#it’s just constant jokes and deflection and not fucking listening

[charliesinfern0]

I’m so fucking upset right now it’s not even funny

[machihunnicutt]

I would like the sons and bowlers thoughts please

Under the cut bc it’s soooo long lmao

Things in sons and bowlers that make me crazy (in no particular order)

1)The idea that daniel pierce shields hawkeye from things that he thinks will hurt him psychologically and actively tries to distract him with kindness/good things i.e. making him elaborate breakfasts while his mom was dying in the hospital and downplaying the extent of her illness. I think this is so interesting bc we’ve often seen hawkeye deflect with jokes/go out of his way to help people inside and outside of OR and make sacrifices to do so/ downplay the extent of his own pain/trauma in order to avoid inconveniencing people and the idea that this is a behavior he learned as a child, way before the war is a major clue to the events in GFA

He doesn’t deal with his trauma, he minimizes it to the point of repression and convinces himself things are alright! He’s become his father! That blows my mind idk

2) hawkeye just has his dad and his dad just has him! We saw in where there’s a will that he leaves everything to his father but this really drives home how much hawkeye loves his dad. Like i think part of why this makes me crazy is that i have daddy/mommy issues but i feel like for hawkeye this is a big character beat that people overlook. He’s not like the others at the unit in that they all have families/career aspirations/grounded support systems to return to and for hawkeye all he’s got is his dad and he really finds his support system in the MASH…and yeah he’s a workaholic and a brilliant surgeon but he’s also the kind of person who thrives on human connection and cannot live without his connections to those around him. Like hawkeye is all heart AGH what happens when someone like that is removed from a place where they formed deep connections?

Also the fact that he’s like iv’e said ily but what if he doesnt know i mean it like man u really don’t expect people to listen to what u say

3) back on daniel, sorry but i love food/mealtime/cooking themes with hawkeye too and the fact that shared, homemade breakfasts were his father’s symbol of love and protection just makes the absence of good food at the MASH even more devastating. I also see hawkeye as someone who can disassociate from his body easily (the drinking, the sleeping around, the constant sniffing of food/not eating if it isn’t appetizing/ going long periods without sleep and insomnia, the manic episodes/psych problems) so the reconnection of family to food is important here too! Like i’m going to get to charles but the fact that he tells the story about feeling tested at dinner and his related food associations, i think it’s really telling that in contrast we get hawkeye and daniel talking about the good times they had eating dinner together

4) brief margaret tangent i like that this is a reversal of the early seasons trope of her sleeping with someone for some plot/ulterior motive and now when potter asks her if she’ll do that she’s like fuck off and then uses the guy for bowling tips and not sex lol i just think it’s a succient way to show her development over time and i also love when she gets to do sporty/more traditionally masculine things and not be dunked on for it

5) bj and charles scheming idk i love this in any episode i like that they bring out the evil asshole in each other i find it funny and charming they’re my faves for a reason i think dos and mike are both soooo talented

6) the contrast between charles’ home life and hawkeye’s and how thats shaped them. i ‘m really interested in the similarities between charles and hawk i think they have similar backgrounds and similar drive/talent/pressure to be surgeons and be the best at what they do/similarly desperate desire for connection with people/to art and music and theater etc. and they can be similarly overconfident/stubborn it just manifests so differently in their behaviors. I feel like this is one of the few times we see them acknowledge each other as people and put aside their differences in order to support each other idk u know i love a charles plotline im human

7) speaking of supporting people! Also crazy about bj’s progressive loss of the ability to provide hawkeye with emotional support and here he doesn’t even know hawkeye was struggling bc hawkeye’s like don’t tell anyone ! he doesn’t want to tell his best friend his problems bc bj doesn’t help him with things like that. And in fact telling bj might be something that sets bj off further like every day this man’s mental health is crumbling he’s hanging on by a thread and hawkeye knows this, more finale set up that’s so subtly done i love it

7.5) also the fact that if daniel’s surgery had gone badly this would be another hawkeye doesn’t get a real goodbye situation (.i.e his mom, trapper, henry, carlye, tommy, kyung hee, bj etc.) whyyyy do they do this

8) there’s bowling like come on are u serious i love bowling and they’re so cute bowling

[hairpintvrns]

“I don’t say anything I don’t otherwise believe in,” Terry’s voice came out, assertive, like they’d taken offense at his teasing. And, anyway, what did one say to ‘Or I might just fall in love with you?’ They’d ventured too close, they thought; any more and there was the inevitable burn. “I’d rather you didn’t fall in love with me, Toni,” they said, bemused though still a tad severe, finding his words a strange pivot—a deflection—from the weight of the conversation. 

Their fingers tightened reflexively around the glass, and they swiveled the drink slowly with their left hand. The words felt wrong in their mouth, and the disgust that flickered across their face mirrored the discomfort in their chest. Terry hadn’t meant to make the expression, but it was there, sudden and involuntary—a contortion of pain or revulsion, hard to tell which. “So, I will stop if you want.” 

Toni’s smirk returned, more bemused than wounded, as he launched into talking about his physician, of all things, and then a macabre joke about not lasting past sixty. They listened, but beneath the overhead lights, the warmth in their skin, and their companion’s constant back and forth, it was difficult to sustain the conversation. “We’ve lived longer than any generation that came before us,” they began, “If your physician agrees with you, you should probably find a new one. Someone with a better bedside manner.”

The proximity to Toni’s pain was unsettling. They could see it, sense it, but it was like watching a distant fire or chasing a shadow moving across the room. How they lingered and crept quietly across. They didn’t know why death preoccupied Toni so much, or why he seemed to linger in the morbid nature of it as if it were some inevitable friend. To Terry, pain—real pain—was always something abstract. The kind of luxury best left for the poets. Not for someone like them, who lived in their head, skimming the surface of it all.

They watched as he stretched his legs out, some, and they did so in kind, mirroring the other’s gesture. “What? Feeling normal? I suppose I thought I was, for a long time. I’d always been… careful.” Terry echoed his words, their eyes darting downward toward the place where their toes almost touched. They thought of a bar in Manhattan, being twenty-one, sitting with their best friend under this same awful overhead lighting, ordering an amaretto sour, trying to fit into something that had never fit. Always a creature of habit.

“I realize now, of course, that normal had never been in the cards.” It’s as close to honesty as they could get, and the pain flickered in their face. The half-century of pretending weighed on them as if it were a tangible, measurable thing, pressing into their skin, making their hands twitch slightly, seeking the comfort of a rhythmic motion. They settled on tracing circles on the fabric of their jeans, just above their knee, “It’s easier to keep on pretending.” Which, by Toni’s logic, meant that they were a bold-faced, fucking liar. Strange, that contradiction. 

The alcohol was doing its work now, dulling the edges of everything. “So, if it’s something you don’t do,” the words tumbled out, attempting to follow his logic, “Then you might be the most honest person in the world.” 

It takes a moment for the compliment to seep into his skin — like fire in the hearth — and when it does, Antonio can’t help the look of surprise he meets Terry’s gaze with. He thinks — no, he knows — no one’s ever been so ornate when describing anything about him. He’s the poet, after all, and one who’s known nothing but longing and one-sided affection, to boot; he’s heard the superficial rumblings of a one-night stand about his attractiveness, the crazed cocktail of adjectives from (who he hopes are) otherwise sane fans. He writes words dedicated to people who’ll never dedicate a single word to him, and he’s made some sort of morbid peace with the fact. So he expects nothing from Terry Lowenstein, the friend whom alcohol’s somehow wrought — perhaps the only good thing to come from his drinking, after all this time. 

And yet, somewhere in between the soft flush of their face and the tight grip on their glass, Terry’s found a way to surprise a man who’s long-since stopped expecting things from people.  “You shouldn’t say things like that to me, T,” Antonio tells Terry, the tone of his voice marked by the tell-tale signs of teasing. How else is he meant to hide the swell of emotion entangling itself in his throat? “Or I might just fall in love with you.”

His eyes follow the pattern Terry traces absentmindedly on the bar as they speak, unloading truths Antonio’s never heard before. He listens carefully, like maybe in between their words he’ll be able to find a soft place to land. But what he finds instead is understanding, and maybe that’s more important to him — to conflate his own disdain for existence with the impulse to run, to strip oneself of the person one’s expected to be. He wonders if leaving everything behind and turning himself inside out would bring him the same relief he expects death might — and what the difference might be, if any at all. When does either one cross the line and become some kind of manslaughter, instead?

Their question, posed as a challenge, only catches him a little off guard. He supposes he should have expected it, for being so loose with his tongue. It’s nothing he can’t circumvent, though — has been, for the past couple of years. “I just meant as someone not so careful about what I put in my body,” he dismisses the concern with a slight smirk, an absent-minded wave of his hand. “I’m sure my physician would agree I’m not built to last past the age of sixty.” And isn’t that a terrifying thought — even sixty seems too long a time to hang around feeling so egregiously empty. 

He stretches his legs out some, finding relief in his bones where he can’t find it in his head. “Is that something you’re used to?” He echoes their question with a raised eyebrow, the same challenging tone they’d used on him. “Is that something anyone’s used to? Show me one person who’s ever felt normal,” he snorts, downing the rest of his drink in one swift swig. “And I’ll show you a fucking liar.” After a beat, he meets Terry’s gaze again — he’s schooled his expression back into something lazy and apathetic, something like what it’d been ten, fifteen minutes ago. “It was a compliment,” he adds, like it’s meant to be some sort of reassurance. “You don’t have to say anything to it.”

[dendrite-blues]

For a relatively short exchange, this scene is jam packed with characterization for Loki. 

It’s also our first reliable look into what Loki was like before Thor 1. Not as described by others, but first hand and from his own mouth. I think that deserves a closer look, to see what we can learn about Loki and how he thinks.

This scene is significant because it tells us what Loki’s personality is like when he’s not running for his life. It tells us who he was before his trauma and what his core beliefs are underneath those layers of humor and bravado.

Better yet, since he’s alone we can assume that every line in this scene is presumably true, or at least Loki believes it to be true since he has no audience but himself. 

The dialogue centers mostly around the statement “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.” I’m not going to focus too much on the “alone” motif since I already dedicated an entire meta post to it.

What I think is more interesting about this scene is actually the looping, and the stages Loki goes through in trying to deal with it. There’s a lot of really interesting character traits on display in that progression.

Loop 1: A Warm Bath and Glass of Wine

The first loop entails Sif lecturing Loki about cutting her hair, kicking him in the balls, and storming away. Loki kneels on the floor and he gives us this great line:

“A bad memory prison? How quaint. Some punishment. I remember exactly what I did after that. I went and had a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine, and I never thought about it again. Because it was just a bit of fun.”

So we can take this to be Loki’s default reaction to pain and criticism. When put into an unexpected conflict without any forethought or outside influence, this is what he says/does.

1) Downplay the damage/threat. How quaint. 2) Dispel/soothe the emotion. Nice hot bath. 3) Minimize the impact. Never thought about it again. 4) Deflect responsibility. Just a bit of fun.

Keep those in mind as we move forward, since we’ll be using them to make sense of what else Loki says in this scene.

Loops 2 and 3: Okay, Sif, Hang On

This bit is about Loki realizing just how bad his predicament is.

L: Okay. Okay, Sif. Hang on. S: No, you hear this. You deserve to be alone... And I always will be. L: Alright, I get it. Listen. You are a reconstruction of a past event created by the organization that controls all of time. So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah? S: Pathetic. (she kicks him again) L: (winces and groans)

As we all would expect from him, Loki’s first impulse is to try and talk his way out of it. What he says to achieve that goal is pretty revealing though. Because he doesn’t try to ease Sif’s upset by apologizing or explaining or offering to magic her hair back. 

Any of these would have been more likely to save his nads in the given circumstance, right? The present threat is Sif, and she’s mad about what Loki did to her hair. But Loki doesn’t really see that. Rather, he treats her as a means to an end.

“So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah?”

To me, that choice reveals something of a blind spot Loki has to the feelings of others. Even if he doesn’t actively like hurting people, he does prioritize their problems below his, and quite shamelessly. And at least on his first impulse, he doesn’t seem to feel much remorse or empathy for them.

Usually in fanon we attribute this callousness to his trauma. He’s learned that no one can be trusted and no one cares, and so he doesn’t allow himself to care for others. 

But between his Loop 1 sentiment of “It was just a bit of fun” for an event which caused real hurt to Sif, and his Loop 2/3 behavior of “you, stop being mad and help ME” I think it’s reasonable to say that selfishness/low empathy are traits Loki possessed pre-trauma.

Loop 4-????: Happens Off Screen

It’s unclear how many times Loki loops while the camera is following Mobius, but the implication is clear that it was been many, many repetitions. Somewhere in this his denial and deflection must break, because we come back to a much humbler, more pleading Loki.

The Final Loop: I Crave Attention

S: You conniving, craven... L: Sif. Sif. S: ...pathetic worm. L: Please, please, no more. Please, I beg you. I'm a horrible person. I get it. I really am. I cut off your hair because I thought it'd be funny. And it's not. Uh... I crave attention... because I'm... a narcissist. And I suppose it's... It's because I'm scared of being alone.

HOOO BOY, so this is quite a tough bit to analyze. There’s a lot of interpretations you could make, and a lot of topics to delve into. For the sake of focus, I’m going to ignore the narcissism question. That one really needs an entire post, and I want to focus on something else here.

That being, Loki’s way of processing conflict/punishment.

I’ve always found it strange how Loki takes such pride in being called a liar and cheat when he simultaneously has this chip on his shoulder about how nobody likes him. 

Those two traits don’t seem to play well together, and I always scratched my head over how they coexist in his character. If he wants people to be nicer to him, maybe he should stop antagonizing them? Yeah?

Well, here we’re finally given a clear reason. Loki craves attention, he hates being alone. So how does he avoid it? Pranks and mischief. 

Fair enough.

But then, if all his pranks lead to this outcome--outrage, retaliation, insult--why doesn’t he ever learn? How is it that after 1000 years of this behavior, he hasn’t found a better way to get the attention he craves? 

Loop 1: Downplay, dispel, minimize, deflect. He accepts zero accountability for the impact of his actions, and doesn’t think at all about how they affect other people. Just a bit of fun. I had a hot bath and a glass of wine, and never thought about it again. 

The only reason he reaches the level of self awareness on display in the Final Loop is because the looping forces him to contemplate his actions and the impulses within him that lead to that behavior.

This is projection on my part, but to me he acts as though this kind of deep reflection is a new thing for him. He sounds like someone sharing a revelation that he’s just had about himself. We’re being shown that Loki is a man of action. He will always move forward if he can, possibly because looking back to so painful that he can’t bring himself to do it.

Circling back around to the pride Loki has for his knavery, let’s suppose that he’s been on this negative reinforcement cycle since childhood. He’s always acted out to get attention, then received retaliation and insults for it, and then pushed the bad feelings out of his mind with creature comforts and mental gymnastics.

What happens over time, when you’re being constantly told that you’re a pain in the ass and no one likes you? Most of us would take it to heart, but Loki doesn’t. He has a big ego, big enough to resist that constant barrage of hate coming at him.

So how does he marry these two conflicting realities? 

He turns it into an identity, the God of Mischief. 

In his head, Loki excuses himself of blame by shifting the culpability to his moniker. It’s not that he’s immature and petty, he’s just a “trickster.” It’s in his nature to cause trouble, so he can’t help it. You wouldn’t dangle a steak in front of a tiger and blame the tiger for striking, would you? And if other people can’t take a “joke” then that’s not his fault, that’s on them for not having a sense of humor. It was just a bit of fun.

Here we see the union of these two halves of Loki, the lonely ice runt and the mischievous scamp. (And a little bit of the original Loki who Thor accused of being incapable of growth!) 

By refusing to think about others, and excusing himself from responsibility, Loki successfully preserves his self worth and insulates himself to most of the negative emotions he experiences.

Pain, embarrassment, and grief aren’t pointless emotions though. They are vital feelings that serve to regulate our behavior, and that push us to conform to the ways of our social circles. Without them, we annoy and upset others. Be annoying for long enough and you will eventually find yourself, well, alone. As Loki is.

Thus “Mischief” is a self-defeating loop, and Loki is just as caught in it as the cell Mobius trapped him in.

In order to be free of both traps, Loki has to stop running. He has to take a deeper look at himself and realize how much he is getting in his own way. The entire scene is one big parallel between these two “loops.” Pretty neat, huh?

Sadly these kinds of thought loops are really difficult to break, they’re buried so deeply in our personalities and habits that we usually don’t notice them until life forces us to address them.

The cell is Loki’s wake up call, and thankfully he does seem to rise to the occasion. He tells Sif quite clearly what his problem is, and he does it with beautiful, painful honesty.

Which is why it’s so fucking awesome for Mobius to acknowledge that, and to finally give Loki a taste of positive attention. 

You don’t deserve to be alone. I believe you can be anything, even something good. Whatever you two did, it was powerful enough to bring this whole place down.

It’s a beautiful scene. Well written, meticulously acted. The clarity of vision in the pacing and shot selection, it’s really something special.

[kuvvydraws]

I myself am nit a akeleton but sadly i still don't have guts to ask Luque out. Help?

Believe it or not, it's not hard to get a date out of Luque. Of course, it all depends on what you consider a date and for what purpose.

Luque is used to going out at night, hitting on someone at a bar and, if he gets lucky, ending his day at someone's house -or in a dark alley, or in a secluded corner in a park- with a big bang. He has a silver tongue, a lot of jokes and the kind of look in his eyes that glints just a tad too mischievously, and his whole behavior promises both trouble and a good time. On the other hand, it is rare that he repeats with someone, simply because he doesn't openly seek closeness or company.

This is a big, fat lie - Luque is the loneliest skeleton you can find, and he desperately craves companionship. Another matter altogether is if he'd ever admit that, so he consoles himself with a bunch of fun hours with some strangers.

Dates with Luque are complex in the sense that he's not going to show emotional availability, his whole front is about hanging out, flirting and hopefully getting handsy - the whole shtick about meeting with someone to learn about them is not necessarily unknown to him, but he's good at deflecting while pretending to be charming and, why not, a little bit raunchy. You could have a date with him, spend hours talking and then get back home after a dizzying kiss and realize you don't know a single thing about this skeleton.

To earn Luque's trust, and eventual honest to God communication you need a lot of time and perseverance -and to ignore his bullshit, he's full of it-, and then, bit by bit, you'll realize you're starting to see him for who he is beyond his seductive, bad boy facade. Of course, you'd have to also bypass his constant need for attention, his nagging and provoking act and the neverending flirting.

You'd notice you've scored a good date with Luque -one that doesn't revolve around meaningless chatter full of innuendos- when he shuts up and listens instead of blabbering. Despite his tough persona, Luque listens -the previous dates were not wasted, he just bides his time-, and for a date he'd make sure to do or go somewhere his counterpart would actually enjoy rather than a generic food outing, because this time he's invested in impressing someone, and he can be really thoughtful when he wants.

My advice here is a lot of patience, this skeleton is starved for positive attention, and while dealing with him requires a lot of patience until he starts behaving like something else other than his cartoonist persona, he's well worth it. And hey, no one says you can't fuck him stupid while you try to crack his shell!

[jiminrings]

would you (III)

pairing: jimin x y/n

wordcount: 6k

And when you look at him with the same hint of bleariness in your eyes, and his shoulder feels the brunt of your tentative squeeze and sees the lightest of smiles on your lips —

Jimin knows everything that he needs to know.

or the one in which love isn’t one-sided anymore, jimin realizes his feelings, and yearning for you is what keeps him awake.

would you by pink sweats

part one | part two | part three

Both oddly yet unsurprisingly, Jungkook’s become a constant in your life.

For starters, both of you were lonely and needed someone, even if it’s by the sidelines. The equivalent of white noise and an extra pillow to put by your side so you’d feel surrounded.

Funnily enough, Jungkook’s as good as a mainstay in your life as you are with him, providing company and warmth with no question. It’s as if he’s always been your friend and you never met each other in such desperate measures.

Given that, sure, maybe you and Jungkook don’t fuck each other as often and it’s only occasional now at this point, but the conversation stays and lasts. It’s the routine of him pounding into you as he talks shit about the pressure he feels fron rival companies that aren’t even worth his time, and you talking about how thankful you are that he’s accepted you into his company and that you can’t be any more pumped to start.

That’s his cue to (very nicely) threaten you to shutting up if you still want to cum, and him talking in between broken grunts that you’ve earned the job both for your credentials and skills and of course the potential — not some dumb luck of having him as the CEO of the very company you’re chasing after, being friends with benefits with to the title of best friend.

To put it simply, Jungkook’s your platonic boyfriend of some sort. The both of you are dead sure that you don’t like each other in that way, and that soon enough, the two of you swear to flush out the libido so you’d stop hooking up.

It doesn’t necessarily mean that he’d stop cracking “that’s what you said” jokes and you teasing him about his whining.

The two of you are so compatible that it makes you forget about your dynamics with Jimin and how you’re even more compatible with him. His name’s only thrown around carelessly for good measure and not for drunk half-sobs from yourself.

It’s why Jungkook’s forcibly sat down on your floor as he eats his chicken wings, banned from the couch because you swear on his life that he’d regret his whole existence once he stains it. He has absolutely no choice but to pout and sit on your rug you haven’t vacuumed in awhile when he could easily buy you a new and better one if he does stain it.

You’re too engrossed over a movie because you don’t want to listen to Jungkook and his surprisingly strong moral compass, him already knowing that you’re deflecting this altogether so you could attempt to avoid the inevitable.

“Ignoring Jimin doesn’t mean you’ve moved on from him — do you know that?”

More than he’d likely admit, maybe Jungkook does have a taste for the emotions and the dramatics. He’s always been more in tune with it, but it had no place in the real world. Instead he gets his fill and spends almost all of it with the people he’s comfortable with — his family and a select amount of friends.

You’re the closest thing in real life he could ever relate to a reality show (although you always deny that your life is as eventful as it is), and Seokjin’s running to replace you in your spot because he always seem to get him even though they bicker the most, always smiling with his hyung because maybe, just maybe, Jungkook likes being taken care of.

Of course he’s observant. He wants to know you emotionally because knowing you physically so well doesn’t exactly coincide with the fact that you’re moving away from that phase in your relationship per se. He should absolutely know what’s with you furrowing your brows outside of the bedroom, know what’s tinkering with his best friend’s mind and not only relate it to when he hits your sweet spot from down under.

As soft as he sounds in contrast to his obvious demeanor from being in such a place of authority and growing up with everyone’s eyes on him, Jungkook’s grown to take care of you. It’s massive growth in his part for the past month because he learned that maybe he shouldn’t really take all of his life alone. Maybe he needs someone.

He’s not rushing for marriage and to be honest, if only the two of you weren’t platonic and you weren’t the farthest thing from being in his likes in that way, that would be the only time he’d look at you beyond as a friend. Companionship doesn’t need to equate to romantic relationships and that’s perhaps one of the many things he’d been lacking.

You like Jungkook as an addition to your life. You’re no stranger to strikingly-handsome best friends — Taehyung and Seokjin and of course Jimin are the living proof, but only the last part is who you’re unsure of.

And maybe yes, maybe Jungkook’s right. Maybe you can’t always avoid Jimin forever but you know that but you’d die on that hill because you can’t see yourself caving soon. Missing him yet not wanting to see him are the things you juggle with.

“Either side with me or you can get out of my apartment.”

He sputters when you slap his hand away and take his portion for yourself and audibly complains of how come you can sit on your couch and he can’t, forgetting that it’s your apartment and your couch that he’s talking about.

You’re also forgetting that he’s your boss, your superior, and your CEO. Although it becomes official by Monday, you come to your sense and sheepishly hand him half of it back.

You’ve quit the bartender gig but that doesn’t stop you from dropping in to work sometimes. Because maybe Jaehyun misses you a little that he pretends not to see when you sneak in a drink or two free of charge, and Seokjin misses you and his pride nowadays doesn’t deny him from saying that he misses you.

Jungkook kinda panics at that because not only does he not want to go home to his massive penthouse by himself where he can eat all that he wants on his couch, but he also needs the company and watching a crappy movie with you would give him a good night’s sleep.

“Look, look! All I’m saying is, from dude to dude or whatever, is that anyone could see how much he misses you.”

It’s your turn to slightly panic and you don’t know what to take from that, visibly caught in a daze as Jungkook takes the sweet time to slither from the floor to the couch.

He’d know that actually, because two weeks ago when he came over after a long tiring day and he just wants to be buried in you, Jimin just happens to aiming for you door too.

Jimin was second-guessing the whole day whether he should come over to your apartment unannounced and how you’d take it, but once the urge to visit overpowers, he certainly didn’t expect this guy.

He didn’t come empty-handed and there’s an outrageously tiny boquet he’s sure that you’d like because you found them obscene and adorable right inside his backpack. He doesn’t have the slightest clue inside his mind why you haven’t been yourself lately, or maybe it’s just because he refuses to believe it as it is.

Jimin’s cocky at first and that’s what Jungkook can clearly see, not resisting the amused scoff leaving him at the aura this other dude gives off.

“You two fucking?”

Jungkook laughs at that, both because he’s taken in surprise and also because it’s the clear answer.

“You wanna know?”

Actually, he’s starting to realize that maybe fucking you isn’t the only thing he’d like to do. You honestly seem pretty cool for a person, and he wants to befriend you! You’re level-headed as far as he knows, and the argument that’s flowing in his head is clearly different from the one in Jimin’s.

The older boy’s visibly frustrated, pinching his nosebridge as he tries to be civil.

“Look, I don’t know-...”

To put it simply, Jungkook has the knack of messing with people from time to time. Now may not exactly be the best time for it but he still takes the opportunity, ignoring the way Jimin’s gaze at him burns him down enough.

“I’m down for almost everything. Though I’d have to ask if Y/N’s game for a threesome or-“

“God, no! I-...”

Jimin resists the urge to bite back a snarky remark, opting to crack his knuckles using the same hands as he wants to be as level-headed with this as much as possible.

Namjoon coming out of his own apartment would be very convenient right now to diffuse the tension even if he’d feel it himself, yet your blue-haired neighbor doesn’t come out any time soon and neither will any of them back down.

He’s still a reasonable distance away from Jungkook who’s still standing in from your door, staying there because this whole scenario intrigues him that he figures that his desperations could wait a few more minute.

“Has she been eating properly? Sleeping? Still working?”

That’s a surprise.

Jungkook’s pleasantly taken aback with Jimin’s sentiments when it comes to you, a gentle smile on his face that maybe he’s not as bad as he thought of him.

Granted that yeah, he’s not the one who harbors unrequited love for him unlike you, but from what he can observe does he think that sometime along the way — of you going out of your way to get out of Jimin’s, is his change of heart

“Mhmm. I think. I don’t exactly live here.”

That’s all the silent reassurance he needs that you and him aren’t a thing, the relief in his heart unexplainable because the last time he checked, friends aren’t supposed to be this relieved for the other’s lack of a partner. It’s almost as if Jimin wished and prayed that Jungkook wasn’t your boyfriend.

“Cool.”

“Nice.”

He has his hands on his pockets as he twitches where he stands, Jungkook’s eyebrows raised because he knows all too well when someone’s hesitant to leave.

Jimin thinks it’s for the better if he retreats for now even if it pains him, planning to come back another day in better circumstances. Pondering about it, maybe this is a good thing. Keep his thoughts organized and his mind running, then try not to think about what’s probably going to happen as soon as Jungkook enters your door.

“Bye, Jungkook.”

This whole encounter truly cracks him up, finding it amusing as he leans against your door just to prof further.

“Searching me up? Dropped by the company? Don’t tell me you bought the latest magazine with my face on it.”

Jimin scoffs and he could tell that the both of them have atleast loosened up to each other and he doesn’t feel the urge to throw him down the floor like what he learned. But scoffing doesn’t take him away from the fact that yeah, okay, maybe he did exactly what Jungkook implied.

“Not like I wanted to spend my money on an overpriced issue. ‘Course I need to look out for Y/N.”

He pleasantly hums as he brings out his phone, about to text you to suddenly open your door right now with no questions asked. “That’s not your job.”

“And it’s yours?”

He shrugs at the condescending tone Jimin gives him, taking note to tell you about this interaction sooner than later.

“Never said it was mine.”

Jungkook backspaces his text until it’s blank, wanting to type a new one yet he stops in his tracks just to listen.

“Well then good. Because it’s mine.”

Jimin sounds so sure despite the ruffling his backpack gives when he readjusts it on his shoulder, swiping underneath his eye that he’s done out of habit and effectively taking out the last bit of eyeliner since he went here straight from a shoot.

You never actually said it was his, but he feels this obligation; this pull.

It’s a commitment he’s given himself, suddenly whispering to himself when all he’s done in the past minutes was to be accusatory with his sharp voice.

“It’s always been mine.”

bar this weekend? it’s also jin’s birthday soon and i’ve got some free shirts from this shoot that’s his size

we can put both our names on the card, i won’t tell :D

then split a sundae and some brownies, my treat!!

i’ll crash at ur place tho i still have a sweater or two left there

Jimin sighs to himself, making the makeup artist for a second that she’s the reason why he’s so huffy and the dabbing of the sponge to his cheeks don’t do anything to make the situation better.

He’s sighing, not because he’s run out of pride. Not because he used to find double-texting an ultra desperate move. Not because he now doesn’t spend a second longer thinking to send a message. No. He’s sighing because he feels that you’re so out of his grasp.

He can’t do anything about it currently, now that he’s in a shoot the director had to beg him to be in because in the past week, all that Jimin’s done is deny one offer after the other.

Normally he’d feel ecstatic that he’s becoming even more in-demand, but in truth, none of that matters when you’re the only one he’d be eager to have a meeting with. He’d take you over a designer shoot anytime without skipping a heartbeat, even if that means Yoongi, his agent, lose his shit over before curling up into a ball.

He’s booked yet he lets the chances slip from his fingers. Nothing could be any more important than you.

He’s hanging on by an insistent line of desperation actually, taking the time to skim through his phone’s camera roll and his Instagram archives to look for you, put you on his story, and leave people wondering.

If he was lucky enough then you’d add it to yours, and if he wasn’t then he’d be faced with nothing and a hundred other reactions that didn’t come from you, a full day left to soak in the pain that he doesn’t have your undivided attention.

Jimin knows that this was wrong -- knows that it’s selfish of him and his approach isn’t always the best, but he’s piss-poor clueless. His moral compass is clouded and just by you distancing yourself away from him is enough to drive him over the edge.

He’s so lost in you consuming his thoughts that sometimes he gets lucky, the frustration of trying to get where he went wrong and you went cold sets a distant and steely look on his face and it’s exactly what the photographer needed for the shoot.

You only feel half-sorry when your phone dings with multiple texts again from Jimin in the middle of trying on work outfits for your first day, despite your cold resolve that you want to keep up; and additionally, despite Jungkook’s insistence that you should wear the grey pencil skirt because it would be the perfect last outfit the two of you get to fuck each other in, and apparently, it should be in his office.

He’s unbearable, but he’s not half-bad you suppose.

It takes one beat, two beats before you will yourself to type out a reply, a little hitch in your breath and you’re not entirely sure if it’s just misplaced nervousness or because your high-waisted pencil skirt is literally too constricting and pencil-y for its own kind.

wish i could :(( would go to the bar at the weekend but i already promised another friend and he’s planned it weeks before

You already know that it’d be impossible and Jimin will most likely turn down the invitation altogether, even if what you said this time is entirely true.

Taehyung’s finally finished his studies abroad and he’s coming home at last, having already set up living arrangements and even interior designs months before he even got a ticket back home. One of the many plans he’s made was the both of you to go back to Jaehyun’s bar that was the witness to every miniscule thing (whether to celebrate or destress) back in college. And of course, since Tae exists that he has to be treated like royalty after having studied oh so long abroad, you’d have to treat and indulge him of course!

Those went along the lines of him saying he wanted to go to the aquarium, and then him pretending he didn’t plant that idea in your head, then breaking character for a brief second to tell you that you should surprise him with the tickets. 

great! he can tag along with us then

Jimin replies as soon as he got ahold of his phone the moment yet-another mundane shoot ended, not even an hour from when you last sent in your text that has him breathing sharply. 

It’s not a mistake with how he worded it, because after all, nobody could be anymore compatible with you, right? Jimin sometimes feels like he knows you more than he knows himself, and he could only assume that you think the same.

He’s not exactly pleased and he wouldn’t say that he’s a little hurt knowing it just wouldn’t be the two of you together nor you cancelling said plans with this other guy he’s highly suspicious of, even more suspicious than he could get with free shipping on a non-holiday.

Whatever it is you subject him to, it’s okay.

It’s okay.

Jimin would take whatever he can get.

“Promise me you’d behave.”

It’s an empty warning that goes through Taehyung, still grinning as he completely disregards what you’ve just said and leans to squeeze in your face once again.

He’s missed you — he truly did! Random things would remind him of you all throughout his time abroad, and the way he brought home souvenirs and goodies for you is all-telling. Well for one, he did bring home a plastic bag to you that he claims is filled with the air of where he stayed, but you’re still doubting if he’s just blown to it with his own breath. There’s the license plates and the mugs, and the more endearing ones were blankets and custom shirts he’s managed to snag for you.

The familiarity home brings gets him drunk and unsurprisingly, he’s already managed to befriend Jin despite knowing each other for less than an hour.

Tae just had to compliment Jin on his earrings, and he just had to squeal in delight because apparently you were too slow to notice them.

The two of you were already here in the bar an hour early before what Jimin said, and you decided on that with the reasoning that maybe you needed to be a little bit more intoxicated upon meeting him again after quite some time.

“It’s not like I bite. You told me we were similar or something like that.”

Taehyung finds it nice that you did get a best friend while he was away, because he’s the same with Hoseok who he’s also met and they just automatically clicked that they were roommates in the next week. He’s keen on you branching out, but he’s not exactly sure what to feel that he just had to be a little similar to this friend of yours.

He’s still your original, first, best close friend that no one can take the throne of.

“That is my point, Tae. The two of you are competitive over things and you haven’t even met each other yet.”

He hums at that, once again ignoring what you’ve just said as he pokes and pokes on your cheek.

Maybe it’s your bad luck, but you just have this pattern of having really handsome guys and only have them turn out as friends because neither have the feelings, and maybe you’ve also been so affection-starved that you think Taehyung poking your cheeks is domestic.

“Hmmm,” he hums indifferently, this time in a tune and even runs his thumb on your cheek incessantly, “what moisturizer do you use?”

It’s your turn to ignore him this time, having to physically shake Taehyung by the shoulder so he’d get to focus and won’t be in a trance with your moisturized cheeks that he likes attacking.

“Need to tell you some things,” his attention’s piqued yet he doesn’t jump into conclusions, his shoulder a very warm crevice that you surely missed which is why you’re immediately burying yourself into, not wanting to look him in the eye.

“I know there’s a lot of things.”

What Taehyung didn’t tell you is that he had some people then and there to after you, from some friends and to some family he sent every once in awhile and he simply couldn’t believe that you thought they were all coincidences and you just happened to bump to his mother in the grocery even if she lived in the next city.

“Tell me the most important ones in a single sentence. I’ll ask and we can catch up with everything later.”

He has a hunch on what said things could be but he doesn’t say a word, not sure if he already wants to precede wanting to know if you really do prefer cheese popcorn over butter and what would his reaction be if you-

“I just wanna tell you that Jisoo’s in town, I’m in love — used to, I think — with Jimin, and the two of them are together.”

Oh.

Taehyung stares off into the distance, his gaze into nothingness unrelenting are you’re actually nervous if you’ve broken him already.

Five beats, six beats, and Tae blinks. He’s finished trying to tie all the ends of your statement altogether and surprisingly, made peace with what he says a few seconds later.

“Doesn’t matter. Moved on long ago.”

Taehyung smiles but the rigidness of it isn’t his facial structure, but rather the slightest of pain behind it, an unexplainable glaze on his eyes that he blinks soon enough.

“W-well me too! I moved on too!”

His sudden confession, if it was even the truth in the first place, suddenly makes you do the same that it reminds him of an eager puppy he’s always wanted to get.

He snorts at that but doesn’t question the validity of what you’ve just said. Taehyung’s always known that you’re a bit fragile and he lets it pass — you atleast need something sembling control over your life.

“To let you know, I even sleep with-...”

“Oh my god, Y/N-...”

You’ve grown but you never really strayed, always wanting to prove something that you didn’t care about obviously giving too much information and crossing boundaries.

He’s giving you noogies and you let him, the tipsy lull of the shots that Jaehyun gave you taking its course.

Jimin’s more nervous than excited to stroll into the place, hands in his pockets that effectively crease his pants but he doesn’t mind.

It doesn’t take another second longer to find you even with your back turned to him, quickly weaving in between the sea of people to get to you. He’s probably gotten a curse or two, but none of those matter.

“Hey!” Jimin patters as soon as he sees the back of your head, taking you into a massive bear hug from behind you widen your eyes on.

He’s unbelievably gotten warmer than before, and you would’ve lost yourself if he didn’t squeeze you in earnest and if Taehyung didn’t take a once-over of him.

“Hi,” it’s the only one you could muster, two pats on his arm that you’d only reserve as a silent sign for him to let go and he knows that, but doesn’t take notice.

Taehyung’s the one that breaks it, a cold stare on Jimin that he only returns as icy.

“Park Jimin. Y/N’s best friend.”

You have no time to purse your lips over that, because Tae raises his eyebrows at it as if he’s either challenged or surprised, but he offers his hand nonetheless, noticing how much bigger his hand his that he instinctively squeezes it a little tighter like how he’d do with you.

And if Jimin is hurt, he doesn’t show it.

“Kim Taehyung. Y/N’s best friend since high school.”

That one’s something Jimin didn’t expect, head tilting to analyze if this Kim guy is actually serious and if he was, then how come you never told him?

His jaw clenches for a second, a forced smile on his lips that he’s practiced for his career day and night.

Not that it matters.

Taehyung and Jimin engage in conversation by themselves, and you don’t pay attention enough to know that their “conversation” is just them trying to boast, the other to be condescending, and trying to one-up each other in their knowledge about you.

“Bet you don’t even know Y/N’s favorite fruit.”

“What, as a child or the one she likes now? Better yet, do you even know the fruits that she hates?”

“Hmm, you mean practically almost everything? Nice try. Bet you don’t know how in second semester, she-“

“Took a tutoring class with Min Yoongi? The other intelligent dude that she used to have as a sworn enemy? Christ, it’s not like you even try.”

Your attention span has long been faded, instead turning your focus to Seokjin who hasn’t moved from his spot for washing the glasses for five minutes because he’s eavesdropping at the conversation, and he is certainly entertained.

“Are we getting wasted for your birthday?”

Jin has to blink away the sleepiness from his eyes that has since been disappearing ever since he dropped in to listen to the bickering, promising to himself that he should be well-rested and not have three hours of sleep for the days that you’re gonna come over the bar and have two best friends fighting over for a title they’ve made up themselves.

“Might be. Although I’m not inviting any of those two that look like they’re gonna claw each other debating what’s your favorite drink.”

Jin feels like a breath of fresh air, and in another tipsy haze, if only he had feelings for you and vice versa, he’d totally be your boyfriend by now.

You admire him but not in that way.

He fascinates you because you’ve figured that Jin’s always been more than well-off from the start. No one in their right mind would come to work in Gucci mules and in a Rolex wristwatch for their bartending job.

He’s explained it to you a couple of months back. Just so happens that Seokjin’s actually a heir to his dad’s company, and he just got this job to humble himself. Perhaps he’s the one born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had too much control, that he’s taken it upon himself to put him down a couple of notches.

That explains to how Jin just takes whatever schedule he can get and doesn’t complain, or to how him and Jungkook have always seemed familiar with each other and had too much in common, contributing factors were that he was Jungkook’s senior in business school and that they were born in the same elite circle. Also to how Jin applied to Jaehyun, and the guy must have found it ridiculous considering they both have the same situations, and immediately hired him right away.

Jin’s just always been there in a way, from how he’d offer you atleast half of his salary when you’re in a tight spot, to talking it out with Jaehyun when you insisted on coming to work with half a mind and a handful of cramps.

“You’re the best.”

That came out of nowhere, and so did the sudden poking of your finger to Seokjin’s bread smile, but he takes it.

Meanwhile, that’s gotten Jimin’s attention.

He’s been on edge and having Taehyung, who oddly seems similar to him, is insulting that he wants to deck him with his rings.

He doesn’t like feeling second. Doesn’t like feeling second to something he knew he’d be the first at, and the concept of not being the first meaning that you’re last makes him frown.

The thoughts consuming his mind are just too noisy to let go, taking advantage when Tae’s by the bathroom and Jin’s flagged down by a customer.

“Y’close with Taehyung?”

Jimin whispers as if it’s too shameful to be said aloud, and he thinks that it is, but you only roll your eyes at him playfully and it gets him in a deeper frown because you were only taking this lightly.

“I have other friends too, y’know.”

Yeah, he’s forgotten about that. And if he pretends hard enough, he could be the only one.

There’s no time to dwell on it, not when he’s already drowned in it too deep. He wants nothing but to be selfish and it’s a thought so massive that his ego seemed superficial.

“Jimin, you need to know something.”

There’s a light tap on his forearm but he was already long alert before that, his eyes widening with how you’re looking at him.

You’re looking at him like you used to and for some reason, he’s excited. He’s jittery and nervous at the same time, and he doesn’t know what for, but he wants you to say it.

“Y-yeah? What is it?”

His mind flashes back to when you confessed to him when you were drunk, and he thinks you’ve forgotten it. He’s forgotten about it too, actually. But the situation was so similar again but this time he wasn’t cowering from it nor laughing at your face.

This time he’s the one who’s nervous and hopeful, the tips of his fingers trembling as he looks deep into your eyes.

“Taehyung’s ex is Jisoo, alright? He already knows about the two of you. Just thought you needed the transparency.”

Your stern statement withers into a mumble at the end, Jimin’s stare so intense that it makes you cower.

Instantly, you think that he looks dejected because he’s already known for the start and the truth you’ve just dropped on him confirmed it.

Jimin’s absolutely crestfallen because it’s the furthest thing he’s ever expected for you to say, feeling your hand give him some consolation pats on his back.

One inhale, one exhale. Maybe the gnawing feeling of emptiness he’s feeling would be gone tomorrow, now that you’ve sprung an unknown truth of his current girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend happening to be your friend.

But that’s not the case.

“Yup. Needed that.”

It’s okay for Jimin to look for you.

It’s okay for him to only hum when Jisoo hugs him and buries her face in his chest. It’s not as warm as yours when you embrace him, and the scent that stays on his shirt isn’t of you. She doesn’t nudge her nose on the middle of his chest, and poke at his sternum and ask him to stop getting ripped.

It’s okay for him to only smile when she kisses him when used to giggle and actually love it. He’s never kissed you but he wonders everyday, and you’d probably taste as sweet as you look. If he ever did kiss you, you’d be his only fixation he can’t stop drinking out of.

It’s okay for Jimin to only smile when Jisoo tells him that she loves him, and if he ever does say it, there’s no I preceding the reiteration.

He’s not sure whether she means it or it’s out of habit, something developed when he said it so often and out of the blue. Even then, he can’t feel the saccharine feeling of being drunk in love anymore. Atleast Jimin knows that whenever you told him you loved him, you did actually mean it.

This is okay.

It’s okay for him to buy your perfume and spray it on his pillow, and if he closes his eyes hard enough, he could think that the comforter enveloping him is your warmth instead.

Jimin’s lost and he lets himself to be.

It’s okay to fall out of love with Jisoo.

Jimin from three months ago wouldn’t have thought that it was possible. In fact, he thought that it was the most impossible thing underneath the sun and he often confesses it to the moon, because he’s never fallen as hard.

Jimin from two months ago thought that he’s at his happiest, and everything that’s been happening ever since he’s laid his eyes on Jisoo is serendipity.

Jimin from a month ago thought that he was rotting from within. He felt as if he’s the most frustrated he’s ever been and it got him wondering whether his hair is actually dyed grey or if it’s from his stress.

Jimin now, is someone that has never been hurt before as he’s hurting now.

He finds himself in this same godforsaken bar he’s grown to both hate and love, and the start and end of what seems to be the things that make and break him as a person.

It’s clear as day when under the simultaneously soft and harsh lighting, that maybe Jisoo’s never been his.

No one between the two of them actually made the initiative to break up with the other, but it seemed like words weren’t needed.

She’s perhaps always belonged to Taehyung who has the tightest of grips on her waist. There’s no grinding, no libido. Embracing each other in the middle of a crowd tells him everything he needs to know.

Jisoo’s slipped away from Jimin’s grasp and into Taehyung’s who’ll she will always come back to. Tae never wavers and he’s holding onto her as if she’s his lifeline, and that wouldn’t exactly be wrong.

Jimin’s girlfriend is slipping away from him but it’s not what pains him.

Jimin’s eyes are bleary, and he’s unsure whether it’s because he’s drunk or because he’s crying. Whatever it was, it’s not because of Jisoo — it’d never been her.

He rests his head on your shoulder and you let him. He feels so defenseless and looks shattered that you don’t question him nonetheless, a magnanimous feeling of pity rolling from every circle you rub to his back.

“You’re really beautiful.”

He says it out of the blue as if it’s a confirmed thought, looking up at you in stride.

“Don’t say things like that,” you could only murmur as you try to look for a bottle of water within your reach, sooner or later having to haul Jimin home.

He doesn’t have a slightest clue why you’d dismiss it, but he persists as he always does.

“I’m really lucky to know you,” it’s an irrevocable fact with how he says it, making you think for a second if he’s actually sober and could come home by himself. That’s not any of his worries, because this time his mind works as fast as his mouth does. “But I think I’m the luckiest if I can have you.”

As Jimin comes to realize, it’s not Jisoo that he should’ve fallen for. He got burned as fast as he crashed, and it was love like that he’s always tried seeking.

It’s the easy short-lived warmth he got from a candle, but never the hard yet lasting warmth he got from a fireplace.

Your love for him was built steadily over the years and never all at once. It was from a spark to a fire in the making you took the chance being burnt from, and how long it was built meant no match to how short it was extinguished.

“Am I too late?”

Jimin’s as vulnerable as he can get that he doesn’t realize he’s already crying and it’s not drunken blues anymore.

He loves you so much and it takes an avalanche to make him realize that every moment with you shined.

His heart’s a muscle and he couldn’t believe that he’s only realized now that you’re it’s one true memory, having trained to be with you so much that no one could quite compare all along.

You don’t need anything to be the light; you don’t need to do anything to be the center of attention. It’s always been you yet he’s dismissed the thought that maybe it was just the bias of having known you.

But now, it’s about who he would and wouldn’t be if not for you.

Jimin can’t live without even the concept of you.

“If I told you that I’m falling for you, what would you do?”

And when you look at him with the same hint of bleariness in your eyes, and his shoulder feels the brunt of your tentative squeeze and sees the lightest of smiles on your lips —

Jimin knows everything that he needs to know.

[tooruluv]

Tooru Oikawa x F!Reader ( part 1 )

❝ my love for him is much like winter, a skeleton for the world to see. too bad he never liked the cold. ❞

description: being the neighbor and lifelong best friend of tooru oikawa definitely had it’s perks. you were never an outcast, always had a seat at lunch, got into volleyball games for free. the problem was, however, that being in love with him outweighed those perks. you would never tell him that, though, even if it hurt like hell.

genre: best friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love, fluff if you squint hard enough

word count: 2,106

warnings/notes: strong language, lots of angst, i based a lot of the experience on american high school simply because it’s easier for me to write except 3rd year is like “senior year” and entrance exams

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Knowing Tooru Oikawa the entirety of your life had its pros. You were never an outcast, always invited to social events, and you got into all of the volleyball games for free. Being his best friend also led you to be friends with the rest of the team, you had a permanent spot at the lunch table and a locker next to his. Being his next door neighbor and family friend also included awesome parties, Saturday movie nights, and constant “family get-togethers”, which meant eating barbeque at one of the houses and hiding out in one of the bedrooms while your parents talked about whatever parents talk about.

The problem was, however, that being in love with Tooru Oikawa had its cons. When he would casually put his arm around your shoulder, it would send a shiver down your spine. Or when he would bend down at the waist for you to fix his tie, and you were just a tad too close, it would be on your mind for the rest of the day. Friendly mannerisms would send you into a spiral.

He didn’t know that, though. And you didn’t plan on telling him anytime soon. How would that conversation go anyway? “Hey, ‘Kawa, I wanted to let you know that I’m deeply in love with you and I have been since we were 13, maybe even longer than that. Oh! Good luck on today’s game, though!”. Yeah, fuck that.

“Are you even paying attention, nut?” Oikawa interrupted your internal monologue.

It was way past sundown, and you were in the gym with him as he practiced his serving (even though his serves were already perfect and could probably put a hole in your head if you were on the other side). You were on the floor, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You hadn’t even noticed he had stopped serving and was now standing in front of you in all his sweaty glory.

“What?” you asked as you looked up at him. You swear his dick was literally at eye level in those fucking grey sweatpants. Don’t look, you freak.

“I asked if you were ready to go, but apparently your phone is more important than I am…” Oikawa sighed, acting as though you just stabbed him in the heart.

“Shut the fuck up.” you stood up, following him to the door. “Like anything would be more important than you.”

He chuckles, wrapping his arm around your shoulder (as he usually does, but it makes you smile anyway). “I would sure hope not, because you’re the most important thing to me.”

It was things like that, the little things he said, that gave you hope. That maybe he felt the same way about you. Or at least gave you hope that one day, the two of you could possibly be more than… this.

This being your stupid unrequited love to the man.

“More important than volleyball?” you jokingly asked, bumping him with your waist. 

“Don’t push your luck.” He pushed you back. His arm didn’t leave your shoulder.

You both laughed as you walked home together under the moon.

Tooru Oikawa always got nervous before games. It never made any sense to you, especially when he would always act as though he wasn’t nervous at all. He would come to school, smiling and waving at everyone, as though he already knew they would win. Which was the case more often than not.

You could always see through it, though.

“Your hands are shaking.” you told him as he opened his locker beside you. He sent you a glare. “It isn’t even a big game, I don’t know why you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Nervous, then? Anxious?”

He was silent for a moment. “No.”

Another thing that you knew about Oikawa was that he would never simply agree to being anything other than excited. “Scared”, “worried”, those types of words weren’t in his vocabulary. So, instead of pressing on, you simply reached over to fix his stupid fucking tie that he always messed with. (“It chokes me” he would always say, even if it very obviously was loose).

His face was close to yours as you fixed his tie (you did have to yank him down so you could properly tighten it). You could feel his breath on your face, the smell of mint heavy in the air. God, don’t look at his lips.

“You guys will do amazing today.” you told him as you secured his collar. “Besides, it’s a home game. No one is going to beat us on our own court.”

“You’re the best, seriously.” Oikawa said, standing up and placing a hand on your head. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

“No idea. I guess opposites attract.”

He laughed, playfully pushing your head away from him. You laughed too, going to push him back; but he was too fast and dodged your attack. 

“Hey don’t use all your energy deflecting me, ‘Kawa.” you called. He was already down the hallway, “Save your energy for the game!”

He turned around to stick his tongue out at you.

Oikawa always let you wear his jersey to games, and he always purposely made sure to make eye contact with you before the game began. You always loved going to volleyball games, if not for the free entry (see: Perks of Being the Team Captain’s Best Friend), but the fact you got to gawk at and cheer for Oikawa without it being weird.

His eyes found you in the crowd, lighting up when they caught yours. You waved at him and pointed to your jersey (his jersey). He smiled, giving you a thumbs up. A girl in front you thought it was for her, and screamed. You cringed.

The game was an easy one, a quick win in your opinion. The team thanked everyone for coming, shining in victory. Girls rushed down to talk to them. You simply gave a silent wave to them before leaving.

You would see them later, anyway.

Hajime Iwaizumi knew. He wasn’t an idiot, so of course he knew. He’s been around since the three of you were little. He always caught the small glances you would give his best friend, that look in your eyes. He also was a witness to how Oikawa never looked at you the same way. Maybe Tooru was oblivious, or just so stupid it was ridiculous. Anyone in their right mind could see how in love with him you were, and have been.

You think that’s why you and Iwaizumi became close.

“I know.” he had told you after the game. He was still kind of sweaty, in uniform with his bag hanging over his shoulder. He handed you a juice box.

You always met the boys outside of the locker room, where they would come out after saying goodbye and cleaning up. It was a routine, yet this was the first time he came out out early.

Confused, you looked up at him. “You know… what?” You focused your stare on the juice in your hand.

“He’s an idiot, you know. Shittykawa. For not knowing.” He ignored your question. You could basically hear your heartbeat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.” Iwaizumi adjusted his bag, though not because he was uncomfortable. “Listen, I’m not going to force you to admit it or anything. That isn’t why I’m telling you. I’m telling you that I know so you have someone to talk to. I might be his best friend but I’m yours too.”

It was silent for a moment. You weren’t shaking, weren’t mad or upset that he knew.

“You won’t… tell him?” you finally asked.

He nearly jumped back at your question. He would never. “That isn’t my business to tell. It’s yours.”

You let yourself smile. “You might be my new favorite, Iwa.”

“New favorite?” A voice interrupted. Ah yes, the man in question. “But.. I thought that I was the favorite…”

He hadn’t heard anything but the last part, thank everything and everyone. You wrapped your arm around Iwaizumi’s waist, jokingly bringing him closer. You heard him chuckle.

“I don’t know, ‘Kawa, I think Iwa is my favorite now. He always brings me juice boxes after the games.”

“Maybe she’s my favorite now too, Crappykawa.”

Oikawa pouts. “I can bring you juice!”

“Ah, get over it, you’ve been replaced.” Iwaizumi turned the both of you around, your arm still around his waist.

“Wait! This isn’t fair!” He called as he rushed to walk at your side.

The three of you joked like that for the rest of the walk home. But you all knew that’s what it was: a playful joke. You needed support, and Iwaizumi decided to be that support. Even if it meant watching you basically scream for Oikawa to love you back in silence.

“Movie night!!” Oikawa exclaimed. He had a bowl of popcorn in one hand, a pillow in the other, and his glasses framing his face. “Your pick, what movie are we watching today?”

You held up the horror film you decided on. His smile dropped.

“You’re an ass, you know I hate scary movies. They freak me out.”

“Good thing you have a big strong girl to keep you safe.” You joked. He threw a piece of popcorn at you.

That night, he fell asleep on your lap. Halfway through the movie, after nearly an hour of both of you cooped together under an old blanket, he had fallen into you. Asleep. Then, after another half an hour of you silently panicking, he stretched and placed his head in your lap to get more comfortable. Still asleep, of course.

You didn’t stop yourself when you started playing with his hair.

Tooru Oikawa had stayed the night at your house countless times as you grew up. It was not an uncommon occurrence for him to show up in the dead of night just to sleep over, even if he has an older brother and little sister that he could easily have a sleepover with. You never complained.

This was one of those nights.

It was late one night, the sun long gone and the moon hanging high in the sky. You were still up at that ungodly hour, trying your best to fall asleep. That was, until there was a loud knocking on your front door.

Your parents happened to be gone on a short business trip together in some european country, leaving you alone for the week. The knocking scared the shit out of you. 

Groggily, you walked down the stairs to the door. The knocking only got louder and faster.

You peeped through the hole first, seeing the boy on the other side before swinging the door open.

“You better have a good fucking explanation as to why you’re here in the middle of the night, scaring the shit out of me nonetheless.”

Oikawa walked in, blue pajamas and glasses instead of contacts, looking beautiful even with bedhead. You closed the door behind him.

“I slept with this girl and she will not leave until morning. I tried kicking her out multiple times. Please let me stay here for the night. I just want to sleep.”

You scoffed, but led him to your room anyway. You want to blame it on those damn puppy dog eyes that you can’t help but fall for. But you knew that the only reason you agreed was because Oikawa’s cuddles were the best cuddles.

The routine came naturally. You climbed into your bed first. He climbed in shortly after, placing his glasses on your nightstand as he did.

As he pulled the blankets up and wrapped his arm around your middle, you tried not to think about the fact he had just had his dick inside of someone else. Instead you thought of how warm he felt behind you.

“I think I’m just a stupid idiot.” you complained. “None of this makes any sense and I’m going to fail my entrance exams and I’m going to die alone and stupid and I won’t be able to do anything in life because I’ll be working in fast food.”

“Slow down.” Iwaizumi chuckled, flicking you on the forehead. “It’s just a math equation. You’re definitely not a stupid idiot.”

You gave him a look.

“Yeah okay, maybe an idiot. But not a stupid one.” He paused, looking up from your paper. “Watch your back. The love of your life is coming. He’s coming closer. Oh shoot, don’t blush, but he’s almost here.”

You threw your pen at his face and he laughed. Almost immediately, Oikawa’s body plopped next to you. He messed up your hair as he did.

“You guys would not believe how many girls are asking about my party this weekend.” he said as he searched his bag for a pen. “I would not be surprised if the whole fucking school showed up, haha.”

“Party?”

“Oh shit, I didn’t tell you?” he looked at you. “I’m so sorry, nut. It must’ve slipped my mind. Yeah, I’m throwing a party after we win our tournament on Saturday. Parents are gone, and my brother is taking my sister to some water park over the weekend. You have to be there.”

“Like I would be anywhere else.”

You and Iwaizumi shared a look. It was weird that Oikawa hadn’t told you, and that the entire female student body had known before you. That had never happened before. Not that it mattered. No.

[fan-fiction-kitty]

I just had a thought (rare I know) What if, Kokichi with an asexual S/O and Miu keeps on making sexual comments around them so Kokichi just snaps at her!

I live for Kokichi and Miu banter. They made all the trials so entertaining. Also sorry if I’m not good at writing ace characters! It’s kind of a first for me haha...

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sex

Words: 561

Genre: floof, oneshot

To say that Miu was excited when you and Kokichi started dating was an understatement. In fact, she’d become an absolute terror to be around. That was saying a lot, too, because you were dating Kokichi of all people.

To make things worse, she didn’t know you were asexual. You figured most people just didn’t need to know- except for your boyfriend, of course. Kokichi had been so sweet about it, too! He yanked your chain over a lot of stuff, but he was smart enough to know not to bring your sexuality into it.

The two of you walked into the dining hall hand in hand, but Kokichi visibly flinched when he saw Miu sitting at the long table messing with some sort of gadget.

“Shit, do you wanna just grab our food and book it while I distract her?” Kokichi whispered to you.

“Yeah, go for it,” you replied, letting go of his hand to make a break for the kitchen.

You started making some sandwiches, listening closely just in case Kokichi needed saving.

“Hey there, short shit! Where’s your hoe?” Miu greeted. You could never tell if she was being friendly or malicious.

“Who, your mom? Yeah, she wasn’t worth more than like one pump. Like mother, like daughter I guess!” Kokichi replied. You could hear a slight edge to his voice.

“No, I meant your little partner! Y’know, the one that’s been attached to your arm all week.”

“Oh, they’re over at nunya,”

“What?”

“Nunya business!”

“Motherfucker!”

You walked out with the sandwiches, ready to make a break for the door. Kokichi looked visibly upset. Miu had been bothering the two of you for a little too long now despite Kokichi’s constant attempts to deflect her nastiness.

“There they are! Hey, y/n, is he treating you okay?” Miu asked you, a glint in her eye. Oh boy, here we go.

“Yes! He’s been very nice to me… for the most part.” you replied, trying to remain friendly.

“I mean in bed, dipshit! He lets you finish, right?”

“Uhh-”

“Also, how big is he? A little shrimp like him can’t be more than like… three inches, right?” Miu chortled almost obnoxiously. You looked over to Kokichi for help. He was standing there with his arms crossed, his face in the most serious expression you’d ever seen on him.

“Miu, shut the fuck up.” he said.

“Aww, did I emasculate you? I’m sorry!” Miu continued, looking back to her invention with a laugh.

“No- Miu, look at me. I’m serious.”

Almost nervously, Miu looked up to meet Kokichi’s stern eyes.

“Look at how uncomfortable you’re making y/n. Take a hint.”

“Sh-shit, I didn’t know you felt so serious about it. I was just joking around!”

“Well, stop. It’s not funny.”

Before Miu could say anything else, Kokichi grabbed your hand and led you out of the dining hall. Just as soon as the door closed, he looked at you with his normal shit-eating grin.

“Hey, wanna go eat outside? I know a good spot!” he exclaimed.

“That sounds nice,” you replied, letting him lead you outside. “Thanks for defending me, by the way. You were a little scary back there, actually…”

“Dude, we’re dating. It’s my job to defend you. I’d defend you even if my own hair grew out of my head and tried to choke you!”

“...what?”

[zigtheeortega]

calm before the storm

✿ pairing: bryce x mc

✿ word count: 2.5k

✿ warnings: loss, death, funeral – angst.

✿ author’s note: i didn’t necessarily think that bryce was written ooc, but the whole post-funeral sequence was pretty weird to me. i’m someone who copes very similarly to bryce, so i could see myself reflected in him a lot. and i thought the s*x scene was very oddly placed so, here’s me warping canon again bc i’m dissatisfied! lmao hope u enjoy <3 also this fic is very close to me emotionally – i experienced two close deaths in april and june. 

•─────────✦✿✦────────•

Since the moment his hands trembled amidst one of the most important surgeries of his life, Bryce was holding on by a thread.

With each half-assed joke he cracked, each wavering smile, each time he tried convincing others – including himself – that he was coping, he fell apart more and more.

The first night he went home after Spencer was quarantined, he trudged through the halls of Edenbrook, like he was dragging his legs through wet concrete. He was nearly magnetized to her bedside, not wanting to leave, but he needed to rest – he’d been awake for nearly a day and a half by the time he clocked out.

He blinked and he was back home. Couldn't remember how he got there. He was on autopilot and didn’t have a clue until he’d already wasted so much time. When night came, he couldn’t recall what he’d done that day.

The days between the diagnostics team finding a cure were torturous, the mere thought of not knowing what the future held – for the first time in his life – shaking him to his core.

He found himself paying close attention to Keiki. Each sarcastic quip, rude comment, or joke at his expense, he listened, soaking it up, no thoughts about the problem back in Hawaii. He whole-heartedly enjoyed her. Through one of the hardest times in his life, he was rekindling a relationship that never should’ve fallen apart.

The night he spent with Spencer, cuddled up next to her in his starchy hazmat suit, was the most daunting of them all. He was smiling and flirting with her, a little bit of his normal self shining through, but the crushing weight of his reality was distracting him.

This could be the last time that you see her smile.

God, he knew he had a killer smile of his own, but hers put the whole damn sun to shame. Her grin lit up her whole body, like every atom in her body was in it. And despite her sunken in eyes, her pale, sickly appearance, she still emitted those same infectious rays that he was eager to soak up.

This could be the last time that you hold her.

He curled himself around her, spooning her like he’d done a handful of times before. What he wouldn’t give to have a faceful of her hair again, the tropical scent so familiar to him that he couldn’t help but associate the scent of coconut with her.

This could be the last time that you feel her.

He stroked her face with a gloved hand, wishing for nothing more than to feel her smooth skin beneath his fingertips again. He pressed into her, hoping she could feel his warmth through the thin layer of fabric.

When her eyelids finally fluttered shut, overcome with exhaustion, his mind wandered to the possibility of it all being over.

And he couldn’t cope with that.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

When the treatment worked, and both she and Rafael were cured, it was the first time in months he’d experienced genuine joy. He didn’t know what higher power out there was looking out for him, but he silently thanked the universe for looking out for her. And for putting her in his life, and decidedly keeping her there.

The funeral was too much for him.

Seeing the two caskets, sealed tight, the endless arrangements of flowers, the sea of black clothing… it was overwhelming. Foreign. Like he was intruding on something so intimate that wasn’t meant for him to see.

And the sounds. He’d never forget it. Choked sobs from every angle, constant sniffling, a sporadic wail. The atmosphere made him antsy. His suit was itchy, his shoes were uncomfortable, and he was surrounded by grief.

Both Danny and Bobby meant a lot to Edenbrook, but it was nothing compared to what Spencer meant to him.

He must’ve slipped into auto-pilot (again), because before he knew it, the funeral was over, and he was outside of her apartment.

Wordlessly, he wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in her shoulder, the smell of her shampoo enough to bring him to tears. He was so fucking close to losing that forever. His free will to kiss her, to touch her, to hold her.

She invited him in, and every step to her room felt like each string that held him together was snapping, his sutures buckling under the weight he carried.

He was digging deep, trying to pull any kind of genuine quip from within him, to maybe – just maybe – convince Spencer he was okay.

But did he want to keep her in the dark?

Opening up was so fucking hard for him. Either he was a burden or he was let down by the people he confided in.

Trustworthiness was hard to come by, and Bryce knew that. That’s why Spencer was the first to know about Keiki, about his parents, about him. Not entirely, since he wasn’t ready for that just yet, but he was getting there.

It was a slow process, and he revered Spencer’s patience. Not once did she get upset with him for not sharing every detail.

And he almost fucking lost that.

His torturous inner monologue that he worked so hard to bury showed up when Keiki did. Guilt ate him alive, anxiety gnawed his insides, and regret feasted on whatever was left.

His mind was a hurricane, angry waves crashing painfully against his subconscious, the storm surge from his repeated trauma more than he could handle alone.

The one person he should’ve let in was almost taken from him, ripped from him like a surfboard after a wipeout.

He was drowning, and he flicked away the only hand that was outstretched for him.

And he almost fucking lost her.

The moment Spencer’s brows furrowed at whatever unconvincing mask he had plastered on his features, he broke.

His throat ached and flexed as he tried to choke back the tears, but he just… couldn’t.

Fuck, you’re so weak. He cursed at himself as the tears started flowing, warm streaks trailing down his bronzed skin, vision blurred like his head was under water. This isn’t about you.

The one time deflection was warranted, he broke down into a blubbering heap at her feet.

Like the angel she was, Spencer coaxed his body towards the bed, settling him against the down comforter before his legs buckled beneath him.

She gathered him in her arms, holding him exactly like he needed (like he wanted, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud).

She held him like he held her – like it was the last time.

The revelation tore him up inside, knowing she’d never take a second of their time together for granted again.

He pulled back, running a shaky hand through his hair, loose strands clinging to his damp forehead.

“I normally can hold it together better.” “You don’t have to do that around me, Bryce. You know that,” she encouraged, eyes still red-rimmed from the funeral.

“You’re the one that almost died, and I’m sitting here crying letting you comfort me,” he laughed through a sob, bouncing his leg on the ground nervously.

“You watched me almost die,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

His chin wobbled, and he rolled his lips to mask it. He took a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “Spencer, I – have you ever…” He trailed off. Why was this so fucking hard?

“Have I been through this before?”

“Yeah,” was all he could manage.

She nodded. “Have you?”

“No.”

She nodded again.

“It’s making me think about my life… and the people in it. And things I could’ve done differently… better.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I saw you in that room, after the gas started affecting you, and your face… it –” he bit his lip to hold back a soft sob. “It got me thinking about everything that we didn’t do.”

“Bryce…” she laced her fingers in his, rubbing her thumb methodically over his skin.

“We’ve barely seen each other this year, Spencer. I got caught up with Keiki, and trying to figure shit out, and –” he searched her eyes, tears welling up again. “When I saw you in that room, nothing else mattered.”

“More than one thing can be important to you –”

“You’re important to me, Spence. You deserve better than what I’ve given you this year,” he shook his head, tears spilling over. “I can’t lose you.”

“You aren’t losing me, Bryce. I’m right here,” she practically cooed, trying her best to soothe him.

“I shouldn’t be the one being comforted right now. Please,” he whispered.

She pulled back, scooting backward onto the bed to cross her legs, as he stood up, pacing.

“It’s like I’m fucking up left and right with the people who matter to me,” he fisted his pockets, avoiding her eyes as he strode across the room.

“You of all people should know that you can’t take the blame for things that are out of your control,” she murmured softly, tugging at a loose string at the hem of her dress.

“I know I can’t control it and that’s why it makes me want to tear my fucking hair out,” he said through gritted teeth, biting back tears. He didn’t want to cry anymore, but his body had other ideas.

“Bryce, you couldn’t have stopped a bursting gas canister. Nobody could’ve stopped it.”

“That’s not what I’m frustrated over. I’m… I don’t know how to say it without sounding like a dick and making this about me. There’s a lot going through my head right now,” he laughed humorlessly, stopping in the middle of the room directly across from the bed.

“Talk it out with me. I’ve got time,” she smiled encouragingly, folding her hands in her laps politely, like the angel she was.

God, sometimes he was thankful for his parent’s demonic behavior, because if not for the bad karma the Lahela’s accumulated, there’s no way in hell the universe would’ve balanced itself out by placing an angel like her in his path.

“On the one hand I’m angry at myself for not spending time with you like I should’ve,” he chewed his lip for a second, trying to gather his thoughts, before speaking again slowly. “I could’ve lost you and I was more worried about keeping secrets from everyone and dealing with shit on my own, you know? Which I never should’ve done.”

“But you didn’t and still don’t have to tell me anything. You’re allowed to have boundaries,” she interjected calmly.

“But maybe… maybe I don’t want that anymore,” he shrugged out of his tux jacket, draping it over the back of her desk chair as he spoke. “You still barely know Keiki. I barely know Keiki. And I holed myself up when you were waiting there with open arms. I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t want to burden anybody? I don’t know.” He repeated, downplaying his own self–realization.

“And I’m frustrated because I don’t… know how to deal with this,” he gestured around the room, then to himself. “How to wrap my brain around all of it. This was the first time I lost anybody like this.”

“I wasn’t even super close to Danny and Bobby,” he continued, shoving his hands in his pockets to calm his shaking hands.

“Losing people is always hard. Doesn’t matter how close or distant you are to somebody,” she said, trying to hold his eyes, but he could barely look at her.

He’d never opened up like this before. He was so vulnerable… so exposed, and he was afraid. Afraid she’d run away. That she’d bolt the second he plopped his thick suitcases filled to the brim, nearly bursting with emotional baggage from the past two decades.

“I’m sad about losing them, definitely, and going to a funeral for the first time in my life really fucked with my head but… fuck, I’m gonna sound like such an asshole,” he willed himself to look up from his shoes, staring intently at her. “None of that even comes close to what I felt when I thought I’d lost you.”

“Kyra was hanging on by a thread while I thought you were –” he choked, pressing his lips in a firm line to stop his sobs, which escaped through his nose in short breaths instead.

“I’ve never felt pressure like that. And my life has been nothing but pressure.” The words were freely flowing from him, like a dam held together by a few twigs, snapping to release a flood that neither of them anticipated.

“You had to run towards your problems, not away from them,” she whispered, like she wasn’t sure if he’d agree. But the moment the words left her lips, it was like the puzzle pieces fell into place for him.

Maui should’ve been his safe haven, but from the moment his parents were exposed in every form of news throughout Hawaii, he was itching to leave. The island fever settled into his bones and never left. It was an ever present anxiety he struggled with despite finding a home in Boston, Edenbrook, and Spencer.

When shit went down back home, he ran. When people found out who he was states away from the fallout, he ran. It was predictable, methodical, like an appendectomy. The same muscle memory that sliced skin and fastened sutures with delicate precision pumped his legs until he was as far away from his problems as he could get.

“Everytime I lost somebody, it was because I chose to. This time it was like something was being ripped away from me, and I couldn’t handle it,” Bryce said, a profound statement that caused a pained whimper to escape his lips.

“Bry…” She breathed, scooting to the edge of the bed, gently tugging at his shirt sleeve to pull him down to sit on the comforter.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now, alright? And you don’t have to carry all of this alone. I’m here. You’ve got all of us,” she said, motioning towards the walls of the apartment. “Sometimes just letting it out can take the weight off your shoulders. And you’ve got a heavy load, Bryce.”

She rubbed soothing circles on his back, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I’m not leaving you.”

He held her eye, doe-eyed gaze piercing – Spencer could see right through him, and god did he love feeling seen.

There was nothing he could say to thank her properly for putting aside her feelings to listen to him for a few minutes. Those few minutes where he unleashed a small portion of the shit he’d been building up for years.

So instead he did what he’d been craving since the moment he saw her behind the glass.

He pulled her into a frenzied kiss, pouring every part of himself into the embrace, wrapping him in her arms like she belonged there, as if he was saying “I’m not leaving you, either. You’re safe now.”

––––

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[if i missed you, i wasn’t able to tag your url! i tagged anybody who interacted w the post so if you want to be removed please let me know]

[samwrights]

Between the Lines, pt II

Here is part two to @anianimol ‘s Ukai Breeding Kink request—literally 70% of this particular portion is smut. Please proceed with caution if you are uncomfortable with the following:

Warnings: language, nicotine and alcohol consumption, implied emotionally abusive relationship, breeding/impreg kink, dirty talk, rough sex, risky sex, road head, slight dub-con, praise, multiple smut scenes, 3rd person POV reader-insert—because the word ‘you’ just didn’t seem to fit.

“Trust me, this car ride is torture enough.”

“I could make it worse.” Ukai Keishin did not like the sound of that in the slightest. He was already going well over the speed limit on the freeway and praying to the gods above that he wouldn’t get pulled over and—

The widespread panic that was bleeding into his veins stopped entirely when he feels the button to his jeans being freed.

“Are you insane?!” The blonde snarls, though he cannot deny the fact that his lust is now at full speed ahead with a brick on the gas pedal. [name] says nothing in response—only teases him further by unzipping his pants and running her fingernails over his boxer-clad half-hard cock while he’s fighting to focus on getting back home. Keishin squeezes the steering wheel with both hands tightly, the skin over his knuckles turning white as she frees his length only to re-capture it in her mouth. The warmth welcomes him entirely, sweetly, and it’s sending his mind into a lust-laden frenzy.

As soon as the two of them exit the freeway, they’re stopped at a light. Ukai takes the opportunity to adjust his jeans to give [name] more room to work because there was absolutely no fighting this now. Not with the way her hand is wrapped around the base of cock just to hold it upright while she swallows the entirety of his length and girth. At this point, she’s literally praising it, worshipping even, with her attentive tongue; lapping at every centimeter of skin, laving at the prominent veins, suckling on the tip to coerce his pre-cum.

“Ah, fuck,” Ukai hisses when his tip hits the back of her throat. They were almost back to his apartment above the Sakanoshita store—he could hold on for just five more minutes. He hoped. Though it was proving difficult with pleased gargles rumbling in her throat as she repeatedly swallowed every goddamn inch of his dick. Keishin can’t help but breathe heavy, trying to make sure he’s keeping oxygen going to his brain because fuck he can’t think straight right now. Not with the way this angelic creature had been taking him whole. It’s taking everything in him to not thrust his hips to meet with her lips, because he knows once he starts, he’s going to accidentally end up slamming on the gas pedal. Literally. “Shit, I’m gonna cum.”

“Good thing I’m thirsty,” [name] responds, hardly missing a beat as she pulls away briefly to supply her sassy remark. Immediately returning to the task at hand, she relaxes her throat walls to relentlessly swallow every single inch until her face is pressing into his stomach and she chokes down his seed. For some reason, it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest when she greedily swallows every drop while simultaneously coercing the rest from his tip. It does funny things to Keishin, seeing this beautiful ray of sunlight so hungry, so desperate for him, and it turns on all the switches to his filthiest desires.

“Open your mouth princess,” he croons, affectionately rubbing at her messy locks, “I wanna make sure you swallowed all of it.” [name] sticks out her puffy tongue, saying ‘ahh’ for emphasis, while he looks down for a hasty inspection. “Good girl,” he offers almost endearingly when she passes.

The second he pulls in to his drive way, Ukai threads his calloused fingers into her locks and pulls her lips desperately to his to taste the mix of them on her tongue. Despite the unsavory act, he gives her an enthusiastic kiss with one hand cupping her cheek and constant back and forth spit swapping because, damn it all, she made him feel things he thought long died. Desperation, depravity, desire—all of those feelings were reignited in Ukai and it was all her fault. But he doesn’t care that there’s more than sexual tension in their motions—he wants it that way. Their kiss rather sweet, loving even, as if to tell her this was more than lust and that he hoped [name] felt that too.

Or as if to act as a premature apology for the things he was going to do to her.

The week of unintentional teasing certainly served its purpose, [name] mused somewhere between the lines. It had worked out better than she’d ever dreamed of, and those were often recurring wet dreams, no less.

She had always pictured Keishin to be a rough lover but she’d never expected him to be as filthy as this. The bare man behind her had her face pressing into a pillow as he rammed into her sensitive hole, unabashedly howling his own salacious fantasies. There was not a single curse word in any collective lexicon that hadn’t left his mouth tonight and goddammit it was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.

“Oh, fuck yeah, you’re taking me so well kid,” he grits out, giving a particularly hard thrust because he wants to keep hearing her scream every time his dick drags along her walls, “this everything you’ve been dreaming about, kid? Been dreaming about my fucking cock stuffing your pussy?”

The dirty talk sends electrical pulses from her ears down [name]’s spine—who knew that words alone could bring her so close to orgasm? But she can’t find words of her own at the moment. The only comprehensible sounds coming to her mind are throaty moans and pants and weak screams as Keishin grabs her by the wrists to force her hips to meet with his. But it’s not enough that he’s all but reaming her, no. He yanks her back even further until her chest is sticking out and her head is thrown back unintentionally to look up at him as he pounds her.

She’s beautiful, he muses internally, even with her eyes nearly shut in depravity and drool running down the corner of her mouth and repeated, mindless babble of approval of the way he was fucking her. She was so goddamn beautiful and he was going to make her his in every sense of the word.

Overwhelmed with the sight, Keishin adjusts his grip so that one of his hands holds her in place while the other cups her jaw and gingerly brings her closer to kiss her.

He loves kissing her, he learned rather quickly.

Even the smallest shift in their position cause Ukai to prod at different spot within her core, forcing [name] to clamp down on his length. “Ooh, right there, baby?” But she can only nod when he makes it a point to make sure he’s hitting that same area over and over. “Yeah? You’re squeezing me so fucking hard, you’re gonna make me cum. You want my cum, princess?”

Good god, [name] could just listen to him talk and she could get off.

She can’t help her clenching core, not with the way Keishin is smacking his hips into hers like a piston or the way his cock starts twitching as he falls over the dam of his own orgasm. “Oh fuck yeah, princess. Take my cum like a good girl, baby, fuck.” His words stifle and give way to his labored breathing until he physically can’t even let out a sound—a telltale sign that he should probably slow down before he passes out.

[name] collapses chest down onto the bed as soon as Ukai lets go of her wrists; her back rising and falling as she attempts to catch her own breath. Ukai is doing much of the same, though he’s sitting on his haunches while staring out the window as the morning sun filters in. What time was it anyway?

As soon as he feels like his legs aren’t numb anymore, he hovers over the side of the bed in search of his cell phone before moving to rest his back against his headboard—it was only seven right now, meaning the store wouldn’t open for another two hours. Momentarily Ukai is grateful it’s as early as it is because that means his mother wasn’t downstairs listening to him essentially impregnate someone. But even more so, he’s grateful to see the way the rising sun reflects the sheen of sweat on [name]’s back. It made her glow even more than the glitter she wore on her cheeks when she was out for the night or disco lights shining off her pearly whites.

She’s so fucking beautiful, he thinks again, and he doesn’t realize he’s staring at her until he deciphers the [eye color]ed orbs staring back at him. A part of her wants to say something, probably the reason she was opening and closing her mouth, but words just don’t come out. What would she even say if she had a voice right now? She can’t say she loves him because that’s just weird and too clingy, nor can she say thank you because that’s even weirder—

“C’mere.” Ukai murmurs softly, patting at his bare chest. [name] quirks a brow, which prompts the former to give a roll of his honey brown eyes, before reaching for one of her wrists and hoisting her up to rest on him. When her head nestles along his collar bone, he wraps one arm tightly around her waist and presses a chaste kiss into her sweaty hair. It’s a delicate, wholesome moment that Ukai thought he’d never get the chance to share with anyone for awhile, let alone with a club patron or an ex of one of his club members.

It’s a tender, loving moment in which he takes advantage of the opportunity to ask the questions that had been gnawing at him for the last several days.

“Cardboard Swords,” he says as gently and as firmly as he’s holding her.

“Huh?”

“I wanted to ask you earlier, but it kinda didn’t seem appropriate at the time.” It’s not a full question by any means, but she understands the syntax well enough.

“And you think after emptying a second load in me is more appropriate?” She jokes, causing the man that’s holding her to groan because he knows. He doesn’t fall for bullshit and he knows that question was just [name] deflecting. “Fine, fine. Um, Flannel was mine and Suga’s break up song. I figured you could tell that much.” She concedes temporarily, shifting uncomfortably in his arms. Why does he even want to know this, she wonders. But she remembers clear as day him asking what Sugawara did to make her be the dull person she was back in high school, versus the firecracker on the Fourth of July that she was now. She figured she at least owed him some form of reprieve considering he satiated her high school and current fantasies.

Well, one of them anyway.

And while she remained quiet, Keishin’s analytical mind is hard at work recounting the memory of her lips moving along to every line. The thing that the DJ loves the most about music is that he can tell when a beat or a line hits close to home by how loud their expression is. His mind starts piecing things together based off of context and evidence and [name] can tell by the way his breathing begins to quicken that he just might be onto something.

“It’s fine. We went our separate ways after graduating. He did his thing, I did my thing.” She says to quell his steadily rising anxiety. Though she was unsure why it was beginning to crest, considering he hadn’t vocalized his personal deductions. Part of her wondered if he got it right, part of her doesn’t even care because Sugawara doesn’t matter to her anymore.

“And your thing is hanging out at a dingy club every night?”

“Hey, don’t call my aunt’s club dingy.”

“Your what?! Family friend, my ass!” This girl was going to be the death of him, he decides. Because now it made so much more sense of how she vaguely knew of his schedule (not that it was necessarily damning evidence), or why she was there in the first place and as often, or why she knew where Bevelle lived off the back of her hand. But shit, that just means he slept with his boss’s niece who is eight years his junior and—

“Dude, relax,” [name] stresses the command, pinching the nipple closest to her to pull Ukai from his reverie. “How do you think you got the job in the first place, coach? Though, aunt ‘Velle only showed me your application—she made the initial decision to offer you the job. I didn’t realize it was you that took the name Spira.” His mind is piecing more things together and he’s starting to learn to hate that his mind does that.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Hey, I didn’t know you were gonna fuck me—“ Ukai lets out a noise, a hybrid noise between annoyance and embarrassment before rolling over to trap [name] between his bed and himself. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, doesn’t want to think about it because the more he does, the deeper hole he digs for himself.

“I’d do it again, too. If you’ll let me.” Regardless of the strange sense of shame and irritation he felt, Keishin’s voice came out rather soft. Probably because he knew were it not for [name]’s meddling and the string of circumstances, she wouldn’t be here with him right now. In a weird sense, he’s grateful—grateful for the way she answers with her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him flush against her, bringing his lips to hers once again.

“Will you, though?” She asks after they break for a breather. [name] can’t help the question from leaving her lungs as much as she doesn’t want to think about what comes after this. And Keishin understands the query that’s hidden in between the lines and he’s unsure if he’s ready to verbalize his answer. So rather than putting it into words, his lips cover hers once again.

It’s much sweeter than the others—it’s gingerly and warm, softer than powdered sugar, and for a moment the two of them are enveloped in their moment together. But it’s not enough for Ukai, not in the slightest. Not with the way he’s overwhelmed with the need to chase this profound sense of urgency to stake his claim.

It’s not enough even with his mouth meandering further down her jaw and her neck, leaving little bites and bruises in his wake. It’s not enough in the way his tongue parts her labia and massages the inner walls of her core or suckles down her clit until she’s screaming once again. It’s not enough even when he slides his dick in one more time and is welcomed with the warmth of home.

Ukai is torn with the dichotomy of wanting to be rough with [name], wanting to smack his hips and drive his cock far enough in her that she has bruises around her opening and on her uterus, and absolutely letting every truth fly off his tongue. But his body decides for him in the way he lurches over her bucking body, one hand cradling her jaw with his thumb brushing over her bruised lips.

“Keishin...” [name] calls out in a strangled song, “h-harder, please!”

Her cries break his final thread of sanity.

“Yeah, you want more princess?” He grits out. His free hand traces patterns down her stomach before honing in on her clit, frantically circling at the bundle of nerves and driving his length in her cunt to match. [name] gave an innate squeeze at the sudden added stimulation, ready for her orgasm to wash over her once again. “You’re squeezing me so fucking good, baby. You want my cum?”

“P-please, cum inside me.” The subtle pleas shred every fiber of his control. Keishin releases his grip on both her clit and her jaw, hands scooping under her hips to angle her upward to find her pressure point once again. Leave it to this guy to be able to find it with ease after only one trial run. “Oh fuck, Keishin!”

“Fuck yes, baby, you want my cum? Want me to fill you up again? You’re just begging me to fuck a baby into you, aren’t you?” [name] clenched with a death grip, her subconscious going into overload. She’d never admit out loud that she’d fantasized about marrying the DJ and having a family with him maybe once or twice. Or every other week. She’d take that secret to the grave.

And while Keishin didn’t necessarily mean for his words to come out the way they did, he found himself unbothered by it all. Because he wants to know more, wants to have more than this one night with [name]. It only made it a thousand times better knowing she was getting off to his private kink, swallowing his cock whole to coax his seed to spill. “Aw, fuck yeah, gonna breed you like my own little whore,” he grits out, hips stuttering as his dick twitches, spurting his cum within her walls once again.

“Fuck a baby into me, huh?” [name] laughs after Keishin collapses on top of her, panting heavily to catch his breath.

“Sorry, was that too much?” She only laughs once more in response.

“Nah, that was perfect.”

Perfect was the only way to describe the way Keishin felt about [name], even a year later after their first night together. Sex aside, because that was perfection in its own right, the relationship that had bloomed between the two of them was everything the coach had been waiting for. The envy he had once felt for his fellow DJs for seizing the opportunity to sleep with other club patrons had subsided entirely considering Ukai had gotten the creme de la creme.

[name] now owned the club.

Bevelle, her aunt and the woman that initially hired Keishin a few years back, had been prepping and grooming [name] since she graduated high school to take over her business so that Bevelle could move on to new ventures. The night she started learning the ins and outs of running the club was the very same night Ukai had come in as a guest with the neighborhood association.

Apparently offering him a job was supposed to be a joke, but Bevelle knew something was strange with the way her niece was hyper-fixated on the blonde volleyball coach. Nobody knew things were going to turn out as well as they did.

Ukai finally stopped tending to the farm after five years of dedication and, instead, began helping [name] at the club on nights he wasn’t Spira. It was a weird sense of pride that surged within his center to know that the two of them both had their own businesses and both were relatively successful—it made Ukai feel powerful.

Like it wasn’t entirely wrong that the two of them were together despite the eight year gap.

And, in their world, it wasn’t. [name], while she rarely showed it, suffered a lot of heartbreak during and after her relationship with Sugawara Koushi—one that left her with a lot of metaphorical scars that mentally aged her by at least five years. It took years for her to heal, to feel content in her solidarity, and that aged her even more. In a sense, however, these also drove her ambition to be successful, her true, fun-loving self, and to share the love she wished she had received back then.

It took a few months for Keishin to unearth just how badly Suga had hurt her. After hearing how manipulative he was of her and everyone around her, it was no wonder she made it a point to love loudly and overtly—something Ukai seemed to thrive off of. While their relationship may have appeared strange to those on the outside looking in, it was nobody’s business but theirs.

It was even more peculiar from an outsider perspective considering the couple had just welcomed their son barely three months ago. “You literally fucked a baby into me!” [name] had been a cross between flustered, angry, and overjoyed when she found out of her pregnancy. Keishin’s mind was a mile a minute when she told him, but he couldn’t deny the sense of pride and lust and desire he felt.

If anything, it only made those feelings worse—like he wanted to do it again and again because goddamn it, it meant that [name] was entirely his, carrying their baby and all. But she knew her partner well enough to know when Keishin got that dangerous, nearly predatory, glint in his honey brown eyes, he was aiming for kid number two. “Thank god I’m on birth control.” She often mutters between catching her breath whenever the mood struck the volleyball coach.

“So you don’t mind if I keep trying then, right?”

“Keishin, no—“

“Oh, so you don’t mind?”

“Keishin!”

Thank you all for bearing through this lengthy monstrosity! Again, I had a whole bunch of fun writing it.

[bloody-bee-tea]

The truth

Did anyone ask for some Jiang Cheng feels? No? Too bad. You can either read it on AO3 because it’s over 4k, or read it here.

Jiang Cheng knows his day is going to take a turn for the worse the moment word reaches him that Wei Wuxian is in Lotus Pier.

They are still not on friendly terms after everything that happened and so this can only be bad news. Especially since Wei Wuxian hasn’t bothered to show up even once in the year that passed since the events at the temple.

Still, Jiang Cheng makes his way over to the gate, awaiting Wei Wuxian’s arrival with crossed arms and a scowl on his face.

No need to make Wei Wuxian feel welcome in Lotus Pier when he is decidedly not.

“Do you need anything?” Jiang Xiuying quietly asks from the side, when Wei Wuxian comes into view and Jiang Cheng tenses all over.

“Prepare a room and some tea,” he instructs him. “No alcohol,” he tacks on, because this is going to be an unpleasant visit, Jiang Cheng just knows it, and he will be damned if he makes it any more bearable for Wei Wuxian. 

“Will you be alright?” Jiang Xiuying asks him instead of doing as Jiang Cheng asked of him and Jiang Cheng turns towards him.

“I will be,” Jiang Cheng promises him after a pause and even though Jiang Xiuying doesn’t seem convinced he nods.

“We’ll be around,” he lowly tells Jiang Cheng who nods in acknowledgement.

Jiang Cheng knows his people always keep an eye out for him.

He even manages to drag up a small smile for Jiang Xiuying who seems definitely more at ease after that.

Jiang Cheng watches him leave and when he turns back around Wei Wuxian is already standing in front of him.

“Terrified a poor disciple again?” Wei Wuxian asks, clearly trying for a joke, but Jiang Cheng stares him down.

It’s good to know that this is what Wei Wuxian thinks of him. It will help Jiang Cheng to manage his expectations of this visit.

“What do you want?” he demands to know instead of acknowledging Wei Wuxian’s quip and Wei Wuxian sighs.

“Can we talk?” he wants to know and Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at him.

“Talk,” he orders him without moving an inch, but of course Wei Wuxian doesn’t obey him.

“In private?” Wei Wuxian tacks on and Jiang Cheng stares at him for a moment longer before he abruptly turns around and stalks off to the room that is no doubt prepared for them by now.

“Are you coming?” Jiang Cheng calls over his shoulder when Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to follow him and that spurs Wei Wuxian on.

“Didn’t think you’d actually say yes,” Wei Wuxian mutters and Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw.

For all that his relationship with Wei Wuxian is broken and complicated it still stings him to know that Wei Wuxian isn’t able to read him like he used to. That he doesn’t seem to know him at all anymore.

Wei Wuxian follows him without another word though, and Jiang Cheng can see that he’s curiously looking around.

“It looks different,” Wei Wuxian quietly says and Jiang Cheng wants to turn around and shake him but the worried look of a bypassing disciple stops him.

He doesn’t want to worry them more than necessary. And he definitely doesn’t want them to pick a fight with Wei Wuxian.

“What did you expect? It was burned to the ground after all. And sixteen years don’t pass without leaving a mark, either,” Jiang Cheng snaps out and Wei Wuxian turns his eyes back on him, but before he can say anything, they have reached the prepared room.

“Just how terrified of you are these people, that everything is already done?” Wei Wuxian wonders as he sees the steaming tea and hot soup that is waiting for them.

Jiang Cheng works his jaw again, but he doesn’t answer Wei Wuxian’s question. It doesn’t matter what he says anyway; clearly Wei Wuxian wouldn’t believe him a word if he tells him his disciples actually like Jiang Cheng.

Instead, Jiang Cheng smiles slightly when he realizes that it’s his favourite soup that’s waiting for them; the one Wei Wuxian hates, because he thinks it’s too bland.

He’ll have to thank Jiang Xiuying for this later.

“You even terrified them into not using any spices,” Wei Wuxian predictably whines when he takes a sip from the soup and Jiang Cheng hides his smile behind his own bowl.

He gives Wei Wuxian just long enough to swallow and then asks “What do you want?”

Instantly, the playfulness leaves Wei Wuxian and he gets serious.

“I’m here to inform you that Sect Leader Yao is on his way here,” Wei Wuxian says and Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow at him.

“And why should I care about that?”

“Because he wants war with you,” Wei Wuxian says and Jiang Cheng inhales his soup.

“He what?” he coughs and then actually laughs, because for all that Sect Leader Yao is his senior, his Sect is rather small and he is a spineless old man on top of that.

There is nothing Sect Leader Yao can do to him.

“He says you killed his right hand man,” Wei Wuxian tells him and that sobers Jiang Cheng right up.

“Ah,” Jiang Cheng says, because of course. “Let me guess. He came to the Chief Cultivator first, but Lan Wangji doesn’t think this warrants his interference,” Jiang Cheng muses, because what Wei Wuxian speaks of has been almost ten years ago, and there is no way in hell that Lan Wangji will meddle with this.

And especially not for Sect Leader Yao.

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian admits, “but Jiang Cheng, seriously,” he then goes on, voice low and serious. “What have you done in the past sixteen years?”

Jiang Cheng lets out a bitter chuckle when he realizes what Wei Wuxian is hinting at.

“Why don’t you tell me what I’ve been doing? You seem to have an opinion already.”

Wei Wuxian chews his lip for a moment before he fixes Jiang Cheng with a look.

“You have been killing people, Jiang Cheng. Torturing and killing innocent people. What would shi-jie say to that?” Wei Wuxian wants to know and Jiang Chen feels the familiar rage bubble up in him.

“How dare you,” he hisses and gets up. “You know nothing of what I have been doing for the last sixteen years!”

“Everyone talks about it,” Wei Wuxian defends and gets to his feet as well.

“Everyone also talks about how you are the worst thing that happened to the cultivational world and how you ate babies. I don’t see you paying mind to those rumours,” Jiang Cheng bites out and Wei Wuxian bristles.

“That’s because it’s not true!” 

“Oh, and what you hear about me is?” Jiang Cheng gives back and Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes at him.

“Isn’t it?” he asks and Jiang Cheng shouldn’t be surprised at the pain in his chest, it has been his constant companion for years after all, but it still takes his breath away.

“You really believe that. You really believe I just went around, killing innocent people.”

“People who used demonic cultivation,” Wei Wuxian adds, as if that would justify killing anyone. “Do you really hate me that much?” he whispers and Jiang Cheng can’t listen to this for a moment longer.

“Does it really matter?” he asks and watches with something akin to satisfaction how Wei Wuxian flinches. “You have already made up your mind, and clearly I am the bad guy here. What does it matter to you what I did to those people?”

“Do you even remember them? Do you even remember Sect Leader Yao’s right hand, or do they just all blur together?” Wei Wuxian inquires and Jiang Cheng scoffs.

“I don’t know, Wei Wuxian,” he gives back in an attempt of deflecting. He does not want to explain himself to Wei Wuxian. “Do you remember the three thousand people you killed, or is it just one blurry mass?” he gives back without missing a beat, but inwardly Jiang Cheng wonders if they will ever stop hurting each other.

If Jiang Cheng will ever be able to control his anger and rage, and if Wei Wuxian will ever just listen to what someone says to him. But it doesn’t seem to be this day.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian quietly whispers, but Jiang Cheng is already walking away from him.

He doesn’t have to listen to this. Especially not when proof of how much he cares, of how much he remembers is omnipresent in his Sect.

When he steps out of the room, he realizes that his day is just going downhill, because Sect Leader Yao is already waiting for him, the Chief Cultivator, and leaders of smaller Sects behind him, Jiang Xiuying apologetically bowing to him as if he could have stopped these people from marching in here.

Even Jin Ling came, Jiang Cheng notes. Wonderful.

“Jiang Cheng,” Sect Leader Yao starts and Jiang Cheng is already so incredibly over this.

He is so tired of the continuous disrespect all of these old men show him.

“That’s Sect Leader Jiang to you,” he bites out and watches in satisfaction as Sect Leader Yao pales.

“You,” he stutters out and Jiang Cheng gives him the most disdainful look he can manage.

“I don’t appreciate you marching in here without proper announcement,” Jiang Cheng says and let’s Zidian spark on his hand. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Justice,” Sect Leader Yao demands and points at Jiang Cheng, clearly making a show for the crowd that has by now gathered. “You killed my right hand man!”

“Oh, did I?” Jiang Cheng asks sweetly and then cocks his head to the side. “And when was that supposed to be?”

“Does it matter when it happened? Fact is that you did it!” Sect Leader Yao screeches and Jiang Cheng smiles coldly at him.

“I think it matters greatly, because if it took you ten years to find the courage to confront me about this, he can’t have meant that much to you,” Jiang Cheng pleasantly says and watches as a murmur goes through the people.

“So you do admit to it!” Sect Leader Yao triumphantly says and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“I don’t. I do not remember killing your right hand man,” he coldly says and watches Sect Leader Yao flounder, before someone else speaks up behind him.

“Do you even remember a single person of those you killed after the war?” he demands to know and Jiang Cheng turns his glare on him.

“Why should I?” Jiang Cheng asks and a fearful hush falls over the crowd. “Do any of you remember even a single person you killed in your lives?” he asks them and is met with a pretty telling silence.

“You’re a monster,” someone whispers, but in the quiet it rings out loud and clear.

Jiang Cheng has heard these words a lot in the past sixteen years, and so he simply smiles at them, even though they sting like always.

He reminds himself that the people that matter know the truth, that they know him for who he truly is, and that it has to be enough.

From the corner for his eyes he sees how Luo Guanting moves to step forward and Jiang Cheng stops him with a small gesture.

He appreciates what he is trying to do, but Jiang Cheng did not give him a new home and protection from Sect Leader Yao for him to throw it all away now.

“I thought you are all already in agreement over that,” Jiang Cheng tells them and then flicks out his hand, Zidian coming to life with a crackle of energy. “And now you’re all going to leave, because otherwise I might find reason to torture you, too.”

The Sect Leaders freeze in fear, before they scramble to get away from him. 

Lan Wangji predictably stays—as does Jin Ling—and the look he sends Jiang Cheng is chilling.

“Any further unwarranted killing will be met with a harsh punishment,” Lan Wangji warns him, but Jiang Cheng only smiles at him.

“If you can proof it was me, sure,” Jiang Cheng flippantly gives back, damn well knowing that there will never be any proof of him murdering anyone, and then he cocks his head to the side. “I hope the same goes for the Yiling Partiarch.”

Jiang Cheng can see how Lan Wangji’s eyes blaze in fury at that, but he simply smiles at him, before he turns around.

Only to run almost straight into Wei Wuxian, who was still standing behind him.

“I can’t believe what you’ve turned into,” Wei Wuxian whispers and Jiang Cheng fights the childish urge to cry and to explain everything to him.

If Wei Wuxian doesn’t even trust him enough to ask about it, then Jiang Cheng has no reason to explain.

“The same goes for you, I guess,” Jiang Cheng gives back and wills Zidian to be dormant again. “At least my views of you are based on fact, though,” he adds, fully intending to walk away from Wei Wuxian now, but he stops Jiang Cheng with a hand to his arm.

“Don’t you feel any shame or remorse for what you have done?” Wei Wuxian wants to know and Jiang Cheng wants to shake him so hard his hands tremble with the urge.

“Why should I?” Jiang Cheng asks and he can’t help to add: “You never actually did ask me what happened.”

Wei Wuxian studies him for a long moment and then nods and a tiny spark of hope builds in Jiang Cheng’s chest. Hope, that maybe Wei Wuxian doesn’t completely believe the rumours and that he will give Jiang Cheng a chance to explain.

“Alright, then. Did you seek out those who practice demonic cultivation?” Wei Wuxian asks him and Jiang Cheng’s heart falls, because he knows this will lead to nothing.

Wei Wuxian will ask the questions he thinks will give him the answers he seeks, and Jiang Cheng refuses to explain himself willingly to someone who is so ready to forsake him.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng answers, because he always does as soon as such a rumour reaches him.

“And do you hate demonic cultivation?” Wei Wuxian goes on and Jiang Cheng lets out a bitter chuckle.

How could he not, with what it had cost Wei Wuxian; with what it had cost Jiang Cheng by proxy.

“Of course I do,” Jiang Cheng gives back with a huff and Wei Wuxian nods like that is all he needs to hear.

“And you killed Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji chimes in, so that means you must have killed everyone else as well going unsaid, but everyone knows what he’s implying anyway.

“Did I?” Jiang Cheng asks and turns to look at Lan Wangji. “Because I don’t remember that. My sword never actually touched him.”

“It’s true, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian quietly says as he steps up to Lan Wangji. “It wasn’t quite as easy as that.”

Jiang Cheng wants to yell at him that if that situation wasn’t all that clear cut, maybe the situation right now isn’t either, but in the end, he’s too tired for it.

If people are so ready to believe the absolute worst of him—if even his own family is so ready to believe it—then he’ll just let them. There is no use in telling them any differently; they wouldn’t believe him anyway.

And he made a promise to his people to keep them safe; exposing them to everyone around does not align with that at all.

So instead of shouting the truth at Wei Wuxian Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and then finally turns around and leaves.

His people will make sure that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji leave Lotus Pier, and Jiang Cheng is grateful for it, because he’s not sure he has the capacity to deal with them any longer.

He goes back to the room he was in with Wei Wuxian earlier and he finds that new tea has been served for him.

“Thank you,” he tells Jiang Xiuying who is still in the room, and when Jiang Xiuying looks at him, he sees that he’s near tears.

“You shouldn’t have to bear their hate for us,” Jiang Xiuying says and bows deeply, probably more to hide his tears than to pay his respects, and Jiang Cheng is quick to stop him.

There was never any reason to hide between them.

“It’s of no consequence for me,” Jiang Cheng gives back with a light chuckle, but Jiang Xiuying throws him a look. He has always seen through Jiang Cheng too easily.

“We know it hits you hard, there’s no need to pretend,” Jiang Xiuying chastises him and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng admits. “But I would rather bear their hate than have any of you go back to them.”

“We wouldn’t,” Jiang Xiuying says with vehemence and Jiang Cheng smiles reassuringly at him.

“I know that. But you also shouldn’t have to deal with their entitlement. You’re not property they own. I doubt Sect Leader Yao even still remembers Luo Guanting’s name.”

“You might be right,” Jiang Xiuying says and then serves Jiang Cheng some tea. “I don’t think we say it enough, but thank you.”

Jiang Cheng has never been good with feelings and hearing something like this always makes him feel choked up. 

“There is no need for that,” Jiang Cheng presses out but Jiang Xiuying only smiles at him.

“There is. You saved our lives. We can never thank you enough for it.”

“Well, I’d rather you didn’t say it out loud,” Jiang Cheng tells him and Jiang Xiuying chuckles. 

“We’ll endeavour to continue to show you then,” Jiang Xiuying promises him and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. 

As if they aren’t already the best disciples and people anyone could wish for.

Jiang Cheng and Jiang Xiuying both turn when there’s a light knock at the door, Jin Ling hovering at the doorstep as if he’s unsure if he’s welcome.

“Jin Ling,” Jiang Cheng greets him and motions for him to come inside, while Jiang Xiuying is quick to get out a new cup for him, before he leaves them to it.

Jiang Cheng watches Jin Ling pick up the cup, and he notices that he is unusually pale.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng wants to know, already itching for a fight with whoever put that look on his nephew’s face.

“Is it true?” Jin Ling asks, voice quiet and Jiang Cheng frowns at him.

“Is what true?” he demands to know and Jin Ling raises his head, as he stares him down.

“Did you really kill all these people? Is it true what they say?” Jin Ling asks and Jiang Cheng lets out a sigh, to hide the sob underneath it.

No one has ever asked before.

“Thank you for asking instead of assuming,” he tells Jin Ling once he’s sure his voice holds and gives him a small smile. “And no, it’s not,” Jiang Cheng then tells him and he is surprised to see just how much tension leaves Jin Ling at that.

“I knew you couldn’t have done all they said,” Jin Ling mutters and scoots closer to Jiang Cheng. “What happened to these people?”

“You remember the wedding I dragged you to when you were about ten?” Jiang Cheng asks and Jin Ling lights up at the memory.

“I do. It was fun! Though I can’t quite recall whose wedding it was,” Jin Ling muses and Jiang Cheng nods at him.

“It was a lot of fun,” Jiang Cheng agrees, before he explains. “It was Luo Guanting’s wedding. Sect Leader Yao’s right hand man.”

“What?” Jin Ling asks and stares at him in confusion. “But hasn’t he been part of your sect for—”

“Almost ten years now,” Jiang Cheng finishes Jin Ling’s sentence for him and delights in the way Jin Ling stares at him.

“What happened?”

“There were rumours about him using demonic cultivation. And it’s true, I do seek these people out, but it’s to help them. There is always, always a cause that leads upright people to using methods like that and I tried to help them.”

“You tried to do what you couldn’t for Uncle Wei,” Jin Ling mutters and Jiang Cheng has to close his eyes against his tears at that.

“Yes,” he chokes out, thankful that at least someone in his family understands.

“How many of your disciples?” Jin Ling wants to know and Jiang Cheng busies himself with his tea, to gather back some composure before he answers.

“About a quarter of them I took home with me because they were so unhappy in their lives they thought demonic cultivation was the only way out,” he then admits. “Half of my people I picked up on the streets; orphans or stragglers who didn’t know their place. Only a quarter of my disciples are made up of actual Yunmeng people. There weren’t many left, after Lotus Pier burned.”

“You gave all of them a home,” Jin Ling breathes out and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“I try,” he admits. “Not all of them stay; not all of them are happy here.”

“But most are,” Jin Ling gives back and Jiang Cheng is proud to say that he is right.

Most of the people he takes back home are more than happy in Lotus Pier.

“Jiang Xiuying?” Jin Ling suddenly asks and Jiang Cheng is so damn proud of him it hurts.

“Him, too,” he admits. “He was from the Lan Sect. Lan Wangji kept some of Wei Wuxian’s scripts and he found them. He was wandering around, trying out different things when I found him. He was so unhappy with his life in the Cloud Recesses that he didn’t care if he lived or died. I knocked him out that night and we had a long talk in the morning. I took him home with me that same day.”

“And now he’s your right hand,” Jin Ling whispers. “Does anyone know? Anyone at all?” Jin Ling then asks and Jiang Cheng shakes his head once before he nods.

“Lan Xichen recognized Jiang Xiuying a few years back, but he never said anything and he never asked. He probably put two and two together, but I’m not sure.”

“Why don’t you just explain it to them? They accused you today, marched in here as if it’s their right, and yet you are innocent!”

“I don’t explain because it doesn’t matter to me,” Jiang Cheng says and he is met with a sharp glare from Jin Ling.

“Don’t even try that with me,” Jin Ling says and then leans comfortingly against Jiang Cheng. “I know you do care; it does matter to you.”

Jiang Cheng lets out a shuddering breath and brings his arm around Jin Ling before he talks.

“Fine, it does matter to me. It hurts, that they all think that, but look how ready they are to believe it without proper proof. There wasn’t a single person here today who called for reason. And if I were to tell the truth, what would that do to my people? You think Luo Guanting wants Sect Leader Yao to know he’s living a wonderful life away from him? You think Jiang Xiuying wants to face the Elders of his Sect again? I don’t want to put them through that,” Jiang Cheng admits and then he slumps. “And the people need someone to hate,” he then admits. “It’s easier if they hate me. They can’t hurt me; my people are too strong for anyone to start a new war. And if they hate me, they have time to critically think over other things.”

“That is so stupid,” Jin Ling mutters, but Jiang Cheng knows that he sees his logic.

“It is how it is,” Jiang Cheng gives back and Jin Ling throws himself into Jiang Cheng’s arms.

“Well I hate it, because you’re the best person out there and everyone should know that!”

“It’s enough for me that you know that,” Jiang Cheng mumbles into his hair and Jin Ling squeezes him harder.

“And your people do, too.”

“And they do, too,” Jiang Cheng agrees, and really, that has to be enough.

This is all the family he needs. As long as Jin Ling and his people don’t hate him, Jiang Cheng can face everything.

Now with art of the best right hand man

{Buy me a kofi}  

Now with a  continuation!

[hmsjiara]

‘cause you’re amazing (just the way you are) jj + kie

request by @love-life-always​: We never really hear anything about Kiara's kook year, so I was wondering if you could write a story where Kiara had an eating disorder during her kook year, while trying to fit in and stuff but she managed to recover when she became friends with the pogues again, but then for whatever reason it starts to affect her again and jj/the other pogues notice.

this turned into one big angsty mess real quick lol. but protective!jj is my kink, so... here you go lmao. thank you so much for the request, i hope you like it :)

read it here on ao3.

disclaimer: i understand that eating disorders are a serious/complex issue and am NOT trying to romanticize them in any way. and while i did some research before writing this, i am in no way an expert nor have i ever experienced something like this. so, if any part of this is inaccurate or ignorant i apologize. if this triggers you in anyway, please do what’s best for your mental/emotional health.

trigger warnings: eating disorders, panic attacks, brief mentions of abuse.

                                      •••

It was an unspoken rule among the Pogues that they didn’t talk about Kiara’s Kook Year.

It hadn’t always been that way. When Kiara had returned to the Chateau with a years worth of apologies and a case of Miller Lite, John B and Pope had forgiven her almost instantly, but not JJ. Weeks of veiled insults and sharp glares had followed, and despite John B and Pope’s efforts to sway him, JJ seemed determined to hate her forever.

But eventually, even he managed to forgive her for abandoning them. Kiara assumed that it was a combination of her constant presence, and the boobs and curves she’d developed during her Kook Year. She couldn’t really blame them for noticing, since they were horny teenage boys and she spent the majority of her time in a bikini.

So, things went back to normal, and the Pogues caught on to the fact that Kiara didn’t want to discuss her absence, or her exile from the Kook Academy. It was easier this way, she told herself. Talking about Sarah still hurt too much, and as for everything else... well, it wasn’t important.

So, she doesn’t talk about Sarah, about how they got drunk and watched movies and saved baby sea turtles together, how her heart aches when she thinks about her. She doesn’t talk about the girls at the Kook Academy who spread rumors behind her back, who shove her in the hallways and on one occasion dump a smoothie on her head in the cafeteria. She deletes the mean comments under her Instagram posts before the Pogues can see, because she doesn’t need them to defend her, and the last thing she wants is to explain why everyone hates her so much.

Because she just got her friends back, and Kiara isn’t going to burden them with her problems, not when they have it so much worse.

                                        •••

The words eating disorder cause a certain kind of alarm to go off in Kiara’s brain.

Because yes, there’d been those months at the Kook Academy where she’d gone from diet to diet, weighed herself after every meal, looked at the girls in her grade with their flat stomachs and thin, long legs and hated her curves and muscle-toned limbs. She’d followed all the trends— juice cleanses and swearing off anything over a hundred calories. She even stopped surfing, switched to running, wondering if it would make a difference.

Her mother’s comments hadn’t helped. Once Kiara was going to parties and sleepovers with Sarah, her mom started buying her clothes that were two sizes too small, handing her grapefruit halves in the morning when Kiara asked for eggs and bacon, shot pointed glares at the half-eaten box of cookies on her dresser.

So, she started just... not eating. It was almost too easy to do. All she had to do was say that she was running late for school and skipping breakfast, snack on celery sticks for lunch, tell her parents she had homework to avoid coming to dinner. And it had worked: she’d gotten thinner, and her mother smiled when she started wearing the clothes she’d bought her, so Kiara assumed it was fine.

It was a visit to her doctor that made Kiara realize that what she was doing to herself was wrong. There’d been no official diagnosis, just a few pointed questions about her daily food intake, a suggestion to incorporate more protein into her diet. But Kiara had read between the lines, and she’d gotten over it, moved on, recognized that what she was doing wasn’t how she wanted to live her life. And she hadn’t told anyone, especially not the Pogues, because it was her business and they didn’t need to know.

The problem is that sometimes Kiara forgets to catch herself.

Like when she spends a little too long looking at her stomach in the mirror, or when JJ offers her the rest of his fries at the Wreck and she wrinkles her nose and says too many carbs.

He frowns, presses a hand to her forehead, as if checking for a temperature. “Too many carbs? Who are you, and what have you done with Kiara Carrera?”

She laughs, shoves him away from her, goes to get another beer from the fridge, but JJ is still watching her when she gets back. “I didn’t know you cared about that sort of stuff.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, avoiding his gaze as she knocked John B���s feet off of the counter.

“Calories and shit,” he said with a shrug, and it was a perfectly reasonable remark, but Kiara didn’t like the direction their conversation was going in. “Is this something you picked up from the Kooks? You turning into one of those soccer moms who meal plan and don’t let her kids eat sugar?”

It hits a little too close to home, so Kiara snatches a fry from his basket and makes sure that he sees her eat it.

“There,” she said, chewing somewhat obnoxiously. “Happy now?”

JJ rolled his eyes, turned to listen to whatever Pope was saying about his internship, but Kiara couldn’t help but feel like she’d dodged a bullet.

JJ couldn’t find out. Not now, not ever.

                                       •••

Being forced to attend Midsummers is the last thing Kiara needs or wants, but her mother doesn’t care.

She thinks it’s how she copes. Kiara can hang with whoever she likes, as long as her mother can put her in a pretty dress and show her off to the Kooks.

The subtle, pointed comments start again.

Take it in a bit on the hem, Silvia. I’m not used to this, you know. I never had Kiara’s curves when I was younger.

I know that your friends don’t have to worry about this, Kiara, but you have a figure to maintain. Eating at the Wreck every night just isn’t going to fly.

Maybe a side salad instead, sweetheart. I’m paying the seamstress by the hour.

Kiara’s not proud of it, but she does go along with her mother, because she’s tired of fighting with her, and the idea of her daughter going to Midsummers with all the Sarah Cameron’s of the world has made her happier than Kiara has ever seen her.

She tells herself it’s only for a couple of weeks, that she can get through it, but it’s getting harder to ignore the comments, to resist the urge to weigh herself after a bag of popcorn or a sandwich from the Wreck.

Before, when she was friends with Sarah, it was easier to hide. Sarah didn’t really notice other people— it wasn’t her fault, just how she’d been raised.

The Pogues are different.

At first, they buy all the usual excuses. She’s not hungry, she already ate. But then John B asks her to split a burger with him at the Wreck, or Pope roasts her a s’more and she refuses, and they start to notice.

One time, Kiara buys a new kind of green tea ice cream from the grocery store, and she eats it all in one sitting, calories be damned.

JJ laughs, nudges John B. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Damn, Kie.”

It’s a joke, a passing comment, but Kiara flinches, feels a sudden surge of regret. Shit. Her mother was going to kill her.

JJ sees it, because of course he does, and then his teasing grin disappears and he gives Pope and John B a knowing look.

Pope looks instantly uncomfortable as John B clears his throat, and Kiara doesn’t like it one bit. She feels cornered, suddenly on edge, as John B opens his mouth and says, “Kie, is everything okay? With you, I mean?”

“Of course,” she says, shrugging, the deflection easy. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, it’s just—“

“You’re not fucking eating.”

Kiara flinches for real this time at JJ’s harsh, blatant tone, her stomach hollowing out as John B hisses JJ’s name and says this isn’t what we talked about.

Oh, so they’re talking about her now. Wonderful.

“Fuck this,” she says, springing to her feet, the empty ice cream cartoon and metal spoon clattering to the floor. She feels sick just looking at it. “Y’all are— y’all are delusional, okay? I’m out.”

“Kie, it’s okay,” Pope says, his eyes on the floor. “Millions of people have, uh, stuff like this, you know, it’s not—“

“I do not have a eating disorder,” Kiara growls at him, ignoring Pope’s own flinch, how he curls in on himself at her words. “Your statistics don’t apply to me, okay, Pope? You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Kie, we’re just trying to help—“

“Fuck you, John B,” she says, turning to leave, not able to stand the pity on his face.

“No,” JJ snarls, rising from his chair, clutching the neck of his beer bottle so hard she thinks it might shatter. “I’ve had enough. Do you know that’s the most I’ve seen you eat in weeks? Something’s wrong, Kie, we’re not idiots, okay? So just tell us—“

“I don’t have to tell you shit, Maybank,” she snaps, the pit in her stomach filling itself with something cold and bitter. “This is my business, just like whatever the fuck is happening with your dad is yours. So leave me alone.”

She regrets the words as soon as she says them, but it’s too late, because JJ’s beer bottle shatters and John B yells as alcohol and shards of glass scatter across the floor, and Kiara is out the door before any of them can make her stay.

They’re just worried, she knows that, but it’s fine. She has it handled.

                                      •••

In reality, it’s the opposite of fine.

Kiara avoids the Pogues in the week leading up to Midsummers, ignores the texts they send her asking her to meet, actually hides when John B comes to find her at the Wreck.

She tells herself she just has to get through Midsummers, and then it’ll all work itself out.

The stress makes it worse, she thinks, and in between her anxiety over the Pogues and her mother’s pre-Midsummers prep, Kiara doesn’t realize that she can’t remember the last time she ate until she’s pulling up to the club with her parents.

It’s kind of like a wake up call, the shakiness in her limbs and the empty feeling in her stomach, and the next thing she knows, she’s hyperventilating over the sink in the girls bathroom.

It’s hard to breathe, and the heavily perfumed air definitely isn’t helping, and her mother is going to kill her, and Kiara doesn’t even know how it got this bad again. She doesn’t look too thin in the mirror, at least not to her, but what do other people see?

She’s not quite sure how, but she manages to find her phone in her clutch, to fumble through typing in her password and locating Pope’s contact.  

He answers on the first ring.

“Kie? Is everything okay? Where are you?”

He’s obviously concerned, and she feels like such an idiot, because she spent the past week pushing him and everyone else away when all they wanted to do was help her.

“Bathroom,” she manages to say, fighting to speak past the tightness in her throat. “In— Inside. Pope, I can’t breathe, I can’t—“

“Okay, Kie, it’s okay,” he murmured, sounding surprisingly calm. “Fuck, I’m working, I can’t leave. But I’m gonna help you, okay? Just breathe. Give me one second—”

The call ended, and Kiara tried not to panic anymore than she already was, but it was a relief when Pope’s name appeared on her phone screen again.

“Pope?” She asks, his name more of a sob than anything.

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, Kie, you’re gonna be fine. You’re not hurt, right?”

She shakes her head, then remembers that he can’t see her, and confirms that she’s fine (physically, at least) through the phone. Pope keeps doing that, asking her questions in a low, level voice, until she hears a knock on the bathroom door.

“Pope, is that you at the door?” She asks, clutching her phone tighter in her hand, any sense of control she’d managed to regain vanishing.

“No, it’s—“

“Kie? Kie, are you in there?“

She doesn’t know why, but the sound of JJ’s voice makes her crumble. She can still hear Pope talking to her through the phone, hear JJ on the other side of the door, but it’s like it’s all coming from very far away. Her breathing picks up again, and she barely registers JJ’s fuck it, I’m coming in.

His knock on the stall door jerks her back into reality. “Kie? It’s JJ, can you open the door?”

With shaking hands, she grapples with the lock, automatically shrinking away when light floods the stall and she sees JJ staring down at her.

She must look like a mess— sitting on the floor of the bathroom in her dress, mascara running, like some girl who just got dumped by her boyfriend at a party. But she can’t really bring herself to care about that, because she still can’t seem to get enough air into her lungs.

“JJ,” she whimpers, because he’s just standing there like he doesn’t know what to do, some raw emotion in his eyes she can’t bring herself to decipher right now.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” JJ says, snapping out of whatever trance he’d fallen into at the sight of her, his movements slow as he crouches down beside her, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Take it easy, okay, Kie? Just breathe.”

He takes the phone from her, has a brief conversation with Pope, then hangs up and pockets it. Kiara doesn’t object, staring at her hands and trying to stop herself from shaking.

“Can I?” JJ asks, and she realizes he’s asking to hold her hands.

She nods, and then his warm, calloused fingers are brushing against her skin as he rubs soothing circles into the back of her palms. Her heart rate isn’t slowing, though, her breaths coming quick and fast again, but then JJ’s arms are around her and he’s pulling her back against his chest and murmuring reassurances into the top of her head.  

He tells her to copy his breathing, and she does, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against her shoulder, the fact that his hands are still holding hers.

Eventually, her breathing returns to normal, and her anxiety is replaced by exhaustion. She sags against JJ, closes her eyes, relaxes into his warmth.

The next thing she remembers is JJ guiding her into the passenger seat of the van and bucking her seatbelt. It’s easy to trust him, to let her eyes slip closed and listen to the steady, familiar hum of the engine.

Kiara doesn’t ask where they’re going, and she must fall asleep at some point, because then she’s waking up in the driveway at the Chateau. She ignores JJ’s offered hand and stumbles out of the van, tugging off her heels the moment she gets inside and collapsing onto the pullout couch.

She doesn’t want to move ever again, content to fall asleep right there, exhaustion heavy in her bones, but JJ takes one look at her and pulls her to her feet. He takes her to the bathroom, turns the shower on and places a hand on her back to guide her inside. He asks if she wants him to stay. She says no, because JJ’s already looking at her like she’s a wounded animal, and she doesn’t want him to think that she can’t do anything by herself.

Even if she almost has another panic attack once he leaves, has to remind herself to breathe as she undresses and steps into the shower. The hot water helps, and she loses track of time standing in the spray. She never hears the door open, but when she gets out there’s a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt on the counter.

She puts them on, drys her hair with a towel but leaves it down, too exhausted to do anything else. The sweatshirt smells like JJ, and she breathes it in. She doesn’t want to think about what it means. She can have a pass tonight, she figures.

When she opens the door, the hallway smells like cooking oil and burnt toast. She wrinkles her nose, pads into the living room on silent feet, and she thinks JJ might be right to treat her like a skittish animal, because when she walks into the kitchen and sees the plate of eggs and toast on the table, she wants to run back inside the bathroom.

JJ seems to recognize her urge to flee, because he pats the seat across from him and gives her a pointed look. “Sit down, Kie.”

She complies, because she kind of owes him, and JJ actually managed to cook something without burning the house down, so that’s a miracle in it itself.

“It’s no five-star Kiara Carrera creation, but it’ll have to do,” he tells her, smiling at her as she sits down. “I only know how to cook breakfast— sorry.”

He seems almost embarrassed, but Kiara doesn’t see why. “No, I love it,” she tells him, and he just stares at her, as if he thinks she’s lying. “Really, I do.”

He grins at her then, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim lights of the Chateau, and then JJ’s digging into his own food like a starving stray dog who hasn’t had a real meal in weeks.

It smells great, even though the toast is a little burnt, and Kiara is starving, but she still hesitates before picking up her knife.

JJ notices it, because of course he does. “Eat, Kiara,” he says, his tone soft but firm. “You need it. Please.”

It’s the please that gets her. She takes a cautious bite of toast, which is burnt on one side by covered in butter. It settles in her stomach, warm and filling, and before she realizes it, she’s scraping her plate clean.

JJ doesn’t say anything, but there’s a gleam or triumph in his eyes when he takes her empty plate from her and places it in the sink.

She was exhausted before, but the food’s made her drowsy, and Kiara stumbles into John B’s room while JJ is washing the dishes. He’s not home, but she decides to wait until tomorrow to worry about it, if she has to. As well as a bunch of other things— like what the hell her mother is going to do with her.

Kiara’s muscles feel like they’re made out of lead as she collapses onto the bed. She’s exhausted, but her thoughts aren’t stopping, and it’s a relief when JJ appears in the doorway.

“You good?” He asks, and she hums into her pillow, not opening her eyes.

But then the floorboards creak as he turns to leave, and she doesn’t know what makes her do it, but she calls his name.

“Yeah?” JJ says, and she opens her eyes this time, studying his silhouette in the doorway, all soft lines and tousled blond curls.

“Will you stay?” She asks, before she can consider what it means, how he’ll interpret it. “I just... I don’t want to be alone right now.”

But JJ just nods, moving to the other side of the bed and lying a respectable distance away from her. He closes his eyes immediately, but Kiara can’t seem to relax. They’ve slept in the same bed before, but this feels different. Heavier.

“JJ?” She murmurs into the silence, and he hums to show that he’s listening. “Thank you. For tonight, I mean.”

“S’ no problem, Kie,” he says, his words slurred by exhaustion, eyelids drooping as he turned to look at her. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, picking at her nail polish to avoid meeting his gaze. “I know. It’s just... it’s hard, ya know? I didn’t want to bother any of you, God knows you have enough shit to deal with without me piling my own on top of it, and it wasn’t that big of a deal, I swear—”

“Kie, your shit is my shit,” JJ said, his voice firm as he reached out to take her hand. She brushed her fingers over his knuckles, comforted by the familiar pattern of the cracks and scars that had stayed there even after his cuts had healed. “I’m not going anywhere. And this... whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. All of us— John B and Pope too.”

Kiara nodded, and it was silent for a while, but then she said, “I’m sorry. About what I said, about your dad. I was out of line, and I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” JJ said, shrugging, his fingers squeezing hers in reassurance. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, but... it’s just scary, Kie. It was like I was watching you slip away right in front of me, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”

Kiara didn’t know what to say to that, so she just tucked herself into his side, pressing her face into his shoulder as JJ wrapped an arm around her. Their fingers were still intertwined, resting on his chest.

“Kie,” he said after a while, when she was on the brink of sleep. “I shouldn’t have to say it, but... you know you’re fucking beautiful, right? Just the way you are. You don’t have to—

“Thanks, JJ,” Kiara whispered before he could finish, her voice catching. She told herself not to cry, but a few tears escaped anyway. JJ wiped them from her cheeks, wove his fingers into her hair, running them through her wet curls.

“No, I’m serious, you’re like really hot, I—“

Kiara laughed, swatting at his arm, even though there was no real force behind it. There was a certain warmth rising in her chest, as she breathed in JJ’s scent and fell asleep in his arms. She didn’t quite know what it was, but it was new, and she liked it.

Far more than she should have.

                                      •••

It’s better after that. Not perfect, not right away, but better.

She explains everything to the Pogues eventually, and they take it all in stride, as if she’d just told them that she had decided to take up knitting as a pastime.

John B is always there, offering to drive her to get dinner, insisting he hasn’t eaten in days. He insists that Kie teach him how to cook fish the way they do at the Wreck, makes her taste-test each batch and critique them.

Pope does research, because that’s how he copes with this sort of thing, and after a while he starts bringing it up with her. JJ glares at him at first, asks Kiara if she wants him to stop, but she likes it. She likes knowing she’s not alone, that this is normal.

JJ’s approach is more subtle. He’s always making her food (he still can’t make toast without burning it, but she eats it anyway). Honestly, when JJ pouts and bats his eyelashes and flashes that devilish smirk of his, it’s hard to say no to anything he offers her. He makes it easy though, and that’s what she loves. It’s not awkward or forced, just them sharing a basket of fries at the Wreck, or visiting a local food truck festival in town.

She doesn’t know why she thought telling the Pogues would be a bad thing, because it’s nice not having to hide this from them, to know they’ll be there if she needs them.

Kiara doesn’t need perfect, she decides. She just needs her boys— if she has them, she’ll be fine.

No matter what happens.

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

spilled secrets

request(s): 65 .Are you okay? I heard a scream?” with Morgan Rielly Please / 70“I need you.” with Morgan Rielly / Prompt 67 Don’t tell anyone. Please.” with Morgan Rielly Please

prompt(s): “Are you okay? I heard a scream?” & “Don’t tell anyone. Please.” & “I need you.” / numbers 65, 67, & 70 off of this list with Morgan Rielly.

summary: you can’t help but tell Morgan just exactly how you feel one night.

warnings: none

word count: 1.7k

Some nights, you regretted sharing an apartment with a professional hockey player. They’d party on weekends and come home from road trips late at night. But, when you moved to Toronto on your own following your dream job, your childhood friend Morgan Rielly offered you his spare room. It was in a nicer neighborhood than you were looking for apartments in and definitely a nicer building than you would’ve been able to afford. 

It should have been easy for you to agree to move in with him, and if any other person had asked you would’ve jumped on the offer, but it was Morgan. The same Morgan you'd been hopelessly in love with since before he even started his professional hockey career. Still, the idea of reduced rent was too appetizing to pass up, and two weeks later he was helping you carry boxes into your new room. 

Which was how you found yourself in your current situation. You were in your own room searching for sleep, but the wooden door wasn’t doing much to stop the rowdy hockey players in the living room from keeping you up.

So, instead of having Morgan ask his teammates to keep it down a bit, you suffered silently in your room. You were never a confrontational person, and after the successful road trip the boys had just gotten back from the day before, they deserved to celebrate. You put on a movie a friend had recently recommended, not caring in the moment that it was a horror film, considering you were only putting it on in order to block out the laughter on not only your best friend and roommate, but his teammates as well.

Except, the movie was extremely interesting, because you couldn't tear you eyes away from the screen. Half an hour later you tugged the blankets up over your shoulders, hiding underneath when the tension in the movie grew too much for you to handle. 

You were so into the movie, in fact, that you didn’t even realize you screamed until after the jump scare on the screen changed to the next scene. You winced, pausing the movie and hoping that no one heard you, but you had no such luck when only moments later there was a knock on your door.

“Are you okay? I heard a scream?” Morgan asked, poking his head in the room. Once he realized you were fine, a grin grew on his face as shut your door behind him. 

“Just a scary movie.” You brushed him off, watching as he crossed the room to climb onto the empty side of your bed. As far as you could tell, his teammates were still out in the living room, and you figured that as soon as he knew you were fine he would head back out to them. “Aren’t the boys still here?”

“They can let themselves out.” Morgan shrugged, making himself comfortable under your covers. You wanted to question him on why he was in there with you, and not out with his friends, but he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side, your back on his chest as he propped himself up slightly on your headboard. Any words you had died on your lips as Morgan adjusted the blanket around you, knowing how you liked it pulled up to your chin when watching scary movies. 

You could only hope that he couldn't feel how rapidly your heart was beating in your chest as you pressed play on the movie once more.

Living with Morgan was a constant reminder of what you couldn't have but desperately wanted. You wanted nothing more than to be able to wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss the muscle between his shoulder blades as he washed the dishes in the kitchen, or be able to go to sleep every night in his bed, with very little space between the two of you due to his koala-like tendencies to cling to you whenever you cuddled on the couch. 

But for now, you would settle for getting to come home from work to see him dancing like no one was watching, a pot of boiling water on the stove. The music he was playing was so loud he didn't hear you come in, and he definitely couldn't hear your giggles, because when he spun around and saw you standing in the doorway fo the kitchen his eyes went wide and jaw fell slack. He scrambled to turn off the music and any composure you had left disappeared as you doubled over in laughter.

“Don’t tell anyone. Please.” He begged, the seriousness of his tone not matching the situation at all. You shook your head, unable to catch your breath from coming home to find Morgan dancing in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Oh, absolutely not, Rielly. If you think that I won’t tell Mitch exactly what I saw next time I see him, you don’t know me at all.” You teased, sliding onto one of the barstools sitting at the kitchen island. Morgan just shook his head, a soft smile evident on his face as he turned back to stirring whatever he was cooking on the stove. 

“How was your day?” He asked. You were thankful his back was to you, because you could feel your smile drop from one of amusement to one of longing. It felt too domestic all at once, like living with him had been building to this moment. Him asking that simple question was the proverbial stare that broke the camel’s back. 

You weren’t sure what caused him to turn back around when he did, whether it be because he always seemed to know when you were having an internal crisis or just the fact that you hadn’t responded yet. He called your name softly, the sound seemed to snap you back to reality and you looked up to him with furrowed brows. You shouldn't be the one who looked so confused, but Morgan was simply looking at you with a raised brow, waiting for you to come to your senses.

“Do you need something?” He asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he tried to gauge your reaction. It was so typical of him to try and make you feel better by cracking a joke, but in this situation it did nothing to stop the words from tumbling past your lips next.

“I need you.” 

Neither of you knew how to react to what you said. Your eyes were wide and so were his, and he had gone stiff as he tried to process. You couldn’t hear the scrape of the stool as you stood up over the pounding of your heart.

“I’m sorry. I’m shouldn't have—sorry. Fuck.” You mumbled, keeping your head down as you left the room. You couldn’t force yourself to stay in the kitchen, feeling embarrassed for having confessed how you felt like that. It wasn't even an actual admission, but you gave a strong enough hint and he wasn't stupid, he knew what you meant.

So you locked yourself in your room, shutting the door not only on the rest of the silent apartment, but also years of close friendship crumbling because you couldn't keep it together. You paced your room for a moment, unable to keep your thoughts in check, until a gentle knock made you freeze in your steps.

“Can I come in?” Morgan asked, and you stayed silent. You didn't want to face him, especially not after what you had just done, but he deserved an explanation. Still not speaking, you open the door for him but instead of waiting for him to answer, you sat on the edge of your bed. “So are we going to talk about what just happened?”

“I’m not in the mood for your teasing, Morgan.” You hissed, dropping your head into your hands as you popped your elbows on your knees. From your position, you couldn’t see Morgan cross your room, until you felt your bed dip beside you. 

“I’m not teasing.” He stated, and you sat up a little straighter. The way the length of his thigh pressed against yours made your heart race and you body feel warm, but then again, he’d been having that effect on you since you were teenagers. “If you meant what I think you did, then I need you too.”

“What do you think I meant?” You danced around the subject, not wanting to read too much into things and make a fool of yourself again. 

“That you’ve had feelings for me, but not as long as I’ve had feelings for you.” Morgan said casually, and when your head snapped towards him in confusion, you saw the grin on his face. Part of you wanted to convinced yourself that he was just messing with you, that he didn't actually mean the things that he was saying. But the other part of you knew better. That was the part you listened to, the one that knew him as well as you did and could tell by the tone of his voice that he was being completely serious. 

“How do you know that you’ve had feelings longer?” You let yourself tease back, the rush of adrenaline fueling your bold statement. 

“Probably because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you.” 

“I was twelve when we met, Morgan. No way you loved me back then, I was a mess.” You deflected his cheesy sentiment, cheeks heating up when you heard him confess his love. He’s told you he's loved you thousand and one times before, but now it held an entirely different meaning. “It took me three years after we met for you to win me over, but I love you too.”

You were snickering at your own joke, but Morgan just cupped your jaw in his hand and connected your lips in a searing kiss. It was one you had been waiting for what seemed like your whole life for, and the sheer intensity made it all worth it. Morgan would always be worth it. 

You pulled away first, needing a break to catch your breath. You didn't separate far though, foreheads rested together and nose pressed into his cheek. He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and you were certain that you looked similar to him. 

“Now that we got that out of the way, I’ve got to finish dinner for us.”

[littlebabycrybtch]

regs you do understand that like no matter what level of distinction YOU think my and your oppression is on bc ur not fucking listening.... mass social trauma does somewhat matter? like even from your skewed birds eye view of our experiences, hearing things like cishet men joke to your face that you need to get raped/that theyll rape you to fix you OR telling a joke that you are the way you are bc your uncle raped you as a child like your identity is just the punchline to constant incest child rape jokes OR they try to say its because you are so ugly no one would ever fuck you OR they say you’re r*tarded and theyre glad you wont breed bc eugenics is a fun thing for them to throw in from time to time like. that doesnt just ‘’‘upset’’’ me you fucking idiots that traumatizes me that damages me and fucks me up in the head and honestly it ruins my life when thats All i hear all the time about a benign part of myself that i cant fucking control. it Forever impacts me and thats a NORMAL reaction to that and this happens to us ALL THE TIME and im worried it will never get BETTER than this for any of us bc no one wants to go out on a limb and just give a shit like. i cannot imagine viewing a basic emotional response to this sort of thing as ‘sensitivity’. i have zero privilege for being ace that could ‘make up’ for that shit, the oppressors with all the power in society reject me which has an obvious affect on our treatment, and you have all made Very Sure we are completely and utterly alone in this struggle so. what the fuck am i expected to do with that. sorry that its cringe to admit i have feelings but like yeah this shit has rotted my brain away and ill never recover from it and i think ppl Should be able to take that seriously. ppl falling apart in front of you should make you want to take action. like how can u not comprehend that even just having privileged people ‘not understand’ or ‘prejudiced’ towards your group like..... its still ruining ace lives and making us miserable and unsafe... even ignoring the rest of our problems for gods sakes its still worth something to care about how society affects us mentally ????? and its inexcusable to just tell us to get over it lmao no actually believe it or not bc im a regular adult with feelings i think even just ‘mass bullying’ tm IS inexcusable to ignore bc it damages human beings for no reason and it wont kill you to get off your ass and oppose it bc if you can contribute to a social issue you have the capacity to fight it, and yes i definitely think rapey cishet men who deflect their homophobia onto the mogais deserve full range of consequences and youre being fucking lazy and spiteful if you think otherwise. stop trying to come up with ways to get out of it like ffs if nothing else can you just stop laughing abt ace trauma. i mean yes mam all these grown cishet men conditioning me to fear my sexual identity and to associate it with immediate rape threats, affects me, yes every safe space i try to find rejecting my trauma and treating me like im evil for asking for help, also affects me, my deepest condolences for existing and not even asking for respect but just wishing to not be rejected and mocked at every angle possible,

[kiwi-bitchez]

Permafrost

Chapter 4: superpowers and liquid courage

Read chapters 1, 2, and 3, all are also on my Ao3

Summary: Peter and Y/N sneak around the boat and try to find ways to kill the time. Stumbling upon a bar, you take it upon yourself to pour the liquid courage you need to finally talk to peter about what happened that night at the party.

Warnings: language and alcohol consumption

A/N: can this be a slow burn even though they've already fucked??? More smut is coming, I promise ;) Drop requests for oneshots or ideas for fics you want to see in my ask box! Smut/fluff/anything! Plz! I’m so lonely and horny all the time. 

The first handful of days on the boat generally consist of jetlag, seasickness, and mundane ways to kill the onsetting boredom. Just about everyone slept for the majority of the first day of the trip, that 11-hour flight was no joke, and segueing directly onto a boat wasn’t exactly an easy transition.

The bunks on the ship weren’t ideal, but they were nice enough. You weren’t exactly used to luxury anyways. The bedrooms could easily be compared to small dorm rooms, and the bathrooms weren’t large enough for more than one person to be seasick at a time.

Both you and Peter didn’t have too much trouble with that, as you found the constant swaying kind of comforting, and you were sure Peter was immune to motion sickness. However, everyone else wasn’t quite as adept as the two of you, making the first 48 hours generally miserable for everyone.

“I can’t stand being in here listening to Steve throw up any longer,” Peter says, sitting up in his bed and tossing a wad of paper at the back of your head.

“Hey!” you turn from your seat at the small desk where you had been trying to distract yourself with work, “watch it!”

“Can we do something, please,” Peter looks at you, making a ridiculous puppy-dog face that you knew you couldn’t say no to, “just like a walk around the ship, we can go up to the top deck, literally anything, please.”

“Ugh I guess,” you pretend to be annoyed but are actually glad to be getting out of the tiny bedroom. You hadn’t taken much time to explore around the ship, and you figured it would be beneficial considering you were going to be here for quite some time.

Following Peter, who walked incredibly fast, always slightly bouncing and skipping when he stepped, you made your way to the main room. There was a small kitchen, a few couches, and a dining table. You flop dramatically back onto one of the couches in the middle of the room, letting all your limbs hang off the sides.

“Great, now we can just listen to everyone be sick from out here,” you flop your head back to look at peter from an upside-down angle.

“At least the acoustics are better,” he quips back as he rummages through every drawer and cabinet.

“Is this really the only other room other than our sleeping quarters?” you ask, assuming he had been told more than you about the trip.

“Yeah, I think so. There are the other rooms upstairs, the conference room, and the top deck. I think Tony mentioned something about an entertainment room but he said it was closed off. This boat used to be for small private trips until they refurbished it to make the trip to Antarctica, now mostly it’s used by larger groups of scientists and stuff like that, so no real need for an entertainment room.”

“No need for an entertainment room? What, you science nerds don’t like to have fun?” You joke, having recently learned about Peter’s love for math and science, particularly chemistry.

“Not exactly anti-fun, more like anti-relaxation,” he flops beside you in a similar fashion on the couch across from yours, “I’m pretty sure Stark sealed off that conference room and is using it as a lab. Like he couldn’t just relax for a few days, that would be impossible.”

“Why aren’t you up there with him doing top-secret Avenger’s science?”

“Eh, he told me to scram when I offered to help. Sometimes he gets into the zone and refuses to let anyone help him. I kind of get it, but it means I’m stuck here, bored out of my mind.”

“Damn, sorry I’m so boring I guess,” you joke, sarcastically rolling your eyes at him.

“That is not what I-” he starts before looking over at you, realizing your tongue is stuck out at him.

“Race you to the top,” you say quickly as you take a head start out the door.

The two of you tumble down the hallway, flailing your arms and trying to knock one another over. He manages to squeak by you and scramble up the stairs to the top deck first.

“Hey that is not fair,” you yell over to him, already starting to shiver, “I don’t have radioactive blood and spider muscles or whatever it is you have.”

You join him over by the railing, looking out at the vast ocean. Although it is beautiful, the cold is unbearable and the wind is whipping your hair in every direction.

“This was a better idea in theory,” Peter turns to you, “I think I spotted Monopoly down there.”

“Okay are we five?” you joke back, but you secretly loved Monopoly, fully ready to kick Peter’s ass.

Although the two of you grew comfortable quickly, there was still a slight air of tension. There was that underlying thing that neither of you was going to bring up, but secretly wished the other would. You used humor as a coping mechanism, constantly deflecting with sarcasm and bad jokes.

It was inconvenient that the only person who really wanted to spend time with you was Peter, and you spent almost every minute of the day together. All of this would have been easier if you just had to awkwardly acknowledge him in passing, but no, you were literally sleeping less than 10 feet apart.

You tried to just see him as a friend, someone you could be goofy and dick around with. You think he is trying to see you the same way too. You try your best to keep physical contact out of the picture, but he can’t help but to grab your hand to drag you off somewhere, or for you to ruffle his hair after he says something stupid.

There was that inherent chemistry between the two of you, and if you hadn’t known better you could have ignored it, but that was the problem, you did know better. You both knew how you had fucked each other’s brains out that night, how the sexual interest and intense attraction truly was there and wasn’t just something you were imagining. But still, you resign to scrunching your nose at him and cracking bad jokes over board games to repress any feelings of wanting him on top of you.

You had found a small stack of board games and would cycle through them and play with anyone who was willing to sit with you and Peter for that long. Monopoly, Risk, and Scrabble. Certain members of the team would come in for certain games, some were better competitors than others. But that’s how the two of you mutually decided to pass the time. When you weren’t stewing over maps and images of cliff faces, you would go down to the common room with Peter and wait around until you had a large enough party to play. A few days passed by this way and you didn’t mind, it also gave you the chance to spend some time with the other members of the team, although they never became less intimidating.

You sat at the tiny wooden desk, you ass getting sore from sitting on the hard, wooden chair. You had been shuffling through papers, not really concentrating on anything in particular, when you felt Peter enter the room. You had headphones on and had the music cranked up, but you could always feel when he entered the room, despite how light on his feet he was.

You turn around, surprised to not see him there. But before you can fully turn back around to the desk your body instinctively recoils at Peter hanging upside down dangling over the wooden surface. You gasp as you start to fall back, chair slipping out underneath you. He shoots out a web from god knows where and catches the chair inches before it hits the ground.

You clutch your chest, slightly worried that cardiac arrest might be in your near future. Before you can yell at him, or even get up, he is toppled over on the desk cracking up. He lowers you slowly, so you are now flat on your back. He continues to hysterically laugh and you can’t help but join him.

“What the fuck man!” you finally say in between giggles.

“I’m sorry I-” Peter, still gasping for air in between bellows, “I just wanted to scare you, I didn’t realize you would-” still laughing.

“You are an asshole,” you say, finally getting up, you smack him off your desk and start to reorganize your papers.

“You can’t be mad at me, that was so funny,” Peter, finally upright, moves across the room.

“You bet your ass I will be getting you back though,” you point your finger sternly at him, although you were unsure how you could top hanging from the ceiling, “If you are here to ask me to play scrabble with you, I may explode.”

“No, no, I need a solid 12-hour break from board games before I kick your ass at Monopoly again,” he never stops rubbing it in, “I was just wondering if you wanted to look around for something to eat for dinner.”

You smooth out your hair and clothes to join him in the hallway, quickly entering the somewhat crowded main room. The others were eating as well, as everyone had become accustomed to the motion of the ocean and had started taking Dramamine. The two of you conclude on a box of mac and cheese, as long as Peter did all the work. He owed you at least that considering your heart stopped for a solid 15 after that stunt he pulled.

Everyone finishes their meals and clears out of the room, heading back to their respective rooms, leaving you and Peter to discuss the mechanics of eating mac and cheese with a spork.

“Make sure to wrap it before you tap it, kids,” Sam nudges Peter on the shoulder as he exited the room.

“Oh my god do they all know about that?” you ask.

“Kind of,” Peter’s face grew red, “they all really like you, I swear.”

“He wouldn’t shut up about you for weeks!” Sam yells from the hallway, clearly still within earshot of you.

You threw your hands over your face in embarrassment. You couldn’t believe that all the freaking Avengers knew about your sex life. You wondered how much Peter had told them, but didn’t dare ask. You just hoped they all knew that you were professional and hadn’t just weaseled your way onto this trip because you had slept with Spiderman, although that technically was the case.

“I am painfully bored,” you admit, bringing your dishes to the sink, “is there really nothing else to do other than Monopoly and sleep?”

“I mean I can think of a few things…” Peter jokes, although you hope deep down that he isn’t.

“Hey, quit it with the flirting,” you join him on the couch, “you made me dinner and now you’re making passes at me, don’t break the rules.”

“But rules are so boooooring, and this boat is soooo booooring,” he slumps into your lap, making those puppy dog eyes at you again.

“Okay then, lets… do something exciting then,” you suggest, getting up and waltzing across the room.

“What could possibly be exciting?”

“If I remember your top-secret Avengers info correctly, there is a whole game room just waiting to be broken into.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” Peter questions, “hey, and isn’t your whole deal that you want to be respectful and professional and everything?”

Although he makes a fair point, everyone is in bed at this point and your boredom was killing your brain cells. You both could use something to occupy your minds as this boat slowly trudges into colder and colder territory.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you start, “I didn’t realize you were bitten by a radioactive scardey cat.”

He rolls his eyes at you and follows you out into the hallway and down the stairs.

“Fine, but I am not taking the blame for this if we get in trouble.”

“Fine, fine, it was all my idea, you can even rat me out.”

You make your way down to the bottom floor, where neither of you had yet been. You find the door at the end of the hallway and quietly jiggle the door handle open.

“Dude, your secret intel was all lies,” you whisper, “the door wasn’t even locked.”

You slip your way into the door and feel around for a light switch. Although it was nowhere near as exciting as you would have hoped, it was still something. The lights flicker on and reveal a mostly empty ballroom, a small one albeit, a few tables, couches, and a bar. It wasn’t much different from the room upstairs except the one thing that caught your eye, the bar.

“Come on Peter, it will be fun,” you start, already knowing he will protest your devilish ideas, “plus, I bet no one can even hear us down here.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to take anything that doesn’t belong to me.”

“If that’s your concern I have like twenty bucks in cash upstairs that I will gladly leave in the place of whichever one of these fine bottles we choose to take.”

“I suppose,” you notice him coming around to the idea, “but we have to be quiet, I don’t want to disrupt anyone’s sleep.”

“Of course, of course,” you were now behind the bar, eyeing your selections, “pick your poison, Parker.”

You grab a bottle and take a seat on one of the couches, Peter sits down across from you.

“Are we friends?” you ask Peter, taking a swig right from the bottle and passing it over to him.

“Um, I guess so? Why?” Peter takes a sip much more easily than you had expected.

“I just feel like I don’t know anything about you. Friends know things about each other.”

“You know that I’m Spiderman, most people don’t know that about me.”

“I guess,” you take the bottle back from him, “but we have spent every day together for almost a week now, and I don’t really know anything about you. Your name is Peter Parker, you have magic spider monkey powers, you have a big dick...”

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” he says, hand out asking for the bottle again.

“Hmm?” you finish your sip and hand the liquor over.

“My middle name is Benjamin, that’s something you don’t know about me.”

“That’s so cute,” the liquor hitting you already, “that suits you so well.”

“Thanks, it was my Uncle’s name,” Peter took a long sip, “he, um, he died when I was in high school.”

“Oh,” you didn’t expect this conversation to get so serious so quickly, “were you two close?’

“Yeah, my parents are dead, so he and my Aunt May were my guardians. May is great, she’s like the best person ever, love her with my whole heart. But Uncle Ben died and it was pretty hard on us, and I became Spiderman, and… it was all kind of a mess, to be honest.”

“I’m- I’m really sorry to hear that,” you look down, unsure of how to continue.

“Ok now you go,” he says, handing you the bottle.

“Huh?” you were still trying to process everything he had just thrown out there.

“Our drinking game, you say something the other person doesn’t know about you and also you drink.”

“That just sounds like a conversation to me.”

“Ok, then you come up with something!”

“No, no, I like it,” you laugh, the alcohol steadily setting into your bloodstream, “I just don’t really have any exciting secrets like dead parents or superpowers though.”

“That’s ok, just tell me your favorite ice cream flavor or something. You are right, we barely know anything about each other.”

“Coffee, but coffee mixed with cookies and cream, so like the coffee ice cream has little bits of cookie mixed in it. What’s yours?”

“Ben and Jerry's.”

“That’s not a flavor, that’s a brand.”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s my answer. This is my game, so I say Ben and Jerry's.”

The two of you had somehow migrated from the couches over to the large wooden dance floor, laying with arms and legs starfished out around you. You went back and forth, telling stupid facts about yourselves, whoever wasn’t talking was drinking. You flip over onto your stomachs and rest your head on your arms, crossed in front of you. You were staring directly into Peter’s eyes.

Normally being this close to him would make you a blend of anxious and horny and giddy. However, the bottle was well over half gone at this point. The two of you had been talking for hours, rolling around on the hard floor and laughing at each other’s stories.

“Have you ever been in love?” you ask, the thought escaping your mouth before it could be filtered through your brain.

“Damn,” Peter, equally as drunk as you, responds, “that’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

“Okay mister shares-a-room-with-me-and-also-let-me-suck-his-dick-in-a-spare-room-at-a-work-function Parker.”

“Hey,” he sits up, struggling a little bit, “I thought we were secretly silently agreeing not to bring that up.”

“Ban lifted,” you sit up too, “we are playing the reveal-your-secrets drinking game that YOU made up.”

“It’s called “get to know your roommate better through discussion and drink” and it’s fun,” he says defensively, “and no, I was a loser in high school and now I spend my weekends lurking around in alleyways waiting for people to punch, so no, never been in love.”

“You lurk in alleyways? Doesn’t really sound very superhero esque to me,” you make fun of him.

“I’ve been to space, so, suck on that.”

“Can I see it?”

Peter gives you a funny look, not entirely sure what you’re getting at.

“Your suit you dummy, show me your super suit. Show me Spiderman!”

“I don’t know y/n, I’m kind of drunk and I don’t want to wake anyone up.”

“What? Spiderman can’t be quiet? Please, Peter, pleeeasssee.”

“Ok fine but I’m taking that twenty from your wallet to leave at the bar.”

“Fine!” you lay back on the ground, closing your eyes that felt very heavy, “I’ll be here waiting for you Spideyyy.”

Peter takes a while, slowly making his way up the stairs to your shared room. You patiently wait for him, pacing around the entertainment room taking long gliding steps, twirling around with your arms spread out.

“Okay, I have a few different ones with me, but this one is the coolest for sure,” Peter starts talking to you before he is even all the way down the stairs, taking them three at a time. You stare at him with bulging eyes, mouth dropping slightly agape.

“What? Don’t look at me like that you’re making me self-conscious,” he steps into the room, Spider-suit clinging tightly to his body.

“How?” you walk up to him, placing a hand on the shiny material, surprised to find it was cold and metallic to the touch, “are you so perfect?”

“Excuse me?” Peter stumbles a little bit.

“Look at you! You’re freaking amazing!” you fall back onto the old leather couch, making your landing dramatic, as if he had blown you away.

“Shut up, don’t make fun of me,” Peter shies away, “I’m not even gonna put the mask on now.”

“I’m not making fun of you! Do something super, please?? Will you??”

He sighs, exasperated, and drunk, and shoots a web across the room, swinging his body along with it. He wasn’t as graceful as he usually was, and had never tried using his suit while intoxicated, so this was all new.

“Holy shit!” you exclaim, causing Peter to whip around and dramatically motion for you to be quiet, “fuck, sorry. Holy shit!” you whisper.

“Can I take it off? I’m getting sweaty,” he drops his shoulders and mopes.

“I suppose…” you shuffle back over to the couch, “but know I like you much more in the sexy superhero outfit than those sweats you’ve been rocking.”

“Don’t hate on the joggers,” he was slipping back into them, you hadn’t even noticed that he had taken the spider suit off, it had happened so fast. You found yourself staring at his bare chest, unable to control your drunk expression of lust.

“Are we still playing the roommate honesty game?” you ask, desperately trying to focus your eyes on something other than Peter getting dressed.

“Yes,” he grabs the bottle over from where you had left it on the table, “and it’s my turn to ask.”

“Okay shoot spider-boy.”

He takes a long sip before sitting across from you, looking at you intently. “You lifted the ban, so I get to ask, and I’m just drunk enough to not give a fuck, so I have to do it.”

“Okay?” unsure of where he was going with this.

“Why,” he pauses before taking another quick sip, “why did you leave that night? Why didn’t you leave your number?”

It took you a second, and you sat there, slightly uncomfortable. You weren’t sure how to start, opening your mouth before words had formed in your brain.

“I’m sorry,” he cuts you off before you can even speak, “You don’t have to answer that, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“No, its ok,” you felt weirdly sober suddenly, despite not being able to feel your hands or feet or cheeks, “I- I just didn’t really know what I was doing. I had never really slept with someone I didn’t know like that, and I wasn’t sure what the rules were, what the protocol was.”

“I’m not good at that stuff either,” he avoided eye contact with you, “I probably just should have asked you for it.”

“I just, I didn’t want to leave it and then have you never call. I figured you were so busy being an Avenger, and you probably get girls all the time. I just jumped to the conclusion that it all meant a lot more to me than it did to you,” you look up at him, face previously buried in your hands.

“It meant something to me,” he says, “are you kidding, how could it not have? Did you hear Sam earlier? All I could talk about for weeks was how pissed I was that I didn’t ask you for your number, that I let you slip away.”

“I’m sorry for instilling the secret ban on talking about it,” you apologize to him, “and I’m sorry I left that night, I was just nervous. You make me nervous.”

“I am so un-intimidating. Thor is here, Captain America is here, they are intimidating. I’m like a 7 on a good day and all I can cook is boxed mac and cheese. Why do I make you nervous?”

“First off, shut up, you’re an 11 every day and you know it, you might be a secret genius, and you have freaking superpowers, plus you lowkey got me this job so I owe a lot to you.”

“I’m sorry if things have been weird or tense or whatever,” his cheeks turning redder than they had previously been.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a weird situation that neither one of us could have known about. And I’m the one who should be sorry if things are weird or tense.”

Peter gets up and joins you on the couch, resting his head on your shoulder. You still felt very nervous, but in a new way. You just want to lay there and hold him, let him know that you like him, that you really really like him.

“Do you think we could make it less weird?” your mouth does that thing again, saying ideas before your brain can properly filter them, “Do you think if we just kissed once it would diffuse the tension?”

You weren’t sure if this was actually a good idea, or if your brain was just trying to find a rational way to bring up to Peter how you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. You turned to him, alcohol helping with the typical nervousness and awkwardness that this situation would typically present.

“You just have to promise me,” he says, bringing one of his strong hands to cup your cheek.

“Promise you what?”

“Promise me that you’ll stop.”

“Stop?”

“Yeah, stop. Stop being pretty. Stop being funny. Stop being smart and witty and better than me at board games. Stop talking in your sleep and leaving your towel on your head for hours after you’ve gotten out of the shower. Stop doing all those things that are making this trip so hard for me. You have to promise me that you’ll stop.”

“If I promise, then you’ll kiss me?” you whisper, leaning into the hand that was pressed against your skin. He nods at you, tucking his lower lip between his teeth.

“Okay, then I promise. I’ll be mean and horrible to you for the rest of the trip. I’ll be nasty and unlikeable, and I’ll tell even more jokes than I already do, and now you won’t even have to pretend to laugh.”

He scrunches his nose at you, grinning a familiar smile as he leans into you.

“You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

You part your lips slightly, his mouth hovering over yours as you take a sharp breath inward, preparing yourself. His hand snakes from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling your lips to his and holding your head steadily, not wanting to feel your lips part from his. You latch onto his lower lip, hands coming up instinctively to cup his face.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you pull his face closer to yours. His hand on the base of your neck and your hands on his face acted as a human vice grip, locking your faces together as you felt his lips interlock with yours. You tilt your head, allowing his tongue to slip into your ready mouth.

The kiss wasn’t sexual or heated, the way a tension diffusing kiss was supposed to be, it was slow, earnest, warm.

You were drunk, but you could feel every shift and movement in his body, every maneuver of his hand. He wasn’t kissing you the way a drunk boy should kiss you, he kissed you as if you had just come home from the airport, like you just received good news, like you had known each other for much longer than this Antarctica trip.

You were the one to pull away, immediately regretting it the moment you did. You stared at him with sad eyes, not knowing what would happen next. He just stared back, not wanting to register that the kiss was over.

Before he could say anything or look at you in a way that made you feel the need to say something, you turned around, back facing him and laid back. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. Taking his hand and weaving his long fingers between yours, you tell him

“I hate you,” staying true to your promise. You close your eyes and let your body fully relax into his.

“I hate you more,” he kisses the top of your head, burying his face in your hair, closing his eyes too.

[chubbyooo]

Blurred Lines: Cursed Past Chapter 71: Risha

hey all we made it all the way here it took 71 chapters but we’re here :D

Gacen and Ash follow the ranger hoping to find someone long missed

Gacen felt tremors through his hand as he piloted the ship into the nebulous space, Ash was confident this was it this was where Risha was all the searching leading here to this moment. Did he even know if he wanted to see her? what if she didn’t want to see him? he felt a tightness in his throat as he gripped the controls tight he thought he’d put these worries to bed. He thought he’d come to a good conclusion that it was better to find out than worry like this but now that it was happening he wasn’t so sure. Had he made a mistake? Should they just have stayed doing small time jobs what if he messed this all up again he couldn’t let her down twice not again what would he do, this was a mistake it had to be it was just a…

He heard a voice shouting at him and he snapped back to reality “hey hey Gacen snap out of it it’s gonna be fine” he exhaled coming out of the panic to see Ash staring at him

He turned to Ash “sorry I uh I got inside my own head, what were you saying?” Ash looked at him concerned but didn’t press him

Ash pointed to the console “look the tracker has stopped that’s where we need to go” Gacen nodded adjusting his course to head towards the planet “I’m turning shields to the front just in case” Gacen nodded it was a given Risha would be paranoid it’s just how paranoid

Gacen plotted a course “alright here we come Gabredor prime” he smiled deciding to just ignore and push through the nervousness until it was done

Ash narrowed her eyes “prime is so pretentious it’s just Gabredor I” Gacen chuckled pretentiousness was best 

Gacen snickered “well when your wife discovers a secret planet you can call it what you want” Ash’s eyebrows raised “potentially”

Ash folded her arms “I mean your wife would certainly go for the pretentious option” Gacen did a comically over the top gasp

Gacen joked “how dare you we may be upper class pompous criminals but we’re anything but pretentious we were like the fashionable criminals” Ash just scoffed at him hiding a smile

Soon the gas of the nebula began to dissipate and a green jungle planet came into view, Ash used the console to do a quick scan “wow that’s fascinating it’s atmosphere has a layer of chemicals that convert all this noxious gas into harmless oxygen” Gacen had no idea what she was talking about

Gacen nodded “oh yes of course that old thing” Ash turned to him his lie clearly not convincing

Ash sighed dumbing down her explanation “the planet makes the gas breathable like a shield deflecting bolts of energy” Gacen’s eyes widened as he thought about it “you got it now?” 

Gacen held his chin “totally lost” Ash just sighed and turned the scanner off, Gacen tried his best to stealthily land the ship. As they entered the atmosphere they saw the thick canopy covering most of the planet and Gacen landed in the first clearing he could find, Ash scanned for life signs.

“Ok so there is a ton of life on this planet but only two sentient life signs” Ash smiled as she spoke clearly pleased their detective work had paid off

Gacen swallowed hard “so you think they’re?” he trailed off

Ash frowned “of course I think it’s them Gacen it doesn’t take a genius to work that out dummy” Gacen nodded grabbing the sides of his chair hard

Gacen took a deep breath “it’s gonna be fine it’s gonna…” Ash got up and waited for him to follow

Ash raised her eyebrow “buddy it’s too late to go back now either you follow me or I’m carrying you over there and you know I can” Gacen let out a slight chuckle conceding and getting up

He gritted his teeth and exhaled “alright we can do this I’m ready” Ash nodded and made her way to out the ship, they got to the bottom of the ramp and Gacen felt a sharp nervous feeling and leaned up against the landing ramp “I can’t do this” he gripped his stomach tight and slid down to the floor as his breathing became heavier and his thoughts became overwhelming.

Ash turned around and sighed sitting down next to him “so uh what now we wait here?” Gacen felt tears well up in his eyes but he kept them at bay 

Gacen gritted his teeth “I’m sorry I know I just need a minute just a… just…” he tried to finish the sentence but his breathing was too rapid

Ash took his hand “well I’ll be right here I promise” Gacen nodded trying his best to find his composure

He took a deep breath “alright I’m as good as I’m going to be you need to push me to do this” Ash nodded lifting him up by his hand

She led him away from the ship and into the jungle and after about 5 minutes he was walking on his own again “I’m uh sorry about that it’s just…” Ash interrupted before he could finish

 Ash smiled “it’s fine you don’t need to explain to me” Gacen smiled before he pulled Ash into a surprise hug “woah woah what the heck is this, why?” she struggled awkwardly clearly not a hugger

Gacen took a deep breath “just a thanks, thanks for being here whenever I was having trouble you never left you always were here for me you’re the best friend a person could ask for” he couldn’t see Ash’s face but he could tell she was smiling

She stopped struggling “well uh I just wanted to help you know” Gacen nodded releasing her from the hug

Gacen smiled “now let’s stop being so sappy by the force I feel like a fucking jedi” Ash smiled as they continued to walk

“Yeah I mean jeez what dweebs” they laughed and continued forward. 

They followed the life signatures for about an hour before they came upon a reservoir with a rather well constructed wooden bridge on it. Gacen frowned “well that is certainly is the first man made thing we’ve seen” he paused “or maybe droid made” Ash nodded gesturing to proceed with caution

They made their way forward up to the start of the bridge but as they did something jumped out of the trees, suddenly they saw the familiar form of the ranger roll in front of them. Now in view Gacne could see what seemed to be a modified protocol droid with rather advanced modifications at that, they spoke in a robotic but still gruff voice “Identify yerself now” they held an impressive blaster pistol, Gacen thought better of starting a fight and put his hands up

Gacen responded “hello um we mean no harm this is Ash’shen’tor an…” the ranger interrupted them

They shook their head “not to me idiot to him” he gestured to a hooded figure who walked out of the bushes, Gacen frowned, the head was rather large that didn’t seem normal.

The figure began to speak “leave this place traveler ther…” Gacen interrupted him come on that wasn’t even subtle

Gacen chuckled “Guss? Is that you” the figure stammered confused before removing the hood to reveal the mon cal Guss Tuno

Guss blinked quickly “Gacen? Gacen is that you? I uh I couldn’t see you under the hood” he quickly ran to him and pulled him into a tight hug “oh Gacen I’ve missed you so much have you missed me???”

Gacen chuckled always the cheerful one “uh yeah sure” the ranger looked between them confused

The rangers tone changed completely to a more common protocol droid voice “master Tuno I’m confused should I stop the facade

Guss looked to him “oh yes Mask you can stop this is my old captain Gacen Zandar” Gacen did his best to wave while still tightly in Guss’ grip

Mask nodded “ah I see the one married to Mistress Drayen? My name is M4-SK I was an actor until Mistress Drayen recruited me for the ultimate role” Gacen nodded an actor droid what next

Gacen focussed turning to Guss “wait Drayen? Is Risha here?” Guss seemed to come out a daze

He let Gacen go finally “oh yes of course she’ll be thrilled to see you surely, she’s just over the bridge in our base” Gacen couldn’t help but smile but that smile was accompanied by a nervous pit in his stomach

Ash pushed him forward “let’s so see her then” Gacen appreciated the push he would just have stopped without the push

Guss folded his arms “I’m Guss, Gacen’s Best Friend, who may you be?” he shook Ash’s hand very vigorously

Ash looked at him confused “Ash, we’ve actually met before I’m the former leader of havoc squad” Guss’ eyes widened as he realised

He nodded “my apologies it’s been a long time since I’ve seen others, anyway why were you traveling with my Best Friend Gacen” Ash didn’t seem to appreciate the third degree Gacen should save her from Guss’ best friend jealousy

Gacen spoke up “well Guss you should probably notify Risha of our arrival right???” Guss gasped and then immediately fumbled for a comlink

Guss held it to his ear? Gacen assumed that’s what it was “hello boss? Yes I know sorry I got a little caught up we have some guests” paranoia was definitely present on that call “Yes I know you said no guests but you’ll like these guests. No I promise you will, I know I know what you said but I followed all your protocols it’s no one bad I promise, ok ok fine” Guss looked to each of them a little flustered “there’s like a 70% chance she may have a gun when you arrive” Gacen couldn’t help but laugh 

Gacen joked “well it wouldn’t be the first time she’d shot me” Guss laughed awkwardly clearly remembering the occasion

They began walking towards whatever base they had setup, Guss was his chatty self as always “so how did you get here we were so careful” Gacen smiled he’d missed Guss’ constant questions

Gacen explained “well those Dubrillion thugs were like ‘help us we’re a bunch of jags’ and we were like ‘you can shove it dickweed’ but they did give us a lead on a bounty hunter who knew your last location. From there it was actually because of you due to a few little clues around the far more memorable mon cal former jedi than human woman and that led me to more and more clues and eventually we ended up here” Guss nodded listening intently 

Guss looked away “can you uh leave the part out about me being the clues to Risha” Gacen chuckled Guss always wanted to please people

Gacen nodded “sure thing bud but the big question is what the heck is all this about” Guss held his chin clearly trying to put it all together

Guss took a deep breath “well I know some of it, uh after we gave up looking for you, sorry but we really looked everywhere I promise” Gacen nodded that was fine they were pretty well hidden “well Risha wanted to take a crack at Dubrillion and they just kept sending assassins and trying to impede our progress, that Actavarus would destroy cities just to stop us.” Gacen hated that bald cockmuncher “so Risha said we needed to be more subtle and work from the shadows, so uh we found this place near Dubrillion and built a base using droids and Mask for supplies” Guss looked around “that’s the really short version Risha knows all the details” Gacen smiled he knew Risha would never give up on Dubrillion

Ash cut in “well I mean you certainly were well hidden we’ve been searching for a long time” Guss smiled clearly proud he hadn’t given too much away

Gacen nodded “well Rish was always thorough” they reached the end of the bridge now and the base began to come into view, a large red base came into view looking more like a holiday home than a base of operations, Gacen chuckled even when Risha was hiding out she was doing it in style. He noticed the colours kinda matched his style, he smiled maybe Risha was more sentimental than he thought.

Guss was fidgeting with excitement “Oh this is going to be great I love reunions I’ve missed us three so much, Gacen I just I can’t it’s bee…” Ash grabbed the mon cal covering his mouth and moved him back.

Gacen appreciated that he was beyond nervous, he took a long deep breath and walked up to the door, there was no knocker so he went to knock on the metal but as he did the door sprung open and he saw the familiar form of Risha in the doorway holding a blaster carbine ready. She hadn’t aged a day, her eyes still dark and beautiful wearing the exact same pale jacket she always did, but her hair was much longer going down to her shoulders and curled at the end Gacen really liked it.

Gacen smiled trying to keep his composure as she met his gaze she dropped the carbine to the ground “hey Rish long time” her mouth was agape overwhelmed in surprise

Risha smiled “Gacen? Is that?” she walked up to him putting her hand on his face, it was weird suddenly all his worries were gone now he was here.

Still Gacen was so overwhelmed he didn’t know what to say “I uh I like your hair” Risha smiled averting her gaze

She played with the end of her hair “thanks I uh wanted to be as conspicuous as possible so hair change is less identifiable” she mumbled, Gacen nodded putting his hand on hers

Gacen chuckled “it looks good it builds character” Risha frowned at him he probably hadn’t used that correctly oh well.

Risha’s face softened “I like yours too” she chuckled “it’s exactly the same” Gacen raised his eyebrows at her with a grin

He smiled “of course you can’t mess with the hawk” Risha chuckled grinning like he’d never seen, she pulled him into a tender embrace kissing him for a long second but what at first seemed to be just a kiss quickly turned more and more passionate as they began making out stumbling back into the house, the door closing behind them leaving Guss and Ash outside

Guss looked around “we may wanna give them an hour” he paused “or five”...