn laugh themselves into the ceiling. So light and carefree that it could lift them into the sky.

“Why all the attention on the Greek?” Prentiss manages when the laughter subsides, reaching down for the book the young doctor has tucked away. Η φόνισσα, it reads with a black and white picture of arms twisted to the side of the bookcover. You make no move to grab for it, letting the other woman flip through the pages.

“My father was a Greek Philosophy professor before he died, I suppose it’s my way of trying to stay close to him.” Prentiss looks up from the pages, a look of sympathy in her eyes.

“And your mother?” The change in your entire demeanor is like cold water on the conversation, freezing the group in their spots. You reach for the book, tucking it back into the space between your thigh and the seat.

“I don’t know.” It’s the only blatant lie you’ve told since they started talking to you, averting your eyes and shifting in your seat. No one presses the topic, giving the new girl the space you need.

You take the case file with you when you go to make a cup of coffee in the small kitchenette situated in the back of the plane. Reid is already back there, pouring a steady stream of sugar into the otherwise black liquid.

“Dr. Reid.” You nod your head in greeting, avoiding his eyes by setting your folder on the counter and pretending to read it. You’ve been going over every detail of the case for so long that you’ve memorized everything there is to know. There are notes and theories scribbled into the margins and little sticky notes with questions scattered around the papers.

“It helps to step away for a little bit, that way when we land you come back to it with fresh eyes.” The utensils drawer clicks shut as Reid grabs a spoon to stir his coffee, risking the chance to finally look at you.

You’re twisting the ring on your finger and chewing the inside of your cheek. Without your shoes on, the top of your head comes to his shoulders.

When you look up at him, (y/e/c) eyes thoughtful and just as curious as the day they met, Reid can’t fight the urge that draws his gaze to your lips. The skin there is so very soft looking, surprising him when the thought of kissing them hits him like a train.

He clears his throat, focusing all of his attention on the coffee cup in front of him. The sugar is completely stirred in at this point, but he kind of wants to stay in the hopes that you’ll strike up a conversation.

“But everyone is different so you don’t have to listen to me, just do whatever helps you.” His shoulders lift in a shrug and he’s glad that nobody is there to see him interact with this girl. They would know how he felt before he could even come to terms with it himself.

As quickly as you are there, you leave. Completely flustered and unsure how to go about navigating a relationship that’s foundation was an unintentional love confession. Maybe, you thought as you leaned into your seat and closed your eyes, if I just ignore him then everything will be fine.

By the time the jet touched down in Nebraska, you had fallen into a dead sleep with your book sitting open in your lap. Emily was the one to reach out and gently shake your shoulder, the smile on her face gentle and motherly. Still blinking away sleep, you quickly scrambled to grab your bag and book before rushing for the exit.

Unfortunately for you, the shoe laces on one of your shoes hadn’t been completely tied. Add that to the speed in which you were trying to separate yourself from Reid, and you managed to trip over your feet and right into the person you were trying to avoid.

Your bag hit the ground, the book following suit as a warm hand grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled. When you collided with someone’s chest, you didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Reid smelled like old books, laundry detergent, and cinnamon.

“Your shoe is untied.” He said, his voice rumbling in his chest. You didn’t look up, afraid the heat in your cheeks would give you away. You looked down instead, noticing the way your feet were inside the breadth of his stance. One shoe’s laces laid precariously around your foot as if mocking you. Quickly, you took a step away and almost tripped again on your bag. You caught yourself on one of the seats, holding a hand out to keep Reid from grabbing you again.

“Thank you, I’m okay. Really.” You didn’t meet his eyes, every lewd thought you’d had during that stupid lecture about his lips and hands and hair came rushing back at you with every glance. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could see each fantasy written on your face like a lusty, ten-cent romance novel.

Morgan, having stopped to watch the two doctors in your clearly flustered states, suddenly felt it click in his brain. Sure, you were older and not as squirrelly as he remembered, but the way you were looking at his partner was nearly the exact same as you had seven years ago.

Feeling smug for finally figuring it out, he walked up to Spencer with his bag thrown over his shoulder, stopping beside him as they both watched you rush for the exit.

“Can you imagine someone having a crush on you for seven years? Oh, wait.” Bending down to grab his bag, Spencer shook his head in such a way that a few loose curls tangled on his eyelashes. A simple sweep of his hand across his face helped to push it away.

“It took you long enough to figure it out.” Spencer took the lead, dreading the car ride with Derek to the medical examiners. He had been hoping his older partner wouldn’t remember who you were, at least, until the case was solved.

“Oh ho ho, don’t think you can avoid this conversation with insults, pretty boy.” Morgan was hot on his tail, and that was exactly where he stayed for the next three days that the team was in Nebraska.

The killer was, in fact, a massive fan of the infamous Justin Millers. It was just a matter of pinpointing which of the crazy fanatics he was, which might have been easier if the local populace was more open to talking to law enforcement.

It was by a brilliant stroke of luck, or rather misfortune, that the team realized sending you undercover would help on many different levels. Not only did you fit the victimology, (all they needed to do was get you a ‘job’ at one of the local bars) but you would also be able to get information from the civilians that were unwilling to talk to the FBI.

Four days into your undercover mission, you found yourself wiping down the counter after closing. The band was packing up their equipment on stage and your boss had already left. Laily, the only other bartender here tonight, was flirting with the drummer while you closed things up behind the counter.

As was customary, the members of your team had taken turns following you around everyday just in case anything happened. Today just so happened to be Spencer’s turn, you’d managed to slip him into the back room before all the customers had left for the night. It was the only reason you gave Laily the okay when she asked if you would be cool closing by yourself tonight.

“I can’t believe after five years of college, I’m back to bartending.” You grumbled, shouldering the backroom door open with a box full of beer in your hands. Spencer jumped up from the crate he’d been leaning against, holding the back of the door open so you could get in a little easier.

“You were a bartender before?” He asked curiously, trying to ignore the way the low-cut black uniform shirt you were wearing fit against your figure and twisted his insides. Factor in the tight jeans that hung on your hips and the sheen of sweat on your skin from the hot summer night and he could barely focus, let alone protect you from any possible threats.

“The years between my college graduation and my joining the FBI, yeah. I could have done something different, I guess, but I wanted to have a normal young adult job before I spent the rest of my life chasing serial killers and such.” You turned to face him, actually meeting his eyes for the first time this week.

Unlike you, he was wearing his FBI Kevlar. The navy blue tie that he wore was tucked into the top of it, the baby blue sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up around his elbows. You, yourself, were having an awful time trying to keep from getting all kinds of flustered just looking at him.

The young profiler you remember was all wiry and clean cut, the man in front of you is more scraggly. His hair curls around his jawline and his forearms are far more attractive than anybody’s forearms ought to be.

His parents were just showing off, casually bringing a child into the world that looks like that.

“I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He blurted, surprising himself. You could tell by the way his brows dipped down and he took a step back immediately after saying it. Even his cheeks were a little pink.

“What happened between us was like seven years ago and all you did was tell me you had a crush on me. And then take it back. I just don’t want it to affect our work relationship because everyone already likes you a lot and I want to get the chance to like you as well.” For someone who always seems so very shy and awkward, his eyes look directly into yours, narrowing just a little. His tongue pokes out from between his lips and turns all of your bones to jelly underneath you.

He just ages like fine wine and you know that, should you be offered a permanent position at the BAU, that you would have to spend the rest of your working days keeping yourself in check while the man in front of you continued to evolve into a more gorgeous version of himself every year. The Spencer you remember had felt like peak Spencer, now this Spencer felt like peak Spencer, but who is to say that five years from now, when he decides to grow a little stubble and style his hair differently, that he wouldn’t somehow get even more attractive?

You open your mouth to come up with some bullshit answer that you didn’t really mean in order to smooth things over, when the door opens again. Spencer, standing directly infront of said door, looks not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of a truck barreling right at him going way too fast on a backroad.

Time crawls at an unusual pace, the door slowly creaking open and Laily’s voice filtering in the opening. Why did he have to wear that stupid vest? Surely the FBI has bullet proof vests you could wear under your clothing. The only idea you could come up with was, honestly, not a very good one. But it was the only one you had.

Practically launching yourself across the room, you catch Spencer’s lips against your own like the world depends on it. Using your own hands, you position Spencer’s arms around you with one hand on the back of your head and the other grabbing underneath your leg that hooks around his waist. The vest uncomfortably digs into your chest with how close your bodies are against one another, your arms now thrown around his neck, but if he keeps kissing you like this then you’ll be inclined to ignore it.

Just seconds ago he had been begging you to have a normal relationship despite your silly ‘past’ crush, now his tongue was fighting for dominance in your mouth. The irony was not lost on you.

“Oh.” Laily gasps a little when she sees you in such a compromising position. The lights from the bar illuminating every detail so that she could see the way Spencer’s fingers desperately tangled in the strands of your hair or how the muscles in his forearm strained as he hungrily pulled your body even closer than before.

The blush on your cheeks and neck are real when you pull your lips away, fire erupting in the pit of your stomach when Spencer catches your bottom lip in between his teeth for just a second. The look in his eyes is devilish when you tilt your head over your shoulder to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry Laily, this is my boyfriend, Lance. I just- I heard about all those girls that have been going missing and I asked if he would drive me home.” The look in your coworkers eyes is all you need to know that this does not look like just a ride home. Although, it very well could have led to a ride somewhere if she had been just a handful of minutes slower.

“Nice to meet you, Lance. Gwen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Just,” the mischievous twinkle in her eyes does not go unnoticed by the two doctors in the room still tangled around each other, “maybe clock out before things get anymore heated.” She teases, the tone of her voice suggesting that you will be hearing more of this tomorrow.

“Bye, Laily!” The door clicks shut behind her, followed by the chuckles and giggles of Laily and the band as they leave for the night. You relax into Spencer’s arms, moving as if to pull out of them before they tense around you.

“We should be safe now.” You whisper, looking up into his eyes that burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in them before. That damn tongue sweeps across those perfect lips again, drawing your attention and reminding you that you now know what they feel like locked with yours.

“I think I hear somebody coming.” He whispers back, aware that you can both hear the soft bang of the front door closing and locking shut from the outside. Since the killings, the door was always locked if employees were still inside, as a safety precaution. Nobody else was coming in tonight unless they had a key.

Your lips meet his anyways, too tired to pretend that the heat between you wasn’t there. If this was the excuse he needed to kiss you, then you were all the more willing to give it to him. His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, causing them to open against his mouth and deepen the kiss.

Both of his wide hands splay against your hips, curling into the soft skin there and pulling you toward him with such force that you nearly trip. The hard edges of his Kevlar vest dig into your ribs and collarbone, the rough material scratching against your exposed skin as you push yourself up on your toes. When he breaks from the kiss, both of you gasping for air not from the length of it by from the passion, it is not to end your tryst.

His lips find the pulse at your neck, sucking a bruise at the soft skin there and pulling a moan from deep within your chest.

“Won’t- Won’t Morgan and Prentiss get worried,” your brain feels like the motherboard of a computer that Spencer has taken into his hands and slammed into a countertop, you can’t think when his teeth nip a love bite to the hickey he’s made on your neck, “if we, uhm, we take too long?”

If you thought the Spencer you met seven years ago was different from the Spencer you knew now, it was only because you’d never seen his bright hazel brown eyes darken with lust from beneath those impossibly long golden lashes. He was a completely different person as he unstrapped himself from the Kevlar, laying it on the floor with a solid thunk before gathering you back into his arms.

“They’ll be okay,” He said in between kisses trailed along your jawline. His movements are confident as he dips a hand down the front of your jeans and into your underwear. Your arms tighten around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck when his fingers find the already wet entrance to your sex. His answering growl does nothing to keep you from coming undone as he presses the pad of his thumb to the bundle of nerves there. “I’m guessing it won’t be long before I have you in the palm of my hands, anyways.”

You rock your hips into him, your eyes fluttering shut with a gasp when he thrusts two long fingers inside of you. His other arm is wrapped around the center of your back, holding you to him because lord knows you can’t be trusted on your own two feet at a moment like this.

“Is this why you planned on ignoring me? Because you wouldn’t be able to handle it if I didn’t give you this?” You whimper a response, too focused on the relentless pace he has set with his fingers to come up with anything coherent. Everything about the moment is raw and animalistic, every fantasy you’d had about him during the fifty minute lecture did not even begin to touch on the feeling of his hand actually inside of you.

“Spencer, please.” You whined, dropping your arms from his shoulders and gripping onto his biceps like it will keep your soul from leaving your body. Yet, as heavenly as this felt, and as much as it exceeded your fantasies, you wanted more. Every part of you craved the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, sticky with sweat and feverish to the touch.

On a tight time constraint, Spencer doesn’t make you beg anymore than that. Instead, he delights in the way you cry out when he pulls his hand out of your pants and up to his lips. Your own lips part with a tiny popping sound when you watch him put those same fingers into his mouth with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Strip.” He commands, licking the taste of you off his lips and leisurely working at the knot of his tie. You don’t waste a second in crossing your arms over your body to pull the black material over your head and drop it at your feet. Next to come off is your shoes, clattering across the wooden floor when you kick them to the side.

By the time you make it to your pants, Spencer has only undone a quarter of the navy blue buttons on his shirt.

“I need you now, Spencer.” The buttons slip through your fingers, your hands shaking with excitement more than nerves. Although, the nerves are definitely apart of it. Never in a million years did you think you would be here; in the backroom of a bar in Nebraska, with Spencer Reid doing salacious things to you. While on your first case with the BAU, nontheless.

Doing a complete one-eighty, his hands come up to cover your own just before the last button comes undone. His touch is gentle and prompts you to look up into his coffee colored eyes. The light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling is no good, and yet somehow he manages to look like a piece of artwork painted by the most skilled hand known to mankind.

“We don’t have to do this here. We don’t have to do this at all, if you don’t want to.” You squint your eyes up at him, using your fingernail to pop the last button through the hole on the other side of the shirt. When you let go, the pieces fall away from his chest like he’s caught in slow motion on a Calvin Klein commercial.

“I said I needed you now, not later.” In response, he scoops you into his arms and wraps your legs around his hips. The electricity that pops and crackles between you is nearly visible in the dimly lit room, the fabric of your bra skimming against his collarbone when you breath.

The little whines and whimpers that fall from your lips are driving Spencer crazy, forcing him to push through the door and lower you to a shorter countertop meant for making drinks. Tonight it would be used for other, more wicked things.

“Someone’s a bit excited.” You breathed. There was no way you could take a full breath in a moment like this. Everything was so heated and yet nothing was really happening.

“Shut the fuck up.” And then he was kissing you, his lips warm against your own. Despite the fact that you didn’t think it was possible, he pulled you closer. You knitted your fingers into his curls and gave them a slight tug. God, you loved these curls.

He began sucking a heated trail down your throat, quite possibly leaving a pathway of hickeys. You would be putting makeup over them for at least thirty minutes before you left your hotel room tomorrow, but for now they were heavenly fire against your skin.

Spencer took away his lips long enough to strip from his remaining clothes and throw them over his shoulder. When he stood in front of you looking like a Roman god, bared to no one but yourself, it made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

“I’m so in love with your body.” He groaned just before his lips found your breast, sucking on your nipple. Your head fell back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fumbled for a moment, patting around the countertop before your brain turned on long enough to get your hand between your legs and down to his naked erection.

He moaned into your breast as you began to move your hand. He let go of your boob and went straight back up to your mouth. His whole body was tensed up but his lips were soft as they parted against against your lips. The whole world felt like it was on fire, and his every touch was another lick of flames.

You move your hand faster, enjoying every groan and grunt and moan that finds it’s way out of his mouth and into yours. He’s already close to orgasm, you can tell by the way he breaks from the kiss, your foreheads pressed together and your breath stirring in the small space between your faces. His grip is tight when he grabs your wrist to make you stop.

“No.” Every nerve and thought and feeling was consumed by you and everything else short-circuited. Spencer couldn’t get the words out of his mouth to properly express what he wanted, it wasn’t often that the young genius was rendered speechless.

But you knew, you knew that he wanted to be inside of you. You knew that because you wanted him inside of you just as much, if not more, than he did. You shift your hips around on the counter, getting closer to the edge as you widen your legs.

“I’m on the pill.” You whisper, watching the sudden realization that he hadn’t come prepared widen his eyes for just a small fraction of a second. Just as quickly, the fear turns into that devlish grin you weren’t aware someone so beautifully shy and awkward could possess.

“Thank you, Pincus, Sanger, and McCormick.” You barely have time to question the comment, although later you’ll realize he’s probably talking about three of the minds behind the invention of the birth control pill. No longer taking his time, Spencer positions himself right at your entrance before running the tip of his cock along your wet folds.

“Fuck!” He slams into you, running his entire length into your body, hitting depths you didn’t even realize had never been touched until he was thrusting against them. It sends a wave of pleasure through every cell in your body as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him like you’re running out of oxygen.

He holds onto your hips as he repeatedly rams his hips into yours. He has buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting every curse and moan muffle into your skin. The glasses under the counter jangle with every merciless thrust inside you. The sharp bite of his nails digging into your hips makes you hiss, but it’s more from pleasure than pain.

There’s no dirty talking anymore. Every ounce of pretend you both go through while around one another is shed like seconds skins, leaving two people so hungry for each other that it had been too much to bare.

Your fingers are twisted around the short curls at the nape of his neck and your teeth are biting into the solid muscle at his shoulder. The bar always had whiffs of sex and sweat in the air that mixed with the smell of alcohol and perfume, but now it was the strongest scent in the room.

Even as your orgasm starts to build in your belly, you want more. You want to hold him so close that your brain wouldn’t be able to distinguish where you ended and he began. Letting go of his shoulder, your head lolls back and your own nails draw long lines of red down his neck.

“Spencer!” His name leaves your lips in a mix of a sob and a moan, the ecstasy of just his touch alone driving you higher and higher. The sting of his nails leave your hips, one hand reaching to the place where your connected and the other coming up to grip your jaw in his hand.

His thumb rubs against the little button of pleasure that causes your legs to start to tingle like they’ve been asleep for too long. All the while, he ruthless pace doesn’t falter. Sweat sticks a few of his curls to his temples, providing a beautiful glowing effect across the smooth planes and angles of his shoulders and collarbones.

He leans forward to catch your lips in a kiss that ends much too quickly for your taste, but you can feel the rapid exhalation of his breaths as it fans across your cheek.

“Come.” Usually a man of so many words, you had always assumed it would be the same in his sex life. Maybe it was true in most cases, but right now his desire to see you succumb to the pleasure of him inside of you outweighs the need to taunt and tease you with words.

Meeting his eyes, getting off on the smug look that twists his lips as much as you are getting off on his dick actually inside of you, you let yourself fall into the sweet release of your orgasm. Spencer doesn’t stop as you come around him, instead he quickens the pace as his own release works its way to the edge.

Your legs are still shaking when he buries himself into you with one final thrust, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He chases the sting of his teeth away with the softness of the kiss that follows, loosing himself in the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

Neither of you move, although he ends the kiss to gasp for air with your foreheads once again pressed against each other. His eyes are closed, the dark pink on his cheeks and neck making him look so much younger than he was. You keep your eyes open, trying to drink in every second and commit it to your memory the way it would forever be in his.

When he steps away, leaving you feeling much more empty than you’d felt in a really long time, the cocktail of your orgasms spill down the inside of your thighs. Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you slip off the counter with your arm wrapped around your bared breasts.

The air seems too cold, the bar too quiet, and your mind was too loud with insecurities as you tried to steady yourself on wobbly knees. Nevertheless, you attempt to make a beeline for the backroom door. If you go and put your clothes back on then maybe you could go back to pretending like he doesn’t exist and everything will be fine.

That is until one of those solidly handsome arms come out to stop you in your pursuit of denial.

He’s still naked, standing next to you like a statue carved by the hands of Michaelangelo himself. Although, you aren’t sure the renissance artist would sculpt nail marks into his skin, the signs of your heated escapade only darkening with time. You can only imagine what your own neck looks like, several spots of sensitive skin still overly stimulated from his wandering mouth.

From your vantage point, you can see his swollen lips open to say something, probably that this had been a mistake, when his phone rings from the pair of pants he’d so carelessly thrown to the floor earlier. A small frown mars his angelic features, the side of his mouth twitching with aggravation.

His lips on yours are a surprise you weren’t expecting, despite the sexual encounter you’d just had. This kiss speaks more words than he could ever possibly say, easing all the post-coital dysphoria that comes with the sudden fall from the high you’d been on. It’s gentle and warm, the hand on your arm squeezes reassuredly before he breaks away with one last peck to your forehead. It nearly tears your beating heart out of your chest.

“Come to my hotel room later.” And then he bends down to snag the phone from his pants with an aggravated growl, turning away from you as he lies through his teeth to a worried Prentiss on the other end.

In the backroom, having shimmied back into your pants and going to put your shirt back over your head, you fingers find your lips. They’re just a little swollen, exactly like his, but you wonder if he can still feel that final kiss against them the way that you could.

Oh boy, were you in trouble.

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

The 100-Year Old Virgin

Pairing: Virgin!Steve Rogers / Fem!Reader

Words: 2000+

Summary: Reader has a crush on Steve but he is already seeing someone.

 Warnings: explicit sexual content (vaginal sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M and F receiving), squirting), friends to lovers, lost of virginity, SMUT!!!!! NO MINORS!!! 18+!!!!

A/N: This was my first time writing a Steve Smut fic (Only because I have only written Supernatural smut) and I am very proud of this fic. I like to write in 3rd person, just because it makes it easier on myself. There is some fluff at the end but for the most part it’s smut. Also I posted this on my Ao3 account and people seemed to really like it and I want to see if it happens with all platforms. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it. 

Y/n sat on the couch of the Avengers compound. She was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and one of the t-shirts, she stole from Steve, her best friend. She has her Y/h/c hair up in a top knot and black fuzzy socks on her feet. She was watching The Big Bang Theory on the giant tv in the lounge.

She was relaxing, when a tuxedo clad Steve Rogers came rushing out of the lift. She looked up as he rushed past her with a pair of black dress shoes in his hands. 

Y/n whisted, “Why do you look like a blonde double o’ seven?” She questioned, pausing her show and standing up. Steve tries to put on his shoes but ends up falling flat on his face, he rolls onto his back and looks up at her. “Steve, why’re you in such a hurry?” She asked, helping him back onto his feet.

“You know Destiny?” He questioned, oh Y/n knows Destiny. She hates her, because the day Y/n had the courage to tell Steve how she felt about him, was the same day Steve introduced Destiny, his girlfriend, to the team.

“Yeah I know her.” She nodded, and then clenched her jaw shut, so she didn’t say anything she’ll regret.

“Well tonight I have a date and I think tonight… might be the night.” Steve shrugged, and a blush dusted his cheeks.

“Tonight might be the night for wha-” She started to ask, but it clicked with her and her eyes widened. “Steve are you a virgin?” She asked.

“What?! No, no…” He trailed off, and Y/n suppressed her smirk and took his shoes from him. She helped him with his shoes and then stood back up. He looked at her faded dark blue t-shirt. “Is that my shirt?”

“You should know by now that I steal your clothes all the time, Steven.” She shrugged, and patted him on the shoulder and walked to the couch and leaned on the back. She crossed her arms and looked up at him. The look on his face was nervous and he was playing with his fingers. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, and nervously chuckled.

“Really? ‘Cause it looks like you’re about to sweat through your suit.” She said, and he sighed and dropped his defensive facade.

“Fine! I’m nervous that I’m not ready to cross that line.” He explained, and Y/n cocked her head to the side.

“If you’re not ready. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But I feel like it is and I don’t know how she is going to react if I’m not ready.” Steve rambled, and she placed her hands on his arms, and he looked at her in the eyes.

“Steve, if she really loves you then that shouldn’t matter.” She said, and he let out a breath of relief.

“I wish that all women were like you.” He sighed, and she chuckled.

“Well they aren’t, unfortunately. But you’re going to be late.” She said, and he quickly placed a kiss on her cheek and grabbed his keys and wallet. “Bye!” She yelled, and Steve waved before slipping out the door. Y/n sighed and plopped back onto the couch with her blankets and pillows. “Good job, Y/n. You love him and yet you let him go.” She sighed, and buried her face in a pillow and screamed before taking a breath, then unpaused her show.

After a while she fell asleep in the sea of blankets and pillows. She woke up to the sound of the door open and shut. She jolted awake and looked at the mystery man in the kitchen, but she could see it was Steve. He saw that she was awake and paused in his tracks.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He questioned, as Y/n got up and walked into the kitchen behind the lounge. She grabbed a bottle of beer and popped the cap off.

“Yeah. But I needed to get up anyway.” She shrugged, then took a long sip of beer and then looked Steve up and down. “Your tie is still around your neck. So I’m guessing it didn’t happen.”

“No. I wasn’t ready, but she was and then when I told her I wasn’t… she broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie.” She said sympathetically. “Wanna stay up late watching crappy tv?” She offered, walking back over to the couch.

“Sure.” He shrugged, and plopped down next to her. She leaned over and grabbed the remote, and her shirt rode up and Steve saw the back of her Y/f/c lace bralette, he blushed and quickly looked away. She leaned back and sank into the pillows.

“Alright what’d you wanna watch? Big Bang Theory? Game of Thrones? Supernatural?” She questioned, and Steve looked over the tv screen.

“What about Friends?” He shrugged, and she nodded.

“Sounds good.” She said, and played it and leaned back against the couch. After it started, Y/n realised that it was the episode, where Ross came back from China with Julie and Rachel was jealous, and Y/n can’t help but feel like she was in the same thing. The episode ended and Y/n was quick to pause the tv before another one could come on. Steve looked at her confused.

“Why’d you pause the show?” He questioned, and she turned to look at him.

“Why didn’t you go through with Destiny?” She asked, and he looked a little taken back by her question.

“Why do you ask?”

“I mean you can get any woman you want by just stepping outside. Most women are practically in love with you. I mean I’m in love with you-” She stopped her sentence, in realization of what she just confessed.

“Y-you love me?” He questioned, but Y/n didn’t answer, she just dashed down the hall to the stair and took them two at a time. She got to her floor and ran into her room.

She paced the room waiting for Steve to come knocking. “God damnit, Y/n! You take one look at that man and practically fall apart! Now you just confessed your love to him, right after a break up! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She exclaimed, and then someone cleared their throat from behind her. She froze not exactly knowing what to do.

“I don’t think it’s that stupid.” Steve said, from where he stood at her doorway. Tears filled her eyes as she slowly turned around. She laughed a watery laugh and sat at the edge of her bed.

“Yeah, well I think it’s stupid that a man like you would ever look at me the way you looked at Destiny.” She explained, and he sat next to her.

“Why would you say that?” He asked her sympathetically, and looked at her with big puppy dog eyes.

“Because, I’m not pretty enough, skinny enough, good enough for a man like you.” She whispered, and Steve looked at her with confusion and a little bit of pity. She looked at him and saw the pity so she jumped up and started pacing the room again. “No! Don’t look at me like that!”

“Look at you like what?”

“With pity! I don’t want to be pitied.” She sighed, and he stood up and took her hands in his, so she’d stop pacing.

“I don’t pity you. And as far as I’m concerned, you are the most beautiful dame I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Steve said, she looked up at him as tears fell down her face.

“Then why don’t show it?” Y/n questioned, as her voice cracked. He decided instead of words he would show her, so he placed his hands on her face and leaned down and kissed her. She froze for a moment not really knowing what to do, but then she came back to reality. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He pulled her up by the backs of her thighs. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. He laid her down on the bed and hovered over her without removing his lips from hers. He then pulled back and looked down at her.

“I don’t show it, because I was too scared to.” Steve said, and she placed her hands on his face, so he would look at her.

“Well, don’t get scared now. Because I want you, and by the bulge in your pants I think you want the same.” Y/n whispered, and he leaned down and kissed her hard. She untied his tie, then pushed his suit jacket off. She took her hair down and it flowed around her face, like a halo. She reconnected their lips as she unbuttoned his dress shirt. “Too… many… clothes…” She said, through kisses. He quickly stood up and took off everything except his boxers. He stood back and watched. As she sat up and took off her shirt, then her socks, and finally her sweatpants, leaving her in matching lace panties and bralette.

“You’re so beautiful, doll.” Steve said, and climbed on top of her. He kissed and sucked down her jaw, to her neck, collarbone, then finally to her chest, leaving little red marks in his wake. Before Y/n knew it her bra was gone, and Steve had taken one of her breasts in his mouth.

“Ohh… Steve.” Y/n moaned, as he nipped and sucked on one breast before switching to the other. He kissed down her stomach to the hemline of her panties. “Are you sure about this?” She questioned, and he looked up at her.

“Of course. I love you and I want to show you.” He said, and she smiled and pulled him up for a heated kiss.

“I love you too, Steve.” She whispered, and he again kissed down her stomach to her panties. He hooked his fingers under the hemline then slowly pulled them down. The cool air hit her already soaked pussy, and she mewled out. He smirked and gently spread her legs. He groaned at the sight of her completely exposed to him. He used his fingers to spread her folds, before he dived in. He thrusted his tongue into her wet channel. She moaned and mewled out as he sucked on her clit. He plunged two thick fingers into her. He curled and thrusted them in and out of her pussy. “Ohh… Steve, how are you so good at this?!” She exclaimed, as he slammed three fingers into her.

“Tony sent me a lot of porn, when I first started dating Destiny.” Steve explained, and Y/n rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“That sounds like him.” Y/n said, then he curled his fingers and they hit her g-spot and she arched her back. She cried out as her orgasm took her over. He continued to suck her clit and thrust his fingers, until she came down from her high. He took his fingers out and she took them and sucked them clean. He smirked and climbed over her and connected their lips. She rolled him over onto his back. She straddled his thighs, then pulled his boxers off. His hard member slapped his taut stomach. Y/n took in the size of his and practically drooled at the sight of him. She took Steve in hand and gave a few pumps, before taking the head of his cock in her mouth. She licked the slit, tasting the pre-cum already dripping down his shaft. She slid her mouth down his shaft, until he hit the back of her throat.

“Ohh… Y/n!” Steve groaned out, as she swallowed around him. She hollowed out her cheeks and gently sucked. He moaned and thrusted his hips up, so that his cock moved farther down her throat. Steve pulled her up, then rolled them over, so he was on top. He kissed her fiercely, as he lined up and started to push into her. She had to break away from the kiss, so she could cry out, as he bottomed out. “Oh. You’re so tight, doll.”

“Move. Please, Stevie.” Y/n whined, and he started thrusting in and out of her slowly trying not to hurt her, but she wanted more. “I’m not going to break. Please fuck me. Hard!”

“Whatever you want, babydoll.” He whispered into her ear, then started thrusting hard and fast into her. She cried out and arched her back, he used this new position and took one of her nipples in his mouth. He sucked and nipped on her breasts, leaving hickeys and red marks all over her chest. He kept thrusting hard and fast into her wanting pussy.

“Oh, fuck! I’m gonna cum!” Y/n yelled, and he brought a hand down and started rubbing tight circles on her clit. His cock hit her g-spot over and over again, and that set her off. Her thighs shook as she started squirting all over his cock and chest. Steve groaned at the sight of her squirting all over him. He pulled out quickly and came in spurts of hot, white cum. The cum covered her stomach, pussy, and breasts. He slumped over her without crushing her. After a few minutes of resting, Steve got up and walked to her bathroom, and grabbed a washcloth. He soaked it with some water, then came back in to see Y/n tangled in her white sheets, his cum covering her body, her hair a mess around her head, her eyes closed in peer bliss, and a lovestruck smile across her face. If Steve could take a photo of this he would, she was just so beautiful in his eyes. He walked over to the bed and gently cleaned the cum off of her body, then threw the washcloth in the laundry hamper. He climbed into bed with her, and she immediately cuddled up to his chest.

“I love you, Y/n.” Steve whispered to her, thinking that she was asleep until he heard her voice.

“I love you too, Steve.” Y/n whispered back, then closed her eyes and cuddled closer into his chest. He wrapped both arms around her, and hugged her closely to himself, silently promising never to let her go.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 16

Distractions and Sex

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: bucky helps distract you after the whole Steve shot happens

Warnings: swearing, smut, so much fucking smut, slight dirty talk, slight degradation, knife play, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, bucky being super soft, lots of fluff

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

It had been nearly an hour since y/n had left in search of Steve, and there still was no sign of her. Bucky began to worry, chewing his already short fingernail as he became more and more scared. Now, weather it was the thought of y/n getting hurt that scared him or one of her in Steve's bed, he didn't know.

The super soldier was just pushing up from where he'd perched himself on her surprisingly luxurious bed when the door creaked open, the shock of it giving Bucky a little start as he flinched slightly. Y/n stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes red-rimmed and looking almost dead - so dry from crying for so long it looked almost uncomfortable, which of course it was. She held a near empty whiskey bottle in her hand, which almost fully explained her state.

Bucky stood from the bed abruptly, taking the few strides that it took to close the gap between them as y/n kicked the door closed with her foot.

"You didn't find Steve?" He asked worriedly, hands coming up to cup her face. Y/n scoffed, letting out a slurred, humourless laugh.

"Oh I found him alright." She crocked.

"And? Should I go speak to him?" Buck urged, desperately trying to meet y/n's eyes but she adverted her gaze to some plotted succulents that occupied her bedside table.

"That's probably not the best idea. At all." She deadpanned, moving out of Bucky's grip before flopping onto the bed and blowing out a big sigh.

When Bucky looked at her, he couldn't help but feel like she looked like a fallen angel. Her hair fanned around her face like a halo, the glaring light from the room creating shining highlights over her skin, her lips pouted almost sinfully; and yet her dress was skew-whiff and her mascara ran down her cheeks, the reddened look to her eyes almost devilish.

Y/n brought the whiskey bottle up high enough to unscrew the cap, tilting her head up enough so she could take another swig of the golden liquid. But she was predictable, the drink's effects slowing down her movements and before her lips met the rim of the bottle Bucky was swiping it from her hands, letting it settle on the little table next to her bed.

"I think you've had quite enough of that." Bucky scolded, a frown morphing his once-soft features. Y/n blew out a frustrated sigh, sitting up and crossing her arms over her chest like a little girl throwing a tantrum.

"And I think you should stop telling me what to do." She bit back, her snarky attitude telling Bucky everything he needed to know about why people avoided the Stark's when they were drunk.

"C'mon, doll. Why don't we just get you into some more comfort clothes and into bed?" Bucky suggested, y/n standing up to become nose-to-nose with him as he spoke. "I'll help with the zip if you like." He offered, gesturing for y/n to turn around. But her attention was elsewhere, eyes glued to his plump pink lips that she was kissing not to long ago. Maybe the distraction would help...

"Doll-" Bucky began but y/n was quick to cut him off.

"Just shut up and kiss me, soldier." Y/n murmured breathily, eyes transfixed on his lips. Bucky threw all logic out the window, like those words were a new string of triggers. His rough hands cupped her face again, y/n letting out a shiver when the metal made contact with her flushed skin, before he was smashing his lips to hers in a desperate kiss.

Bucky walked her backwards until y/n's knees hit the bed, the girl falling into the plush covers. Bucky was quick to crawl over her, coving y/n's body with his own at his teeth nipped at her bottom lip and his hands explored her body like it was the first time. His touch was everywhere, leaving a trail of fire in its wake across her skin.

"Soldier, please." Y/n whines breathily, fisting her hands into his hair as Bucky trailed his kisses over her jaw. He hummed in agreement, beginning to kiss down her body before y/n was using her grip on his hair to yank his head back up. "I'm ready. Just please, get inside me." She begged, a sound that Bucky could listen to for hours if need be.

He nodded quickly, moaning as she fumbled with his belt and jeans zipper before wrapping her slim fingers around his hard cock. He kicked off his jeans and boxers, thrusting onto her hand slightly as he bunched y/n's dress around her waist and slid the thin piece of cloth to the side.

That's when his hand brushed against the silver blade strapped to her upper thigh, hand hand instinctively snapping away. Y/n giggled, a soft sound that was like a melody in the super-soldier's ear.

"I always like to be prepared when I'm in public." She informed him, her laughter gone when she realised that she may have scared him off. But a wide grin split over Bucky's face, his lips hovering over hers once again as he unsheathed the knife from the leather strap.

"Good girl. It seems I taught you well." He mumbled against her lips, giving the girl a quick kiss before pulling back from her and sitting back on his haunches.

He twirled the knife in his hands, smirking at the blade as he flipped it between his fingers until the tip rested at y/n's heart. Her breath hitched momentarily, eyes drifting forwards towards the silver dagger before a smirk of her own spread across her lips.

"Kinky. I always knew you'd be a freak if you were in the right headspace." She smirked, gasping lightly as the soldier flipped the blade again, this time holding it against her hip, under the dress, and hooked it into the waistband of her panties. He brought his lips her her ear, breath hot and foggy.

"And what sane person initiates knife play during sex?" He mumbled, nipping at her earlobe. Y/n giggled again, the endearing sound finding his cock and making it throb as it somehow grew even more.

"I never said that you were sane, soldier." Y/n whispers, enticing a small growl from Bucky as he nipped at her neck. Y/n gasped again, the blade tugging up harshly and snapping the band of her lace panties, the fabric falling from around her as he repeated the same action on the other side.

"Hands and knees. Now." He murmured gruffly in her ear, making y/n clamp her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to conceal her giddy smile, but the excited fling to her eyes gave away ever though the girl was having at that moment.

When she didn't move quick enough, bucky used his metal hand to flip y/n over, tugging her up onto her hands and pulling her ass flush against his hips. He ran his cock through her puffy folds, collecting her wetness and groaning at how much he found just from some kissing and knife-play.

"Fuck. You're soaked." Bucky praised, soothing a hand over her ass before it was cracking against the skin. Y/n yelped, jolting forward onto her forearms as bucky slid home with one deep thrust. "Fuck. Your little pussy just sucks me right in. Suck a fucking slut for me." Bucky grunted, pulling his hips back and snapping them into hers roughly.

Y/n cried out as Bucky tangled a fist in her hair, pulling the girl back against his  best as he thrusted vigorously into her wet heat. His mouth next to her ear, Bucky brough his flesh hand to her neck again, knife still in grasp as the blade pressed slightly against the scar running across her neck.

You'd think it'd trigger something in y/n, make her uncomfortable or flood her with unwelcome emotions. But it did the opposite. To y/n, having one of the men she loved, who she knew to have endured the same trauma as she had at the same hands as her, with her knife pressed to her neck, it somehow made her feel empowered, like they were claiming the pain as their own - no one else's. She moaned loudly, now completely sobbed and completely aware that every time she jolted forward the knife scraped and scratched her skin ever so lightly, nicking the skin in a prickle that caused on or two drop of blood to trickle down her neck and slide over her collar bone.

"S'tight and warm. Fuck, you feel so good." Bucky husked into her ear, the words causing y/n's walls to flyer around his cock, causing both the assassins to moan loudly. "Touch that pretty clit for me baby, make yourself come all over my cock." He rasped, driving into her tight cunt even harder that before, if that was possible.

With a shaky hand, y/n reached down, rubbing small and tight circles against her bundle of nerves as Bucky's cock slammed into her balls-deep. Y/n cried his name as she came, her walls convulsing around Bucky wildly, her own orgasm triggering his.

Bucky grunted and groaned y/n's name as he stilled inside her, ropes of his come painting her slick walls. Her dropped the knife to the bed, placing his hands on her waist as he slowly pulled out of her. Y/n winced slightly as he did so, moaning at the feeling of their come mixed together and dripping down her thighs.

Y/n made to protest as Bucky got up, leaving her panting of the bed. He chuckled, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead before telling not to move and that he'd be back in a moment.

...

I didn't know how long he left the room for, but when Bucky returned he scooped me into his arms and carried me into the bathroom that was connected to me room and set me down on the marble counter, the warm feeling of the hot bath radiating against my skin, the mirror against my back dam with condensation and steam. I shivered slightly at the cold contact of the glass against my exposed skin, my mid elsewhere as I felt the super soldier slip me out of my dress and lift my into the bath after him.

He used a soapy cloth to clean me, rubbing it over my skin in soft circles, gently massaging my aching muscles. He littered my shoulders in kisses, his warm chest pressed to my back and his arms circled around me once he was done cleaning me.

"Did I help?" He pondered, tilting his head slightly although I couldn't see that.

"Hm?" I hummed, still slightly out of it.

"Did I help? Distracting you?" He rephrased and I nodded, cuddling against him further.

"Lots. I haven't really thought about st- that, since I saw you. So thank you." I smiled, and Bucky didn't miss the way I avoided Steve's name.

"I'm happy to help, Doll." He smiled back, pressing a kiss to my hair. We stayed like that for a while, his arms wrapped around me - one warm and one cool - my head against his shoulder and his nose buried in my hair.

After a while of comfortable silence, Bucky helped me out of the tub, where the water was now turning cold and my body was beginning to shiver - despite the warms radiating off him. He wrapped a towel around the both of us, leading me into the bed room and throwing me his t-shirt whilst he pulled on his boxers.

We climbed into bed, my head resting against his chest as I nuzzled into him, completely missing the way his gaze lingered on my face, or the was his hand carded through my hair and his lips pressed to my forehead because sleep had already pulled me under its lulling spell.

“Goodnight.” He whispered against me, finally letting his blue grey eyes fall shut and his mind to rest, falling onto as deep a sleep as me as he slept the best he had since before the war, when him and Steve used to share a little apartment in Brooklyn.

[kogo-dogo]

Okay, so people who have only been in the TES fandom from Oblivion or Skyrim onward are really lucky, because I wouldn’t wish the jump from Morrowind to Oblivion on anyone. And I’m very glad the current gen of TES fan is a lot tamer because, hoo boy, I hate Oblivion for a reason and the entire reason is just the baggage it brought with it.

Picture this: I am a young teenager when I am introduced to Morrowind. I spend a lot of time on a forum called Planet Elder Scrolls. By and large, most of the people there are tired modders who’ve been doing it for ages in other games or people who lean more toward the “nerd” criteria than “gamer” criteria. Because this was an age when being a COOL MAINSTREAM GAMER(tm) was relatively… new, I guess? Halo really changed the landscape on that one.

So, it’s a quiet community of modders and nerds who mostly just post screenshots and cringe fic and everyone thinks their Nerevarine is the best and most coolest Nerevarine ever. The biggest argument we have is about mods being lore compliant and, even then, the consensus is “if I want to put my Altmer in assless chaps and a thong, he is GOING to be in assless chaps and a thong. Fuck you.”

This was the era of Westly and AlienSlof and Kikaimegami and we were JUST figuring out who TrainWiz was.

But, when I was sixteen years old, Oblivion was released and there was a… shift. A change we could sense. This was the era where COOL MAINSTREAM GAMING was in its infancy and I don’t think the previous TES fandom was prepared for what that brought to the doorstep. Because, suddenly, it went from “oh my god I can’t wait for Oblivion, look at how alive the world feels!!” to a quiet “we are going to burn this fandom to the ground and start anew.”

Now, I didn’t really go much on the Bethesda forums because they were big and the idea of talking to a dev was intimidating and maybe they handled it better. But PES was small and independent and suddenly there were GAMERBROS everywhere whose bread and butter consisted of starting shit and ignoring rules. Morrowind was ugly and stupid and they didn’t understand why we still played it, and they’d drop into topics about Morrowind and tell us so. Our characters were stupid and didn’t fit lore, but the front page was PLASTERED with meticulously modeled big titty anime demon girls from their Oblivion saves. Oblivion began the MASSIVE BOOB AND SEXY WALK movement, and we were helpless as our screenshot forum suddenly looked like a weird corner of pornhub.

Here’s some of the worst (funniest? Frustrating?) things I remember:

- AlienSlof was an admin for PES and a mod maker who, essentially, was all about making Hot Guy mods… and also horses, for some reason. She liked her dudes to be thotted up before it was cool, and she made her personal mods available publicly in case anyone else wanted their elf boy in a mesh crop top. She was, predictably, not scandalized by Hot Girl mods, though they didn’t appeal to her.

But then the Gamer Bros descended on her, angry that she would dare not make mods tailored for them, making homophobic comments, being general pricks. And it sucked because Slof was also an exhausted thirty-something whose response to this is “I don’t got time for this shit,” and she… delisted everything she ever made.

- There were some who tried to brave Morrowind and every last one of them seemed to completely miss the Dwemer Puzzle Box from the main quest. Morrowind General was flooded with “where box?? CUBE?!?! HELP MODS NO CUBE!!! CuBE?? plz wher box plz?” to the point that one of the mods angrily made an entire screenshot-riddled guide to how to walk into a room and look to your left.

- My last straw was a guy who decided Morrowind was too bland and boring and so his idea was to make a mod that would gut it entirely and rebuild it as some edgy Ashland post-apoc volcano hellscape. Part of his manifesto was changing the racial traits to make more sense, and one of the changes he made was to make Redguards immune to fire, which he specifically pointed out that he did in order to make them “more realistic.” We had to explain to him that melanin did not make you incapable of burning to death.

- Though I was also mad about the theft of Intellectual Property that suddenly sprang up. I had fics I wrote spread wide and far. :(

Unfortunately, a few years after I left, GameSpy (which hosted PES) shuttered. The site eventually redirected to The Nexus and now… well, it’s but a distant memory and so many of the old mods are probably gone, save for some hard drives. I know a lot of them were archived by Fliggerty, but now Fliggerty is also defunct and searching the Morrowind archive is a hassle.

But yeah. There you go. Oblivion was the bane of the TES fandom for a very long time and I’m glad to see we somehow recovered from that shit. Awesome!

[generallybarzy]

the queen + her good boy. ---m.barzal

inspo: kings & queens, ava max… “you might think I’m weak without a sword, but if i had one it’d be bigger than yours” ……… that’s so hot….

an: here’s that smutty fic that turned out being a loooooot more than a blurb, oops. I literally can’t stop thinking about this cincept and I definitely think its something Mat’d be into. A lot of people see him as a sub and a lot see him as a dom, and I’m pretty much on the “he’s a soft dom”/switch side but now I appreciate both so…. this fic is the outcome. im so so proud of this, i think i used realllllly good descriptions and its really hot but i also don’t like bragging so please tell me if you like it cause i speedwrote this in like 2 days. praise me like the reader praises maty. Reminder that all you girls are 👑queens👑 and you better make any guys treat you as such. Only reciprocate and make him feel like a king if he deserves it 💕.

warning: smut.

word count: 4.3k

The first time you said it, it surprised him.

You weren't unhappy with your sex life in any way. You weren't bored, you weren't looking for a change, you weren't trying to make it more exciting. You were content. It was beautiful, you both gave and received, it was an even back and forth, and you had plenty of different "modes". You communicated and had little important talks about sex, you made it the best it could be. You weren't stuck in a sexual rut, in fact, you couldn't be happier with where you were. Something just felt so right about those words.

The first time you said it, Mat's mouth was between your thighs.

You were spread out on the couch, legs on Mat's shoulders and hands tangled in his hair as he knelt on the floor between your thighs and lapped away at your heat. It felt so good, so fucking perfect that you couldn't control yourself. You were yanking on his dark locks, tugging his face closer, spurred on by the wet noises of his mouth, his chin, his nose all up against your pussy, eating to his heart’s content, his nose bumping against your clit and making your legs squeeze around his head. You felt so in control, being able to push and pull him any way you want, and Mat felt so at your will, letting you guide him and tell him what you wanted most.

And when those two words slipped out in the heat of the moment, Mat realized just how much he loved the position he was in.

"Ohhh, good boy."

The sound that escaped his throat was like a moan, a whine almost, as his pretty eyes shot up to look at you, at the way your chest was rising and falling with each heavy breath, at the way you were looking down at him, a fire in your eyes.

His eyes wide, his jaw slack and his face shiny with your slick as he leaned back from your cunt to gaze up at you, the dumbstruck expression making his pleasure evident.

“Oh, damn.”

“You like that, Maty?” You bit your lip, watching the way his hand moved down to the stirring in his pants and loving the way you affected him. “You like it when I call you that, baby?”

“Hell, yes.” He shuffled around on the floor, tugging his tight jeans down his thighs and pushing them aside to ease the pressure on his straining cock. “Say it again.”

“Only if you get back to your job.”  And with that, you tugged him closer until his mouth reconnected with your clit. “Right there…” He went to work, sucking and kissing and bringing his fingers up to dip at your entrance, pushing and pulling you in all the ways he knew you loved. “Oh yeah, Maty. Just like that.” You stroked his hair, gentler than before, curling your fingers through the fluffy locks and dragging your nails over his scalp just how you knew it comforted him. “You’re so good to me... Always treating me so nicely, making me cum so good. You’re my good boy, aren’t you, baby?”

He moaned again, vibrating against your warmth. “Mhmm. Yeah, princess.”

Your eyes fell shut momentarily, satisfied, and savoring the feeling before an idea struck you. “No,” You pulled his hair and forced his gaze up to you. You “Oh, no, baby, I’m the queen now.”

“Fuck. Fuck yes you are.”

"You like this? You like being so submissive for me?"

"Holy shit." Mat’s hand fell to his cock for a few helpless strokes. "Yes. Fuck yes."

“Now,” You put your foot on the back of Mat’s head and pulled him in again, tired of all the banter and just wanting your release. “Are you gonna be a good boy and make your queen cum?”

“Yes, queen.”

And he got to work.

It didn’t take long after that, and when you were finally spent and panting and Mat had emptied himself all over his own hand, you pulled him up onto the couch with you. His knees were red and lightly carpet burnt from kneeling before you for so long, but you both knew it was just reciprocation for all the times you had bruised your own knees for him. Your fingers stayed knotted securely in his hair, right where they belonged, the two of you curled together on the couch and he kissed at your neck as your breathing steadied down to a normal pace. “Maty…”

“Hmm?”

You touched his cheeks and lifted his face from your neck to get a good look at him. His cheeks were pink, his eyes averted and soft, and the smile on his face was haloed with your stickiness. Baby’s a messy eater… “Maty, I didn’t know you were into that.”

“I didn’t know either.”

“It’s so hot.”

“Mhmm.”

You leaned in to kiss him, still tasting yourself on his tongue. “I’m glad you admitted how much you liked it. A lot of guys wouldn’t be comfortable saying that, I don’t think.”

“I just like hearing that I make you feel good.”

“You do. So good.”

He sighed against your skin and grinned. “You think this is gonna become a regular thing now?”

"I don't know. I like you being in charge." Mat hummed in response and went back to kissing your neck. "But I like this too. I like calling you a good boy. Cause you are."

"Mmm."

"I like both equally."

"Me too." Mat's lips found your own again, more chaste and sweet this time. "We can do both."

The next time it happened, you planned it out.

There had been a long, tiring game that night, and even after they finally won, Mat still didn’t feel like celebrating. The score had been much to close all night, and when Mat finally got home, all he wanted to do was finally sit down and rest and indulge in his girl.

His queen.

“Hey, pretty baby.” You greeted him with a kiss and led him to the bedroom, dropping your robe to reveal your pretty lingerie set, working him out of his tie and suit jacket as he stared in awe. No words needed to be spoken. It was a common occurrence after tough games for you to take good care of him, he knew what he needed to do, even without your soft words. “Lay down for me, baby. Be a good boy.”

He whined at the words, flopping down on the bed and knowing exactly what was coming.

“C’mon, baby.” You worked him out of his dress pants and shirt, kissing up his thighs and up his abdomen and chest and his neck until you were nibbling at his jawline. “You gonna behave for me tonight, Maty?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

He moaned.

"C'mon, baby."

“Yes, my queen.”

A hand came up to his hair and his eyes went wide, watching, waiting for your commands. “Good boy. I know you will.” You straddled his now-naked thighs and leaned into his ear, nibbling gently. “ First I need you to get that pretty cock of yours hard for me. Can you do that?”

He whimpered helplessly, grinding himself up against you, only half hard.

“Yeah, I think you can do it.” You took him in your hand, playing with the weight and stroking in just the way you knew he loved. The way you knew would get him hard. He was practically throbbing, aching for need already, and you could feel him grow harder with each passing moment. It was a tender moment, sitting there together in warm silence, listening to Mat’s breaths, and feeling his growing desire for you, just sharing that moment of intimacy.  “Maty?”

“Hm?” His eyes opened, gazing up at you in awe.

“You want me to take care of you, baby?"

"Yes, please."

"You gotta earn it first, you know that, right? You gotta deserve it. Wanna eat me out? Make me cum first? Earn your orgasm?”

“Yes, yes!” He was eager to respond, nodding his head quickly and shaking around his hair. “Fuck, I promise I’ll make you cum so good-” he was moving to sit up, so you placed a hand right on his chest and gently pushed him back.

“No, baby, stay here. Lie back and be comfy.” You brushed the hair away from his forehead and crawled up his body, watching his jaw drop as he realized what you meant. Your eyes went cautious for a moment, silently asking if this is alright, but he just opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue for you to sit yourself down onto while you steadied yourself with his hair.

Your throne.

“Go ahead baby, do what you do best.”

And he went right on ahead, his tongue lapping at your aching hole, his hands coming up to hold your thighs in place, his nose pressing against your clit, always eager to please his queen, always eager to show you just how good he was, to remind you just how much he worshipped you. You ground your hips down onto his face, a spark of pleasure erupting from the way his nose hit your sensitive clit, and you reached down to tug on his hair, tilting his face up perfectly against your pussy. “Yes, baby. Like that.”

He groaned from beneath you, unable to form coherent noises, settling for groans and whines that sent vibrations straight through your core. The peaks and dips of his face felt so euphoric between your thighs, you wanted to explore and memorize the terrain, and the way your soft skin slid over the scratchy scruff on his cheeks had your legs trembling. If it weren't for your grip in his dark waves, you would have fallen over.

It wasn’t long before his skilled mouth had you shaking, reaching your limit. You leaned back to let him breathe before you could finish, and caught a glimpse of him beneath you, his eyes dark and wide, his tongue swiping over his lips and cleaning himself of your slick. He wasn’t doing a good job, though, as he was stickied and wet from his chin to his nose, his cheeks red and lips swollen from all the work he’d been doing. Messy baby.

“Well,” You ran your fingers across his forehead, pushing dark curls away from the sweat they were sticking to. “Finish the job, pretty boy.”

“Yes, my queen.”

With his eyes still straining up to yours as his mouth connected with your clit and his finger found your hole, it was only seconds before you spasmed around him, your slickness leaking down all over his face. Mat moaned into your flesh- his cock throbbing at the sight of you coming undone atop of him, at the feeling of your hands yanking his face closer, your pussy throbbing around his two fingers and they dipped in and out and curled just how he knew you loved- and you dripped into his mouth, fully spent and satisfied.

When he could finally form words, he whispered, gazing at you in awe: “How was that?”

“Mmm,” You were still trembling from that hell of an orgasm, sliding down to sit on his chest instead, and Mat almost came at the feeling of your wet against his skin. “Mmmm, Mat. that was so good, So perfect baby.”

“Was I good? Did I earn it?”

“What do you think?” After all of that, you almost forgot what he’d done it for.

“But say it.” His eyes were pleading, wide and bright. “Please.”

“Oh,” You leaned down to give his lips a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Oh, baby, you’re such a good boy for me. Good boy, good boy. Made me cum so good. I think you deserve a treat, don't you?”

"Please, my queen."

It wasn’t long before the words made it into your daily life.

It wasn’t a serious dom and sub role like something out of “Fifty Shades” or some gross preteen-written fanfiction, definitely not, but just a cute little tease that you liked to bring up now and then to fluster him. Mat loved to be reminded of how good he was to you, he loved to know he was doing a good job and that you appreciate him, and you loved to dish it out. If it were any other guy, you wouldn’t do this for them, but Mat just… deserved it so bad. He really did treat you like his queen.

He loved to tease you. Many times, he'd catch you in the mirror before dates and his sneaky hands would find their way down to your ass, and you would scold him and swat those hands away. "Oh, come on, baby. My queen looks so delicious tonight." He’d be gazing at you in the mirror, leaving sloppy kisses all the way up your neck, but you just got your hair perfect, you just applied your makeup perfectly, there was no way you were about to ruin it, especially for such a naughty boy.

"Keep behaving like that and you won't get anything tonight, baby. Bad boys don't get rewards, you know that."

"I'm being bad?" He smirked, sending shivers down your spine.

"So bad."

"Oh, I can get a lot worse."

He'd tease you, alright, but you always found ways to tease him right back.

Like the time you were out with his friends, and one of the wags mentioned "Oh yeah, Y/N definitely runs the show in this relationship." and everyone laughed and cheered about how "Barzy's so whipped!" It was all in good nature, everyone knew how much the two of you loved each other, and all his friends laughed at it, but Mat only shrugged and mumbled something like "Sometimes I’m in charge…”, though you knew he wasn’t afraid to admit to his friends just how much he loved his queen. Not that he’d ever tell them… about that.

“I might be in charge, but Maty here is good at following my orders. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Mat’s eyes widened for a moment as you reached up and curled a hand to cradle the back of his neck and play with the dark curls peeking out of his hat. His cheeks went red at the use of his pet name in front of all these friends.  

“Yeah, of course, your majesty.”

The words were spoken sarcastically, and to anyone else, it seemed like playful banter, simply teasing. But both you and Mat- and only the two of you- knew that under the table, something was stirring up in Mat, and when you got home tonight, he was definitely gonna be the one in charge.  

You loved the teasing, but sometimes you weren't in the mood for that. Sometimes you were in the mood to be absolutely cherished and catered to. Treated like the queen you are.  And luckily, Mat was there, willing and ready to dish it out.

After such a long day at work, all you wanted when you came home was to fall onto the couch and lose yourself in your loving boyfriend. You’d called Mat the moment you got off work, practically begged him to come over to your apartment for the night. Not that it was really begging, because he caved immediately at the thought of spending more time with his girl. But the thoughts of the dishes in the sink, the dinner that needed to be prepared, and how your apartment that looked like an absolute wreck when you left this morning plagued your mind as you took the final steps through the hall to your apartment door.

The second you opened the door, you found yourself encased in big arms.

“Hey, baby.”

“Mat. Ugh, I had the worst day.”

“I can tell.” His lips found your cheeks sweetly, and your eyes took a moment to glance around the room.

“Did you… clean?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back from your hug with a proud smile. “I know when you’re stressed you busy yourself with a lot of work, so if I do everything for you, there’s nothing for you to do tonight but cuddle, right?” You didn’t know what to say. Your jaw had literally dropped, and, if you weren’t so dead tired, you would have jumped him. “I did the dishes, cleaned up a little, got our favorite show on, and I’m one click away from ordering some food if you’re down.”

“Mat, you didn’t need to do all this.”

“Nothing’s too much to do for my queen.”

You smiled at the pet name as you felt the familiar heat curling through your stomach. “Thank you for this. So much, baby.”

“No problem, seriously. I guess I’m just… a good boy, for doing all this?” He said the words with a smile, a suggestion. And you were down.

“Maty, baby. You are. You’re such a good boy. What do you want tonight?”

“Whatever you want. I’m all yours for the night. Do whatever you want. Anything. You deserve it.”

Just those words had heat flooding into your panties, as you remembered what it felt like to have his cheeks scratch against the insides of your thighs.

“Eat me out, baby.”

At your words, he dropped to his knees in front of you.

Woah.

His hands quickly unbuttoned your pants and yanked them down to your ankles along with your panties, and his mouth followed, pressing sloppy, wet kisses down your legs. He hooked one of your knees over his shoulder and nibbled up the soft flesh of your inner thigh, leaving tiny love bites all the way. “Mat, Mat.” He glanced up, his eyes fiery and needy. “Mat, take your clothes off. Wanna see you.”

“Fuck, yes, my queen.”

His shirt fell onto the floor, followed quickly by his sweatpants, and finally his boxers. Just like always, the sight of him had you aching for more, your heat pounding with your heartbeat so hard you swore he could hear it from his position. Seeing him naked, vulnerable, submissive at your feet just… stroked something in you. Your confidence, maybe. Seeing such a big, strong, dominant guy so willing and needy for you, willing to do anything just for a taste, it made you feel so powerful. You controlled his pleasure.

He was already half-hard, gripping himself tightly and giving slow, steady strokes.

“Ah, ah, ah, hands off your cock, baby.” His eyes shot up to yours and his hands flattened on his thighs, cock twitching wildly in the air, straining for you. You knotted your fingers through his locks like always and tugged him in.

And he got to work.

His mouth felt heavenly against your heat, his tongue wide and thick and hot and lapping at you as if he was a starved man and you were the most delicious feast he could ever eat. As if what was dripping for him from between your legs was like honey, was like the food of gods, and he had tried his hardest to prove he was worthy of just a taste, just a breath, just your mere presence. And he was taking his precious time savoring the taste because you were the best flavor he could ever imagine. The sweet taste of your skin, where the perfume lingered as he bit down into your shoulder, the taste of whatever chapstick you put on when you kissed him, and now the intoxicating drip drip drip between your legs.

One of your feet was already flat on his back, so when he lifted your other leg over his shoulder, you hesitated.

He glanced up from between your legs with a smile, cocky and sure of himself. “Don’t think I can hold you up, babe?”

“Can you?”

“Trust me.”

And with your back against the wall, Mat hoisted both your legs onto his shoulders and scooted closer to you, until his face was flush with your heat, your feet flat on his back and your hands in his hair pulling him in. You tossed your head back against the wall as his lips closed around your clit, abusing the bundle of nerves just like you loved.

“Fuuuck, yes. Good boy.”

“Ohhh.” There were the words he craved so bad to hear.

The room was full of wet, sloppy noises, the noises of Mat’s tongue and face against your slickness, but through it all, you heard something else. A familiar sound of steady, rhythmic slapping.

“Mathew!” As much as your body complained, your hands tugged Mat’s face away, looking down at the dizzy, dumbstruck look on his face, his hand frozen on his cock. He’d been caught, and he’d be punished. “Bad, bad boy. Hands off.”

“Fuck.”

Your hand cupped his cheek, dragging a thumb along his bottom lip and swiping away some of your slick. “You don’t like listening to me? You like being a nasty, disobedient boy?”

“No, fuck, I’ll be good.” His hands gripped his thighs tight, trying to calm himself and keep his hands away, his cock red and angry and straining for you.

“Hmm. Maybe I’m being too hard on you. Teasing you like this and not giving you any release. Maybe I need to show you a little mercy. You think you deserve it?” He said nothing, not wanting to seem too needy and instead waiting patiently for your answer. Did he deserve it? He didn’t know yet. It was such a privilege to even be in this position with you. Your hand stroked across his cheek again. “I think you do. Poor baby, let’s put your hands at work somewhere else.”

He quickly got the hint, bringing one hand up to grip your thigh tight and trailing the other all the way up the inside of your thigh and gathering your wetness between his fingers and bringing them to his lips to lick them clean.

He was back at work.

You were a drug, and he was addicted. He couldn’t get enough, he’d do anything to prove himself worthy for just one more taste. One more taste of that glorious honey dripping from your legs. And he’d continue to prove himself time after time because you didn’t deserve anything less than his best. You were his queen, and he worshiped you.

“Oh yeah, yes baby.” He’d found the perfect rhythm in you, the perfect beat to have you shaking and moaning and trembling around his head. His grip on your thigh was the only thing keeping you grounded on earth, otherwise, you would have floated away into the euphoria of how it felt to have his tongue against your clit and his long fingers curling just right and grazing against your g-spot with every movement. You couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning when you’d wake up covered in his fingerprints and lovebites and wear them like little secret trophies. And you couldn’t wait to go about your day with the lingering thought that someone like this awaited you at home to tend to your every need like this. Nobody you talked with throughout the day knew of the little markings of your late-night adventures that were kept hidden away under your clothes. Nobody but Mat. His fingerprints would be embedded in your skin as if your body wanted to remember every crevice of the way he touched you, his teeth would be tattooed on your shoulder, his face and fingers would still taste slightly of you from the night before. His fingers would delicately graze every mark he left, asking if it hurt and asking if it was worth it, smiling and passing compliments and praise back and forth because that’s the kind of love you had. The kind that could go from nasty and wild to soft and delicate, the kind that could be both at once.

“Good, good, good boy. Ohhh, so good for me, baby. You know that? You’re the best. Always treating me so well. Making me feel so good.”

“(Y/N)...”

You swiped your hand over his forehead and brushed his hair away from his sweaty brow, locking eyes in a delicate moment. “Make me cum, baby, please.”

“Of course, my queen.” The words were spoken into soft flesh as he came back for the final stretch, his cock painfully hard and needy for your hand, your mouth, your attention, beading with precum as Mat grinded helplessly at nothing, just looking for any friction. Just a little bit longer, he knew, and he’d get his reward. Just a little bit longer.

He could barely breathe, the further in you pulled him, just surrounded by your scent and your heat and your wetness, but what need did he have for breath when you were gifting him the most valuable thing in existence? Yourself, your heart, the sweet, sweet nectar dripping from your core, the birdsong of moans falling from your lips, the choir of angel’s voices from your lips that cried his name. That was all he needed.

Finally, finally, your grip loosened from his hair and your legs fell limp and weak onto his shoulders. He gave you a moment to breathe, to collect yourself, and rest on him before continuing on. He stood, lifting you with him and helping you settle your feet onto the floor, shaky and off-balance.

“Woah, Maty.”

“Did I do good?”

“Like always, pretty boy.” You tilted your head up to see him finally extended to his full height, once again reminded of how powerful you were to have someone so much bigger than you down on his knees for you. “Good, good boy. Always so amazing for me, so willing, so selfless, so giving. I love you. Mat. You deserve the world for being so good.”

“I love you too.”

“Seriously, thanks for tonight.”

“Mhmm, any day, anything for my queen. Thank you for existing, you fucking goddess.”

“Mmm.” You shared a sweet kiss, dripping with love and adoration and care for one another, your eyes locked together in an intimate embrace before your arms slid from around his shoulder. “Now, baby,” You back him against the wall, slowly dragging your hands down his chest, over the peaks of his nipples and the crevices of his abdomen and bellybutton, and right to where his cock was straining red and angry for attention, dropping to your knees for him. “Lemme make my good boy feel like a king. He deserves it.”  

"Oh, baby."

And when you finally took him in your mouth and his hand tightened in your hair, his whines told you that he was the furthest thing from a good boy. "Let me show you how a queen rewards her most loyal subjects..."

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Closer

*Thomas Jefferson x Reader

*Summary: Reader is very into one of her housemates. After a couple house parties, she finds out he’s very into her.

*Warnings: Swearing, drinking, (mentions of) weed smoking, jealousy, insecurity, smut, grinding, hickies, tiddy sucking, fingering, vaginal sex, (my attempt at) dirty talk, a lot of consent check-ins, morning after awkwardness

*A/N: I’VE FINALLY BEEN DRIVEN TO WRITE SMUT. Like, this was hard for me but I had fun writing it (this fic is 8k words oops). Also sorry if it’s not the best, I really did try.

My Ko-Fi

**********

You had two major rules for living with people: never sleep with them, and definitely never develop feelings for them. In your two years of living in the dorms you’d managed to abide by those rules, but you faced the biggest challenge to your rule the second you stopped living in the dorms. In your third year, you moved into a housing option that was a lot cheaper than the dorms or a regular apartment. The house you moved into was pretty small - only 12 people - so everyone saw a lot of each other. Cue the start of your troubles.

When you first had a video call with the other members of your house, your eyes immediately were drawn to one corner of the screen. Sure, you’d joined in the middle of a conversation so his box was highlighted, but you were sure you would have been watching his little screen anyways. You could tell he was sitting in bed - wherever he was - and he was already familiar with a few of the people in the call from the way he was chatting with them. He had a neatly trimmed beard, curls forming a halo around his face, a bright smile, and a pair of black glasses just pulling the look together, even if you didn’t really know what look that was.

When he gave his little introduction piece, you knew this would be trouble. Not only was his voice attractive, he also had a bit of a southern accent, which just doubled his attractiveness. Everyone went through their introductions, you being one of the last people because you didn’t volunteer until a lot later on. When people had the chance to ask questions, the guy - Thomas - decided to speak up. “Is that a (favorite show) poster behind you?”

You looked back at your wall like you didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. You were just surprised he pointed it out. “Oh, uh, yeah! It is!”

“Nice!” Thomas told you, giving you a bright smile. You could feel your breath catch at the sight, but you managed to smile back. As the call ended with one other person giving their introduction, you could already tell you were in trouble. You knew you couldn’t pursue anything with Thomas even if it happened that he also found you attractive. It wasn’t only that you’d be living with him, no; he was also one of the house managers, so if things ended bad, he could really make your living situation not the best. But still, there was nothing stopping you from finding him attractive.

When you moved in, you immediately ran into Thomas. You knew you were supposed to check in with Angelica so she could get you your keys, but she was helping someone else at the moment. “Hey, you’re (y/n), right?” Thomas asked, sitting at the dining room table as you just stood there waiting for Angelica.

“Y-yeah, I am,” you stuttered, silently cursing how nervous you were around him. This was your first time meeting the guy in person, and you were really going to make a fool of yourself, weren’t you. You looked back to where Angelica had disappeared upstairs, wondering just how long she would take.

“Well, I’m Thomas,” he introduced himself, standing from his seat. “I can take you on a tour of the house while you wait for Angelica if you want.”

“Uhm, sure, that’d be great!” You immediately accepted, feeling your face warm from the entire interaction. Thomas walked up next to you, nodding for you to follow him. Your parents were waiting outside for you to get your keys so they could help you move in, but since you had some time, why not?

**********

It didn’t take long for everyone to start feeling comfortable around each other. The only real issues there were in the house were arguments Thomas and Alexander would get into, but even those wouldn’t get too bad. Within a month of everyone moving in, it really started to feel like a little family. Which made your attraction to Thomas that much worse. You thought it would go away once you got to know the guy and it would fade into a friendship, but you were dead wrong. The more you got to know the guy, the harder you fell. The way he joked, the way he made sure you weren’t talked over (and if you were, he always made sure to come back to you and ask what you were going to say), almost everything about him made you realize it wasn’t just surface level attraction.

By the end of the first month, a few of your housemates - John, Alexander, and Laf - planned a little party in the living room. It was just for your house, but it really sounded like they were planning to throw a rager. You weren’t really one for parties, but it sounded like it could be fun. The fact that Thomas said he would be going had nothing to do with it.

When the day of the party came, you didn’t really know what you were going to do. You knew Thomas was going to be there, and Peggy really wanted to go, so after spending the afternoon deciding, you started getting ready for the party. You showered, pulled on a dress you saved for going out (not that you really went out in the first place), put your makeup on, and just sat there waiting for Peggy to get ready.

“This is gonna be so much fun! I saw Alex and John come in with the drinks for later and they bought so much,” Peggy gushed as she tried deciding between dresses. She finally turned to you. “Which one looks better?”

“Depends on the look you’re going for. The one on the right is definitely cute, but the one on the left is great if you’re trying to look hot,” you told her after a moment of looking at the options. She put the dress on the right back in the closet. Once she actually knew what she wanted to wear, she quickly got ready. As she was getting ready, there was a pounding on the door. Peggy went to go look, but whoever had done that was already gone. You already knew you were running a bit late, but who ever really showed up to parties on time?

The music wasn’t too loud when you and Peggy got to the living room half an hour after the party was supposed to start. The lights were off, save for one of those multi-color party lights, balloons were all over the floor, and some colorful YouTube video was playing on the TV. Alex and John were already drinking, quickly pulling Peggy to the booze table to make her something. Herc and Laf were sitting on one of the couches, just chatting, and Thomas was hanging near the pool table, talking to Maria. Maria looked gorgeous, red satin slip dress hugging her figure and sheer thigh-high stockings creating an image you could only hope to compete with. You left the living room, going to get yourself some water from the kitchen.

Just going across the hall was a huge difference. Aaron was sitting at the table, laptop in front of him as he worked on something. Angelica and Eliza were in the kitchen, making something that you were definitely going to try later. “Do you know what they’re making in there?” You asked Aaron as you filled your cup.

“No idea, but I know I’m going to have to clean it afterwards,” Aaron complained, looking up from his work. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. Are you going?” You nodded your head towards the living room.

“No, I have work to do tonight. Have fun, though.” To be honest, that was probably the longest conversation you’d had with Aaron. He normally kept to himself, except when he was dragged into hangouts with the house by other people. You took your cup of water and went back to the living room, seeing Peggy, John, and Alex huddled around Alex’s phone as they put more songs in the queue. Thomas was drinking something from a mason jar, though in the dim light you really couldn’t see what it was.

“Hey, (y/n), you look cute,” Thomas said as he walked up to you. You immediately looked down at your cup and mumbled a thank you. There was just something about being called cute that hit different, especially when it comes from someone you were very attracted to. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m good, I’m playing adult tonight,” you told him, holding up your cup a little. You finally looked at Thomas, the colored lights casting a mix of reds and blues on his skin. He was wearing a button up shirt, different from the t-shirts and tanks you’d seen him in before. When you looked a little further down, you saw he was wearing basketball shorts. That would just make it easier to- you stopped the thought there. You didn’t know where it came from, you couldn’t even blame any alcohol in your system. Instead, you blamed it on the colored lights in the dark room, creating an almost intimate atmosphere.

“Thank you. Would you mind cutting John off when he starts getting a little, you know?” You nodded. You did know. John was a bit of a sloppy drunk, but he hated when anyone pointed it out. That’s why every drinking night needed a designated adult. Thomas took another drink before nodding to the empty couch. “You wanna sit? No one’s really dancing yet.”

You nodded again, following Thomas to the couch. Even when the music picked up, only a few people were really dancing. Thomas got up a few times to refill his cup, but he never really left your side. The two of you talked through the night, and you found yourselves getting closer as the night went on. His attention was entirely on you, even brushing off Maria when she tried to pull him to dance. There were a few songs where you actually wanted to dance, and Thomas practically jumped at the chance to dance with you. Eventually the music changed to slower stuff, and you went back to sitting down with Thomas.

You really tried to stop your mind from racing at the proximity, but you couldn’t help it. As the two of you talked, the lights still dancing across his skin, you could see yourself closing the small gap, kissing him. Every now and then he’d brush his fingertips across your skin, but you couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. Your skin burned with the slight brushes. Your mind ran to what his touch would feel like if it was more purposeful, how his skin would feel under your fingers. When he leaned forward, brushing some hair from your face, you wondered if he would always be this gentle.

Thomas was mid-sentence when it finally became too much. You took the chance, leaning in and pressing a questioning kiss to his lips. He tensed, and you immediately went to pull back. When he realized what you were doing, he brought his hand up to the back of your head, holding your face to his. The kiss started gentle, but it got more insistent as it went on. You could feel the party around you just melt away as the two of you kissed, your hands feeling his arms as you let yourself fall victim to your wants. You couldn’t tell if the kiss had lasted for minutes or hours, but you knew you must’ve looked a mess.

“Do you want to come up to my room?” Thomas asked, breathless and low enough for just you to hear. You nodded, and Thomas immediately stood, leading you by the hand. You could hear John’s drunken cheers as you and Thomas went up the stairs. His room wasn’t far from the stairs, and it didn’t take long for you to end up in his bed. His body lightly pinned yours on the bed, one of his thighs between yours. Thomas broke the kiss, only to trail kisses down your neck as his hands ran up and down your body.

“Thomas, please,” you said, not really sure what you were asking for.

“I know, Sugar.” You could feel his smirk against your skin. “I want you too.”

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” Thomas said, standing up. You were shocked at his sudden announcement. It wasn’t even just to you, he announced it to the whole party. He gave you a small smile before turning to leave the room. Just before he left, he turned around once more. “Reminder that quiet hours start in an hour, adjust the music accordingly.”

As soon as Thomas left, you could feel your social battery dying. You should’ve known better than to allow yourself to fantasize about what could’ve happened that night, just because he was paying attention to you. It didn’t take long for you to call it a night after that, just feeling exhaustion that wasn’t there before as you took off your makeup and changed into some sleep clothes. As you laid in bed, waiting for sleep to come to you, you couldn’t help as your mind replayed the night and your fantasies. The last thought you had was of the way Thomas looked in the colored lights, and the phantom feeling of his lips on yours, even though you never actually felt them.

**********

In the week following the party, you and Thomas went back to just how you were before. You were a little disappointed, but your mind immediately went to justifying the change. Or rather, lack of change. He’d been drinking a bit. He knew you felt out of place with all the drinking and weed smoking going on. He probably wanted to make sure you were feeling okay since you’d had a few conversations about how quickly your social battery died. There were all of these possibilities, but nothing was ever confirmed. So you just went back to how things were.

Then Laf planted a seed in your mind. It was delivery time - that time of night when everyone’s packages got delivered and people would either grab their packages and open them in their room, or open them in the dining room in front of everyone else. You’d just ordered a cute romper in an attempt to feel something, so you opened it in front of the rest of the group. “That’s so cute! You know, it seems like something the type of girl Thomas goes after would wear,” Laf announced when you held up the romper.

“What are you talking about?” James asked as he opened his own package, not even looking up. It was some lights for the little garden he was starting in his room. Maria was very invested in the new shoes she’d ordered, but you could tell she was still listening.

“They’d be cute together! You guys should go on a date, I’ll set it up,” Laf continued, focusing his attention on you now. “I ship them! They’re my new ship!”

“What’s going on?” Thomas asked, coming out from the kitchen. You looked down, folding the romper as fast as you could.

“Nothing,” Laf said. You looked up just in time to see Laf wink at you.

“Alright.” You could tell Thomas didn’t believe him by the side-eye he was giving him, but you were glad Laf didn’t announce it any louder than he already did. When you and Peggy got back to your room, you couldn’t help but tell her about the seed Laf had planted. Sure, you found Thomas very attractive, but the concept of a relationship with him had never entered your mind. Until now. Of course Peggy just made fun of you, but you knew it was all in good fun.

It took two days for that seed to be completely destroyed. You started to notice Thomas and Maria hanging out a lot more than they did before; they were almost constantly talking to each other, and there was once that you went upstairs to use the bathroom and saw Maria leaving Thomas’s room. You were in the living room watching a movie with the Schuylers when Thomas came in. “Hey, Maria and I want to watch something after, can you text me when you’re done?” Thomas asked Angelica, not even acknowledging anyone else.

“Yeah, sure,” Angelica told him. With that, he left the living room.

“Your boyfriend’s cheating on you,” Peggy teased, not loud enough that anyone else could hear her.

“Can we not do this right now?” You whispered, already feeling your chest tighten. Of course you should’ve known. People like Thomas never went for people like you, they would always end up with people like Maria. Why would you let Laf even give you the slightest bit of hope that things would be different? Peggy’s face immediately fell when she saw just how you looked.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but you just shook your head. Why was she sorry? It wasn’t her fault. This was just on you.

For the next week, you avoided Thomas and Maria as much as you could. You took your dinners to your room to just eat and watch (favorite show), you didn’t really talk to them if you were in the same room as them, you didn’t go out of your way to hang out with them. If they noticed, they never said anything to you. Then again, it wasn’t really like you gave them the chance to.

**********

You wanted to keep your distance from your housemates, but John pulled you into agreeing to go to yet another house party. It would just be for your house again, but this time he’d managed to get everyone to agree to come. He didn’t even let you be late, grabbing you and Peggy from your room as soon as the party started. So there you were, standing by the pool table, sipping some drink that was way too strong (Aaron was designated adult this time), just watching the party around you. Maria was already there, wearing yet another dress that made her look absolutely gorgeous, but Thomas was nowhere to be seen. 

“James, where’s your friend?” John practically yelled over the pounding music.

“He’s coming, don’t worry,” James said, rolling his eyes. You tensed at the confirmation, even though you knew he was going to be there. Before you could really think about it, Laf pulled you onto the dancefloor. Laf and Herc made sure that you were enjoying yourself, dancing with them and making sure you didn’t have the chance to think about it too much. Laf knew everything that was going on, trying to tell you that he was sorry about the entire ‘shipping’ thing. You just waved it off, not wanting to let it ruin the fun you were having.

You don’t know how many songs you danced with them before you needed to take a break and get some water. They finally let you out of their sights as soon as you promised to come back the second you were done. You appreciated their concern for you, but it was starting to get a little stifling. As you stood by the sink, glass stained with the red of your lipstick, you let your mind wander once again. You had been too busy dancing to pay attention to the party around you, but you guess Thomas must’ve arrived at some point. Had he been dancing with Maria? Did he even care you were there?

It was like the universe took your questioning as manifestations, and you wondered why it didn’t do that for literally anything else you tried manifesting as Thomas walked into the room. “I thought I saw you leave. You look really cute.”

You looked down at your outfit, taking in the romper that you’d bought not too long ago - a button down with a thick belt at the waist. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at that, tried to remember the past few weeks where Thomas was completely focused on Maria, but your heart seemed to not get the message. “You know, you never compliment me outside of parties,” you decided to address the situation head on. “Is Maria waiting for you?”

“What?” Thomas seemed like he genuinely had no idea what was going on. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I mean, the two of you have been spending a ton of time together, I’d expect you’d come to the party together,” you almost snapped.

“What about Laf and Herc? You seemed pretty close to them tonight,” Thomas immediately argued. You should’ve known he wouldn’t just let you snap at him without biting back.

“They’re just making sure I have a good time. Like you did last time,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I’m gonna go back.”

You heard Thomas say your name as you went back to the living room, but you kept walking. When you got back, Laf and Herc were immediately by your side. You gave them a soft smile, which they quickly returned. It didn’t take long for exhaustion to start to set in, your legs starting to hurt and your eyes starting to tire. You sat down in the corner of the couch, watching the party continue around you. It didn’t take long for Thomas to take the spot next to you. “I’m sorry.”

You just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “Maria needed help with her statistics class and we’ve been spending time together because of that. I didn’t realize you’d take it the wrong way.”

“I’m so stupid.” Thomas looked confused. “I should be the one apologizing. I just kind of decided you didn’t like me.”

Thomas scooted closer, taking your hand in his. “Yeah, I kind of realized that. I really do like you, though.”

“Cool,” you said, not knowing how to really react in this situation. Thomas laughed, shaking his head as you felt the heat rise in your face. “I… uhm… I’m kinda feeling tired. I think I’m gonna head to bed.”

Thomas looked dejected before understanding crossed his features. “Your social battery?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Is it even midnight?”

Thomas checked his phone. “Just about. Do you want to come to my room?”

You stared at him blankly, your heart racing at the question. It was almost exactly like your fantasy at the last party, not that he’d know it. He had to know how that sounded, right? It seemed to take him a second to realize it, eyes widening. “I mean, just to hang out somewhere calm. I want to spend more time with you.”

“And what’s wrong with my room? People will notice if I go upstairs instead of just down the hall,” you argued, leaning closer to him.

“I know you have a bunk and I don’t want to sit on Peggy’s bed.”

“You could sit at my desk.”

“Under your bunk? That kind of defeats the purpose of hanging out.” Thomas rolled his eyes at your obvious deflection. You were just giving him a hard time at this point, still a little vindictive even if the only real issue over the past few weeks had been because of you.

“Alright, but don’t be surprised if I end up just passing out,” you agreed. Thomas gave you a blinding smile. “How are we gonna do this? If we leave together people are gonna talk.”

“Let them,” Thomas said, standing up and offering his hand to you. You took it.

Amazingly, no one seemed to notice the two of you leaving except for Aaron who shot you a pained look. You felt kind of bad for leaving him alone to everyone else, but your social battery really was dying and Thomas was offering an escape. He lead you up the stairs, down the hall a little to his room. The door was already slightly open - just so he wouldn’t have to carry around his key - but he opened the door further to let you in first. It was your first time seeing Thomas’s room, and it really fit him. He had a few pictures on the wall above his desk, the desk itself was neatly organized - textbooks stacked on one side, laptop in the center, a few pencils next to it. His bed was pushed to the corner near his desk, black comforter and deep magenta pillowcases different from the typical college dude bedding.

“You can sit down if you want,” Thomas said, walking over to his closet. He grabbed a t-shirt from one of the drawers. “I’m just gonna go change my shirt, you can sit on the bed or the chair, whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

Thomas left the room, and you decided to sit on the bed, still unsure of what you were doing. Your fantasy from the last party kept replaying in your mind, reminding you of just how different these circumstances were. You pressed a couple fingers to your wrist, feeling your racing pulse. You didn’t know why you were so nervous. You were pretty sure nothing was going to happen, but the images of Thomas kissing you, him touching you, it made your mind go crazy. Before you could talk yourself out of it, Thomas came back. “So, uh, what do you wanna do? We could listen to some music, or watch a movie…”

“Can we just listen to some music? Like, something softer though,” you said. Just listening to music seemed less intimate than watching a movie on his laptop with him, even though you really didn’t know why. Thomas nodded, turning on his speaker on his desk. He handed you his phone.

“You can choose,” he told you, sitting on the bed next to you. He pressed his back against the wall, watching you as you shared one of your playlists to his phone. Even though you could feel him watching, you missed the way his eyes took in your profile in the harsh light of his room. “Do you mind if I switch off the main light and turn on my desk light instead?”

“You know, this is sounding more and more sus as you keep talking,” you told him as your music started playing from his speaker. You turned the volume down a little, letting the music be just loud enough to provide some background noise. It was just what you needed to recharge. “But yeah, the ceiling lights are really harsh.”

Thomas got up to fix the lighting situation before taking his spot next to you once again. The two of you just sat there quietly, close but not quite touching, letting the soft sounds of your music wash over you. A few songs passed before you decided to just make your move, scooting closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder. You were still pretty drained from the party, and the excuse was ready if he was going to question you. He didn’t.

When he brought his hand up to play with your hair, you didn’t say anything. You enjoyed the gentle brush of his hand, almost as if he was afraid to disturb you. You closed your eyes, focusing on his touch. He started near your hairline, his fingers tracing a curve behind your ear, whispering down your jawline for a second before repeating the process. Time wasn’t real in your little bubble, the only clue being the songs changing in the background. “(Y/n)?” Thomas asked, voice low like he was trying not to break the atmosphere.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, and you could feel Thomas’s soft laughter more than you could hear it. “I thought you fell asleep.”

“If you keep playing with my hair I just might,” you teased, smiling as you opened your eyes to look up at him. You were slightly taken aback at the way he looked at you, but you tried not to show it. It took you a second before you could finally place it - adoration. It was completely soft, something you never really saw on him before. You could see him leaning in, but he stopped a hairsbreadth away. You waited to see if he would close the miniscule gap or if you should, but then he spoke.

“Can I?” He practically whispered, bringing his hand up to caress your jaw. You nodded even as your heart pounded in your chest. Thomas stayed for a second as though he was giving you a chance to back out, and when you didn’t take it, he closed the gap. The kiss started out gentle, like he was still worried you would change your mind. You were enjoying yourself and the slow pace, but when your mind started taunting you with the things that could happen, you decided to take a chance. You brushed the tip of your tongue against his bottom lip, and he gladly took your sign to deepen the kiss.

Thomas kept one hand cupping your jaw, but the other moved to rest on your hip. The feeling of his hand sent a jolt through you, even through the layer of clothing still separating his skin from yours. You put a hand on the bed to reposition yourself, but Thomas pulled you onto his lap, your core resting on him. You let out a small gasp at the sudden move. Thomas pressed a kiss to your jaw. “Is this okay?” He mumbled against your skin.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, it’s good.” You were a little flustered at the position, but you definitely weren’t complaining. Thomas grasped your chin, tilting your face to look directly in your eyes. Your gaze darted down to his lips, trying to look anywhere but his eyes. You could tell he was studying you, your reactions. He brushed his thumb against your bottom lip, dragging it down just slightly.

“You’re so damn cute,” he murmured before kissing you breathless. Your hands went up to cup his jaw, holding him to you, while his settled on your waist. You went to adjust your position, accidentally grinding against him. Thomas let out the most sinful groan, breaking the kiss to rest his head on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, it just felt so-”

He was cut off by another groan as you grinded against him again. You bit your lip, feeling him harden underneath you. “Don’t apologize.”

Thomas brought you back down for another kiss, his hand on your hip now guiding your movements against him. You softly whined into the kiss, every sensation heightened by the dim room, the soft music. He broke the kiss, laughing slightly as you tried to chase his lips. Before you could say anything, he started kissing down your neck, nipping and soothing the spots with his tongue. As he worked, you started grinding against him faster, needing something to ease the heat pooling in you.

“I need you so bad,” you whined as he worked a spot on your collarbone. Thomas let go of your skin with a wet noise, looking up at you with hooded eyes.

“You sound so pretty when you’re needy,” Thomas said, smirking up at you. He brought his hands up to the buttons of your romper, the question evident in his eyes. You nodded, and he started slowly undoing your romper, pressing a kiss to each inch of skin revealed to him. “You’re gorgeous, Sugar.”

A shiver ran through you at his words, but you ignored it, instead opting to reach for the hem of his t-shirt. “What’s fair’s fair?”

“Of course.” Thomas took the chance to flip your positions, taking off his shirt as your back bounced slightly against the bed. You couldn’t help your sharp inhale as his shirt hit the floor. You knew he was built from what you saw around the house, but seeing him without any barriers was a completely different situation. His abs were solid, something you saw briefly the one time he lifted his shirt to clean his glasses in front of you, so you took the chance to drink in the sight. As your eyes trailed back up his body, he saw him looking down at you with a smirk. He was attractive and he knew it.

He was getting a little too smug for your liking. You wouldn’t normally consider yourself a bold person, but your next move definitely was. You slightly lifted yourself up, undoing your belt and smoothly sliding it off. You pushed the top of the romper off your shoulders, taking a quick glance to see Thomas’s attention completely on you. His smirk had fallen, but his bottom lip was caught between his teeth. You reached behind you, unhooking your bra in one movement (a silent victory on your part). Thomas eased himself down beside you, trying to hide his eagerness, but you could see it in his eyes. The second you tossed your bra to the side, Thomas was back on you, kissing you deeply as his hands explored your chest.

Whatever upperhand you had was gone as Thomas’s thumb ran back and forth over your nipple, drawing a keening whine from the back of your throat. You could feel his smirk as his lips left yours, kissing down your neck again. He nipped at your collarbone, licking at the spot before trailing his tongue across the tops of your breasts. Your hand flew up to hold the back of his head, needing to feel more of his mouth on you.

“You’re so responsive for me, Sugar,” Thomas hummed. “The way your body just acts on its own, the little noises you make for me, it’s intoxicating. All I’ve done is kiss you, we haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.”

“Do you get off on the sound of your own voice?” You asked, gasping as his hand kneaded your breast. His movements were lazy, like he was ready to just have a conversation about this while teasing you to the point of madness.

“No, but I can tell you do.” He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t need to point it out like that. Your silence spoke volumes. He decided to take pity on you, kissing and sucking on the breast he wasn’t kneading. Thomas’s first licks across your nipple were teasing, watching your reactions. You knew you couldn’t be loud - you couldn’t even step in the house without someone hearing you - but the electricity running through you at his touch was making that insanely difficult for you. When he used just the right amount of teeth, even you were surprised at the moan you let out.

Thomas didn’t make any move to quiet you, instead switching over to the other breast. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, switching between holding him to your breast and fisting your hand in the blanket beside you. You tried pressing your thighs together, but Thomas’s body on yours made that almost impossible. He grinded down on you, letting out his own little groan at the slight relief the pressure offered. Thomas brought one of his hands to your waist, teasing at where your romper was still on your body. You whined when his mouth left your skin, not that you’d admit to it. “Can I take this off?”

“Yes, please,” you told him. Thomas sat up, watching you for any signs of discomfort as he fully took your romper off. As he went to shed his own shorts, you leaned back on your elbows, watching. Even though his basketball shorts had already done little to conceal his arousal, seeing the tent in his boxers sent another rush of arousal through you. You spread your legs for Thomas to take his rightful spot between them, which he quickly did. He brought his hand to your core, running his fingers over the fabric there.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Thomas groaned, rubbing a little harder. “This all because of me?”

“You know it is,” you tried snipping, but his thumb finding your clit through your panties made it sound more like a plead for something. “Thomas, please touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he teased. “You want more already?”

You nodded. It was almost comical how fast your panties came off, but feeling his fingers against your lips quickly threw any humor you found in the situation out the window. He ran a finger along your slit, watching as you threw your head back against his pillows. You didn’t see the smirk that graced his lips again, watching the way you quickly fell apart under his touch. He hadn’t even done that much, but he wanted to see what’d you do when he actually took you apart.

The wetness between your legs glistened even in the dim light, and Thomas unknowingly licked his lips. There would be time to taste you later - he had the feeling if he went now, he’d be there all night. He dipped his finger into your entrance, teasing like he had been all night. You let out a soft whimper, half ready to beg, but then he gave you what you needed. He carefully inserted his finger into you, feeling around for your spot while his thumb worked your clit. Your soft noises were driving him crazy; even though they weren’t loud, they were mesmerizing, and he wondered how you’d sound if you didn’t have to worry about being overheard.

As he pumped his finger in you, he made sure to drag it along your wall, dragging out every little whimper he could. You tried to close your thighs on his hand, but he held them open with his free hand. Thomas wanted to see what he was doing to you, see your arousal glistening on his finger. Once he was sure you were ready, he slid another finger into you, drawing your loudest moan yet at the stretch. He curled his fingers, sending a shock of pleasure through you. He smiled when he felt you shudder, knowing he found it.

Thomas’s attention on your clit and the pressure on your spot was bringing you to your edge and fast. Your fisted hand in his sheet was pulling it down, your other hand trying to muffle the noises you were making. You weren’t normally so vocal in bed, but the way Thomas was playing your body just brought out this side that you never knew about. “I’m close,” you panted out the warning.

“Then cum for me, Sugar. Cum on my fingers.” It wasn’t an order, but your body listened to him like it was. You bit into your arm to hide your moans, and you swore you were close to breaking skin. Thomas worked you through it, his fingers slowing considerably but not quite stopping until the last shudder wracked through your body. He pulled his fingers out, looking at them covered in your juices. “Look at that, Sugar. You got me all messy.”

Before you even had the chance to be embarrassed, Thomas took his fingers in his mouth, making sure to completely clean them of your essence. You thought he couldn’t get more attractive, but the blissed out look on his face as he tasted you proved you wrong. You let out a soft whisper of ‘fuck’ at the sight. Your body was weak from your orgasm, but that didn’t stop you from sitting up so you could kiss him properly. You pulled back from the kiss, holding his face in your hands. “Thomas… do you want to?”

“Yeah, if you’re okay with it,” Thomas said, bringing one of his hands to cover yours. You rolled your eyes.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you sassed. You let out a shriek as Thomas pinned you back down to the bed.

“You’re so annoying.” Thomas kissed you, grinding his still-covered erection into you for a second before he got back up to dig in his desk drawer. He emerged a few seconds later, condom in hand. “Perks of being a manager.”

“Aren’t those supposed to be if we need them, not your personal use?” you decided to tease him.

“Technically this is you needing them,” Thomas laughed as he pulled down his boxers. His length stood proudly, precum beading at the tip. He stroked himself, watching you squirm on his bed. You could feel your body growing hot at his intense gaze, slight embarrassment making you want to cover up, but heavy arousal beat that out. You couldn’t pull your eyes away from his hand on his dick, his thumb rubbing the head, smearing the precum. After what felt like ages of the agonizing tease, Thomas finally rolled the condom on.

Thomas climbed back over you, caging you in between his arms. He dipped his head, catching your lips in a kiss that was softer than any of the ones you’d shared before. When he broke the kiss, he only separated a breath away. “Are you ready?”

“Please, Thomas, I need to feel you.” Thomas slowly dragged one hand down your body, reaching between the two of you to line up with your entrance.

“Tell me if you need me to do anything,” he said before finally sliding into you. You whined at the stretch, just bordering on the right side of uncomfortable. Thomas kissed you as he stayed still, waiting for you to get used to his size. After a second, you rolled your hips, needing him to move. Thomas picked up on your movement, giving a testing thrust. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Please, Thomas, move.” Thomas nodded, keeping his pace slow, but still hitting every spot that had you crying out for him. You tried to cover your mouth to muffle your noises, but Thomas stopped you, instead threading his fingers with yours and holding your hand to the bed. He kissed at your neck, and you could tell he was leaving marks, but you really didn’t care. The feeling of him inside you was driving you wild, but you needed him to move faster. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

“What is it, baby? You want me to move faster? But I like feeling you around me, gripping my dick so nice,” Thomas panted into your ear. Even though he was teasing, he still sped up his movements. You knew you were talking, but you didn’t really know what you were saying. The only thing you really registered was a stream of curse words and pleads for more, even though you really didn’t know what more you were asking for.

You could feel the heat pooling in you, so close but not quite there. You choked out a warning, your walls squeezing around him. His thrusts were getting faster and sloppier, just hinting that Thomas was nearing his end. “C’mon, baby, just a little longer. I’m almost there too,” Thomas panted into your ear, pressing his face into your neck.

You scratched your nails down his back, working your hips against his as you tried to reach your peak. Thomas nudged the side of your face, bringing his lips to yours. He brought a hand down between your bodies, feeling blindly for a second before finding your clit. You moaned into the kiss, unable to control it any longer. You broke the kiss, moans filling the room as Thomas worked you through it. Thomas followed soon after, unrestrained groans mingling with your own noises. He pumped into you a few more times before easing himself out of you, laying down next to you.

You laid there, letting the pleasant soreness settle in your body. You looked over at Thomas as he threw out the condom before sitting up and looking around for your romper. You saw it crumpled near the foot of his bed, and as you were pulling it on, you couldn’t help but make a little quip. “So that was fun.”

“Yeah, it really wa- why are you getting dressed?”

“Because I need to go back downstairs?”

“Stay with me,” he said, climbing back in bed beside you and wrapping his arms around you. “I”ll get you a shirt, you can go clean up in the bathroom, we can stay and cuddle…”

You had to admit, that all sounded very tempting. Then again, you had to think about the walk of shame you’d be doing. Either you could do it now when it wasn’t likely anyone was awake still, or you could do it in the morning before anyone else was up. Thomas pressed a kiss to your neck. “Alright, I guess I can stay.”

He gave you a bright smile before hopping up off the bed again. He grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on before going to grab you a shirt. Once the shirt was on, you checked the hallway and bolted to the bathroom to clean up. By the time you got back to Thomas’s room, the music was off, and Thomas was in bed, scrolling on his phone. He looked over at you, the same bright smile on his face again.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly feeling shy. You’d just slept with the guy, and you were wearing his shirt, but now you didn’t know what to say. 

“Hey.” He put his phone down on the desk before pulling his legs in so you could climb in next to him. Once you were in bed, you sat there, trying to figure out what to do. He wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you into him. You took a deep breath, letting yourself relax into his hold. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Stop worrying so much, go to sleep.”

You couldn’t help but listen to him.

**********

The first thing you registered was the fact that you were not in your bed. You knew the sheets felt different, your stuffed bear was not next to you, and there was definitely someone sleeping right beside you. It took a second for your half-asleep mind to piece together what had happened the night before, but once it did, you couldn’t help the word that slipped from your lips. “Fuck.”

“We already did that, Sugar,” Thomas mumbled from beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. He nuzzled into your neck, and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t make you melt.

“Thomas,” you trailed off, not knowing what you were supposed to say. You lived with this guy, and would for at least 7 more months. Not only did you live with this guy, he was a manager for the house you lived in. That broke some of the most major rules you had for not only living with other people, but dating in general. Wait, were you even dating now?

“Shush, it’s still before noon. We have some more time.” You didn’t know what exactly he meant by that, but you let yourself relax into his hold. You should probably have this conversation with him when he wasn’t half asleep.

You stayed in bed with him for another hour before you finally went down to your own room. You waited for the hallway to go completely quiet and made your way down the stairs, only to see Peggy, Alex, and John sitting at the dinner table. “Look who finally made her appearance. So, how was Thomas?” John asked, a sly smile on his face.

“I just ended up passing out in his room after the party,” you tried lying, not meeting any of their eyes.

“So that’s why you’re wearing his shirt?” Peggy jumped in. Before you could even try to defend yourself with more lies, Alex spoke.

“The walls here are way too thin to try lying about things like that.”