#it’s just i’ve had better yogurt obviously

[skautism]

i wish i had spongebob gogurt. specifically the spongebob ones because i like how they used to put trivia on the tube and you couldn’t see the answer until you ate it. they stopped doing that awhile ago and i was so upset cuz id literally only gotten them for nostalgia

[radiant-reid]

sweetness! i’ve got the episode “derek” & i got to thinking when the figment of his father says “there’s a moment when you realize you love a woman & the moment you realize you’re gonna marry her” & was curious, what do you think those moments are for spencer? & bonus (if you’d be down to write it obviously) the same concept but vice versa? like when the “i <3 spencer” switch flipped & knew they’d be life partners? 🫶🏻

aw this makes me sad but in a good way. also i only did spencer's because i feel like they vary by person, hope that's okay

When he knows he loves you

"What do you mean you've never had frozen yogurt!?" You ask Spencer in total shock.

You've been playing what's become a regular back-and-forth game of confessions on those increasingly frequent occasions when you can't sleep. The BAU, or more specifically, the east-west time zone difference, wreaks havoc with your sleep schedules. Tonight, the sleepover is at his place.

Spencer's not complaining. Not being able to sleep isn't as bad when he has someone to talk to and doesn't have to stare at the walls and think about the case.

"Never." He laughs a little at your shocked reaction. "The germs on the little spoons put me off."

"You're missing out." You inform him, getting up from where you've been laying in bed and holding hands.

He frowns, sitting up and watching you walk around his bedroom like you know where everything is. You practically do. "What are you doing?" He inquires.

"It's what we're doing." You say, turning to look back at him after you open his bedroom door. He's still frowning. "Going to get frozen yogurt."

He stands up and follows you, still unsure. "You're serious?"

"Completely." You assure him, grabbing your keys and slipping your shoes on. "And I'll make yours for you."

You hover by the door on your phone, figuring out where the nearest shop is, he presumes while he slips his shoes on. "Should we at least get changed?" He asks, looking in the mirror by the door at his messy hair and pajamas.

"There's no time." You announce. "You cannot go an extra ten minutes not having had frozen yogurt."

Spencer holds the door open for you, reaching for your hand before turning back to lock it. "You're crazy, you know?"

You nod. "That's why you like me."

He smiles the entire car ride, head against the leather headrest as he asks you what toppings are best, and you tell him about all the good memories of getting frozen yogurt with your friends and family.

The looks you get are odd. Being the only customers in the store, your loud giggling doesn't go unnoticed by the bored cashier who's probably wishing they were somewhere else.

"Okay, what do you think?" You ask once you're back in the car, parked on the side of the road.

He hears the excitement in your voice, how you anxiously hold your cup and anticipate his reaction. Dramatically, he tries it, scooping ice cream, toppings, and sauce at the same time, and taste tests it like he's a judge on Masterchef.

"Good." His judgment comes.

You scoff. Your face shows pure joy, a wide grin, and the sparkling eyes he adores. "Spencer, just good? Come on, don't you know a million words?"

"Marvelous, delectable, exquisite." He offers, returning your smirk.

"Much better." You approve, sticking your spoon out to try some of his. He gasps, pulling it away. "You have to share. That's the rules of frozen yogurt."

He relents, holding it out for you to take some, and taking some of yours in exchange. "Wow, I'm so thankful I didn't let you pick for me." He teases you once he's tried what you like.

You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. "You're so mean."

"Sorry, sorry." He apologizes, leaning forward to kiss you to make up for it. You kiss him back, making out with him like you're fifteen again, but he pulls back before it can get too heavy. "You've got to brush your teeth first."

You giggle at him. "Alright, we have to get home then because that's the plan for the rest of the night." You say, winking at him.

Spencer avoids choking on his ice cream at the proposition. "I mean, you're in charge, so I have to do whatever you say."

You grin at him, turning the car on. "I like this color on you." You say, and you're not just talking about the underlying sexual remarks. It's the way he's almost carefree with you, a side of him only you get to see.

You squeeze in conversation on the drive, but it's more eating than joking. He looks over at you while you drive back through the city, the warm summer wind in your hair, some frozen yogurt on your upper lip while you laugh at him. You're the first person to do that genuinely and so much.

It's how you inspire him to be who he wants to be. After being stuck in a box of seriousness for so long, he can just have fun and be a young adult for once. That's what he loves about you. And it hits him just like that, all at once, but in a way that's not overwhelming.

"Just take a picture." You joke, noticing his eyes transfixed on you. "Or you'll get more on your shirt."

He hadn't realized he'd missed his mouth until you point it out. "Just keep your eyes on the road." He quips.

"Can't help it." You tell him. "You're too perfect and really pretty."

He's even cuter when he blushes, and that's what you achieve with your compliment. "I think you're perfect." He replies quietly.

When he knows he wants to marry you

He's a little bit nervous about introducing you to his mom, wanting to make sure she's having a good day before he takes a very important step in your relationship.

He knows it has to go well. He needs his mom's approval, and it will kill him if he doesn't get it because of how much he loves you.

It seems like fate is working in his favor because you're in Las Vegas for a case, and Hotch agrees the team can have the night to blow off some steam.

For you, that means going to meet his mom. You can tell Spencer's freaking out about it on the way, gripping the steering wheel too tightly.

"Baby, it'll be okay." You assure him, squeezing his hand.

He's not sure why you're doing the comforting, but he's glad one of you is calm. That's the way it's often been with his overthinking nature.

"I know." He agrees. "I just hope she's having a good day."

You know about his past by how after one nightmare he had about it. "Either way, we'll be fine."

You distract him with a different conversation after that, playing with his hair between the headrest. When you get to his mom's facility, his phone rings almost as soon as you walk in the door hand-in-hand.

"It's Hotch." He announces, reading the caller ID. He knows your boss wouldn't be calling without a reason, and that means he has to pick up. "Just wait here and I'll be back in a minute." He instructs you, nodding to a bench in the reception area.

You don't, he realizes, when he comes back in after answering Hotch's questions about the case, and he anxiously walks through the facility to find you and his mom talking like you've known each other for years.

"Hey." You notice him, shuffling over so he can sit next to you.

He hugs his mom first, whispering about how much he's missed her. She shoots him a look that he knows means she approves, that she's impressed even before sitting next to you.

You run your hand over his back comfortingly. "Your mom was just telling me about baby Spencer." You fill him in.

That's enough to do it for him, knowing that in the five minutes he's been away, you've managed to make a connection with his mom without him being there. He's talked about how important she is, but he really can't believe you care so much that you put that over any anxiety you had about meeting his mom. It hits him then that it shouldn't be such a surprise: you would put his worries in front of him a million times. He sees you going extra steps for him all the time, and he's still wowed by how big your heart is.

But he has to play those big feelings off quickly. "Oh no." He groans playfully. "That means the photo albums are about to come out."

"Come on." You encourage him. "I bet you were so cute."

"He was." Diana agrees.

You hold his chin, grinning at him. "He still is."

It's a while after sharing childhood stories and memories that you excuse yourself to use the restroom, and he's left with his mom for the first time on that visit.

He doesn't bother asking her what she thinks. That answer is clear from her persistent smile. "You have to talk me down." He says. "Because I'm about to run off to a wedding chapel and marry her right now."

"While I think she deserves more than a tacky strip wedding, I'm going to be there." She assures him. "And this is everything I've ever wanted for you."

[wolfjackle-creates]

You're post since you're already sitting on a couple of asks for Bring me Home, so I hope you don't mind a third request for it.

I absolutely do not mind! Enjoy. ^.^

-----

Danny hummed as he took stock. Touching the injuries had obviously come with its own pain, but the area was now under a numbing coolness that helped beat back some of the pain. “Better,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Great!” said Tim. “Do you want anything else? Let’s try to get you a few spoonfuls of ectoplasm and yogurt. You need your calories if you’re going to heal at all.”

Danny frowned, but acquiesced. “Fine. But I want another piece of ice when we’re done.”

“You’ve got it,” agreed Tim readily.

“Well, looks like it’s back to driving for me,” said Kon. He stood and stretched before heading back to the front of the vehicle and out of Danny’s sight.

This time, with the salve numbing him and the nightmares still haunting him if he closed his eyes for more than a blink, he ate much more. He finished an entire vial of ectoplasm and half the yogurt before he couldn’t stand the thought of eating any more.

“Talk to me?” he asked before taking the second piece of ice.

“Of course. What do you want me to talk about?” asked Tim.

“Anything,” admitted Danny. “Just need something to distract me.”

Tim hummed in thought. “Well, I know I’ve talked about Gotham before, but it’ll be different now that you’re coming with me to live there rather than visit. You’ll be moving in with me to my civilian apartment. It’s a penthouse downtown near the Drake Industries offices. My dad may have nearly ruined the company, but Bruce has been helping me build it back up. I’m not officially in charge, but as my dad was the owner, I’ve got a controlling interest.

“There’s lots of places to eat nearby. My favorite is this little hole-in-the-wall Hispanic place run by a Puerto Rican family. You have to try their empanadas. Simply to die for. I’ll get us take out from there when you’re finally up to eating something more solid than smoothies or yogurt. There’s also a killer pizza place down within walking distance…”

Danny let the words drift over him, and this time, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t see images of his parents or the lab.

[roosterbox]

Well. Well well well.

It’s December 14th, 2022.

And, I don’t know if you know this, but today is an important anniversary. What is it, you may ask? Don’t fret - I will tell you.

It’s only the ten year anniversary of the publication of my favorite Arthur/Eames fic of all time! And, having read it several times throughout those ten years, I have a lot of things to say about it. So sit back and relax as I wax poetic on this amazing fucking story. Cheers!

(It should go without saying but, spoilers!)

Emotion. Let’s start there, because it might be the hardest to quantify in any sort of simplistic way. The first third or so of the story, mainly set up until you get to the real MEAT, is just a building lamentation of a relationship so far out on the rocks it’s practically lost at sea. And it hurts, man. Not only because A/E is one of my forever ships and I’ve read so many happy fics of them over the years, but also because it feels real. Not contrived in any way.

And emotions segues nicely into my next point: characterization. Simply, it is on point. Their issues and arguments are very real too, and seem to come from places of genuine hurt, but also deep love. Neither one is right or wrong. That moment when Arthur articulates one of his deeper hurts - that despite his best efforts to be a good partner, Eames still pulled away from him - oof. Almost an actual physical pain in my heart. Fanon!Arthur has always been incredibly relatable to me, and seeing/reading him being so vulnerable? Ouch, but in the best way.

As for the plot, and tropes therein, it’s a real keeper. One of my absolute favorite types of stories, particularly romantic stories, are the ones of relationships repaired, set anew, but not forgetting what came before. I call it ‘relationship kintsugi.’ Kintsugi, if you don’t know, is the art of repairing broken pottery with gold lacquer. The bowl (or cup or plate) is fixed up to work good as new, but the cracks are still visible. And one could argue that the reminder of previous breaks only strengthens the overall shape of the pottery. In the relationship version, it’s the idea that no matter the fracture, there’s always a chance to build it back up. Build it up, but leave the gold lines to remind yourself that you don’t want to go back to the same relationship you had before - you want it to be better (which is pretty much an exact quote from Eames in this story). And of course, setting it at Christmas time and New Year, traditionally a time of togetherness and new beginnings, is just the icing on an already delicious cake.

One more thing I appreciate about the plot is its pacing. No element feels rushed or misplaced. From their initial argument, to their gradually increasing intimacy, to their first post-breakup kiss, to their lovemaking, to the ending. It’s believable at every step of the way. And the slow build up makes the eventual catharsis of the above moments almost explode off the page.

Some other personal favorite moments for me:

When Eames first calls Arthur after getting snowed in. Arthur, still feeling raw and hurt both from their argument/break up and from thinking Eames has been cheating, wonders aloud if Eames doesn’t have ‘somewhere else’ he could stay (obviously thinking about his lover); Eames’ answer is a quietly confused “uhhhh no?”

The initial hashing out of their issues. The entirely necessary purging of razor-sharp emotions that leaves both in a heap on the floor, especially Arthur.

“There was never anyone else - it was always you, Arthur.” And any other time Eames makes it crystal clear that no matter what, he wants no one else.

The exchange of meaningful gifts, that leads to two very important kisses.

The tiniest of tiny details, like Eames’ love of peach yogurt. Now, whenever I see that flavor, I think of this story.

The small moments that lead them to sharing a bed again at last (though at that point, only for literal sleeping together).

“Can I take you to bed, my love?”

The ending. I’m spoiling a lot of this fic, but I’m not spoiling that. Tremendous.

I think I might have said all I needed to say. Or all I could say. Articulating feelings is hard for me sometimes. And when the feels are particularly strong, doubly so. Hence why I hardly ever leave comments on fics - it’s not that I didn’t love the fic, it’s just that I have no earthly idea what to say. So if the ending to this little essay feels at all abrupt, now you know why. Put simply, I adore this story. It’s everything I could ever want in a romance - established relationship (but one that feels new thanks to being rebuilt), realistic emotions, characters being expanded upon far far more than anything in their canon universe, a slow burn that never lingers too long, and of course, a highly cathartic happy ending.

It’s as perfect as fanfiction can get, and it’s my unequivocal and inimitable favorite Inception story of all time. I can’t believe it’s ten years old today. If you haven’t already, please give it a read.

(side note: I hope I haven’t thoroughly embarrassed the author by being a tad overzealous in my love for this fic! If so, I apologize; ten years is a long time for me to build up appreciation for your skill, my friend.)

[str1v1ng4z3r0]

F00d l0g 24/5 2024

Breakfast 3

Pāndy raspberry energy drink (3)

Lunch 104

Pāndy pineapple energy drink (3)

Fiber oatmeal w/ 30g low c4l lingonberry jam and cinnamon (101)

Snack 107

95g no f4t vanilla yogurt (33)

70g no f4t Greek lemon yogurt (42)

64g carrot sticks (32)

Snack 3

Pāndy pineapple energy drink (3)

Dinner 354

2 quorn fillets (88)

100g rice (113)

120g broccoli (47)

1tbsp unsweetened ketchup (9)

1tbsp garlic sauce (64)

2 rye crisp bread (14)

15g soft cheese (19)

Total intake: 572

Total workout: 323 (walk)

Total net: 249

——————————

Thoughts: Had so much work to do today so during work I cut myself some slack and had both lunch and a snack. Totally regret it now 🙄

Also, today was the first time this week that my bf didn’t have an evening shift so we were both home after work.

When I hugged him I noticed his chest muscles have become much tighter and he looked so proud when I asked and then showed that both his arms and back muscles had also grown (seriously they were rock hard). And he happily said he’d dropped 4kgs since he got his new job as a lifeguard and with that started working out more often and drinking less wine (this was 18 days ago which is a really good result for a man over the age of 40). My 3D brain was obviously jealous but also my gf brain was concerned (and has been for a while, one time last spring he hd to leave the table and thr0w up mid dinner and then came back and just continued eating and said that he’d felt bloated and nauseous but he felt better now - HELLO WARNING SIGNS - or it might be that I’m so damaged that I believe everyone has 3D’s but idk).

Also, he didn’t have as many fish sticks as he usually does so I said that was slightly concerning and he then said “no, I didn’t think I needed more cause I had so much broccoli and crisp bread. What’s concerning is your teeeny tiny portions and that you’ve lost w3ight so so fast that basically all that’s left of you is skin and b0nes”.

He knows I have problems with food and is seriously the best person in the world and I know he is very concerned of what I’m doing to myself and he’s always trying to help in all ways he can. And I know he said this in a caring way… but I can’t help it - this comment made me so happy and proud 🙈😏😇😅

After overthinking this situation for the rest of the evening I’ve realized that if someone commented on my portions or wl I would definitely give a similar type of response on pure instinct as a defense mechanism - that would be some kind of answer that put the focus elsewhere when confronted with something difficult. So… I’m still concerned for him. Maybe even more than before 😕

Maybe this is just me being me, it’s very common I overreact to stuff due to my HSP 🙈 If this sounds like a totally crazy assumption, please lmk so I can let it go.

[blue-eyed-bloodstains]

When was the last time you wore a mask, and what kind of mask was it? obviously all throughout COVID while they were required, especially given I have a shit immune system given several illnesses...haven’t for awhile though except the ER which still require em obviously

Do you say “couch” or “sofa”? 🛋️ couch

Have you found any gray hairs yet? if so, how old were you when you found your first one? no

Do you think you will dye your hair when you go gray, or will you let it be natural? probably dye it just because

Have you ever met anyone named Eden? no

Which name do you like better: Eden or Aiden? Aiden

What is your favorite type of meat to eat? 🥩 seafood hands down

When was the last time you felt jealous of someone? when my fiance got to take The Hobbit tour since he’s been on a job in New Zealand since Feb

What are three thing you think of when you hear the word “India”? 🇮🇳 food, camels, hot

Are there any bar stools in your home? no

When was the last time you sat on a bar stool? too long

Have you ever been to a spa? 🧖♀️ no

What is one thing you hate? domestic violence and abuse

Have you ever sprained your ankle? yeah

Do you own an artist’s palette? 🎨 if so, when was the last time you used it? no

When was the last time you attended a religious ceremony? ⛪️ I’m assuming we’re not counting wedding or funeral so...I don’t attend church, I’m not religious so I can’t think of anything right now

If applicable, what is one trend you started when you were in school? Haha yeah no...never.

Have you ever done a craft project using a soup can? no

Have you ever had a Sony product just stop working? Sure?

What is your favorite type of tree? 🌳 hmm weeping willows I guess

Have you ever had a spaniel for a pet? no

Do you like the word “iota”? ummm sure? I never use it but I don’t mind it

What celebrities were you obsessed with when you were younger? oh lord...the Harry Potter cast (still am), Eminem (still am), NSYNC, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, MadTV (the original cast), to name a few..

Would you rather sing or play an instrument? if you’d rather play an instrument, which instrument would you prefer to play? sing but I don’t think I have the voice for it so instrument for sure. I’ve always wanted to learn guitar, drums, and piano

Were you named after someone, and if so, who? my middle names yeah one is my great grandmother’s name and the other is mom’s middle name, and as much as I fucking hate this, my last name after sperm donor... Did you ever play with a yoyo as a kid? 🪀 sometimes, not much I couldn’t really learn any tricks as much as I tried heh

Who is your current favorite celebrity? JoJo, Eminem, Avril Lavigne, The Rock, Nick Cage, Markiplier, Mark Wahlberg...to name a few

What is one thing you aren’t able to do currently, but you wish you could? basically function like any normal person given my physical limitations, I can barely go anywhere and be on my feet without needing to sit or collapse, being so violently sick so much too makes it hard...and right now? I just wanna run and fucking hide in a hole and not exist...

What is one thing you think tastes good with granola? yogurt

When was the last time you ate a granola bar? ages, I don’t really like crave them or buy them

Do you prefer jelly or jam? 🥪 jelly

Have you ever met anyone named Cameo? no

What was the last thing you sent in the mail? two checks for probation fines and for license suspension fee

What is your favorite thing to do on the ice? drinks on the rocks

Have you ever visited any of the Great Lakes? no I’d like to though

Have you ever swam in any of the Great Lakes? if so, which of the Great Lakes have you visited? no cause I’ve never seen them

What were you almost named? if I was a boy, I woulda been named Kyle...my name was always a dead set with mom as far as girl’s name

What was the name of the first dog you had as a pet? Jewel

Do you any of your family members have birthdays on a holiday, and if so, which one(s)? not that I can think of

When was the last time you attended a kegger? 🍾 never sadly

What was the last thing you wrote down? addresses on envelopes

What is your favorite type of bird? 🦜 cardinals for personal reasons

Do you think of yourself as young or old? how old are you? depends on what it’s regarding..I’m recently turned 31, still don’t feel it but I’ve always been mature for my age yet I don’t look much older than about 18

Do you enjoy doing crossword puzzles? hell yeah love it it’s my favorite hobby

[allywritesforfun]

hey i really enjoyed your nightly routine post with wilbur? i was wondering if you could do something similar but in the morning instead?

awe my love! I'm glad that you enjoyed the nightly the routine... here is the morning routine!

{Morning Routine} Wilbur Soot x Reader

summary: you and wilbur made a nightly routine video that blew up more than you have thought, so now its time to do a morning routine!

pronouns: not mentioned

word count: 2280

trigger warnings: swearing, mention of a knife for going chop chop, this was too cute for even me to handle and it came from my hands

a/n: my god is this long! I really got carried away. I could've made this into two parts but whatevs

a/n pt 2: takes place after the “Nightly Routines” but not directly connected 

regular masterlist

wilbur masterlist

You deeply groaned as you fluttered your eyes open. This was not a great time to wake up. You really wanted another hour of sleep, but you knew you had work to get done today.

You looked behind you. You smiled at the sight of Wilbur in his sweet slumber, his arm lazily draped over your waist. Wilbur very much loved to be in bed with you. If he could, he would spend all day there, just you in his arms and some soft lofi in the background. 

That was something very rare to get. Being a streamer and musician, Wilbur was busy almost all the time and rarely took a day off. Mornings and nights were dedicated to you. However, there were times that you would stream with him, or stop by the office to give him food, but nothing was compared to waking up with him.

“Oh shit,” You whispered, “We’re supposed to do morning vlog today.”

You looked around for Wilbur’s camera, which was no where to be found. You settled on stretching over to nightstand and unplugging your phone. You looked back at Wilbur to make sure he was still sleeping. You could tell he was by the gentle raise and fall of his chest and subtle “Ah-woo”. You just knew that was the perfect way to start the vlog. You recored him for about ten seconds of him doing his ‘not really a snore but definitely something’ and giggled almost the whole way through.

You would think that after living with him for two months and the multiple sleepovers that you’ve had with him, that you would be used to it by now. But even today you still giggled just like you did when you first woke up with him. 

You snuck yourself out of bed and made your way to the kitchen. Once arrived you did the intro, “Good morning chat! It is currently about 6:30 in the morning, and as you realize, I am the only one awake. As you saw, Wilbur is still sound asleep and that how it is every morning. So we’re going to vlog our morning routine today, which I promise is way more interesting than the nightly routine vlog. So, Wilbur is literally the best person ever and deserves the world. And his world, besides me of course, is his morning coffee. So I’m going to use our Keurig to get his coffee started.” 

You stopped the recording and decided to get some of your creativity out. You weren’t musical like Wilbur and can't draw for shit, so videography was your way of being creative. You set your phone the in the corner and opened up the blind to let a little bit of light through. It still looked basic so you moved your plant to the background, which added the perfect look. You started brewing and hit record. 

While that was going, you measured out the creamer and syrup and grabbed your sippy cup for your chocolate milk. No judgement here. We all know chocolate milk tastes better in sippy cups. 

The brew came to a slow stop and you grabbed the camera, “Wasn't that a satisfactory angle chat? Now, I am more of an iced coffee person, so in the morning I have water or chocolate milk, and today is definitely a chocolate milk day.” You raised your cup to the camera and fake ‘clinked’ it, cutting the recording when it was closest to the camera. You finished up making Wilbur’s coffee and set it on the living room table. 

You looked at the time, 6:50 am, now was a good time to get Wilbur up. You always let his coffee sit out for a little bit, that way he could drink it the second that he woke up. You threw some napkins under your drinks and moved another plant over there. You wanted your place to look aesthetically pleasing, even if it was a little bit staged. You did a transition with your cup, this time now on the table.

“Okay chat, we all now mr. simpbur is a snuggler so we don't have breakfast in the kitchen, instead we share on the couch, that way we can get all of our snuggles in before he has to leave for the office. I have everything set up, normally I would prepare breakfast too, but I feel like cooking with Wilbur this morning. We’ll do this about once a week for some bonding time, so let's go get him up,” You decided to keep recording, just in case Wilbur woke up from your loss of presence. 

You creaked the door open, Wilbur was still asleep. He adjusted his body for that he was hugging a pillow, who you assumed was your replacement. You laid down next to him and just took a moment to admire him. It was moments like this that you forgot that you were internet personalities. This was you. This was Wilbur. Both of you living your life without needing to exaggerate yourself. This was Wilbur at his purest form. He was all relaxed, not even aware that he was being recorded.

You scooted closer to him and intertwined your legs with him. You brushed his bangs with the back of your hands and gently placed your lips on your forehead. He stirred a little bit, but not enough to wake him up. You took the pillow from him and wrapped your body around his, “Wilbur, my love, it's about seven, you need to get up.”

You could tell he woke up by him pulling you closer and burying his head only you neck. You gently massaged his head and twirled his curls between your fingers, “Come on Will, I got your coffee made already. We need to start breakfast.”

He shook his head and kissed your shoulder, “Mine.”

You laughed, “Yes Will, and ‘yours’ is hungry, let’s get up and eat.”

He slowly nodded and pulled you closer, “Mmmm... I love you.”

“I love you too, simpbur.”

He snapped his head up at the nickname and saw the camera, “Fuck-that’s today?”

You giggled and detached yourself from, “Say good morning to chat.”

He shook his head and buried it in his pillow out of embarrassment. You stop recording and put your phone on the stand. Just seeing Wilbur all flustered was enough to make you go back to bed. You laid back down with him and pulled him on top of you.

“We’re gonna have to re-record that part,” Wilbur mentioned.

You rubbed his cheek with your thumb, which he happily leaned into, “No bubs, we gotta keep it in. It was a very cute moment.”

He shook his head aggressively, “No! That was embarrassing!”

“Too bad, it’s on my phone so I get to chose what goes in.”

He huffed and grabbed your hand, accepting defeat, “You said you made my coffee?”

You two got up and sat down on the couch. Wilbur took you into his arms the second he took his first sip, his personal way of saying ‘thank you, you’re the best person to ever exist’. 

“What are you feeling for breakfast?” You asked.

“You,” Wilbur joked, kissing your temple. 

You gently pushed him, “No actually, I really want yogurt, so pick something that goes well with that.”

“Can we just make a fruit plate?”

You excitedly nodded, if it wasn't for Wilbur, you would not be eating healthy. He really made sure that you were going to live as long as he did. Neither of you could live without the other. If something crazy didn't happen to you, you were going to die from a broken heart.

Wilbur grabbed your phone and started recording, “So um, good morning chat, I’ve had some coffee and more awake now. What you just saw- no you fucking didn't. We’re on the sofa right now and we decided on a fruit plate with yogurt this morning, trying to be a little healthier considering we had ice cream at one am last night. So we’re gonna make that off camera, because if you guys get us to six million subs, we’ll do a cooking stream!”

“Oh we are now?” You questioned. “I was never told about this.”

Wilbur laughed and kissed your temple, “Well you know now, that's good enough innit?”

You shook your head and placed your hand over the camera, Wilbur stopped the recording. You go the fruit out while Wilbur prepared the sink for rinsing and knives for chopping. 

You made the plate look all nice and took it back to the couch. Wilbur placed his arm back over you and grabbed the remote with is free hand while you centered your phone.

“Okay chat, we’re gonna eat and watch tv for a bit, then you're gonna get ready with us. Wilbur has a test shoot at the office today, so we gotta make him look all pretty and obviously personal hygiene is a must... so yeah, brb.”

You two set up another game show to watch, it sorta became your go to show. Especially because there was no storyline and you could talk when you wanted. This was a pretty chill morning, you two enjoyed each other's presence. 

When you finished up, Wilbur took the dishes and you went to the bathroom and cleaned up a little bit. You heard Wilbur go into his closet, so you started recording, “Okay chat, last thing we do before he leaves is actually get ready. Wilbur is getting changed right now so I’m gonna brush my hair out. I can get a little aggressive with the snarls and Wilbur always thinks I'm ripping my hair out so I always do it when he's not around to make sure he doesn't get worried.”

You set the phone in the corner and set it up to record a time lapse. You heard off in distance some light pop type of music, so you knew that Wilbur got his speaker out.

“Are you playing copyrighted music?” You called.

“It’s released Lovejoy!”

You smiled, you always got giddy seeing how happy Wilbur was able to make himself with his own music. You set your brush down and started to wet your toothbrush, Wilbur slid into frame, already jamming out to his own music.

You covered your mouth with your hand stifled your laughter. Wilbur laughed with you and tugged on your waist, trying to get you to dance with him. You aggressively shook your head no, you hated dancing. You would think by now that you would be used to Wilbur and his random dance breaks, but you never came around. 

You looked down in shame as Wilbur attempted to get you to spin around. Once you made it clear that you were not in the mood to dance, Wilbur turned down the music and waddle over to the counter.

You grabbed the camera, “If someone wants a very tall British man, you can come get him. Warning: not fun dance outbreaks.”

“Oh come on now, y/n!” Wilbur wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head on yours, “Stop pretending like you don't like to dance.” “You know I hate dancing,” You reminded him.

“Well chat, apparently I’m not allowed to have any fun in the morning? But anyway, that was a joke, but- we do really have to get ready. Should we do this Disney Channel style?”

You laughed and shook your head, “No, I think I just want to make sure you don't miss your meeting.”

“That’s at nine! We have time! Please let me have fun with you! It’s going to be such a stressful day!” He pouted with the cutest puppy dogs eyes.

There was no way that you could say no to him, “Alright, what fun we having?”

Wilbur said nothing and prepared his toothbrush like yours, “Last one to finish brushing their teeth has to do the dishes tonight.”

You hated dishes. You were winning this one. You didn't even wait for a countdown. You instantly grabbed your toothbrush and turned on the water with lightening speed. 

“What?!” Wilbur yelled. “That’s not fair!”

You did your best to bump him away, but it literally did nothing. Both of you were laughing very hard but Wilbur quickly caught up. You both fought with your hands, trying to cup a decent amount water. You both managed to get the water into your mouth and you turned to face Wilbur, it came down to who could rinse the fastest. You two just stared at each other, wishing the water around. You were dead serious. You were not doing the dishes tonight. Wilbur kept flaunting his hands around trying get himself to go faster, which ended up in him completely breaking out in laughter and spitting all over your face. It took you by surprise and all that you could you do was laugh to yourself, you eventually spit the water out in the sink, raising your hands in victory. 

“I am so sorry, love!” Wilbur took your hand and guided you into his arms, gently running his hand up and down your back, “I didn't think that would be that hilarious.” “It’s okay,” You laughed and looked back in the mirror. You were completely drenched shoulder up, “It was fun. Better to happen to me than you, you look really nice today for the shoot.” “Thank you,” Wilbur blushed and turned you around, “I think that is enough recording for today. All that we have left to do is leave so... thank you for watching! Subscribe now and remember, cooking stream at six mil! Bye guys!”

[smelted-applejuice]

Babysitting Duty.

Parings; c!Sapnap x Reader (PARENTAL), c!BadBoyHalo x Reader Pronouns; she/her Desc; You’ve never been great with kids, you dont know why your boyfriend thought it would be great for you to babysit. You haven’t even met the kid!

requests are open!! -

[YourName] was asleep peacefully in her warm bed, not a worry in the world, until there was a loud banging on her door. She did her best to simply ignore the noise, but then she heard keys and the front lock unlock, and then she knew exactly who it was. [YourName] groaned, placing a pillow on top of her face and flopped onto her stomach, hoping if she simply ignored her boyfriend, he wouldn’t bother her too much. Maybe Bad had left something last time he visited and he was simply picking it up!

Her thoughts would be proven wrong when she heard her bedroom door open and weight on her back. “What the-” [YourName] groaned, she felt the pillow get picked up and thrown beside her, “Wakey, wakey!” Bad’s voice said gently. [YourName] tried to bury her head into her bed but felt her hair get pulled, “What the hell!?” [YourName] yelped. Bad gasped “Sapnap, you know better, no tugging hair.” he scolded picking up whatever weight was on your back. [YourName] went through her mind trying to figure out who Sapnap was.

[YourName] gasped, “Bad, if I lift my head and your child is in my room, I swear.” she deadpanned. Bad’s nervous laughter filled the room as [YourName] looked over, and there was Bad with a young toddler in his arms, “Bad! You should’ve told me-” [YourName] complained moving quickly and sitting up. She was obviously still in her nightclothes, but it didn’t stop Bad from placing the active toddler into his girlfriend’s lap, “I’m not even good with kids.” [YourName] said, glancing down at Sapnap who was slobbering on his hand.

“Nonsense, dear! You just need practice, and this is a perfect opportunity.” Bad cooed, [YourName] huffed but then realized what he meant. “What?! No! No way am I babysitting! I’ve never met the kid so I don’t know his interests, or what time he likes to eat!” [YourName] said panicked, Bad shrugged “He’ll tell you! He can’t talk, but he knows how to sign ‘eat’!” he said trying to ease his girlfriend’s worries “It’s not as bad as you think, dear!” he finished placing both of his hands onto her shoulders. “Want to explain why I am placed on babysitting duty?” [YourName] asked looking tired, her eyes were lidded and she had her arms wrapped around the slobbery toddler.

Bad swayed side to side, placing his hands behind his back as he did so, “Well, ya know- uhm..” he stumbled over his words for a moment. “I told Skeppy he could have the next two weeks off from babysitting Sapnap, but I didn’t account for the fact I still was needed in the Nether..” Bad confessed, [YourName] chuckled and shook her head trying her best not to laugh at him. “Know what, it’s fine, I don’t mind babysitting Sapnap- just nervous.” [YourName] replied in hopes it would relax her boyfriend’s worries about his son, “Anyways, he will be my step-son of the sorts one day.” she added winking toward Bad who nodded despite the flustered look he had on.

[YourName] offered Sapnap back to Bad so she could get ready for the day. Bad sat at the end of [YourName]’s bed and watched as she exited the bathroom fully dressed and then sat down to do her hair, “If I end up liking kids because of this..” she mumbled as she did the last touch-ups. Bad couldn’t help but chuckle at the soft conversation she would have with herself, it was always such a sight to see. He kept his hands on his son’s waist as Sapnap blanched on his thighs and slightly jumped in his spot gurgling at [YourName].

“Good, he likes me” [YourName] joked, happily taking the toddler out of her boyfriend’s hands. She placed Sapnap on her hip as she walked with Bad to the front of her house once more. “I’ll be back in a few hours, I promise. Before dinner.” Bad explained, kissing Sapnap’s head before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss upon [YourName]’s lips. [YourName] smiled and nodded, “Alright, we’ll see you then, be careful.” she reminded, watching her boyfriend leave before shutting the door.

Bad had truly come in clutch, on her couch were all of Sapnap’s necessities, puffs, food, toys, god he had it all! “Your daddy does not play games with you, huh?” [YourName] mumbled placing Sapnap on her living room floor, she gave the kid some toys and rushed to her kitchen to put her breakfast in the microwave and returned just as fast as she left. “Good, haven’t set anything on fire- I’m watching you kid, I’ve heard stories.” [YourName] said jokingly glaring at the toddler, Sapnap simply giggled and hid his face before returning focus on his ghast toy.

[YourName] shook her head, grabbing her food and returning to the floor. She and Sapnap would chill on the floor for a few hours, but after watching Sapnap nearly melting the plastic off of one toy and throwing a hissy fit, he finally gave in to his needs and placed his fingers together before pointing to his mouth with them. [YourName] sat there for a second squinting her eyes trying to figure out what the child was trying to say.

“HUNGRY! YOU’RE HUNGRY!” [YourName] said, snapping her fingers as she stood up quickly, she grabbed some food out of Sapnap’s bag. Sapnap watched [YourName] with a deadpan look as she scattered around to get a good spot to feed him, he crawled over and knocked some puffs off the table and kept himself busy until he was picked up and moved to a different location. Sapnap pouted at first, reaching for the little puffs he had dropped, [YourName] just scoffed, “No, Sap, they’re dirty, gross, disgusting… Uhm.. The feeling people feel when your daddy says ‘language’ at them.” she rambled.

She knew Sapnap had no idea what she was talking about, but still, one-hundred percent went with it. She couldn’t help but smile when she successfully fed Sapnap some warmed-up chicken bits, and it made her, even more, happier when Sapnap lightened up with each bite. He got some peach yogurt too which seemed to make up for the loss he had earlier with his puffs. After he was done, [YourName] took him out of his spot and let him crawl out the rest of his energy.

Finally came the part of babysitting she always dreaded, it was changing a diaper. She laid Sapnap out, and after many attempts of him escaping she got him to relax. “Pee on me, I dare you, you’re gonna see a whole different side of me, man.” [YourName] mumbled wrapping up Sapnap and changing his onesie, she picked up the kid and placed the dirty diaper in the trash can. Sapnap showed no signs of being tired and it was a little after eleven, nearly noon. He must’ve been up for, at most, an hour before coming over, so it’s been a good almost five hours.

“When do you nap?” [YourName] asked, scrambling around the kitchen making herself lunch, she glanced at the kid who just threw his head under her chin. “Mmm, now?” She asked, he shook his head, so [YourName] just nodded and finished up her lunch. It wouldn’t be until after she ate and did a few chores that Sapnap began to get fussy, so it was most definitely nap time! “Look, I could go for a nap too, Sap. Let’s get our nap on.” [YourName] said trying to compromise with the toddler.

[YourName] gently placed Sapnap down and placed a pillow next to him before crawling under her covers with Sapnap and letting the child cuddle up to her. [YourName] couldn’t fight the smile on her face as she gently ran her fingers through his black hair. “You’re so sweet..” She whispered placing a kiss against his hair, and within minutes the two were out. Sapnap would move onto his back while [YourName] kept a gentle hand on him at all times, too anxious to let the child go even as she slept.

About an hour later, Bad would come back. He had finished up earlier than he thought and thought he would get Sapnap off [YourName]’s hands now. After a few knocks and no answer, he unlocked the door himself and made his way through the house. Sapnap’s bag was opened and toys were scattered around the living room, and in the kitchen, the plastic baggy and tub that held Sapnap’s lunch were emptied, so he knew his child was well fed and played with. After more looking around, he made his way into the back and smiled at the scene in front of him.

He wished he had the ability to photograph the moment, it made him melt from the inside out just seeing [YourName] and Sapnap bond how they have today. The messy house told the whole story and he was overjoyed. He simply stripped of his boots and took his weapons off along with his glasses and crawled in behind [YourName], he held her close while [YourName] backed up against him embracing the added warmth Bad provided. Bad smiled at [YourName]’s hand lifting up and down, hearing Sapnap sigh heavily he leaned over and kissed his girlfriend’s cheek, placing his hand gently on top of her’s. He would fall asleep, the view in front of him coaxing him into the most peaceful nap he had have in a long time.

[rouiyan]

𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘙𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘚 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ part of the 2020 home for the holidays collective ⧐

synopsis: jeno decides that, this time around, he would rather risk heartbreak than love you in silence for seven more years.

✧ lee jeno x (fem.) reader) ✧ childhood best friends to loverz, next door neighbor au, (mentioned college au)

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slight comedy ✧ word count : 19.3k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, underage swearing (?), shirtless jeno, legal alcohol consumption

✧ author’s note — i am unsure as to why you would spend your christmas reading this heckin long fic, but in the case that you do, i hope that you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. it’s longest fic i’ve written thus far (though only by a hundred or so words) so happy reading <3 and i’ll see you around :D

jeno’s glad his mom’s asked him to go to the grocery store, a two minute walk away, to grab some eggs, a tub of sugar-free yogurt, and a breath of fresh air—the most welcome change of pace to his stuffy bedroom or the dust of the stale garage. he thinks he's the first of his high school graduating class to arrive back in town for the winter but it’s here at the store that jeno sees you for the first time in years. his hand, the right one, clutching an empty basket goes limp and he's two steps away from being fully unconcealed by the far end of the dairy aisle. surely, he must look like a creep with only his head peeping out.

it's been years. your hair is now a faded silvery brown, presumably dyed, and gathered into a messy ponytail. the ends of your hair fight with the hood of your sweatshirt, a distilled blue and loose fitting atop a pair of gray sweats. and the basket, looped upon your left elbow, is as empty as his own but you're overturning a can of condensed milk in your other hand, eyes scrutinizing the packaging for the expiration date, the later the better.

he would go and say hi, maybe even strike up a conversation, ask you how you’ve been, but he can’t bring himself to because he’s wearing that one bright green shirt from his seventh grade math competition that is certainly not up to your liking nor preference. really, it’s not that he thinks you'd judge him, knowing you, you’d probably get a good laugh from it and move on, but things have changed since then.

you are no longer the girl he walked to middle school with everyday in the mornings, in the afternoons. and jeno is no longer the boy that was the same height as you; the glasses are long gone and so is the thirteen year old boy who'd cried at his mom for telling him he'd have to go to a different high school than you. things are different and things have changed.

it was all this, paired with the gut feeling that if he went up to you, shirt stretched out like a muscle tee, he’d simply be cowering in your presence. jeno had not the faintest idea you’d be returning this winter since the last three years were spent without (and the four before, though that was only because he lacked the guts to ring the doorbell three houses down). he sticks his head back before you notice him. rerouting, he goes for a stroll in the chips aisle and then right back to the dairy after he sees the slightest indication of your sweatpant cuffs rounding the corner. 

jeno catches his breath there. he gets the goods and makes a beeline for the cash register, keeping his head down and nearly toppling into the display tower of canned corn along the way. the lovely granny at the register, with a nametag labeled 'poppy' on her pink cardigan, is kind enough to check up on his tattered state as she squints at the barcode to scan the yogurt, "young man, are you alright? you're panting awfully hard there."

he only realizes he's spaced out when she repeats with added concern, "sir? do you need some water or-"

"oh, no- i- no, thank you. i'm-" he clears his throat, a plastered smile to aid in his response, "i'm quite alright, thank you." she gives a faltering smile back, one meant to assure, as she discloses his total, "that'll be seven dollars and forty-eight cents." the items are bagged and handed over to him with a receipt. he's in the midst of giving the kind lady a nod in thanks, in the midst of turning and heading in the direction of the exit, in the midst of taking that first step to freedom, the land of no pressures, when he hears your voice from behind, "jeno? is that you?" 

well, shit. he swallows thickly. conscious of his every move, he turns deliberately, the plastic bag hanging, swinging to hit his knee and a hand coming up to the scruff of his neck. he turns to see you next in line, smiling and approaching him with paced steps. only, in his mind, it seems as if you are charging towards him at full speed. although conscious of his every move, jeno unconsciously takes a step back. "y- yeah, that's me."

you beam at the words, setting the basket on your hip as you empty the items onto the checkout conveyor belt. "gosh, i knew it!" he sees your favorite gummy worms, a pack of those flamin' hot cheeto fries which are admittedly too spicy for you to handle, both in the mix of what seems to be baking ingredients. dusting your hands off with two definitive swipes, you fist them and set them on your hips, an adorable pose if he were to be honest. hand falling to his side, jeno watches as a corner of your lip lifts into an emerging grin, "so, how have you been?"

he almost coughs as his words tumble their way into air, "i've been well, home for break, you know, from college and stuff." huh, he thinks, not a bad start.

apparently not because you giggle in turn, "well, obviously." the way you gesticulate your hands with each spoken word strikes familiarity within him. "you don't have to be so vague, jen, we were best friends at one point, remember?" the hand is back at his neck as if it never left, the nickname you had used making him squeak, "yeah, of course i remember." jeno watches as you stare for an awfully long time (two seconds) at his shirt. he knows you're just a thought away from commenting on it when dear mrs. pops clears her throat, a half-apologetic smile on her face, "your total will be sixty-four dollars and twelve cents." your eyes go wide, "oh shit- i mean, oh no!" you feel odd swearing around an elderly though you're really only muttering to yourself, "did i buy that much stuff?"

for some odd reason that he's unable to pinpoint just yet, jeno perks up at that and, seemingly involuntarily, offers, "i got you." he slips his wallet back out, eyeing the twenty dollar bill clutched in your hand. jeno holds out a fifty to mrs. poppy and she takes it before you can protest. you protest anyways, "jeno, wait- no, you don't need to- i could just take some stuff out, you know." he merely nods along, a small smile edging upwards on his lips. mrs. poppy hands you the change and your bagged items and you shove the bills towards jeno who, though no longer needed, is just standing there. he refuses with a shake of his head and hand in tandem, leading the way to the exit but before the two of you make it two steps, mrs. poppy smiles wide before mumbling, most likely meant to herself but discernible to your ears anyways, "looks like someone has a crush on you, dearie."

jeno's heart speeds erratically, again for reasons he has yet to comprehend, and his head snaps to make sure you hadn't heard what he'd just heard. eyes wide upon realizing you had, his head snaps back into place to avoid your teasing gaze. jeno utters a curt, "see you around," the second he's out the automated doors and speed walks to his car, the contents of the plastic bag jostling with each ushered step. 

the door to his pristine condition '93 chevrolet vette, his baby, shuts behind him. the grocery bag is set in the passenger's seat, mindlessly. jeno starts up the engine but stays put. he can see you across the parking lot, trying to find the keys to your hyundai kona, the white one that's now a certified gray. he chuckles.

he chuckles at the fact that it's been years upon years and you still have yet to fail to put a smile on his face. he chuckles at the fact that it's been years and your cheery, snarky persona has not changed one bit. he chuckles at the fact that he stills finds every aspect of you effortlessly charming, for so many and no reasons all at once. he chuckles at the fact that he still, still feels the need to impress you every chance he gets. perhaps, things haven't changed all that much.

"i'm home!"

shuffling off your shoes, you hear snippets of your mom's voice coming from the living room. a hand on the doorframe, you push yourself up, only to realize that she isn't even talking to you. rather, and upon entering the room, she's on the phone, unaware of your entrance and exclaiming into the jabbed speaker as she crochets a baby blue piece into existence. stepping into her line of vision, you give her a small smile in return to her nod of acknowledgement before moving on into the kitchen.

you've only just finished up with storing the flour into the pantry when you notice your mom has followed you into the kitchen as well, phone supposedly hung up. she sets her elbows, leaning, onto the counter as she watches you put away the baking goods. there's a glint in her eyes that you're wary of. sure enough, "guess what?"

"mom, i'm not interested in going on another blind date. not after what happened last time with that son of your cowork-"

"no, no, nothing like that," and though her words contradict what you thought was to be another stood up date, you're still on edge for the glint in her eyes has anything but subsided, "i was just going to inform you that mrs. lee's son is back in town."

your eye roll reverts itself halfway. crossing the room, you lean opposite of her on the counter. "you mean jeno?" she nods in slight confoundment. "yeah, i just saw him." your mother leans a little further and her voice comes out bordering a whisper though no one is around to hear but you and there's nothing scandalous to what she's saying, "mrs. lee tells me he's almost six feet tall! is that true?" you lean forward as well, not in interest, but in actuality to grab at the nutmeg extract. "pfft, as if. i'd say five eleven at best."

the humor in your eyes is enough to get your mom to defend her trusted source, "oh, i bet he's getting there." you shake your head, "he's twenty-one mom, i doubt he's still growing." turning your back on her to prop open the spice rack, her voice mumbles along, "you never know…" she relents and moves onwards to the next topic in line, eyes eager, "so, did you get to talk to him?" 

she's busying herself with tying up the plastic bags for later use as trash can liners when you turn back around, "i did but i mean, it was short," you gesture to the rest of the food you've yet to put away, "but he did pay for most of this." her face is drawn in teasing and she's about to comment on 'how sweet of him that was' when she realizes what you'd just said. "why? did you not have enough money?"

"no, i only brought a twent-"

she hits you lightly with a tied bag before sticking it in the compartment under the sink with a huff, "how dumb can you be to only bring twenty dollars to a grocery store? especially with all that junk food you always buy." now that's the motherly nagging you're more used to. but the teasing comes back soon after when you're upon exiting the kitchen in favor of changing out your clothes. "why don't i make some food for them so you have an excuse to pay him a visit?"

you very clearly remember your mother's propositions of your wedding all those years ago, after you'd gotten your first boyfriend. she didn't even really like him but it was enough that you did. she'd sworn her preparations were all neat and ready when you'd sat her down to tell her that you'd broken up with him. turning on your heel, your mother's eyes expectant, you give her a knowing shake of your head, a warning for ever since that first boyfriend, you'd refused to tell her a thing about your love life, a torturous prospect for her and just the right thing to ward off any of her coming interventions.

as for her incessant questions that were still sure to come, you supply her with this, "i'm sure he'll come visit us first!"

and in some way, you're right.

head and hands on the wheel, you let out the shakiest of breaths, and another and another until the air before you is laden thick with heat. you release the knuckle-white grip that held the wheel, the pads of your finger an angry red. sighing, you let yourself fall back in the seat with your sights set on the blinking red light under the speedometer, your ears ringing at the blaring alarm. another sigh escapes your lips, vaguely resembling a shudder, as you jerk the keys from the ignition. the red light and the alarm cease and you exit your car.

jeno nearly crashes as he turns the corner onto his street. he didn't expect to see you so soon after the horrid scene at the grocery store the other day, the other day being yesterday. he slows the car as he approaches your driveway, rolls down the window of the opposite seat and ducks, only to see you, hands fisted and on your hips, a similar stance to the one he'd seen yesterday; he blushes unknowingly. 

the purr of a nearing car sounds from behind and you whip around to catch the red finish of his vette as it comes to a stop along the sidewalk. tucking a lip under teeth, you cross the length of your driveway to meet the boy in the car. the crease in your brow unsettles him. he clears his throat, "hi, y/n. fancy seeing you around here."

"jeno, i live three houses down from you."

he's not in that green shirt anymore, thank goodness, and he'd prepared for this exact scenario with a slightly more put together outfit. the outfit consisting of a hoodie and sweatpants with his socks and sandals. but now that he thinks about it, he still feels slightly underprepared, "that's right…," he does his best to not sound unintelligent, "what happened there?"

"ahh," fisted hands are back on your hips and a war is brewing within him, fighting to keep his composure. you look back at your car, which looks fine to the eye, "apparently i have a flat tire and i-"

"were you driving when it happened?" jeno gets out of his car as he speaks, questions shooting like rapidfire, "was it on the freeway? how bad is it- wait no, are you injured?"

jeno and his furrowed brows are fast advancing on you and you take a step back in surprise but under the guise of moving back towards your car. genuinely, you weren't quite sure why you hadn't thought of jeno being a 'car person,' especially when that's exactly what his car tells of him. "i don't really know but the alarm went off right before i got off the freeway so nothing serious happened." the two of you tread down the side of your house, back up the driveway. "which one is it- oh, i see." jeno bends down the side of the rear left wheel, a solid smack and squeeze applied and he looks up and back at you, "a nail probably, you got a spare?"

you nod, "i'm pretty sure." crossing your legs you cock an eyebrow at him, at your suspicions. there's something about you being right about all your little inklings because he confirms them almost instantaneously, "i can fix it up for you then," a smile eases onto his face as yours perks up, "really? i mean you really don't have to, i can just go get it-"

"how are you gonna get the car to the shop then?"

and that's how jeno finds himself hauling the car jack from his garage, to yours while you cradle the tools needed in both hands, trailing behind him. he gets to work with the wheel cover as you maneuver around your own garage for the spare and when you find it, you sigh. sighs, seem to be very plentiful, maybe a preferred form of communication this one day. "jen," you wedge yourself back to the driveway between your mom's car and the built-in cabinets. jeno's eyes are focused upon the lug nuts but his eyebrows are raised in expectancy.

"gosh, i'm sorry, but it's- the spare's kinda heavy...do you mind? you know…" you feel bad for asking, almost reluctant but with a wave in the general direction of your hands, he gets it well enough, "oh, it's no problem. i'm here to help you anyways." jeno retrieves the tire with a smile on his face.

you stand off to the side and watch as he raises the back end of the car (seven inches, he said), removes the loosened lug nuts, pulls off the flattened tire, and pushes the spare into place. you give remarks and ask questions once and awhile, all of which must seem pretty dumb to him though he answers each one with a smile and a reassurance to make sure you've understood. tightening the bolt, replacing the tire cover, and lowering the car is done within minutes and he's left rubbing his sullied hands on the towel hung upon his shoulder.

jeno stands and looks over at you. the little complacent smile you've put to show tells a lot about how bothersome you feel in the moment. "you don't have to feel bad, y/n. i offered."

you nod as he packs up his things, blindly handing over the wrench and uttering a thank you in your daze. heading inside, you note that the heater is on and that the window next to the door offers a view of the busying boy. you watch as he leaves and you watch as he comes back again to drive his car up into his garage. 

there's something about your inclinations that you can't shake. either the fact that you haven't been home in three years is really getting to you, maybe you're just horny, or whatever is brewing in that head of yours is telling you that first loves stick with you even when they're gone, even when you've been given reasons to get over them, and even when you really are over them.

but when they're there, when he's there, in all his glory, there's only so much you can refuse.

thirteen-year-old donghyuck is a mean little shit, that we all know, and when he eventually pieces one and one together to make two, he's bound to act on it.

especially when one is the fact that you've been skipping out at lunch for "group project" reasons for the past two months and the other one is that jeno has also been skipping out at lunch for "club meeting" reasons, also for the past two months. he's dumbfounded at the fact that it's taken him this long to track the two of you down and he almost wants to laugh at the situation at hand. 

donghyuck guesses the slats of the bleachers block him out of your view, but he's certainly in the perfect spot to see the both of you, under the bleachers sitting atop jeno's jacket, meaning that there was barely a space in between you and him. his pride would have been hurt, after all his newest revelation comes in the discovery of his two best friends leaving him with jaemin and renjun during lunchtimes, also his best friends but he grumbles at the thought of being left with those two (one being a flirty little shit and the other an annoying little shit, not all that different from himself; you'd think he'd tone down his mean-ness after witnessing, firsthand, renjun's mirror antics).

a hand of yours is flipping through the pages of a textbook while the other holds a subway sandwich, at which he observes jeno to steal bites from every time you look away towards the book. the scene sprawls into a mess as you begin to notice when jeno tugs particularly hard at the string of cheese that's been pulled far too long. the boy gets a flick on the forehead and an impish smile forms; he almost looks elated to be caught by you. 

before he even knows it, donghyuck's onto something, and much more than something he can simply tease you about, oh no, this is the real deal. he reroutes his mind to the image he'd retired from—ducking his head back under the cover of the bush—to the image of you and jeno, smiley, giddy, and secluded from everyone else. the image of jeno and the little giggles he gives as red blossoms on his forehead from where you'd flicked him. and the image of you and your suppressed smile as you try to retain your thinly-veiled frustrations from him. this is it, his friends are falling in love. he's convinced and he also has now appointed himself as the wingman, the cupid in disguise.

the thing is, we're talking about donghyuck (mean little shit) here, not jaemin. so when jeno waltzes into his shared sixth period class, spewing some apparent nonsense of how his club meeting went, (perhaps something that you and him had mutually and meticulously coordinated), donghyuck sits him down in the seat next to him and leans in for a whisper, "i'm gonna ask out y/n today, what do you think?" 

jeno doesn't respond, he doesn't even seem to have remotely heard him. or if he did, he must've suddenly underwent a malfunction of sorts because the boy is quite literally just sitting there, staring listlessly at the empty beaker and the lab tools in front of him.

"jeno? are you hearing me?"

lee jeno, instead of feeling a sudden urge to race donghyuck to the finish line, to confess to you before he does, rather feels defeated, deflated, discouraged. donghyuck is a terrible judge of his character for he pushes on, "do you think i should do it right after school today or tomorrow?"

he gulps and while his eyes are still deep in rumination, his mouth is already squeaking the worries have come to haunt him in the last thirty seconds, "you like her?" donghyuck's eyes glint with mischief that the heavens wish jeno hadn't missed though fair enough, they think, because his thoughts are all over the place as donghyuck goes on to respond, "yeah, i've liked her for awhile now," sounds familiar," been wanting to tell her for the longest time," me too, "and i've been kinda scared to," well i'm scared shitless, "but i think i'm ready now," i'm not. 

"i think you should go for it," jeno deadpans, eyes still trained on the glass, 500 mL beaker that is very interesting.

donghyuck nearly jumps out of his seat, "wait what?!" 

"yeah, you should jus- why're you so surprised- no, why are you even asking me?" jeno finds it much easier to play the role of a supportive friend rather than a jealous rival. he thinks it was rather dumb of him to assume that he was the only one going after you all these months and that he could take his sweet time in confessing and growing your relationship. at least, that's usually how his classroom daydreams go. 

but at the same time, they only go that way because though it really has been a few long months, jeno knows that he's still a long way from making his sentiments known to you. he's a reliable kind of guy, who's reliance is often built upon trust. and while the little folder in his mind of all the possible telltale signs that you like him back has been steadily growing, he needs to know definitively for really, thirteen-year-old jeno lacks the courage. even more so now that his best friend, donghyuck, displays the exact courage he needs to confess. jeno figures that his folder must be gargantuan in comparison.

donghyuck doesn't confess to you, not at all, but he makes a show of rushing out the class right when the clock strikes three, leaving jeno to collapse into himself in utter despair. shoulders hunched over, he counts the minutes until he deems it safe to leave. his chair scrapes the floor with a resounding squeak as he stands up, the chemistry classroom now empty. running his fingers through his hair, he makes sure he doesn't cross paths with you as he navigates for the exit, purposely avoiding the area of the campus with your locker and last class. 

jeno makes it home with a heavy heart, far heavier than what could be the doing of any simple crush. stupid of him to think it a simple crush when the tug of his heart squelches and sqirms like there's no tomorrow, but it's only years after that he realizes the ache in his heart was the payoff of his first love.

he'll admit that he's never asked what actually happened that day, a part of him was terrified to even imagine the prospects of you and donghyuck being a thing. and even if that wasn't the case, he wasn't keen to risk it in the first place. 

so jeno cries on the night his mother bore him the news that he'd be transferring schools. he'd have friends there, sure, jaemin had made the same decision and chenle was to follow in the year after. he'd have the opportunity to make new friends, to start fresh as a high school student but the biggest problem he faced was that there would be no you.

no you to greet in the hallways two minutes before class as you rushed your books into your backpack, slamming your locker shut in a frenzy with your elbow. no you to catch dozing off in history, math, english, and probably all the other classes he didn't but wished he shared with you. no you to sneak off with during lunch, far from your noisy (and nosy) friends and a hair's distance apart from each other. no you to stare at when class gets a little too boring, to share an eraser with, to brush fingers with, to steal bites of a sandwich from.

jeno cries because he'll never get the chance to ask you to prom, he's quite sure you'd never want to attend another school's. he cries because he doubts he'll have the fortitude to text you on a daily, to text you at all, to keep in touch. he cries because in his eyes, the dwindling remainders of your relationship are coming to a close.

one day or another, it'll come to him that it was because of those very thoughts that they actually do.

"oh no, no you definitely planned for this to happen."

"did not!"

"so you're telling me that having me go three houses down to ask the boy that you just so happen to think is cute and the same age as your daughter to go tree shopping with me because you can't carry a tree and dad just so happens to be at work right when you desperately need the tree-" your rambling ceases abruptly as you struggle to find the correct structure of your question that, for emphasis purposes, had derailed itself, "...is all just happenstance?"

"yes," your mother has the straightest look on her face. you're sure she's having a hard time keeping it that way. "unbelievable." she keeps the straight face pretty well and the staring contest you're currently participating in with the snowman candle behind her is futile and broken as you grumble, "fine." your mother has the gall to lift her face into a smile almost immediately upon hearing that.

in all honesty, your reflection in the mirror looks pretty damn good. after spending the few of your days back home in tracksuits and large tees—a minimum effort outfit—dressing up a tad bit for today was certainly not a bad idea, your favorite green corduroy coat making its appearance in the december cold.

the same reflection can be seen in the glass of jeno's front door, the door that swings open right as you're about to ring the doorbell for the third time. his mother is the one who answers and she seems a great deal surprised. "y/n! oh wow, you've grown quite a bit since i last saw you."

you giggle with her, partially out of incredulity because of course you've grown, the last time you really saw her was at your middle school graduation. "it's nice to see you, mrs. lee." she opens the door wide, the smile on her face beaming just as wide, "i assume you're here to see jeno. let's see," the door shuts behind you, "he should be over in the garage," and she leads the way through the house, the layout teeming with renewed familiarity. 

"the garage is just down there, sweetie," pointing at the door far down the hall, to the left, "tell me if you guys need anything, okay?"

"will do," you give her a warm smile as she treads off.

pushing at the handle, you think first that jeno isn't there at all but then there's the sounds of metal clanking and his legs that are situated outwards from under one end of his car. in a fear to startle him with your presence, you decide upon a clearing of your throat and a small but sure, "jeno, it's me," to which he responds with a surprised grunt and the further clanking of his tools.

there's the squeaking of his mechanic's creeper before he draws himself straight before you. you nearly give a double take because, well because he's without a shirt, he's shirtless, he's half naked. however you want to put it, it's the dead of winter and he's standing there with his toned chest bare and glinting with sweat while the two of you furiously blush without even looking at each other.

"y/n," his voice comes out strained, "wha- what are you here for?" jeno fusses around hurriedly for a shirt, any shirt, any article of clothing, any piece of fabric. the shirt he eventually finds is almost enough to get him to put it back down but he's desperate. your eyes glimpse across his body once again, and entirely on accident, before he slips the bright green material over his head, your own head snapping in the other direction.

the two of you stand diagonally in opposition to each other, seemingly speaking to no one in particular, "i'm- i came to ask if you'd want to go christmas tree shopping with me? since i don't think i'd be able to by myself…?" you turn towards him, the tension in the air somewhat subsiding, the difference a mere shirt could make.

he stance is awfully rigid as he responds, "yeah, no yeah i can definitely go with you. right now though?"

"if it's not too much to ask of you then yes, right now."

"oh okay, i can do that, i jus-" jeno catches your line of vision dip down to his shirt, he squirms under your gaze, "-i, do you mind waiting for a bit while i get washed up?" eyes flitting back up to meet his, you nod fervently, "fine by me."

the shower runs in the background of your thoughts as you swing your legs off the side of jeno's bed, the same bed he had all those years ago that's sill littered with random pencil marks and stickers on the headboard. the walls adorn large prints of cars, none of which you can identify but you're intrigued nonetheless by how well his childhood room entwines his whole lifespan together. there's mvp trophies on the bookshelf just opposite of you and if you squint, you can see the fine print that spells 'lee jeno, 2015 varsity swim mvp.' a certificate on the wall titles his participation in some algebra competition, a few ribbons to demonstrate his scientific achievements, and a little under where those are pinned into the wall is a framed and familiar picture you haven't seen in a long while.

it's the five of you, eighth grade graduation, with mark behind the camera and chenle and jisung far off in the background. jeno's in the dead center with one arm draped around donghyuck and the other around you, though you're noticing for the first time how the arm around donghyuck falls limp while the arm around you is held tight. gears are turning and shifting in your mind but before you can come to any sort of conclusion on what that could possibly denote, the door to the bathroom on your left is held open.

jeno's dressed fittingly, you think, for christmas tree shopping that is. the green of his sweater matches the green of your jacket and jeno makes sure to comment on that as he reverses his car out of the driveway even though his choice in clothing was deliberately made to match your own. he catches a glimpse of your car in your own respective driveway on the way out the street and at that, he already has another conversation queued and in mind.

"you took your car to the shop, right?"

you find that your eyes dry out if you face them forward for too long, the heat blasting from the front is doing its job well enough. you don't complain though, jeno's just making sure it's not too cold in the car. "yeah, i went this morning. was also going to get it washed but my mom had other plans."

"other plans being making you go buy the tree, i'm guessing."

you click your tongue, "exactly."

silence hangs between the two of you as he veers into the freeway entrance, mulling over what to say next. bring two seven years disconnected best friends together and you'd think there'd be more to talk about but today must be an exception, the only other words exchanged being the following.

"you know, i could wash it for you."

"i've already asked you for too many favors."

"i mean," jeno gives a smile to the side, "you could help."

a smile of your own forms as you muse on, "i could."

"tomorrow?"

"tomorrow."

jeno pulls into a makeshift parking space for the vast christmas tree lot you've decided to buy from this year, your usual having moved further out of town disappointingly. although with all things considered, you doubt there's much of a difference between the trees that are leftover for the few days before christmas and as suspected, the selection isn't all that impressive.

your town and neighboring seemed to have taken a liking towards fraser firs this year, no surprise in that, which leaves the dilapidating alternatives of douglas and noble firs, both of which would be fine if one wasn't prone to browning in a week and the other wasn't so tall. jeno holds up the last of the trees up and you do your routine inspection by viewing it from three feet away to seven, and ten. the boy scrunches his nose as you give a shake of your head, "too full, how are we even gonna decorate it?" and he sets it back against the fencing with a huff, "now what?"

"now, we…," you're unsure as well, eyes roving across the farm to give any candidate of tree a second chance. that's when you're hit with a revelation, well two revelations. rather sardonically, the wilting pines of the trees lead you to the first of your revelations; you're quite literally standing in a tree graveyard and if you were to go so far as to compare it to a graveyard in itself, there comes the thought that you've came with the purpose of buying a poor, dead tree to take it home and prop it back up as if it were alive, dressing it and decorating it, only to throw it to the curb a few weeks later. funny how all your life that seemed perfectly rational.

but christmas is a tradition, and traditions don't necessarily have to die even though they're faulted from the start, certainly not if you can help it.

jeno gives an eensy yelp as in a sudden flurry, you take the sleeve of his sweater between two fingers and drag him down and through the aisles of decaying trees to find the very thing that'd ignite your little light bulb. he's dawdling behind you, best he can, as your steps quicken and stop almost as abruptly before a sizeable army of potted christmas trees, smaller but also more alive than the usual lot. "how's this then?"

"i'm on board," jeno's beside you now and ever-so-aware that your fingers are still gripping his sweater. it doesn't stop there, however, because now your hands are enveloping his arm in its entirety and you're speaking softly, "of course you are, you're not even needed anymore," the words coming close to his ears from the proximity you've set. they don't warrant a blush by any means and for certain, the reason he's blushing aren't the words, it's you.

you leave his side as you release your hold on his arm, though it seems as if he's the only one who notices. a few steps away, you crouch in front of one that suits your likings to a T. you barely notice jeno's presence behind you, reading off the tag and muttering to yourself, "sustainable, affordable, replantable, eco-friendly, a natural scent, convenient...oh boy, i think we get it." upon further observation you decide that this one's the one—the green is vibrant to the tips and it's just full enough that the pines poke out in all the directions needed to support a modest amount of tinsel. "jeno, i think this is it-"

really, you really really had no idea that he was right there, head right above your shoulder. if you had known, you wouldn't have turned your head in the first place, much less allowed your lips to brush his, however brief. evidently flustered, the two of you snap your sights back ahead, at the same time, with both your hearts beating at the same, turbulent pace. you bring a hand up to your lips, partially in shock and partially in the thought that you basically just kissed lee jeno.

"sorry about that, i didn't think you'd turn…"

even when he's speaking, you don't dare look over at him. but in comparison to the tempestuous replays you're imagining, jeno's thoughts rumble a deeper current than anything he's felt all winter break.

the pot of the chosen tree rests against his hip as he stands a little off to the side to let you pay. he watches you keenly and uses the opportunity to scrutinize what exactly about you makes him feel that one way. as of the late, he finds that none of his emotions are describable and it's frustrating to say the least when all he knows is that the cause of his inner turmoil is you. you and your little sniggers whenever his clumsy side acts out too much for his liking, you and your undeniable affection for all things sweet and all things spicy, and you and your fisted hands on your squared hips, a fighting stance perhaps, a ready-to-throw-hands stance most definitely.

but finally, he gives his feelings a name when he witnesses in the rear view mirror, you and the little smile that creases your eyes, lifts your cheeks, bares your teeth, as you strap in the potted plant to the back seat, giving it a gentle pat as if it were your own child. he names it 'the long lost crush, the one that got away, the second season of his middle school one-sided affair, the-'

"are we...gonna go?" 

jeno jumps in his seat, "huh? oh." hand on the gear stick, he avoids your gaze fervently and pulls out of the spot. there's a shift in the air, at least from his end, and he thinks it has something to do with how he's come to terms with the fact that he likes you, again. is he surprised? no. why not?

because he knows this much, the longer you're by his side, the less it can be helped. he remembers every night in high school when, even in the time the two of you'd stopped talking, he'd stare lethargically at his ceiling before he went to sleep and imagine you by his side. he remembers another handful of nights in college when, long after he'd thought he was well over you, he still found himself rethinking your smile and refiling that folder of his. time carried on, and though he didn't necessarily have a heartbreak for it to heal, it wouldn't have mattered anyways because in his case, time could never heal. not for him and not in the face of you.

so jeno laughs along with you when he trips over your front steps, he sets both hands on the doorframe and leans in ever so slightly to say his goodbyes, and when the door shuts behind him, he takes a good look back over his shoulder anyways, hoping that you'd pop your head at the window, that you'd catch his lingering gaze. jeno's steps are resolute because he's not thirteen anymore. it's no longer about whether you like him back or not, it's about dealing with the fact that he likes you. and if his coping mechanisms come in the form of pushing his bounds as just a friend, flirting an obscene amount, and perhaps even confessing, then so be it.

jeno decides that, this time around, he would rather risk heartbreak than love you in silence for seven more years.

propping a knee, you catch the back end of the trash bin before it can thud on the pavement beneath you. a huff and a grunt are uttered into the air as you push it against the fenced side of your house, to the curb. you slide it against the elevated sidewalk, down onto the road, and it gives a resounding thump as it hits the ground. you dust off your hands and pivot to retrieve the last one and upon setting that one down in the spot adjacent to the previous, in the corner of your eye is perceived a figure.

born of instinct, you almost rush back into the house, a case of kidnap tends to loom when you're a young adult female taking out the trash in the dead of night. but another glance is given and the silhouette draws familiar notion, broad shoulders and especial proportions, not to mention the bright green you catch in the light of his porch lamp. it's jeno, and a hand of his clamps over his nose as the other thrusts a plastic bag into the black bin. and it's when he turns to retreat into his residence that his eyes catch you as well and he jumps a bit, recollects himself, waves, and watches as you wave back in the hopes that he could maybe approach you. 

instead, he finds that you're the one approaching him and that somehow makes it all the more nerve-wracking as he rushes to meet you in the middle. even a simple, "hi," from you makes his cheeks grow warm. he's breathless when he speaks, and not because of the brisk actions he undertook prior, "hey there." 

"are we still on for tomorrow?"

jeno's mouth parts as he retraces his memory to extract what exactly was planned for tomorrow. "ahh, yeah i can do tomorrow...morning?" you clasp your hands behind your back as you nod along, "morning it is then." your lips quirk to the side as you place your gaze on anything but him, to pass time, perhaps to make the silence a little more bearable. jeno's voice is so low the next he speaks, it almost spooks you out of your wits, "have you met up with any of the boys yet?"

his eyes keep their track on you as you take a few steps to the edge of the curb, lowering yourself atop it, "well, i hung out with hyuck the other day," you motion for him to sit beside you and he follows suit, "and i think he mentioned wanting to do some reunion thing at his house. i don't know, i'll have to ask." jeno stirs in his thoughts for the time being. hyuck. though he'd kept in touch with the boy after middle school and a bit after high school, even his name brings up a shitload of memories. "have you?"

"huh?" his eyes whirl to meet yours, "oh. for me, mostly just jaem, and renjun too the other day."

conversation seems to flow intermittently between you two, ongoing or nonexistent at all, for another lapse of silence is thrown into the mix. the air is certainly not governed by awkwardness, jeno feels that the time you've spent with him in the last few days guarantees at least that. but it's also laden with a sort of tension you can't quite place, a territory you're unwilling to traverse into. you move past your thoughts and voice only a sliver of them aloud, suppositionally, "if- if we do meet up, like all of us, do you think it'll be weird?"

"weird how?"

"weird as in…well, a lot's changed, since we were thirteen, and we haven't been in a room together all at once, since we were thirteen."

"i don't know. i think," he shrugs, "i think we'll be fine, me and you at least." jeno likes saying 'we' when it pertains to you and him. he mumbles it over a few times, under his breath, and though it's not entirely out of your earshot, you're far too busy taking long and zoned-out glances at him to notice. that in itself is something he surely notices.

undoubtedly, you must not be the only person in the world to think that jeno grew up well. lee jeno is kind, kind enough to grant you all the favors you've asked of him. lee jeno is warm, you feel he emanates warmth even by simply sitting by his side. lee jeno is sincere, his smiles beam of genuinity and his words are coated in truth. and in the spotty moonlight, flitting in between the boughs of the tree just above, lee jeno is good looking, chiseled jaw, pretty lips, those eyes. but more than that, he lives up to his good looks. you can only wish you'd been there to see him grow up, to grow up with him.

"jen?"

"yes?"

you tap your toes alternatingly on the scratchy pavement, your eyes and his as well are trained on them. licking your lips, you take your gaze from your feet to his side profile and your breath hitches before you speak, "what...what happened to us?"

jeno reverts his eyes onto your own, "what do you mean?" now you're staring right at each other which is usually how any conversation should be, but conversations between you and him seem to always be an exception. fiddling with your fingers, you trace your sights back down to your feet, "you said that we'd keep in touch. well, we both said that."

in truth, as much as the distance that divided the two of you could be denoted from his seemingly unrequited feelings for you, there was much less of a romantic touch in what happened for the most part. for the most part, things panned out as they usually do when two people, once close and once sworn to never not be close, end up being separated by the one thing that brought them close in the first place. that is not to say that your friendship with jeno had no value outside of school and school-related things but really, school was the one thing that made it so you saw the boy day in and day out, shared with him an intimacy that could only be reached with that basis of interaction. more than any derivative of feelings that could drive the two of you apart, your friendship was split by the common ground idea that people come and go. perhaps it was fate that wielded the sorts, perhaps it was merely meant to be. and if you were to chalk it up to fate, you could say that meeting jeno again, like this, was fate as well.

but jeno here, twenty-one-year-old jeno as opposed to thirteen-year-old jeno, would like to come clean with his feelings. at least his feelings of way back when, because this turn of the conversation had churned a past within him that he had yet to be willing to unearth; that is, until now as he susurrates, "because i liked you." jeno feels his eyes gloss over involuntarily, "and with the whole high school transfer and everything, it just kinda all fell apart." 

he looks to the other side, as naturally as he can, but there's the unmistakable shuffle of feet from behind him and when he turns back around, sure enough, you've inched closer than his current mental state can handle. you watch as jeno blinks, his eyes lain upon your lap, and a tear proceeds to trace its merry way down his cheek. you catch it with the sleeve of your sweatshirt but even after he's cried through his emotions, your hand stays there, cupping his cheek. 

the tips of your fingers protrude from the fabric of the sleeve and they, your thumb in particular, swipe across the heights of his cheeks and the bags under his eyes. your own eyes are soft on his, soft in knowing and in understanding because, "well if it offers you any comfort, i liked you too."

jeno, though fresh in the surprise of revelation, feels an ease pool his mind. he takes a hand and brings it to cup the side of your face as well, mirroring your actions with an equal, loving gaze that holds the memoirs of your cherished past. a past that no longer tugs at his mind, begging for his attention, that no longer muddles his afflictions between what is new and what is old, and a past that he can now move on from, with renewed finality.

you break the exchange with a breathy laugh. a smile stretches across his face. the one hand on his face turns into two and the same is applied to you sequentially. two twenty-one-year-old college students sit on the curb in front of a house that belongs to neither of them but rather lies in between their respective homes. they sit side by side, their eyes boring deeply into one another's and, with both hands clamped on the cheeks of the other, occasionally squishing to produce the silliest of expressions, they laugh and they imbue in the elation of being at peace with their entwined pasts.

when you stand first, brushing off the dust on your bottom, jeno, still sitting, catches your wrist and lets the quirk of his lips and a small, "thank you," express the lengths at which the conversation had gone in its endeavors to mend a somewhat dysfunctional relationship. but now in full functionality, jeno wonders if his feelings still persist.

and if there's one thing to tell him they do, that they're as present as ever if not more so than before, it's the way he blushes warm when you entangle his grip on your wrist into your hand, giving his palm a brief squeeze before you look down upon him with an enraptured smile of your own. he watches you take your leave and, in the blackness of night, he thinks you are the most personable being to have ever walked in his life. he thinks he wouldn't mind another seven years, though only if he was promised to have you by his side the whole while.

"you mind if i tag along?"

yeah, i mind. jeno clicks his tongue, "no."

"you sure?" hyuck edges him on, nudging his old friend with the end of the hose. jeno can only roll his eyes at that, taking the hose from him, "not like i have a choice if she brought you here in the first place." jeno, while watching you roll up the windows of your dirtied car, can't help but wonder why you had to bring this damned boy. he really thought that after such a heartfelt moment the two of you shared just the past night, you would have been more open to venturing into alone, one on one, time with him. he does his best to clip back the snarky tone that's just waiting to be let aloud whenever donghyuck speaks.

"so who do you think's gonna be third wheeling today? me or you?"

"you," jeno bleats with not a second to spare. though he's sure the boy means it all in good-natured fun, jeno's dead serious when he says, "guess we'll just have to see who prevails."

and that, oh dear, that is sure to bring out the competitive temper of the one and only lee donghyuck, winner of all games ever played. jeno knows he's perhaps just dug a hole for himself, a shovel in hand and all, because right off the bat, hyuck is off to hog all of your attention and very rarely does he fail with his witty remarks and his position as 'most recent best friend.' in fact, he's right in the middle of telling you what is sure to be the joke of the century when the idea pops into jeno's mind, a godsend. 

he turns the knob on the hose to its fullest power before trudging off to the dial, his absence going unnoticed as you laugh at whatever hyuck has just said. donghyuck's turning to see if jeno has caught yet another point he's scored when he's met with a forceful discharge of water square to his face. it's four seconds of just standing there before hyuck remembers that he has the miraculous abilities of mobility, and upon moving out of the way in a terrible coughing and choking fit, the spray of the hose lands upon you. 

jeno gives a squeal that's comparable to yours as you snatch the second hose from donghyuck's limps hands, his body now wilted rather dramatically across the hood of your car, and point it to jeno, dousing him full as you charge right at him. he doesn't move, to your liking and more because he feels bad for having just accidentally drenched you in freezing cold hose water in the dead of winter. the punishment he has willingly subjected himself to is also freezing cold, bone-chilling, and numbing to the core. but he doesn't mind it nearly as much when the gush of water hitting his chest stops and he runs a hand through his hair, clearing his eyes to reveal your smiley, smiling face that looks to be having way too much fun in the face of hypothermia.

he's left kneeling when the water clears and you are as well, though while he's kneeling from the sheer force of the deluge, you're kneeling out of laughter. trudging over to your spot a little ways from him, the blades of the grass of your front lawn beneath tickling the skin of his kneecaps, jeno blithely lifts a few stray and wet strands of hair out of your face, tucks them behind your ear. your laughter subsides into gentle smile, one that erupts into giggles recurrently, and jeno has the gall to steal a look a donghyuck, who has since recovered and is now staring at the scene itself, eyebrow cocked and a tongue jutting out his cheek in a challenge he gladly takes up on.

jeno returns from inside his house with the two towels he had his mom fetch, only two because in his eyes, it's only fair that donghyuck doesn't get one. needless to say, hyuck's displeased as he watches jeno pat and dry your hair as you sit, propped atop the hood of your car. jeno isn't all that surprised when his own towel gets stolen from his shoulder and the boy also props himself onto the hood, next to you. funnily enough, jeno's now the one who's displeased because you've taken the towel from donghyuck's hands and instead of using it to dry the damp ends of his own hair, like it was intended to be, you turn slightly and echo jeno's actions, but instead on hyuck.

and while jeno's nose scrunches in a distaste that only hyuck catches, his eyes seemingly everywhere all at once, you turn a tad bit further to the side to reach the back ends of hyuck's head of hair. jeno complains as your own head moves a little too far for his positioning and a hand leaves the towel to move you back into place. that meaning his left hand holds solid on your right thigh. that also meaning the sudden halt of your actions, jeno's too, as donghyuck simply stares, observes, analyzes, comes to a realization, and smirks.

jeno also comes to a realization that his hand is still, still on your thigh, shown in how his hand snaps back into the oblivion and beyond, and how the tips of his ears are exceedingly quick to flush a cherry red. his thoughts of just yesterday, 'get the girl!,' are now very much diminished as his stare fixates on the ground and the ground only, even as you ask for him to move a little to the right so you could slide off the hood, even as hyuck excuses himself to the guest bathroom, though his hand is quick to fish out his phone before he even enters the house. jeno's eyes are unmoving, even as time resumes around him, and even though he understands how crazed he must look in your eyes. he understands, but that's about it because it's nothing that can be helped. 

you quirk a brow at the boy, eyes a flood of worry, and with those same eyes on him, lee jeno, in the middle of winter, begins to sweat. it starts at the palms, a sticky, tacky feeling but then he feels it creep at the back of his neck, coming in the form of a shiver of nerves. and although those two remain unnoticed, you bring a hand to his wrist to catch his attention because the beads of sweat forming along his temple have caught yours. "jeno, are you okay? you seem to be…" 

jeno lifts his gaze from the floor, a feat no doubt, and brings his eyes to yours. there are many things he notes. one, the worry in your eyes irks him, he despises even more that he's the cause of it, however silly. two, your hand remains at his wrist, unsure in the lightness of touch but assured in how it stays put nonetheless. three, your lips, they're very pretty; an observation that he's always been aware of, but when your face is only a rough seven inches from his own, the observations become a fact, ingrained in his mind for now and forevermore whenever he so much as looks at you. though more unconscious, there's a four. he wants to kiss you. and in a way that's quite far from the simple, accidental brush of lips he'd shared with you just the day prior. it's significantly far, a dot in the distance.

he almost goes in for it.

"do you mind if i shower at your place? it's fucking cold."

you remove your hand from his wrist, jeno's fingers twitch in longing to reach after it. with your own fingers absentmindedly toying with the cinched waistband of your sweats, you shift your weight from one foot to another. remarkably, only your top half was drenched but that in itself was sure to trail little shivers up your spine. jeno avoids your gaze, feverishly, hand coming up to the nape of his neck. he mumbles a short, "sure," before turning upon his heel, leading into the house. 

while hyuck is in the guest bathroom, you venture into the one through jeno's room which is noticeably cleaner since the last you were there. he tells you to wait there while he messes around in the bathroom, cleaning, but he leaves that detail out. one leg crossed over another, you bunch up the soaked hems of your shirt so as to not drip everywhere, standing there in apprehension and also halfway in the dark with the slatted blinds above his bed turned shut, the only source of light being the little that slips in between the slats. resolutely, you cross the room and gingerly lean a knee into the bed, reaching for the handle to twist them open. that's when you see it, slung upon the footboard of his bed.

that's also when jeno calls, voice distant and steps in a hurry as he pronounces, "i'll get you a shirt from my closet, hold up." but as he emerges from the bathroom, it seems that you have different plans. his eyes go wide as he sees the one, unfortunate garment he'd forgotten to put away this morning in your hands. yes, the bright green shirt from that one seventh grade math competition, with the now faded and very corny geometry joke proudly displayed on the front. it's that one that his mom asks him all the time why he never throws it out even though it's been years. he almost lets it show how he sulks into himself because they're his pajamas, and for a reason that he knows that you know and, to him at least, it's all the more embarrassing when you know. there's a lot of almosts today because jeno almost shits himself at the thing you say next.

"can i wear this one instead?"

the shy glint in your eyes and the light smile that glosses over your expression are all he needs to say, "sure," it comes out nonchalant but jeno is freaking the fuck out internally. you asking to wear that specific shirt suddenly made all the embarrassment garnered from it seem significantly less embarrassing. 

he sits on the edge of his bed as the sounds of the shower going skirts his thoughts. feet kicking up and down, back and forth down the side, jeno sighs with his bottom lip tucked under his front teeth. he's directly opposite and in line with the one picture on the wall he couldn't dare put away in his prior and precautionary cleaning in the case that you would come over once again. the edges of the photo are frayed with time and brash handling, seen even in its frame, but if anything, the memory of it is intact as ever. 

jeno thinks of all the things that would have gone differently, had he confessed to you that day as he planned he would. graduation day it was, and it was cloudy and on the verge of raining but his spirits weren't dampened in the slightest, clapping the loudest as you crossed the stage to shake hands with the principal, head awkwardly facing the crowd as your father had implored you to do so for his picture. his spirits were far dampened when you returned to your seat, a row ahead and a few down from where he was himself, mouthing a, "stop it," in annoyance as he mimicked your ungainly actions from just before. he felt that his spirits could never be dampened as he returned to his own seat, looking over in your direction automatically as you posed a thumbs up and another mouthing, this time an, "i'm proud of you," before getting caught by a passing supervisor and being forced to turn back around with a huff.

jeno remembers his spirits plummeting as he sat with you under the bleachers, for the last time, half his body situated on his jacket and the other on the scratchy grass. he didn't mind it as long as you were fully atop it yourself. despite what his quick wikiHow search on 'how to confess your love to someone,' there was no surge of confidence, not one stroke of it within him. he gave small smiles to your animated talking and the bare minimum of responses when prompted. and when you'd fished your phone out of your back pocket at the sound of a ping to see your mom texting you to go back to the field for pictures, he took your helping hand as he stood but even then, he couldn't dare be bold enough to keep your hand in his. with an arm set loosely across the back of donghyuck's shoulder and the other across yours, he made sure to hold you tight by his side, for fear and acceptance that this would be the last time he would have you there, by his side.

but as his gaze is pulled away from the picture, instinctively towards the sound of the door being propped open, jeno's reminded that, for now, you're all for his taking as long as he's up for the challenge. he watches as you linger by the door for a second, lip tucked under teeth yourself as you contemplate your next steps, next words. and as jeno watches, the shirt hanging tight on his figure but loose on yours, he can't help but think that this time around, he's in it to win it.

forms clutched in your left hand, all of them filled out in your neat, pencilled handwriting, you tap your toes impatiently. the line that you were currently in, placing at about the middle, was long and not at all to your liking. against your best wishes, your parents really had the gall to sign you up for this; you have foolproof evidence that math is your weakest subject, the foolproof evidence being a years and years accumulated stack of report cards. they claimed it was for you to get some extra practice and you'd countered that the annual math competition at your middle school was only really for the people in the advanced math placement, which you were most certainly not. you were still forced to go, though you declined the offer to buy the gaudy green shirt, but you were also right in saying that because none of the people in the line, at least of those in front of you, were from your class. you look towards the back end of the line to check the same so that you could provide extra evidence to your conviction, not that you were going to really need it after you took the test but you would like something to pair with your lacking results when rubbing it in to your dad later.

at first glance, there's no one really that you can spot but then you look at the person directly behind you and what you don't expect is it to be that one kid that is indeed in your class, your low level math class. he's quite the sight and you wonder why he didn't catch your eye earlier with his hair sticking up in all directions as he frightfully balances on one leg, his other hiked up and being used as a makeshift table. upon closer inspection, the paper he's furiously writing upon looks to be akin to your filled out form, only it's not filled out at all.

twelve-year-old jeno feels your gaze on him, and though he's verily preoccupied with writing, he's much more intrigued by your interest in him. head snapping up in a sudden movement and snarky in his greeting, "got something to say?" and it reminds you a little too much of hyuck to simply let it pass, "yes, i do." no, you actually don't so the empty pause you leave is in search of anything relevant. when you do happen upon something, your continuation is in equal snarkiness, "your hair's a mess."

at that, he stands up straight and you note how at the age of twelve, the boy is annoyingly taller than you, "shoot, really?" a hand rushes to pat down the straight strands in a hurry. a mild surprise lines your countenance at how the snarkiness ends there, watching as he furthers his comments, "i was in a rush this morning, that's probably why," and when you, again, have nothing to add, he goes to say, "renjun told me about this competition and i just had to do it."

now it's confusion that can be seen in your bewildered stare, you only knew about this since your mom is pta (parent teacher association) president; the competition, though advertised as open to all seventh graders, was only really promoted to the higher level math students, namely renjun and his lot. the kid, whose name you place to be jeno, friend of renjun's who's a friend of hyuck's, is now expectant in a response from you, less the conversations take a turn for the worse. you provide something short but enough to compose your inquiries, "why? who would want to do this?"

a part of you already knows. lee jeno, though you know little of him, sits at the front of your math class and never forgets to bring his glasses to school. a pencil is almost always in his hand when he raises it to ask a question at least ten times per lecture which is also the only reason you actually know of him because unlike him, you don't pay much attention at all in math class. jeno raises his eyebrows and replies as if his reasoning was common knowledge, "well i thought it'd be fun!"

"fun?"

"yeah!"

"fun how?"

jeno's standing complacently but his hands are making vague motions, "because you know…," a hands comes to the nape of his neck and he whispers as if his utterances were frowned upon for a lower level math student. to you they are indeed. "i like math."

"yeah no shit, you're the only one who participates in math." his eyes widen at your profanity, head snapping to see if anyone had heard. upon realizing something else, he motions for you to move forward, neither of you had noticed the line had started progressing onwards. 

jeno's still on edge, eyes peering side to side to make sure no teacher had passed while you spat such a vulgar word, "shhh, what if someone hears you?!" a coy smile creases your eyes, you decide that you're certainly very fond of this boy, or at least you're very fond of teasing him. "then how about...damn?" jeno's startled. "ass?" jeno looks like he's on the verge of shitting his pants. thus you go on, "another shit?" the twelve-year-old's mouth drops wide open, "y/n-"

"asshole, dickhead, son of a bitch, mother fucker, your mom's puss-"

he's rushing right up to you and before you can proceed, jeno's hand is clamped tight over your mouth. "y/n, that's-" and as if he weren't already a close seven inches away from you, he leans in further and you swear his lips graze the side of your cheek as he whispers, "y/n, that's illegal," and suddenly and in your eyes, the humble, wide-eyed boy that you'd only thought to tease of has you floored with his gaze locked on yours, breath fanning across your skin. he looks good, even at twelve years, lee jeno is easy on the eyes.

you gulp, push him off, and turn back around to the line that'd moved up four people since the last you'd moved, leaving jeno to stand there, hands limp by his side and in complete neglectance of his still half-filled out form. it takes thirty or so seconds for him to move up in the line as well, the mutters from the people lagging behind him also going unnoticed. and when he does notice, taking a few steps forward and once again hiking his leg up to be used as a viable writing surface, it's only after he spent those same thirty seconds spaced out in aftershock of why he did that, or rather, where the sudden surge of confidence came from that had him in the position in the first place. perhaps that's the first time that jeno ever thinks of you a little differently, only because there's something about you makes it so he does things a little differently, makes it so he can't simply act normally around you.

and perhaps you've also undergone the same predicaments because you pay extra attention when the test is handed out, and the way your brows pull together with your eyes trained on the paper tells a lot about those normally divergent acts. you're the last to turn it in, even after the bookish jeno, and when he takes a glance at you across the room as he returns to his seat, a little smile creeps its way upon his lips.

the same smile is there when you plop down next to him in math class the following monday, right at the front of whiteboard, and there goes the tug of his heartstrings when you lean over, eyes in wonderment, to ask him a thing or two about hypotenuses or some of the sort which he more than happily obliges. jeno beams when you hold him back after class to show him your score on the unit final he'd tutored you for and he beams the year after that when the two of you both climb the ranks into the prestigious advanced level placement. 

for many reasons, jeno proved to be a blessing in your life. your parents loved him specifically for the studiousness he instilled within you, something neither of you have ever pointed out but are in mutual understanding of. jeno was by your side through your traumatic first post-breakup stage, the douche of a boyfriend, or rather another twelve-year-old boy, had dumped your ass after two and a half days. jeno was the one who coughed into your ear during that one fateful game of telephone, the one played on the bus to the museum field trip; he'd defeated, and i mean absolutely crushed, donghyuck in a game of rock, paper, scissors to win the spot next to you, still a feat he considers one of his many prides to this day. jeno was the one who picked at your food, but also magically produced his own to share whenever you were without a lunch. 

lee jeno was the epitome of right person, right time, and even though the same sentiments weren't carried all the way through, were interrupted, displaced, all the things he gave you, left for you, they stayed.

lee jeno remembers the day he met you with keen lucidity. he remembers all the days after that in a chorus of feelings that swept him in the most unintelligible way, after all, who expects to fall so deeply in love at the age of twelve. at twelve you'd think the thing you'd be most worried about would be having fun before high school, occasionally grades, or maybe even the changing appearances that come with puberty and puberty in itself. for a good chunk of it, jeno thought that his feelings could be explained by puberty but it proved especially ignorant of him to think the same in high school when his feelings that persisted were only sustained by the mere memory of you. 

maybe it wasn't from day one, by no means was it love at first sight, second sight, or even third or fourth or fifth, but it was the succession of some inevitable process, the day you met through the day you graduated. to finish a thought, maybe lee jeno could have claimed spot as your boyfriend of seven years, had he not yielded in the face of profession. perhaps, you would have broken up already, the simple outcomes of distance and the natural order of relationships. would he have let you go? or would it have been you to call it off?

it's unfortunate that he'll never know, no matter how much he wonders, but of all the things he's sure of in the moment, it's that your laugh is the prettiest thing known to man, known to him. your feet dangle a significant amount over the edge of his bed, stark from his own toes that are stagnant and grazing the floor. he doesn't look over at you and his mumbles say enough of why, "i'm not kidding, y/n- don't laugh at me! i'm being serious, you really do."

"really now, you're telling me that i look good in your old pajamas. as if it weren't just to tease me."

"really!" his voice hits a pitch higher and he clears his throat, a scrunch of his nose at your laugh follows and denotes much regret in how he accidentally spoke his thoughts aloud in the first place. you really can't tell but he's trying his best to get in a few compliments, he'd heard that girls like flattery (he didn't hear, per se, he'd seen it somewhere online—read: wikiHow). "you look far better in it than i ever would." 

with his hands on either side of him, jeno pushes himself upwards the bed, lowers his back upon the sheets, and folds his hands across his stomach. he didn't expect as such but you do the same. it's now that his heart sees it fit to speed its pace, only because of that one pesky thought that's infiltrated his mindset. you're in bed with him after all, and though it's nothing close to what would be considered crossing the line as two friends, the thought itself is enough to ignite a fervid warmth through his cheeks. his eyes are rigid on the ceiling when you speak, "do you even remember where this is from?" they itch to look over at you but he's afraid it'll be too obvious then; his plan is to woo you, not to make a fool of himself.

jeno senses the sheets stir from beside him and he can only guess what position you've assumed, and hopefully not the one where you're facing him while his everything is still aligned straight ahead. he hopes it's not because if it were, he'd be missing out on one of those *romantic moments* that he so wishes to achieve. jeno's inability to think straight, about positioning, hinders his ability to respond, something that's only brought to his attention when you perk up again, "jeno? did you hear me?"

jolted, his eyes instinctively snap to yours in the sense that yes, now he's facing you and yes, he sees that you're facing him also. there seems to be a little something lodged in his throat when he replies because it comes out as if his neck were a squeaky toy that'd just been stepped upon. "of course," he clears his throat with a grunt, "that math competition, seventh grade." jeno concludes that that something in his throat must be his heart because he can quite literally hear its beating in his ears and feel its thrum through his organs. he licks his lips and sits in silence, save the thumps of his heart, as his eyes trace to your own lips, not seven inches away.

"that's...that's when it all started," you muse, a hand coming up to brush a hair from your face and hitting jeno's chest on its way, as if just to remind him of how close you are. "i mean, for me that is."

pushing his rather uncivilized thoughts from his mind, jeno gives a, "what do you mean?" before dutifully returning to glancing at your lips. if you notice, you don't comment upon it, choosing rather to answer promptly, "i think that's when i started to like you." he gulps and says just about the same, "me too." jeno's nerves think they are just about ready for whatever is thrown his way but not until a leg of yours moves to nudge his gently. "wow, it's like we're meant to be." his nerves, they must be on fire now and just about ready to take on the whole world in its entirety because he notes with keen incredulity that your use of 'we're' could indicate that you still like him, the possibilities of it being an 'are' versus a 'were' are only fifty-fifty.

"yeah…," he trails off, misses the look in your eyes, shifts to land onto his back, eyes on the ceiling. you do the same and decide that it's enough of 'testing the waters' for today. but apparently jeno thinks otherwise because just as you're moving to sit upright, he spells a slither of his heart out for you, "you're my first love, you know."

jeno would like to pride himself in the usage of 'you're,' also vague and could be taken either way. upsettingly, he lacks the know-how to understand that what this situation needs right now is certainty to topple over the tension and teetering statements. he's a bit too used to hiding behind the veil of 'what ifs' and resting atop the net of safety to realize. 

blinking up at the ceiling, you rustle to sit up once again, but not before donghyuck bursts through the door with an expression that sits pissed at first but melds into his signature leer as soon as he surveys the pair he's stumbled upon. "been looking for you two." jeno's shooting upright himself and all of a sudden, things are happening too fast.

there's two seconds before you're off and bounding towards hyuck as if he were your means of rescue; there's the, "what took you so long?" that slips from your mouth as if you'd been waiting for him all along instead of willingly giving jeno your time of day; there's donghyuck's phone that rests limp in his hand, by his side, but not yet clicked off because the screen gleams bright and it's showcasing jaemin's contact, a recent call most definitely; there's hyuck's response, muttered but in good humor, "i took a shit, that's why." 

and then there's the sinking feeling that sets fire within jeno. maybe even jaemin as well but it's for certain and even further confirmed when hyuck's smirk makes its way to meet jeno's benumbed expression, his eyes locking with sickening devilry and the traces of a challenge. donghyuck knows. and though he's sure to take it upon himself to get the two of you together for once and for all, jeno knows far better, with experience in hand, that though his friend's sentiments are in support, his chances fair much higher when it's only him that's left to trifle with the dealings of his love life. only him, and his languishing confidence.

plucking a kernel from the carpet, you toss it into the bin over the arm of the couch. the paper towel on the same arm is used to rub off whatever dust had soiled your hand and it's returned to the bowl to rummage for another, slightly more buttered, popcorn. you wish that your mom was into those hallmark christmas movies, because in all honesty, you're quite the fan but you suppose 'rise of the guardians' ranks close enough. glancing down to the bowl in your lap for a second time, you groan upon realizing that the only reason you've been munching on the terribly unflavored popcorn was because you've already tired out the supply of the buttered ones. that enough gets you to set the bowl on the coffee table, done with snacking for the night as you pick up your two crochet hooks and get to work, your actions mirroring your mom's though she's a lot farther in her chain.

you suppose the movie is just about halfway through when you're sidetracked by how you've somehow messed up a turning chain, warranted though, as you're an amateur in the dark. it's a shame because you really would have loved to pay at least half attention to the very gorgeously animated character, jack frost, but are instead struggling. after reworking the chain a few times, you decided to give it a rest and set it aside as well. it seems that being a quitter is the overarching theme of today.

the sound of your head thudding against the back of the couch gets your mom to separate her attention as well. seeing your state, she opts to make conversation in the light that you're far from returning to the movie. it plays in the background, the only source of light in the living room. "how's the car?"

"clean." a sour mood you're in, it seems. your mom hesitates for a second before approaching a second question, "how's jeno been?"

"great. he's been great, mom." she sets down her crochet for the time being, the foot of hers that's jutting out of the blanket bouncing up and down. you doubt why you even tried to conceal your feelings with curt responses when really, you're unashamed in front of your mom. that's the sole reason why she deems it fitting to dig a little deeper, "anything you want to tell me?"

it's an, "of course," that has her crochet set in her lap for the rest of the night. you turn towards her in full, shifting your weight so that it faced her position on the armchair diagonal of the couch. sighing, you shove a tongue in consideration to the side of your cheek before pulling back the curtains a third of the way, "i think he likes me." your mother's eyes sparkle, she sets her hooks and yarn on the coffee table as well, urging you to go on with a nudge of her head. "but at the same time he doesn't?"

she nods in the processing of her thoughts, "so, mixed feelings?"

you nod along with her, "mixed feelings."

your mother never disappoints you when a situation of yours arises and she's bound to give you her advice, her very blunt, very to-the-point advice. "just ask him. i mean, if he rejects you, you're only going to have to see him for a few more weeks before you're back off to school."

and you never disappoint yourself when a situation of yours arises and you're bound to adhere to her advice, the very blunt, very to-the-point advice because as always, she's right. but then she muses on with the littlest care in the world, "or you could just mess around with him for a bit-"

"mom-"

"what's making you think i mean it in that way? did i really raise such a slu-"

"mom! oh my goodness-"

"i'm just saying," she drags on the word and you almost rush to interrupt her with another exclamation before noting her demeanor, her countenance in the dim light. you lick your lips in apprehension, vaguely reminiscent of salted butter. "i'm just saying...keep him on the hook for a little longer," her crochet reference is bad but you don't miss an opportunity to let a small smile show. it's gone the next second when she resumes with more to her thought, "really, take it slow. i doubt that he doesn't like you. i'm pretty sure he did back in middle school-"

"he told me he did, something about how i was his first love."

she's taking this a lot less seriously than you thought she would. it irks you to know why. your mother has her head propped on the palm of her hand, her weight on the arm of the couch, "then i'm pretty sure he's never had a second." your brows draw in, "why?"

"no matter how much i love you, y/n, i would never pay for your groceries, change your tires, haul your christmas tree, or wash your car after not seeing you for seven years. just think about it, seven years without contact is as good as being strangers." you watch as she pushes herself off the arm, off the chair, blanket falling aside. your mom takes your discarded bowl in her hands, her own crochet, and the tv remote before clicking the movie off. you watch her as she moves casually across the room and you hear her just before she flicks on the light. 

"it's either that he likes you or that he's jesus, your pick."

it's a christmas rule, or at lease a rule that you and your friends go by, that if christmas day is for family, then christmas eve is for friends, hence why donghyuck had so cleverly gathered everyone in his basement on the very day, or night actually. he stops you with an arm just before you descend upon the staircase, "what'd you bring?" he motions towards the plastic bag clutched in your hands, the same one that'd bagged your groceries the other day (reduce, reuse, recycle!), but it instead carries, "pumpkin pie, i've come bearing pie," and hyuck removes his arm for you to pass before holding it up again for jeno, "and you, sir?" 

"eggnog."

you turn back to see donghyuck give jeno the heartiest pat on the back, "now that sir, that's what i'm talking about." scrunching your nose in good-natured fun, you quip at that, "what's wrong with my pumpkin pie?" jeno's a step above you, hyuck on the step behind as he retorts, "nothing, it's just that jeno here remembered that we're very much legal." shrugging, you trod off down below, missing the way donghyuck holds jeno back for a second. firstly to ask, "brandy or bourbon?"

"whiskey, actually."

and secondly to ask, "so what are you waiting for?"

"huh?" jeno takes a step back up the stairs and away from the hustle and bustle of the basement where you might have lingered to hear what he thinks the conversation is steering towards. "or did you do it already?" he checks himself before jumping to conclusions, "what do you mean?"

hyuck's hand is impatient on his friend's shoulder, after all, it's been eight years and counting since he first discovered jeno's little secret, plus only a day since he rediscovered it. "did you ask her out yet?" jeno's about to disagree with him, partially out of habit, "i-" before he realizes it's for naught, "no, i haven't."

"do you perhaps, i don't know, have a time in mind?"

repositioning the gallon-sized jar in his hands, jeno's response rumbles deep and low for only him to hear, "yeah actually, i was thinking next-"

"next?!"

"what-"

"no next! you have to do it like- tonight!"

"what, why?"

hyuck isn't smirking but the look in his eyes is somewhat akin to it. "because…," it seems that he isn't up to letting his mischief spill for his answer is really quite lame, "because timing is imperative! remember what happened last time?" jeno doesn't let it get to him nearly as much as it should; his plan is foolproof and he's convinced that nothing of what haechan does should be able to catch your gaze tonight, or for the rest of nights. he leaves the boy at the stairs as he treads into the space, ready to take on step one. different plans await him as he draws nearer to the sectional, only to find that the one available seat next to you, at the far right of the couch, has been taken by jaemin.

awkwardly, jeno sets the eggnog on the table and takes the next best spot, the one next to the boy, squeezing beside renjun who gives him a glare and a scowl, "first time you see me in awhile and you decide you want to sit on me? really jen?"

jeno puts his whole heart into apologizing, "oh whoops, my bad," as he turns his body in your direction, and jaemin's, only to feel his stomach furl at how jaemin's body is also aligned with your own, effectively blocking him off. again, the awkwardness that's emitting from him is awfully discernable to renjun, watching the boy turn back around again and give him a sheepish smile, this time in actual contriteness. with step two out of reach and thwarted, he sets his sights on the eggnog. jeno's quite the simple man. his approach was simple. he was sure that simple would get him many places, unlike donghyuck's abundant and conflict-laden schemes.

his plans were simple in that, one: sit next to you, make sure that no one else sits next to you. two: talk to you, make sure that no one else talks to you. and three: ask you out, make sure that no one else asks you out. and that's how it should've gone! though it's certainly not how it's going.

jeno's left to pick up the pieces of your and jaemin's delightful conversation as the same boy reaches for the eggnog at the same time as him. retreating, he watches as jaemin fills a mug for you, then for himself. he listens as jaemin questions, "first time drinking?" pfft, even i know that.

"yeah, actually," it's because you're mom's strict. "my mom's strict."

 "oh wow, so eggnog for a first must be kinda heavy, huh."

i wish that you would start with something lighter, just in case. "i know right, i wish that i could start out with something lighter, just in case. but i don't mind." i'll mind for you. if you can't finish it, i'll finish it for you.

"if you can't finish it, i'll finish for you."

with that, jeno's off to minding his own business because na jaemin is quite literally, stealing his spot, stealing his lines and it's evident that whatever he'd planned for tonight was simply, as simple as his plan, not happening. glare and scowl set into place, akin to renjun's earlier, he fills his own mug, only up to the halfway mark because his last glimmer of hope lies in when he walks you home later in the night. hell, he regrets just thinking that he should've just asked you out on the way here.

setting the mug down, he leans back in his limited space, arms behind his head and an elbow digging into renjun's space as well. the boy is about to comment on it when donghyuck finally returns from his room with the board game of choice this one christmas eve. "since y/n's here for the first time, i've decided to go with something mild," everyone, except you, is transported into the memory of last year when the now-snapped-in-half connect four contraption had bewitched them all into a death match (at least it wasn't raining and at least it wasn't on the rooftop), "so we're going with monopoly." jeno notes the smile that makes its way to your face.

renjun from beside him groans, "monopoly's boring though, ("-because you suck at it-") why can't we just play like-"  

"i think it's a good idea," jeno announces rather suddenly, to which donghyuck rejoins, "and i asked neither of you for your opinions." he tugs off the top of the case and throws it back, "my house, my rules." although jeno wants to confront the urge to counter hyuck's sass, he doesn't because you look pleased at the game of choice, elated almost. but then there's jaemin beside you, commenting and remarking into your ear to further the little smiles you give and, change of plans, jeno decides that if he can't beat jaemin in winning your attention, he'll just have to beat him in winning monopoly. 

the fake bills in his hands stack steadily as renjun, who'd been appointed banker, hands him, two hundreds, then another fifty. but with each increasing increment of jeno's money and competitiveness, jaemin's seems to dwindle as any inverse relationship would do as such. jeno seems to have forgotten that he, na jaemin, is the self-proclaimed 'least competitive person in the world' and how that held true in most any circumstance, including the case of girls or this case of boardgames. rather than narrowing his focus on winning, jaemin catered his role in the playing of the game to comedics. and while jeno dearly loves to hear you laugh, he finds it unfortunate that you find jaemin very funny.

he thinks he's had quite the night. the two rounds of monopoly, an hour each where he'd won both times but was also unrivaled both times, the movie marathon that followed suit (though is the word 'marathon' really warranted if only one and a third were watched?), and the grand finale, eight rounds of drinking games. certainly any singular event could have ignited a spur within him but after enduring all of them, paired with the fact that he was now mildly drunk, lee jeno is, to put it simply, not having it.

jeno undoubtedly has had a drink or two more than he should have because he sways a bit when he stands. he isn't sure but somewhere in the midst of seeing jaemin's hand rest casually on your thigh (missing the way you brush it off politely) and the way he seems to exclusively talk to you and you only (though your half-hearted responses are just out of earshot), jeno came to the conclusion that drinking copious amounts of eggnog seemed the best course of action. he also comes to duly note the looks that jaemin has been sending him, periodically. it's something along the lines of a smirk without the smile, a challenge set in his brow, and a glint of smugness in the eyes. drunk jeno is having exceeding difficulties in stripping down the implication of those regards, especially when his forefront train of concentration is currently being narrowed towards not tripping up the steps.

the jar of eggnog, now empty, is left behind on the table with the cumulation of also empty mugs and extra beer cans, soju bottles. your plastic bag and the aluminum container that held the pumpkin pie are long gone as well. you track your eyes down to each step of the stairs you take because if you look up, you'd be face to face with jeno's bottom. face to butt, really.

the night had ebbed, slowly but surely, into a mess. for whatever reason, you had minimal interactions with any of your friends except for jaemin, not that jaemin wasn't your friend, just that you had hopes of a christmas eve spent with the boy you talked the least to in the course of the night. the one whose bottom has just backed into your forehead. "jen…"

he pays no mind, perhaps doesn't even hear you at all because he proceeds to stumble around for a bit, taking another step down until you're forced to do the same, else your sanity be damned. both hands on the rails on either side, you suck in a breath. "jen, get your ass out of my face." and at that, the boy seems to get a grip on himself, tossing a dumbfounded, then staggered look back at you before straightening and taking the surest steps the rest of the way up to the utility room landing where donghyuck is seen to have been holding the back door open for the better part of three minutes. jaemin is there as well, lingering to see you guys off, you specifically, and jeno finds that same look being thrown at him, except this time he's slightly sobered up. the haze that had hitherto hindered him from thinking through his thoughts with clarity had cleared. he realizes what's off.

maybe it's the flashback, episodic memory style, to donghyuck's phone displaying jaemin's contact after intruding upon the little moment you'd been sharing with him, only a day ago at that. maybe it's that paired with hyuck's, "you have to do it like- tonight!" something that he'd brushed off but also made a lot more sense when put into consideration with the fact that jaemin's looks emanated of provocations, a dare of sorts. and that in itself speaks volumes of nonsense now that jeno's remembering that jaemin is the least competitive person in the world, not only to his own standards but to everyone else's. na jaemin, jeno's other best friend, wasn't deliberately trying to steal his (soon-to-be) girl. he was rather (rather infuriatingly) trying to rile up his dear friend into asking her out. bitterly, jeno notes that it's working; he's a great deal ticked off, even more so now that he's in the know, and his plans on asking you out have indeed been sped up to tonight.

so as jeno holds an unnecessary hand out to help you up the last few steps, a hand that you take with an apprehensive smile quick to form, he makes sure to give jaemin that same look he's been receiving all night. and while jaemin holds an elbow of yours to steady you as you slip on your shoes, jeno makes sure to take both sides of your open jacket and zip it closed, tugging the garment tight to your frame. he relishes in the feeling of your eyes on him, for the first time that night, as you bid your farewells to everyone else. jeno tries to hide a smile of his own as he says his goodbyes, eyes never leaving yours. he ushers you out of the house soon enough, the door clicking shut behind him and offering him the makings of possibly the confession of the century. he paces himself beside you.

hyuck's house is only four blocks down from your own, the only reason the two of you had agreed to walk there in the first place which was a seemingly good idea, if only you had considered the fact that by the end of the gathering it would be three forty in the morning, on christmas morning. the sky is dark, the moon itself offering little light in the presence of clouds, though the air is crisp as it is cold, nipping at the exposed skin of your face and hands. you shove those same hands into the pockets of your jacket as you shuffle along the side of jeno; just being by his side seems to provide a steady stream of warmth you're unwilling to stray too far from.

it's when the two of you cross the second intersection that jeno thinks to start up the little conversation that's been playing in his head for the last six or so hours. it's also then that an idea, though rather dumb, dawns upon you. your neighborhood circles around a fairly small lot, one with only a lawn of grass and a childrens' playground to earn it the title of being a park. a corner of your lips turns itself upwards as you grasp a hand on jeno's forearm, lightly steering him, "let's go sit on the swings for a bit, how's that?" and he complies, mind rerouting the scenarios of the conversation as the circumstances fluctuate. 

the swings, a set of two, creak and groan as you kick up and back, the movement coursing the wind to whip cold across your cheeks. your hands clasp the equally frigid chains from which the seat you're on is sustained, the metal is sure to leave red streaks along the lines of your palms. jeno, who remains unmoving, merely looks on at you with a bemused and adoring gaze, his hands fisting and unfisting in his jacket pockets to retain their warmth in the case that you would be willing to hold them. a wide grin spreads across his features as he watches you dig your heels into the bark to stop, your giddy laughter quiet but perceptible to his eager ears.

with the last bit of momentum edging you on, you almost stumble off the seat. lunging forward with added force, your arms are thrown out on either side to maintain your offset balance. jeno startles at your actions as well, a hand of his own is flung out instinctively to steady you but the distance makes it so the closest he gets is your thrust out hand. he's holding your hand. and it jars him a bit because the sequence of planned events, the notecards by which he was dutifully following, are now jostled and out of order.

he's yet to let go of your hand and that's yet to leave your notice. you don't question it either but you look over just in time to see him gulp, his eyes on the ground before him. the second you revert your eyes, jeno speaks, "do you mind if i ask you something?" his hands are warm.

"go for it."

"i- i said yesterday that...that you're my first love." despite the weather, jeno can almost feel the sweat rush to his palms. he hopes it isn't noticeable and pushes on, "am i yours?"

jeno's banking on your answer to give a green or red light to follow through with all else, he'd phrased the question to deliver precisely just that. never more than now have the differences between 'were' and 'are' meant so much to him. 

he turns to see a smile light your expression as you continue to stare into the ground and when he turns back, the fruits of his efforts are bestowed upon him. "yeah, you are my first love."

the green light has been given, jeno's palms are growing clammier by the second. he stands, hand still in yours, and pads over to where you're seated, the sound of wood chips crunching beneath his steps. jeno holds out his other hand and you take it. thumb rubbing over your knuckles, you find that jeno simply stands before you. the dark shrouds the two of you entirely but you make out enough of his features to see that he's smiling, blindingly, and it's in that moment where your mother's advice falls short because in all honesty, you have no willingness to 'take it slow.' you want him fast and you want him now.

"jeno, i like you."

his thumb on your knuckles stills. jeno isn't sure if he's falling or willingly lowering himself onto his knees because that's what's happening, though he's almost positive that he's come to a dead end on controlling his bodily functions. his mind, all those thought out scenarios of how this night could possibly pan out, every plan that's been enforced and redacted, it all short circuits because he's met with the one possibility that he thought unthinkable. you've confessed to him.

"you what?" jeno's looking up at you with what you believe to be wide eyes, they're beautiful to say the least. you give a squeeze to his hands. he almost jumps in response and in his sensitive state. with another five words, "i said i like you," and it feels as if you've decked him in the head with a chair, or ran him over with a truck, flew an airplane square into his chest. he squeezes your hands back, but harder and for longer as if to convey what he cannot possibly fathom into words in the moment. so he gives it two moments, maybe three or four, before he comes to grasp his bearings with a little more certainty.

but jeno can't bear to look you in the eyes. the thought of his sweaty, clammy hands in yours enough to render him an ungainly mess. with the bark digging sharply into his knees and beckoning for his attention, he doesn't think much as he drops his head into your lap. in fact, he doesn't think at all when he mumbles, "well, i love you," in such a casual manner, it's as if he were implying, 'hah, beat that.' 

and you do. to add on to the shitload of emotions he's currently surfing atop of, you retract a hand from his hold and bring it to his head, fingers weaving in and out of his locks, back and forth on his scalp. the world of thirteen and twenty-one collide because when he looks up, you're the same, pretty, endearing middle school girl and the same enthralling, though stressed college student that he's been loving for so long—almost too long, for the length of time would have deemed incredulous and in vain had you not uttered in the second following, with your fingers laced into the curls at the foot of his head, "well, i've loved you for as long as i can remember."

jeno goes in for it.

his lips on yours, at first, are hot like fire on a cold winter night. they burn and they scald and they sear until the memory of how they meld in perfect unison with your own has seared itself into the forefront of your mind, riveted and ravaging your every thought. sequentially, the initial pang dulls in the trail it's blazed as your movements settle into the languid pace he's set, lips encasing your own repeatedly no matter how many times you part. on perhaps the seven or eighth time you've met your lips to his own, he stops, though his lips remain on yours, and he breathes, "if that's the case...," he suckles on your bottom lip but falls back before you can act on it. jeno brings a hand to the line of your jaw and traces his finger along it, tilting your head to his as they happen upon your chin. "if that's the case, then i guess i must've loved you since the beginning of time."

if christmas eve is for friends, then christmas day is for family.

and perhaps jeno can be filed under friends and family after all because when you awake on christmas morning, or rather afternoon, it's not to the knock on the door from your dad or the screeching of your mom but rather, to jeno's leg shifting atop your own.

"oops, didn't mean to wake you," is what you first hear and the sight of him, hair messy and without a shirt, is what you first see. the brightness of your room, evidence of how you'd forgotten to draw the curtains closed before going to sleep, is almost enough to get you to shut your eyes again but you don't because it's lee jeno who's in front of you, in bed with you, with his arms around you. you wonder how you even fell asleep the night before.

yawning as you speak, "how long have you been up?" he glances at your bedside table, "since nine," and you follow suit, only to see the time on your alarm clock spelling out a 1:04 PM. "shoot, did my alarm wake you?"

"it should've woken you too."

you let a chuckle out at that and he returns with a hearty laugh that reverberates through you. letting your head hit his chest, you mumble, eyes closing shut, "why didn't you just wake me up then?" jeno's glad that you're unable to see him in the position you're in because he's sure to be sporting a blush when he says, "because you're cute when you sleep."

"and so you just ogled at me for four hours?"

yet somehow, he's anything but embarrassed when he retorts, "oh believe me, i've been ogling at you for years." you look up at him once again to see that his eyes are already on you. jeno pulls you closer until your clothed chest hits his bare one. "why am i the one wearing this?" he eyes the bright green material of the shirt and shakes his head, "i thought i already told you that you look better in it."

"in this musty old green tee?"

"not just any musty old green tee. it's my most prized possession, means a whole lot to me."

a smile finds its way to your face, "then why do you wear it to sleep every night? wouldn't that like, i don't know, shorten its lifespan?" jeno only shakes his head a little more, "i wear it to sleep because i like going to sleep thinking about you, it makes me think about you."

"then do you dream about me?"

shameless as he never was before, he nods, "do you?" you shuffle your legs around with his a little more, "i don't even remember my dreams but i'm sure that if i did, they'd all be dreams of you." the smile on his face stretches wide, neither of you are sleepy anymore.

you move to get up but jeno holds you still. complying, you decide to further your interrogations, "does your mom know that you're here?"

"no, but she probably thinks i just stayed over at hyuck's or something," you hum along, figuring just about the same. "the real question is, does your mom know i'm here?" musing along, you can only imagine the look on her face when jeno trails behind you on the steps down to breakfast (overdue lunch), "no, but i'm sure she'd be more pleased than anything. she really adores you, you know."

"then she wouldn't mind it if i asked you out, no?"

good god, it's like the reciprocation of his feelings has made him out to be a whole different man. gone is the stutter-filled, wide-eyed thirteen year old boy who could not, for his life, lay out his love for the one girl he'd only ever had eyes for. in with this smooth little fucker that has you stuttering over your own words, "n-no, i don't think she would mind." and he seals the deal with a kiss, lingering his lips on your own and pulling your bodies flush.

jeno wishes that things never change, the shoulder stitch of his shirt falling far too low on your arms and far too high on his collarbones, the white paint of your car gleaming and his clothes doused with a hose or two, the eggnog drunk until words string incoherent and his ass is shoved unceremoniously into your face. jeno hopes to keep you by his side, to go grocery shopping with you instead of having to bump into you by chance, to throw out his trash and return to your house instead of his own, to feel the arm of your jacket brush against his as you walk side by side in the blackness of night, to be able to close the distance every single time because you were always seven inches too far; the prospect of you and him had been withheld for seven years too long and since the seventh grade too young. but now, with your forehead pressed to his, legs tangled in ways unimaginable, it seems that he has you all to himself for seven eternities on end, endlessly, forever, forevermore.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — it’s ree here, and i hope you enjoyed my christmas gift to you hehe <33 as the new year comes into sight, i’d like to pass on to you some of that *good energy* and say that 1) i love you, very dearly. and 2) if you ever need anything, i’m right here for you, inbox always open. with sentiments as warm as ever, i am exceedingly glad to have been able to spend the latter third of this year with you guys. much more to come, rouiyan.

[buckyswintersoldiermask]

Yogurt

Bellamy Blake x fem!reader

Bellamy Masterlist

Summary: You spilt yogurt on Bellamy who could possibly be your new friend, at this new university you’re attending.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none? Just fluff

A/N: sorry for the lack of Bellamy posts :0

Your eyes gaped open as you realized what you did. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry.” You frantically apologized as you saw your yogurt you were trying to open splattered over this guy's face ashe was trying to walk by. “I-I, let me help.” You insisted, handing him all your napkins and a couple wipes you had.

He sat down at the opposite end of the table, receiving your napkins and wipes. As he wiped his face, his freckles became more apparent. He was a very good looking guy, and you wasted your yogurt all over him. “Again, I’m sorry. What a way to make a first impression.” You said, mumbling that last sentence.

He chuckles, still wiping off the yogurt, “I definitely won’t forget this experience.” He extends his hand out to shake yours, “Bellamy.”

You shook his hand, smiling, “(y/n).”

He finished cleaning off his face and asked you if he looked good. Not trusting your voice at all, you nodded. He smiled once more before leaving. You then realized that yogurt was all over the table you were sitting at. You grabbed your notebook , opening it to write a note to yourself.

Buy a new brand of yogurt!!

You stayed in the cafeteria until you were done eating. You decided to leave early so you could find your class on time. “Let’s transfer you to a completely new campus on the other side of the world, she said.” You said, mocking your mother. Today was your first day at this new campus, which no one bothered to show you around. You glanced down at your paper schedule, mumbling the words, “World History, South Hall room 346.” You kept walking and somehow you ended up in the North Hall, but obviously you didn’t know that. At this point class was about to start and you were completely lost. You took out your phone, ready to complain to your mother when Bellamy called out.

“Yogurt!” He said, jogging up to you. “You lost?”

“Yeah, it’s my first day.” You confessed.

“Do you have a class right now?” He asked, in response you handed him your schedule. “Ah, Psychology with Prof Bill. South Hall. It's directly outside of the cafeteria, it has a blue and yellow flag outside of it.”

Bellamy led you to your class in the South Hall just a few minutes late. “Hey, Bellamy, thank you.”

“No problem, I can show you around later, so you can get better acquainted with the campus.”

You happily accepted, “That would be great, thanks.” You walked into class, hopefully not making a commotion. You indeed were spotted. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in my class before. Who are you?” The professor called out to you, making you stop walking and turning around to him. You quickly walked up to him, “I’m (y/n) (l/n), I was transferred here. I have your class.” You gave him your schedule, which he examined thoroughly.

“Oh, welcome. Sit anywhere.”

“Thank you.” You slid down in a desk towards the right away from everyone. Thankfully you transferred early in the semester. Your credits transferred and you weren’t that behind. As you were taking notes your mind often drifted off, thinking about something else. Well someone else. Bellamy. You spilled yogurt on him and then he offered to show you around. Soon class was over and to your surprise Bellamy was waiting outside of your class. He greeted other people from your class before he saw you. “You waited?”

“Sort of, I figured you wouldn’t be able to find me so I came back,” he pointed down the hall, “Shall we?”

“Yeah.”

Bellamy then took you to each hall, showing you where all your classes are and how to get there. He was about to show you the other parts on campus, when you stopped to look at the time.

“It’s kind of late, I hope I’m not keeping you from anything or.. anyone.” You pondered.

“No, I don’t have anything to get to, I don’t want you to get lost. Plus you might come and find me and spill more yogurt on me.” He said in a teasing tone.

“Again, Bellamy. I’m sorry. The packaging is a nightmare. My mom bought them for me before she dropped me off, but they’re not the greatest.”

“Your mom meant well.” Bellamy said before pausing in thought. “Hey, (y/n)-.”

You interrupted him before he could finish, “hey, I should probably go to my dorm and catch up on all the work I have to finish.”

Bellamy scratches the back of his head, nodding, “yeah, I don’t want to keep you, I’ll take you to your dorm. Butler Hall right?”

You nodded and Bellamy helped you back to your dorm. Once you got there you noticed he wasn’t leaving.

Curious why he hasn’t left you asked, “You live in this hall?”

“Yeah, up on the 4th floor, room 459.”

“I live on the 2nd floor. My roommate's name is Clarke I think.” You said, walking into the building.

“Oh I know Clarke, tell her I said hello will ya?”

“Yeah sure.”

After that you and Bellamy went your separate ways. You unlocked your dorm room and went inside to see Clarke studying. You closed the door as quietly as possible and sat at your desk.

“You’ve been gone for a while, I thought you got lost.” Clarke said with a concerning tone.

“I did, but Bellamy showed me around, he said hi by the way.”

“He must’ve given you the whole tour.”

“He did, it was nice. I think I’ll be able to find my classes tomorrow. “

You and Clarke talked for a bit until you remembered all the tons of homework you have to catch up on. You started off with World History and Public Speaking, since you had those 2 classes that day. After you did about 2 hours of homework you were about to talk to Clarke when you realized she was asleep. You finished up whatever you had left and fell asleep right after her.

———————————————————————————

When you woke up the next day Clarke was already gone. She’s an early bird and likes to use the whole day up. Today you had Mythology and Ancient History. You were sure you could find your classes on your own today. Bellamy’s tour certainly did help.

You got ready for class and checked the time; 10:30am. Mythology starts at 11am so you have a perfect amount of time before class. So you grabbed your backpack filled with all your books and notebooks, and left.

On your way to class you saw a familiar place outside of the classroom. It was Bellamy. You just assumed he was saying hi to his friends and was leaving. You were wrong, you and Bellamy had the same Mythology class.

You introduced yourself to the professor and went to find a seat, soon after Bellamy sat next to you.

“Yogurt!”

“When are you going to stop calling me that?” You questioned, just wanting him to call you by your name.

“Whenever you tell me to stop,” he grabbed his book and continued talking, “I didn’t know we had the same mythology class together.”

“Neither did I.” You said, grabbing your journal and pens to take notes. “Do you like this class?”

“Yeah, my mom used to read me and my sister books about mythology when we were younger, so I’m very interested.” He confessed, smiling.

“I’m all about learning, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up.”

Bellamy then told you that he could help you catch up, since he knows a lot about mythology. It’s only your second day and it’ll be the second time he’s helped you.

“I guess you’ll be coming to remind me of our first encounter a lot then.” You joked, making him smile.

This was the start of a new friendship, possibly even more.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated :)

Bellamy Tags: @mogaruke @aurora-manwell @loveslilacs @jbreenr

Taglist

[moniwxshington]

SELF PARA : : HOLLOWED AND ALONE Pt. 1

Who : : Monique Washington and Bernice Washington

Mentions : : All Essex Escapees, Emmeline Essex, Nathaniel Essex, Jackson Lanchester, and Maxine Lanchester

Location : : Bernice’s Washington

Timeline : : February 10th, 1998

Word Count : : More than Three

“ Hollowed and Alone “ Premise : : Monique Washington goes to their grandmother’s house, Bernice Washington, just to be soothed and calmed after an incident that happened in their apartment. As Monique reveals what happened, they unload their true feelings of loneliness to their grandmother. However, this moment of vulnerability is ruined as the older woman reveals that she has contacted Monique’s parents about them, the couple now aware that Monique is no longer in Essex. Angered by this, Monique yells at their grandmother and runs out of the house.

They took refuge within Bernice Washington's home, Monique not taking the time to properly call the older woman in order to prepare her for their arrival. They were just there, buzzing inside and saying hello to the butler who welcomed them. Monique tried to smile, key word tired. Obviously it wasn’t good enough as the butler quickly left, leaving them alone in the foyer. Mouth sealed shut, Monique slipped their Yankees cap off and went further into Bernice’s home. It was full of life, of the sunlight that streamed in, the whisper and gossip from the two maids, and the clicking of heeled shoes on polished flooring. It was like their parents home but better, way better. Ears perked up, the familiar sound of a piano pulling them in. Like a mouse to cheese, they followed the tune that was accompanied by a woman singing, though it wasn't just any woman. It was--

"Big momma?"

Monique had opened the practice room door, sitting inside was Bernice and a grand piano. The playing had stopped as soon as Bernice met their eye. "Mo, my baby!" She stood up, arms raised as she quickly went over to her only grandchild, bringing them in for a tight hug. "I didn't know you were coming over."

They smiled weakly. "I wanted to surprise you."

"What a happy surprise. Come on," she said, taking Monique’s hand in hers. "Let's go somewhere else. You eat yet?” They shook their head. “Alright, I’ll fix something up for you.”

Neither of them said a word as they walked to the kitchen and even when inside, Bernice didn’t say anything. All she did was gesture for Monique to sit at the island as she went through the fridge. It was stuffed with various foods: apples, yogurt, a gallon of milk, some orange juice, lemonade, and whatever leftovers Bernice put inside. Closing their eyes, Monique tried to tell by the smell alone. There was a lot of smells in the kitchen so they had to work hard to pick out the dish the older woman was going to pull out. It took them several seconds before they figured it out, the corner of their lips twitching up into a smile. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, Monique’s favorite.

The fridge was shut and then a cabinet was opened, Bernice pulling out a plate. “How you been? I haven’t seen you since the party.”

They opened their eyes, looking over their shoulder at the older woman who didn’t look at them, too focus on getting a plate of food ready for Monique. “Oh, I’ve been writing. And hanging out with my friends, that’s it.”

For a split second, Bernice’s body went rigid. “Which friends?”

They shrank into themself, Monique twisting around in their chair, no longer able to see her. “J-just my friends, my only friends.”

“That boy included?”

Elliott. They bit hard on their bottom lip, memories of him barging into their apartment still fresh on their mind. “His name is Elliott--”

“Oh, I’m aware of his name!” Bernice huffed, now walking over to the microwave, putting the plate of food inside and pressing some buttons to turn it on. Now she was looking directly at Monique who was trying so hard to avoid her eye. “I know his name and what he looks like. What proper person shows up to a classy party like he’s a gang member? It’s ridiculous!”

Bernice saw Elliott’s attire as ridiculous while Monique found it cool and as a statement. “Not every one is like us and can easily buy nice clothes.” Jess said that she thrifted her dress while Monique’s grandmother bought a dress that was four months of rent, probably more. “At least he tried--”

“No the hell he did not try,” Bernice said, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “And I can’t believe that you’re really trying to stick up for him right now. He showed up wearing a bandana, Monique, a bandana! Who does that?”

Elliott did and honestly, the other escapees probably would’ve done the same. Who would want to stand all night in something so fitting and restricting? A pair of jeans and shirt would’ve been ideal for all of them. “Can we just... not talk about it anymore? I don’t want to talk about the party or Elliott right now.”

Bernice gave them a look, mouth open, and question ready to spring free until the microwave beeped. She walked over to it, pulling out the plate to check if it was hot enough. Though, Monique didn’t care if it was or not. “I’ll take it now,” they said. “I’m actually really hungry and I don’t care if it’s a little cold.”

The older woman eyed them, probably ready to tell them no and put it back into the microwave. But their grandmother just closed the microwave, gave Monique the plate, and then a fork. “Want something to drink?”

“Yes please,” they answered. “Do you have lemonade?”

“Always.”

As Bernice moved to get Monique a glass, they turned their full attention to their plate of food. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, a roll, and corn was waiting for them. They wasted no time in shoveling it into their mouth, first the meatloaf, then the mashed potatoes, some corn, and then a piece of the roll. Then they would repeat that process over and over again. As they did that, a tall glass of lemonade was placed in front of them and the sound of another chair being pulled out. “Slow down, Mo, that food ain’t going nowhere.”

Cheeks reddened in embarrassment, Monique stopping to swallow what was in their mouth. Then they washed it down with lemonade. Few seconds later, they went back to eat, this time much slower than before.

Neither of the two said a word, not like Monique could if they wanted to. Bernice just sat there, watching them closely and that was uncomfortable alone. As if the older woman was waiting for something, for her grandchild to open and talk to her about why they were really there. And it was true, Monique did have a real reason for coming to her home, though, they weren’t sure if they wanted to tell her just yet.

Seconds turned into minutes, now only a corner of the roll and mashed potatoes mixed with corn left on their plate, when Bernice finally spoke up. “What’s on your mind, Mo?”

“What makes you think something is on my mind?”

She tilted her head to the side, smiling gently. “I don’t think, I know, the same way I know you,” Bernice said. “I know you better than anyone else in this city.” Beat. “What’s wrong?”

They shuffled uncomfortable in place, fingers twisting and picking at the fresh micro braid. “I just.. had a fight with someone--”

“You what?” Bernice shouted.

Monique flinched, ears twitching at the sound. “Big momma, please--”

“Who did it? Are you alright? Do we need to file a police report--”

“No, everything--”

“Monique, you were in a fight! Don’t you dare try to say that everything is okay!”

“I-I know!” They said, taking her hand into theirs, hoping that it would calm her. It did, though it did look like she aged ten years just within seconds. Did the idea of them fighting someone frighten her that much? “I know that it’s not okay, the whole situation wasn’t okay. But I’m... I’m--” Fine? Okay? Miserable? “-- Not hurt.” Physically. Emotionally? Ripped to pieces. “Just... listen, okay? Please?”

“... Okay.” They both released the breath they were holding. “What happened?”

They sat back in their chair, though they never let go of their grandmother’s hand. Both to calm Bernice and themself. “It wasn’t with a random person, it was... with my friends. Milo and Elliott.” Instantly, the rage came back to Bernice’s eyes, the woman ready to say something about the other but Monique beat her to it. “Big momma.” She stopped but the rage was still there. Good, she can be the angry one in this situation because Monique couldn’t bring themself to get angry again. “It was over something silly-- no, it’s not silly. It’s actually really big and important.

I told you about Nathaniel, right? Well, he has this daughter, Emmeline, and we hate her.” Just as much as they hated Nathaniel, though that man was in a category all on his own. “Apparently she’s staying at Xavier Institute and Milo knew, he just never told us. He kept that information from us, big momma, he held back something so important from the group.” Elliott’s anger was reasonable, Monique could understand it because they felt the same way. But that anger from a few days ago had turned into hurt and deep sadness. “Well, we saw her at the party that Charles was hosting. And it was--” Frightening. Seeing Emmeline reminded them of their past, of Essex house, of many nights spent alone, writing and crying ‘till they fell asleep. “I talked to her, which was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.”

Bernice squeezed their hand, the warmth that she always radiated giving them strength. Though, they weren’t sure if that strength would be enough to heal them completely. But it was enough to push Monique to continue their story. “Some weeks after that, Elliott burst through my apartment door when Milo was there and tried to attack him. I was able to stop him but that only made Elliott to shove me to the ground.” Bernice squeezed their hand even tighter, the fire in her eyes flaring hotter than Elliott’s flames. “B-but I did throw him as well, well, the wolf... threw him. Somewhat. I don’t know. I zoned out.” No they didn’t, it was a lie, another excuse to deny their connection to their inner wolf. Monique remembered all of it too clearly to pass it off as them losing to their inner wolf. “It was.. bad. Terrible. All of it. Everything is just terrible.”

They hadn’t noticed that they were crying until Bernice stood up to wipe away a tear and to hug Monique. Her hand rubbed up and down their back, as if she was calming a small child who had hurt themself. It was fitting because Monique was very much like a child who did hurt themself, they felt more like an eight year old than a twenty-eight year old. Arms wrapped around Bernice, Monique’s face burring into the woman’s shoulder. “I-I haven’t spoken to him since that day and I don’t think I ever will.” Elliott had a new group, hell, it felt like everyone had someone new. Even Seven had a job and a person of romantic interest-- then there was Monique. Just there. Alone. Expecting for everyone to stay together, a close knit group who would always rely on each other. Forever and always.

“I feel like I’m going to lose all of them one day,” Monique said, revealing their true feelings for the first time. “It starts with Elliott and then it moves to the others? Milo, Jack, Jess, Lachlan, Seven--” More tears fell, hot and fat. “-- I have nightmares of it happening, of everyone leaving me behind.” Sometimes, it was everyone leaving them behind the night of the escape. Recently, it was of everyone during their current situation, pushing Monique away the same way Elliott did to them. “They all have friends, people here that they can trust, new people who are more interesting--” And powerful like the Brotherhood and Xavier. “-- I-I don’t have anyone like that!”

They were to blame for that. Monique has spoken to other people but rarely did they try to make an effort to let people into their inner circle. And that had to do with their perfect world that they created in their mind and heart. The only people who fit into their perfect world, who Monique molded to fit, were the escapees. Nine slots had been cut out for them and no one else. But there was a possibility for the plots to become empty soon enough, leaving Monique completely hollowed and alone. “I can’t lose them, big momma! They’re all that I have.”

“Hush!” Bernice pulled Monique awake, eyes red as if she was crying too. “That’s a lie. You have more people in your corner.”

“Who?”

“Your family.”

Monique frowned. “That’s just one person.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” Bernice swiped another tear before holding Monique’s face in the palm of her hands. “You have more than just me.”

“Do I?” It didn’t feel like it.

Bernice sighed deeply, taking her time before she spoke up again. “You have your parents.”

Them. Monique rolled their eyes in frustration. “Oh. Right. Them.” The same two who kept their only child hidden from the public because of their ability. The same two who sent them away in the first place. “You don’t have to lie, I know that they don’t care about me.”

“It’s not a lie, you do have your parents because they love you. Even now, they still love you.” She inhaled and then exhaled. “They love you so much that they were talking about going to Essex to see you. But I stopped them... And I told them that you’re out and that you’re here in the city.”

Monique went rigid. “You did what?” They pulled away from her touch, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Big momma, you didn’t--”

“I did what needed to be done!”

“So you went behind my back and told my parents about me being out? Are you crazy?”

Bernice blinked, now glaring at her grandchild. “First of all, you better watch your tone when speaking with me. I am not--”

“One of my little friends, yeah, I know, you make it very clear that you’re way better than them.” They were standing now, no longer able to stay sitting. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. Picking up the plate, they took it to the sink, not even caring to dump the last bit of food out into the trash, as they put it inside. “I can’t believe you just told them that without talking to me first. don’t I get a say in any of this?”

“If I had talked to you before, you would’ve said no--”

“For good reasons--”

“What reasons, Monique? What reasons do you have to push away your parents, your family? Because of a single mistake that they made years ago?”

Mistake? Sending them to Essex was just a single mistake? “Right, a mistake, sending me to Essex is a little mistake for all of you,” they said, gripping tightly to the sink. The tears had stopped, though they wished that they hadn’t. Because now it was anger that bubbled within them. Not as hot as the last time but it was there and just a simple silver of it frightened them. “Did you at least tell them the truth of Essex or do I get the honors to do that? You left the heavy shit for me?”

“Watch your mouth when you--”

“Why should I?” Head whipped around, eyes light and nails long, scratching the inside of the sink. “Why should I treat you with respect when you have yet to do the same for me?” From the phone call, to how she spoke about their friend, to how Monique should dress and act. “Why, big momma, why should I?” They shouted.

They were met with silence which was frightening on its own. Even with their inner wolf taking over just a bit, the older woman’s silence seemed to make them cower, snapping Monique back to their senses. Eyes the usual dark brown and nails bitten down to the nub. They were back but they didn’t back nor did they take back what was said. Even as Bernice looked up at them, hurt and sadness filling her eyes, Monique didn’t apologize. All they did was lowered their head and sprinted past her, out of the kitchen, out of the her home, away to somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t there. Away from their feelings, away from their insecurities, and away from the last person who was in their corner.

[babbushka]

The Rabbi Is Coming

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

A/N: This oneshot is based entirely off of one of my favorite videos of all time, Company is Coming by Chris Fleming. Every time I see it, it reminds me of preparing for my own family holiday gatherings, so I’ve taken it and run with it lol. I just wanted to write something short and silly for Passover, lol, and I hope you enjoy! 

Also inspired by this prompt sent in by anonymous: From your Passover prompts, will you please do this one for Flip? It sounds just like him!“They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat.”

2k, crack treated seriously lol, humor. Putting a small cw for the Zimmerman’s son, in case folks don’t like reading about kids (this is the last time he’s mentioned for a while I promise lol)

                                                ----------------------

Early in the morning, just after sunrise, Flip yawns and stretches awake. The golden light of morning shines through the curtains that gently move from the breeze of the ceiling fan, and a melody of chirping birds signal the official start of morning. Despite having to get up early for work every day, Flip isn’t much of a morning person. But something about Springtime and the warmth that’s on the way makes him appreciate getting up, even on the weekends.  

“Good morning, sunshine, light of my life – ” Flip rolls over onto his side, ready to coax you out of your sleep as well, ready to kiss you and start the day together, but when he reaches you’re your sleep-snuggled body, he finds the bed empty, and frowns.

Sitting up, he looks around the bedroom. Your side of the covers are neatly made, and Flip can only blink, his frown deepening. He clears his throat, raspy from disuse overnight, “(Y/N)?”

It isn’t until he hears the vacuum cleaner going downstairs, followed by a frustrated groan echoing through the house, that he remembers just what day it is, and falls back onto his pillow with a wince, lighting up a cigarette and scrubbing a hand over his face with a low,

“…Oh shit.”

He checks the clock, sees that it’s practically seven o’clock, and gets out of bed. Pulling on a casual t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he leaves his room to see his son standing tentatively in his own doorway, as loud sounds come from downstairs.

“Pop?” The five year old asks with no small amount of hesitation in his voice, immediately reaches for Flip, who scoops him up and balances him on his hip.  

“Mornin’ honey.” Flip kisses his son’s cheek, and the boy giggles, clinging to him as Flip walks down the stairs.

He’s obviously annoyed that it’s not you who gets to wake him up and carry him downstairs, as he normally prefers, but Flip doesn’t know how to tell him that today isn’t a normal day. Still, the boy is always filled with questions, and his little eyebrows furrow into an all too familiar frown as they move closer to the chaos that is you deciding to vacuum first thing in the morning.

“Why is Mama acting like that?” He demands to know, as the two of them stop at the landing, watching as you, still in your pajamas, are fighting with furniture.

“Tonight’s the first night of Pesach.” Flip explains.

“So?” His son challenges, and Flip wants to laugh, because he agrees with the kid, but when you get into a mood like this, there’s no stopping you.

“So, there’s a very special guest coming for dinner tonight, and she wants to make sure the house looks nice and clean for him.” Flip sets the boy down, and he purses his lips, like he’s trying to assess the validity of that, eventually settling on complaining,

“But we already cleaned the house.”

Flip sighs, because he’s right, you spent the entire week cleaning to prepare for Passover. It wasn’t like a normal house cleaning, Passover had special rules that had to be obeyed. One of which, was the complete and total elimination of chametz, or food made from leavened dough. The other, was the koshering of the kitchen.

But he wasn’t so sure his five year old would care to hear about all that this early.

“I know son. Let’s go see what she fixed up for breakfast,” Flip leads his son through the living room carefully, before crouching down to his level and saying very seriously, “And then when you’re done eating, just do whatever Mama says, you hear me? Whatever she says.”

Just then, you come barreling through the living room with the vacuum and a tangle of cord in your hand, shouting at a completely inappropriate volume for the hour, “Zeeskiet if you haven’t made your bed just throw it away it’s too late to make it now!”

The boy looks up at Flip, and Flip immediately shakes his head and amends, “Not that.”

Flip is a good helper. He likes to help, and he wants to help, but sometimes when you get like this, it’s a danger to himself and everyone around for him to try and insert himself into a situation where you are a hurricane of anxious energy. He busies himself with getting your son settled at the kitchen table, giving him a big breakfast of fresh fruit, nuts, and yogurt, before bracing himself to venture back towards the dining room.  

“The Rabbi is coming – get rid of the couches we can’t let people know we sit!” You shout, pointing an aggressive finger at one of the dining chairs, “This chair needs to be pushed in, there cannot be any signs of living in this house.”

Flip is quick to do as you say, even though what you’re saying is nonsense – he knows better than to point that out.

“I don’t care if we have to throw everything out,” You’re mostly talking to yourself at this point, just…loudly, and aggressively, “I want this place looking like a contemporary fusion restaurant by noon.”

It was a miracle and a half that the Rabbi agreed to lead your Seder dinner, and to say that the pressure was getting to you was the understatement of the century. You had everything picked out, what you were going to wear, what Flip and the kids were going to wear; you’d been cooking and prepping all week, and now the day was finally here and you were totally freaking out.

“Flip?” You shout, walking in circles around the dining room, trying to get rid of any possible point of contamination of chametz.

“Yeah?” Flip replies, already knowing that because he’s in the other room, you probably can’t hear him. He already is walking towards you when he hears you again.

“Phil!” You call a little sharper, and Flip huffs out a laugh, his suspicion correct.

“I’m right here ketsl, what can I do?” Flip startles you by suddenly being behind directly behind you, and you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“Oh my god – we need more pillows.” You gesture to the den where the conversation pit is decked out entirely with pillows. “Can you fluff the pillows? I need these things looking fluffed.”

Flip does exactly as he’s told, and the rest of the morning follows suit.

You wandered around the house cleaning; vacuuming sweeping dusting sanitizing every possible surface, the floors, even the ceiling, shouting out random demands and requests like:

We need more flowers. We gotta put flowers in every window. Philly can you put flowers in the kitchen?

We can’t have any clothes! Everyone take off your clothes!

At that, your son cast a semi-distressed look to Flip and asked, an uncertain, “Pop?”

“Not that either!” Flip immediately answered, lest his son think it’s okay to go running around in the nude tonight.

Somewhere around hour two, your mood shifts from manic to meltdown. Your son had been instructed to make sure his toys were all nicely put away in his room, mostly to keep him out of trouble or to prevent any accidental tripping over wires. Flip though, is still running around trying to keep up with you, out of breath from your own chaos.

“What is this?” You yank the perfectly good little towel out of the oven door handle where Flip had just watched you place it, and near-tears, you groan, “This is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! What are we, barbarians?”

He’s about to say something, try to console you or at the very least calm you down, but then you come to a complete and sudden stand-still and point out, “Phil oh god there’s muffins on the counter.”

Frowning, Flip whirled around and wondered how the fuck those even got there. All of your friends knew that there was absolutely no leavened product allowed in the house, Rabbi or no, and he’s trying to wrack his brain around where they came from as you back against the wall.

“Oh my god oh – that’s it -- we have to go into the witness protection program folks!” You chuckle humorously, effectively giving up. “Shalom Rabbi! Welcome to the Zimmerman household. We live outside. We eat mud. And sticks.”

At this, you give one big overwhelmed sigh, and a little sob hiccups out of your chest.

“Hey,” Flip frowns, kicking himself for not trying to get you to take a breather earlier than this, “Hey it’s going to be okay.”

Flip gets down on the floor with you, and pulls you into a tight hug. You shove your face under his neck and cry it out, and Flip soothes your back. He knows how big of a deal tonight is for you, and he wants to do everything he can to make you happy, but letting this go on any longer won’t be good for anyone.

“I’ll get rid of the muffins, we won’t tell anyone about it, okay?” He pulls you to face him, your eyes wet and wide, your chin wobbling. He thinks you’re so ridiculous, working yourself up like this, but he loves you so much to see it regardless.

“Did you fluff the pillows?” You ask in a small sad voice, and Flip nods seriously, brushing some of your stray locks that escaped the scarf you have wrapped around your head to protect your hair, away from your face.

“Yes ketsl, I fluffed the pillows.” He kisses each of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your forehead.

“Okay, alright okay, everyone calm down.” You say, wiping your tears away and taking deep measured breaths, suddenly asking, “What time is it?”

“Uhh,” Flip cranes his head around to try and catch a good glimpse at the clock on the wall, wondering how the hell it’s only, “Nine-thirty.”

You blink, and blink again, and then shuffle to sit upright there on the kitchen floor.

“Oh.” You reply, pursing your lips and scratching the side of your jaw. “In that case…I’m going to take a nap.”

Flip chuckles and lets you go. You’re too much all the time, and that’s exactly why he loves you. He’s never met anyone who cares as much about something like this, than you, and he wants you to go relax while he takes care of everything.

And he does, his son a proper helper as you snooze in bed, already having worked yourself to exhaustion and needing your strength back for the long dinner that’s going to come. The offending muffins are given to a neighbor, the surfaces re-sanitized, the kitchen all prepared. Your son even sets the table all by himself, enjoying being tall for his age thanks to Flip’s genetics.

When evening falls much later, and all your other guests have arrived, you feel your pulse spike as the doorbell rings. You’re dressed to the nines, as is everyone else, but Flip thinks that you’re the most radiant thing in the universe. You’re holding your son on your hip as Flip opens the door, already extending a hand for him to shake.

“Shalom Rabbi, thank you so much for joining us tonight, we can’t tell you how much of an honor it is.” You beam, as if you hadn’t had a total breakdown only that morning, as Flip invites the Rabbi inside.

“Of course Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, the honor is mine. And may I say, you have a beautiful home.” He looks around appreciatively, giving a nod of approval that has all the air rushing out of your lungs.

“I’m thrilled to hear you think so.” You grin, leading him through your home and into the dining room where your other guests have been happily entertaining themselves, “Shall we get started then?”

“They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat!” Flip announces, and that has everyone laughing, including the Rabbi.

And as the Seder commences, Flip looks across the table and gives his son a wink. In return, he lets out a small giggling laugh, glad that all the preparations and chaos you put them through have successfully paid off.

                                                     ------------------

Taggin’ some Flip lovin’ friends! @mochabucky​​ @sacklerscumrag​​ @artsymaddie​​ @bitchydecisions​​ @direnightshade​​ @reyloaddict55​​ @thembohux​​  @sunflowersinthesnow​​ @babayagakeanu​​ @safarigirlsp​​  @steeevienicks​​  @the-unmanaged-mischief​​ @materialisthicc​​  @hswritingrecs​​  @han68000​​ @rosi3ba3z​​ @chapterhappygirl​​​ @loverofallthings​​​  @bxnnywriting​ @groovetoob​ 

[k-llama-llama]

All Too Much

SuperM/WayV AU: 8th member (YinYin)

Before SuperM promotions begin, YinYin deals with her stress.

Word Count: 1100

A/N: Thank you all for your lovely messages as I’ve taken this month off. I’m still not committing to a regular schedule, but I’ll be active again! (Patreon will be back to normal in February)

Requests are Open…and your feedback is still super important to me.

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

YinYin ripped the page out of her notebook and crumpled it up, throwing it against the wall. She’d been trying to write her journal page to submit to her Korean tutor for two hours, but she wasn’t having any luck. She just knew that every single draft she’d done was riddled with mistakes, and no amount of consulting her workbooks or googling was helping her.

She was weeks away from her first Korean promotions for SuperM and she couldn’t even write a full paragraph in Korean without messing it up.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t speak Korean, she could hold a conversation with any of the boys without any trouble. The issue was, when she was with WayV or NCT they were almost all coming from the same boat, where they had to juggle different languages depending on who they were talking to. If she forgot a word, she could switch and someone would fill in the blanks.

But she couldn’t do that with SuperM, and she definitely couldn’t do that in interviews.

It didn’t matter how good she was at dancing or singing if she couldn’t even form a coherent sentence when it counted.

She threw her pen against the door, growling in frustration. She collapsed back on her bed, staring at the bunk above her. She’d affixed a pronunciation guide for the lyrics to one of their songs there, hoping that she would learn it in her sleep.

She groaned. It was literally impossible to escape her failure.

“You done?”

YinYin turned her head, watching as Lucas leaned his head over the side of the bunk bed and peered down at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re throwing your failures all over our room.” He gestured to the growing piles of crumpled paper littering their floor. “So are you done?”

“Am I giving up, do you mean?” YinYin sighed. “Because the answer is yes. I’m a failure.”

“What exactly are you failing at?” His head disappeared, and she heard noises as he scrambled to climb down the bed.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” In an attempt to distract herself, she pulled one leg up to her head, stretching it out.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Lucas was standing next to her bed.

“Stop being a human pretzel and move over.” He shoved her, and she rolled closer to the wall to make room for him.

He flopped down beside her, staring up at the notes taped to the top of her bed. “You never stop, do you?”

“Nope.” She frowned. “We start filming for promotions in nine days and I’m nowhere near good enough.”

“At what? I thought you said you had all of the choreography down.”

“Of course I do.” She glared at him. “I mean Korean. And English, too.” She pointed at a sheet of English vocab words with her toe.

“You’re stressing about Korean?” He looked confused. “Why?”

“Because we have interviews to do, dumbass. And I can barely speak the language.”

“That’s not true. You’re good at Korean.”

“I’m good at Korean the way a tourist is good at Korean.” She sighed. “I can’t order food without planning out what I’m going to say.”

“So? Neither can I.” Lucas laughed. “No one cares, YinYin.”

“Sure, you don’t care. Your Korean and English is a lot better than mine. Besides you’re…urgh, nevermind.”

“I’m what?” He elbowed her.

“Nothing.”

“No, now you have to tell me.” He poked her side. “I’m what?”

YinYin rolled her eyes. “Not sure if you’re aware, but people treat tall, funny, handsome men a lot different than they treat tiny, awkward Chinese girls who are only good at bending.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“I’m just conveying popular opinion, you’re not my style.”

“Still, you said I was handsome.” He smirked. “And seriously, Yin, I don’t think you need to worry about it. Any place where you get confused or stressed Ten or I can cover for you. Or Taeyong and Mark, they’ve both worked with you before too.”

“But what about the others.” She insisted. “I can’t expect them to be worrying about whether I can understand stuff.”

“They’re in your group now, of course it’s their job to worry about you.” Lucas argued. “And besides, I really don’t think it’s going to be that big of a problem.”

“You don’t get it.” She covered her eyes with her arm, trying to block out the stress.

“And I’m not going to get it unless you tell me.” He nudged her again. “Come on, best friend, spill.”

“Just…” She searched for the right words. “Thinking about getting on stage in front of all those people and not…not being able to speak and them all staring…it’s just…”

“Hey, hey.” Lucas pulled her arm away from her face. “Stop freaking out.”

“Thanks, Lucas, that’s a huge help. Why didn’t I think of that before?” She glared at him, fully aware that her eyes were welling up with tears.

“Yin, it’s not worth your stress.” He promised, rubbing her shoulder.

“I’m going to embarrass the whole group.” She said quietly.

“No, you’re not.” Lucas sighed, before pulling her into a hug. She pressed her face into his shoulder, trying to hide the fact that she was obviously close to crying. “If everyone is staring, it’s going to be because they can’t believe you’re out-dancing Taemin.”

“I can’t outdance Taemin.” She said quietly.

“You can outdance anyone.” He promised, patting her hair. “And I promise that no one is going to stare or laugh or care if you mispronounce something. You speak more languages than anyone in the audience anyways.”

YinYin let out a shuddering breath, and didn’t say anything.

Lucas just squeezed her a bit tighter. “You’re really stressed, aren’t you?”

“I feel like crying.” She said, answering his question.

“Go ahead. I won’t tell anyone.”

“You won’t?”

“Of course not.” She could practically feel him smile as he considered his next words. “I mean…I’ll make fun of you for the rest of our lives, but it’ll be our little secret.”

YinYin let out a little laugh. “You’re the worst.”

“But you love me.” He grinned as she pulled her face away from his shoulder to look up at him. “Better?”

“Slightly.” She leaned into his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He looked up at her study notes again. “So this is actually depressing. Do you want to go get ice cream or something?”

She gave him a knowing look.

“Fine.” He relented. “We can get frozen yogurt.”

YinYin smiled. “If I can’t speak Korean, at least I’ll have nice abs.”

“But will you ever truly be happy without eating ice cream?

[darkacademicfrom2021]

Away. So, so far away.

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>

Warnings: fuckin' angst, arguing, alcohol.

Word count: 3,3K

2

“This is just where I draw the line, you know?”, you said to Bucky over your fifth drink. He was still sipping from that goddamn bottle of beer, as if one more drink would make him talk more. You appreciated his silence, but sometimes he was just unnecessarily quiet. You needed a friend to bitch about your in-laws and he kept staring, and staring, and —fucking staring like a mannequin. If he wouldn’t stare so much, you would even say he was shy. “I can’t believe they actually will reject me over not being a good companion for the King because I wouldn’t carry his child. Do you understand how obscenely sexist and, just… plain gross, that is?”.

“He is a prince, after all”.

“They just don’t like me. They raised Loki making him think he’ll be King, then they stripped it away, and now they did just the same and blame it on a stupid reason like I wouldn’t want to have kids. It’s idiotic, right? Besides, I’ll live much less than him. He could just be with me a while, then I die and then he gets someone else who would want his kids. It’s not that hard”.

“Damn”, he muttered. “You do have a lot to say about them, don’t you?”.

“You’re supposed to be my friend here”.

“I thought Tony Stark played that role for you”, he chuckled. “He’s all about playing roles, isn’t he? The hero, the playboy, the genius… I wonder what of them all he really is”.

“Oh, so you do have opinions”.

“Fuck you”.

“No thanks, I don’t like me that much”.

He laughed loudly. In comparison to every laugh and chuckle you’ve managed to pull out of him so far, this one was the loudest. You laughed with him. He had a very contagious smile.

“A kid is… too much. When you’re fucked up, you fuck up the kid too. When you don’t want one and have one anyway, the kid senses it. They’re sponges, you know?”, he said, asking the bartender for another round with a hand gesture.

“To be friends with Steve ‘Language’ Rogers, you curse a lot”, you chuckled, and he downed the drink in a few gulps, trying to catch up with your drunken state. “But yes, exactly. It’s not only that I think I’m fucked up, because that’s not the only thing that would stop me. I would have kids and work through not being a shit parent, if I wanted to”.

“But you don’t want to. That’s the point”.

“Yeah. And I’m not sure Loki doesn’t want one either. He joins kids that play in the park and lets them toy with his many different animal forms. He loves playing with babies, most of all. He is an innate dad, and I’m… not. And I feel like I’m depriving him of too much. The throne, the kids… He… he deserves better”, your eyes started watering, and Bucky frowned, awkwardly placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey… sometimes things just aren’t meant to be. It’s not that you’re a bad partner. You’re great, for what we all see”, he tried to help you feel better. “It’s just that maybe you’re not meant to be with him. Maybe you need someone who wants the same things that you want”.

“I don’t want anyone other than Loki”, you assured him. He nodded, his eyes still fixed on you as if taking them off would lose your interest. “I’m the problem, I’ll always be”.

“No, you are not”, said the knowingly deep voice that pulled you off your insecurities and brought immediate light to your eyes.

“My Loki!”, you greeted him, cheeks hotter and your hair—so sticky, was it always this sticky?

“My love”, he smiled fondly.

“My fucking God”, Bucky rolled his eyes. Loki didn’t pay any mind to him.

“Come on, little darling. Let’s get you some rest”, he said, placing a hand in the nape of your neck, caressing your skin softly. You got up, and just then realized how drunk you were. All the blood from your body went straight to your head, and grabbed him to not fall down. “How much did they drink?”, he asked Bucky.

Bucky raised his shoulders and pressed his lips in a line.

“A bunch”.

Loki sighed and thanked him for keeping you safe. You walked together from the bar to the parking lot. The lights of the city brimmed over the wet pavement —it had just rained. Shame you were so focused on getting drunk, you would’ve loved to stay under the fat drops.

“How long have you been listening?”, you asked as he clicked your seatbelt on. He sighed and curved his lips in a smile you knew he only used when he lied.

“Not more than the last few words”.

He had obviously listened to it all.

“I’m sorry I keep bitching about it. You really do deserve better”.

“Nonsense. If I wanted kids I would be with someone who wanted them”, he lied again. Was it love, this constant lie? Love sometimes was about keeping your thoughts for yourself. In this case, you weren’t so sure it was. Love wasn’t keeping him from the throne, from kids, from a future he wanted to have. “The only thing I want…”, he started, knowing you would finish the answer.

“...is me, right”, you chuckled. “Can I drive?”.

“Definitely not”.

“Yeah, probably for the best”.

You chuckled, your cheeks reddening at everything and anything. You felt your whole body warm, and wanted more than anything for Loki to place one of his long hands on your thigh —that hot thing he did where he drove with one hand, eyes on the road and half a smirk to your side. Maybe you’ve had too much to drink.

“The thing is, Loki”, you kept talking and he sighed. He didn’t want to listen to you like this. He knew you’d say things you didn’t want him to hear. You never were the kind of drunk that slurred on their words and couldn’t walk straight. You just lacked filters. And you had so, so many filters when sober, that Loki felt like an invasion to listen to you like this. “I know you enough, and I’m afraid you’ll…”.

“Look, love”, he interrupted you, pointing somewhere through the windshield. “That’s your favourite iced yogurt shop, is it not? I’ll get you some, you just wait here in the car, alright?”.

You smiled, looking down to your feet. He got out of the car and in a matter of minutes came back with a package. He drove in silence back home and you didn’t say anything else, understanding the motives behind the iced yogurt stop.

Love was somewhere around listening and not listening. You were too drunk to even think about it now.

You could see it in him. That lit off glitter in his eyes —he could have all of that sweet power he always longed for in the tip of his fingers and he got it stripped away. You could see the grief—no, the anger, the insomnia. Whatever his mother told him, it fucked him up for a whole week, if not more. Maybe he just learnt to hide it better after seven days.

You’d cuddle him to sleep, and when you woke up in the middle of the night because your feet were cold, or your mouth was dry, or your bed felt lonely, he wasn’t there. He left in the middle of the night to be somewhere else, and you couldn’t bring yourself to even ask.

You wandered around the apartment after the first three nights. Looking for him to find it emptier than ever. He wasn’t in any other part of the compound. Not in the common kitchen, the common room, the common anything. Not in his brother’s room, and you didn’t even have to check, but he certainly wasn’t in any other room. He wouldn’t, right?

You went back to bed with a feeling of unease. You didn’t call anyone, didn’t say anyone your lover wasn’t there, because you hoped he’d be there in the morning.

You couldn’t close your eyes until the door opened slowly and Loki sneaked his way back to bed, not realizing you were awake. You pretended to be still asleep, without a clue of his night trip to God knows where. He got undressed. He unfolded the sheets and blankets and wrapped himself around you, planting a kiss on your bare shoulder. His body was cold —so much colder than usual. Externally cold, as if he would’ve been somewhere not even his Jötun skin could keep up with. You sighed in relief, but not so much.

You needed to know if he was wounded. You pretended to turn around in your sleep and passed your hands through his bare chest, as if you were greeting him half asleep. He didn’t seem to realize you were wide awake.

No wounds. Good.

Still cold.

You couldn’t figure it out, and groaned. Loki gasped ever so slightly, and then sighed.

“Awake?”.

You opened your eyes, defeated. His eyes didn’t show guilt. They reflected an emptiness, a treasure that he seemed to have found and lost at the very same hour. Whatever kept him up at night, he went looking for it and now it was gone—and he was disappointed in himself for that. He looked disappointed.

“Where do you go when you leave?”, you whispered. You weren’t accusing him, and he knew. You wanted to know. Not demanding, just asking. If he didn’t want to tell you, you would’ve accepted it. Should you? You would. You felt powerless in these situations, now that he had given everything up for you. You shouldn’t.

He rolled off the bed and sat on his feet, looking down. Only the blue shine of the moon illuminated his features, his body, his sore muscles from all the fighting he has gotten involved into lately —missions, more and more training, verbal fights with everyone and himself included, except you—you were always his exception. Was that a good thing, now? It was. You were sure it was.

“Jötunheim”, he said. The word weighed on his tongue, and he clenched his jaw right after saying it. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I might have ruined everything”.

“What do you mean?”.

“I… I really hope nobody notices. I really hope… Heimdall keeps it to himself. I’ve been rejected, and now the war is all against me. I hope only me”, he muttered, his gaze drifting off everywhere and anywhere. “I hope only me. If I brought you too into this… oh, no”.

“What do you mean, love?”, you asked quietly, firm eye contact on him, grabbing both his arms with so little space left between you. Such a nice comparison with the arm-length grab that still resonated on his shoulders. “What happened?”.

What happened? you asked him, and he thought that’s such a pure and raw form you showed his love to him. You weren’t asking what have you done even if he left all hints that he did wrong. You wouldn’t accuse him of wronging anything or anyone unless he himself would hand you the hard evidence proving that he was wrong. Was that love? Or blindness?

No, you weren’t blind. You understood he was wronging something. You noticed every quirk of his lips and eyebrows when he lied—and you ignored it. You acknowledged every bad he ever did to anyone—and also acknowledged his apologies. You weren’t blind, you didn’t see past it. You saw so much through it, that you understood his motives. And, for you, his motives were always enough.

That, right there, was love, Loki thought.

He was exhausted. All he had to do in there, did it hiding from Heimdall’s eye. And that form of magic left him drained as ever. He was tired from the fights and the bargains, from hiding, from showing himself too much, from having to do so many things and getting none done. He laid on bed and put his head over your abdomen. You caressed a few strands of his almost frozen raven locks, wet with melted snow. His hand trembled ever so slightly.

“Let us sleep and I'll tell you in the morning, alright?”.

When you woke up that next morning, the bed was empty again. But your heart relaxed as soon as you heard the kettle boiling on the small kitchen, a knife hitting against a plate —the sound of the fruit being cut, the bread getting toasted flying over the fire of the stovetop.

You got on your feet and walked there, lingering in the way in. He was barely dressed—a black boxer, that one with the grey lines that made his ass look amazing, a cotton sweater with a lit off tone of blue that made his eyes glow. His hair in a messy low bun that hardly got the curled hairs that fell shamelessly over his face.

He moved his hand and the toasts flew to a plate, right by the fruit. He served the water carefully on the teapot and just as he left it over the countertop again, you reached for his waist and planted a kiss on the nape of his neck.

“Morning, dear”.

“Morning, sweet”.

And there it was—that silence again. It lasted all breakfast, except for the innocuous what will you do today and his voice reading the papers out loud. He didn’t say what he did in Jötunheim but he seemed to remember it vividly. That emptiness in his eyes was now filled with terror. You remember him being terrified at the mention of one name, and one name only. And you were afraid the Mad Titan had something to do with it —once again.

He closed the paper over the table and looked at you fondly. Smiled softly, and grabbed your hands, drawing small circles with his thumbs. A halo of green lights surrounded you two, and you understood he was now hiding from Heimdall, again. He took in a gulp of air and got ready.

“I went to Jötunheim to claim my throne”.

You nodded, unable to hide surprise in your expressions. With raised eyebrows, your lips parted to form a,

“Oh?”.

“I had to take the chance. I messed up”.

“Why?”.

“I got rejected”.

That didn’t seem like it. He never got rejected in these things. He got defeated. He bargained with words and threats and what not more, with all the things he knew how to bargain in these situations, sharp as a knife, sharp as only he could be. He was terrified, of what? What stopped him in place? What froze the frost giant?

“What are you scared of?”, you asked in a whisper.

“They might take something or someone away”.

Freedom. He was scared of getting locked up again. He was scared of getting you away from him. He was scared of a million other things that seemed irrelevant in the face of those two options.

“They can’t lock you up, my love, you’ve done nothing wrong”.

“It’s treason to the crown”.

“Oh”, you nodded. “How would they find out? How are you hiding it?”.

“I spared my share of threats, enough for Laufey’s predecessors to not say a word”, he said lamely, “if they were wiser than they are. They’re a sack of oafs”.

“Alright”, you said, looking out the window. “Seems like there’s not much else for you to do, other than worry”. He sighed and came back to drawing circles in the back of your hands. “Join me on a mission, take your head off these matters”.

He smiled, and kissed your knuckles.

"We'll see".

“You’re being so stubborn”, you sighed, sitting on the couch. “We’ve talked about this over, and over, and over”.

“We talked about things over and over and not even once you have been completely honest”, he said, with that composed facade of him. “Not in this, not in anything”.

“I’m the one not being honest here, now?”, you inquired, looking up at him. He was standing in front of you. He frowned.

“What does that even mean? I’m always honest with you”.

“You’re either dishonest with me or with yourself. But we both know very well that you have no intention of…”.

“Oh, Norns. Again with that”.

“You brought it up”.

“I’m listening, then. Will you finally tell me what you actually think of it? Or will you melt your desires and adjust them until they solidify around whatever you think might please me?”, he spat with sarcasm.

“What are you even complaining about with that?”.

“I want you to be true to yourself, not some… Not some…”, he gestured with his hands, and you furrowed your brows.

“Not some what?”.

“Not some idiotic worshipper of some kind. You sound like a teen with a crush, rather than an adult partner building something here”, he said, and he regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. You got up from the couch.

“That’s what you truly think of me?”, you tried to keep your voice down. Anyone could hear you from the hallway. You tried —but you weren’t very successful. “I’m ready to give everything up for you and you think of it as a desperate attempt to worship you? You really think I think of yourself as a God who casually decided to be with me?”.

“No, that’s not…”, he rolled his eyes, but you kept talking.

“We worked so well together because we knew exactly what the other wanted and tried to get there without crushing the other one. And now…”.

“Worked?”, he scoffed. “We work. We might argue some time, but we work, my love. And that’s the point. We just have to find a way out of this mess, that wouldn’t get us even deeper in this disaster”.

You looked at him, looking for any trace of a lie. He wasn’t. He was truly calm, even though he had gotten on your nerves so well. He could have the same calmness to tell you how much he loved you and to tell you you were crushing his dreams with your thumb.

“I get what you say. I really do. But, is it really important to do whatever you’re thinking of doing to solve this? Or is this just your general… power thirsty blindness guiding you through?”.

He scoffed.

“Power thirsty blindness”, he repeated, incredulous. “I thought you understood every motive behind my actions”.

“I do. But you can’t deny half of the motives are wanting to rule the realms”.

“Half of the motives are you”, he raised his voice.

“That’s not true”, you matched his tone. “You’re playing a weird limbo where you say you’re giving up every dream you’ve ever had for me, letting the guilt eat me alive, and then just… going off somewhere to still try and get what you want. That’s not a relationship-guided motive. And it’d be okay if you could just come to terms with it. And then, and only then, we’d be able to talk through it better and find a better way to make it work. But so far, you haven’t been honest at all about it”.

“Why the need of being honest if you can apparently read me like a children's book?”, he said sarcastically. “Oh, and don’t even get me started with honesty, because…”.

“Because what?”.

He took a deep breath and composed himself back again, denying with his head, eyes closed as he figured out the right words or the right actions. He sat on the couch and asked you to sit by his side with a hand gesture.

“You know what? I think we’re really, really tired. This argument is getting nowhere and we’ll just feel bad afterwards. Can we talk about this in a more civilized way after we get some rest?”.

You sighed and sat by his side, still tense.

“Yes. Alright”.

(Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 , @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @enderslove)

[agwitow]

Alpha Wolves

content warning: swearing, mild violence

Marcus yawned, his jaw cracking, and shook out his pants. It had been a long night, helping two pups with their first change. They were already packed into their parents’ SUVs, fast asleep, and on the way to their homes. In a few months they would be good to join a pack. It wasn’t always as simple with new shifters, but those two each had a parent who was one as well. Even at eight and ten, they knew a fair amount of what it meant to be a lycanthrope.

Dressed in sweats and a light cotton long-sleeved shirt, he ran a hand over his jaw and sighed. Full moon changes always made his hair grow. Even though he’d been clean-shaven before the change, he had what felt like two-days of growth now. Shaggy hair didn’t bother him nearly as much as a beard did, though by the end of the three days he’d need to get that trimmed as well.

He padded barefoot into the little cabin that served as his base of operations while helping new shifters and started a pot of coffee brewing. He hated the stuff, but it would be at least a couple hours before he could head home to sleep, so he needed something to keep him awake.

While it percolated, he checked his phone. Three emails from work, two from the pack, and some spam. He’d just opened the first email when the phone rang.

“Porter Consulting.”

“Mr. Porter, it’s Deputy Palerma from the EKSD,” a male with a pleasant tenor said.

East Keddol was a small town several miles from Hapburgh, the city Marcus lived and worked in. It was in the interesting position of being almost perfectly between Hapburgh pack territory and Redview pack territory. Surprisingly few places fell into the odd in-between spaces between packs, and, as far as he knew, no one had developed any specific protocols for dealing with them.

“How can I help you today, Deputy?”

“We have a shifter—twenty-three-year-old male—who attacked his friends when he shifted for the first time. Miss Davidson recommended I call you.”

Kaelyn Davidson did for the Redview pack what Marcus did for the Hapburgh one. She was, if he remembered correctly, also a month or two out from giving birth. Handling an adult shifter who’d already hurt people was probably not high on her list of ways to spend her time.

“I see. Is your new shifter awake?”

“No. We had to hit him with a tranq to be able to bring him in. He’s changed back, but hasn’t woken up yet.”

Marcus snorted. Safety Departments were, mostly, better than the old police system, but sometimes they were still a little too trigger happy. At least it was a tranquilizer dart instead of a clip of bullets. “I’ll send someone to pick him up. He’s going to wake up before they get there, and he’s going to be cranky and hungry.”

“I’ve taken the class on shifters, Mr. Porter,” Deputy Palerma said, sounding offended. “There is a post-shift recovery kit in the fridge.”

He stifled a sighed. “If that’s all you have, that’s fine, but it would be better if the new shifter could get freshly made food. Eggs, nuts, oats, cottage cheese or Greek yogurt, and pumpkin seeds are best. Avoid meat, if possible, especially red meat.”

“I thought shifters need protein the morning after?”

“We do, and the foods I listed are all high protein items. New shifters can find meats to be… an issue at first. As I’m not able to speak with your young man at present, it’s better to be cautious.”

There was a moment of silence on the line before Palerma said, “Alright. Who will be coming, and when should we expect them?”

“It’ll depend on who is free.”

“Can’t you just tell someone to do it? You’re the alpha, aren’t you?”

Marcus had to grit his teeth to keep from groaning. That damn study from the 40s. “That’s not quite how things work. All pack members have proper ID.”

“Fine,” he said, the word ending with an annoyed click of his tongue.

“Thank you. Someone will be there between 10:30 and noon.”

Once they’d said their farewells, Marcus sent out a quick message through the pack’s group chat.

New shifter, East Keddol holding, possible alpha complex. Any takers?

He set the phone down and poured himself a cup of coffee, adding enough cream and sugar to make it mostly palatable, before settling on a stool at the tiny kitchen’s bar-height table. He’d drunk half the cup before a chime indicated he’d gotten a response. Two more chimes rang out before he’d picked the phone back up.

Eddie: I’m free but never handled an alpha complex b4 wdin2k?

Ksenia: lol take a muzzle

Julianne: y can’t the Reds take em?

Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed, and replied: Kaelyn’s 8 mo. Pregnant. Take the green SUV, put him in the back, and keep the divider up.

Eddie: is it that dangerous?

Thomas: alpha-complexers are just assholes

Julianne: TOM! There are CHILDREN in this chat

Thomas: no regrets!

Marcus temporarily turned notifications off for the group chat, replied to the most important of the work emails, set up reminders for the other two, then headed for the cabin’s futon. By the time he’d make it to his apartment in the city, he’d barely have any time to sleep before he’d need to head back out to meet the new shifter. So he’d nap on the futon and feel stiff for most of the afternoon.

#

A little after 2pm, the rumbling and crunch of a vehicle coming up the gravel drive to the cabin announced the arrival of Eddie and the new shifter. Marcus set aside his laptop and headed out to the porch to greet them. He was still barefoot and wearing sweats and the long-sleeved shirt, but he’d run a trimmer through the beard so he felt less like a back-woods mountain man.

The car had barely come to a complete stop before the back door opened and a young man stepped out with a glower. He was around average height, with enough muscle mass to indicate he worked out at least somewhat regularly. Dark blond hair hung to his shoulders and a thick beard wrapped his jaw—though whether that was a stylistic choice or the moon driven change accelerating his hair growth even more than it did for Marcus was unclear.

“You Marcus?” the young man demanded.

He raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and leaned against one of the porch supports. “I am. And you are?”

“Joseph.”

He nodded and shifted his gaze to Eddie, who’d stepped around to the front of the SUV. “How was the drive?”

Eddie shrugged, his gaze darting to Joseph and then away. “S’okay. Wouldn’t want to do it again, though.”

“Don’t blame you. Thanks for doing it, though. See you next week for a run, okay?”

His shoulders relaxed and he smiled. “Of course. Later, Marcus.”

Joseph scoffed. “Like he would be any good.”

Marcus shook his head and stepped down off the porch. He was a little shorter than the new shifter, though broader in the shoulders and with more muscle mass. “You will respect each and every member of our pack, or you’ll be sent to Palstead Institution. It is not a pleasant introduction to being a shifter.”

“Whatever, man. Just give me whatever stupid speech you’ve got so I can challenge you.”

“There will be no ‘challenging’ here.”

“Fuck that. I ain’t no submissive bitch.”

“What you do or don’t do in the bedroom has no relevance to this situation.”

Red flooded Joseph’s face a moment before he took a swing at Marcus. He’d obviously had a little bit of training, but the movement was still too big to be truly effective.

Marcus side-stepped and twisted a little so that he had more leverage as he placed a palm against Joseph’s arm and pushed. It wasn’t a big push, but the kid had overextended himself and it knocked him off balance enough to make him stumble. He took a step back and waited for the next attack he knew would be coming.

Joseph didn’t disappoint. He came up swinging wildly, rushing toward him as if he couldn’t decide whether to beat his face in or tackle him to the ground.

Marcus calmly deflected each blow, leading Joseph in a circle as he side-stepped and backed away from the attacks. Less than a minute later, Jospeh was panting and struggling to even come close to landing any blows.

“Have you finished with your temper tantrum, yet?” Marcus asked.

Joseph glared at him but stopped, bending over with hands on knees as he panted.

“You seem to be under the misunderstanding that pack members fight each other. Different packs rarely even fight each other.”

“How…how do you know who’s alpha, then?”

“There is no ‘alpha.’ Not the way you’re thinking, anyway.”

“What?”

Marcus sighed and took a seat on the ground. The grass was soft and, thanks to a sunny morning, contained no hint of dampness. After a moment’s hesitation, Joseph slumped down as well. “Pack is family. Would you pick a fight with your dad to try and take over the family?”

“No…”

He shrugged. “Picking a fight with a pack member makes about as much sense. We each have a role to play, and that role is based on our skills and personality and knowledge. Not on who we’re able to beat up.”

“Aren’t we wolves? At least partly?”

“Yes. And that’s how wolves behave.”

Joseph stared at him blankly.

He sighed again. “Come inside. I’ll make you a tuna sandwich and you can read one of the brochures.”

Joseph followed him inside, silent, but with a simmering edge of anger beneath his exhaustion. Once the full moon was over and the forced changes weren’t sapping his energy, he would be a real pain in the ass if Marcus couldn’t nip the problem in the bud.

“Here,” he said, picking up a glossy tri-fold and handing it over. “Have a seat. Read. I’ll make the sandwiches.”

He settled onto a stool, shoulders hunched and brows drawn. “Why Alpha-Dog Theory is BS,” he read. “Seriously?”

“Mhm,” Marcus replied. “Some of the pack wanted to title it It’s Not Your Inner Wolf, You’re Just an Asshole, but that seemed a bit confrontational.”

“… Oh.”

“Mhm.”

(Moon-Bound - part 2)

If you enjoyed this, you might be interested in my published work, which can be found at: Prairie Owl Publishing ♦ Amazon♦ Kobo♦ Chapters/Indigo♦ Barnes & Noble ♦ Thriftbooks

You can find me on: Twitter ♦ Instagram ♦ Facebook ♦ Goodreads♦ Patreon

You can also support me by ‘buying me a coffee’

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Tokyo Love Story (Part 3) Ghosts

.... .... The clouds are gathering...

@rurifangirl

Like the summer days and winter nights in the arctic, it was getting hard for you to keep track of time. So when Caesar taps on the closet door to wake you up, you almost ask what day it is wondering if you sleep for 3 days straight, like before.

You still feel a little achy in your bones but otherwise your pain is gone. There is only the lingering fatigue and gnawing hunger. Caesar was prepared with a hearty breakfast of oatmeal fruit and eggs.

“Eat up and get dressed. We have a lot to talk about.” He was not dressed in his flamboyant work clothes so it must not be evening just yet. He had on a simple grey sweatshirt and jeans. Still, you pause and look because it was so rare to see the Gattuso heir dressed so casually. He tosses you some clothes and you catch them.

They were nothing like the sexy cheongsams that you were used to wearing, just a simple woven sweater and puffy slacks. Comfortable, like his clothing was. In fact, the sleeves were a bit too long. You open the door of the closet and yawn, rubbing your sleeve against your eye. The men had bathed already. Caesar was sitting in a chair slightly too short for him. Chu Zihang was leaning on the wall next to him, in a button down shirt and dark pants, arms crossed, his long sword slung behind his back. He looked at you pointedly, but didn’t say anything.

“Where’s Mingfei?” You ask, looking left and right for him.

“Lu Mingfei is on a special assignment. Turns out he escaped from Genji Heavy Industries by being mistaken for evacuees. And he just happened to have the young Uesugi Clan chief with him.” Caesar sat back in the chair making it creak. Despite the sweatshirt, there was no hiding the musculature there.

“Oh… Is that bad?”

“It’s good and bad.” Caesar said. “There’s a lot I can say about her. To start, it looks like she’s been extremely isolated her entire life. According to Lu Mingfei, her living quarters in Genji was a replica of an old Japanese house. It doesn’t seem like she was ever let outside of it. While we were watching her, she was just sitting and listening to birds. So it's reasonable to believe that the area was nearly soundproof.”

You’re still hungry so you make your way over to a minifridge they had delivered and grab a small tub of yogurt.  “That’s awful.”

Caesar shrugged. “It’s all she knows. The theory is her mind is so unstable she couldn’t handle a drastic change in environment without losing control. But… in this case. Mingfei said that she insisted he stay in the room with her for comfort. Because she seems to have an odd trust in him, his presence puts her mind at ease. Taking him away would be dangerous, so we thought it best he stay with her for now.”

“Mmm… I guess that’s okay if she’s okay with it. After all, it’s how I’ve been living all this time.” You say.

Caesar eyes you silently for a moment.

You continue. “I just … wonder if Lu Mingfei will be okay with it. He’s kind of a perv.” 

“You picked up on that too huh?” Caesar grinned bitterly.

“Right. He was always anxious about my so-called purity, he must have been having impure thoughts.” You take a bite of yogurt thinking to yourself. Mingfei is the brother of Z after all.

“He might have those thoughts but he’s terrified of her.” Chu Zihang muttered. “And with good reason. You never said anything about it so I assume you didn’t know how we all escaped the Trieste disaster. You said you were rescued by dolphins, but if it weren't for Uesugi you wouldn’t have survived long enough for rescue.”

You pause, spoon hanging from your mouth. “I thought you blew up the monsters with Royal Fire?”

“I tried, but Royal Fire is limited in water.” He fixed you with his cold gaze. “It was really Erii Uesugi who destroyed the remaining enemies by producing a massive iceberg out of thin air and ramming it into the beasts. They were all eliminated  in one blow. I thought I’d never see anyone with a Yanling that powerful… but…” Chu Zihang trailed off.

“So she saved us?” You ask.

“We don’t think it was intentional to save us. We just happened to be saved.” Caesar replied.

“That Yanling  is called 'Judgment' and is so powerful that it makes her look like a god standing in the clouds judging humans, hence the name. But the actual effect is to eliminate all life in its field. It’s a rare 'command' type of spirit of speech." Chu Zihang continued. He then glanced at Caesar.

You start to get a strangely uneasy feeling. Like there was something they wanted to say but were nervous about saying it. Your eyes shift from Chu Zihang to Caesar. “So… what’s the plan? Are we holding her hostage or...”

Caesar chuckled in disbelief at the notion. “We can’t hold someone like that hostage. Chisei Gen we can capture, but her? Her power surpasses his.” He sighs.

Chu Zihang lets out a breath. “Chisei is supposed to be the strongest a White King Hybrid can get. He surpasses the blood-threshold and still remains sane. The only explanation for her being stronger than him is that the Uesugi family head is an anomaly. She is the strongest Ghost. She surpasses Chisei but her bloodline is not stable." Chu Zihang said slowly.

“So she’s like me.” You raise your eyes to him.

Chu Zihang’s eyes shift from yours “You were not as unstable as she is. That said, your use of Blood Rage has not helped matters. Without specialized equipment, I can’t tell how unstable you are.”

Your heart beats a little faster and your eyes widen. “Are you scared of me?”

“MC… relax!” Caesar says sharply. “Both Chu Zihang and I have already talked it through. It was fine keeping you here, so it should be fine to keep Erii in the short term. Especially keeping Erii out of the hands of Hydra while we wait to get in contact with the Academy.”

“Then… … if she does endanger Mingfei, I will fight her?” You ask quietly.

“You’re the only one who could stand a chance.” Chu Zihang said.

“But let’s not jump to such dark conclusions yet.” Caesar gives Chu Zihang a steady warning look and you wonder if Chu Zihang told Caesar that he was authorized to kill you if needed. Caesar said they had talked it over, but you’re getting the feeling that the talk was more of an argument. Chu Zihang was going along with it, but they were not of the same mind.

“It’s hard not to think that though.” You say. I’ve been questioning for a long time why I was awakened and sent here  with you after being asleep for 20 years. I’ve always been raised as a weapon, but… I’ve never been needed in my full capacity.” You turn your dark eyes up to him. “What better reason to wake me up, than to serve as someone who could potentially defeat Erii Uesugi?”

“No…” Caesar’s voice was firm. “That won’t happen.”

You grip the yogurt cup tightly in your hands. “I think you should plan for it. If she’s really as strong and unstable as you say, to go against her I will need to do more than create an 8.0 earthquake. It will be like Godzilla vs. Godzilla. No matter who wins, all of Tokyo gets destroyed!”

 "How can you compare yourself to Godzilla?” Caesar turned to you, putting on a winning smile. “I’ve never seen you that way, MC. When I look at you, all I see is a beautiful girl! Same with the Uesugi Clan Chief. I wouldn’t pit two beautiful girls against each other.” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it calmly.  

Chu Zihang looked stone-faced.

You let go of your tight grip on the yogurt cup but it was completely crushed. You toss it away. Of course he wouldn’t pit you against each other. But the world was cruel and evil and might not give him a choice.

“By the way, there was something you wanted to tell me in the trunk of the car… what was it?” Caesar asked, exhaling smoke.

“Oh… right.” You take a breath. “When I was using my abilities to cause the quake, I was under Genji Heavy Industries, at the lowest point. And when I put my mind into the ground, something big was there. It was distant… but the fact I would sense it over that distance meant… it’s very big.”

Caesar’s lips closed over the cigarette. “Dragon?”

“From what I heard?” You say seriously. “More than one.”

------

The Kabuki theater you are invited to is over 100 years old and is considered the throne of Kabuki theaters. It has been burned down and rebuilt several times, and today, the building has a distinct Momoyama-era style, with a purple cloth hanging in front of the door.

 Numerous national treasures of Kabuki actors have appeared here, and it is considered a great honor for newcomers to debut in this theater. This night a newcomer was on stage and, although the attendance was not expected to be high for newcomers, the tickets for tonight’s show were sold out early and a banner saying "Thank you" was hung in front of the ticket window. Those who came to buy tickets were young women, dressed in fashionable and hot clothes, not at all like the traditional older audience of Kabuki. This bright young throng crowded in front of the ticket window. The theater manager, who hadn't seen such an unprecedented turnout in more than a decade, was thrilled to the point that he thanked God that this ancient art had not been cut short and had managed to attract such a large young audience. The staff who knew what was going on said with a bitter smile that the manager misunderstood. They did not come for the traditional art, they just wanted to see the man who was amazing.

The newcomer on stage was named Ruri Kazama, and the play was "A New Telling of an Ancient Tale.”

The ticket you received was for a special royal box seat, separate from the seats of Chu Zihang and Caesar. Lu Mingfei couldn’t attend, obviously, so they graciously allowed Whale to come take his spot. 

For you, this great and illustrious occasion was part of the MC Romance contest and you had star-heart tickets to give away to a suitor who pleased you best. But because tickets were sold out for the show, the only thing they could do was send you gifts and give you a complete makeover. When you entered the Takamagahara spa and beauty salon, the entire boutique staff of the Takamagahara was waiting for you, lined up in two neat rows on the left and right sides of the door. They all bowed simultaneously with a loud “Irasshaimase!” 

The day outside was warm and bright and sunny. Perfect for a day out on the town, but the worst weather imaginable if you wanted to avoid the searching eyes of Kaguya. You would get a complete makeover that would hide your identity.

It started with full body skin treatments, shaving and hair removal, even massage. After that, you were whisked away in a fluffy robe for a manicure and pedicure where your nails were buffed and shined. Then your hair and scalp were treated to make it soft and aromatic. At this time, when you were sitting in the chair, your hair being pulled through a hot press, a Japanese woman in a pinstripe suit with long legs and sharp eyes walked into the room. You’d never seen her before but she seemed familiar with you.

She looked you up and down with a critical glare as all the workers stopped and let her inspect. “Well, things are coming along pretty well for our diamond in the rough. But my boss needs you to look like a queen and so long as you have that wide-eyed stare, you won’t fit the part.”

“Your boss?”

The long legged woman handed you an oblong carved sandalwood box that was tied with a red ribbon.

You pull the ribbon and remove the top. In the box was the deadpool's claw, buffed to a mirror like sheen. The raw knuckle bone was now inserted into a wooden hilt painted in vermillion and engraved with gold. It looked like a weapon one might find in a hidden tomb surrounded by other precious artifacts. A legendary weapon. The note said, “From Z.”

When you look at this woman again, she puts her finger to her lips. “There’s something I need you to understand. As the queen, the world only exists by your express permission. So from now on, I need you to simply ignore everyone around you. If you act like an ignorant girl, people will question you. Only pay attention or acknowledge anyone if it’s absolutely necessary.”

Knowing that this woman was acquainted with Z raised goosebumps on your skin. So rather than say yes ma’am, you turn away and stare into the mirror.

Your immediate obedience seemed to please the woman who said, “Good girl.” Before leaving.

You sit still while they paint your face with pale powder. Then they pile your hair up on your head. One of the women shows you an intricate golden comb the shape of a flying phoenix. A card came with it. “From Diamond,” it said. You nod mutely and they use it to secure your hair in front. The comb was from Diamond. Another shows you a bottle of floral scented perfume “from Armani”. You nod again.

At the end of the night, two men carried a large mirror to you and you caught a glimpse of yourself. The person reflected doesn’t look like you. You don’t see an orphan from Siberia but a delicate young woman. She smiled from the mirror. Her eyes were bright and sparkling in shy surprise and delight. Her eyebrows were dark and slender. Her ebony hair bloomed with flowers, gold and jade.  Her clothes are fine linen and silk brocade, a Chinese Hanfu reminiscent of the Tang Dynasty that reached the floor and pooled underneath her in red and white. Her shoulders are draped with translucent gold colored silk shawls. 

She didn’t look like you. But she was you.

Even though Caesar said you were beautiful over and over, this was the first time you ever felt that way about yourself. You find yourself swaying in the mirror, observing the way the silk shawls sparkled on your arm, a little giggle makes its way out. You feel a strange sense of thrilling excitement. Joy even.

You’d always thought of Renata as much prettier than you. Renata’s pale hair and her blue eyes were like the sun and the sea. But your dark eyes and your dark hair reminded you only of ravens. You cared for yourself like a potted plant, so you never thought of yourself as something to be admired, something dainty. You were a weapon. That was all you were good for. But now you admire the tendons of your neck, the curve of your collar bones, the taper of your wrists.

The sun sank in crimson and gold over the city of Tokyo. The light of the sky went out and the city lit up like a sea of stars. A sleek black limousine rolled up in front of the Takamagahara as it opened for the night, but you would not be there for the performers. Instead, the performers were lined up to see you out. The suitors in white suits while the rest of them wore their finest blacks.

They tilted in a stiff bow when you appeared. Per the instructions you received through the Japanese woman, you keep your eyes forward. In doing so, you feel a smile come to your face as you walk between them. Your heart swells and you straighten your back and lift your chin. 

You step out into the humid night. Heads turn, but you’re accompanied by your suitors who walked you to your limousine on the left and right of you. Even if someone were going to try to get a picture of you, the view is blocked. 

They only get a glimpse of royalty.

In the box right next to the stage, you sit in a velvet chair. There was one seat next to you but it was empty. You can look down directly onto the stage and the lower audience.

The curtain was low and the stage was dark, and the guests whispered quietly. They are all regulars at nightclubs, usually laughing and exchanging drinks, but tonight no one is making any noise. The audience is dressed in fine kimonos or foot-length evening dresses, ladylike and reserved. Although he is a male escort, Ruri Kazama's performance has been praised by several kabuki masters, who didn’t mind saying in the newspapers that they have gone out of their way to visit rowdy nightclubs to listen to this kabuki lover's performance. This is not a game, but a proper Kabuki performance, a masterpiece.

 Caesar and Chu Zihang were sitting in a box on the second floor, so you couldn’t see them but they could see you clearly from across the theater.

 "Ah… I guess this is my seat.” A familiar voice says. Chance walked down to the seat next to you. At your wide eyed surprise he said, “Were you expecting someone else?”

You were expecting Z to show up. But of course you couldn’t say that. “I thought none of you could get tickets.”

“I have an inside contact.” He winked and you notice that he has a pin on the lapel of his tux.  It was the Chinese character "ghost". Your jaw drops and you stare up at him in concern. On the envelope containing your invitation, there was a small seal in the corner, consisting of a painted dragon and that same character. Caesar told you that meant that this performance was hosted by Ruri Kazama and that Ruri was a Ghost and belonged to the Devil Clan, the enemies of Hydra. Chance raises one finger to his lips. “I see you understand.”

“You’re the inside contact. You’re the one who told Ruri about me. About… all of us?”

He nodded once, winking.

You lean forward, smiling nervously. “Then you’re… like me? You’re with the Devil Clan?”

Chance smiled warmly at your bright enthusiasm, but sat back in his chair. He was still wearing his bright gold chains and hands were freshly painted with a new pattern in Henna. “Have you ever seen a performance like this before?”

You shake your head. He was clearly changing the subject to avoid talking about his unstable bloodline. The knowledge that he was a Ghost like you cast Chance in a new light. You had so many questions. You had more in common with him than you did with Chisei Gen.

 "Just look at the translation screen above the stage. The lyrics will appear there for you to read so you understand the show.”

Z said that this Kabuki performance would answer many of the questions you’d had since waking up at Cassell and your pulse quickened. Finally, you would start to get a grasp on your new reality.

 The lights suddenly went dark, and someone struck a snare drum. The drums sounded hoarse and low, like a ghost whispering in a distant ancient time. The curtain was pulled back and the plain white woman stood quietly in the center of the stage, draped with long, dark hair.

But it wasn’t a woman. It was Ruri Kazama.

"All happiness in this world is a fleeting blossom in the shadow of the moon. 

Only loneliness and pain are always with us in the depths of Hell.”  

He sang and slowly raised his head, his face as pale as paper, only the corners of his eyes were a harsh blood red.

His costume looks like a stark ghost in the depths of the underworld, but his body is graceful and feminine, just like a stunningly beautiful woman wrapped in a veil, making people's hearts flutter.

But the words he sang. In the first lyric, Ruri Kazama presented a stinging rebuttal to your response to him the day before, when you proudly told him you were not perishing. Chance turned to look at you. His hand moved over your hand and he gave it a gentle squeeze but that was scarce comfort. You were suddenly struck with a sense of doom, as though the voice of Ruri Kazama were a death knell.