#it makes me wanna barf and poke my eyes out

[insensitiveroses]

the way the td tiktok fandom portrays duncney and aleheather gives me the ick

[webslingingslasher]

banner made by: @thursdaygxrls

(yes, i reposted this. i needed to edit the dates. thank you to those who will re-reblog and re-like.)

it's finally here. a major quick thank you for all the love and patience everyone has shown me over this series. i hope it's worth the wait.

word count: 11k.

it's getting real now...

CHAPTER TWO: MASTERMIND

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 8TH, SIGMA NU CHAPTER HOUSE

Chistine Kiko just handed you an eighth of mushrooms and you weren’t one to disappoint. Even if it was your first time. “My fucking dad wouldn’t let me do anything in the Hamptons. I literally only had my dab pen and coke. Like, what kind of person does that?” 

They taste like fucking shit, Christine licked her pudgy fingers dry while you were gagging between chews. “He sounds,” baby barf, “like a monster.” She doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm, “thank you! Everyone said I was being dramatic too, glad to know I can rely on you.” 

You cough on the last swallow, Christine patted at your back, a red solo cup pushed in your hand. “Drink. I mean, he bossed me around all summer too. He thinks I wanna be like him, like, try that with your other kids?” You pull the cup down, “you’re an only child?” 

Christine shrugs, “it’s never too late.” You hum while you finish the mixture, it was ultra sweet, you assume it was full of booze. “So, basically, you’re gonna have a super fun time and I will totally be here for you if you need me, but I have friends to see, ya know?” 

It’s a nice way of saying she will absolutely not be around if you need her. You stop her with a hand on her wrist, “wait, how long until this hits? Will I know?” Christine smirks, “about an hour, give or take. Ride the wave and pick a bed to land in.” 

You’re alone for an entire two minutes, just enough time to get your own cup of jungle juice, the same mixture as Christine’s, before an arm drops around your shoulders. The voice alone makes you want to eat sand, you just know he’s about to say something stupid. 

With his girlfriend in tow, blonde hair whips towards you, a snotty smirk, “did you see Harvey yet?” It takes everything in you not to wack his arm. “No, not yet.” 

“Well, I’m sure he’s going to love your top.” You huff at him, “this wasn’t even the shirt Ally wanted me to wear, so, fuck you!” Matt holds a hand to his chest, “I am in a committed relationship, and even if I wasn’t, ew.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, blondie. I’ve seen cuter rats.” He narrows his eyes, “I will pray for evil to find you.” Ally gasps, “Matty, no.” 

Holding a middle finger up, your eyes wander around the room until you zone in on Harvey resting against the staircase, a gleam of light hits his wrist, silver dances in your eyes. 

Harvey must have felt you, his chin rises in a poor excuse for a nod. You flash a four finger wave, raising your cup to your mouth when he starts laughing with a friend. Matt pokes your elbow at the interaction, “what kind of dress are you wearing to the wedding?” 

You grin, “I’m not sure yet, I don’t wanna clash with Ally.” You turn to her, “we both can’t wear white, right?” 

“Hey, hey, hey, if anyone’s going to marry Ally it’s me, and it’ll be in a church so you’ll either sit it out or burn.” 

Checking your phone you nibble at your lip, thirty eight minutes. Trent’s nowhere to be found, you need to start looking. And subtly. You take a step back, pretending to be interested in a fake text. “Give me five minutes, I need to make a call.” Ally’s quick to give the go ahead, “okay, text me if you can’t find us!”

Thirty seven minutes. Your shoulder hits a freshman’s, jungle juice splashes on the hardwood; spilling out an apology you step over the puddle. A boy you haven’t seen before smiles at you, if you weren’t on a mission, you’d be saying hello. 

You loop by the garage, heart stuttering when you capture Peter and Ethan playing a game of beer pong. Trent wasn’t there, your last hope and prayer was in the backyard. 

Surrounded by rose bushes, the chapter president had his lips wrapped around a cigarette. The red glow lit his cheeks up on the inhale, two girls and another guy with him, you think you shared a class with one of the girls last year. 

Trent catches your eyes, it’s clear you both don’t want anyone to know what’s going on. He directed his gaze towards your phone, a hand moved around in his pocket before he produced his own. 

You stare at your home screen, expecting the message any second. It comes when you move back inside. 

‘Use the backstairs, my room is on the left at the end of the hall.’ 

‘Give me five minutes.’ 

Thirty two minutes, you don’t have any time to waste. Your feet hit the stairs. 

Trent’s room is messy and terribly decorated. Clothes covered the floor, empty bowls and plates scattered across his desk, a still sweating, sealed water bottle makes you smack your lips. How tempting. 

A string of flags, a political one that doesn’t surprise you in the slightest, a ‘Saturdays are for the boys’ one, and a black and white american flag. The trio makes you roll your eyes, it seems very fitting for his personality. No shoe has a matching partner in the entire room, you’re scared to think of what might be under his bed. 

You don’t feel safe or comfortable enough to sit on it either, it’s unmade and with a noticeable and questionable looking stain. He does have a couch though, and it looks very, very comfortable. It feels like you’d sink right in. It’s not enticing enough, you don’t trust it. 

You check your phone again, it’s been five minutes and it could be the liquor, but you feel a slight wobble. Twenty three minutes until blast off Trent slides through a small crack in the door, your arms cross defensively.  “I know you’re not fucking me, but you can at least pretend to care about my time.” 

“Wrong. I wouldn’t care about you, even if you were fucking me.” He proudly takes a seat at his desk, he offers you nothing. A smug look rolls over, “you’ve built it up long enough, what do you need from me?” 

The sooner it’s over, the better. “My friends and I have a bet on your potential new members, if the person I pick makes it through recruitment, I win. I need you to make sure I win.” 

Trent’s facade slips, even just for a millisecond. “One more time, and I need you to be very clear on it, alright?” 

Were you slurring your words? You try to speak clearer. “I know someone who’s going to pledge, and I promise you he has no involvement in this, but I need him to be recruited so I can win some money. All I need is for you to make sure I win and they don’t.” 

A brief pause, Trent looks sympathetic. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with that.” You cut him off, he accepted the terms last Friday, and again when you sent over copies of your- Noa’s hard discoveries. 

“No, no, Trent, you did. You said anything I needed, and I need this.” 

“If you would’ve told me what you needed, you would’ve known I couldn’t help you.” 

“This is bullshit, I’ll start singing from the rooftops about your payoff.” 

“No, you won’t. I’m the president, so I get final say on who we fully recruit-” You roll your eyes, “I know.” 

“- but I don’t get to choose who makes it past rush, you need a member to bid on a pledge. You need someone to big brother him, I can’t do that. If I get involved it becomes dirty rushing, and that is the biggest ‘no no’ to exist.” 

You slump, everything comes crashing down. “So… you can’t even pull rank here?” Trent shakes his head, “absolutely not.” 

“So this was all for nothing?” 

“If you can find a member to bid on him, you have my promise he’ll make it, and I’ll cut whoever you need so you can win. That’s it.” 

You’re at a loss, you have no other member you could ask. Matt could never keep a secret, you didn’t know Ethan well enough and there was no way in hell you’d ask- “Want my advice? Parker is your best bet.” 

You shake your head wildly, it takes a moment for your mind to click back into place. “You really want to involve someone else into this? You know what’s at stake, right?” You’re hinting at his secret, Trent shrugs. 

“If anyone is going to know about it, I’d want it to be Parker. He can keep a secret and has no issue in playing dirty if he’s in on it.” You’re suddenly very thirsty, you keep licking your lips for moisture. 

“He doesn’t know who I am.” Not a total lie. 

“Then introduce yourself.” 

You shouldn’t have to do anything, he’s the one not making good on his promise. You made good on your end and in return he’s barely lifting a finger. Maybe it had something to do with not wanting Peter involved due to fear of judgment. Or, maybe he’d be impressed like Trent. 

If you wanted Peter to be a conquest, it couldn’t start by you asking for a favor. That was friend behavior, and you wanted to be anything but friends. This was Trent’s problem, not yours. He doesn’t understand that you can make things difficult for him if he backs out. 

Your tongue is thick and you need water. You have no time for this. 

“Listen, Trent. This is your problem. I held up my end of the bargain, and you have to do yours. I don’t care how you do it, but you’re going to pledge Isaac Barns. If you don’t, I’ll turn shit around and make this the dirty frat, the frat that cheated for first place.” 

Trent held a clenched jaw, you saw nothing but fury in his eyes. “We’ll figure something out. No need to get mouthy.” If you had more time you’d entertain his comment, but it’s clear he’d figure something out. 

You eye the plastic water bottle next to him, snatching it from the side. “And I’m taking this, talk to me when you have a plan, Simpson!” When his door slams shut, it rings in your ears. 

You feel every muscle in your legs move while you walk, and within minutes it seemed like everything got brighter. A vibration washes down the back of your thigh, you slap around, it’s your phone. A single text. 

‘friend?’ 

You’ve been missing too long, one way to stop the questions. 

‘Finding Harvey…’ the response was a keyboard smash. 

Blinking harsh, the room feels like it’s blending together. You’ve never felt this way, it’s like the entire house is moving underneath your feet. The floor waves you into the crowd, everything feels like it’s slow motion, yet sped up at the same time. 

“Hey!” You don’t know who it is, it’s a stranger, his voice sounds distorted. You shake your head clear, and step right by him. You’re on a mission and can’t be sidetracked, things are hitting quickly and you need to find Harvey to explain plans have taken a very sharp left. 

A spin of bodies, you find one that stands out. You catch her shoulders. 

“Lindsey!” You fight for the words, they’re like butter. “Have you seen Harvey Guyn?” 

She’s fucking plastered, a slur of letters string out. “... hall.. wine… yeah! haha…” A gasp when she sees a friend across the house, you’re forgotten in a second. Putting your faith in her, you take careful steps, slapping your hands on the wine closet and tugging it open.

“Harvey! You in here? Lindsey said you were-” there was no chance to finish, Harvey was busy doing it for you. His head was thrown back on the wall tiles, a guttural moan ripped from his throat. Wrapped around his fist was a tight hold of black hair, to help Christine Kiko keep his dick swallowed down.

“Oh shit,” you slam the door on them, standing in shock for a few seconds. It wasn’t about him hooking up with her, he could do what he wanted. But it wasn’t everyday you saw something like that in person, and you had to give credit to Christine, she was taking it like a champ. 

It gave you an out for the night, you were too high for anything but breathing. 

Thank god for Christine Kiko. And really bless her for catching up with you in record time spurting apologies while wiping her mouth clean. “I know, I know, you guys were hooking up, but-” 

You stop her sorry, “how’d you know?” She rakes her long nails through her hair to untangle it, it comes out clean instantly. “My dad is super simping for his dad and we vacationed together this year so he had me try and make Harvey happy so he could tell his dad they should do business.” 

Christine has no idea how fucked up that sounds, “what would he have done if you were his son?” She doesn’t miss a beat, “Harvey swings both ways, doesn’t he?” 

Music shakes your feet, Christine’s hair looks soft. It’s black and pin-straight, you reach out, you comb your fingers through without a hint of struggle. “Wow, you take such good care of your hair.” 

“Rice water, you’re welcome.” She looks back at the door, “I need some things to finish up, but um, you feeling alright? It looks like it’s settling in.” It is. You’re busy twisting the cap on your water bottle, the small ridges skate across your thumb to create a soothing repetition. “Yeah.” 

It makes her smile, “yeah? You should go outside, the trees look fucking awesome, even when it’s dark.” You thank her for the idea, and stand still for a little too long after Christine retreats back to the wine closet. You think it’s your brain trying to remember how to walk, you blame the bass reverberating off the flooring. 

The second you’re able to actually pick your feet up, you move three steps before noticing it feels like you have lead boots on. You clomp towards the couches, perched on the side, sitting pretty, was your best friend. 

Making eye contact, you replay what just happened. You can’t stop it, it’s uncontrollable, bubbling from your throat, you laugh. Loudly. The longer you laugh, the more intense it gets. Ally has no idea what’s going on, but you assume the giggle is contagious. 

“What! Tell me!” You’re trying, but you can’t catch your breath. Each time you try to push more than two words out, you’re back to laughing so hard your shoulders shake. There’s only one reason you’re finding this so funny, you try to collect yourself. “I…” Another round, Ally’s right with you; you think she’s just excited to see what’s got you so giddy. 

“Okay, okay. Christine Kiko gave me some shrooms, and they, like, just hit. Also, I just caught her sucking Harvey’s dick.” Ally sputters, “what?!” A hand covers her mouth, the imagery catching up to her. “Oh my god!” You nod, she said it better than you could. “And you saw this?!” It’s like the idea is unbelievable to her. “Uh huh, right in front of me.” 

Ally presses the hand covering her mouth, to her cheek. A moment of silence, until she starts to laugh just like you did. You almost copy, until she stops and gives you an ironclad look, “wait, did you say mushrooms?” 

You pretend your mind is exploding. “I’m experiencing things I couldn’t explain right now.” Ally’s hair looks almost as soft as Christine’s. You grab a thick piece, breaking it into thirds and start to braid. It feels like rope, your fingers turn into a ball of yarn, fumbling into one useless clump.

“Are you okay? Matty and I were about to go upstairs.” Your eyes flash towards the stairs on instinct, then you're back at her. “Coming back down?” Ally grins and sends you a wink, “not if I give him a reason not to.” She drops her grin, “unless you need company, in that case, I’m here for you.” 

Just because you chose to spend your night tripping, it doesn’t mean Ally has to ditch bedtime with her boyfriend. Wouldn’t that be an incredibly selfish thing to do? “I don’t need a trip sitter, I have myself. And Christine. Also, have you seen Prince?” 

“Uh, no. He went off with Rocco the second we got here.” Rocco, the second you hear his name, you think of his hair, how does one achieve an afro? Would it be wrong to ask?

“Cool, cool, no doubt, no doubt.” Ally eyes you, she’s trying to make sure you’re fully okay before she pulls Matt upstairs. You flash a smile, it’s enough to have her drop her shoulders in relief. “You always have me, you know where I’ll be.” 

“And I am so, so grateful for you, Ally Storm.” Because, you are. In your opinion, mushrooms make you emotional. You went from laughing to appreciative in one minute, suddenly you’re hugging your best friend while holding back tears. “You are so kind, and patient, and nice, and, like, so super supportive to me.” 

Ally squeezes you right back, “you should do drugs more often, I’m loving the praise.” You pull back to wink at her, “it’s only cause you’re so great. Go do your boyfriend, since I can’t get any tonight.” 

“You think sex on shrooms would be good?” The idea hadn’t occurred, but thinking about it makes you agree with her. “Sex on hallucinogens? That’s boyfriend behavior.” Ally pats your arm, “next time, invite me. I’ll let you know how it is.” 

A twinkle in her eye appears, you dread what’s about to happen. “Sup, slugger?” The arm around you is entirely too heavy, but oddly comforting. Like a weighted blanket. “She took mushrooms.” You nod, Matt rubs your shoulder, you almost purr. “Having fun?” Normally, you have a love hate relationship with Matt. You both love to hate each other, but not seriously. Not that it’s been said, but you know Matt would protect you with anything in him if needed. 

Tonight, right now, Matt is a solid force. “Permission to hug?” Ally’s eyes widen, she almost doubles down on the sentiment of doing drugs more often. “You wanna full on, front touch me?” Nevermind, Matt just ruined it, like he ruins everything. “Not anymore, you ruined it.” 

“Oh, no, no, no. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Before you can try and dodge it, Matt’s got you in his hold. It’s very obvious he’s doing it for the pure enjoyment of annoying you, it’s almost endearing. Almost. You’d fight better at shoving him away but he’s got a warmth radiating from his chest and into yours. 

Peter watches you bump hips across the room with Paul’s girlfriend, your fingers pull at her hair. A wild look crosses her face, two of you giggling.

“I didn’t know she was Ally’s friend.” Ethan scratches at his arm, Peter’s guard goes up. He knows why he’s surprised to know you were the friend in question, he doesn’t know why Ethan thinks so too. 

Ethan shrugs and asks Peter about something, he can’t focus. “You know her?” 

“Yeah, that’s my bio girl.” 

Peter felt constricted, he doesn’t know why. “Wait, what? That’s my freshman.”

Ethan stares at the side of Peter’s head. “She’s not a freshman.” Peter sneers at his friend, “yeah, no shit.” Ethan kisses his teeth, “I invited her to the party.” He doesn’t know why, but Peter feels slightly challenged. 

“So did I.” His arms cross over his chest, he mumbles the rest. “On the first day.” 

“Funny. When I asked she said she had no plans.” 

Peter can feel his jaw clench, he wants to kind of fucking punch him, if he’s being honest. And that makes him even more upset, because why is he so threatened? Ethan may have an inkling that his best friend wants you more than he does, but he also wants him to know he could have competition. 

“Funny.” It’s clear Peter did not find it funny. 

“She’s cool. You know, witty, kind, pretty…” Peter’s doing what he can to keep himself from walking away, he wants to scream that he had eyes on you first. But that’s an insane thought, only one that could be casted by a witch. 

“She’s difficult and entitled.” 

All Ethan hears is ‘she’s fucking perfect for me.’ And his mind was made up, you were no longer someone he’d pursue. You’re all Parker’s, because he wants you. Even if he won’t admit it, yet.

“So, you have no issue with me moving in on that?” Peter’s a little too quiet, choosing to nurse on his beer in hand. “Do what you want, man.” He finishes his drink, he looks back up at you, sharing a warm embrace with Paul. 

“Cause, I don’t mind leaving it alone, if you want.” It takes a second, but Peter lightly shrugs. No words needed to be said, it told Ethan everything he needed to know. “You saw her first, it’s only fair.” It’s tiny, and it’s a microflash, but Peter grinned. What was understood, didn’t need to be explained. 

Heavy steps found themselves at a familiar face.

“My roommate ditched me and this floor looks like a pirate ship.” You point down for good measure, Ethan’s a good sport and looks with you. “Is it moving?” 

You nod quickly, glad he too can see the shifting boards. Ethan’s sweater catches your attention, it looks soft. By default he looks like a teddy bear, you can’t hold yourself back, latching yourself to the cashmere you run your hands over his back. 

“It’s so soft.” 

Ethan laughs, he has no issue returning the love. You melt under his touch, everything is so warm. “I can feel your hands.” Your lab partner knows exactly what’s going on, “yeah? What’d you take, X?” 

You pull back to spread pixie dust from your fingertips, “magic mushrooms.” Lights flash in cohesion with the music, you’re awe at the sharp beauty. Swirls of color cloud your vision, loud bass rings your ears. Vibrations flow from your toes up to your knees, a circle of laughter around you is contagious. 

You can’t stop the giggles, you weren’t sure who was laughing or why but it seemed so fitting. 

You throw your head back, the room spins and you squeal when your waist is held tight. 

“Ethan!” You hug him again, you can’t stop patting his sweater. “Wanna do some shots?” Ethan shakes his head, “no, you want some water.” You stop, “oh my god, yeah, that sounds so good.” Your lower back is nudged, you’re guided into the kitchen where you see a blur of motion. 

Stumbling, your back collides into another body. You spin quickly, you can’t believe it’s taken this long to see him. 

“Peter, hi!” 

Your arms loop around his back, you pull him tight to you and sigh. He’s broader than Ethan, but his shirt can’t match Ethan’s sweater. Peter feels oddly frozen, you shuffle into him further, an awkward pat is granted to the middle of your back. “Hi.”

“No, no, like this.” You fix the placement, it’s like he’s never given a hug in his entire life. Peter’s offering no warmth, it feels like he’s just allowing you to have this moment. You give him an unsure glance when you pull back, “I’ll make you better, don’t worry.” 

You’re stopped before you could try and teach Peter a proper hug. “Let’s not hug, Parker.” You blink wildly at your lab partner, before looking back at Peter, he has an unimpressed gaze on Ethan. “No hugs? You don’t like hugs?” 

It’s unacceptable, you pull at Ethan’s arm. “Here, show him how it’s done.” Ethan tries to shake his head, you loop around his waist tightly. “See, Peter? This is how you hug.” 

“I know how to hug.” 

You smile and nudge away from the cashmere, your arms open wide. “Okay, show me.” 

“No.” 

A frown takes over, since he’s being mean, you can too. 

“Fine. I don’t like your haircut, how about that?” Peter lacks the reaction you want him to give, “thank you.” You narrow your eyes at him, “Christine should’ve given you the mushrooms instead, you’re kinda grumpy.” 

Ethan pushes you back, “okay, D.A.R.E. Water.” You took the bottle and looked between the two friends. “Be honest, did you guys know they were hooking up?” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, you had the urge to rub it out. Ethan slapped your hand down. “Who?” You hold a finger up to pause the conversation, water has never tasted so clear. 

“Mmm…” you blink awake. “Harvey and Christine. Did you think he wasn’t planning on me finding out? Was he fully prepared to try and bang me after he got head from another girl? Cause, I don’t think so.” 

A song you haven’t heard before plays, it sends waves of warmth over your skin. 

Ethan shrugs, “sounds like Harvey, yeah.” 

You jeer around the plastic bottle, “boo.” Peter’s short circuiting in his brain. You were hooking up with Harvey? The pieces were muddling. His Harvey? That guy sucks. Peter reacts subconsciously, grabbing whatever you handed him. An empty water bottle, you smile, “thanks!” He grunts before tossing it in the kitchen sink. 

“This party would be so much better if Taylor Swift was playing.” 

It takes everything in Peter not to roll his eyes, Ethan one ups him in a second. 

“Which album?” 

You gasp, Peter swears he sees a sparkle in your eyes. For a split second he regrets not asking you the same thing. “Any of them! Do you like her too?” 

Peter thought his best friend read between the lines from their earlier conversation. He assumes he didn’t.  

“She’s alright, I have a few of her vinyls.” Record scratch, Peter just lost you. Your hand grabbed Ethan’s shoulder, you leaned in closer and gave him doe eyes. “No way, I don’t believe you. Which ones?” 

Ethan laughs, “I have them in my room, swear to god. I like her sister albums.” 

Peter watches your hand slide down his sleeve until you latch around his wrist, “show me.” Ethan shrugs, “alright, we can-” Peter steps in front of him, the path blocked. 

“Keznek.” As in, you’re not doing what I think you’re doing, right?

“Parker.” As in, do you really think that low of me?

A third name is brought into the mix, Peter looks down, you’re smiling big at him and for a second he feels like he’s smiling back. 

“Who’s that?” 

You point at yourself, “me.” 

He finally has your name, it’s fitting. He doesn’t think he’s ever thought a name could fit a person, until he heard yours. A weird urge to compliment it tugs at him, he buries it down. Witch. 

Attention back on Ethan, “you swear you have them?” He’s almost offended you’d ask, “promise.” You look to Peter, “can you confirm?” Peter sucks in a breath through his teeth, he shakes his head slowly. “I can’t.” 

The answer is obvious, “I have to verify, if you’re telling the truth you’ll win cool points forever.” Plan impeded, the chapter president just walked through the kitchen, a gleam in the wolves eye. His hand clapped Peter’s chest, the light abuse caused you to frown. 

“Nice to see you’re making friends with Parker.” 

You flip the script, a fake smile. “I’m sorry, who are you?” Ethan laughed behind you and was immediately silenced with a harsh glare from Trent. “Watch it, Keznek.” Peter’s face hardened at the tone. 

“You’re taking my advice, I love to see it.” 

Peter has his eyes on you, it takes strength to ignore it. “Wanna talk about advice? You should play some Taylor Swift.” Trent scoffs, “get fucked.” Peter speaks up before you have a chance, “hey, woah.” The head of the house wasn’t about to be talked to like he was a chapter officer, even if he was. His response was pushing Peter back and walking away. 

“I understand why he’s the president,” you watch the room swirl together. “He’s super mature.” Smacking your lips, you blindly reach for Ethan. “Do you see these fucking lights right now?” Peter glances around, it’s the same party lighting they use each time. 

“Are they dragging?” You focus in, when you move your head slow trails of light follow. “Yeah, woah.” Peter clears his throat, the sound cupped around your ears. “Your friend here, freshman?” You spin, “who’s friend?” 

Peter looks at Ethan for a second, you’re busy trying to pull at a loose thread on Peter’s sleeve. “How are you getting home tonight?” You twirl the strand around your finger, the tension snaps it. When the blood returns to your fingertip, it warms your entire hand. 

“Dunno yet. I’ll figure it out later.” You look down at your feet, they seem like they’re a million miles away from you. The floor shifts underneath you, it makes your knees shake, you clutch Ethan’s arm to balance yourself. “Pirate ship?” You nod, “ahoy, matey.” 

Peter shifts when you take him in, more or less just focused on his face. He stands a little taller, then questions it, because why would he care about how tall you perceived him to be? “Peter,” he waits. Pointing behind you, “wanna do a shot? Ethan refused, like he hates me or something.” You can’t stop looking at him, the lights dance over his face, casting him in an angelic glow like no other. 

“You think mixing shots with mushrooms is a good idea?” You move around, like your body couldn’t stand holding still. “Just one.” One wouldn’t hurt, and it’s not like he’s doing it for you or anything, he planned on having a shot anyways. You were just another person to pour for. 

“Sure. Pick the poison.” You answer quickly, an honest response. “Rat.” Ethan starts to laugh and it’s contagious, you start giggling too. You don’t know why he’s laughing, but it feels good to have someone to laugh with. Peter tilts his head to the ceiling with a heavy sigh, “no, freshman. I meant booze.” 

“Oh! Not vodka, I hate vodka, I can taste it in anything, even when Ally mixes it with Hawaiian Punch. So, please never give me vodka. I hate it.” 

Peter smirks at Ethan, “so, vodka?” You sputter, you wonder if you confused love and hate in your speech. You shake your head quickly, “no, no, no, Peter. I hate vodka, please don’t give me any.” 

Ethan slides a bottle down to Peter, it’s a party classic. Peter waits on you, “this good enough for you, princess?” It was sarcastic as all hell, but it still made you feel warm and fuzzy. “Yes, prince.” Peter just shook his head while he poured them up. 

Raised glasses, you wait for the toast. “Here’s to A’s, C’s, and double D’s.” The words made you send a glare to Peter, it seemed like he was waiting for it. “You know, like grades?” It’s not what he meant, all three of you knew it, but you couldn’t fight him on it either. It still works, a cheer is a cheer.

Normally, you’d find Fireball warming, tonight, you find it burning. You almost choke on it, holding it in your mouth for longer than you should’ve, the instant sting had caught you off guard. “Jesus Christ, freshy. Swallow.” It’s like you need a reminder, you’re able to take it down; a shutter takes over your body. 

You turn to your lab partner, a sour look on your face. “Why did you let me do that? You’re supposed to be smart.” Ethan holds his hands up, you’re not about to throw him under the bus. “Hey, I tried. You’re the one that only wanted Parker’s opinion.” 

SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 9TH. CATHEDRAL HALL. 

Peter was dragged out of his bed a little too early for a saturday in his opinion. He woke up to Trent hanging over his bed, poking him harshly on his shoulder. “The fuck do you want, Simpson?” If Peter had to guess what time it was by the shadow in his room, it was pushing early morning. 

“Get up. We need to go somewhere.” Peter blinked quickly, dragging a heavy hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Now?” Trent started to stab, Peter slapped his hand away. “The fuck, man?” His president wasn’t playing around. “Get the fuck up, Parker.” 

Only when Peter sat up did Trent back away, “don’t wake anyone up. I need you downstairs in five.” When his door was shut, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself to taste the idea of sleep one more time. Then, he got up, tugged on sweatpants and a hoodie, and silently crept downstairs. 

Peter tried to ask what was going on, and where they were going, but Trent just kept saying, ‘you’ll see,’ and ‘shut the fuck up and trust me.’ It wasn’t until he was walking up the steps to Cathedral hall, he had an odd feeling, a slight buzz in his stomach. It heightened when they took a turn for the girls section. 

“Hey, Simpson, if this is a planned parenthood thing-” 

“Shut the fuck up, Parker.” Out of nowhere he stopped, Peter almost ran into him. Trent banged on an decorated door, a whiteboard with Ally’s name, the other one had been swiped, the name unclear. “I thought Ally was at the house?” Trent beat the door harder, “she is.” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, he was about to ask, yet again, why they were there. The answer came when the door flew open, eyes squinting at the hallway lighting, stands you. “You’re not Ally.”

Peter’s slightly surprised you’re home, he had no idea when or how you left last night. He also doesn’t really care. 

“No shit,” you lightly scoffed when Trent shoved his way in, your shoulder hitting the doorframe. “Good morning to you, too, dick.” Peter gently walked in, making sure not to bump against you. It made you smile lightly, “good morning, Peter.” He nodded back, “morning.” Trent bounced on Ally’s bed, it produced a loud creak. “No wonder she’s always at the house.” 

You sat on the edge of your own bed, gesturing to the spot next to you or your desk chair for a seating option for Peter; he chose the chair. Peter looked over your face while you woke up, your eyes puffy from being rubbed at, you stretched with arms over your head, a peek of skin showed your stomach. 

“You look sick.” It snapped you from your daze, you frowned at Trent. “Thanks, it’s my natural beauty.” Trent pulled a sour look, “that’s what girls look like without makeup?” Peter doesn’t really notice a difference, and that’s not a bad thing. “It’s too early for your shit, Simpson.” He looks towards you, you poke your tongue out at Trent, a childish moment to prove you had someone on your side and not his. 

Peter watches you lean back, velvety thighs on display. A hand goes behind your back, a plush resurfaced. Spider-Man sits on your lap, arms wrapped tight around his waist. He thinks it’s a squishmellow of some sort, he remembers he hooked up with a girl last year with at least twenty on her bed. She didn’t have a Spider-Man one though. 

“How are you feeling?” You look tired, maybe a little hungover. Little to no energy. Peter thinks it’s the comedown of your previous night's choices. You grin, holding Spider-Man a little tighter. “Like a champ, you?” 

Trent scoffs, “enough bullshit, wench. You know why we’re here.” Peter feels the hair on his neck stand up, Trent can be a prick, but he really has a vendetta against you. “Jesus Christ, Simpson. She’s a human being.” It’s the bare minimum, but it still makes you feel warm and fuzzy. “It’s okay, Peter. He’s just mad he can’t satisfy women.” 

Trent flies up, “fuck you! I’m doing you a fucking favor and-” Peter stands up just as quick, pushing Trent back down with a hand on his shoulder. “Sit down, Simpson.” With Peter as mediator, you don’t worry about standing up for yourself. 

“You’re not doing me a favor, I’m doing you a favor! You’re the one that couldn’t hold up your end of the bargain, you asshole!” Trent fights against Peter’s hold, “you’re the one that came to me!” You throw your Spider-Man to the side and step up, Peter backs up against your chest, literally using his body as a barrier. “You’re the one that involved Peter!” 

Peter shoves hard on Trent’s chest, it sends him flying back into Ally’s bed. You step back, Peter’s doing his best to look between the two of you. It’s exasperated, “involved me in what?” It goes silent, you weren’t going to say anything, you were the one who told Trent to fix it. Trent’s the one that brought in Peter, Trent’s the one to surprise you with a visit. 

Trent’s breathing is harsh, he’s more worked up than you are. You don’t know if it’s the situation or your comments, but you’re not saying a word until he does. “Look, your friend here, she’s the one that got us the intel on the other frats.” Trent’s a lot more gentle this time around, you think it may have something with the way Peter’s looking at him, daring him to try and make a move. 

Peter glances back at you, you look away, a poster more interesting. “She needs something in return and I can’t help her. I told her to ask you and I’d look the other way, but someone had to be difficult.” 

“I held up my end, Simpson. You do the same.” Trent huffed, “I fucking told you-” he lowered his voice at Peter’s glare, “- that I couldn’t do anything. I told you to ask Parker and you were the one that stormed out all pissed. I brought him here, isn’t that good enough?” 

Your arms cross, no, it wasn’t good enough. “I never wanted to involve Peter, I told you that last night. I just wanted you to figure out a way to fix it.” Trent throws his arm out at Peter, “I did! He’s fucking here! He’s gonna fucking fix it!” 

Peter feels like he’s going crazy, “fix what?” His chapter president rubs at his forehead, a heavy sigh. “You need to pledge… Fuck, what was his name?” You roll your eyes, you have little to no hope. “Isaac Barns.” Trent nods, “yeah, him. Parker, all I need you to do is pledge him and this-” an allover gesture to your body, “-goes away.” 

Peter takes a second to let it sink in, he almost laughs, but it seems a little too real to be a joke. “Dirty rushing, really? You do know what’s at stake if I say yes, right?” Trent’s jaw looks like it’s about to break into a thousand pieces with the tension it’s under. “Yes, Parker, I know what I’m asking.” Peter runs his tongue over his teeth, “right, so you understand why I have to say no.” 

You jump in, your hand on Peter’s arm, pulling him to face you. He’s staring at the placement, it’s sending a burn up and down, radiating heat. You pull away before he can shake your hold off, “please?” Peter steps away from Trent with a final warning glance, “tell me, freshman. Are you in a sorority?” You frown, “no.” He nods, like he already knew the answer. “Right. And are you aware of what could happen to me if I agree?” You have an idea, and it tells you it wouldn’t be good. “That’s if you get caught, you have Trent’s go ahead.” 

Peter laughs, he doesn’t give a shit Trent’s right there. “You think I trust him to have my back? He’d throw me under the bus in a second.” Peter doesn’t know what you know, you look in Trent’s eyes when you respond, making it clear that that would never happen. “Then trust me, and trust me when I say he won’t.” 

Trent looks away from Peter, he makes the connection in a second. 

“What do you have on Simpson?” You sputter, you feel a flush of warmth coat you. “I’m not like… some blackmailer or anything.” Trent shouts out from the bed, “ha!” Your eyes flash to the same poster from before, nothing has changed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. President. Do you want to share with the peanut gallery?” Peter raises his hands, displeased, “don’t insult me and ask for a favor in the same breath.” 

“Look, Parker, just fucking pledge the kid, alright? It stays between us. Don’t think I don’t have shit to lose by letting this happen. I have the same risk you do.” Peter disagrees, “you’re not the one pledging.” Trent stands up, “but I’m cutting whoever she tells me. We’re both playing dirty.” 

Peter’s trying to think about it logically, he just doesn’t understand why. You have all the answers, they’re only there because of you. “Why?” You pause, “what, this guy your boyfriend or something?” You shake your head quickly, “no, no, no. Not at all. He doesn’t even know I’m doing this. He’s just a person I know who’s rushing, that’s it.” 

Peter kisses his teeth and shakes his head in disbelief, “yeah, I don’t know about that.” Total defeat, you were at a loss. Your answer was Trent, if Peter wouldn’t do it, Trent needed to find someone who would. “Trent,” it comes out as a whine, a defiant toddler pointing at Peter. 

“C’mon, Parker. Think about this. You’re smarter than your own good.” Peter sizes his president up, he really doesn’t like what he’s implying. “And I’m supposed to trust you?” You push on Peter’s arm, “no, you’re supposed to trust me. Trent won’t touch you, no matter your answer. Even though I really wish it was yes.” 

Peter’s doing his best to push down all emotion, because if he wasn’t, he’d find out that he wanted to say yes. Just because you asked him. And that’s not who he is, or what he does. He’s known you for a week and he’s about to put his entire academic career at hand, it’s dehumanizing to himself. Witch. 

“Fine.” You cheer, Peter’s whipped into a side hug. He claws your arms away from him, “I didn’t say yes. I’ll think about it, okay?” You nod, it’s enough for you, “thank you so much, Peter. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

Trent throws his hands up, “hello? You’re welcome.” You sneer at him, “you did nothing but put it all on Peter.” Peter tilts his head, he didn’t think about it like that, but you’re right. “You’re insufferable and will never find a man to put up with that.” That was a blow, a harsh one at that. You’re pretty good at brushing things off, or firing back, but Trent went a little too far. He hit that deep down, hidden, insecurity. 

You just really wanted to go back to sleep, the thought of Peter in your room no longer slightly excited you. You just wanted to be alone. “Jesus fucking Christ, Trent. Who the fuck says shit like that?” You shrug, “it’s obvious he was just giving me constructive criticism.” You try to joke, it doesn’t really work. 

Peter looks down at you, it’s like you sunk down into the floor. Trent made you feel small. “It’s not funny, nothing about that was funny. That was fucked up, Simpson, the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s not an ounce of remorse on his face either, “sorry.” Peter wants to break his arm, instead he shoves him towards the door, nothing near gentle. “You’re a fucking dick.” 

“Yeah, and you just wanna stick yours in her.” If he wouldn’t be at grounds of expulsion from the frat, Peter would’ve laid him the fuck out right then and there. “Shut the fuck up, Simpson. Just leave it alone.” He does, and throws the door open before parting you with a middle finger. 

Peter pauses at the door, his eyes on your figure. It’s not like he cares about you or anything, Trent was a dick, an uncalled for amount of mean. “Don’t listen to him, he’s still reeling from that ‘can’t please a woman,’ comment.” You give a small smile, “thanks, Peter.” 

Peter’s hand holds the door handle, a tight lipped grin. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he just has to tell you. Clearing his throat, “hey, freshman?” You perk up, he finds himself looking down at your mouth, eyes trailing towards your collarbone. Peter stops himself, it’s not about that right now. 

“You’re not… you’re not totally insufferable.” 

Something about it makes you explode, you can’t stop the cheek hurting grin. For a second, Peter matches it. “Are you saying I’ll find a man to put up with me?” Peter shrugs a shoulder, “the world is pretty big, freshman. There’s gotta be at least one.” 

At least Peter won’t think you’ll die alone, he might even be at your side. “Thanks, Peter. For everything. And for thinking about it, it means a lot to me.” Peter closing the door on himself, he briefly pauses, “just because I said I’d think about it, doesn’t mean I’ll do it.” You nod, “I know.” 

“Good. I just didn’t want you to get disappointed.” Your eyes brighten, “you care about disappointing me?” 

It goes unanswered, instead, Peter takes a deep inhale. “I’ll see you around.” With that, you were alone with Spider-Man once more. 

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12TH, ESU DINING HALL.

The plastic chair next to Peter slides out, nickel legs scratch the tile underneath them. 

“So, how are we feeling about a verdict?” 

Peter doesn’t even flinch, he takes a bite of his sandwich. It was better before it was ruined by the presence of a demonic presence. Your hands drum on the table like you’re building yourself up for a yes, Peter thinks it’s funny you find him so easy. 

“It’s been two days, freshman.” You huff dramatically, “not a freshman.” 

“You act like one.” 

This is the part where you question your attraction towards him, it’s proof to the saying ‘you can’t pick who you love.’  You lean closer, it’s not about semantics. Peter pulls back when you get too close, he must be scared of another hug. 

“It’s a pretty easy answer, Peter. If you won’t do it, fine. But your president better figure out another way and quickly. We already have the PNM list, you make the choice sunday.” 

It isn’t his problem but the more he knows about it, the more it becomes his. Peter can’t deny the curiosity, for a witch you have no real magic, beyond what you’ve casted on him. 

Peter sighs, “alright, explain it to me. Sell it to me.” You sit straighter and fix your hair, clearing your throat you interlock your fingers on the table and begin to pitch. “I’m going on the ski trip this year, yay you.” You pout dramatically, “I needed money because my boyfriend isn’t a member of the frat and I wasn’t budgeted in.” Your words were a nod towards Ally, as if she couldn’t pay for it herself if she needed to. 

Peter wants to bang his head against the table, there’s no fucking way he had to spend a week with you in a house. That’s constant communication. That’s hell. 

“We bet every year on a member that makes it in, if we win, we get the money. I upped the stakes this year, and I know someone who signed up to rush.” You smile and poke at his arm, it’s solid. Peter looks down at your finger, you pull back and finish. 

“That’s where you come in. You pick him.” 

Peter crosses his arms over his chest while he tilts his chair back, he’s mulling it over in his mind. He looks over your face while he pokes at his cheek with his tongue, if that’s his concentration face, you hope to make him think a lot more. 

“What do I get out of it?” In Peter’s mind, it’s a bit unfair. He’s putting his reputation, spot in the frat and possibly academic probation on the line. And he gets nothing out of it. He doesn’t even want anything in return, or nothing he can think of at the moment at least. It still feels like he has to bargain for something, he’d regret it later. 

You try to hide the shock, you didn’t think Peter was that kind of guy. You didn’t know him, but you didn’t take him for a sexual favors type of person. You wanted to hook up with him, sure. But when he felt like it was owed to him, it felt icky. 

“Oh,” you look around the room, your voice lowers. The deal took a dirty turn. “What, um…” You look back at him before escaping eye contact, you don’t feel as bold. “What did you have in mind?” 

You didn’t hide the shock well, Peter’s chair is back on four legs with a slam. “No, god no.” Okay, he wasn’t asking for sex, but god no? Peter worded it wrong, you took it as a personal offense. “Not…” He’s not even going to try and explain that one out, he ditches the part where he would try to say ‘not that I wouldn’t have sex with you, because I would, but…’

“I’m not asking for you to fuck me, I just meant I’m putting a lot on the line for a girl who assaulted me and a guy I barley like.” Assault is a harsh word, you’d fight him on it but the last part mattered more. You could give him the dirt on Trent, he said if anyone knew he would prefer it to be Peter. 

“Wanna know what I have on Trent?” You have his attention, suddenly Peter looks very interested in what you have to say. He nibbles on his bottom lip for a second before nodding, for this part, you really lean in. 

“He failed out. The school sent him a letter saying he was dismissed, he had a fourteen average.” Peter’s trying to connect the dots, for once, he truly had no idea what was going on in the frat house. “His dad donated eighty-six grand, anonymously, and the next day? Bam. Reenlisted and all roles reinstated, like nothing ever happened.” Peter’s not surprised one bit, it’s very on brand for the Simpson family, to pay their way out of trouble. At least he can say you didn’t leave him empty handed, it’s good ammo to have in the back of his pocket. 

“I’ll consider your request more seriously.” It’s something, and you’ll celebrate it, you pull him into a hug, just for a quick second to squeal in his ear. You’re shrugged off in a second, you don’t care. “Thank you! See, I just knew I picked the good one!” 

The good one? 

You’re up and pushing the seat in, your bag hung over a shoulder. “I’ll see you friday?” In relation to the weekly party, he nods slowly, like you’re an idiot. “I do live there, yes.” You’re unfazed, you’ve come to realize he’s just a mildly grumpy person. It’s mostly cute. 

“Will you let me know then, is that enough time?” Peter will do anything to have you leave, he wants five minutes of peace with his lunch before he has thermodynamics. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Your eyes sparkle, he has to look back at his plate. “Thank you, Peter. You’re the bestest.” 

You really, truly are a witch. Because his sandwich tasted a whole lot sweeter when you walked away. It turned into sog the second you placed yourself at Ally and Paul’s table. Ally’s eyes flashing over to his, a grin when he was caught looking your way. He finished in record time, he needed to get out of the room, it was starting to get a little too warm for his comfort. 

Ally started in the second you placed yourself across from her, eyes flashing to where you previously were. “Hanging out with Parker?” You shrug, if it helps getting her off your back, it helps. “He’s cute.” A squeal, she pulls at her boyfriend's arm. “Did you hear that? Matty, ask Parker if he’s into her.” 

Matt crushes a coke can, a burp follows. “No.” Ally’s face scrunches up, “why not?” Matt’s swiping at his phone, you can’t tell what game he’s playing, the glare from the lights are too bad. “Cause it’s not my business, or yours.” Ally pulls away from him entirely, her arms crossed over her chest in a huff. Uh oh, she’s mad. 

“Babe, can you get me a water? My wallet is in my backpack.” When she makes no move, he peeks over, “please? I can’t pause this level.” It’s a huff from his girlfriend, “what? You’re mad at me now? Look, I can’t even ask him if I wanted to, he’s leaving.” You look over your shoulder, Peter’s walking out with headphones stuffed in his ears, blind to the outside noise. How lucky. 

“Yeah, good thing you don’t live together or anything, Matt.” It has his total attention, “no need for that hostility, honey. If you want me to ask, I’ll ask.” It’s the right move, and he played right into Ally’s hand. A cluster of kisses to his cheek, “thank you, Matty. Love you.” A smile’s back on his face, his reward was his request being honored. 

The second Ally’s out of earshot you laugh at her boyfriend. “She plays you like a fool.” 

Matt doesn’t care one bit. “Yeah, love makes you do that. You’ll find out, she-devil.” 

You just hope you’re not the fool.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13TH, QUEENS, NEW YORK.

A six car pileup on the bridge caught Spider-Man’s attention, adrenalin courses his veins, any traces of that six egg omelet from Linda weighing him down vanishes. A screech of his name, he clocks it instantly. A woman, barely fourty. Spider-Man knows who it is, it’s the reporter that called him a Spider-Menace last week. Oh, how the mighty fall. 

A head tilt at the woman, she’s panicking. Thrashing in her seat, crumpled between glass and leather. She’s begging him for help, he watches for a moment before speaking over the screams. “Calm down, I’m gonna help you. Just felt like being a menace.” Tears, she speed runs apologies, tells him it’s just a job and her son loves him. 

“Alright, alright, come here.’ A grown woman, clinging to his hip is almost comedic. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Spider-Man doesn’t need to hear it a million times, it doesn’t mean much to him after the first one. “You’re alright, just wait over here for the fire department, okay?” 

There’s countless other shouts, he’s already running back up the freeway. Spider-Man has no plans to stay in the city after this, no, instead Peter is going to take the long train back and listen to a podcast. But right now, Spider-Man has a job to do. 

CATHEDRAL HALL. 

Three copies of the same page, everyone calls a name.

Ally starts, “I call Conner Frise.”

 Prince next, “Sam Mason.”  

Ally pokes your shoulder, “c’mon, what’s your pick?” 

You pretend to think about it, two pairs of eyes waiting expectantly. You grin, “Isaac Barns.” Confidence spills, “and I’m gonna win.” 

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 15TH, SIGMA NU CHAPTER HOUSE

Peter’s clouded in infatuation. If he was animated, he’d have hearts and stars swirling around his head. Maybe it was the booze that had him feeling so loose, for once dropping the urge to push you away, and to pull you closer. Or maybe it was you. All he could smell was your perfume, it choked him in the right ways. Something he’d be smelling long after you were gone, something that made him want to breathe in against your neck. 

You haven’t left him alone all night, circling back over and over until all he could think about was you, you, you. 

He didn’t know a neck could be so pretty, how he’d kiss over your pulse and hope it would race as much as his. And he never really noticed hair, until it framed your face. Peter was never much on picking up sounds, but now he’s heard your laugh, the one he pulled from you, he’d never be able to unhear it. 

And your voice. It whispered a song into his ears, it sent him leaning in, begging for more of the inflections. Peter didn’t care what you were talking about, as long as you were speaking to him, he’d listen. He wasn’t one to notice clothes, only when they fit just right or left little to the imagination. But on you, everything was your color. 

Peter can’t think of anything else but your lips, they’re puffed while you spin words. Velvet tumbles produced, hints of a smile around your ‘S’s. It’s like you don’t notice him getting closer, as he steps forward, you step back. You weren’t trying to escape, it was subconscious, you were making more room for him, you don't realize he doesn't want space. 

“It was really kind of sad, because the whole time you were rooting for the main character,” he’d asked you about a book he saw in your room. He doesn’t really care about it. 

“Right,” one step closer. 

“But then it all comes down at the end and you realize he really wasn’t a good guy,” Peter takes another step, your back brushes the brick wall. Little pricks dig into your shirt, it doesn’t stop you. 

“And then?” 

You smile, “this is where it gets good,” Peter leans his hand on the wall next to your head, you make no notice. “It is.” It’s more of a statement than a question, he’s relaying it to his own situation. 

“You find out he set up his friend,” it was the twist, you’d been setting it up, but Peter has no reaction. You wonder if he was even listening to you, maybe it would’ve been better if he had read it himself. 

“Are you listening to me? Cause I just kind of just spoiled the whole thing.” 

Peter can’t stop himself, he leans in. His head hangs low, you raise your chin to look in his eyes. How have you still not picked up on his hints? “Why’d he set him up?” You hum, a sparkle forms in your eyes, he was listening. 

“Well, if we're talking about my personal analysis, I think it’s cause-” 

Your lips are pillowy, puffed under his mouth as they’re wrapped around your words. Your skin is warm under his hands, he can feel your hips burning his palms over your clothes. Peter tugs you closer while simultaneously pushing you further into the brick, when you hum into his kiss, he licks your bottom lip. 

Open mouth kisses, your hands tug at the curls on the back of his neck, he’s not one for girls playing with his hair. But you, he wants you to touch wherever you want. He can’t fucking breathe, but he doesn’t care, you’re enough of a breath of fresh air. Peter feels more alive in this moment than he has in a long time. 

You pull from him, puffs of air tumble. Peter’s desperate for more, you’re just so sweet. Wet marks dot from your jaw to your neck, your hands tug at the lapels of his flannel. “Peter,” it’s breathless, he wonders if it’s the kiss or him. 

Hands tuck under your thighs, you gasp as you’re pulled up to equal height on the wall. Your legs loosely straddle his waist, nails digging into his shoulder when he hums over the middle of your throat between gentle bites and smoothing his tongue over the attack. “Fuck,” it’s a whimper, you don’t mean to, but fuck. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have cornered you like this, but what’d you expect looking at him like that? 

Peter retraces his steps, all you can think is that he tastes as sweet as he feels. It was everything you’d been pining for, and more. You were screaming in color, each grip of his hands felt like water paint, soaking deep and spreading. 

Would it be selfish if you wished he felt the same? 

“Parker, you out here?” 

You squeak, your feet hit the ground. Peter’s head is spinning, his instinct to get as far away as possible. “Yeah,” it’s airy. He clears his throat, you look over his face, he’s avoiding eye contact. “Peter,” you feel a jolt when he backs away. A stab when he steps around the corner, you try to follow, he’s quicker. 

You feel everything crumble when you realize he doesn’t want anyone to know he was with you. 

“Where you at? We’re mixing everclear for the PNM’s.” 

“Peter,” it’s on deaf ears. He doesn’t even look at you, how could he kiss you like that and then act like it was nothing? Why would he kiss you like that if it meant nothing? 

“Right here,” you watch his back disappear. “Tequila if we’re evil, beer to make them puke.” His frat brother laughs, “you’re a sick man, Parker.” 

It really, really doesn’t feel nice to be left behind in the cold. Especially when he just made you feel so warm. And it really doesn’t feel right when you want to cry, and it feels humiliating when you give him a grace period, just so you didn’t follow him from the back of the house. Just so no one would see you, just so no one would know what just happened. 

Just so you could keep it to yourself. 

You feel nothing when a shoulder hits yours, your fingers feel hot from the contrast of the breezy outdoors to the crowded, humid room of bodies. Ally’s arm hangs over your neck, you want to scream. 

Peter’s eyes catch your frown, he should’ve done more. But if he doesn’t understand anything, how would his frat brothers? He feels bad, and a little more sober than he should be, a little too sober to have done what he just did. A line of shots, Peter adds an two extra, but he doesn’t add everclear, he chooses Fireball. 

A pink, plastic shot glass slid in front of you. You look up, Peter’s waiting and watching, he raises his own. “Cheers, freshman.” It’s something, he’s waiting on your call, you’re so close and you can’t blow it now. You plaster on a smile and shake Ally’s arm off, you raise it up. 

“Cheers, Parker.” 

Peter must’ve had more than he thinks, because wow, what a gross feeling. 

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 17TH, SIGMA NU CHAPTER HOUSE

Peter does his best to be a good person, part of that is knowing when you fuck up. And what he did at his party on friday, was a fuck up. It wasn’t that he particularly cared about you, or your feelings, but he could admit that he pulled a shitty move. So shitty he dodged you the rest of the night and left you high and dry with his answer about your favor. 

You didn’t even have a way to try and contact him, other than beating down his door but even you knew that would be a bad idea. Which leads him to now, standing on the front lawn, with thirty two potential pledges. 

Peter’s turn to bid. A terrible idea. But all he could think about was getting back in your good graces and how much it fucking annoyed him to want that. Peter can feel Trent’s eyes burning into him, he takes a step forward, boldness in his chest. 

“I bid Isaac Barns.” 

It would either be the worst or best decision of his life and for whatever reason, you’re worth the gamble.

CATHEDRAL HALL

its.parker requested to follow you.

Your eyes widened, suddenly you’re very awake. Peter’s the one that kissed you, Peter’s the one that walked away, Peter’s the one that ignored you. Peter’s the one that followed you. Mixed messages, but it proved something. It wasn’t his main with ten pictures, it was his personal, his finsta, the one full of his personality. 

You nibble on your bottom lip, it shouldn’t be that easy for him. Tapping on his account you hit the request button, just because you follow him doesn’t mean he gets to follow you. Mind spinning, you replay friday night again. 

The tension eased and multiplied in one action. Peter had made you feel butterflies in the deepest pits of your stomach, when he kissed down your neck, when he wrapped your legs around his waist, when he went in for more, when he kissed you first. 

Even thinking about it makes your cheeks hurt from a grin, you squeal out and kick your feet in your bed. Peter Parker kissed you, and it meant something. It had to, something tells you that Peter doesn’t jump without thinking. 

Peter’s holding his breath while refreshing his page, still no notifications. He’s worried he blew it that night, not that it matters, it was just a kiss. Everyone kisses, if you really think about it, kisses don’t mean much. At least that’s what he tells himself. 

spider.luvr66 requested to follow you. 

If he acts now, he’d be a bit crazy. You hadn’t responded to him, but he doesn’t care. He’ll wait a couple minutes, then respond. It feels like his brain is melting, he’s not supposed to, and doesn’t feel like this. It’s against who he is now. 

But, fuck, you make it difficult for him to not think about you. Peter swears you’re a witch. 

Accept. spider.luvr66 is now following you. 

Follow request accepted, you are now following its.parker.

You sit up, it was quick, you wonder if he was waiting for the notification. It doesn’t matter, you have the Peter Parker bible in your hands, and you were about to do some research. 

You finally had access to his posts, and you were about to scroll through every single one. But the most recent one was the most important of all. A picture of Peter, crossed arms back to back with a slightly familiar face. The caption told you everything you needed to know about Peter. 

‘big brother season.’ 

You had your bid and he posted the proof.

Whatever he did friday was forgiven. That wasn’t who he was, but this, putting himself on the line for you, this was his true character and whether he wanted you to notice that or not, you did.

And it was a bold act for a guy who pretended he didn’t kiss you breathless. 

[critterdotcom]

look at my donatos au boy

Patrick’s fingers are frozen by the time he rings the side doorbell, breathing hotly on his hands and rubbing them together to try and get some feeling back. “C’mon,” he grumbles, impatient as whoever is inside takes their sweet time to get the door. It’s Joe, wearing a dopey smile and already holding a cup of soda. “Mornin’,” Joe says, stepping to the side to let his friend in; Patrick can barely see the dark, flat-ironed fringe of the general manager in their makeshift office, scribbling something down on a plain ticket. “Is Andy in?” Patrick asks as he sheds his coat and hangs it up, then walks to the computer. “He’s on PTO. Just the three of us from now ‘til four, and then I think Mikey and Gabe are coming in.”

Well, he could think of a worse morning crew. And it’s Thursday, so it’s not like it’ll be slammed. Patrick clocks in— cusses over the slowness of the computer— and then it’s time to wash his hands. Joe tails him the entire way, chattering about his new guitar and how he got three new games for his birthday. “Pete,” Patrick calls, “where d’you want me today?” Emerging from the office like a specter of early two-thousands emos, Pete lumbers out and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, I want you to do back-ups— here, I wrote ‘em down for you,” he extends a tattooed arm with the ticket paper between two fingers, “and then come to me after you’ve stocked the walk-in.” Patrick takes the paper and reads it over, then puts it in his pocket. “Getting stuck with the grunt work,” Joe snickers. Patrick glares at him and stomps into the dish area.

Back-ups are actually one of Patrick’s favorite things to do; he can zone out and open bags, pour toppings into Lexans, print labels, and stock the walk-in without so much as Joe or Pete bothering him. Patrick’s halfway through the list when Joe comes to the back and pokes him. “Pete’s out for a cigarette break and I can’t do subs and make at the same time. Help me?” Joe looks slightly nervous and Patrick sighs, putting the top on a Lexan of sausage and rushing himself to store it in the walk-in before heading to the sub table. He yanks on gloves and takes the ticket, mumbling the order to himself as he takes down a pan and opens a bag of buns.

Pete’s cigarette breaks are always fifteen minutes when Andy’s around. When he’s not at work, they’re usually closer to twenty minutes. The longest one Patrick ever documented was thirty-five minutes. “Jesus, would it kill Pete to hurry it up?” Joe complains just as the door opens and Pete tucks his lighter back into his pocket, breathing out the last cloud of cigarette smoke. “What’cha say, Trohman?” Pete asks, one eyebrow raised— Patrick hides his smile by tilting away from his manager as Joe stutters out some lame excuse. “Trick, you finish back-ups?” Patrick’s ears get hot with the realization he hasn’t. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, “sorry, Joe asked for help with an order and I— it slipped my mind.” Pete just shrugs and taps the make table, using his fingernail to scratch off a dried smear of pizza sauce. “You’re fine, Trick. Just go finish that real quick, alright? I wanna get pre-top done before noon.” Patrick skitters off to complete the list of back-ups.

Pre-top is the most boring part of the day, and Joe says as much. “You just love bitching, don’t you?” Pete asks with a sly grin, looking over to Patrick and sharing the moment as Joe sighs and tosses another handful of cheese onto a sauced dough. “It’s not like you suck at it, Joe,” Patrick points out, admiring the efficiency his friend is able to complete a pre-top pizza with. “I’m not talking about that, Pat,” Joe gripes, “I just hate doing pre-top. It’s the worst.” Pete’s lips twitch. “Nah, the worst is mopping up barf in the dining area, Trohman. Pre-top is, like, top five best chores around here.”

They wrap pre-top up at eleven-thirty—a new personal best— and Pete takes up his clipboard and trudges down to the basement to take inventory. “Pat’s in charge while I’m busy,” Pete had told them both, staring pointedly at Joe before turning away. Patrick smiles internally with pride; if Pete thinks he does well enough to boss another associate around, he must be good. “You wanna do a quick sweep while I finish day dots?” Patrick asks, and Joe snorts. “No, but I’ll do it,” he says, and goes to grab a broom and pan. Patrick finds himself a little disgusted while pulling Lexans up to check the labels. God, some of these haven’t been changed since Monday. He sighs as he peels off each sticker. At least they’ll be changed before the night shift can see and get pissed off.

Everything seems better once Patrick has made sure all the labels on the Lexans have been updated. Joe goes on to dishes without prompting, and he comes back ten minutes later to wash his hands again. “Doing anything after work?” Joe asks as they stand side-by-side with identical cups of soda. Patrick ponders the question while he sips. He swallows and shrugs, feeling like the most boring person on the planet. “Might snoop around that antique mall,” he says, ignoring Joe’s snicker and comment about how he’s a big fat nerd. Patrick elbows Joe in the ribs and feels vindicated when all his wind is pushed out in a very satisfying “oof!”

Pete resurfaces after an hour and plops into his desk chair in the office with a groan of frustration. “They order everything but what we actually need,” he mutters. “Sorry to hear that,” Patrick says, stilted because he’s a teenager and Pete is, like, in his thirties or something. Pete waves it away. “You’re not the one ordering these trucks, Gerard is. And he’s bad at it.” Joe sets his cup down as the printer starts spitting out a new ticket. Patrick meanders over, just to see what’s on it. He can see Pete doing the same. “Large mariachi, medium pep,” Joe announces, and Pete opens the first proofer for a medium dough. “I’ll do the mariachi,” Pete says, taking the large dough from Joe’s hands, “is it chicken or beef?”

Work tends to go fast when he’s working with Joe and Pete, and Patrick is startled when he looks up and sees it’s four already. Someone rings the doorbell five times in a row while Pete swears and rushes over to open it. It’s Gabe, grinning like an asshole while Pete shoves him inside and sets him to make table immediately. “Pain in my ass, Saporta. And tell Gee to order some portion cups next time, we’re down to three fuckin’ sleeves,” he growls, interrupted only by Mikey pushing open the almost-closed door to slip inside. He pushes up his glasses and passes by to clock in while Pete continues to wrestle with Gabe. “Slow day?” Mikey asks Patrick. He likes Mikey; he’s soft-spoken and has always been nice to Patrick. “Yeah, but we got busier the past hour. We got the prep work done early so we’ve been standing around doing nothing for a while.” Mikey smiles. “Nice.”

Gabe manages to wriggle away to clock in after a few minutes of a verbal lashing from Pete, who’s still fuming. “You suck!” he giggles, then hisses when Pete slaps him upside the head. Patrick hides his grin in his palm and walks past his manager to help a new customer. He comes back after bestowing the kind middle-aged woman her pizza and side of wings, and Pete is pinching the bridge of his nose, overfull with irritation that Patrick can actually see it spilling all over the floor. It’s kind of funny because Gabe is one of the only people to bring out that specific brand of fury from Pete. Patrick is able to not burst into laughter like he really wants to, instead ducking to help Mikey on subs. He isn’t really helping; all Patrick is doing is chatting aimlessly with Mikey as he finishes up an order. “Joe, you can get out of here if you want,” Pete says. 

By five, Patrick comes around and says his goodbyes to his coworkers. “I’m heading out, Pete,” he tells his manager, who nods and says, “good work today, Trick, have a good rest of your day.” Patrick gathers his coat and clocks out, waving to Mikey and Gabe as he leaves. “Bye, Pat!” Mikey calls. “See you later, Pat,” Gabe says, cutting a half of a hand-tossed dough into strips for party twists. “Bye guys,” Patrick yells, stepping out into the cold January air. He thinks about wandering around, window shopping or buying himself something, but he ends up just wanting to go home and take a nap. He starts walking home, smiling to himself at how good a day he had.

[strikedenko]

Visitor: 7

Part seven of a collaborative story written by me and my joyfriends, @foxfirestarlight

The beginning

Previous part

Denko tipped backwards, various memories of his adventure thus far flashing through his mind. First laying eyes upon Jake's furry face and sharing a pawshake...playing games together...having breakfast the morning after...jumping over the sea separating Galar from Kalos...fighting that trainer together...the distress after waking up from the venom-induced fainting.

. . .No.

No, NO! It's not over yet! Far from it!

Denko took his airborne leg and thrust it back, landing his toes flush against the ground. From there, he pivots around that point, twirling around until he's stable once more, before taking a battle-ready stance.

The vertical slits he had for iris' stared down the guard. Breaths slowed, eyes squinted. From his peripheral vision, he analyzed the surrounding area and calculated how any little natural disturbance could impact any possible strategy. This was the Zeraora Battle Flow™ in full force.

The guard's pupils shrank upon seeing the Sleep Powder shaken off with ease. It was difficult to accomplish such a feat, usually requiring a strong bond between trainer and pokemon, but the Zeraora clearly wasn't accompanied by such.

Nonetheless, they steeled themselves as well, ready to face off against the electric cat the proper way this time.

Denko makes the first move, dashing forward and lowering his center of gravity, preparing an uppercut. However, the guard managed to gauge the oncoming attack and backstepped, causing the cat to whiff.

What the guard neglected to take note of, however, was the tree they stood in front of. Their backstep thrust themselves into the trunk, stunning them briefly. After that, all Denko took was a few meters of movement to grab their shoulder and slam their face into the ground. Instant knock-out. 

With the human out of the fight, Denko's attention shifts to the venusaur, though his mouth is left agape by what he laid eyes upon.

...Let's just say George was able to enjoy a nice salad, and that Denko snapped out of his flow and had to fight off the urge to puke.

Back to something that didn't make him wanna barf...man, he must've broken something in the guard's face with how violent that takedown was. It got the job done quickly, though, so Denko tried to shift his attention elsewhere. He had a gut feeling of concern, however, worried that it may have been fatal.

Denko crouched down to the collapsed human-like being and set a paw on their back. Thankfully, there was a subtle pulse that didn't stray from a healthy rate. A sigh of relief escapes him, his eyes drifting away when...Hey, there was something poking out of their back pocket. Looked like some kind of... 

Key card!! Score! It was red, carrying only a few white symbols with a bunch of grayed out ones. One of low level, it seemed, but likely enough to grant access into... wherever Jake was being held. He does a little fist pump, before beginning to search the rest of the humanoid's gear, looking for some kind of map.

Whilst doing so, however, a faint noise enters his ears. Some kind of purr crossed with a growl. Looking over to the source, Denko noticed George glancing back, motioning towards a specific direction.

Could that be the way Jake was? Huh, for not having a nose, George certainly made use of his sense of smell-

Denko stood up, stepped over the unconscious body, and made his way over to George, who had already begun running in the given direction. That plant was FAST when it absolutely shouldn't be. Looked more like he should be patrolling sewage pipes and engulfing plumbers whole.

...Could he just be a literal piranha plant? Questions for later. For now, the little dude was leaving Denko in the dust, and the speedster within him wasn't gonna take that lying down.

As the seconds passed and he sped up, his focus shifted less on the objective at hand and more on outspeeding George without utilizing any electrical power. A good and fair challenge, he figured.

...There it was again-

Though, this growing urge was thankfully short lived, as something entered his divine radar.

...

!!

Denko's ears perked up right as a shot rang out. In a matter of nanoseconds, he picked George up and ran into a ditch for cover. It had happened so quickly he might as well have stopped time.

Maybe he actually did?

Deep breaths. George hadn't even processed what had happened. One moment, he was following the lingering scent of his master and friend, the next moment he was in a nearby ditch with Denko. Confused, he turns to Denko's anxious face.

"That was close..." He glances at where he once was. A crystalized arrow was wedged in the dirt. "That's a Terastal Dart. One pierces our skin, we lose our ability to heal after fainting."

The ammunition was created mainly for military use, but had since been declared a war crime to fire it upon a pokemon.

Getting struck by even one of those would mean risking genuine death, and no matter how confident Denko was in his abilities, that was one risk he wasn't going to take. If Jake had gotten hit by one...

He began constructing his plan. Briefly come out of hiding, foresee another shot, and determine where that sniper is. It...wasn't the best or safest plan, but it was all he had at the moment.

"George, stay put." Denko lays the pot on the ground. Despite how uneven it seemed, it looked like he was able to balance it. Besides, the sentient flora already proved to be able to balance himself just fine.  The cat was somewhat concerned that George wouldn't comply and follow him out, but an acknowledging sort of nod from the plant put that worry away.

"...Showtime."

He jumps out of cover, immediately scanning the far distance between the trees for any hostile beings. Nothing so far. Denko didn't really need to actively search, he just had to wait for a shot and find whoever was violating the Kiloude Convention today.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Know the future. And change it.

. . .

!!

"I see it!"

Denko turns his head and leans to the side as a crystal dart soars right past his face. There it was, the sniper rifle held up by a guard laying prone among the brush. Its spotter was a Noctowl. They slammed their fist into the ground and stood in order to reposition, only for a thicket of lashing thorny vines to erupt roughly behind and to the left of them. George's handiwork?

Either way, an opportunity! While the soldier was left confused and confined, Denko had to act! He lowers a bit, before bolting off in a puff of electric residue. The next thing the sniper knew, a MASSIVE Zeraora stood right in front of him, scowling and staring daggers into their very soul.

The noctowl was first to recover their nerve, their claws glowing in preparation, but a vine snatched them out of the air and slammed them into the dirt.

The sniper didn't fare much better, getting their rifle shorted out and a giant fist wedged in their stomach before they could even move. Though, it may have been better to simply knock them out with a swift throat chop, as their lunch vacated their body and stained Denko's arm.

"Eugh-"

He couldn't tell what was grosser, getting puked on, or George suddenly popping out the ground and licking it off in one slurp.

". . .Ahem. Aaaaaanyway..." Yet again doing his best not to lose his OWN lunch, Denko analyzed the surroundings, staring off in the gaps between trees for an entrance to... something. If this sniper was here, it must be close.

Looks like there's a structure somewhere further west, though Denko couldn't quite make anything out. He removed the scope from the unconscious guard's rifle and looked again...A door! Bingo! Looked like it was the only building close by, too. 

George's keen olfactory senses must've pointed him in that direction too, already scuttling off towards it. Without skipping a beat, Denko followed suit, pushing aside the brush before entering a small clearing. There it was, a small warehouse, around the size of a two car garage.

Must be underground, then.

The large sliding doors were locked, as expected, warranting Denko to take out the card he took off that first guard. A bit of confusion regarding where exactly to show it, though... As he puzzled, it turned out just the presence of the keycard in open air was all it needed to open. Convenient!

Inside revealed a massive freight elevator, spanning the entire interior of the surface building. It was certainly big enough to house the Ion, further cementing this as being where Jake was taken. Still cautious, Denko moves to the center, with George scuttering along. The doors shut behind them, and the floor begins its descent.

The brief minutes of waiting allowed Denko to take a breather and come up with a game plan. Layout was unknown, location of Jake or the Ion was unknown... A lot of unknowns, huh-

Better play this very carefully, then. Gotta let George know, don't want him blowing the entire operation.

The plant was sniffing at the floor, likely still picking up a scent. The elevator was still trucking along, so now would be the best time to tell him the current plan. Denko kneels to have a more level view of George, before getting his attention with a "hey."

"We're gonna have to play this safe. Stay by me and don't run off, alright?" George looked a little confused, before it clicked in his little head what Denko meant. Nodding with an affirmative vocalization, he turned his attention back to his master's scent.

Though, he grew irritated at all the differing new ones confusing him. He needed a refresher. With more dexterity than Denko expected, George extended a vine and snatched Jake's Charm from the big cat's fur to sniff at it.

...But that didn't seem to work. Maybe Denko's scent was on it now...Well, there had to be SOME trace of Jake left. He kept at it for a bit, but Denko quickly snatched it back once it devolved into gnawing on the gem.

"Hey, don't do that," Denko said in a hushed tone, a tight hold on the somewhat slobbery gem. "That's our only lead so far. Just... try to focus on remembering Jake's sce-"

CRUNCH!

Denko blinked, and his stomach dropped to his heart-padded paws as he felt several crumbly shards in place of the hexagonal gem. George must've cracked it, and the grip made it give up the ghost.

"Fuck," Denko exhaled, head dropping to face the metal flooring. His other paw balled up into a fist, trembling with pent up frustration. Watching Jake's subtle behavior over the past few days, he had come to the conclusion that this gem was important to the vulpine in some form.

Now, shattered by that very concern, having caused Denko to snatch it away from Jake's plant friend.

. . .

There was no time to linger. The elevator was nearing its destination. Denko chose to hold onto the shards for the time being, clenching his paw to contain the amber mess within. The two felt a minute push downwards, their vertical velocity returning to zero, before an industrial garage door opened in front of them to reveal a hallway with a horizontal fork at the end.

Not skipping a beat, Denko moves to one of the walls, before showing a hand signal for George to follow along. Brushing his free palm along the steel wall, Denko slowly and steadily approached the fork. He was listening for unfamiliar footsteps and electrical devices that may have an effect on this operation.

Before he could step out into the horizontal hallway, he signals for George to stop. Denko had sensed a security camera scanning the area just around the corner. Going on ahead would likely provoke more hassle than necessary.

However, it seemed the camera worked on a swivel, intermittently rotating to scan each corridor in full. Of course, they're gonna want to act outside the camera's sight, so they needed to time it carefully. It'd also be beneficial to note where exactly the near hall led. The opposing corridor turned opposite the elevator. Peeking around the corner, Denko saw...

A scientist! Shit. Looked like it was too focused on a tablet it was holding to notice the momentary Zeraora snoot poking out from around the path to the elevator. A quick glance down to the plant and a paw motion to the near wall caused George to move behind Denko.

Say, if that was a scientist...

It was passing by, not even catching a glimpse of the intruding pair. The camera was pointing away. Thinking quickly, Denko dashes forward and grabs hold of the scientist, one arm over its stomach and the other covering its mouth, muffling its instinctual yelps.

Denko swiftly brings it out of the intersection to the other wall, waiting a few seconds before removing the paw smothering its mouth.

"Speak," he whispered into its ear. "Where's the spaceship and her owner?"

All the scientist answered with were terrified breaths and a scared expression as it wriggled, trying to escape.

"Wh-who are you??"

"Answer me!" Denko tightened his grip, raising his free paw balled up in a fist to threaten it.

A few more seconds passed with no reply, only persistent heavy breaths. Eventually, Denko was able to see what was truly going on.

It wasn't able to understand him. It was a human, and he was a pokemon who couldn't speak the human language. Upon realizing that, Denko began to loosen the grip, though quickly regaining it.

He couldn't simply let it go and risk it warning the others, but he certainly wasn't about to kill it. Instead, his grip shifts up to around the scientist's neck before slowly beginning to squeeze just enough to block airflow. The scientist begins to kick and flail, trying to make Denko let go, though the cat was unmoving.

After around 30 seconds, its accelerating flailing comes to a stop, and its legs fall limp, the tablet dropping to the floor with a worryingly loud thud. Denko loosens his hold, quickly confirming that the scientist was still alive, and sets it down to rest on the floor. George briefly sniffed its body, though an open paw facing the plant told it to stop.

Denko picks up the tablet to see what exactly was taking up the scientist's attention. Looked to be some kind of jargon that he couldn't even bother deciphering into something cohesive.

...At least, until something about an "all-purpose device" pops out at him.

That must be Jake's multitool!

Denko pinch taps on the display and zooms in, finding more context. This seemed to be a rundown of Jake's tech, though mostly focusing on his multitool. Of course, most of that data was far beyond his understanding, but there had to be a location tied to it, right?

. . .

!

Bingo. It's in the research lab of the southern wing. Denko makes a quick mental note of that. Any kind of map on here?

...Nope, doesn't seem like it. Not one that's easily accessible, at least. Guess IT here assumes anyone with a tablet already knows their way around the facility. Could also be for security reasons. A lost intruder is far easier to deal with, after all.

Hmm... If the surface doors had faced east, then that must mean that left was the south wing. As he made that deduction, another realization struck him. The scientist had come from the left, could it have been returning from the lab?

"George," he turns to the plant, holding out the scientist's tablet. "Think you could grab a scent out of this?" It sniffs at the device for a moment, before perking up and extending his stem in that direction. Denko nods, smirking as he makes his way to the first wall once more, double checking the left hallway and watching for the camera to move past.

He signals for George to come with, before offering to hold with his free hand. There was some hesitation from the plant, unsure of what exactly Denko's plan was, but eventually hops onto the yellow pad. Denko lifts him up level to his chest, before bracing the pot against his side and dashing forward.

The camera didn't even register that they were there. He let a proud smirk grow on his face. 'Faster every day.' A chuckle follows, before letting George point him in the direction of, assumingly, Jake's stuff.

They go down a flight of stairs, slip past a few more security cams, and come face to face with a door that... doesn't open. Suppose an outdoor patrol key can only do so much. Should've grabbed the card of that scientist back there-

. . . !

Footsteps approaching from both ends of the hallway. Shit. First thought was to take care of the known route, but it was difficult to discern how many approached from either side. The only surefire safe way was to enter, as a tinted window revealed no one currently within.

Hurriedly, Denko palms the front of the door and begins channeling his electric power to... somehow make it open. C'mon, there must be an internal switch...

The sounds of the oncoming boots on the floor amplified, stress building exponentially in Denko's mind with each footfall. He could no doubt deal with these humans, but he simply didn't want to waste anymore time.

Finally, after what felt like a solid minute of no avail, he triggers the activation command and opens the door, picking up George's pot and rushing in, before instantly looking for a place to hide.

Let's see... There's a few houseplants George could blend in with. There's... an empty box just large enough for Denko to fit.

The footsteps slow for a moment before picking back up, approaching the doorway faster than prior. Shit, they noticed the door open. Denko told George to blend with the plants, picked up the box, crouched down to the floor, and laid it over him.

It wasn't comfortable at all, but at least he could fit within. Now, to hope none of them notice the four protruding flaps and the fact that the box is, well, upside down.

He held his breath as the clank of their boots entered the room.

Clank...Clank...Clank...

"Hm?" Shit...! One set of boots approached his hiding spot... "...Just a box." ...Wait, seriously?

"Oy, lookie here." Another voice came, which made Denko's observer step away before they looked any closer. Thank Arceus...He could breathe again. "Wonder who left their toy piranha plant in 'ere."

"Should we report it?" "Nah. What's it gonna do, come to life?" "Hmm...Yeah, s'pose the door just glitched. Or maybe it's a test or sumn, Iunno."

The doors shoot open as the humans make their leave, grumbling about ayment. The door closed shortly afterwards, The zeraora waiting a few seconds before lifting the box enough to crawl out, back into open air. "... I can't believe that worked." Even so, he still whispered.

He notices George just kinda posing there. Really still. Denko had meant the plant to retreat into its pot to blend in, but that's fine-

They weren't caught, and that's all that matters. So, back on track...

He moved to wait by the door, in case some other guards were passing by. Not a single sound...Time to keep moving. This room looked like a lounge area for employees, with a few hallways stretching beyond the walls.

"George, still got a scent?" Denko approached the piranha plant and held out the tablet for him to sniff. Good news, the scent was still imprinted. Bad news, it ended in this room, at one of the cushioned chairs. Guess that scientist wasn't actively involved.

...Did that mean they went down the wrong path? Dammit-!

He tried scanning the word vomit on its screen once more, though to no avail. A disgruntled frown falls upon Denko's face, letting out a sigh before... unwittingly shorting out the tablet from a subconscious release of electricity, an automatic response to stress.

Though, before he could audibly express his annoyance, a subtle, yet familiar, energy signature entered his radar. There were multiple that had been entirely foreign to the Zeraora: Hardware rarely used in the public, less so across the ocean in Galar.

This familiarity, while comforting, drew out a curious glance to one of the three hallways, the one parallel to the lounge entrance. Could that be...

"C'mon," Denko motioned for George to come with, the two sneaking through the hallway to the source, potentially being Jake's multitool.

Once or twice he thought he heard unfamiliar footsteps, but stopping revealed it was just his own echoing unfamiliarly on the steel floor. Just a few more doors...There! There was definitely an unearthly energy source on the other side of the door at the end of the hall. Protected not by a card slot, but a keypad and 6 digit passcode.

Denko's initial attempt to manually open the door was met with failure. This was some crazy security and engineering encryption, no doubt intended to combat those with electrical prowess.

What about the passcode? Could he override it and open the door that way?

...No, not without risking an alert by outright destroying the lock. What a conundrum-

This has GOT to be it, though! How does he get in??

. . .

The keypad was analog, not digital, the reason he couldn't hack it without potential destruction. Though, perhaps...

The Zeraora lays a paw just beside the panel, letting out a brief sigh and allowing his eyelids to drift closed.

"Striker...Grandfather. Lend me your power, just this once."

A few silent seconds pass. A divine energy courses into Denko throughout his body. The feline took in deep breaths, concentrating the power to fulfill the goal just beyond his reach.

His eyes, upon reopening, exhibited a glowing blue aura, perfectly contrasting his typical vibrant red. The sheer essence of time flowing within him, though a mere fraction of Striker's abilities.

He focused that energy to the paw laying beside the keypad, eyes glaring the buttons.

. . .

All of a sudden, one of the buttons is pressed. It wasn't Denko's doing, nor was it George's. It was the force enacted onto the keypad the last time someone entered, recreated in full.

Another one is pushed down, and then another. The seven-segment display stretched above the keypad read "738---", the first three digits of the correct code.

Three other buttons were then pressed, one after another. Four, one, six.

The full passcode: "738416"

The green enter button located at the lower right was then pressed. The display clears for a second, slightly worrying Denko. Though, a green light goes off between the panel and the door, with a word shown on the segmented display: "ACCEPT"

Bingo! The door descends into a slit in the ground, letting Denko see inside. On a table front and center, the source of the unearthly, yet familiar, energy signature.

Jake's multitool.

"Thank you, Striker."

The blue aura dissipates as the divine energy flows out back to its incomprehensible origin.

One step inside, and...

BWEEP! BWEEP!

"A security camera?!" Denko yelped in shock, pupils shrinking in fear.

Though, he scoffed in frustration and swiped the foreign device from the table, before attempting to figure it out.

An EMP had disabled the multitool, so in an act of desperation, a short burst of electricity flowed into the device in an attempt to force it on.

A moment passed with no response.

*VWEEEBEEBEEP?!?!*

A panicked series of beeps and whirs and buzzes issues forth. Right, Jake had talked to someone through here...Haywire, wasn't it? Various different panels all across the tool were flapping and clacking. Thankfully the rubber grip he held didn't have any panels, as they were moving QUITE fast, and the few strands of fur that got caught were sheared clean off.

No time to calm it down, unfortunately, as a few urgent grunts from George out in the hall pulled his attention. Heavily geared guards, all rushing to his position.

Fuck...

Denko enters a combative stance, ready to fight his way through, George joining him a moment later with a snarl.

[earthh2jadee]

in lesbians with you- r.h x reader

Uhm idk i made this because i was bored. Its not my favorite and its not that descriptive, but ig i made it like that because its kinda in gregs pov. this includes a scott pilgram reference that you probably wont get if you didnt watch the movie. Scott pilgrim vs the world seems like a movie that rodrick would like so thats why i picked it. Ok enjoy this drabble

Genre: fluff

Pairing: rodrick x female reader

“Alright, wimp. Movie’s over, get out.”

The movie credits of Scott Pilgrim vs the World rolled on Rodricks laptop. It was supposed to be a private thing between Rodrick and Y/N, but his mom changed the plan. She promised Rodrick and Greg a bunch of Mom Bucks if they watched a movie together, and she trusted Y/N to keep them civil.

But Y/N fell asleep midway through the movie, as she’s watched it a million times. And while she was asleep, Rodrick and Greg argued. A lot.

“What, need me to get out so you can kiss your girlfriend?” Greg said, mockingly.

“Out.” Rodrick spat.

Greg groaned and stomped out of Rodrick’s room. But as he walked down the hall, he realized that he left his glass of water in Rodricks room. He knew Rodrick would kill him if he went back into his room, so he decided to sit near Rodricks door frame and get his water when Rodrick escorted Y/N out. So he sat there and peeked his head out, waiting for them to leave.

Rodrick sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He turned behind him at his girlfriend, asleep on his bed, the moonlight on her face. Greg expected him to shake her awake, as he always did to him. He didn’t expect the soft kiss he placed on her forehead, or him wrapping his arms around her shoulder. This was a side of his brother he never saw.

“Baby, hey wake up…” He muttered, poking her cheeks.

She groaned, “Did I miss the movie…?”

“Yeah, you missed the part with Envy Adams.”

“Dammit!” She frowned, “That's my favorite part…”

“Yeah, I know.” He grinned, brushing her hair out of her face and pressing kisses all over it. Greg could’ve barfed.

“C’mon babe, you gotta go home.” He whispered.

Greg watched his brother hold both of her hands and help her up from his ratty bed. She let out a yawn and stretched her arms, trying to get the sleep out of her eyes. Rodrick smiled and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her and spinning her until she giggled.

He set her down and rested his chin on top of her head, "I'm definitely in lesbians with you, Y/N."

Her mouth tilted into a warm smile, "Aww, Rod... I think I'm in lesbians with you too..."

He grinned and shook his head, "This is way too cheesy for me. You wanna go home now?"

"Yeah." She said in a sleepy tone, "But you should probably get rid of our little Peeping Tom first."

Greg froze as Y/N turned to him and waved. “Hi, Greg!”

Rodrick turned around and ran toward his door, causing Greg to go into a sprint and run into his room and locking his door.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, LITERALLY KILL YOU!”

Y/N rolled her eyes and laughed, starting toward the hallway to break them up.

Lol please send me asks im so bored. And i might make a guitarist!reader fic idk

[nakachuchu]

Banana Nut Bread | Armin Arlert

SYNOPSIS: University + Roommates AU - You steal his clothes a lot.

READER: gender neutral

CHARACTERISTICS: short

WORDS: 1037

WRITTEN: 04/14/2021

NOTES: Thank you for requesting from my event! "Is that my hoodie?" + "It looks cuter on you anyway."

You were the notorious clothes stealer on the third floor of your university’s dorms, but you didn’t steal other people’s clothes. It was just simply known that you constantly stole your roommate, Armin’s, clothes.

There was a time where you refused to return his loose high school gym shorts to him—and he wanted to wash them since it was laundry day for him—and he had to chase you around the floor.

People were laughing and watching as you sprinted away from Armin, who was lagging behind you while screaming “Please, Y/N, it’s laundry day!” in exasperation.

He finally gave up and had to stop in the middle of the corridor on the sixth floor. His hands were resting on his knees while he heaved heavily as you danced around him in circles.

The two of you met on the day of freshman move-in, but because you were an energetic and open person, you had no qualms stealing clothes from a stranger.

Armin arrived to the room before you did, and when you arrived, you slammed open the door which shocked him so much that he choked on the banana nut bread he was snacking on.

You had to perform the heimlich on him and when a chunk of the banana nut bread flew out from his throat, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself to him.

"Is that my hoodie?” you questioned as you passed by Armin who was sitting at his desk in a very familiar hoodie.

He turned around in his swivel chair and smiled. “It’s only fair.”

You really hated the fact that you always purchased oversized hoodies—they were comfy—because now he could steal them. But you had to admit, he didn’t look bad at all. He looked rather cute.

"It looks cuter on you anyway,” you said. “This isn’t going to stop me from stealing your hoodies or clothes in general, by the way.”

Armin sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “What’s so nice about my clothes anyway? Your hoodies are soft too.”

You held the collar of Armin’s hoodie that you were currently wearing up to your nose and sniffed it. “I like how you smell,” you mumbled.

His cheeks turned pink. “Really? Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled.

“Is that banana nut bread?” you asked, eyeing the familiar rectangular bread on his desk.

“Yeah.”

You walked over to him and leaned down, opening your mouth. He picked up the bread and fed it to you.

Feeding each other was a normal occurrence. It was usually Armin feeding you because you liked to steal his food, but you also feed Armin—though it was usually against his will because he always insisted that he didn't want your meatball sub.

“Where are you going?” he asked as you put on your shoes.

“I wanna buy chips,” you said as you dangled your keys off your finger.

“In that?” he questioned, eyeing your bare legs.

“Are you making fun of my height again?”

“I’m not!”

“Uh-huh. Your hoodie’s big enough to cover my butt, so I’ll be fine,” you reassured.

“Are you wearing anything underneath?”

“Underwear.”

“You can’t go out in just underwear! What if someone sees?” he asked.

“They won’t. Hoodies aren’t flimsy like dresses.”

He pursed his lips, then picked up the rest of the banana nut bread and shoved it into his mouth. “I’m coming too.”

“All right. Put your shoes on.”

He put his shoes on, then followed after you as you opened the door for him. Eren poked his head out of his room, pointedly looking up and down at the outfits the two of you were wearing.

“Is it opposite day?” Eren asked. “Hey, Mikasa, give me your clothes.”

“No.”

Mikasa joined him at the doorway, poking her head out to look at the two of you. It was quite amusing and comical to see you in an oversize men’s hoodie that clearly belonged to Armin, and Armin in a shorter hoodie that clearly belonged to you—either that or his hoodie shrunk in the dryer. Plus, the height difference between you two just made it funnier.

“You look cute, Y/N,” said Mikasa.

“Thank you!” you chirped.

“You look cute, Armin,” said Eren with a snicker.

“I’ll barf up my banana nut bread on you,” Armin retorted.

“Gross. Where are you two going?” Eren asked.

“Getting chips,” you answered.

“Can I come?”

“No,” you said.

“Why not?” Eren whined.

Your hands wrapped around Armin’s arm, pulling him closer to you. He glanced down at you with a blush on his face and his feet stumbled a bit as the keys in your hand jingled.

“Armin is mine. Every time you come along, you steal his attention from me.”

“Huh? Listen here, he was my best friend first,” he retorted.

“Armin likes me more,” you retorted.

“Rock-paper-scissors for Armin,” Eren demanded, hands out in front of him.

You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes, weighing down your choices. You looked up at Armin and nodded—he really didn’t know what you were nodding to.

“Run!” you shrieked, pulling him along with you.

“Come back here!” Eren demanded.

You and Armin laughed as the two of you ran down the stairs as fast as you could, trying to get away from Eren. You were pulling Armin who was slightly behind you.

His eyes glanced down at how his hoodie was riding up your legs. His hand shot up and tugged the hem of his hoodie down and he kept his hand there.

Feeling a weight behind you, you glanced behind you as you opened the exit and stepped out.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, your—my—hoodie was riding up,” he explained.

You nodded. “Ready? How’s that banana nut bread holding up?” you asked as you pressed your hand to his tummy.

“No barf,” he said.

“Good, because if you barf in my car, I’ll kill you, Armin Arlert.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

“Good. Now where the heck did I park?" you questioned as you scratched the top of your head.

Armin squatted down. “Get on my shoulders and we can look for it.”

You grinned. “Even though you're making fun of my height, I'll accept your offer.”

“I wasn't making fun of you!”

[devendrasbeard]

Only If For A Night

Prompt: They’ve had a few drinks Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier Rating: E Content Warnings: Drunkness, Drunk Kissing, Drunk Confessions Summary:  Eskel is a private driver for a very famous and very successful fashion designer. Having seen the more private side of his boss, he eventually develops feelings for him. One night of drunken confessions can bring a massive change to their professional relationship.

Also on ao3!

"My dear friends, acquaintances, sponsors and clients!" Jaskier's happy voice, amplified by several speakers around the small stage, echoed across the hall. "Thank you for gathering here tonight, so that you'll be the first ones to see, admire, and buy the newest designs from my Dandelions collection!"

A round of applause and excited gasps was heard as a group of androgynous models dressed in wonderfully flowy gowns joined Jaskier on the stage. The clothes were kept in a gender neutral fashion, the fabrics thin as if made of morning mist, but at the same time vibrant with colors, their ethereal vibe contrasted with black hemming at the edges.

"In the next hour the models will be available for you, so that you can get a feel of the clothes, talk about how comfortable of a wear these are. You can even try something on, if the models let you!" Jaskier continued into the microphone. "Just remember - these are real people, not coat hangers! I expect respect towards them and no stepping over any boundaries!"

Eskel stood at the far end of the hall, leaning comfortably against a wall, now and then taking a sip from his glass of water. The day was very hot as for late May, so he was wearing a simple white buttoned up shirt with short sleeves and some black slacks instead of his usual suit ensemble. He loosened the knot in his thin black tie, as he watched Jaskier walk down from the stage and fall into the embrace of his enthusiastic friends.

He liked watching Jaskier, his boss, from afar. Jaskier was fierce, flamboyant and bubbly around his friends, at events, and in front of the media people, but when he thought nobody was looking, his face turned pensive, sometimes even sad. That melancholic, brooding side of Jaskier showed up mostly in the evenings, when the lights went out, his friends went home and it was just him and Eskel driving him home. Eskel liked that side of him.

A few hours into the after party Jaskier approached him, hugging a whole bottle of bourbon to his chest. His cheeks were flushed, blue eyes glistening, his elaborate hairstyle already mussed a little. "Fuck me if this isn't the best collection I've made so far."

Eskel nodded, trying to suppress a chuckle. Whenever Jaskier was tipsy, he forgot about any conventionalities and talked to Eskel as if he was his long time buddy, not his private driver. "It's really good." Eskel admitted. "Need my assistance with anything?"

Jaskier placed a warm palm on Eskel's chest, his bright blue eyes looking up at him. "I wanna go home, my head feels dizzy from all the hugs, fake kisses and congratulations."

"You're sure it's the congratulations and not the bourbon?" Eskel cocked his head, raising a brow in amusement.

"Hey!" Jaskier's long finger was now poking at Eskel's chest. "I pay you to drive me around, not to judge my life's choices."

"Let's go then, I'll drive you home," Eskel nodded and led Jaskier to the door, desperately trying not to wrap a protective arm around his boss' frame.

****

Jaskier ducked his head through the partition divider, resting his chin on his hands. The strong smell of alcohol mixed with Jaskier's flowery cologne hit Eskel's nose. "Do you like me, Eskel?" He whispered, too close to Eskel's ear.

Eskel shot him a quick glance through the rearview mirror, clearing his throat. "How do you mean?"

"Am I likeable?" Jaskier pouted and cocked his head to the side, to lay it on the cold metal frame of the divider. "Do you like me as a person? I know I am trying to be a good boss and I hope you're satisfied with the work you're doing here for me and that I'm not a pain in the ass for making you drive me around... But am I likeable as a person? Can you even look at me as a person and not your boss, slash famous designer?"

Eskel huffed, feeling goosebumps creeping up his neck. So today's drunk Jaskier's mood was philosophical. Through his last year of driving Jaskier around he's seen him in every sorry state - from being awkwardly horny after a hook up gone wrong, through being insanely euphorical and singing at the top of his lungs in the back seat, to being absolutely shit-faced, making Eskel stop the car every five minutes, so that he could get out and barf on the sidewalk.

But Jaskier asking him if Eskel liked him caught him off guard. What was he supposed to say to that? That ever since he started working for him, he wanted to wrap his arms around Jaskier and kiss him so hard he'd forget his own name? That his heart fluttered everytime Jaskier sent him that deep look and loving smile when they accidentally locked eyes in the rearview mirror? That he's been yearning to spend every second of his life with him? That he loved everything about him - his generosity, his laugh, his creative mind? This wasn't Eskel's place, he was just Jaskier's employee, yet he felt compelled to say something. "You're a good person, Jaskier." He tried.

"Then how come that on the day my newest collection premieres..." He stopped, interrupted by a series of hiccups. "Why is that, that people hug me and kiss me and yet..." He plopped dramatically onto the back seat and sighed. "Why am I yet again going home alone?"

Eskel sighed, a feeling of a thousand needles prickling on his skin. He wanted to pull Jaskier up and wrap him in a tight embrace and scream at the top of his lungs that he was there for him, always, forever! Instead he sighed again, turned to Jaskier for a second and asked, "Should I put your fave music on?"

"Yes, please," Jaskier mumbled. "Thank you, Esk."

****

"We're here," Eskel turned to Jaskier after he parked the limo outside of Jaskier's apartment building. "Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?"

Jaskier smiled at him, sitting splayed all over the backseat, his hair a mess and his shirt already halfway open, giving Eskel more than a sneak peek of his thick chest hair and the several necklaces dangling on his torso. Eskel swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry, and then Jaskier leaned forward and whispered, "You can come upstairs with me."

Eskel's eyes widened, a hotness creeping up his neck. It was all he ever wanted, but he felt he shouldn't do it tonight, not with Jaskier in this state of mind. He had to think and be reasonable for them both. "Jaskier... You're drunk and tired, I don't think that's a-" A warm finger on his lips shut him up.

"That bottle of bourbon won't empty itself," Jaskier tried for a seductive smile which turned out pretty wonky, but still managed to tug at Eskel's heartstrings. "C'mon, just one drink? You can probably drive after one drink?"

Eskel huffed, his mind racing and trying to weigh all the pros and cons of the situation he's gotten himself into. Jaskier looked at him with pleading eyes, not saying anything, waiting for Eskel's move. "Okay, one drink."

They got out of the car, Jaskier propping himself up on Eskel's shoulder as they entered the building. "Good morning, Jerome," Jaskier addressed the concierge with a wide smile.

"It's midnight, Mr. Pankratz," the concierge rolled his eyes, the look on his face indicating he's seen Jaskier in this state more than once.

As soon as they got into Jaskier's penthouse, Jaskier moved straight to the alcohol cabinet, leaving Eskel in the middle of the spacious living room. Eskel looked around the place, admiring all the art pieces on the walls and various trinkets scattered around the furniture. But the view from the vast windows was what truly mesmerized him - he moved towards the glass walls, gazing down at the night city, so calm and otherworldly from here.

"Thank you for joining me," Jaskier's voice next to him startled him a little. "I really didn't want to be home alone tonight," he added quietly.

"No problem," Eskel smiled at him, noticing that now besides the bourbon bottle, Jaskier was also nursing a flask of red wine. He held both up for Eskel to choose his drink from. Eskel took the wine bottle and asked, "Should I fetch us some glasses, or do I just chug straight from the bottle?"

Jaskier patted his shoulder lightly, laughing too loud, as if Eskel told a joke, then hiccuped a little. "I'll get us some glasses, you..." he waved towards the sofas and armchairs, "you make yourself comfortable."

Eskel didn't get to sit yet when he heard the sound of breaking glass and a sharp hiss coming from the kitchen. He jumped up, leaving the wine bottle on the table and moved towards Jaskier.

"It's nothing, it's nothing," Jaskier was already kneeling on the floor, clumsily collecting the broken pieces of a wine glass. "Guess everything went too smoothly for me today."

The sigh that left Jaskier's lips sounded more like a broken whimper and Eskel's heart physically hurt at the sight of his famous and successful boss looking so small and pitiful in the middle of his kitchen. He felt like crying. "Leave it, I'll clean it up," he offered. "Maybe you should go to bed, lay down a little?"

Jaskier looked up at him, the gaze of his blue eyes unfocused. He pointed at Eskel with his index finger while standing up. "No, you-... You've promised me that one drink!"

"Fine."

****

Two hours later Eskel knew he wasn't going to make it home that night. The wine bottle in his hands was almost empty, and he felt slightly light-headed and dizzy, but not drunk. Jaskier, on the other hand, was already edging on wasted, his shirt now unbuttoned, cheeks red, his words incoherent and slurry.

"Y'know, I'm fully aware of my... My pre... my pry... My privilege," he blurted out, "but yet I give myself permission to feel miserable from time to time... And now is the day!" he gestured with his hand, in which he held the bourbon bottle, spilling a little on the table.

"Okay, I'll take this," Eskel grabbed the bottle from him as Jaskier plopped back onto the sofa.

"How do you know who's your friend?" Jaskier asked, his gaze focused on the ceiling as if he was trying to find an answer there. "People hug me and kiss me and invite themselves into... Into my life and then what? They want free stuff, they want contacts with my famous friends, they want..." He stopped and looked over at Eskel, his blue eyes sad and pleading, as if he waited for Eskel to give him a solution.

"Look for those who stick around when the lights go out, when the party's over... For-for those who ask you how you feel and not what you can give to them." He felt the hotness of embarrassment creep up his neck, his ears turning red. He was talking about himself and he only gave himself permission to do so because Jaskier was drunk and wouldn't remember it the next day.

"That's... wise," Jaskier nodded and reached out with his hand to pat Eskel's cheek. Then his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember something important. "You never asked me for anything."

Eskel cleared his throat, and turned his face away from Jaskier, to hide his unease. "I'm... I'm fine. I'm happy with my job."

"Yeah? What do you do for a living?" Jaskier asked.

That caused Eskel to chuckle, and Jaskier followed with his pearly laugh, although he didn't know what was going on, and in a moment they were both laughing loudly and snickering like children. Jaskier patted Eskel's knee several times before leaning back onto the sofa.

"Jaskier, I work for you. I drive you around, remember?" Eskel said, wiping tears of mirth from the corner of his eye.

"Right." Jaskier nodded. "I hope I pay you well."

"You're a good boss," Eskel smiled. They locked eyes for a long moment, not saying anything. Jaskier licked his lips subconsciously and Eskel had to look away, the sight causing a warm feeling to coil in his stomach. "Alright, boss, time to get you to bed," he cleared his throat. "I'll crash on the couch if you don't mind, can't really drive now."

"Oh no no, no sleepin' on couches in my house! I have guest rooms for guests!" Jaskier stood up abruptly, too quickly for the drunken state he was in. His foot kicked the table leg and he wobbled a little, losing his balance.

He landed in Eskel's lap, Eskel instinctively putting a protective arm over him to save him from falling over and onto his back. Jaskier grabbed Eskel's shoulder for balance and suddenly their faces were incredibly close. So close Eskel could smell Jaskier's cologne, now suppressed by the tangy scent of bourbon. He was so close that Eskel could see those tiny crows feet forming at the corners of Jaskier's eyes, he could notice his flared nostrils and the wet shimmer on his lips. He swallowed audibly.

"Whoo, that was close. Thank-... Thank you," Jaskier laughed lightly and squeezed his shoulder. In a silent reply, Eskel caressed Jaskier's back gently, so delicately as if he didn't want Jaskier to feel it. But apparently Jaskier did, because he leaned forward and pressed a soft butterfly kiss to Eskel's lips. He pulled away and looked Eskel deep in the eyes, while undoing his tie. "Could you... Can you, just for tonight, forget that I'm your boss?" he asked quietly.

Eskel looked at him wide eyed, frozen in place and unable to speak. But when Jaskier gave his tie one last slight tug, he was lost. He's been waiting for that little sign, for a nod of permission, and as soon as he got it, he launched forward, pushing Jaskier off his knees and pressing him down onto the sofa with his weight.

He kissed him, reluctantly at first, but when Jaskier let out the first quiet whimper of pleasure, Eskel was all lost on him. He pressed his lips to Jaskier's, with his eyes closed, trying to put into that kiss all that yearning and longing he'd felt for Jaskier for months.

Jaskier was under him, sighing and panting, arching into Eskel’s touch. Responding to every kiss with passion. Eskel moaned into Jaskier's mouth as his hands roamed under his already open shirt, caressing the soft skin on Jaskier's sides, skimming over his chest hair and slightly tugging at the multiple necklaces on his neck.

Jaskier sat up and fumbled with the buttons on Eskel's shirt, his now clumsy fingers too uncoordinated to undo them. He tugged desperately at the shirt, causing two buttons to pop off and fall to the floor. They both looked at them, Jaskier with a hint of embarrassment, Eskel amazed with Jaskier's strength. Jaskier pulled at Eskel's shirt and dragged him into another heated kiss. "Off! Just take that shirt off," he demanded between kisses.

As he stripped off of his shirt, Eskel noticed how Jaskier's eyes glistened and how he licked his lips lusciously, before launching himself at Eskel. He peppered his face, neck and chest with kisses, murmuring "You're beautiful" and "I love you so much" between kisses, making Eskel writhe with pleasure and whine with emotions, because he so wanted Jaskier to mean it.

"Can I take you to the bedroom?" Jaskier asked while tugging at the waistband of Eskel's slacks. "God, why is the belt so complicated?" He threw his hands up losing his balance and landing on the floor. Eskel reached out to help him up, only to be dragged down to the floor right next to Jaskier.

"Okay, bedroom it is," he laughed into Jaskier's mouth, who already managed to slot their lips in another heated kiss.

****

Eskel woke up with his head feeling very heavy, his mouth dry as if he'd eaten sand. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, taking in the situation. He was naked, with only the bedsheets tangled around his legs. Jaskier was sleeping next to him, lying on his stomach, one hand draped comfortably around Eskel's waist. He was equally naked, his perky ass sticking out from under the covers.

Eskel watched him mesmerized, noticed how beautifully lean and supple Jaskier's body was, he watched how he moved slightly with every breath... And then tiny bits of memories of last night hit him like a wave. He remembered the passionate kisses Jaskier showered him with, how unbelievably soft and pliant Jaskier's body was under his touch, he recalled the weight of Jaskier's cock on his tongue and how wonderfully he moaned Eskel's name with his hand tangled in Eskel's hair...

One part of him wanted to leave before Jaskier would wake up, spare him the awkwardness of a morning after. They never planned on something like that, after all they were boss and employee, they just let alcohol get the best of them. The other part of Eskel wanted to stay, to savour the moment of absolute intimacy and vulnerability between them. That other part wanted all this drunken mishap to turn into something more than just a one night stand.

Then Jaskier stirred next to him, waking up, pulled himself closer to Eskel's chest and murmured a soft "Good morning." He sat up, dragging one hand through his disheveled hair, taking in the sight of their naked bodies. "So... I guess last night ended up better than expected?" He shot Eskel an embarrassed smile. "Did we... You know. Go all the way?"

"I honestly don't know," Eskel admitted sheepishly, pulling the bedsheets up to cover the both of them. "Are you okay, Jaskier? You didn't go easy on the bourbon last night."

"I'm fine," Jaskier waved him off, but his eyes narrowed and he worried his lower lip and Eskel knew he was trying to recall what happened last night. "I hope I didn't take advantage of you?"

"Everything I did, I did because I wanted to," Eskel said firmly, though he felt the hotness on his cheeks and ears at the memory of their naked bodies tangled together and Jaskier moaning so sweetly into his ear.

"Yeah?" Jaskier scooted even closer to him under the bedsheets. "Care to remind me what did you actually do?"

Eskel exhaled deeply, feeling Jaskier's hot breath on his neck, making his own skin feel too tight. The memory of Jaskier's body arched beautifully under Eskel's touch flashed before his eyes, and he cleared his throat. "I'm... I'm pretty sure I sucked you off."

"Oh." Jaskier's face was painted with astonishment, but only for a moment. In the next he was already straddling Eskel's lap, braiding his fingers in his dark hair, looking him deep in the eye. "I think it's only fair if I return the favour now?"

Before Jaskier moved down on him, Eskel grabbed his hands and made Jaskier face him. "Listen..." he started, mouth extremely dry, more of nervousness than hangover. "You said some very weighty things to me yesterday, that I really wished were true... But I know this could be just the alcohol's doing." He huffed, pressing his eyes shut. "If it's not what you meant, or how you feel about me, I'd rather leave now."

Jaskier sighed, deeply, but he didn't lower his gaze. He intertwined their fingers and placed a kiss on the top of Eskel's palm. "I remember one thing vividly from last night," he said. "And that is feeling loved and wanting to give as much love as possible back." He kissed the fingers on Eskel's hand. "If you felt the same, I'd rather you stayed. Forever, if possible?"

------

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

[cripple-punk-dad]

The first thing I see is stars. They're beautiful, ethereal, hung on a curtain of crimson and navy blue. I can't remember ever seeing them this close up, and I feel blessed.

Until I blink and focus in.

Teeth, molars it looks like, lie a couple inches in front of my swollen eyes, glinting like a night sky.

Are...are those mine?

I try poking my tongue around my mouth. But it feels so heavy. It tastes like metal. Maybe something's holding it down?

My eyes start to droop shut. They feel heavy too. Fuck, all of me feels weighted down. Or maybe, I'm floating? Either way, now seemed as good a time as any to drift away, to shut out what sounds like a crowd yelling at me to get up...

"THAT'S A WRAP FOLKS! DON'T FORGET TO CASH YOUR BETTING SLIPS ON THE WAY OUT!"

God...Where am I?

Someone grabs my shoulders and shakes. Hard. A whimper comes from somewhere .

"Tony, hey, kid get up."

Tom.

"You lost."

Oh.

Tom, at least I think it's Tom, worms his hands under my shoulders.

An involuntary scream makes a desperate attempt to get out of me. Tendrils of fire and ice have a hold of every inch of my body, searing my nerves and freezing my skin. My jaw hangs open, and the scream transforms itself to a quiet whine. I can't even breathe right, air just comes and goes in quiet puffs.

I barely taste the vomit spilling from my split lips. Barely feel my body hit the ground for what must have been the hundredth time that night as Tom drops me.

A hand appears from somewhere just above me, and I hate that I flinch.

"Jesus kid, just take my hand. Don't want you to drown in a puddle of your own barf."

Yeah, that's Tom.

I feel tears mingle with the vile liquid I'm lying in. It takes every bit of strength I've got left to hold myself up, to extend a trembling arm.

Tom takes it. My shoulder throbs along with the rest of me as he pulls me up. I can't seem to stand on my left foot, it just won't take my weight. Tom props me up for now.

"What the fuck happened?" I finally manage to croak out.

(Pt. 2 coming soon? Can't decide if I wanna leave this or add on to it-)

[breakfastteatime]

Mini Mac Fic Part 2!

Ta da! A continuation of this Jack’s got a sick Mac on his hands, and he’s gonna get him home and safely tucked up.

It was a quiet drive from Phoenix back to Mac’s place. Jack really had to bite his tongue to keep from asking Mac why he didn't just take a sick day. For a guy who was so smart, he could be incredibly stupid about his personal wellbeing. 

Besides, Mac was asleep in the passenger seat, making it hard for him to answer anything. And Jack didn't want to disturb him until they got to his place. For him to be sleeping so much and so heavily during the day meant he really had to be sick. Mac slept light unless he’d gone beyond all his limits. And here he was, sleeping hard, his breathing a little ragged at the edges. He’d slumped against the door, head pressed to the glass like he wanted to cool off.

“Dammit, kid,” Jack muttered. “Can’t you make this easy just one time?” 

Matty was right; Mac would be in trouble when he was well enough. He needed to learn to manage himself better. Or at all, really. Because one day, his cavalier attitude towards himself would really bite him in the ass. Just because they weren't on a mission and were out of rotation for a few weeks unless something major came in, didn't mean he could ignore his health. 

“This would all be a lot easier if you were awake to hear me tell it to you straight,” Jack said. 

Mac didn’t even stir. 

Bozer always said Mac wasn’t one to take sick days ‘unless he’s vomiting, and even then, it’s fifty-fifty.’ Bozer then promised to share the story of how Mac had proceeded to projectile vomit in a high school chemistry class because he ignored a stomach-ache until it was too late. 

There was resilience and then there was Mac. Jack hadn’t bothered asking him why he was so weird about taking time off. He knew why. Mac admitting to weakness, to vulnerability? It didn’t happen.  

It was time for Mac to unlearn some of his bad habits. 

By the time they got back to Mac's place, he was looking more flushed than before. Jack could hear a distinct crackle in his breathing, too. Probably still a cold, but maybe one nastier than average. 

Killing the engine, Jack reached over, gently shaking Mac awake. “Home sweet home, bud. Let’s get you inside.” 

"Mmmm," Mac mumbled, hoarse voice thick with congestion. “I’m up.” 

His eyes hadn't actually opened.  

"Uh-huh," Jack said, smiling fondly. "Wanna try that again?" 

Mac's answer was clearly no because he was already asleep again. And snoring. 

"I will carry your ass if I have to," Jack said, reaching over to check for fever. Yup, he had one. A nasty one. “Mac!” 

Mac grunted. 

"Fine. Stay right there." 

Jack had a plan. He knew where Mac (okay, Bozer) kept the thermometer… Assuming Mac hadn’t repurposed it for anything. If Mac's temperature was anywhere close to 103F, they were going straight to the nearest ER, no passing go, no collecting $200. Jack wasn't letting Mac's ridiculous stubbornness melt his brain. 

Thirty seconds later, Jack placed the digital thermometer in Mac's ear. He flinched, hand reaching up to slap at Jack's hand. "Stop," Mac said, voice coarse. "It's a cold or sinusitis or something. I’ll sleep it off.” He cleared his throat, unsuccessfully. When he spoke again, he still sounded like he’d gargled with sand. “You don't need to worry so much." 

"No, you need to take this more seriously." Jack said. "You don't need it getting any worse." 

"S'nothing," Mac mumbled, blinking hard, trying to wake himself up.  

The thermometer beeped its reading before Jack could argue back. 102.5F. Not quite 103F. Mac got a stay of professional medical attention. 

Jack tucked the thermometer into a pocket. "Bed. Water. Tylenol. In that order." 

“Fine.” Mac pulled himself out of the car. He slumped against the car, sweat coating his face as he panted for breath and went several shades too pale.  

Jack grabbed him before his legs gave out again, guiding him down to the ground. "Dizzy?" 

"Yeah," Mac said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Not good.” 

“You gonna barf?” Jack asked, wondering how he could put safe distance between himself and whatever might come out of Mac. 

Mac let out a shaky breath. “Dunno.” He peeked through his bangs. "Sorry, Jack." 

Jack managed a smile. "Yeah, kid, I know you are. But we have talked about this. You gotta look after yourself. A sick day now and then ain't the end of the world." 

Mac mumbled something in response, but it was too soft and garbled for Jack to make sense of. He also hadn’t regained any color aside from the patches of bright red on his cheeks. 

“Deep breaths,” Jack said. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get to a doctor. “You need me to carry you?” 

“No!” Mac cried out. “Just gimmie a minute.” 

“World spinning?” Jack asked. 

“S’just a cold,” Mac said. “I’m not aching or anything.” 

“Whatever it is, we need you inside, so let’s do this slowly. I’m gonna get you to your feet and we’re gonna walk inside.” 

Mac held out a hand. Jack pulled him upright, holding both elbows until Mac was steady. Mac pulled away, his glassy eyes squinting against the sunlight. So, Jack could add a headache to Mac’s symptoms. He hovered close to Mac's side as they went inside. Mac made a beeline for the couch. 

"Not bed?" Jack asked. 

"Not that sick," Mac said. He sat down. Then he slumped onto his side, awkwardly kicking off his shoes. He groaned in relief. "Thanks for bringing me home. I'll get some rest now.” He shivered, closing his eyes. “Tell Matty I'm sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow."  

Jack threw out his hands and turned in a circle. “Give me strength,” Jack hissed through his teeth. He couldn’t shout. Mac was sick. Calm. Jack needed to be calm. Very calm. Did Mac seriously think he was going to be left alone? Jack took a deep breath. He held it in for three then slowly released it. Feeling slightly less explosive (because when would Mac learn he wasn’t alone?), Jack headed to the kitchen, grabbed an icepack from the freezer, wrapping in a dishtowel. Next, he poured out a tall glass of water. Then he rummaged through Mac and Bozer's medicine collection, pulling out the Tylenol. Taking everything over to Mac, Jack nudged him awake and made sure he took a dose. Mac did what he was poked to, flopped back, accepted the icepack for his head, and fell asleep in seconds. 

Jack fetched a thin green blanket and placed it over Mac. He glanced at his phone. Matty wanted to know when they were settled. Jack typed fast. One genius dosed and tucked up. He sent a photo too. 

Cute, Matty texted back. Keep an eye on him. 

“You know I got him.” Jack made a quick run to his car to grab his bag and his headphones. Going back into the house, Jack tuned into some classic hair metal, and settled himself into the recliner opposite Mac. He was still Mac’s Overwatch. Way too many dangerous people knew where Mac lived.  

Another conversation Jack needed to have with him. But maybe not right now… 

…Not when Matty had jammed a ton of paperwork into his bag. So you don't spend too much time worrying, she'd told him as he'd shepherded Mac to the car. 

She knew Jack too well. 

The hours ticked by. Jack worked hard, going over a number of training protocols for Phoenix’s tac teams. He looked up every so often, making sure Mac slept peacefully. Sure, his right pant leg rode up to his knee, one of his socks was half off, the blanket only covered one half of him, the icepack had melted, and he had his belly hanging out, but Mac was fast asleep and didn’t appear to be having any nightmares. 

Mac awoke late in the afternoon. He blinked hard, staring at the blanket. “Shit!” He tossed the blanket away, breathing hard.  

Jack looked up from the latest proposal. He saw Mac staring into the distance, not really seeing what was in front of him. "The blanket do something to offend you?" 

"Weird dream," Mac said. He somehow sounded raspier than before. Maybe they needed to add laryngitis to his diagnoses. He sounded more congested too, a distinct crackle in his chest. Mac pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Hate sleeping during the day." 

Jack eyed him critically. "How weird?" 

"Couldn't touch anything green," Mac said. "Green was deadly. Except everywhere I went had green carpet so it was the weirdest game of The Floor is Lava." 

Jack took a second to process. "Why green?"  

"Arsenic," Mac said, pushing sweaty hair out his face. "They used to have a green dye that contained arsenic." He coughed, reaching for the glass of water Jack had topped up halfway through Mac’s nap. "And I had to keep stopping everyone putting on green t-shirts." 

"Only you could have a sciencey nightmare," Jack said. He scooped up the green blanket. “Pretty sure this is free of arsenic.” 

Finishing the water with a grimace, Mac slumped against the couch. "Guess it was on my mind." 

"Arsenic? Do I need to worry? Are you looking to kill someone in a really historically accurate way?" 

Mac smiled. "It's not just a murder weapon. There's probably some in your car battery. There could even be cyanide in the car’s upholstery or – " 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, how 'bout you stop talking about deadly poisons, you’re making me itchy. Actually, just stop talking. You ain't gonna have much of a voice left soon." 

"And that'd be a real bummer," Mac croaked. He winced. “Ow.” 

“Feeling rough?” Jack asked. 

“Yeah,” Mac said. He groaned. “Fine. I’m sick, okay? I admit it.”  

“See, this is why you don’t come to the office when you’re sick,” Jack said. “That way, you get better quicker.” 

“I get it,” Mac said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in today.” 

“So, no going to work tomorrow?” 

Mac sighed. And then coughed. And then winced. “No work tomorrow.” 

Jack punched the air. “I won!” 

Mac cocked an eyebrow. “On the other hand…” 

“Oh no, don’t you dare,” Jack said, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re staying there. I will sit on you if necessary. Matty will probably order me if I tell her you’re thinking of going into the office tomorrow.” 

“I’m joking,” Mac said. He moved himself upright, planting his hands against the cushions. “Okay.” He pushed himself to his feet, grimacing and rubbing his forehead. “Wow, this headache sucks.” 

Jack got up too. “Hey now, stay right there. I can get you anything you need.” 

Mac blinked at him. “Including a trip to the bathroom?” 

“No, nope, you take care of that,” Jack said, hands held up. “I’ll get you something to drink. Something to eat, too. And some more meds.” He backed away, heading into the kitchen. “Think you’ve got any soup tucked away somewhere? Man, who am I kidding. Of course you do. Bozer is always two steps ahead with comfort food.” 

“Hey, Jack?” Mac called after him. 

Jack opened the fridge, looking for juice. “Yeah?”  

“Thanks,” Mac said. “For… y’know… everything.” 

Jack smiled to himself. “Anytime, Mac.”

(You can find my longer fics over here on AO3)

[sincerlypadfoot]

Maledicite Terrae (Curses 3)

Word Count - 2600

  “Have you decided on the tattoo you want putting on you tonight?” Remus asked as we both walked down to the library to study for our potions test.

“I’m not sure, I was thinking of a duck, I’ll show you the sketch I made in potions today,” I said to Remus opening the library door for us. “Speaking of potions do you got the notes?” I asked making Remus chuckle a bit.

“Yeah, you are James is so bad for not taking notes,” Remus said shaking his head, pulling out my chair and walking to the other side of the table and sitting down.

“Look this is what I was thinking,” I said to Remus, pulling out my sheet of paper that was supposed to have my notes written on it. “It’s this one, ignore everything else,” I said to him, pointing to the little duck, representing Ducky on the paper.

“I could do it, James and Peter have more complicated ones, well Sirius is just some footsteps under his right peck and a paw print leading up to them,” Remus explained looking back at the sheet of paper in front of us. “What's this one?” He asked pointing to the looking glass I drew.

“It's a looking glass, seeing into the future is what it represents,” I said without thinking anything of it. “I might get this one,” I pointed to the one in the top right corner, a dragon.

“I can do it tonight, I was thinking of the phases of the moon right here,” Remus said lifting his arm up, looking down at his scar filled arm, pointing to an almost empty spot.

“I like it, Remus, what does it mean?” I asked him taking my paper away, taking one more glance at the paper then tossing it in my bag.

“Just an inside joke of mine, and the other three, what does Ducky and the looking glass mean?” He replied asking the same thing.

“James calls me Ducky cause appeared to him I’m a duck,” I explained, smirking at myself. “The looking glass is just a look in the future, know what to expect,” I said rubbing my hands together under the table.

“That would be a nice quote for under the looking glass, so it doesn't look so bland,” Remus said taking out his notes. “Now come on, I said I’d help you study,” He smirked tossing papers in front of me, making me wanna barf.

“Are you almost done?” James asked Remus who both sat on the floor, James laying on his back, looking up at Remuwhose’s wand was pressed against his stomach. “How does it look?” He asked trying to look at his stomach.

“The antlers turned out great, I’m done,” Remus said taking his wand off James' stomach, causing him to sit up and look, right under his left peck, a pair of antlers laid.

“Peter are you ready, your next,” Sirius said tapping Peter on the back. Peter took off his shirt and laid on his stomach, putting his hands on his forehead so he wasn't completely laying on the ground. Remus gently put his wand in the middle of Peters back, slowly forming a pair of bats running away from the moon.  “Awesome,” Sirius whispered then looked at me with a smile.

“Sirius come on, your next,” Remus said, looking at his own tattoo on his arm, slowly turning a less colour of red and now a normal colour of black and white. “Ready?” he asked as Sirius took off his shirt and laid down on his back.

“Ready as ever, right here the footprints and the two paws right here, please,” Sirius asked pointing to his right peck. “You’ll have to teach me this spell, so I don’t have to come back to you bugging you,” He said to Remus making him chuckle. Remus took his wand off Sirius, causing him to stand up, a pair of footprints trailed to his nipple, stopping there then two large pawprints laid above. 

“My turn,” I said prying my eyes away from Sirius’ stomach and taking his spot beside Remus. “I think the duck should be right here?” I asked now nervous, lifting up my shirt, and revealing my ribs, pointing my finger to the middle of my left rib cage and then closing my eyes.

“Okay then,” Remus said with a smile, putting his wand on my ribcage, only came with a bit of stinging. “That one did,”  Remus said causing me to open my eyes and look down at the duck now sitting on my ribcage. “Where's the next one?” He asked.

I turned around, lifting my whole shirt up revealing my back to him. “Just across my back, and the words you said earlier please,” I asked, I looked up to James who was looking at me with a smile. Remus’ wand touching my back, making my flinch a bit with the stinging following, After a couple minutes of staring at my feet his wand came off my back.

“This is awesome,” Peter said sitting on his bed shirtless, every boy in this room but Remus was shirtless, but they all were looking at their tattoos.

“That's my cue to go,” I said to the four who were looking at eachother then placing their eyes on me. “I’ll see you tomorrow okay,” I said looking around with a smile then turning around to walk out of the room. I stopped right outside their door, leaning on the wall with a smile.

“Hey,” James said to me, walking out of the room. “I like the duck,” He said with a smile. “Can I see your back one, I didn't really get to see it,” He asked so I turned around, moving my shirt up.

“Represents the future you know,” I said to him staring in front of my nervous. “And it's special, they're both special,” I put my shirt down and turned around to James. “They both something that only we understand,” I said with a smile wrapping my hands around him.

“Dean better not hurt you, or he’s a dead man,” James whispered in my ear. “You looked happy on your date last Saturday, the happiest I’d ever seen you in years,” He continued saying laying his head on my shoulder.

“Thank you for not hexing him into next week,” I smirked making myself laugh. “I want you to not worry about me with those things,” I said looking at him. “Nothing will ever break the bond we have together, no one,” I promised him.

“Goodnight Josie,” James said running his hand through my blonde hair. “Don’t change for anyone, this world is too good for you,” He said turning on his feet and walking back into his room. I did the same, walking down the hallway and entering my room to all the girls sleeping. 

“Goodnight guys,” I whispered to the three of them fast asleep, crawling into my own bed and falling fast asleep. Not long I woke up in a large circles room. Looking down at my hands, I pinched myself hoping that it would wake me up but nothing happened not this time. 

“In here!” I heard then a door swung open with six kids falling to the ground, stopping mid-air so they would hit the ground soft. I walked up to the four who stood in the middle of the room. 

“James?” I said to myself putting my hand out to the kid in front of me. He was the perfect representation of James, looking just like him. But one difference, a scar on his forehead.

“Get behind me!” He yelled to his friends holding a profit in his hands, his friends behind him as black smoke entered the room around the six, ruffling and screaming filled the air.

“Betrix,” I muttered looking around the room, the black smoke was people, the dark lords following. Stopping at Betrix I walked over to her. “I could kill you,” I muttered then looked at the boy who stood in front of her with a wand at his neck. “Alice and Frank,” I said with a smile looking at their son who stood in front of me. “I’m too far,” I said to myself turning back to the boy who looked at James in the center of the room with a white-haired man standing in front of him.

“Don’t give it to him!” Alice and Franks's kid screamed causing me to look back at him then back at the scared boy handing the profit to the man, white gusts of light appear in the room, Sirius Black stood in front of me. Remus right behind him. I walked to Remus putting my hand to his face knowing he wouldn't know, Remus turned into a ball of light disappearing in front of me.

“Sirius?” I said walking up to him, he was much older, his hair was curled and he had a mustache, one I wanted to touch, he stood with the boy in his arms hugging him.

“Harry you need to go, take your friends back and go,” He said to the boy. Harry was his name. I looked behind as one of the death eaters tossed a spell hitting the rock that they hid behind.

“I’m staying here, I’m fighting with you!’ Harry yelled following Sirius into the battlefield. They fought with the white-haired man and another. Harry knocked the wand out of the other man's hand.

“Nice ones James!” Sirius shouted making both Harry and I look at him, I walked up to Sirius and looked at him, stood in front of him just watching him with a smile. A red light went through my stomach, stunning both Sirius and me, never has a spell in my dreams affected me.

I watched Sirius fall into a void that stood in front of us, Disappearing and dying at that moment, the scream of Harry rung my ears. “NOO!” I screamed running into the void but waking up in my bed, sweat-filled everything, my hands shaking my face wet from crying, black strands of hair landed on my face, not very noticeable to a half-asleep Lily.

“What's wrong?” Lily said worriedly. “Another nightmare again?” She asked knowing that it was, it wasn't the first time this happened but nothing like that has ever happened.

“I have to go,” I screamed throwing my blanket off me, waking everyone else up in the room but I didn't care, nothing matters in my head right now. “I’m sorry,” I cried at the girls swinging the door open and closed and running down to the common room and up the stairs to the boy's room, quieting myself.

“Sirius,” I whispered in his ear poking his head, he didn't wake up at first until I poked him harder. “Sirius,” I whispered again.

“Josie, what the hell are you doing?” He muttered rubbing his eyes, the moonlight shunned right on him. I didn't give him a chance to ask anything else before I wrapped my arms around him.

“I just had a nightmare I’m sorry,” I whispered crying into his arms. “Please don’t tell James about this,” I asked him leaning into him.

“Do you wanna tell me about it?” He asked running his hands on the back of my head. “I won't tell anyone,” He whispered.

“I can’t tell you,” I whispered looking at his face. “Can we go to the common room?” I asked him wiping my tears away. “Please,” I added.

“Of course, I’ll meet you down there,” He said kissing the top of my head and letting me go. “be quiet,” he whispered as I walked passed James, looking at him then prying my eyes away and walking down to the common room, sitting on the couch and just staring at the fire.

“You telling me your dirty secrets now?” He asked jumping over the couch, shirtless and sitting beside me. “Didn't take long for me to gain your trust,” He joked smiling but stopped when I didn't look at him and didn't smile back.

“You can’t tell James that I told you please, he would be so angry, angry that I told you,” I mumbled looking away from the fire and turning my whole body so I was facing. Sirius nodded his head at me. I looked at him for a minute, thinking back to my dream, they always come true, never has one been fake. “I’m sorry,” I cried out wrapping my arms around him and hugging him.

“You can tell me, Josie, you can trust me, I promise,” Sirius said grabbing my hand, holding my cold hands to his warm ones. I stayed silent not know what to say. “Josie,” Sirius said snapping me out of my thoughts.

“I can’t, not right now Sirius,” I mumbled leaning my head on the couch, his hands didn’t move from mine but kept still.

“I understand Josie,” Sirius said letting out a long breath. “Can I tell you something about myself,” He asked causing me to open my eyes. I nodded my head at him. “My whole family thinks I'm nothing anymore, since I’m not like them, and I can’t leave, I could never go back if I do,” He said, I sat up and looked at him.

“Sirius,” I whispered putting my hand on his face. “I’m always gonna be here for you, always,” I smiled bringing him into a hug. “My hairs blonde again,” I chuckled after waking up with black hair.

“Guess I helped, you know I think it’s pretty cool, how you could change your whole appearance in a though, I wish I was like that,” Sirius said smirking, letting go of my hands and leaning on the back of the couch. “But it’s not like you need to,” He chuckled making me smile.

“You don’t need to either, well I mean it would help with the bags under your eyes,” I joked punching Sirius playfully on his shoulder.

“Are you going back to bed?” Sirius asked looking at the window behind me. “The sun is coming up, I guess we’ve been talking for longer then I thought,” He chuckled.

“I can’t, not after what I saw,” I mumbled covering my mouth. “I mean in my nightmare, I could never go to sleep after I have them,” I said nervously smiling.

“I’ll stay up with you, it’s the least I can do, what are friends for, after all, Sirius chuckled putting his feet up on the ottoman that sat in front of the couch. “So tell me, Josie, when do I get to know the rest about all your dirty little?” Sirius said making me laugh and put my feet on top of his, leaning back on the couch, half on Sirius.

[artificialqueens]

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter seventeen (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 5317

AN: thank you so, so much for all the continued love on this fic. it makes me so happy and my heart so full. writ is a wonderful beta <3

(then)

“We’re thinking of staying late tomorrow after Respirology to practice for the bellringers. You in?”

Brooke shrugs at Steve’s question. “Sure.” It’s not like there’s anywhere else that she has to be, anyway.

“Sweet. We need your genius brain.”

“I’m not a genius-”

“Yeah Steve, she’s not a genius. She tried to push a ‘pull’ door like, half an hour ago.” Jon snorts.

“Hey.” Brooke swats Jon’s side, sticking her tongue out at both Steve and John when they start snickering. “Sometimes doors are hard.”

It only makes sense that Brooke’s naturally gravitated towards the other gays in her class. It’s nice, not having to hide anything around them. Not that she really has much to hide in the first place.

“Bring Vanessa this time. You never shut up about her, I wanna meet her.”

Steve’s question makes Brooke bite her lip. She’s been telling the two of them that Vanessa’s been too busy to actually come to any of their sessions, to ever double date. Except the truth is that she hasn’t even asked Vanessa in the first place.

Brooke doesn’t know what’s stopping her, really. It would be nice for her girlfriend to meet some of her med school friends.

Except her and Vanessa have been…weird. Brooke doesn’t want to bring up med school things because she can see the light dim behind Vanessa’s eyes every time that she does, a reminder that Vanessa didn’t get in while she did.

So maybe, it’s just better to ignore everything. Not talk about it. Walk on eggshells.

How hard will it be to do until the end of med school, anyway? At least until Vanessa gets in somewhere next year.

God, Brooke hopes that Vanessa gets in somewhere next year. For her own sanity, more than anything else.

“She’s real busy with fourth year. They’re having midterms right now.” Brooke’s not sure if Vanessa actually has midterms at the moment, but the timing lines up from when she herself was in undergrad. It’s not like she’s going to ask Vanessa, either.

“Okay, after then. Are the two of you the type of nauseatingly gay couple that can’t keep their hands off each other?” Steve punctuates his question by wrapping an arm around Jon and pulling him close by his neck, making him scowl.

“Get off me-“

“Never.” Steve leans over to ruffle Jon’s hair, making him immediately protest, muttering under his breath.

Brooke has to hold back a laugh. Jon and Steve are the boy equivalent of watching two Detoxes interact with each other. She loves the sight.

“Nah, we’re not like that. No overt sappiness.” It’s not a lie, not really. Her and Vanessa aren’t overly nauseating anymore.

So what if they used to be the couple that would make all of their friends pretend to fake barf from how soft they were with each other? They’re not the Brooke and Vanessa that they used to be. Brooke’s not quite sure who she has to blame for that.

Maybe herself, a little bit. For snapping at Vanessa the other day for being so bitchy and short with her when she hadn’t even done anything, for treating her like shit. But then she had also brushed off Vanessa’s worries about one of her fourth year courses, forgetting to help her with the assignment she was stuck on because someone in her class had thrown a party to celebrate finishing their first set of assignments. So what if Vanessa had already been asleep by the time she had come back?

Maybe they’re both to blame.

But it’s fine, they’ll be fine. They’ve been fine for three years and counting, and they’ll continue to be so.

Right?

“And here I thought lesbians moved in and got married after knowing each other for like, 48 hours. Breaking stereotypes and all that, huh?” Steve raises an eyebrow as he flips through the textbook in front of him, ignoring the way that Jon is poking his side for the fun of it.

Brooke snorts. “To be fair, we did move in together after first year of undergrad, but that’s only because we were both moving out of dorms.”

Steve gives her a look. “And?”

“And maybe we wanted to live together. God.” Brooke rolls her eyes when Steve points a finger towards her.

“Aha! Do you two have a hoard of cats, too?”

“Yeah, we have two-”

“So you two really are stereotypical lesbians. How wholesome.” Jon pretends to place a hand over his heart.

“Insufferable, the both of you.” Brooke can’t help her grin, though. Her friends may be stupid, but she loves them.

Brooke almost doesn’t want to go home when they finish off their study session in the library, the setting sun mirroring the feeling of dread that’s beginning to take over her chest.

Riley lets out happy yips when she unlocks the door, nearly falling over from how hard his tail is wagging. She rubs his belly, giggling as he rolls over.

“Hey.” Brooke calls out to their apartment. She’s not sure if Vanessa’s home or not. Truth be told, she hasn’t really looked at Vanessa’s schedule enough for this semester to know it well.

“Hey.” Vanessa’s voice is distracted as she types away on her computer while sitting at the kitchen table.

Brooke walks over to her, placing a kiss onto the top of her head out of habit and ignoring the way that Vanessa doesn’t turn around to face her and grin, the way that she always used to. It doesn’t matter, really.

“How was class?”

“Okay.” Brooke pulls out a plate from the cupboard, intent on pulling out leftovers. “Had a guest speaker. Some guy talking about patient safety.”

Brooke doesn’t elaborate much. It’s not like Vanessa’s going to care, anyway.

“You?” Brooke keeps it light, as light as she can, as if it’ll keep the delicate glass that’s built up between them from shattering and slicing them both.

“Still working on applications. Finished all my essays.”  

“I thought you’d finished them all last week.” Brooke tilts her head, and can feel her brows furrowing because she remembers Vanessa’s whoop of delight and the way she had closed Microsoft Word with a flourish.

“I, uh. Applied to some more.” Vanessa doesn’t look up, keeps her eyes on her screen, though Brooke can see how she’s fidgeting.

“But there’s only a few in Ontario-”

“Outside of Ontario. Outside of Canada, actually.” Vanessa looks up at Brooke then, her expression one almost of challenge, of asking Brooke to protest what she’s said.

Brooke doesn’t want to take the bait, but she can’t help it. “Where outside of Canada?”

Outside of Canada would mean that Vanessa wouldn’t be nearby. But maybe Vanessa’s applied to schools near the border, ones that are driving distance and so they really wouldn’t be too long distance-

“California. LA.” Vanessa fiddles with her watch. “Got a cousin that lives there, finished school there. Big doc there. So I have an in.”  

“Oh.” Brooke doesn’t know what else to say. California? Would Vanessa really go all the way to California?

“It’s just a backup.” Vanessa turns back towards her computer. “In case the schools here don’t work out. I’m not sitting out for another year again and falling even more behind.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Brooke can’t even deny it, because it does. Hell, if she hadn’t gotten in on the first try, she’d be exhausting all of her own resources, too.

But California.

Not only on the opposite coast, but in an entirely different country.

Vanessa wouldn’t go there unless she absolutely had to, would she?

Though what would really change? Things have been so off between them, Brooke doesn’t even feel like she can properly look Vanessa in the eye. Or hug her. Or kiss her or pull her close.

Hell, the last time they had sex was weeks ago and even that was after a particularly big argument.

Steve and Jon had teased her about the hickeys on her neck for weeks.

But Brooke doesn’t want that kind of sex, not right now. She wants things to just feel normal again.

Except that she can’t help the way that she heads off to bed without even waiting for Vanessa, tucking in early because she has a class the next morning.

Brooke doesn’t want to deal with all of the unsaid words that have built up between them. It’s gotten too fucking messy.

Maybe things will just fix themselves up on their own if she waits long enough.

Brooke’s tentatively excited when Vanessa suggests a movie night one breakfast over waffles.

“Maybe we can both take a break from our work?”

“I’d like that.” Brooke can’t help the smile on her face that builds, no matter how hard she tries to temper it down.

Maybe just spending some time together will make things okay again.

Except then later in the day her Endocrinology professor holds extra office hours to prepare them for the midterm, for which the line ends up being incredibly long, and then of course she strikes up a conversation while waiting with one of her classmates about the recent readings because the subject’s just so interesting, a conversation that continues once they leave the office. And then she’s forgotten about everything else, really, when Steve texts her and asks if she wants to join him and some of their classmates for a bite at the new burrito place, the one she’s been excited about trying. And by the time she gets home it’s nearly 10:00, and she’s forgotten all about the movie night that she and Vanessa had planned - a fact that hits her with horror as she opens the door to their apartment, the realization washing over her.

“Shit.” Brooke whispers it under her breath because there’s a pile of blankets by the couch, an untouched bowl of popcorn and she’s stupid, real stupid, because how on earth did she forget?

Vanessa’s not on the couch, either. Nor is she in the kitchen, or in any of the open spaces of their apartment. The door to their bedroom is closed and the sight makes Brooke wince.

Brooke drops her jacket and backpack on the floor without a second thought, pushing their bedroom door open and Vanessa’s there, leaning against the headboard of the bed and her eyes are wide.

“Where have you been?” Vanessa’s voice quivers and Brooke can hear the hurt in it and it makes her heart feel ever so slightly heavier, pulling her down.

“Sorry Ness, I-” Brooke pauses. “I got distracted. Things were happening with office hours and people in class and I lost track of time.”

It feels flimsy, despite being the truth.

“I got class in the morning, so it’s too late to watch anything now. Not that you probably even want to.” Vanessa’s face is buried in her book again and suddenly they’re back to their avoidance of eye contact and it makes Brooke grit her teeth.

“I said sorry, okay?” It’s not Brooke’s fault that things got busy. That’s just how med school is, something that Vanessa wouldn’t know.

“Real fucking sincere.” Vanessa huffs. “Look, if you don’t wanna spend time together, at least have the decency to not stand me up. I cancelled plans for this.”

Brooke pauses at that. “What plans?”

“Why do you even care?” Vanessa spits out the words and Brooke can see the fire in her eyes and somehow it doesn’t have the effect of lighting her up, but rather, cools down her insides instead. “You clearly have more important shit to worry about.”

“Next time I’ll put a reminder in my phone, okay? I promise I won’t miss it.”

“Fuck that.” Vanessa’s arms are crossed, as if she’s steeling herself, protecting her heart from anything and everyone. From Brooke. “If something ain’t important enough for you to remember on your own? There won’t be a next time.”

Brooke rubs at her temples because she doesn’t want to do this, not now, and so what if she’d forgotten? “Listen, med school is fucking busy. All I do is study and work and revise and my brain can’t remember anything.”

Vanessa leans forward, putting her book down and it nearly makes Brooke take a step back. “All you do is-you think I don’t work my ass off, either?”

“I didn’t say that-”

“You have no idea, do you?” Vanessa’s eyes narrow. “Just ‘cause I’m still in fourth year doesn’t mean that I’m not doing shit. I’m taking five and a half credits and still volunteering, still working in the lab, and on top of that applying again for all these stupid med school programs that probably won’t even accept me, anyway. So, yeah. Miss me with that bullshit. If I can at least still try to make an effort, so can you.”

Brooke can feel tendrils wrapped in anxiety and stress worm their way around her heart, because this isn’t what tonight was supposed to be like at all. “I-”

“Fuck it. I don’t care.” Vanessa puts her book on her bedside table, scoots down in their bed until she’s lying down and under the covers. “Go study with your friends, I don’t care.”

The hollowness in Brooke’s chest as she tries to fall asleep that night is only amplified by the hurt that she had heard in Vanessa’s voice, the sound still lingering in her mind hours and hours later.

(now)

Brooke misses Vanessa.

It isn’t either of their faults, really. Both the neuro and cardiac surgical units are starting to pick up, the surgeons working overtime to balance all of the regular scheduled procedures with the influx of emergency ones.

Brooke feels like she’s been run ragged, to say the least. She’s been on call for most of the hours that she hasn’t been working this week, catching hours of sleep wherever she can while still attempting to get all of her documentation done.

Weeks like these make Brooke feel like a firefighter, one who tries to put out flames only for three more to rise in their place. Brooke normally thrives in such environments - having to think on her feet, having to triage her cases so that the most urgent ones are dealt with first, functioning and doing brain surgery on approximately two hours of sleep.

No one’s ever said that the lifestyle of surgeon is easy. Though the paycheck does make it better.

VM: got scheduled for 2 ablations, 2 valve replacements, and 1 ventricle repair. Never done so many procedures in one shift in my LIFE

Brooke looks at the text and smiles, the way her face always has a tendency to do so whenever Vanessa’s name pops up. She’s glad, in a way; that it’s not just her. That Vanessa is equally busy over on her unit.

Brooke’s found that it’s difficult for those who aren’t in the medical field to understand the crazy hours, the topsy turvy schedules, where it’s possible to have long stretches of free time followed immediately by a slammed schedule with procedure after procedure and multiple on call shifts in a row. It makes it hard to plan, sometimes, to commit. She’s used it as an excuse more than once when breaking off flings in the past.

But it’s not like that with Vanessa. It’s doesn’t have to be, when Vanessa gets it, when Vanessa is going through the same thing as her.

Plus, she doesn’t actually want to break things off with Vanessa.

Not that they’re a thing.

Are they a thing?

Brooke doesn’t know.

All she knows is that she’s missing her throughout this busy period.

BLH: So many in one day! You superstar.

VM: fully taking a bow rn

VM: how’s ur day been??

BLH: Equally slammed. I’m about to fall asleep at my desk lol.

VM: nap on the clock, I support it

VM: I miss you :((

The text makes Brooke suck in a breath. She hasn’t wanted to be the clingy one, the pushy one, the one to scare Vanessa away with how much she still cares. But the text feels like an anchor, one that helps to hold her heart in place and calm it down and keep it in reach of her favourite person.

BLH: Fuck, Ness. I miss you too.

VVM: gay

BLH: I’ve literally had my face in between your legs more times than either of us can count.

VVM: g a y

VVM: but same. our schedules need to calm tf down so I can see ur cute face before I forget what u look like completely

VVM: that’s a lie I could never forget u

BLH: Gay.

VVM: HEY

Brooke lets out a little laugh, glad that she’s alone in her office. She needs to focus on her documentation, get all of her surgical reports dictated and out of the way but trying to focus feels absolutely impossible. Especially when talking to Vanessa is so much more fun.

It’s a couple more days before Brooke has the chance to see Vanessa in person again, before their schedules calm down enough to let either of them think about something other than work for a change.

Brooke is the one who suggests it when Vanessa drops by her office at the end of their shifts, pressing a kiss on her lips.

“You busy this evening?”

“No. Why?” Vanessa tilts her head with the most adorably curious expression, and it takes everything in Brooke to not pull her close and kiss her again.

“We’ve been working hard-”

“Working our asses off-”

“-and we deserve a break, that’s all.” Brooke grins.

“What are you suggesting?” Vanessa takes a step closer, wrapping her arms around Brooke’s waist, and Brooke can already feel the heat that’s emanating between them.

“Come over?”

“Ooh, Dr. Hytes, what a proposition-”

“Shush.” Brooke shoves her lightly, but can’t help but laugh when Vanessa lets out a cackle. “Not like that. Well, maybe like that, but also just to chill out, y’know? We both deserve it.”

“I’d be down for that.” Vanessa’s beginning to look excited by the idea. “We could order in and just watch some shit and veg out.”

“Exactly. Especially because our surgery is tomorrow. We can rest up.” Their joint surgery has creeped up on the two of them faster than Brooke’s expected. She’s excited to get the chance to properly work with Vanessa, after such a long period of planning and preparation. To get the chance to see how they function together in an operating room setting.

“Would this be considered a team bonding activity?” Vanessa asks the question as they tug on their coats, picking up their bags.

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “We’re the only two members from our surgical team that are taking part.”

“Good. That’s how I like it.” Vanessa leans up to press a kiss to Brooke’s cheek. “Now come on, are you gonna take me home or not?”

Brooke falls into step with Vanessa as they leave the neuro offices, walking towards the exit when Vanessa pauses. “Shit, my wallet’s still in my office. I’d taken it out to buy lunch. Mind if we loop back before leaving?”

Brooke can’t help her curiosity as they walk through the section of cardiac offices. “I never really noticed that the cardiac offices have red accent walls.”

Vanessa snorts. “Feels a little on the nose, huh? I guess they wanted to keep up with the heart and blood theme. Kinda nasty.”

“Makes for a cool look, though. Better than our boring grey walls in neuro.” Brooke runs her hand along the wall as Vanessa unlocks her office, grabbing her wallet from the desk.

“They should have given you pink accent walls for the colour of the brain.” Vanessa locks her office up again, and Brooke can’t help but interject.

“Actually, the brain isn’t really pink, it looks like that with the blood but it’s actually an off white colour-”

Vanessa gives her a look. “Really?”

Brooke smiles sheepishly. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

“We both went to medical school, you dolt.” Vanessa links her arm through Brooke’s as they head back down the hallway, before they’re interrupted by an excited noise in an adjoining office.

“Aha!”

“What in the hell-”

Vanessa’s words are cut off when Asia slides over from her office to the hallway while still in her desk chair, pointing between the two of them.

“Now what’s going on here? ” Asia’s smile on her face is absolutely delighted as she glances at their linked arms.

“What, two people can’t walk arm in arm?” Vanessa wastes no time in responding, and Brooke’s glad for it, really, because she doesn’t exactly know what to say to Asia on the subject.

“Not when the two of you have personally caused me inner ear damage from how much you used to yell at each other. So this is quite a change.” Asia leans back on her chair, crossing her legs.

Vanessa snorts. “You look absolutely ridiculous sitting on that chair in the hallway.”

“Don’t deflect. All I’m saying is that you two seem real close.”

“It’s nice, ain’t it?” Vanessa doesn’t give Asia a chance to respond, grabbing Brooke’s hand and tugging on it before breaking out into a run and yelling down the hallway. “We’re out, bye!”

They run towards the parking lot in a fit of giggles, neither of them able to contain their laughter.

“Asia’s so gonna be on my ass about that tomorrow. Worth it.” Vanessa bends over to catch her breath, grinning up at Brooke. “So, your place?”

Brooke’s struck by the ease at which Vanessa snuggles into her side after she puts their empty takeout containers on the coffee table. As if it’s the most natural action in the world, as if they never went through years and years apart from one another.

They still haven’t talked about it, about what they are, what they’re doing, but Brooke doesn’t want to be the one to ruin the spell that’s been cast between them. She likes spending time with Vanessa, and what if Vanessa has second thoughts if they talk about it and says that she doesn’t want to do…whatever it is that they’re doing anymore?

So, she’ll take Vanessa snuggling into her side, especially if she gets to wrap an arm around her, hear her let out a content little noise, one that Brooke’s sure she’d never tire of even if she heard it a hundred times.

An episode of Schitt’s Creek is playing on the TV, one that Brooke’s seen before and she’s not paying attention, preferring to focus on Vanessa’s reactions and giggles as she watches for the first time.

“I’m gonna start saying ‘ew, Asia’ to Asia the way Alexis always says ‘ew, David’. Imagine her reaction.” Vanessa lets out a snicker. “She’d beat my ass for sure.”

Brooke snorts. “I swear, your cardiac team looks like it’s all mayhem, all the time. You included.”

“Oh, completely. Though is the neuro team any better?”

Brooke pauses. “Not in the least, actually. They’re all insane. Seems like chaos is a prerequisite to ever be able to make it to a hospital job.”

“You got that right. Speaking of,” Vanessa sits up a little so she can face Brooke, “how are you feeling about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Brooke’s been trying not to think about it much, really. Surgeries don’t usually intimidate her. She can handle when complications arise, because she manages to keep complete control of the operating room and of the patient in front of her. Most of the time, anyway.

There’s something about doing a surgery with Vanessa, though, that’s making her more nervous. Biting her lip, fiddling with her hands all evening kind of nervous.

Brooke thinks that Vanessa might have noticed.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“It’s going to be fine.” Brooke shrugs. “It’s going to be fine, right?”

At least, that’s what Brooke’s trying to convince herself of. She’s had complex patients before, ones where she’s had to work with surgeons from other disciplines, but something about working with Vanessa, working as a team, makes her nervous.

What if she lets Vanessa down?

“I see your head already zooming at a million miles an hour. It’s going to be absolutely fine, and you know that. I know you do.” Vanessa’s looking at Brooke like she believes the words coming out of her mouth, and Brooke desperately wants to believe them too. “Remember when I shadowed one of your surgeries when I first moved back here?”

Brooke’s not sure where she’s going with it. “Yeah?”

“Didn’t want to tell you back then, ‘cause you were acting like one cocky son of a bitch, but you were good. Real good. As in textbook good, even better than good type of good. You had everyone on your team working under you like a machine, you handled shit happening in the surgery like a goddamn champ.” Vanessa grabs her hand, squeezes it, and the pressure is grounding, somehow. “You got this. Take it from someone who’s already seen you in action. And you know my ass can’t lie to save my life, so I ain’t making this shit up, either. I don’t want you to start spiralling about shit that may not even happen tomorrow.”

“How did you know I was-”

“I know you, babe.” Vanessa smiles softly. “I know when you start overthinking. Also ‘cause your grip around me suddenly got all rigid.”

Brooke snorts. “That’s more of an obvious cue, huh?”

“Maybe.” Vanessa smiles and leans over, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Now let’s just think about how great we’ll be tomorrow.”

Brooke deepens the kiss because she can’t help herself and sure, they’ve both been tired and overworked but she hasn’t properly kissed Vanessa since that day in her office, and now that she has the chance, she’s going to take it. Brooke hadn’t been the one to initiate another, not wanting to overstep. But now that Vanessa’s here, in her arms, in her apartment? She’s going to take it.

Vanessa gasps into the kiss though follows suit, wrapping her arms around Brooke’s neck, and she feels like a ball of energy, a ball of light in Brooke’s arms. One that’s so responsive, one that wastes no time in straddling Brooke, trying to close the already miniscule distance that exists between them.

It’s too much all at once but Brooke just wants more and more, more of Vanessa because there’s no way she can ever get enough. It doesn’t matter that they’ve been sleeping together the last few months because right now it feels different - every touch just a little bit more electric, every kiss making her heart beat just a little bit faster.

It’s urgent, but not like their kisses in their offices, where they had been running out of time and were afraid of getting caught. No, this feels different. As if they have all the time they would ever need, and the urgency is to make sure that they make the most of every second, every moment, to make up for everything that they’ve missed. It’s a homecoming and a reckoning all at once.

Brooke grips underneath Vanessa’s thighs, standing them up and letting Vanessa wrap her legs around her waist tightly before walking them over to her bedroom. If they’re going to do this, then they’re going to do this right, because it’s not the same anymore. They’re not the same.

Brooke lays Vanessa down on the bed and the sight of her hair splayed around her head, eyes wide as her chest rises and falls with near gasps almost takes Brooke’s breath away. She leans down, presses kisses along Vanessa’s ribcage, feeling the way her breath hitches and it’s intoxicating, making her wish that she could just make Vanessa fall apart underneath her for a living.

Brooke brings her kisses up past Vanessa’s cleavage, her neck, along the curve of her jaw but then Vanessa pushes on her shoulder, flipping them over and suddenly Brooke’s the one flat on her back. Vanessa’s waves fall in front of her face, tickling Brooke’s shoulders and cheeks, little dots of starlight that light her up like the night sky. Vanessa takes a second to tie her hair back with the elastic on her wrist, before grabbing Brooke’s face with both of her hands and kissing her again and again and again, and it makes Brooke understand what it means to have the all the stars in the universe finally within her grasp.

Brooke almost wishes that she could pause this moment, right here. Commit it to a safe part of her brain to pull out when she’s feeling empty, alone, when there’s nothing left to push her to keep moving forward. Because this? Vanessa right here, right now, making her feel like she’s glowing from the inside out? Brooke feels like it could power her for days.

Vanessa presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, pulling back to look at her and Brooke can see the softness, the adoration in her eyes, the slight shine that matches the way Brooke feels her own heart ready to burst.

There’s a part of Brooke that still nags, still plants a seed of doubt within her, thorns that fester within her bloodstream that tell her that this isn’t forever, that Vanessa’s going to leave. That this doesn’t matter the way that Brooke so desperately wants it to. But then Vanessa’s hands are soft on Brooke’s skin, unbuttoning her pants and helping her slide them off along with her panties, before crawling in between her legs and kissing up her thighs, the gentlest of touches that make Brooke cant into her for more, more, more.

Brooke’s already a mess, already coming undone because there’s something about Vanessa that always keeps her on the cusp of tipping over. Of jumping off of the cliff that Vanessa’s already gone over, because Brooke would follow her down if it meant that she could stay with her, spend more time with her. Not worrying about having to leave.

Vanessa’s kisses turn harder, deeper, making Brooke squirm and she knows she’s going to have marks on her thighs, ones left by Vanessa that only she’ll be able to see, ones that remind her of this. That Vanessa’s been here.

Brooke’s hands tighten their grip in Vanessa’s hair nonetheless, because the teasing is too much and she needs more, she needs her. Vanessa takes the hint because she’s in a giving mood, all pretenses of taking her time beginning to fade and Brooke’s nearly gone when Vanessa licks up her slit.

It amazes her still, how well Vanessa knows her body. Exactly how to get her to the edge because she still remembers, and it’s a strange sense of deja vu, though one that is heightened, everything just a little bit sharper than it used to be. Because Brooke feels everything so much more, and it scares her that she never, ever wants to lose it.

Vanessa tips Brooke over the edge when she sucks at her clit, curling her fingers upward deep inside her and it’s a marvel, really, that Brooke had ever thought that she could get over her. Could ever forget her. Vanessa presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Brooke’s thigh after she comes, pulling her fingers back, and Brooke can feel the way that the action holds so much more, tugs more on her heart than any other girl she’s been with, the way it makes it clear in her head.

Vanessa’s it, for her.

And the way that Vanessa’s looking at her, eyes full of adoration and an emotion that Brooke can’t quite decipher as she crawls back up the bed, makes Brooke think that maybe, just maybe, Vanessa gets it, too.

[letmeletmetrashyourlove]

Duo (Pt. 1)

(Gif credit: borhapmovie) 

Author’s Note: I’ve been sitting on this guy for a while trying to figure out where I want to take the story and I think I have it figured out! Part 1 of ??? 5 maybe???? 

Summary: Y/N’s a single mother of twins who lives in a two bedroom apartment across the hall from a Uni student who seems more than willing to help. 

                                                           ***

          “Mumma?”

I awoke to my shoulder being gently shaken by my son Leo. He stood at the side of the bed, stuffed dinosaur clutched in one hand, the other rested on his belly.

          “Yes, sweet boy?” I asked, rolling over to face him. It wasn’t unusual for him to come in in the middle of the night, though he usually tiptoed up as not to wake me before snuggling himself under the covers beside me.

          “I frew up.” He murmured, shuffling his feet with his eyes trained on the floor.

          “You threw up?” I yawned, sitting up slowly and rubbing my eyes. They landed on the clock, telling me it was well past 2am. The rhythm of rain on the roof was doing little to coax me out of sleep.

          “Uh huh.”

          “Does your tummy hurt?” I asked, forcing myself to sit up so I wouldn’t fall back to sleep while Leo was still trying to talk to me. I threw my legs over the side of the bed, my socked feet hitting the floor with a soft thud.

          “Uh huh.” He let out a slight hiccup before wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his pjs.

I reached out for him, pulling him to stand between my legs and wrapping my arms around him. I pressed a kiss to the top of his head,

          “Okay, buddy, where’s the mess?” I asked against his hair.

He took my hand and led me into his bedroom, pointing to the puke. It was all over his pillowcase, but luckily the rest of the bed and the floor seemed to be clean. Amelia was asleep in her own bed on the other side of the room with Princess Marshmallow curled up at her feet, purring soundly.

          “How about you go climb in my bed while I clean this up, yeah?” I whispered, sweeping his hair from his face. He was overdue for a haircut but he insisted that he liked it long since it made him look even more like his sister.

          “Okay.” He replied, leaving me to clean up the mess. Going by only the light from Leo’s star nightlight, I cautiously peeled the pillowcase from the pillow. I opted to toss it into the trash rather than try to clean it off in the middle of the night, especially with no washing machine in the apartment.

That’s when I heard a belch from across the hall followed by coughing. I let out a sigh as I wandered into the to see the bathroom light on. Luckily, Leo had managed to make it to the toilet this time. He was hunched over it, his chest heaving,

          “Oh, baby.” I pouted, kneeling down beside him.

Now that he was in the light, I could see how pale his face was. I moved to once again sweep his hair from his face, grabbing one of Amelia’s clips off the bathroom counter to pin it back so he wouldn’t make a mess of it.

          “Leo?” Amelia called from the bedroom, “Where’d you go?”

The pitter patter of feet on the hardwood was followed by her peeking her head into the bathroom. She squinted against the light, her hair knotted and standing on end from rolling around in bed.

          “Uh oh.” She said, plugging her nose as she watched Leo gag over the toilet, “Leo has the upset tummy buggies, doesn’t he?”

          “Yeah, sweetheart, go back to bed, I’ve got him,” I told her, shooing her away. The last thing I needed was for the both of them to be sick. Although, if he had it, she had probably already been exposed to whatever bug was causing it.

She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips and chin up,

          “I wanna help!” She declared, brows tightly knit together.

There was no point in telling her no. It was only going to end in a tantrum which is not what Leo needed while he was feeling so poorly. I let out a sigh, rubbing gentle circles on Leo’s back as he eased back from the toilet to sit on his knees.

          “Alright, how about you get him a glass of water, yeah?”

Amelia spun around and padded into the kitchen. She returned a few moments later with a sippy cup full of water.  

          “Here, bub.” She said, handing it to her brother. He offered her a weak appreciative smile before bringing it to his lips. He took a sip from it before immediately throwing up again. The rumbling of his stomach started to drown out the bathroom exhaust fan.

          “How’d he get sick, Mumma?” Amelia asked, sitting on the floor beside me. I brought a hand up to her hair to help work out some of the tangles.

          “I don’t know, baby. Maybe somebody at school was sick too.”

          “You know, sometimes Princess Marshmallow throws up, do you think that’s how he got sick?” She asked, tilting her head at me.

          “Princess Marshmallow throws up because he eats his own hair, not because of a stomach bug,” I explained, trying not to laugh at her question.

She pondered the thought for a moment. She was about to open her mouth to speak again when I interrupted.

          “Amelia, can you get me a wet washcloth?” I asked.

She nodded, her brown hair tumbling in front of her face as she scurried over to the linen closet and grabbed a cloth before stepping up on her little pink step stool to reach the sink. She got the washcloth wet, wringing out the excess water before passing it over to me. I used it to wipe the sweat from Leo’s face before swiping it across his mouth.  

          “Melia.” Leo began, “You’re gonna be sleepy if you don’t go to bed.”

          “Your brother is right. Go to bed, Snap Pea.”

Before they were born, I always called them my peas. Two peas in a pod. When they were born though, it was clear that one was my sweet pea, Leo. Cautious and affectionate. But Amelia was my snap pea. Firey and sassy. Her exhaustion seemed to override her attitude though. She burst out in a yawn before shuffling back to bed.

          “You need anything else, buddy?” I asked Leo, running my finger down his cheek.

          “No. Can you just sit with me?” He whimpered, his tired, watery eyes meeting mine.

          “Of course, baby,” I replied, settling into a more comfortable position on the floor. Leo followed suit, settling himself on my lap, head rested against my chest.

                                                            ***

          “Mumma!” Amelia prodded at my arm, making me wake with a start.

I had fallen asleep sitting on the bathroom floor, my head rested on my arms which were sat on the edge of the tub. Leo was asleep with his head in my lap. At some point during the night, he had peeled off his shirt and it now sat atop a pile of soiled washcloths.

          “What time is it, baby?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

She padded into the other room, letting out a long ‘ummm’ as she stared at the clock.

          “The big hand is on five and the little hand is on seven.” She said.

7:25. The girl couldn’t have slept in for once in her life?

          “I’m hungry,” Amelia said, rubbing her belly and poking out her bottom lip.

          “Okay.” I yawned, reaching down for Leo’s face. The moment my hand touched his skin, it sent a jolt through me. Heat was radiating off of him and he was still covered in a thin sheen of sweat. I let out a sigh, realizing I would have to get to the pharmacy for some medicine. He woke from the sensation of my cold hand against his face. He sat up abruptly, once again throwing up into the toilet. He gave me a heartbroken look as he curled up on the floor again, head rested on his stuffed dinosaur.

          “I’ll get you some medicine today, okay?” I reassured, rubbing his side gently, “Do you need anything right now?”

He shook his head,  eyes fluttering shut once more as I got up off the floor and took Amelia’s hand.

I made her some toast and scrambled eggs, getting her situated at the table before I stepped out into the hall to check the mailbox for the child support check that was supposed to have arrived two days earlier. When it wasn’t anywhere to be found, I let out a groan.

          “You alright?” A male voice asked.

I turned to see the neighbor from across the hall checking his mail as well. John was an acquaintance, I had him feed Princess Marshmallow and check the mail for me over the summer.

          “Yeah. I just… expecting a check… isn’t here yet.” I replied, flitting through the few pieces of junk mail that were there instead.

          “I uh... heard a lot of coughing and… barfing… last night.” He commented, pulling his own mail from the box and looking through it.

          “You eavesdropping?” It was meant to be a playful quip, but due to exhaustion, it came out as a snap. I shook my head, a silent acknowledgment of my harsh tone, “That was Leo.”

          “Is he feeling any better?”

          “I think he’s fallen back to sleep now, finally.” I sighed, leaning against the wall.

          “You look exhausted.” He commented, looking me up and down.

          “I was up with him all night,” I said, running my hand over my hair that I had piled on top of my head in an attempt to keep it out of my face.

          “I uh… If you ever need any help with an-”

          “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own children.” I barked, crossing my arms over my chest. As a single mom of twins, everybody seemed to have a different opinion on how I should be taking care of my children. Over the years, my patience for patronizing had fizzled out, putting me on the defense. Especially towards people who didn’t have children themselves.

          “I didn’t say you weren’t!” He threw his hands up in surrender as he took a few steps back.

          “I-” I sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” I stammered, looking to my feet. They were clad in mismatched socks with holes in the toes, which somehow seemed like the perfect metaphor for how I felt.

          “It’s alright,” John replied.

I don’t know why, but the sudden urge to vent to him overcame me. Perhaps it was his charming, inviting smile. How soft he looked in his plaid PJs. Or maybe it was that my verbal filter didn’t work on fewer than 5 hours of sleep.

          “Sorry… I just...I have to go get Leo some medicine but I can’t take him with me, he’s still waking up to puke every fifteen minutes.”

          “I could stay and watch him for you while you go.” He offered. When the words flew from his mouth, he immediately seemed to know it was an inappropriate thing to offer. Sure, we’d been neighbors for a couple of years, but that certainly didn’t make him trustworthy enough to watch my kids for me while I was away. I let out a scoff and shook my head.

          “What? I took care of Princess Marshmallow.”

          “Well, a cat is quite different than children.”

          “Can’t be that different.”

I knew he was joking, and in any other situation I would’ve laughed but I was far too tired and worried about Leo. Instead, I shot him a glare.

          “Alright, how about I go pick up the medicine for you then?” He offered, “Just tell me what to get.”

I stared at him for a moment. He still wore a soft smile on his lips, his hair a little knotty from sleep. He seemed innocent enough, and he hadn’t stolen anything or catnapped Princess Marshmallow when he watched the apartment. Besides, what was he gonna do? Steal the few pounds I gave him and never come back to his own apartment? I nodded at him, making his smile grow. His gaze fell behind me just as I felt a hand tugging on the back of my sweater.

          “Mumma?” A small voice called from behind me.

Leo crept up behind me, hiding behind my leg as he stared up at John with eyes as wide as saucers. He was the shyer of the twins, evident by the way he tucked himself behind me at the sight of John standing in the hallway. He was still topless, his hair still in clumps, tacked to his forehead with sweat.

          “Hey, baby, what’re you doing up?”

          “I frew up again.” He whispered, “Who is that?”

          “This is Mr. Deacon, he’s gonna help me by going to get some medicine for you,” I said, resting my hand on the back of his head as he hugged my leg, head resting on the back of my thigh.

          “Mr. Deacon?” He whispered, eyeing John up and down a few times before gripping onto the back of my sweatpants.

          “Yeah. Remember when we went to spend the weekend with grandma over the summer?”

He nodded,

          “Mr. Deacon took care of Princess Marshmallow while we were gone.”

Leo nodded once more, remaining behind my leg as he studied the man in front of him.

          “He’s gonna get medicine?”

          “Uh huh,” I replied.

          “Is he a doctor?”

          “No, baby. He’s a…” I trailed off, realizing I didn’t know what he did for work. All I knew was that he played bass. I could faintly hear him strumming sometimes, found it quite soothing, actually.

          “Electrical engineer,” John answered for me.

          “What’s that?” Leo asked, his grip on my pants loosening.

          “Uh, well. It’s all kinds of stuff.” John said, squatting down so he was level with Leo.

His gaze flitted up to meet mine as if he wanted my approval to talk with Leo. I gave him a nod to continue.

          “What kind of stuff?” Leo questioned, tilting his head slightly.

          “Uh.” He paused a moment, likely pondering the best way to describe what he did in a way a five-year-old could understand, “Fixing broken things, making new things that have to do with electricity.”

          “Electricity?” Leo stepped out from behind me and instead stood beside me, but he kept one arm wrapped around my leg, anchoring himself to me. The heat from his body was seeping through my sweatpants, making me grow even more concerned.

          “Yeah. Uh. Stuff like lights,” He pointed up to the ceiling. Leo’s gaze followed his gesture before landing back on him again,  “And your TV and the radio.”

          “Oh. You fix that stuff?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Mumma! Maybe he can fix our TV!”

          “Yeah, I could probably fix your TV,” John replied.

          “Oh, no. No. I wouldn’t want to be any more trouble.”

          “No trouble at all. I promise.” He smiled at me.

I found myself staring at him for a moment too long. He had a tenderness about him, not necessarily conventionally attractive, but the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled made him radiant. He raised an eyebrow at me, snapping me back to reality. I shook my head in an attempt to regain my composure.  

          “Let me go inside, I’ll give you some cash for the medicine,” I said as I turned into the doorway.

          “There’s no need, I’ll get it.” He offered.

          “No, John, I insist.”

He opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it when I shot him a stern glare.

          “Well, if you insist.”

I ushered Leo back into the apartment and got him settled on the couch before I grabbed my purse, pulling out a few bills. I jotted the name of the medicine down on a scrap of paper before meeting John in the doorway again.

          “Sorry about that uh… interrogation.” I smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I handed him the bills, “Four-year-olds are too curious for their own good.”

          “Don’t worry about it. He’s a sweet kid. I’ll be back in a few.”

I waited until he disappeared around the corner before entering the apartment again. Amelia had finished her breakfast and was sitting on the couch beside Leo who seemed to have come down from his sudden energy boost and was back to wallowing on the couch. Amelia had her hand on his forehead like she had seen me do many times before when they were sick. She threw me a worried glance over her shoulder as I wandered up behind her. I gave her a half-hearted smile.

          “John will be back with some medicine soon, bub.”

Amelia settled herself on the floor in front of the couch with some crayons. She and Leo were chatting when Leo suddenly sprang off the couch and sprinted towards the bathroom.

                                                            ***

A knock on the door pulled me away from my position on the floor of the bathroom beside Leo. I peered through the peephole to see John standing on the other side, a paper bag in hand.

          “You decided not to rob me, then?” I teased as I opened the door.

He grinned and shook his head, reaching into the bag.

          “Medicine, your change, and a candy bar for mum.” He smiled, handing them all over.

It wasn’t until he handed me the candy bar that I realized how hungry I was. I mouthed a thank you to him as I counted the cash,

          “Change? This is all the cash I gave you.”

          “Told you I’d get it.” He replied.

          “Really, just take it.” I insisted, shoving it in his face.

He shook his head, taking a step back.

          “Quit being so damn stubborn and take the money.” I ordered, folding it in half and tucking into the front pocket of his shirt, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

          “Any time.”

He offered me another crinkly-eyed smile as I closed the door. I felt an odd bubble in my stomach. At first, I thought I was starting to catch Leo’s stomach bug, but I quickly realized it was just butterflies. I hadn’t felt those since I was a teenager. Heat spread across my face as I went into the kitchen to get Leo a cup of water to take his medicine with.

          “Mumma!” Amelia squealed as I stepped away from the sink,  “The door gave us money!”

She ran up to me with the bills in her hand.

“Dammit, John,” I muttered under my breath, taking the cash and tucking it back into my purse.

[jawnjendes]

something more than me | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf. if there’s anything else yall wanna see regarding this series, let me know!

masterlist | series playlist

These days, the only way you could get me out of the dorm room apart from class and work was if you needed a buddy to travel with at night. What I’m trying to say is my roommate, Stella, wanted to go to a coffee shop after the sun went down. She would have gone alone if it wasn’t in a questionable part of downtown. It was also a coffee shop neither of us had been to before, and it was far from campus. She wanted me to go with her because I was always preaching about travelling in pairs at night.

The only thing is, Stella told me we were going out about fifteen minutes before she intended to head out the door. She was already dressed in a hoodie and leggings, a red beanie over her brown hair. She had her boots on and keys in hand. She was ready, while I was the opposite. The moment I woke up today, I decided to throw the whole day away. No interaction, no makeup, no pants.

“Come on!” Stella snapped, pulling off the comforter I was lying under.

I’ll admit, I was a bit under the weather these days. I had been waiting for a prescription refill on my antidepressants. Sleep evaded me, and when it wasn’t, I was having nightmares. Aside from that, my digestive system was giving me a hard time, which added to the mental stress. Finally, there was the fact that I was still in a gloom from, for lack of a better phrase, “breaking up” with my toxic fuck buddy, Luca. You could imagine how much I did not want to go out tonight.

“Isn’t that place, like, on the other side of town?” I asked, mumbling into my pillow. “Why not just go to Starbucks?”

“Because Shawn and Camila are performing at this place and I promised I’d go!” Stella hastily replied as she reached down to the floor to grab my jeans. “Now get dressed so we can go!”

“I don’t know those people…”

“You know Camila!” My pants were thrown at me. “Cover up your granny panties and let’s go!”

I vaguely knew Camila. She sat in the front of my stats class, always chatting to the professor. I was always in the back, close to the exit, staying as invisible as possible. We weren’t friends.

Stella was persistent, so I rolled out of my small bed and pulled my jeans on. “At least it’s not a bar.”

~

We showed up to the coffee shop after the show had started. People were spilling out the door, but Stella pushed her way in with me on her tail. A boppy tune was booming through the vicinity, and two distinct voices were singing passionately accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

Stella dragged me past the cashier/barista, claiming that there would be time for that later. She stopped near the front of where the singers were; A short girl who was fully jamming to her own song, and a tall guy with a guitar singing beside her.

I knew the short girl was Camila. Who could forget her beauty and voice that was talked about all over campus? I did not recognize the tall curly haired guy, though it was easy to tell he liked the group of girls sitting directly in front of his singing space.

My body was there, but I felt out of place. I thought that only happened at bars and night clubs. I wasn’t fond of being in a crowded space, or out of my dorm. My therapist said it was good for me, though. Being surrounded by strangers is better than being isolated, even if you feel alone in that crowd. Those are her words, not mine.

I snapped back into reality when the song ended and everyone started clapping. I joined in, trying not to look like an obvious stick in the mud. Come on, we can do this.

“Thanks, guys!” said Camila into her microphone. “I’m gonna leave it to my friend Shawn now!”

The girls in front were certainly happy about that. That Shawn guy was too. Must be a Leo.

Stella flagged down her friend as soon as she was offstage. Camila excitedly approached us and hugged us both. I tensed up at the touch, and my nose itched at the scent of her perfume, but she didn’t notice.

“I’m so glad you guys made it!” she exclaimed.

I’ve talked to you exactly once.

She and Stella chatted for a little bit before the next song started. Now, instead of holding a guitar and standing at the microphone, Shawn sat down in front of a keyboard set up. I internally prepared to barf at the incoming slow love song.

Thirty seconds into it, I learned to not judge conventionally handsome singers and assume they only live to make ladies swoon. This song was fucking sad and poking at my own wounds.

“You’ve got ahold of me Don’t even know your power I stand a hundred feet But I fall when I’m around you”

I got that cold ache in my chest just like I did two months ago. My throat burned and tightened up. I was immediately sucked into the song, and mildly resenting it. How dare a handsome singing man make a song that I actually like.

Someone hurting you so bad that you’re begging them for mercy… That feeling was my best friend and worst enemy. She knocked the wind out of me many times, so I had to kick her to the curb. You can find the will to leave someone toxic, but no one ever tells you how hard it is to deal with the sadness and aches that come after. I just couldn’t pinpoint why it was happening. I cut off the toxicity, I removed the bad thing. Why was I so fucking sad?

Applause rippled through the crowd as Shawn hit the bridge. I let out a soft breath and clapped as well. This guy certainly knew how to move a crowd with his voice.

“I’m prepared to sacrifice my life, I would gladly do it twice”

If I was the type to smoke cigarettes, I would have stepped outside to do so. My eyes were starting to sweat, so I looked at the floor and tried to suck it up. The toxic ex was making his was into my brain again. It was bad enough I still saw him at work…

The show ended with that last song. Shawn thanked the audience and waved at the girls in front. As soon as he stepped off the stage, everyone in the shop rushed to the barista to order drinks and whatnot. That was when Stella grabbed my wrist and ushered us back outside. Camila followed close behind, her hands on my waist. Didn’t have boundaries, I guess.

“Y’all are getting popular,” Stella said when we were finally out in the chilly night.

Camila was beaming. “Amazing, right? We had no idea it would turn out like this!”

“So when are you and Shawn tying the knot, eh?” Stella nudged her friend.

“Ha! You’re so funny!” Camila replied with an eyeroll. “We’re looking, just not for each other!”

That made Stella smile mischievously, and she glanced at me. “Inch resting.”

The two girls talked some more, while I merely listened. This was still better than being at a bar… Or alone in my dorm for the millionth time on a Saturday night. Maybe I needed someone, or something more than me. Something to push me to… I don’t know? Something better, I suppose. Stella was good at that when she wasn’t in Full Extrovert Mode. I couldn’t demand she always “takes care” of me, though. She deserved a good time as much as anyone else did.

For convenient timing, the singing man emerged from the overcrowded coffee shop. He spotted Camila and joined our circle. He had a drink holder in his hands, and a big smile on his face.

“Hey guys, I brought drinks!” he greeted, looking at all of us. His face was much kinder when it wasn’t hidden by dim lights.

I also couldn’t look directly at him when he gave me a cup. Nope, we’re looking at the ground now, laid ease.

Stella, on the other hand, was not having it with my quiet, introverted ass. She nudged my arm to make me look up and then she properly introduced me to Shawn.

“Oh, you’re the goth roommate!” he said. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Will I ever be able to trust Stella to make me seem like a normal person to other people? Probably not. At least she was trying to get me out of the shell I made for myself.

“You too,” I replied with an awkward smile. “Good set.”

“Thanks. I saw you tearing up in the crowd.”

Fuck.

“That’s impossible, I don’t do tears,” I said without thinking. Okay, edgelord. You’re so edgy. So original.

Shawn chuckled. “Maybe it was the other girl with black lipstick and the Underoath t-shirt.”

And we’re looking at the ground again!

“Hey, aren’t you and Shawn doing the same major?” Stella asked, nudging me once again.

“Music?” Shawn guessed, looking intrigued.

I was puzzled, glancing at Stella once. “Um. No. Psychology.”

“Oops. Had a brain fart.” My insane roommate giggled.

“It’s cool.” Shawn smiled and lied his stupidly cute eyes on me once again. “A psych major, eh? Are you analyzing my every move?”

Funny joke. First time hearing that one.

“No, but I can for three hundred dollars,” I said back.

“Is that how much a shrink is?” Camila piped up.

“No!” Shawn answered. “Free healthcare!”

Yeah… yeah, he got me there.

“Somehow, I still think I’m in the States,” I said timidly.

After that, Stella and Camila strolled down the street. That pretty much ended Stella’s Safe Buddy Duty. I felt quite out of place once again as she babbled away to Camila in Spanish. It’s not that I didn’t speak the language, I just really am as much of a hermit as I’m told.

Shawn thought different as we walked someways behind them. “They always do that in class. You can’t understand them either, eh?”

“¿Y porque piensas eso?” I replied, once again without thought. “Simplemente soy muy callada y casi nunca me salgo de la casa. Nomas estoy un poca incomoda con personas que no conozco.”

“Awesome,” he said after a moment of silence. “So… you’re from the US?”

“Yup. Southern California.”

“What made you want to come all the way over here for college?”

“Simple: I don’t like the desert. Or heat. Or the sun.”

I had my eyes on the sidewalk I stepped on until I realized Shawn hadn’t replied. I looked up only to realize he was looking back at me in disbelief.

“That’s it? You moved countries because of the weather?”

What is he expecting, my life story?

Before I could talk back, Stella piped up from in front of us. “She’s a goth, she’s allergic to the sun!”

“Ah, so it was for your own health,” Shawn replied. “I get it now.”

~

The next time I saw this guy was at a bus stop just outside of campus. I had seen him from where I parked my car, and I secretly hoped he would have forgotten me by now. I made sure to have my headphones on as I walked past him, but he touched my shoulder and stopped me. So much for remaining invisible.

“Do you always look at the floor when you walk?” he asked, amused.

“How else will I know where to step?” I said in return.

He laughed, which was then followed by silence. Why did he stop me? Just to say hi? What kind of fuckery-

“You’re not wearing the black lipstick,” he pointed out.

I shrugged, feeling… inadequate. “Didn’t want people constantly reminding me of my lip color.”

“Well, it looked really cool the other night. It’s kinda what made me notice you.” He offered a smile, to which I changed the subject.

“So, where you headed?”

“Work. I work at this flower shop in the middle of town.” Shawn looked both ways, noticing the empty roads. “I think the bus is late.”

The bus is late. He works with flowers. The bus is late. Flowers.

“Are you running late?” I asked. Don’t do it. Oh god, don’t do it.

“Uh…” Shawn checked the time on his phone. “No, I should be fine. I like to be early.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I have a question.”

FUCK.

“Uhh…” I said stupidly.

“What really made you want to come here for college?” he prompted.

Someone clearly didn’t forget my lack of interest from the other night. Why was this question so important to him?

“Why are you here for college?” I said back.

“I live here. Now you.”

God fuckign-

“Wanted to travel, I guess. I’ve been in one place my whole life.” I shrugged, looking anywhere except him yet again.

“Hm. Okay. What are you listening to?”

“Five sauce.”

“Aren’t you a goth, though?”

I rolled my eyes and made a noise between a scoff and a laugh. “Firstly, Stella calls me that, I don’t. Secondly, you ask a lot of questions.”

“Well, I just wanna get to know you.”

Any normal, naive person would have been swayed by Shawn’s sweet tone and charming smile. I, however, learned that there’s more than what meets the eye. He doesn’t really want to know you, he just wants something. He doesn’t care, he just wants to make you think he does.

I narrowed my eyes. “You need to unlock level forty seven friendship to know anything,” I told him.

“And how far am I?”

“We’ve talked one time before this. You’re not even on level one!”

“Okay, so we’ll hang out sometime so I can make progress.” Shawn’s grin was now very smug. Then he looked to the street. “Oh, right on time.”

The bus just so happened to pull up right about now. My eyes were still narrow and furious, and I was making sure Shawn knew it. How dare he trap me! How dare he ask questions about me! Just say you wanna use me for sex and go!

He was still grinning as he went to the bus entrance. “I’ll let you know when I’m free to hang out. I’ll see you later!”

This motherfu-

[heesgf]

basketball player! byounggon

in honour of my baby’s birthday, here’s a cute + lighthearted basketball player! gon fic that i’ve been dreaming abt for eternity :’)) as per usual, the beginning is a little slow, but it’s worth ur patience, i promise💞😚

warnings: vvvv sweet (might give u cavities), BASKETBALL PLAYER GON BEING THE HOTTEST MF ALIVE, hyunsuk bff tomfoolery (what’s new lmao) 

in which Lee Byounggon is basketball team captain, and you’re suddenly a sports fanatic. 

             Had Choi Hyunsuk seemed a little less desperate, perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself in a crowded gymnasium, pressed against rampant bodies, and subject to the shrieks of devoted sport fanatics.

      This morning, like any other, had started quite mundanely. You were perched against the headboard of your dorm’s single bed, doodling carelessly onto sheets of chemistry homework, while Hyunsuk mused a brightly coloured fedora in front of your full length mirror.

“Listen,” You shouted across the room, in between bites of your buttered croissant. “I invited you over to study, not to commit fashion atrocities in my dorm room.”

      Hyunsuk, still balancing the horrendous garment over his head, shot you a pained expression, and rolled his eyes in distaste. He waves his hand vaguely in your direction and grimaces.

“Says the girl wearing a shirt that says ‘caffeine queen’.”

“Hey, you asshole, my mom got me this! I think it’s cute.” You cross your arms over your chest and narrow your eyes, while Hyunsuk shakes his head deliriously. He eyes you up and down once more, and then scrunches his nose.

“Sure, Jan.” He says slowly, and you contemplate throwing the pillow wedged behind your back toward his head. You opt against it, but the look on your face might be just as scary.

You stick your tongue out. “No one says memes out loud like that, you doofus!” 

He spares you a lopsided shrug and giggles, then he breaks out into a smile and looks toward you once more.

“You’re coming to the game later, right?” He starts suddenly, and you bite your lip.

“I don’t know, Suk. I’m trying to stay focused on chem and stuff.”

      Hyunsuk launches toward your spot on the bed, and reaches his hand out toward one of your stray sheets of paper, filled to the brim with miscellaneous stick figures and, in Hyunsuk’s opinion, the worst cartoon images of a corgi he’s ever seen.

“Yeah.” He baits, swinging the paper in front your wandering eyes. “You really look like you’re invested in learning.”

“Shut up!” You mumble out in a laugh, and then you roll your eyes. Hyunsuk still waits for an answer, and you purse your lips.

“I’ll think about it. Maybe, okay?”

      Hyunsuk’s nod seems uncharacteristically tame, but there’s something about the devious look in his eyes that makes you think this conversation is far from over. When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, and his iron grips closes itself around your wrist, you find yourself yanked out of your room, into the hall, and most likely toward the gymnasium. In that moment, you think Choi Hyunsuk might be the worst person you’ve ever met, and the next couple hours, spent watching a college basketball game, were going to be completely unbearable.

***

      Two minutes into sitting on painfully cold bleachers, having popcorn spilled over your lap, and your cheek elbowed by the rowdy couple next to you, you think you might be having a basketball induced aneurysm.

      Hyunsuk is seated calmly next to you, and staring serenely into the crowd; every once in a while, he waves to someone you can’t recognize, most likely one of his teammates, and he looks back at you with a reassuring smile.

“Why are we here if you’re not even playing?” You groan, sliding your head onto his shoulder, and shutting your eyes tightly in discomfort.

“I told you, [Y/N].” He sighs into the crown of your head. “I have dance practice later. I gotta keep my calves limber. We’re here for the sportsmanship.”

      You playfully roll your eyes and feign a barfing motion. Hyunsuk pushes your head away from his shoulder and pouts.

“I don’t even know what that means and I’m still disgusted.” You retort. “Besides... what do you know about sportsmanship? Literally every time we play Mario Kart I catch you cheating.”

      Hyunsuk starts talking about how ‘you’re in great need of a chill pill’, and though you fight the urge to slap him silly, you instead find yourself staring intently at the court, eyes glazing over the lines of male athletes running drills across the gymnasium floor. As you watch, you notice the beads of sweat, the graceful strides, the cohesive movement, and as you watch, your eyes seem to close in on a particular someone—and suddenly, Hyunsuk’s words feel like they are worlds away.

      The boy is standing in the centre of the court with his hands pressed against his knees, and his eyes trailing sporadically across the room.

      His jersey, like all his teammates, is a blinding crimson, and against his honey sodden skin, a seemingly perfect contrast. His hair, slightly damp, is a disarrayed and glossy black, but something about the way it presses against his forehead, frays upward on the sides, sways lucidly when he runs, is wildly cinematic, and you think it just might consume you, like your favourite movie. On his back, there is the stark white outline of the number nine, and on the bottom, in between crinkled fabric, you think you can make out the name ‘Lee’. He’s waving his arms at a teammate, shouting something incoherent, and when the ball makes contact with his hands, his lips break out into the purest of smiles; it radiates an energy that is lively, almost impossible to miss, and completely intoxicating, even at your distance in the stands.

      When that smile transforms into the shell of laughter, there’s something about the crowd’s cheering that suddenly feels rhythmic.

“Hey.” You whisper, poking into Hyunsuk’s rib cage. “Who’s that guy over there?”

      Hyunsuk squints at your bewildered expression, and then looks onto the crowd, following the path of your eyes.

“Who? The guy in the hat? That’s coach Yang. God, I hate that guy. He’s always on my ass about making it to practice. And if you think my fashion is bad, Jesus Christ, you should see him at Sunday morning practice; crocs and socks all da-,”

“No, not him, you idiot.” You shake your head erratically. “T-the guy in the middle, look, he has the ball right now.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Well that’s Byounggon.”

“Byounggon.” You repeat. And then your bottom lips find it’s way between your teeth. Hyunsuk sits back against his seat, and focuses in on the game once more. And you, well you’re enamored by the rapid movements of a lanky boy with a smile that’s strikingly tender.

Byounggon.

You think maybe basketball isn’t so bad after all.

***

      When Byounggon’s team wins the game, Hyunsuk tackles you in a tight side hug that feels almost violent. He is jumping up in his seat, screaming toward his teammates, and coincidentally, dragging your body with him. When he finally pulls away, and you can catch a string of fresh air, you ponder the appropriate time to start asking questions. You’re trailing down the bleacher steps when your voice finally breaks out, and your eyes are glued to the floor.

“So... when is your next game?” You ask nonchalantly.

      Hyunsuk looks at you once in confusion. Then he makes a double take. And then a triple.

“Did you just say what I think you said?” Then he waves his hands in front of his eyes and shakes his head furiously. “Nah, I must be dreaming.”

“I’m serious!” You laugh. “I wanna watch your next game. I genuinely had fun!”

      Hyunsuk still looks weary, but he nods his head halfheartedly. When you think he’s stopped looking at you, you turn your attention back to Byounggon, who is currently standing in a crowd of his teammates, and giving high fives all around. You’re distracted by the way his eyes crinkle when you hear Hyunsuk emit an amused ‘huh’, and when he points a sly finger in your direction, you know he’s put two and two together.

“I see what’s going on here.” He whispers excitedly. “You have a thing for Byounggon!”

“What? No I don’t! I don’t even know him!”

“Oh really?” He teases. “Then stop drooling over him like an animal.”

“Suk, y-you’re being ridiculous right now.”

“And would you look at that!” He whistles. The mischievous glint in his eyes makes you nauseous. “Looks like he’s coming over here, right now.”

“Hyunsuk, don’t you fucking dare. I’m serious.”

“Hey Byounggon!”

“Ohmygod.” You whine, smacking a palm to your forehead as your heart overcomes itself with panic. “I hate you. I genuinely hate you.”

      Hyunsuk rolls his eyes, and then erupts in a laugh that makes the pits of your stomach twist.

“Trust me, [Y/N]. You’re gonna love me after this.”

You think that’s highly improbable.

***

Byounggon is more illusive when he stands in front of you.

      Now, jogging toward Hyunsuk, tufts of raven coloured frame the cusp of his forehead, and the slight peak of his neck; his eyes narrow, but it’s far from hostile, and rather, a tinge of warm familiarity.

“Hey, you came!” Byounggon remarks, pulling Hyunsuk into a tight hug, and you realize his voice is gruffer than you would've thought.

“You guys were awesome, dude!” Hyunsuk gushes with a smile, and then he looks towards you, and gestures a hand in your direction. “This is my friend, [Y/N].”

      Byounggon’s eyes shift to meet yours. He lifts his head in your direction, and waves his hand with a shy smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You respond awkwardly, raising a hand to match his stance.

He raises a brow and grins. “Did you like the game?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you guys were all really good. I loved it!”

“Really?” He breathes out in a giggle. “Because when I was sitting on the bench I could’ve sworn I saw you sleeping?”

      Hyunsuk breaks into a hysteric fit of laughs, and you shake your head rampantly, hoping the scarlet tinge of your cheeks doesn’t give you away. There was some truth to what he said; of course, when Byounggon wasn’t playing, the court seemed a little less compelling...

“Me?” You exasperate, face still flushed. “N-no, I would never!”

“Oh yeah, dude, she totally was. In the third quarter, she was knocked out! Almost drooled.”

      You shoot Hyunsuk a glare, but he’s too caught up in his own laughter to notice; Byounggon throws his head back in a soft chuckle, then he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you.” He smooths over. “I’m glad you guys liked the game.”

      His smile, like that smile on the court, is wide and contagious. And though you’re immersed in the plans of Hyunsuk’s murder, you can feel the corners of your lips drift upward, and the soft glimmer of a smile take over. When you hear someone shout Byounggon’s name across the gymnasium floor, you’re not sure if it’s the voice of one of his teammates, or the soft call of your heart.

Byounggon looks back at the sound and smiles apologetically. “That’s me. I’ll see you guys later?”

      Before he leaves, Hyunsuk pulls Byounggon in for another hug, and you offer an awkward wave. You watch as he drifts away from you, and toward Yang Hyunsuk, who you know knew was his coach.

Damn. His style really was awful.

“See, now that wasn’t so bad, right?” Hyunsuk’s voice breaks you away from your train of thought, and on instinct, you smack him across the chest.

“Ouch! What the fuck was that for?” He groans, running his hand over the tender spot; you roll your eyes and trot forward, Hyunsuk trails behind you.

“That,” You shout. “—is for being the world’s WORST wing-man!”

“[Y/N]... You don’t mean that.”

You meant that.

***

      A few days later, and you’re sitting in the campus library, buried in Calculus homework. If you were being completely honest, the past few days had consisted a little too much of ‘finding Lee Byounggon’s Instagram and Facebook’ and not enough ‘finding the derivative of f’(a)’. You may not have been prepared for your upcoming midterm, but you were, however, well informed on the kind of memes Lee Byounggon liked to use on Facebook circa 2011; knowing that Byounggon was an avid watcher of Naruto made him somewhat less intimidating in real life.

      You’re still working through your Calculus workbook when the silhouette of a particular someone looms over the table, and when you look up, he’s flashing that smile that gives stars a run for their money; you think maybe his shadow made the room a little brighter.

“Hey! Whatcha’ doing?” His voice rings, and you remove a headphone from your ear.

      Byounggon is wearing a sleek black crewneck and light grey sweatpants that hang low on his waist. His hair, unlike at the game, is neatly tussled, but it still has that vibrant sheen. He’s standing at the end of the table, and looking at you curiously; at his side, he holds a black drawstring bag.

“Calculus.” You groan, and his face twists to match yours. “What about you?”

He shrugs. “On my way to practice.” 

“Through the library?”

He laughs. “It’s a shortcut.” Then he pauses, and continues. “By the way, if you like watching us play, you should come to our game this weekend.”

“Yeah, I might! I like watching you guys play, it’s kinda... surprising?”

      Byounggon scrunches his eyebrows together and tilts his head inquisitively. His gaze, at the moment, is soft and gentle; and you wonder just how much that gaze would change if you told him basketball was anything but stimulating, and it was instead the smooth curve of his lips that had kept you on the edge of your seat. But of course, you knew you couldn’t tell him that.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

Your face twists into a sideways smirk, and you think you should have a little fun. “I guess I just thought basketball players had to be tall?”

“Wow, wow, wow. I’m tall.” He argues. “Very tall.”

     Now, you lean back in your chair, and size him up and down; then you shake your head and grimace.

“Mmmm...I don’t know about that.”

Byounggon straightens his back, and at the same time, puffs out his chest. He gestures up and down, and stares at you wide eyed.

“I’m 180cm tall.” He reassures. “I measure myself everyday!”

You tilt your head. “A little obsessive, don’t you think?”

His face, while tight, breaks out into a wholesome laugh, and he bites his lower lip.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

“Aren’t you gonna be late for practice?”

       For a moment, Byounggon sticks his tongue of his mouth and smiles. Then he bites the inside of cheek and shakes his head at you, wagging his finger disapprovingly.

“This isn’t over.” He ventures, flashing you that smile once more. And when he walks away from your table, looking over his shoulder every so often to make eye contact, you find yourself overwhelmed with fluttering emotion.

“I’m tall!” Byounggon shouts one last time into the silent library, and various heads, all buried in books, lift to stare at the both of you. You glare at him, but the smirk that tinges on your lips tells a different story.

       You’re still staring at the library’s double door entry when Lee Byounggon leaves.

***

       Somehow, it’s a Thursday evening and you find yourself sitting in the bleachers of Byounggon’s basketball practice, rather than going to the gym like you had promised yourself.

       Byounggon is jogging across the gymnasium floor and running drills; he is clad in a large grey hoodie and fitted black track pants. At the end of practice, he talks with his coach, and his eyes twinge in confusion when he sees you in the stands. He grabs his bag, and while everyone trails out of the gym, he jogs toward you.

“Hey! Have you been here the whole time?” He breathes, running a hand through his dampened hair.

“No, no, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Hyunsuk kept asking me to watch him practice so... here I am!”

Byounggon bites his lips, and his eyes narrow, like he’s had a realization. His lips stretch into a smirk.

“But.” He ponders. “Hyunsuk wasn’t at practice today.” 

Your throat grows tight. “Oh.”

His smile widens, and your face flushes a deep and transparent red.

“That is... so weird!” You exclaim dramatically, but Byounggon can hear the panic in your voice, and he’s giggling. You hope he can’t see the red of your cheeks underneath the gymnasium’s orange lighting, too.

“I-I should probably get going.”

You turn your body toward the gym’s exit, and as your footsteps get heavier and heavier, you feel Byounggon’s fingers clasp onto your shoulder.

“Wait, [Y/N]! I wanted to ask you... do you wanna maybe, uh, get some ice cream?”

“Yeah.” You beam. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

***

       With some persuasion, Byounggon leads you into the boy’s change room. He sits on one of the wooden benches, in front of the row of lockers, and he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Just give me a second, I’m gonna change out of this, and then we can get going.”

Then suddenly, without warning, he takes his sweatshirt off, and you, are left winded at the sight of a shirtless Lee Byounggon.

Before you can marvel at the way his muscles tightly outline his abdomen, you slap the palms of your hand over your eyes, and scream.

“Jesus, can you give me a warning before you take your shirt off like that?” You groan, eyes still shut tightly through the protection of your fingers. Byounggon, now shrugging a fresh black t-shirt over his shoulders, chuckles deeply into the empty locker room, and the heavenly sound bounces off the walls. You know he’s coming closer because you can hear the sound of his footsteps, and your warm cheeks seem to fire up again. He outstretches a hand onto the crown of your head and ruffles your hair.

“You’re cute.” He says affectionately, and you suddenly think your hands would be better suited if they covered your cheeks, and not your eyes.

***

“I am not letting you buy butter pecan that’s disgusting.”

“What’s wrong with butter pecan? It’s like... sweet and savory.”

“Ohmygod, I’m gonna barf.”

       Byounggon sits back onto his chair and shoves another spoonful of butter pecan ice cream into his mouth, and you playfully gag in response. He’s laughing and rolling his eyes, but in the sparkling daylight, he still looks like something out of a spring catalogue. The sky’s vivid blue is complementary to the golden hue of his skin, and against the rosy pink of his lips, you think butter pecan might not be so bad.

      The two of you are sitting on the patio of an ice cream shop just off of campus, and maybe it’s the vibrancy of the sun, or the sugar high, but the scenery seems to amplify every emotion you feel. The pots of summer flowers at the shop’s entryway makes your anticipation grow tenfold, but the winding music of passing shop vendors soothes your beating heart with every note.

“Wait, hold on sec.” Byounggon mumbles.

      He leans forward into the patio table and his face, only centimeters from yours, makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat. His eyes are focused on something you can’t quite capture, and he outstretches a tentative hand to the side of your face. His fingers brush against the expanse of your jaw, and instinctively, you nuzzle into his touch. You think he might kiss you, because there are twinkling hearts where his eyes should be, and you feel your lips part in preparation. Byounggon’s fingers latch onto a single strand of your hair, and he twiddles with the bottom in between the pads of this thumb and index finger.

“You had ice cream in your hair.” He explains quickly, and then he moves back to his original position, and you hope you don’t look too disappointed.

“O-Oh.” You laugh. “Thanks.”

“So are you gonna come to the game tomorrow?”

“I think so.”

“I hope you do.”

      The smoothness in Byounggon’s reply makes chills run up and down your spine, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. He notices the rashness of his words and before you can respond, the words rush out of his mouth.

“B-because Hyunsuk!” He interjects. “I uhhh... know he’d be really bummed if you didn’t come.”

        Maybe it’s the vibrancy of the sun, or the sugar high, but you suddenly feel a rush of confidence spring through your body. Lee Byounggon may have been illusive, but he was always so candid, too; you could hear it in the airy quality of his laugh, like he’s gasping for oxygen, like he’s searching for answers, like he’s uncertain; uncertain about you.

You grin at him, and he licks his lips expectantly.

“Nice save, Gon.”

He looks down at his fingers.

“I’ll be there,” You bite your lip. “For sure.”

He looks up again.

      As you walk away from Byounggon with lips perched in a shameless smile, the giddy feeling in the pits of your stomach just might consume you. He’s still staring when you look over your shoulder, and if you listen close enough, you think you can hear him whispering to himself in complete elation;

Gon.

***

      ( Later that evening, you are home in your dorm and deconstructing the events that occurred only minutes prior, and your heart palpitates in your chest. It isn’t until you change into your pajamas when you notice it; a crumpled frock of red fabric shoved into your backpack.

      Your mind races when you guess what it might be, but the feelings don’t set in until you unfold the red fabric, and the stark white outline of the number nine greets you with a blinding sheen. Blinding like those eyes, Ike that smile.

His jersey.

      You don’t know when he’d put it there, or how, but those questions seem irrelevant when you push the material against your nose and breathe his soft scent; like spearmint and timber. You throw yourself against your bed and grin wholeheartedly.

That night you dream of Byounggon.

And now you think he might be dreaming of you, too. )

***

       You decide to wear Byounggon’s jersey underneath a sweatshirt because it all feels a little too cliche. Well, that, and because you don’t think you’ll be able to take Hyunsuk’s incessant teasing when your heart is beating out of your chest.  

      The gymnasium, like usual, is filled to the brim with amped-up sports fanatics, and if you squint your eyes, you think you can make out the face of Coach Yang standing across the court. (Although, you really wish you hadn’t; his sense of fashion seemingly degrades by the day.) This time, Hyunsuk is warming up with the rest of his teammates, with Byounggon, and you are sitting alone on the bleachers with a tight smile.

      You watch as Byounggon looks into the crowd, once, twice over, and when he finally makes contact with you, you watch as his eyebrows push together in subtle concentration. He beams a sideways grin, but it’s not quite as full as you’re used to. That’s when you push down the collar of your sweatshirt, reveal the patch of scarlet fabric beneath, and you think Lee Byounggon might look happier than he would have if he won this game.

      Moments later, Hyunsuk pushes himself next to Byounggon, catches your eye, and begins to wave erratically. Then he takes in your expression, and then Byounggon’s, and he nods slyly at you, wiggling his eyebrows. He’s worlds away, and yet, you give in, laughing with full vigor.

***

      You know Byounggon’s team has won the game when Hyunsuk removes his jersey off his body and flings it into the air, and then he screams like a madman across the court (somehow, over the crowds’ cheering). Byounggon, on the other hand, hugs his teammates, and once the chaos settles, he turns to look at you.

      You are standing in the bleachers, your sweatshirt now long gone, and the bright red of his jersey, on you, gives him butterflies. Since his victory, you’ve been jumping in the stands with the rowdy onlookers beside you, and for the first time ever, you think you might’ve actually enjoyed a basketball game. When Byounggon waves a hand at you, you take it as a sign, and run down countless steps, all the way to court-side where he stands waiting eagerly.

“Congratulations!�� You shout, and he’s surprised when you fling yourself into his outstretched arms. His fingers intertwine in your hair, and he laughs onto the top of your head, placing a small kiss at it’s crown.

“Thank you.” He mumbles into your hair; a gesture with such tenderness, you feel yourself overridden with energy.

      Byounggon pulls away after a few moments, and his hands are still clasped tightly at the small of your back, yours around his neck. He doesn’t let go. Now, you’re staring intently into his eyes, remarking the scarlet hue of his cheeks—from the game, or this moment, you’re not sure—Byounggon doesn’t close the space between your lips because he’s too busy immersing himself in the gentle sparkle of your eyes; so you take it upon yourself, and kiss him amorously.

      His lips, thought slightly chapped, are fervent against yours, and part with a tenacity you’ve never quite encountered. You sigh into his mouth, and he softens his lips, brushing gently over yours; it’s chaste and sweet. You pull away when you feel your body grow weak, and you realize when you’re kissing Byounggon, breathing feels like a second priority.

       He is gasping into the hot air of the gymnasium, and you are biting your lips, hands still loosely clasped around his neck. His hands slide from the base of your jaw and toward your cheek, pinching softly.

“I hope that was okay.” You whisper. He moves his lips to your ear.

“It was perfect.”

       Before you can sigh in relief, hug him tighter, kiss him more, you can see Hyunsuk approaching through the corner of your eyes. He runs toward you with his lips outstretched into a wide grin, and as he comes closer, he opens his arms and envelops the two of you in a group hug.

“I take credit for every part of this.” Hyunsuk states with glee, and you smack him upside the head.

He flicks you against the forehead. “I’m way too happy to complain about your abuse right now.”

       And though the three of you erupt in boisterous laughter, and you shake your head fiercely into their embrace, you think there might be a layer of truth to Hyunsuk’s words. Had Choi Hyunsuk seemed a little less desperate, perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself at that first game, pressed against rampant bodies, and subject to the boy who you now swore had your heart.

       You may not have been the sports fanatic you envisioned, and now, after all this time, maybe you still weren’t; but you did like Lee Byounggon. And now, every time you count to ten, the number nine feels a little bit warmer.

***

a/n: if u made it this far, thank u so much for reading!! im sorry this is mostly plot driven and not necessarily beautiful writing, but i just wanted to post smth cute for gon’s bday!! as always, feedback is appreciated, and ilu all!!! 😚😚💞

[venomdoves]

Our Little Vignette: Part 1

The obligatory Sonja Sickfic™ that absolutely no one asked for. Warnings for a lot of vomiting and some anxiety. Please enjoy this took forever.

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The irritating buzzing of Janis’s phone is the first thing to penetrate her dozing haze of half-consciousness as she curls under her blankets, relishing in the fact that for once, she’s not working on a Saturday. She’s free, free to doze as long as she pleases, laying lazily in bed for hours after everyone else in the house has gone about their day, nothing to do except sleep…

But apparently her phone has other ideas. Janis groans, groping with one hand out from under her burrito of blankets to snag her vibrating phone. Flicking to answer the call, she presses the phone to her ear. “Whoever this is, the house better be on goddamn fire or so help me-”

“Sarkisian, I need you to come get me before I barf on a pair of Nikes,” a voice that Janis immediately recognizes as Sonja’s crackles through the phone. 

“Sonj...what…?” Janis mumbles lethargically into the phone, rubbing sleep from her eyes with her other hand.

“I got some...questionable...sushi from the gas station down the road - yes, I know, you can yell at me later - and now I’m about one wrong move from hurling into a shoebox. Can I get a ride?”

Janis sighs, reaching for a relatively clean shirt from the tornado of strewn clothes across the floor. “Hang in there. I’ll call Damian and be there as soon as I can.”

“Hurry…” Sonja moans, her voice suddenly undergoing a strange shift in tone. “I - I feel really sick, Jan.”

“I know,” Janis promises, trying to soften her voice as much as she can. It’s not like Sonja to plead, or for her voice to tremble like that. “I know. Just hang in there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Great…shit, I’m gonna go hurl in the gross employee bathroom now. Be fast.” And then Sonja hangs up abruptly, leaving Janis in the silence of her bedroom.

Damian also sobers at the idea of Sonja asking for help without being completely snarky in the process, immediately hanging up to drive to Janis’s house. He’s one of the oldest sophomores and got his license barely a week ago; Janis has another two months before she even turns sixteen. She flings herself into the passenger seat of his Honda Civic, slamming the door behind her. “We’ve gotta get to Foot Locker quick, she really didn’t sound good.” Damian nods, touching her shoulder as he detects the worry in her voice before shooting out of the driveway as quickly as the speed limit will allow.

Sonja prides herself on being as tough as nails. Her reputation as a girl made of stone means a lot to her, and even though Janis knows her well enough to have seen her softer, weaker sides, it’s not like Sonja to willingly show fragility, even to her best friends. The last time Janis saw her let her guard down was when she broke three bones in her foot on a dare at the skatepark. She’d cried then, crushing Janis’s hand in her own to fight the throbbing pain in her foot. If she’s letting her voice tremble like that again, she must be really sick.

As soon as Damian pulls up outside the Foot Locker where Sonja works, Janis bolts out of the car, rushing to her side. Sonja is curled pitifully on the bench outside, shoulders hunched with her fingers to her lips, a faint green tinge coloring her unusually pale cheeks. Janis lets out a low whistle at the sight, determined not to worry Sonja by freaking out herself. “Damn, Sonj, you look like shit.”

“Wow, thanks,” Sonja mumbles, clutching a little at her stomach with her free hand. “You came…”

“Of course I came, idiot,” Janis scolds affectionately, helping Sonja to her feet. “Are you gonna feel better laying in the backseat or up front? Your pick, dumbass.”

“You’re batshit crazy if you think I’m sitting upright with cramps like this.”

“You can lay in my lap in the back.” Janis carefully puts her hands on Sonja’s hips, steadying her as she stumbles forward. “As long as you don’t barf in my lap.”

“I’ll try.”

Sonja’s a little warm and rather sweaty, her hair damp with perspiration as she fidgets in Janis’s lap, trying to get comfortable. “How long have you been feeling bad?” Janis asks, trying to mask her concern as she holds Sonja steady while Damian pulls away from the curb.

“Stomach’s been trying to overthrow me and exit my body since I ate,” Sonja mumbles, wincing as her stomach flips at the motion. “Puked my guts out in the tiny bathroom, that was fun. Almost knocked myself unconscious on the seat.”

“That’s what you get for eating sushi one-step up from a gas station,” Janis teases, tugging a little on a strand of her hair. “You’re in for it now, Sonj.”

“What Janis is trying to say,” Damian calls from the front, giving Janis the stink eye through the mirror. “Is that she’s very sorry that you’re sick, Sunny.”

“My name’s not Sunny,” Sonja mumbles, only a faint hint of her usual spark gleaming in her eyes. “Incoming barf alert, t-minus about three minutes.”

“Is it getting worse?” Janis brushes a hand across her forehead, wincing at the sheen of sweat on her grey-ish skin. Up front, Damian glances back worriedly, exchanging an anxious glance with Janis.

“Mm…yeah.” Sonja’s fidgeting worsens as she twists a little in Janis’s lap, a tiny whimper slipping out of her. “Fuck, my stomach hurts…”

“Oh, Sunny, hon…” Damian pauses at a stop sign, reaching back to rest his hand briefly on Sonja’s knee. “We’re nearly there, I’ll get you a hot pack when we’re home…”

This time, Sonja doesn’t protest the nickname, her breathing quickening as she lays across Janis’s lap, eyes half-closed. “Sonj…?” Janis eyes her nervously, inquisitively poking her shoulder. “Sonj, say something…”

“Pull over,” Sonja chokes out, her eyes widening as her cheeks turn green. “Fuck-“

Damian practically shoots over to the curb, slamming on the brakes as Sonja claws herself upright, bolting for the car door. After a moment’s hesitation, Janis slides out after her, Damian not far behind. 

As soon as Sonja’s out of the car, she bends double, bracing her hands on her knees as she coughs wetly over the grass. Damian gently braces his hands on her shoulders, steadying her as she sways on her feet. “Shh, Sunny...you’re gonna be okay…”

Janis hesitantly shuffles beside her, awkwardly patting her friend’s back. “Shh...Sonj, it’s okay, we’ve got you…”

Sonja staggers as she heaves, only saved from falling by Damian’s gentle grip on her shoulders. “Oh, Sunny, hon...you’re gonna be okay, just let it happen…”

Janis gives her back a few more pats, flinching as Sonja lets out a strangled retch, a splatter of vomit landing on the grass. She’s not used to taking care of her friends; Damian almost never gets sick and Sonja generally quarantines herself when she does, preferring to deal with any form of weakness alone. It’s a mark of how bad she must feel that she’s letting them help, and that only makes Janis feel worse. “Oh, Sonj, you’ve really got it bad…”

Sonja finally lifts her head, slumping against Damian as she struggles to catch her breath. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Damian rebukes gently, massaging her shoulders soothingly. “You can’t help it, hon, you’re sick. Just let us know when you can get back in, okay?”

Sonja nods, her lack of a snarky comment alarming Janis even more. “Let’s just go, I just wanna lay down…”

Damian nods, motioning for Janis to settle back into the backseat before guiding Sonja forward, hands on her hips to help her stay on her feet. She slumps slowly into Janis’s lap, spreading across the seats miserably, sweat soaking her clothes. Janis slowly strokes her hair, evenly brushing it off of her sweaty forehead. “Let me know if you need to be sick again,” she mumbles, trying not to look as Sonja wipes her mouth on her sleeve. 

As soon as Damian stops the car by Sonja’s house, she practically dives out, scrambling roughly over Janis to heave unproductively over the sidewalk, struggling to stay upright as she gags. Damian rushes out of the car and to her side, holding her upright as she coughs. Janis hangs back awkwardly, eyeing them with an air of apprehension. She doesn’t know what to do, she doesn’t know how to help, all she knows is that her friend is sick and miserable and there’s nothing she can do to make it stop.

Sonja finally spits up a thin stream of acid and straightens a little, collapsing against Damian for support. He scoops her up easily, setting her down on the old burgundy couch in her living room. “Jan, grab a bucket or something.” 

As Janis scurries to obey, out of the corner of her eye she sees Damian kneeling by Sonja’s side, squeezing her small hand. Of course he knows exactly what to do. He’s a much better friend than her. He always has been.

She snatches up the trashcan from the kitchen to set beside the couch, hanging back once more as Damian tucks a blanket over Sonja. “Sunny, I’m gonna run to the store and get some stuff to help you feel better, okay?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sonja mumbles, playfully punching his arm. It’s nowhere close to her usual fire, but her eyes gleam with a hint of mischief, reassuring Janis slightly. If Sonja’s feeling well enough to be snarky, she’ll be fine. “Gonna leave me all by myself…?”

“Of course not, hon. Jan’s gonna stay with you.” Damian grabs Janis by the shoulders, swinging her forward to the couch. “Right, Jan?”

“I am? I mean, yeah, sure, whatever…” Janis swallows hard, trying to ignore her anxiety as she kneels shakily by her friend. “Come back soon…?”

“I’ll hurry,” Damian promises, leaning in to kiss first Janis’s forehead, then Sonja’s. “Behave, girls. If someone’s dead when I come back, I’ll be very upset.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Janis alone by Sonja’s side. She moans a little, closing her eyes and letting her head loll back. “Death has come for me. This is it. This is the end.”

“You need anything…?” Janis asks awkwardly, touching her shoulder in a weak effort to be comforting. 

“A loaded pistol and a suicide note.” Sonja’s face twists with discomfort and she grabs the trashcan, propping herself up on her elbow and gagging wetly over it. Janis tenses, watching her nervously, but after a moment she replaces the can, flopping back against the pillows. “Ugh. False alarm.”

“Seriously, anything I can do…?” Janis repeats, focusing on the patterns in her tights rather than Sonja’s pale and sweaty face. “Anything…?”

Sonja nods slowly, hugging her arms to her stomach. “Heating pad…? I feel like I’m being stabbed…”

Janis finds the pad in Sonja’s room, plugging it into the outlet behind the couch. Sonja sighs as she presses the pad to her stomach, letting her eyes fall closed again. “What’s wrong, Jan?”

“What?” Janis mumbles, her cheeks heating up immediately. She’s never been a good liar, especially not with the people she loves. “Nothing’s wrong, you’re the sick one, don’t worry about me…”

“Yeah, right. You’re quiet, which is weird, and looking at me like I’m on my deathbed. It’s food poisoning, not the end of the world. Spill.”

“Damn.” Janis sighs, settling back. “You know me too well. I guess...I guess I just feel like a shit friend...Damian’s so much better at helping, and all I was doing earlier was standing there patting your back...I just feel lame, I guess. Like I’m not good enough for you, I can’t even help you feel better…”

Sonja snorts a little, stretching her hand out to Janis. “Don’t be an idiot, Sarkisian. You’re not a shit friend. You’re a great friend. There’s not a lot that anyone can really do. I’m sick and I’m gonna be sick for a while and it’s gonna suck. But the fact that you care enough to be there, just rubbing my back and not leaving me alone…” She sighs, rolling her eyes a little before making her admission. “It means a lot.”

Janis cracks a smile, intertwining her fingers in Sonja’s. “Thanks, Sonj.”

Sonja squeezes her hand, returning the weak smile. “Any time, Sarkisian - oh, God.”

“Here, sit up, you’ll choke,” Janis murmurs immediately, helping Sonja into a sitting position as she places the bucket between her knees. “There…”

Sonja dry heaves over the can, hugging her stomach as she stares into the bottom, a low moan escaping her lips. “Jan...ugh…”

“Oh, Sonj…” Janis runs her fingers slowly through her sweaty hair, tracing her other hand in patterns across her friend’s shoulders. “Just breathe…”

Slowly, awkwardly, Janis pulls herself up onto the couch besides Sonja, rubbing circles over her back as she gags unproductively again. “Fuck, I can’t throw up…”

“It’s okay,” Janis murmurs, rubbing her back a little more firmly. “It’s okay. I’m right here, you’re gonna be okay…”

Sonja’s head dips into the bucket again, her shoulders shaking as she dry heaves. “Fuck…”

“Don’t talk,” Janis murmurs, patting her back gently. “I’ve got you, Sonj, I’m right here...just breathe, okay? Just breathe. You’re gonna be okay, just let it happen…”

Sonja moans, spitting into the trashcan before coughing up a bit of bile, her head dipping down once more. “Good girl,” Janis murmurs, keeping her hand moving slowly on her back. “That’s good, just let it out…”

Her friend finally crumples over the bucket, heaving up another wave of vomit, her knuckles clenched white on the rim. Janis flinches, turning away to spare herself the visual, but doesn’t take her hand off Sonja’s back the whole time. “I’m here, Sonj, I’m right here…”

Sonja finally slumps back, her eyes half-closed and breathing shallow. “I feel like shit…”

“I know,” Janis murmurs, easing the trashcan away from her and back onto the floor. “You wanna rinse your mouth out now…?”

Sonja nods weakly, flopping back against the couch as she tries to get her breath back. Janis nods, touching her arm before rushing for a cup of water. 

Sonja takes the cup shakily, swishing a mouthful around to wash away the lingering acidic taste before spitting it into the bucket. “God, I feel terrible…”

“Need anything…?” Janis asks again, briefly pausing in rubbing her back. “Anything at all…?”

A deep flush spreads through Sonja’s cheeks, but she’s too sick to care much about preserving her dignity. “Cuddles…? My stomach hurts and you’re warm…”

Janis doesn’t hesitate, immediately falling back against the pillows and pulling Sonja to lay on top of her, lightly rubbing her back as she curls into her. “I got you, Sonj...just rest, let me know if you need the bucket again...I’ve got you.”

Sonja nods sleepily, nestling further into her. “So warm...thanks, Jan. Love you…”

“Love you too, Acquino.”

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

By the time Damian returns, laden with a grocery bag of supplies, Sonja dozes peacefully in Janis’s lap, curled quietly across her knees. “She feeling better…?” he murmurs, setting the bag down to sit on the armrest of the couch. His hand automatically goes to Janis’s back, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades, where tension always gathers in her spine.

“Not really.” Janis sighs at his touch, letting the tension out of her muscles. “It’s Sonja, she can sleep through anything. She got sick again while you were gone, and it doesn’t look like it’s gonna stop anytime soon.” In her lap, Sonja twitches, her face scrunching in discomfort as she lets out a little whine.

Damian shakes his head, sympathy in his soft blue eyes as he leans down to brush cool fingers across Sonja’s fever-flushed cheek. “Poor girl...she must really be feeling bad if she let you hold her…”

“She felt bad enough to ask for it.” Janis lets her head lean against Damian, closing her eyes as he runs his fingers through her hair. “I’m worried about her, Damian. It’s not like her to….” She lets her voice trail off, knowing he’ll hear the words she can’t find a way to verbalize.

“She’ll be okay,” Damian promises, touching Janis’s arm. “She’s a tough one. It’s the Acquino in her, or at least that’s what she tells me several thousand times a day.” Janis rolls her eyes a little, huffing a laugh at the harmless jab at Sonja. Their friend takes immense pride in carrying her mom’s surname; everyone and their brother has heard something about what the name Acquino means, each definition more grandiose than the last.

At the sound of his voice, Sonja lifts her head blearily, blinking sleep from her eyes. “Everything hurts and I’m freezing and dying.”

“Your breath smells like roadkill,” Janis shoots back, going to elbow her teasingly before remembering that that’s maybe not the best idea. “Here, thermometer.” She reaches behind her, snapping her fingers at Damian for the thermometer she intuitively knows is in the bag he brought. “Your face is bright red.”

“Feels like it,” Sonja mumbles, briefly bringing her fist to her lips to stifle a wet hiccup, her shoulders lurching slightly. Janis pokes the thermometer in between her chapped lips, giving her arm a squeeze before flopping back against Damian to wait.

The thermometer reads slowly. Janis zones out after a minute or so, waiting for the beeping to rouse her from a detailed daydream about showing her art nationally. Then Damian lunges forward from behind her, sending her falling unceremoniously to the side, and Janis looks up, blinking confusedly. She’s just in time to watch Damian pry the thermometer from the hand a positively green Sonja has clapped over her lips before snatching up the trashcan, pushing her head over it before Janis can make a move.

She finally scoots forward, settling on the ground by Sonja to rest her head on her knee in comfort. After a few moments of dry heaving, Damian thumps her back encouragingly and Sonja lurches forward with a soft moan and an accompanying splattering noise echoing from inside the trashcan. Janis winces, turning her head away. The sound is sickening enough; with the visual she’s liable to vomit herself.

“Atta girl,” Damian praises softly, moving his hand in slow circles over Sonja’s back. “That’s good, you’re getting it out - oh, shit.”

“What? What’s the matter?” Janis whirls around, meeting Damian’s panicked blue eyes. 

“Jan, it’s blood, she’s bringing up blood.” Damian seizes her hand, squeezing her wrist tightly. “I need you to do a couple of things for me. Can you do a couple of things for me?”

Stunned, Janis nods a little, fixated on Sonja. Her friend is still bent over the trashcan, panting slightly, still obviously queasy. Scarlet drips from her lower lip in a string of ropy saliva, more blood trickling from her nose. The force of heaving must have blown a blood vessel. 

“Grab a blanket and a paper bag from the kitchen,” Damian orders, giving Sonja’s back a few gentle pats as she coughs wetly, more blood spattering into the can. “Put the blanket in the car and give her the bag. We’re going to the ER.”

Janis flinches immediately, unable to take her gaze off Sonja. She’s terrified of hospitals, and if Sonja’s sick enough to need the emergency room…

She shakes herself quickly, touching Sonja’s shoulder briefly before dashing upstairs for a blanket. No matter how scared she is, Sonja is almost definitely more scared, and she needs to keep it together for her.

Janis spreads the blanket across the backseat, handing Sonja her paper bag as Damian scoops her up. “How long has she been...doing that…?” Janis murmurs in shocked horror as Sonja dips her head into the bag, another flow of blood, saliva, and liquidy vomit pouring from her mouth.

“Since you left,” Damian replies grimly, carrying Sonja easily out to the car. “It’s just acid at this point. Here, you sit with her, don’t let her choke. I’m gonna have to drive.”

Her hands quivering with fear, Janis settles next to Sonja, running a hand under her shirt to rub her sweaty back. Wincing at the heat coming from her skin, she moves her hand in smooth circles, murmuring quiet, meaningless reassurance as Sonja brings up another mouthful of bloody bile. “Just get it all out, Sonj...I’ve got you.”

Sonja lifts her head, granted a temporary reprieve as Damian pulls out of the driveway, hugging her stomach miserably. “Do you have anything to drink…?”

“Um…” Janis swivels her head, searching, but before she can do more than a quick scan of the car, Damian thrusts a bottle of ginger ale into her hand from his supply bag. “We have this…?”

“My mouth tastes like ass,” Sonja jokes feebly, a pitiful attempt at sounding like her normal self that doesn’t reach her glassy eyes, as she takes a sip from the bottle. “There’s something else, I just can’t get it up…”

“I’m pretty sure you’re cleaned out, Sonj,” Janis mutters, running her hand down her back soothingly. “Just keep sipping on that, it’ll settle your-”

Sonja thrusts her head back into the bag, lurching forward with a deep retch to hurl up the few sips of ginger ale and a couple of solid chunks, another flow of blood and saliva pouring down her chin. Janis flinches away, patting her back firmly. “Okay, then...not cleaned out...just let it up, Sonj…”

With a low, miserable moan, Sonja’s shoulders jolt again, another heave racking her small body. Janis winces, keeping up her rhythm of firm pats, cupping her palm over Sonja’s sweaty forehead to hold her steady as another wave of bloody vomit spatters into the bag. “Jesus, Sonj…”

Suddenly, without warning, Sonja slumps sideways, falling away from the bag as another stream of ropy spit, stomach acid, and blood pours out of her mouth, the worst of it landing on Janis’s shirt, already soaking in with sickening warmth. Before Janis can even process, Sonja convulses again, coughing up yet more acid and blood. 

Swearing in shock, Janis snatches up the bag, holding Sonja’s head over it to contain the continuous flow of vomit dripping from her lips. Her friend is too sick to do anything other than lay limply against her, her head lolling, supported only by Janis’s hand. Tiny, nauseous hiccups jolt her shoulders as she retches, thin mouthfuls of blood and acid the only thing coming up as her stomach empties. 

Damian stops the car outside the doors of the ER, turning back to Janis as a horn honks behind them. “Carry her in and go, I’ll meet you when I park the car!” Before Janis can protest, another horn sounds behind them and she gathers Sonja into her arms, forced to leave the bag behind as she stumbles into the ER.

Sonja’s limp, still convulsing form is almost immediately lifted away onto a gurney and somehow Janis is going with her, their hands locked as she stumbles after her friend. Her knuckles stand out stark white against Sonja’s darker complexion, cold tears stinging the corners of her eyes as she staggers after the gurney. She can’t bring herself to break away. 

The world seems to spin around Janis as she finds her way to the edge of Sonja’s bed, the acrid sting of acid mingled with the sharp tang of antiseptic stinging her nose as she stares down into her friend’s sickly, bloodied face. Then a white-coated doctor lifts her tan wrist, a sharp needle glinting in the burning fluorescent lights of the hospital room. Janis tries to steel herself, tries to fight her fear and keep her hand in Sonja’s, but the sight of the needle sinking into her soft flesh is too much to bear and she wrenches her hand out of Sonja’s grip, fleeing the room to leave the blood behind.

[thewritingstar]

WC #52

Prompt: “What the hell are you doing in the bathroom at 3 in the morning?” From this list

Pairing: Kacchako

As I work on requests enjoy this little number from my drafts. Imma dedicate this to @i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate because we cried at the same meme and it was a magical moment lol.

——-

A groan came from Bakugou as he mindlessly kicked off the blankets, his body over heating in the summer night. He turned on his side to get ready to snuggle up to his new wife, something he had been doing often. Something she absolutely enjoyed.

His arm stretched out lazily reaching for her but his brow furrowed when he didn’t make contact. His head was buried in his pillow as he was slapping around the bed, grunting when he couldn’t find her.

“Babe” He mumbled but didn’t hear a response.

Prying his tired eyes open, he let out a sigh when she wasn’t in bed. The master bedroom was completely dark so he knew she must have been downstairs.

“Probably snacking.” He muttered but his feet dragged out of bed and down the wooden stairs. The kitchen light was on but she wasn’t there. The counter was littered with pills and medicine, picking up a box his head snapped towards the hallway when he heard a deep cough.

Confused he pushed the door open to see her hunched over the sink, panting and sweat beaded on her forehead.

“What the hell are you doing in the bathroom at 3 in the morning?” Irritation splashed through him and as she began to give her response, her eyes widened and her knees buckled to the floor.

Her body lunged over the toilet, spilling all the contents from earlier down the pipe. “I didn’t want to wake you.” She stood and wiped her mouth and ran her hand under the faucet.

“Holy fucking shit Uraraka, are you that sick.” He asked not knowing if he should hug her or not. “Also I don’t give a fuck if you wake me, my wife puking for crying out loud.”

She smiled as her stomach settled. She loved it when he referred to her as his wife. It was a habit that he didn’t want to break.

“Relax love, I’m not contagious.” She reached down to the floor to pick something up. He leaned against the door frame, a worried look plastered on his face.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna be cuddling with a barf monster, this isn’t high school yah know.” She rolled her eyes at his comment and tossed him a piece of plastic.

Swiftly he caught it and looked at the white stick in his palm. Eyes widening and he looked to find her with her hands on her hip and a smug look on her face.

“You just called your pregnant wife a barf monster. Shame on you.” She teased and poked him in his abs, which she made a mental note that they were extremely hard.

Her giggles stopped as she returned to his face. A shocked and blank expression mixed and began to get worried. She took a step forward, her voice soft and questioning.

“Bakugou?”

He didn’t move. His eye were glued to his hand and her previous statement rang through his ears. Pregnant wife.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want this, it just happened, we weren’t careful. If you don’t want it we can-“

Her body was taken into a hug. Tears spilled out of his eyes as he clung to her. His head nuzzled against her neck.

“Thank you.” He whispered and she clung onto him. He was overjoyed knowing that he would be a father and she would be a mother.

“I love you so much.” He leaned down to kiss her but her hand covered his mouth. Placing a kiss on her hand where his lips would be, she smiled.

“I love you too but I just spent twenty minutes puking so yeah, I’m not letting you kiss me. At least not now.” She felt her stomach settle and turned off the bathroom light and lead them upstairs. “Just give me a few and I’ll be back in bed.”

He sat on the bed and watched her walk to the sink, excited to see her bump develop as the days would pass.

“Yeah know since we are awake, we could celebrate.” He smirked and she looked at him through the mirror as she spit her toothpaste out.

“Babe it’s 3 in the morning, we are not doing it right now.” He huffed as Uraraka jumped back under the covers.

“It’s not like I can get you pregnant again.” He scoffed but gladly wrapped his arm around her waist, cradling her stomach. She let out a laugh and turned to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight Bakugo.”

“Goodnight Uraraka.” She felt a kiss on her neck and snuggled further into his chest.

“Goodnight little one.” They both whispered.

——

Hope you enjoyed!