#it's fucked up cause it looks so.....normal. could be just a regular one room flat someone lives in

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

All things considered we're doin pretty ok, money things are in order, we're goin to therapy, we've got the workshop two times a week, we're actually workin on gettin better

So why do I feel like we shoulda just let him lock us up so I'd have no chance to fuck everything up

[rom-e-o]

Modern!AU Meeting - Constance & Ebenezer

Just a run little ramble about a first meeting ThemTM.

If possible, it felt as if the temperature had only gotten colder when he stepped back out.

Icy winds rolled off the Thames River in what felt like literal waves.

Ebenezer was relieved that, according to the GPS on this phone, the coffeehouse was tucked away on one of the city’s smaller, more narrow roadways lined with safety barriers and poles to protect pedestrians as they padded across the road. He crossed one of those busy intersections and wound up at Monument Street, the small map guiding his every step. He passed The Monument Public House, and just around the corner was a tiny, brownstone-looking establishment that had a width comparable to a no. 2 pencil.

Other than its small size, the coffeehouse looked average. Brick and cement accents rimmed a tinted window, which was backlit with fairy lights that illuminated a window seat. Velvet cushions and soft blankets were just barely visible beyond the glass, with most of the interior obscured by a large decal that read: New Grounds Coffee Co.

It was a nice visual break from the upscale, luxury menswear stores that now encircled his apartments complex. Lime Street had become an alleyway of suit stores in recent years, and since he was much more likely to want a cup of coffee rather than to replace his closet of tailored Brioni suits, it was a refreshing change of pace.

Upon opening the door, he was thankful to see that the place wasn’t swarming with people. Most people inside waiting for their order wore suits and pencil skirts and jabbered on their smartphone in-between answering the barista’s questions about their preferences.

“Would you like your drink swee—”

“Fuck, just give me the bloody regular recipe, okay?” a younger man with flaxen hair snapped.

“S-Sorry,” the barista replied. She had an American accent, but the sound of being flustered was hardly regional.

“Sorry, mate, trying to get a cuppa and they gave me the new girl,” he spoke loudly into his phone. Ebenezer could see the screen smudges from across the room. “Yeah, American accent and all.”

Ebenezer passed the man, shooting him a glare as he did so. Apparently, he still had some of his pre-redemption ‘aura’, because the man practically squirmed under his gaze. He even stumbled while stepping out of the way, dropping his phone and sending the parts scattering across the floor. The act earned a good chuckle from the other bystanders who had been quietly wishing for some force to shut the rude man up.

The barista shared the sentiment, giving Ebenezer a grin as he approached the counter. The woman, whose coppery hair was gathered in a low chignon, mouthed out a ‘thank you’ before resuming with the normal process for entering an order.

“I’ll take a flat white, please,” he said, sliding her his card. “Regular milk, light foam.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, fingers moving swiftly across the keys. She could type fast, he noted with raised brows. Hell, faster than Bob could, and he’d been Scrooge’s clerk for years. She must have done clerical work in the past, he thought.

As for why she was working as a barista, he didn’t have much time to mull over it.

She finished the transaction, entered his order, and smiled again. Wide and bright as the sun.

“I’ll have that right out for you.”

“Thank you, miss…” He squinted at her nametag, again started by how formal and neat her script was, “Miss Constance?”

She nodded, and the shift of her head in the warm overhead light caused him to notice the dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose. “That’s me.”

“Hm. Much better than ‘new girl’.”

The comment slipped out before he’d even realized the sentence was a thought.

While he felt his face flush scarlet, she seemed to bloom at the comment. As if it was the first kind word she’d heard about herself. He certainly hoped that wasn’t the case.

“Thank you, Mr. Scrooge. Oh, and don’t forget your receipt!”

Relieved in part that he hadn’t terrified her with his unintentional flirting, he accepted the scrap of paper and made his way toward the opposite end of the shop, choosing to sink into a tweed armchair to pass the time.

After some routine scrolling through the news and other mundane tasks like checking the weather or cleaning out his inbox, he heard someone approaching him. A cup slid into his vision, and when he looked up, Constance was leaning over him.

“Here you are, Mr. Scrooge,” she said politely. “One flat white. Oh, and here.”

She also handed him a small box, which she said was filled with pastries.

“You work in an office, right? Please, I hope you’ll accept this. I hope you and the others enjoy them. Consider it a ‘thank you’ for your kind words.”

[casliveblog]

Custom Toonami Block Week 114 Rundown

Kaguya-sama: Love is War: So we get the third installment of “Miyuki/Kaguya’s terrible dating advice corner” which it’s only been seven episodes god they’re really kinda running this one into the ground aren’t they. Anyway this time the guy wants to indulge in the lewdest, most depraved act a high schooler can force on his girlfriend… hand holding. Miyuki basically sits there and skews everything towards being expensive and how this guy will have to get a job and pay the equivalent of $1300 to get to hold this girl’s hand before Chika busts in and as usual the dumbest person in the room is the only one talking sense and they just decide to hold hands, honestly I’d think the hand-holding step is after the ‘overthrow capitalism through charity work’ step but I haven’t been a high schooler in a while so what do I know. Next we get a sketch about clubs where we find out Ishigami is basically an incel and that’s kinda sad cause I was starting to like him but after more talk about Chika’s boobs and threats of violence the whole sketch kinda peters out into harem shenanigans for a moment. Lastly we have a sketch that goes way into talking about dog dicks, apparently Chika pays WAY too much attention to what her dog’s dick does and Kaguya finds it hilarious which I’m sure this segment launched a FUCKTON of fanfiction but we have some classic verbal gags and the whole ‘they say shit awkwardly so it sounds sexy’ that makes up 90% of Three’s Company. Honestly if you watch half an episode of Three’s Company along with that episode of Spongebob where they say wieners a lot you get the idea.

Inuyasha: Bankotsu meets up with Kikyo and we get the interesting clash of Bankotsu’s worldly nihilism with Kikyo’s obscure navelgazing spiritualism and though they don’t actually fight it’s kind of a fun conversation for two dead people contemplating their existences to have. Jakotsu jumps Sesshomaru and by using Rin as a hostage they get him to drop his sword so the fight lasts more than five seconds but of course he gets it back and immediately dominates like honestly if he just let off a burst of energy instead of a regular slash Jakotsu would be straight up dead instead of just shitting his undead panties. But yeah Rin gets lost in the shuffle and we find out Suikotsu has kinda… fused his split personalities so he looks like a normal dude but will still kill people at random but can’t bring himself to attack children so we’re really just kinda stretching this Yugioh conflict out.

Yu Yu Hakusho: It’s finally time for Yusuke versus Toguro which is gonna be really fun because when I watched this show the first time I stopped watching right around Hiei versus Bui  and didn’t pick it back up until partway through Chapter Black so I have no idea how any of this goes. Toguro says fuck it to all the Frieza shit and just jumps straight to 80% and basically Yusuke’s handling himself pretty well but one direct hit will still make him a well-quaffed smoothie. There’s a really cool scene where we see Toguro’s punch shatters the stadium behind it and then Yusuke decides to block the next one head on and Toguro stops the punch before it connects because Yusuke’s standing right in front of where Keiko is in the stands and Toguro tries to pull the ‘I loved someone too once’ bull and Yusuke flat out tells him that he looks forward to growing old with Keiko and that Toguro’s lust for youth and power was fundamentally at odds with anything he could call love. It’s interesting because Toguro still decides to not do the attack because he doesn’t want to fuck up the fight by having Yusuke take a hit because he’s worried about his friends. Anyway Yusuke gets ready to do a Spirit Gun but realizes he only has four bullets and has to make sure they hit which is probably a good call considering how many times in this tournament Yusuke’s just whiffed a Spirit Gun because he hasn’t understood how his opponent could dodge or block it. Also speaking of his old fights, half of those guys are up in the stands so that’s fun (also I just realized how long it’s been since Yusuke actually fought like he skipped the past few rounds because he was screaming in a cave so I think his last fight was Jin which feels like thirty episodes ago by now). Toguro scuffles with Yusuke some more and ends up destroying the ring in one punch because he’s basically Saitama on steroids rn. While they’re in the air Yusuke fires a full power spirit gun because Dragon Ball Super taught me people can’t dodge while they’re in the air except when they can. Still Toguro takes the hit and gets flung out of the arena which idk what the rules on that are like technically Yusuke’s standing outside the arena too because there IS no arena anymore but like he’s standing in the general area where the ring was and is like five feet from some chunks of it while Toguro is outside the whole fucking stadium so the ten count should still apply to him but considering the committee is a stain on Sakyo’s carpet atm and he wants this to be a big bloody death match to bet the Jr. King of Spirit World’s head on it’s unofficially become a fight to the death. Also Toguro just kinda walks back into the arena and all that happened was he got his pants torn a bit and his glasses finally broke, so yeah that’s… that’s a problem.

Fate/Apocrypha: So after Team Yggy’s girl traps Lion Guy with her Doc Ock machine guns Chiron’s like ‘hey boss, Mordred looks really mad and could probably suplex me to the earth’s core, can we go home?’ so they hit L+R+B+A+START and call No Contest and everybody goes home. Meanwhile Jeanne gets a God Dream about Priest!Shirou and is like ‘fuck it’s the AU protag, better go sort him out’ and Shirou takes a nap on Semiramis’s lap and does the Hanging Gardens of Babylon to basically be a Death Star to go fight Castle Yggy. Sieg’s just kinda bumming around and because old normal people you’re randomly staying with are the best advice in Fate (ask Waver) the old dude’s like ‘idk man go do what you want and if you accept the consequences that come with following your passion you’ll be fine’ which is really fucking vague but given Sieg’s basically working with ‘how do I people?’ I guess it helps. But yeah the Hanging Gardens of Babylon are slowly approaching with their spooky scary skeletons and Team Yggy is gearing up their army of rock men and baby eaters so guess we’re gonna start doing war.

Nisemonogatari: Kiyomi finds Karen and they just kinda straight up have a DBZ fight in the middle of the city like Karen’s supposed to be a normal athletic girl but she does more collateral damage than Suruga did with her monkey arm so idk what to think anymore. I get Monogatari has kind of a weird structure to its world where it’s kind of dreamlike and the backgrounds are basically just a metaphor for what the characters are talking about but I’m really not sure what to make of Karen fucking breaking a freeway over her brother’s head and not mentioning it. Anyway we basically get the ‘you guys did the right thing but in the wrong way’ deal we’ve been getting for the whole arc and Karen does kind of flip that message on its head that people are basically telling her that might makes right which is kinda fucked up but Kiyomi kinda tries to temper that into a ‘well no but like try to not get in over your head too much’ and they basically agree to not fight and let Kiyomi and Hitagi handle Kaiki in a way that’s way too jokingly incestuous for two siblings that kissed and rubbed each other naked. But yeah Hitagi and Kiyomi meet up with Kaiki who’s basically like ‘Sorry not sorry’ but also he’s a fucking coward and this is getting to be way too much trouble for him so he agrees to peace out without a fight with 100% no character development on his part. He also says he doesn’t believe in aparations and just takes advantage of the superstitious and idk how exactly you learn so many weirdly specific things and don’t believe in them but I guess the only thing he believes in is money anyway. Also apparently Karen’s fever was the result of a temporary hypnotism so idk how Kiyomi ‘took’ half of a hypnotism from her like idk, also that means he kissed his sister for literally no reason so the villains win at the end of the day. Kaiki reveals that the man that sexually assaulted Hitagi died completely randomly which may or may not be true but the point he’s making is in real life things can be anticlimactic and the revenge you hope for isn’t always guaranteed which is kind of just a nod to the audience about how we’re not getting a cool fight to end the arc and it’s basically just a non-apology from this loser But still not sure if Kaiki’s just teasing her about how non-confrontational he’s being making it so revenge against him will never be satisfying or if he’s looking out for her and telling her to let go of her rage because hunting down every person who wronged her and stabbing them with school supplies won’t be as fruitful as she thinks it will. Also we find out Hitagi had a crush on Kaiki (I mean he’s 30, dresses in suits, hates people and looks constantly tired he’s basically a tumblr sexyman) and the real reason Hitagi didn’t want Kiyomi around and she wanted to hunt him down specifically was to kill the past crush she had and affirm the current relationship she has with him which is like a reverse yandere I guess? Like killing all of your exes to make sure your devotion to the current guy is legit is like some Bizarro Scott Pilgrim shit. Anyway after the fact Kaiki leaves and I… think Hitagi and Kiyomi bang in the theme park? Is that what’s implied? Like he gets an ahoge erection so maybe, you’d think for all the times they show non-sexual characters getting naked they’d want to depict that a little more explicitly but who knows I’m not a writer. Anyway we end the arc on more incest (between the girls sleeping naked this time for no reason, normal sibling stuff, you know) and the sisters resolve to still try to help people though at this point they are gonna try to stick to what they can accomplish and deal with the aftereffects of Kaiki’s damage and shit. Overall this arc was… weird, like it seems like the turned up the weird loli shit which was in like two places in Bakemonogatari and now it’s just everywhere and there’s a theme of fraud running across it given Kaiki is shown to be a total fraud even in his villain role and they also claim Karen is a fraud for not actually being a Super Sentai heroine (though idk cause like again she fucking split open a freeway with her brother’s head) but they don’t really resolve to a moral on it, like Kiyomi’s pissy his sisters keep doing shit they shouldn’t but is happy they want to help people and it never really goes beyond going back and forth on that. I kinda like Karen’s twist of her taking ‘don’t fight until you’re strong enough to win’ to mean ‘might makes right’ like it shows that fighting a battle you can’t win because ignoring it is immoral is dangerous but only aligning with what will definitely win is no way to build a moral code. I guess the moral of the story is to put strength into what is right and to build strength around it instead of believing the correctness itself will win the day for you or that winning will make you correct, which is a fine moral I suppose but you can probably tell by the summary it’s kind of jumbled.

Speed Grapher: This episode is mostly a cooldown episode and I say that even though this episode starts with a dentist working on a woman’s mouth until she bleeds to death and he sprouts spider legs from his back with dental tools on the end of them… cooldown episode. Saiga takes Kagura to one of his out of town doctors to figure out what the fuck’s going on with her body and the whole superhero creation kiss thing she does. Meanwhile between Kagura and his doctor friend and Police Girl asking his newspaper contact, we get Saiga’s backstory which is basically just ‘he’s covered wars you know’ it’s a little more complicated than that and we get some good character stuff about how he saw so many people die he was basically numb when he came back despite being ready to jump into death in the first place. Saiga’s also experimenting with his camera equipment and finds out that he can control his explosion size and intensity based on the type of lens he uses and its focus which between the explosions and the math that’s like a nerd’s favorite superpower. Turns out all the guys that raided Saiga’s home are already out of prison because their boss has money and Police Girl is pissed and is hunting Saiga to see what the fuck is going on. Also as one last kicker Kagura’s MRI reveals she has a tumor in her brain that’s giving her the superpower granting shit and she has six months to live so…uhh… damn.

Durararax2: Everyone’s still freaking out about Celty’s head just being out and about and Mikado calls Izaya and it’s kinda funny because Izaya still has his whole ‘I am the mastermind and everything is going according to plan’ face on but he doesn’t know Celty’s head is missing yet so Mikado gets to play him a little bit and he tells him that even if it wasn’t for all his pupeteering he’d probably still have become the villain and thanks him for trying to ruin his friendships with Masaomi and Anri because now he can be an open bastard to them instead of trying to pull a Light Yagami and living a double life. Meanwhile Anri and Haruna are ironically having a conversation five feet away from the third Saika wielder and Haruna is basically a yandere going back and forth on whether she wants to kill Anri or smooch her and they fight for a bit before Kujiragi pulls out her SS3 Saika and makes a whole fucking web of metal to break up the fight and offers to buy Anri’s Saika off of her so she can keep her own and sell the extra. Idk how Saika extraction works since it lives inside someone’s body and can make multiple swords as we learn so idk how you take the ‘core’ out and for sure know it isn’t just a copy especially since Saika can make copies but I’m not even sure which one is the real one at this point I’m assuming it’s Anri’s and Kujiragi has just mastered her copy to a far greater extent because she seems unable to make her own copies or we wouldn’t be here. Also one of Izaya’s flunkies gets an offer to steal Yodogiri’s shit from the guy that was in the car that ran over Kadota so that’s a thing. And also Masaomi gets confronted by Chikage who’s basically like ‘join us or die… again’ so yeah that’s a thing.

[mid-weast]

Will you keep it down? | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: You and Jungkook attend the same university and have been neighbors for 3 months now. It drives you crazy that he plays loud music at 2AM, and it drives him crazy that you barely acknowledge his presence.

Pairing: Jungkook x Female!Reader; Black!Reader

Words: 2.6K

Genre: enemies to lovers, student!jungkook, student!reader, fluff, mention of smut, angst? (in the form of bickering back and forth).

Authors note: Hi hi! This is the first fic I’ve ever written so if it’s bad I’m sorry. Also it is unedited so if there's grammar / spelling mistakes I'm sorry again! Also this is catered toward the reader being Black but I hope it can be enjoyed by everyone. Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated ok love u bye!

“Y/N? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??!? Open this door RIGHT NOW!”

Even though you were studying in your room, his knocks were so loud you nearly jumped out of your skin. You had expected a reaction, but not a full-on explosion.

You and Jungkook have been apartment neighbors for about three months now, and a constant problem is that he blares his music hella loud late at night. Of course he’s a music major so he listens to music a lot, but at this point you don’t care. It doesn’t even seem like he’s working on composition homework anyway, just being an asshole with no regard for his neighbors peace. Now don’t get yourself wrong, you're not just some uptight bitch who complains about everything. Well, you do have several pet peeves but over the years of going to school in Korea you’ve picked and chosen your battles very wisely. In most cases you let things slide. You wouldn’t care at all about someone playing the music loudly, but it is 2 AM, and while you’re up studying you know a lot of your other neighbors are trying to sleep.

You tiptoe toward your front door and twist the knob slowly. You only open the door wide enough to be able to see his face. It’s not that you’re scared that you’re in danger or anything, and you rarely back down from people giving you a hard time. But you were tired, wearing a big ass t- shirt and short shorts (your regular sleep attire), and it was late at night. So if anything was going to pop off you felt pretty vulnerable. Even though you’re the same age, he towers over you and you find his size kinda intimidating.

As usual, you have to crane your neck to see his face, and your view of him is limited by the narrowness in which

you opened the door.

“Can I help you, lil boy?”

From what you can see of him, right away you can tell that he is pissed. Dawning his usual attire of a black sweatshirt with the hood up, black sweats, and stomp a hoe boots, he stood extremely close to your apartment door with his arms crossed. His usually wide, puppy dog eyes are now pressed in narrow slits. His normally pouty lips are formed in a hard line, and his jaw is so clenched you could carve an ice sculpture with his jawline.

"Who the hell do you think you are? You called the cops on me? Are you INSANE???" Jungkook shouts.

Obviously he's mad, and despite the amount of times you've gone back and forth he's never raised your voice at you. The old you would have screamed back at him, but over time you've tried to respond to anger with calmness. Also, you were a little scared because this mf is kind of big.

"I already told you if you keep blaring your music at 2AM, I was going to do something about it!" You respond in a hushed whisper, slightly concerned that your elderly neighbors will be even more disturbed by the noise. "I've told you this a million times, and you barely do anything about it. If anything, it's gotten worse like you're doing it on purpose. People are trying to sleep and I'm trying to study, why is this so hard for you to understand?"

He sucks his teeth. "You're such a little snitch. And I've already told YOU that YOU can't tell me what to do."

"I know I can't...but they can," you nod toward the exit, referring to the police officers that most likely just left out that way with a tiny smirk growing on your face.

If it was possible, he clenched his jaw even harder and you think that he's going to pop a blood vessel. He pushes his way into your apartment, which sends you stumbling back and you grab the door handle to regain your balance. This causes you to close the door shut.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're-"

He steps right up to you and leans down into your face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, seriously??? Why are you such an annoying little brat? Just because you're a nerd with no friends who gets no play doesn't mean you can take your bitterness out on me.”

You have to laugh in his face at this point because hello??? First of all, who is he talking to? Second of all, you have told him a BUNCH of times to turn his music down late at night. You didn't think that was too much to ask. As far as you were concerned, being aware of your noise level when you live in an apartment is the universal bare minimum for being a human being.

"ME? Who do you think YOU are? Actually let me tell you. You're an entitled little rich boy who thinks he runs the world. I don't give a fuck about how popular you are on campus, how many people fall at your feet to be around you, and how many hoes you have, you cant talk to ME like that. And how are you going to try and tell me about myself when it's too much of a task for you to be a decent neighbor? I've never done anything to blatantly bother you, so why can you just.." You started to panic because usually when you raise your voice out of anger, your voice cracks and tears threaten to pool out of your eyes, but you tried to get a grip and not back down..."why can you just be nice to me so we can live in peace? Is that too hard for you???"

He looked kind of taken aback by your question. Being nice to you? It never crossed his mind. Also, you kind of had a point. When the semester started and you both moved in on the same day, you would shoot him a small, friendly smile in passing but you never seemed interested in getting to know him. He always wondered why that was. It's not that he had a problem talking with girls, since all he had to do was breathe and girls would come flocking around him, but you would flat out ignore him. Even at all the major parties at the beginning of the year and on Thursday nights when students take over the clubs in the city, you'd barely even acknowledge him. He KNEW that you had seen him too, since you would make eye contact, but you acted like he was just another guy at the club.

And he'd be lying if he said you weren't fine. You had thick thighs, a beautiful face, nice curves, and always wore outfits that hugged you in the right places. He always wondered what it would feel like to wrap his arms around your body and press it against his own. He would constantly sneak peaks of you throughout the night at the club, but something stirred in him when he saw that you were chatting up other guys. Was he...jealous? Jealous that you were so eager to pay attention to these dudes who, in his opinion, were decent looking but they were nowhere near his level, and you never even gave him a second thought? One night he even saw you leaving with a man he knew through mutual friends, and he had to physically stop himself from breaking the glass he was holding, because that guy, while objectively handsome, was nothing compared to him. Jungkook wasn't blatantly cocky, but he let his talent, charm, and looks speak for themselves. He was THEE Jeon Jungkook, and nothing ever really bothered him....except you.

Was he....interested in you? Nah, that can't be it. You were some random chick who happened to be his neighbor, who also is one of the only girls he's met that doesn't give two fucks about even having small talk with him, and that infuriated him for some reason. So the first time you came knocking on his door in an adorable pink satin pajama set with a matching bonnet complaining about his loud music, he knew the game he had to play.

He's still standing over you, centimeters away from you face, but you notice that his eyes soften a little and so does his jaw. He unclenches the fists he was holding crossed against his chest

You continue, “I don't care what you do, and I'm DEFINITELY trying to run your messy ass life. Believe me," you scoff, "you don't have enough money to pay me to do that. But when your dickhole behavior fucks with MY life is when it's a problem. And it's BEEN a problem."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, little girl, maybe I should call you little mouse now, since now I know that you'll go squeaking to the cops now, don't fuck with me or my music again.”

Without moving your head you look him up and down with a confused expression. "Am I supposed to be scared of you? No seriously, you look like you cry during Disney movies while wearing footie pajamas, and now here you are throwing a fit because I forced you to stop bothering the entire wing with your music?"

Girl...what are you saying??? This man just barged into YOUR place, is in your face, and is strong enough to pick you up and throw you, and you’re insulting him? But you figured if he's going to be rude, you'll throw it right back because you're tired of his bullshit.

Whatever softness he was feeling for a fleeting moment immediately left, and annoyance once again washed over. He straightens up a bit and puts on that annoying confident smirk he wears when he thinks he's won arguments between you two.

"You should be nicer to me, all it will take is for me to tweet one thing about you, and you'll be the most hated person on campus."

At this point, any suspicions that you had about him annoying you on purpose were confirmed. You've concluded that this mf is a bully and you, small and shy but not one to take mess, will put him in his place to-motherfucking-night.

You take a step toward him, now crossing your arms tightly against your chest, but he doesn't even move a hair backwards.

"Clearly you need a rude awakening so here it is. I don't know what type of people you've dealt with all your life, always saying yes to you, letting you boss them around and taking whatever bullshit you dish out, but let me tell you I am not the one. Never have been and never will be. Unlike the other fools around here who cream their pants at the mention of your name, I don't care about who you are. You'll respect ME and MY peace as long as we're neighbors, you get me?"

Now y/n, you have never so boldly stood up to someone, where did that come from, babes? You've tried to not let this entitled little boy get to you this whole time, but with him standing in front of you in the middle of your apartment with that extremely annoying, yet handsome, smirk on his face, and after all the crap he's said tonight, he had you all the way fucked up.

After you said that, he just laughed and looked away. Now you’re standing there fuming and confused...was there a joke you missed? You were being dead serious!

"Something funny?" you ask, narrowing your eyes.

"Nothing, just thinking about how I want to face fuck that annoying little mouth of yours so you finally shut up.”

Your jaw almost dropped to the floor. You've never had a guy say something so blatantly rude and vulgar literally inches away from your face. But again, you weren't going to back down.

"Oh really?" Scoffing and tilting your head to the side a bit while narrowing your eyes even more, "I'd very much like to do the same. Maybe then you'll learn your place."

"Oh please, princess, you probably blanch when someone around you even mentions the word sex." He chuckles and leans down close toward your face again and cocks his head to the side, scrunching his nose and in a pouty voice said, "you're fooling no one, but keep trying, maybe you'll get there.”

You're even more annoyed than you were before, if that was even possible. But if he wanted to play this game, you might as well go there with him. It's true, you were a bit more prudent than more, but it pissed you off that he could tell. Regardless, you do know some things to say that could have him leaving with his tail between his legs.

You pouted your lips and in a babying tone said, “Aww sweetheart you have no idea. You think you're big and bad but like I said, you probably cry watching Disney movies. The same way you'd be crying, begging me to let you cum down my throat as I mercilessly toy with your cock for hours.”

Now it's his turn to go pale. Y/n, his stuck up neighbor who has barely even spared him five seconds of her time just threatened to edge him into submission? He has to pinch himself because he must be dreaming....

“Well I-“

“But I don't even think we’d make it that far, hun” you continue, “because in order to humble your egotistical, disrespectful ass, I'm gonna have to ride your face until you suffocate. And when the paramedics come and I have to explain how you died, I won't even hesitate to tell them that you were a punk ass loser who LITERALLY drowned in my pussy!”

You don’t know who this person speaking is, but it is not you. All of the pent up hostility you’ve held towards him just flooded out of you and you couldn’t stop the words from coming out. To be honest you shocked yourself, but you still stood there with your arms crossed and your face unfaltering, just waiting for him to say something smart back.

He stared at you silently, eyes wider than you’ve seen before and his mouth hung slightly open. He wasn’t expecting you to respond with so much fire, but now he wouldn’t be able to sleep until the image you painted came true. His brain said fuck it, and his lips crashed down onto yours. The kiss is sloppy but passionate, and you swore you heard him quietly whimper.

When he feels you starting to kiss back, he smirks into the kiss. Your lips are moving against each other in tandem, and all thoughts about how much you despise the prick fades away. As you uncrossed your arms and placed them on his chest, you could feel his heart beating wildly. Was he as nervous as you were this whole time? You wonder. You knew he was a player, so he was experienced. But the thought that you made him nervous gave you a tiny confidence boost. His hands slowly slide up the sides of your body to sneak behind your back, to pull you further into his chest. As much as your brain was telling you to resist him and push him away, you couldn't help but fall victim to how soft his lips felt against yours. Suddenly you feel airborne as he swiftly reaches down behind your thighs and picks you up. You instinctively gasp but he doesn’t miss a beat, simply biting your lower lip and locking your lips together again.

“Maybe we should test that scenario of yours, and if it comes true, that wouldn’t be the worst way for me to go” he says, doing that annoying but soul-crushingly handsome smirk he likes to wear as he carries you off to your bedroom.

[bosspigeon]

if you're still bleeding

Pairing: Jax/M!Merc

Words: 2657

Summary: Jax should know better. He should know to mind his own damn business. But, unfortunately, he's well beyond "knowing better" now that he's gone and gotten tangled up with an unhinged mercenary with more knives than sense, and the scars that say the chances of him finding any sense are slim to none.

and if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.

'cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.

we're setting fire to our insides for fun.

collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home,

it was a flood that wrecked this home.

- "Youth" by Daughter

CW for: implied/referenced sex, sexual humor/innuendos, references to blood, violence, and trauma, and implications of kink

Knox is a man with scars.

Jax has plenty of his own, of course, but Knox has a lot of scars. There's a story to most of them, too, and he's never shy about telling them. Hell, half the time he tells those stories completely unprompted, whether you want him to or not.

There's a scar on his chin from where Royal told him he couldn't knee slide the entire bar. There’s the ugly knot of scar tissue where his left arm used to be, where the port to his prosthetic is grafted on. There's the scar in his stomach from the mook Jax had to help him bury. There's a scar on his lip where he bit himself too hard with his freakishly sharp teeth trying to keep quiet while Jax bent him over the hood of his car outside Saints and Sinners in the wee hours of the morning.

He's particularly happy to blab the story about that one to anyone who'll listen.

But he doesn't talk about the scar across his throat.

As little clothing as he tends to wear on the day to day, ("As little as I can get away with," he says with a sleazy wink) his neck is always covered. High-collared shirts, a jauntily knotted scarf, decorative chokers and heavy leather collars always keep it covered. He'll flash his tits before he'll show his throat—but in all fairness, it's not really all that hard to get him to flash his tits.

Jax didn't even see the scar until the fourth or fifth inadvisable hate fuck, at which point he was beginning to think he didn't hate the merc quite as much as he thought, considering he kept letting the little bastard in when he showed up at the door out of nowhere—and didn't shoot him when he decided to forgo the door entirely and come in through the window. (Jax still can’t be sure how he even got to the window, seeing as Jax lives in an apartment well above ground level, but he figures he’s better off not asking.) He didn’t think to ask about it until he’d actually lost count of how many inadvisable hate-fucks there’d been, and when they’d progressed somehow from inadvisable hate-fucks to still pretty inadvisable but otherwise amicable casual fucks.

Knox was loose and relaxed, quiet in a way Jax didn't even think was possible when they first met. And, to think, all it took was shoving him face down into the pillows and thoroughly wearing him out. Usually, he rolled out of bed as soon as his legs could hold him again, commandeered Jax's shower, and used half a bottle of his expensive conditioner before he disappeared without so much as a thank you. This time, he stayed. He sprawled gracelessly across Jax's sweat-stained silk sheets, arms stretched over his head, eyes half-closed and his ever-smirking mouth curled into something softer... almost sweeter.

Jax doesn't know what possessed him to roll over, to reach out and touch, but he did. He started at the inner thigh, the bruises he'd left with teeth and then fingers, a rumbling of possessive pride stoking the banked coals of satisfaction in his belly. His knuckles skimmed the soft curve of the merc's belly, the angry red scar tissue of that knife wound, then higher still. Inked into his sternum is a coyote skull, surrounded by boldly outlined flowers that curve along the underside of his breasts. Jax was almost surprised by the softness of the design, especially in comparison to the rest of the merc's ink, like the crude stick-and-poke perforated line and little pair of scissors right above his prosthetic, or the dirty pinup of some generic muscled pretty boy on his bicep, or the peach on his inner thigh that bears an artful addition of a T-dick very much similar to Knox’s own.

He wondered vaguely if the flowers meant anything to Knox.

Before he could dwell on the uncomfortably tender direction his thoughts had taken, his fingers travelled upwards, flicking absently at one of the heavy, angular piercing through Knox's nipples. Knox huffed a rough laugh, watching the progress of Jax's hand through eyes narrowed to dozy, yellow slits.

He traced Knox's collarbone, and his body was all but melted into Jax's bed, soft and pliant. Like he belonged there.

And then Jax’s curiosity got the better of him. He saw the scar, a thin line, pale with age, but standing in stark relief against Knox's tanned skin. It sits at a bit of an angle, slicing across the middle of the merc's throat.

The second his fingers made contact, skimming that raised line of flesh, he knew he'd fucked up.

Knox's body went taut for a split second, and that was all the warning Jax got before Knox was twisting his wrist hard enough for the bones to grind together and snarling in his face like a wild animal. If his knives weren't two rooms away in his discarded pile of clothes, Jax knows he would have lost fingers.

For once, Knox didn't say anything. For once, he was dead silent, mouth a grim sneer, eyes flat and hard. He shoved Jax roughly off him and rolled out of bed. He didn't look back once, stalking out of Jax's bedroom naked, every inch of his compactly muscled body vibrating with tension. Jax heard the rustle of clothes, the jingle of buckles and zippers and a half dozen knives, and then the front door slamming shut.

He didn't see Knox again until Orla called them in for another job, and it was as if nothing had happened. He was his usual smug, annoying self, not a single break in his usual facade of irreverent humor and Napoleonic bravado.

And maybe some of Knox's reckless stupidity is rubbing off on him, because Jax can't shake the curiosity that grips him, even now. He shoves it down, naturally, because he doesn't want the batshit merc to get twitchy on him again when he's got enough knives on him at any given time to outfit a military squadron. Hell, for all Jax knows, that's the end of it. He's not going to go crawling back to Knox (even if the sex is really fucking good—it's always the crazy ones, isn’t it?) and he knows Knox won't come to him first.

Except he does, dragging Jax into one of the back rooms after a meeting with Orla, shoving him against the wall, and dropping to his knees. Things go right back to normal after that, or as normal as they ever are with Coyote Fucking Knox. And as normal as they can be once Orla oh-so-sweetly reminds him there are cameras in the back rooms, and if he doesn't want stills of his dick forwarded to the entire Mirage gang, he'll keep his and Knox's exhibitionism where she doesn't have to see it.

So Knox continues to invade Jax's privacy, steal petty shit from his apartment and/or pockets, and loudly demand that Jax fuck him hoarse (-er) if he wants him to shut up.

And he winds up tangled in Jax's sheets again, sprawled out on his belly with one leg tossed over Jax's thigh, his face smashed into a pillow, one smug yellow eye watching Jax try to catch his breath beside him.

He could let it be. It's not like this is anything but a convenience. Some fun between… well, they're definitely not friends. Coworkers, if anything, and even that's pushing it. For a while, Jax considered it a fair trade for dealing with Knox's bullshit constantly. Now, it's becoming a pattern, and when it comes to semi-regular sex with a stab-happy mercenary, patterns can be dangerous.

But he can't kill the curiosity.

He figures his best bet is being blunt. And maybe getting ready to dodge in the very likely event things go south. He doesn't touch this time, at least not where they aren't already, Knox’s knee between his legs, the skin feeling a bit feverish and clammy as the sweat cools. The urge to touch is still there—he left some nice bite marks on Knox's shoulders he'd like to reacquaint himself with—but he ignores it for now. He rolls onto his side, meets that one yellow eye with quiet consideration, and props his head up on his hand.

Knox must read the change in his face, because he goes from cat-got-the-cream contentment to a warily curious tension. Jax just goes right for the throat, so to speak. “Any chance of hearing the story behind that one?” he says, casual as anything, and nods in the vague direction of Knox’s neck.

There’s a growling noise building up behind Knox’s teeth, but he bites it back. He smiles, but it feels feral, like an animal baring its teeth looks like a smile, but it's really a threat. It looks brittle, like it'll shatter if he tightens his jaw any further.

Jax gives in to the urge, reaching out to touch, fingertips skimming down the mercenary's spine. A shiver ripples across the skin. He’s not sure if it’s the right move, but at this point, if you’re going to Hell...

“I don’t know,” Knox says flatly, and Jax is almost shocked he answered at all. There’s no inflection, no mirth. Just that broken-glass smile.

Jax snorts. Knox never fucking shuts up, that much is true, but Jax isn’t stupid. He knows when someone’s talking a lot and saying nothing of importance on purpose, and he also knows when Knox can’t deflect, he lies his ass off like he was born to do it. Even Orla barely knows anything about her least favorite favorite merc or where he came from, though the chances of her caring enough to even try to find out are slim to none. Still, he has no idea what the mercenary even has to gain from lying, especially here. "If you don't want to say anything, just tell me to fuck off."

The knife edge smile stretches wider. Tips closer to the breaking point. "Fuck off," he echoes like a parrot.

Something starts to uncurl in Jax's gut, something burbling and acidic, a nasty niggling feeling he can't quite name. "You're serious," he says, and he doesn't want to believe it, mostly because he can't imagine someone like Knox taking that sort of… personal unknown well. “Nothing?”

The smile cracks, and Knox lifts his head so Jax gets the full effect of it. His eyes are wide, wild, and suddenly that smile is too big for his face. Slowly, he sits up, and there's the scar. Old and faded, but splitting his throat neatly and boldly from east to west. He drags his thumb across it, digs it in hard enough the white scar tissue goes a bit pink. He laughs. He's never had a pleasant laugh, rough and raspy and mean. Somehow, this one is worse. “Not a lick,” he drawls, and the effort it takes him to sound so casual almost makes Jax cringe. “There’s a reason Orla found me in the fuckin’ bargain bin.” He taps his temple, his messily painted nail clicking against the chip in his head.

Jax’s eyes flick down to the scar, frowning deeply. It doesn’t make sense. Knox is deflecting again, he has to be, but there’s something in the way he’s holding himself, the tension radiating from him, the way he slumps against the headboard of Jax’s bed with his knees pulled up, not quite close enough to hug to his chest, but more like he’s thinking about it, resisting the urge to physically hold himself together and risk looking weak.

"I have nightmares, sometimes," he admits, so soft the syllables catch on the rough edges of his ragged voice. "They never make any fucking sense. I'm just… I'm choking. Something’s cutting into my neck, and there’s someone behind me, and I know them, but— But I'm guilty? I don't know for what." He laughs, bitterly brittle. "Could be fucking anything. Got a lot to be guilty for that I can remember, never mind what I can't."

He inhales, and it sounds like it hurts him, like his breath is made of shards of glass. He drags his hand down his face until he can curl his fingers around his throat so the scar doesn't show. "I just know there's this perfume Orla wears that makes me want to climb the fucking walls and I don't know why. I think I know how to play the piano, but I can’t even look at one without wanting to smash it to pieces. Sometimes I hear some… some fucking opera song, or some shit? And I know the words, and I want to sing along, but then my voice just—just cracks, and I feel like… like a broken fucking wind-up toy? It's like my head doesn't remember anything, but the rest of me does and it makes me so fucking angry. What am I missing? Why does it matter?” His voice hitches dangerously, and there’s a stab of panic in Jax’s belly, his hands twitching like they want to—to reach out? “Why can’t it just leave me the fuck alone?"

Knox squeezes his own throat so hard the skin dimples around his fingers and bleeds white where he’s cutting off bloodflow. His shoulders tremble. There's something in the furrow of his brow, the twist of his mouth, that says angry isn't the only thing it makes him, but he either doesn't have the words to say it, or he just won't, not even to himself.

The silence falls again. Jax always thought he preferred silence where Knox was concerned. Turns out he was wrong. This silence is brutal, heavy and choking and just… wrong. When Knox does see fit to break it, it's with a loud exhale that almost makes Jax start.

"Would you look at the time," the merc says loudly, shaking out his bare wrist and looking at it critically. Jax could almost laugh. Knox tosses his legs over the edge of the bed smiling crookedly over his shoulder. "I should really head out, huh? Don't wanna overstay my welcome."

Before he can think, Jax snaps a hand out and catches Knox’s hip, squeezing. Not enough to stop him if he really wants to go, but enough to give him pause. Once again, Jax counts himself lucky they rarely make it to the bedroom before one or both of them are naked, which means all those knives are somewhere by the door, or scattered across his coffee table, or in the leather jacket tossed over the back of his couch. Coyote turns slightly, just enough to eyeball him. Just one yellow eye.

There's a lot Jax could say, a lot he even wants to, but there's something raw in that one yellow eye, something wary and broken that just wants to hide somewhere quiet and lick its wounds. They've been at this for way too fucking long at this point, Jax should know what to do with that, shouldn't he?

Maybe he does.

He snorts. "When the fuck have you ever cared about overstaying your welcome?" He smacks Knox's hip just on the wrong side of gentle, and rolls over. "You're not leaving until you help me change these sheets. Hell, maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll let you back in bed after we shower."

He pushes up to his feet and stretches out the kinks in his muscles, allowing himself to luxuriate in the pleasant soreness leftover from their romp. Knox is quiet behind him, and he can't really think of when he actually started to trust the crazy bastard enough to turn his back to him.

Knox makes a rough little sound, something not quite a laugh. "Is that an order, Sir?" he asks, low and raspy-sweet.

Jax glances back with a raised eyebrow. "Do I need to make it one?"

[bubblesuga]

off the table.

Summary: Fate has an odd way of playing with your mind. When you leave Min Yoongi on his door step nearly a decade ago, you became positive that you would never find love again. Settling for a man you thought you could learn to love, you had given up on fully moving on. But again, fate likes to play.

W/C: 11,680

Genre: Idol!AU, smut, fluff

Warnings: cussing, smut, mentions of exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, Jimin is curious about Yoongi’s (non-existent) sex life, 

A/N: Based loosely off of Off The Table by Ariana Grande if you want a song to listen to as you read :) x

“So, this is it then?” 

“Yeah.” 

The near migraine-inducing memory always happens to flash in your mind at the worst times possible. Eight years ago, you found yourself standing at the front door of your ex boyfriend’s dorm with a solemn heart as he softly explained what his life was going to turn into. It was a short conversation, one the both of you had seen coming but neither of you wanted to admit it. 

As his new friends and new life began to form behind him in the small one bedroom apartment, you nodded, and you left with one last kiss to his rosy lips. His deep brown eyes bore into yours with just as much sadness that you felt before you dragged yourself away helplessly. 

Of course, now that you were 3 months into a new relationship, the memory decides to pop it’s way back into your brain as if it had just happened. A soft whisper in your mind gently coaxed you away from your latest fling and disassociated you from the moment entirely. He’s a nice guy, as well. Good head on his shoulders, smart with money, and loves to cook for you. So the sense of guilt you felt was tremendous because despite having this gorgeous man in front of you, your mind always flew back to him. 

It has become more and more difficult not to think of him considering the fact that his face is now everywhere. The news, the internet, your fucking cold brew... He was there, the same bright features and adorable nose. You wondered if he thought of you from time to time, how you’re doing or what you could be up to since you graduated university. With as hectic of a schedule that you’re sure he held, you highly doubted that you have been on his mind since the end. Knowing him, he threw himself into his work and hasn’t looked back. It shows in his music, though. You always knew that he would be successful. 

“...are you even listening to me?” 

The words dragged you out of your trance and you immediately set down your coffee, “What? Of course I am.” 

Junwoo couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “What was I talking about then?” 

Fuck. 

You push your hair back, a habit you developed recently as your desire to try and forget about your ex boyfriend has grown stronger, “I’m sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.” 

Maybe it hasn’t just been lately. Maybe every single time you feel Junwoo’s lips against yours, you can’t help but compare him to Yoongi. He didn’t need to know that, though. 

“Yeah, you use that a lot as your excuse. I’ll try not to bore you with tales from my clients anymore.” Junwoo slides the plate in front of you, a heart shaped kimchi pancake lay flat in the middle of it, and you feel your guilt grow stronger. 

“No! I love hearing about them, I- I think I need to see someone about what’s going on in my head.” You explain. You had yet to mention to anyone that you dated Suga of BTS before he was known as such. In fact, you’re pretty sure if you even hinted at it, you’d become the laughing stock of Seoul. It made it impossibly difficult to talk about your feelings with Junwoo. He always tries to pry, but you shut him down completely. 

“What’s going on? Is it serious?” concern laces his features and he sits carefully beside you at the table. 

“No, I just need someone to talk to.” you try to shake the feeling of discontent when his arm wraps around your shoulder. 

He leans his head on yours- “you can always talk to me.” -you shutter. 

“A professional, just to help me get back on my game. Regain control of...” you let out a soft sigh and feel Junwoo’s lips brush against your temple, “...myself.” 

“_____, I am a literal therapist.” 

“A literal therapist who is emotionally involved with me. Isn’t it inappropriate to make out with your patients?” You quirk, raising an eyebrow. 

He rolls his eyes again, “Okay. Let me know if you need recommendations. Us in the brain community are pretty tight-knit.” He stands up and runs a hand through your hair before trotting back to the kitchen to begin his own breakfast. 

You nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare down at your pancake, picking up the butter knife beside your plate and dragging it down the center with a grimace on your face. 

~*~*~

Even though you spent many years studying medicine, you didn’t think it would involve this much typing. Staring at patient charts has become a normal during your regular work day, especially since you’re boss decided that he didn’t need to look at the charts, he just wanted to hear from you. 

You’re a nurse, not a secretary. 

Today you were assigned to the emergency room, which was one of your favorite places to be. Everything was much faster than if you happened to be in post-op or general medicine, but the moment you enter the doors, you were piled with paperwork that you were sure a medical assistant could be doing. 

The drowning sounds of chatter and machine’s melodic beeping blended with your fingers as they typed name after name, number after number for an hour straight. Just as you thought your soul had completely drained from your body, you hear a tap on the desk. 

“H- hi, uh- my friend’s foot got cut open and we think he needs stitches. Is there any way that we could get seen quickly?” You glance up and your eyes immediately go wide. 

You remember meeting Namjoon a few times in passing when you were still seeing Yoongi, but he’s much taller than you remember. Instantly you feel your face go red, and you were frozen in place. Why the hell was Namjoon here? How did he manage to choose this hospital of all the ones in Seoul?

You happen to tear your eyes away from him for a second, glancing over and seeing Jungkook being held up by Jimin as his foot stays elevated in the air. The minute you see a t-shirt wrapped tightly around Jungkook’s foot, you move to action. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that! Let me get you a wheelchair,” you swing around the desk and grab one of the folded up wheelchairs and roll it towards Jungkook. He grimaces as he sits down, his foot crossed onto the opposite knee. Jimin seems relieved not to have his friend leaning on him anymore, and you pause for a second to assess the situation. 

“Jenni! Do we have an open bed anywhere?” You grab your co worker who walks passed you with her hands filled with bandages. 

“Back corner, we just cleaned it.” She calls back, walking without glancing at the people you’re trying to help. 

You nod, immediately walking Jungkook towards the back and gesturing for Namjoon and Jimin to follow. You grab an empty chart as you walk, before opening the curtain for the bed and allowing the three men to slide into the area. 

“I hate to be pushy but this really hurts.” Jungkook hisses as wrap your arm beneath his and slowly lift him towards the bed. Immediately, you slip gloves onto your hands and begin to unwrap the t-shirt. There’s quite a bit of blood, but not enough to have you worried that he hit an artery. 

Namjoon bites his lip before speaking, “I should have watched the stage better. I’m sorry.” 

Jungkook shrugs, wincing while he attempts to pull himself up higher, “It was hard to see. Not your fault, or anyone else’s.” 

“Except for the person who broke the stage.” Namjoon quips, rubbing his hands over his face, frustrated. 

“It’s fine, hyung. The pretty nurse is going to fix Kookie right up.” Jimin is quick to comfort both of his friends while simultaneously causing you to blush. 

It’s then that you notice the three of them in clothes similar to their rehearsal getup from all those years ago. Sweat lines each of their foreheads and you wonder just how this whole thing happened. 

After inspecting the wound, you whip towards the suture kit, “It is deep enough to require stitches. I’m going to call the doctor down and have her suture you up. Until then would you like me to numb the pain?” Even though you’re well aware who these men are, and how close you potentially are to your ex boyfriend, you can’t help but let your professional prowess overpower your incessant need to think of Yoongi.

Jungkook nods, “At this point I’ll take a shot of whiskey and something to knock me out.” 

You smile, “Unfortunately there isn’t any whiskey here. Believe me, I’ve been searching since I got here.” 

Namjoon chuckles from beside you as you put your finger up to let them know you’ll be right back. Pulling open the curtain, you meander over to the nurse’s station and pick up the phone to call the ER doctor down. As you wait for him, you grab all the supplies to clean Jungkook’s foot, including a Lidocaine injection. Before you get the chance to turn back around, you hear the ER doors burst open and see four sweaty men tearing their way into the hospital. 

Four sweaty men, including Min Yoongi. 

An uncharacteristic whimper leaves your lips as you spot the rest of the members, all rushing passed you when they see Namjoon stick his head out of the curtains. 

You feel all the blood drain from your face when the familiarity of Yoongi’s presence passes by you. Jenni notices your panic from the other side of the nurse’s station and lets out a little giggle, “Come on, you can’t get all shy just because they’re BTS. You have a job to do.” 

“I can’t go in there now, Jenni. You have to take over.” You turn back to her with wild eyes, desperately trying to hand her all the supplies you gathered. Your eyes continuously glance backwards, watching them pile in. Yoongi can’t see you, you won’t be able to look the man in the eyes. You can’t even begin to think about the embarrassment you will feel if Yoongi sees you. 

Jenni only laughs, “You’re a professional. Dr. Gwan will be down soon so you only have to be with them for a few moments.” 

In a last ditch effort, you call out to her as she walks towards another patient.

Okay. You’re panicking now. 

The universe has to be playing some sort of sick game on you right about now. You have not been able to get that stupid man off your mind lately and now here he was in your emergency room. First he’s worried about his brother but now he’s going to see you and want to chat and catch up. Knowing him, he’ll ask you for coffee and you’ll probably learn of his girlfriend or possible wife. He’ll wonder why you’re not married yet, and you’ll have to hide the fact that you haven’t been able to properly move on because of him. 

That’s only to say if he even remembers you. 

Taking a deep breath, you swallow your anxiety and enter the curtain. 

“Alright, Jungkook. Do you have any allergies that I should know about before I inject you with my magic numbing liquid?” It’s much more cramped in the room than it was before. The 6 members crowd to one side of the bed while you stand on the other. You refuse to look up for fear that Yoongi is going to recognize you.

“No allergies.” Jungkook shakes his head. 

“Good, good,” you lean forward, elevating Jungkook’s foot and removing the make shift bandage, “you’re gonna feel a slight pinch.” 

“He’s not going to lose his foot or anything, right?” A voice asks. You recognize it as Taehyung’s. 

“No,” you’re sure they can sense how rigid you are, “he’s not going to be able to dance for a little bit, but he’ll be back and better than ever in no time.” No one responds, and you finally make eye contact with Jungkook, “Are you ready?” 

Again, he nods, and you slowly push the needle into his foot. He cringes enough to jerk his upper body slightly, but Jimin is at his side just as quickly as it started. 

You dispose of the needle immediately afterwards, wrapping his foot up to keep pressure applied to the wound, “Okay, Dr. Gwan will be here soon. She’ll get you sutured up and I’ll be back later to check on you.” 

“Thank you, miss. It already feels better.” He sighs happily, relaxing backwards onto the pillow. 

You grin, momentarily forgetting that your ex boyfriend is 3 feet away, “Of course, Jungkook. That’s my job.” 

It’s then that you catch Yoongi’s eye for the first time that night. It’s not to say he didn’t recognize you before, but he wasn’t able to say anything once he saw you working. He was deathly still, the rest of the day leaving his mind when your shiny eyes met his. He sees you swallow, and you walk out without saying anything else. 

“That was _____.” Yoongi murmurs after a moment, staring at the swaying curtains where you once exited. 

The chatter stops instantly, and everyone turns to Yoongi. 

“The _____?” Hoseok questions, his eyes wide while he also turns to watch the curtains. 

Yoongi nods, his throat going dry as memories of you sleeping beside him at night when he had nothing to his name wash over him. You, with the exception of his brother, were the only person supporting him when he said he wanted a career in music. You applied to universities in Seoul so you could be closer to his dream, you were always so excited to hear his new music and you always told him that he was going to make it big. 

It’s not like Yoongi hadn’t thought of you since you broke up. He was a complete mess for months afterwards. His schedule solely consisted of working and rehearsing because he couldn’t bare to have a moment to himself. 

Yoongi repeatedly beat himself up for the way he ended things and more specifically, the reason he ended things. After getting into BigHit, Yoongi realized he was seeing less and less of you. You were so busy with med school and he was so busy with rehearsals that you were lucky to see each other once a week. He knew you’d be better off finding someone who could be there for you, and that it was best for him to focus on his career. 

He just wasn’t aware of how much that would kill him inside. 

“Well what are you doing here? Aren’t you going to go talk to her?” Seokjin pushes. There are times when Yoongi has to remind himself that he isn’t the oldest in the group, and that usually comes when Seokjin takes his role as older brother very seriously. 

Yoongi scoffs at the taller man, “What do you want me to say? ‘Hey I know it’s been 8 years but lets meet up for coffee and pretend like we didn’t break each other’s hearts’?” he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, “Besides, Jungkook needs us here while he gets his foot stabbed.” 

“Oh no, hyung,” Jungkook laughs, “I’m doing juuuust fine. You go talk to the pretty nurse.” 

Yoongi swallows, “What should I say?” 

Namjoon shrugs, “Whatever comes to mind.” 

Yoongi’s feet carry him out of the curtained off area, his eyes searching across the emergency room in an attempt to find you. He spots you at the desk by the front door, and with a nervous head tilt, he’s dragging himself towards you. 

The moment you left Jungkook, you threw yourself back into paperwork and became so immersed that you didn’t hear anything going on around you. Except for the soft footsteps pattering up to your station, which causes you to tear your eyes away from the chicken scratch handwriting on the chart in front of you. 

It’s silent for a beat, you can feel the heat rising to your ears as you look up at him. His hair is longer, different from the short style he’d gel up every morning before the break up. There’s more piercings on his ears, but at the core of the new flashy clothes and dyed hair, he’s still the same man who professed his love for you at 17 years old. 

“Hi.” he whispers. 

“...hi.” you respond, your hands still frozen over the keyboard as Yoongi fiddles with his fingers on top of the desk. 

“Thank you for helping-” Yoongi is cut off by another Nurse calling you over from a different bed in the emergency room. 

You give him a quick glance, “I’m sorry, duty calls.” 

Yoongi couldn’t help but feel his heartbeat quicken when you stand. He had a better look at the pink scrubs donned on your body, and the smile on his face was nearly uncontrollable when he realizes that you made it exactly where you wanted to be. Your dreams of helping people has now become a reality. 

You’re truly in your element, and Yoongi can tell. The concern on your face as you help a little girl sat in the center of a bed way too big for her was a sure fire way to know that you were in the right place.  

So, Yoongi doesn’t push a conversation. Instead, he walks back to his band mates and watches in awe as Dr. Gwan stitches up Jungkook’s foot. 

~*~*~

“He walked away.” 

“He walked away?!” 

“He. Walked. Away.” You emphasize to Jenni, holding your hands to your face while you let out a groan. 

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” she sets down her iced americano, the chatter of the hospital cafeteria drowned out by your conversation, “you dated Suga from BTS before he was famous, and he broke up with you because you were both leading different lives?” 

You nod. 

She continues, “and you see him in person for the first time in 8 years, and you don’t talk to him?!” 

“Wait why are you yelling at me?!” 

“Because, dummy,” she leans over the table and flicks your forehead, “he’s been on your mind a lot lately and suddenly he’s at your job! It’s not a coincidence.” 

It’s only been about a week since you saw Yoongi, and of course your attempts to get him out of your mind has been fruitless. 

“What am I meant to do? Drop everything and run to him?” You ask incredulously, angrily digging your spoon in your yogurt. 

Jenni waves her hand haphazardly, “No, no. You catch up with him, see how he’s doing now that he’s a world famous rapper- oh my god, _____ you let go of him?! You didn’t fight for him?!” 

“You said you weren’t going to judge me!” 

“That was before I learned exactly what you did! Dumb girl,” Jenni shakes her head disapprovingly, “and you’ve settled for Mr. Brainiac instead.” 

Jenni isn’t the biggest fan of Junwoo. 

“Mr. Brainiac is nice and sweet and knows how to treat me right,” You explain quietly, the fruit in your yogurt seemingly tasteless on your tongue, “but...”

“But he’s not Yoongi?” Jenni tilts her head. 

“I don’t think anyone can ever compare to Yoongi. I’m sure it’s unrequited at this point.” As much as you hate to admit it, that’s the part that broke your heart the most about seeing Yoongi. The fact that you couldn’t bare to look at him for more than a second, because it just wasn’t the same as before. It will never been the same as before. 

Jenni shrugs, “you won’t know until you find out.” 

“And I’m supposed to... what? Show up at his house?” 

Jenni’s eyes seem to trail behind you, and a grin on her face, “When is Jungkook supposed to get his sutures removed?”

Confused, you raise an eyebrow and turn around in your chair to see none other than the man of the hour, Min Yoongi. Instead of being dressed in rehearsal clothes like the other day, Yoongi wears all black with a silver bag wrapped around his torso. 

You whip back around and glare at Jenni, “I swear to god if you call him-” 

“Suga!” Jenni calls out before you can finish your sentence. Your head falls into your hands with another frustrated moan. Jenni waves her hand to him, Yoongi watching warily before he spots that you’re sat right across from her. 

He hesitates for a moment, noticing the way you drag knees to your chest which is a nervous tick you have had since before Yoongi had met you. However, he realizes that if he ever wants to talk to you, now would be the best time. Having followed Jungkook to the hospital for the sole purpose of possibly bumping into you, he had to make due with any interaction he could get. 

Jenni gets up and leaves as Yoongi walks his way over to you. Your head is now buried in your knees, but you hear the chair screech across from you. 

“Hi again.” 

You lift your head up, “Hi, Suga. How is life?” 

You can see hurt flash through Yoongi’s face at your use of his stage name, but he shakes it off, “Life is going pretty well. How about yours?” 

“It’s going well.” 

You still haven’t made direct eye contact with him. Despite having not seen you in person in so many years, his heart ached in his chest at the thought that you may still be hurt. Who is he kidding, though? He’s still hurt by the decision himself. 

With a sigh, he scoots his chair forward, “Are we going to pretend that there isn’t a history behind us?” 

You laugh bitterly, “Haven’t you been doing a pretty good job of that for the passed eight years?” 

Yoongi’s jaw drops. You don’t remember Yoongi ever showing his emotions so freely on his face. That was one of the good things from the interviews you have seen, those 6 boys have opened up Yoongi more and more to his emotions. You feel bad for your response, but you’re unsure how to apologize. 

“I didn’t want to end things just much as you didn’t,” He bites, ignoring the tinge in his heart, “I want to catch up. It’s nice seeing you again.” 

“I have a boyfriend.” You say, your yogurt seeming much more interesting than it was moments before. 

He clears his throat, “That’s okay.” 

“Because I had to move on.” 

“That’s okay.” He repeats, his fingertips drumming along the table top. He hasn’t been chewing his nails lately. That’s good for him. Though, the nervous habit has developed into something different, the drumming of his finger tips echoing more and more in your head as the awkward silence mulls on. Even in a loud cafeteria, your mind only focused on him.

With out thinking much of it, you reach your hand forward and place it on top of his to get the drumming to stop. Yoongi looks up at you while you hold your hand atop of his. For a moment, the silence continues as you stare into his deep brown eyes. You’re transported back to your late teens, where you felt as though you were on top of the world with Min Yoongi by your side. He stared at you as if you were his entire universe, spending night after night cuddled up together, talking about your dreams and aspirations while simultaneously chasing them together. 

Well, it used to be together, but instead you had to push yourself through your dreams alone.

Yoongi’s the first to break the silence, letting a dry chuckle fall effortlessly from his lips while he stares down at your touching hands, “You used to do the same thing if you saw me biting my nails.”

Even though you want to be mad, you wand to walk away and never speak to him again, you can’t. Instead, you nibble on your lip in an attempt to stifle your giggle. Yoongi notices and realizes he’s making good headway into conversation. 

“You told me to help you stop, the only thing that seemed to get you to stop was-” 

“Your touch?” Yoongi suggests, a teasing gummy grin on his face. 

“Yeah,” you finally let out a laugh, “my touch distracted you from a lot of things.” 

The people in the cafeteria didn’t seem to be bothered by the two of you in the center of the room. Busy doctors and nurses trying to get their lunch in, loved ones of patients desperately waiting to hear if their surgeries went well, all is forgotten as you fall into the same pit you found yourself in many years ago. Bottomless, but bright. Visions of the future dancing along you as you fall deeper and deeper. Although now, it seems to be visions of what could have been. 

“Of course it did, how could I focus when I had your pretty face in front of me?” Yoongi’s tone is still teasing, but melancholy wades through his words. 

You slip your hand away hesitantly, and Yoongi’s wrist twitches at the sudden loss of contact. “That’s the reason it ended, isn’t it?” 

This is a conversation that Yoongi is not ready for, but at this point he’ll take anything he can get with you, “What do you mean?” 

“You broke up with me because you knew I’d distract you from your dream.” 

He brings the hand you once held upward, scorching skin touching the back of his neck nervously as he takes a deep breath, “I’d be lying if I said that didn’t play a part.” 

You inhale and drop your legs from the edge of your chair before leaning forward. After years of questioning whether or not you would ever move on, you finally have the chance to get some closure. “What was the final straw?” 

He bites his lip, “I was able to fall asleep without you.” 

You didn’t think you’d be able to feel your heart sink as deep as it has. Even after all these years, your emotions are bubbling to the surface. How can something so simple break your heart so badly? 

“You were in school during the day and I was training at night,” he continues, “we never saw each other and I struggled for so long to fall asleep without you next to me. Then... one day my head hit the pillow and I fell asleep immediately.” 

Another knife to your chest. 

“Did you struggle at all? After the break up, I mean.” You try to search for some sense of regret in his eyes but he’s always been very good at putting up a wall and having people fight for a way in. 

He laughs bitterly, “Of course I struggled. Are you kidding me? I thought I was going to marry you, have kids with you. I was nearly inconsolable once it really set in that you weren’t going to be with me anymore.” 

You swallow anxiously, “But it was really for the best, yeah? You’ve got your career and I’ve got mine. We’re both successful. Given, you’re entirely more successful than I am but I’m happy with where I’m at.” 

“Don’t say that,” Yoongi breaths, “you worked your ass off to get to where you are, you’re just as successful as I am.” 

“You think we wouldn’t have got to where we are if we stayed together.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Yoongi seems to ponder on his answer. 

“I think we were young and didn’t know much about life. It was a shitty time for both of us, but I did and still do think that in some aspect of the word, you are my soulmate.” 

Your breath hitches at the word. 

Beyond already having thought this yourself, the realization that Yoongi thinks it as well causes your chest to flush with heat. The adoration you felt years ago when Yoongi’s hair was always styled neatly in a mohawk and you had no clue how to use eyeliner still rests itself neatly at the bottom of your heart. Hearing Yoongi even say the word ‘soulmate’ nearly reduced you to a puddle of tears. 

Yoongi notices that you haven’t let out a breath, “Fuck,” he’s panicking, running his hand anxiously through his hair, “fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to freak you out, I- I-” He cuts himself off and allows his head to fall into his hands. 

A moment passes, and he seems to gather himself once he hears you exhale, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you last. I dreamed about what I wanted to say to you and insisted on being the one to drive Jungkook to the hospital today with just the hope and slightest chance that I might run into you.” 

“What’s your plan here, then?” 

“I want to be friends.” He proposes. 

You scoff, “Do you have time for friends now?” 

He sighs, expecting the reply but still feeling his chest tighten, “Let’s hang out on a day where the two of us have nothing going on. When are you off next?” 

“I have a boyfriend.” You reiterate, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not a date,” he dismisses you, “just as friends. When are you off next?” 

Crossing your arms, you eye him suspiciously as he widens his eyes in an attempt to push you towards an answer. 

“Saturday.” 

“Great,” he breathes, “I’ll make sure I’m free that day too.” 

~*~*~

Maybe you are taking a bit too much time getting ready for a man who has already seen you at your worst. Maybe you purposely wore purple lipstick in an attempt to show that you have been paying attention to his career and maybe, just maybe, you are way too happy to be hanging out with Min Yoongi once again. 

That doesn’t take away from your nervousness, though. Your hand shakes as you finish applying your mascara. You don’t live in a nice mansion like Yoongi does, and you’re terrified that someone will spot him picking you up from your apartment and all hell will break loose. You’ve read some of the tabloids involving anyone close to the group, so your anxiety is nearly palpable. 

“Get a grip,” you whisper to yourself, “you’ve seen this man naked before. There’s no need to be nervous.” 

As you finish your make up, you move on to your hair but stop once you hear a knock on your door. 

Yoongi isn’t supposed to be here for another half hour. 

“Fuck.” you whisper, standing quickly from your vanity mirror and rushing towards the front door in a panic. You peep through the lens in the door, confusion striking you when you spot Junwoo. 

The lock turns loudly and you slide open the door, “Hi?”

His eyes raise from the ground until he meets yours, “You’re awfully dressed up just to be hanging at home.” 

“I have plans.” You state, slipping your undone hair behind your ear. You couldn’t help but notice the instant meekness you felt take over your body the moment you saw Junwoo. 

“With me?” He questions, stepping into your apartment. His black hair is pushed back with way too much gel to be comfortable, the honey brown eyes that usually comforted you suddenly made you feel uneasy. 

You shake your head in response, “An old friend. He and I are-” 

“He?” Junwoo cuts you off, much louder than he was moments before. You take a step back at the sudden change of tone, your jaw nearly dropping at his audacity. 

“Yes, he. Is that a problem?” It was probably in your best interest not to challenge Junwoo. If there is anything you learned in your short time together it’s that he was very good at manipulating your words. He claims it’s his way of reading deeper into the situation but you think your intentions are pretty surface-level. 

Junwoo didn’t seem to expect your attitude, backing down immediately with a nervous scratch to the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t know how I feel about you hanging out with another guy.” 

A scoff leaves your mouth as you scan Junwoo’s posture change, “Are you one of those people who assumes men and women can’t be platonic friends?” 

“Yes.” 

Well, at least he’s honest. 

You roll your eyes, “I can assure you that he’s just a friend.” 

A friend who you have a long, egregious history with. A friend who’s lips have touched every inch of your body, has seen you break down over text books and has kissed away your tears when you were beginning to reach adulthood. 

But yeah, a friend nonetheless. 

“Are you still going to hang out with him if I tell you I’m uncomfortable with it?” Junwoo presses, puffing out his chest. 

“I don’t feel like you have the right to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with,” you furrow your brows, “why are you even here?” 

“I wanted to take you to the park, but that’s not important. Were you going to tell me that you were going out with a guy?” Man, Junwoo’s ability to annoy the fuck out of you has seemingly grown beyond a point of retribution in the short 10 minutes he’s been in front of you. 

As you open your mouth to respond, another knock sounds on the door. You let out a small groan, reaching towards the doorknob and turning it swiftly. On the other side is Yoongi, a striped black and white button down unbuttoned on his torso with a white t-shirt underneath. He’s certainly gotten a better fashion sense. 

“Hi, Yoongi. I’m almost ready,” you send a glare in Junwoo’s direction, “I have to finish my hair and I’ll be ready.” 

Junwoo is staring wide-eyed at Yoongi with his jaw dropped. Yoongi looks back at him and subtly crinkles his nose, just enough for you to spot it. 

After a moment, you break the silence, “Yoongi, this is Junwoo. Junwoo,” you gesture to Yoongi, “Suga of BTS.” 

Yoongi lets out a laugh, “Stop introducing me like that to people.” 

“That is your name, isn’t it?” You tease, spinning the black hat on his head backwards. “Anyway, are you heading out, Junwoo?” 

“You didn’t tell me that it was Suga you were hanging out with.” Junwoo speaks accusingly, making you realize that you truly didn’t make any progress throughout your entire conversation. 

“He’s an old friend,” you explain, “I’ll call you later.” 

Junwoo opens his mouth but closes it again. You know it’s more than likely because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of someone so influential. Junwoo cared too much about his image to do anything to disrupt it. One bad word from Yoongi and he was done for. 

Silently, he steps out of your apartment but doesn’t hesitate on slamming the door shut. 

Yoongi glances at you and points to the door, “Him?” 

“I never claimed to make good decisions.” You sigh, causing Yoongi to giggle. “Anyway, let me finish my hair. Help yourself to anything here.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

You hesitate for a moment before deciding that you didn’t have anything in particular that Yoongi could accidentally get his hands on that would be embarrassing. 

As you walk out of the room, Yoongi runs his fingers along the picture frames on your wall. He remembers these pictures previously sitting on your desk in your parents’ house. Now they were lined perfectly across the off-white painted wall in your living room, images of your family and close friends filling the black painted frames. 

He smiles at the picture of your mother, you’re an exact replica of her. One of the first things he struggled with beyond not seeing you anymore was the fact that he wouldn’t see your family. Despite your relationship being short lived in the beginning, he had grown very close to your family in the process. After the break up, your mother called Yoongi repeatedly asking if he needed food and clothes. He knows that you gained your big heart from her, and he wishes that he can speak with her again. 

Moving on, he spots the familiar picture of you leaning against a bookshelf with Le Fleurs Du Mal by Charles Baudelaire gripped loosely in your hands. He remembers that picture from the end of high school, you insisted on stopping by the local Daegu city library one last time before you both moved to Seoul. Yoongi snapped the picture as an opportunity to remember your hometown, because he was sure the two of you would never be back there again. You would stay together and conquer the world, but unfortunately that never happened. 

Yoongi can’t help but run his fingers along the side of your face, your smile hiding behind the book. Yoongi’s reflection can be seen in the window behind you, his grin just as wide as yours. 

You were in love, and Yoongi misses that.

Of course now it’s not like he can do anything about that. You have a boyfriend who is clearly very loving and trusting in you. 

Yoongi wasn’t necessarily sure what his plan was when he was searching for you in the hospital, nor was he sure what his plan is now that he has you within arms reach of him. Namjoon was sure to tell him how stupid he was for even attempting to get involved with you again even though you have a boyfriend but Yoongi didn’t care. So long as you were in his life somehow, he was willing to make it work. Friends, maybe more. He wasn’t sure, but he wanted whatever he could get. 

He did...okay for a few years without you. He dated on and off but never really developed a connection with anyone the way he had you. He couldn’t help but compare everyone who came into his life to you no matter how hard he tried not to. It’s laughable at best, because deep down in his mind he’s well aware that nobody will ever compare to you. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” 

Yoongi tears his eyes away from the picture and instantaneously rakes his eyes up and down your body, “Whoa.” 

Dressed in a simple leggings and plaid button down combination, it accentuates your curves and causes Yoongi’s mouth to water. 

You let out an embarrassed giggle, “I, uh- I wasn’t sure what we were doing to I tried to dress casually.” 

Yoongi doesn’t stop his eyes from staring at your hips, “It works. Everything about you, works.” 

“Careful now.” You warn jokingly, putting a hand out in an attempt to pause his thoughts. 

Yoongi shakes his head, “Okay, I have a reservation ready for us.” 

You lead him out your door and to the car park, “You better not be taking me to some expensive restaurant because I won’t hesitate to kill you.” 

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, opening the passenger side door for you, “but if you still love chicken then I may have found the greatest restaurant in existence.” 

Slipping into his car, you wait to respond until he moves over to the drivers side and turns the car on. “You remember that I love chicken?” 

He smiles, gummy and bright just like before, “I remember everything about you.” 

You ignore the flutter in your heart at his words, and sit silently beside him while the radio plays softly from his speakers. The car is far nicer than the one he used to have, and the seats have a warmer that Yoongi seemed to know the perfect temperature of. As he continues to drive on, you try not to watch the way his left hand grips the steering wheel and his right sits idly on his thigh. 

8 years ago, that hand would have been resting on your thigh, fingertips brushing the inner part of your softest flesh while you leaned your head back listened to the melodic tunes of whatever song he made most recently. A few of those tunes have been turned into BTS songs, and you still felt beyond proud of him. 

“Okay, we have to go around the back and through the kitchen. I just don’t want to risk-” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you cut him off, waving your hand dismissively, “you’re hot shot famous guy now. Don’t want to risk getting seen with a lady.” 

Yoongi chuckles, “I may be some hot shot famous guy but I’m still the same person I was a decade ago.” 

You watch as he turns the car off, “Prove it.” 

“What?” He laughs in disbelief. 

“Prove that you’re the same person you were all those years ago.” You push, tongue in cheek while you smirk at the man beside you. He seems to ponder for a moment, puckering his lips in thought before he exits the car and runs over to your side of the car. 

“Come on,” he gestures for you to get up, “hurry up.” 

“Hold your horses, Mister.” you adjust the bag around your torso as you stand and let your eyes fall back to Yoongi. His back is to you and his knees are bent. Hands reach backwards for you and he turns to look at you expectantly. 

Tilting your head, you smile as you hop onto Yoongi’s back. A move he’d do regularly when you’d spend hours on your feet interning at various hospitals around the city. His large hands gripped the back of your thighs and you let out a squeal as he hikes you up until your legs are wrapped around his waist. 

It takes a moment for him to steady his walk as he leads you carefully up to the back door. You lean upward and knock on the back door labeled “staff only” and wait patiently as you feel Yoongi adjust you again. 

“You used to carry me around like this all the time.” You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. It didn’t feel weird hugging him like this. Natural instincts kicked in and the whiff of his cologne had you reeling. It’s exactly the same as he wore before, and his hair smelled of coconut conditioner. Before you would turn his head and kiss his lips every time you caught his scent, and it’s taking everything in you right now not to do exactly that. 

“I did,” you can hear the smile in Yoongi’s voice, “and you never reciprocated.”

“I’ll give you a piggy back on the way out, how about that?” You pat the top of his head as the door opens to reveal a very confused looking employee. 

A sheepish smile is held on Yoongi’s face while the employee realizes who he is. “Mr. Min,” he bows his head, “lovely to have you again. We have your usual table set up in the back.”

“Awesome,” Yoongi drawls sweetly, “lead the way!” 

Heat fills your face as the kitchen staff of the unnamed restaurant watch curiously while Yoongi walks you to the table. 

He doesn’t allow you to get off, instead he turns around and drops you onto the booth seat as you try to silence the squeal that leaves your mouth. Yoongi only laughs as he flips back around to see the top half of your body slip between the table and the seat. He’s quick to help you up but his arms grow weak from laughing so he takes a few moments to pull you back up. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, the ridiculousness of the situation bringing back memories.

“I’m sorry,” he says, inhaling another laugh as he slips into the seat opposite of you, “I didn’t think you would fall.” 

You adjust the hat on your head, “It’s fine, I didn’t need my equilibrium to work properly anyway.” 

Yoongi can’t help but watch you carefully as you open the menu. Your nose still crinkled when you came across a dish you may not particularly like, and your eyes widened whenever you saw something that you thought looked good. 

Both of you decided on a beer to drink and various flavors of dry rub wings to enjoy. As you waited on your food to be cooked, you sip your beer and suck your teeth while you decide whether or not you want to ask him all your dying questions. 

Deciding to start small, you took a deep breath as Yoongi met your eyes, “How much did they have to fight you to get you to start dancing?” 

He let out a sigh of relief, half expecting the awkwardness of your history together to take over, “I almost quit like four times, I won’t lie.” 

You giggle, “I figured. You do well, though. I was amazed by your Seesaw performance when you started dancing on your own up there. Genuinely was the last thing I expected. 

Yoongi doesn’t respond, he only smiles widely with his head rested gently on his hand. You tilt your head as his eyes scan yours, “What?” You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, wanting the world to swallow you up at the thought that you could have come across as weird or creepy by knowing so much about Yoongi’s career. 

“You watch my performances?” He questions, his smile not dropping. A hint of pink brushes the tip of his nose. 

“Of course,” you say almost incredulously, “you’re everywhere. It’s hard not to.” 

“What’s your favorite song?” Yoongi presses, leaning forward to show you’ve piqued his interest. 

Okay, there’s no way you’re going to let him think he has some sort of head over you.

“Cypher part 3.” you say confidently. 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm,” you hum, nibbling on the bottom of your lip for a moment before deciding to say why it was your favorite, “specifically the part where you say you’re a starfish feeding off the envy of others.” 

“Ah, yes. Truly a fan favorite. You should hear the cheers when I explain what my tongue can do.” Yoongi whispers the latter half of his sentence, causing your throat to go dry. His tongue is skillful in many ways, not just rapping, and you were well aware of that. Decadence rested on the tip of his tongue, and you’d like to think that you contributed to his *ahem* practice. 

He pulls away with a cheeky grin just as the waiter comes by with steaming plates of food. 

The affect that his words had on you still amazes you to this day. Maybe he does have a head above you, and maybe you’re okay with that. 

The rest of the dinner goes by with a breeze, the two of you laughing over drinks and trying each other’s food. It didn’t take long for you to fall into a comfortable fit with Yoongi, even though so much time had passed. It was like he never left, and he truly is still the same person he was before. He laughs the same, his shoulders shakes and his grin is always huge. Although his hair style changes and his fashion sense has gotten better, you still see the old Yoongi poking out whenever he laughed particularly hard. 

Being face to face with him has allowed you to compare to the younger him, though. His face has slimmed and his voice has gotten deeper, the adam’s apple you kiss at night was larger than before and his neck was longer. Despite all that, he was still the same. Fame hadn’t changed him a bit. 

The moment the check comes you snatch it up quickly. 

“_____.” the way Yoongi says your name shoots a chill down your spine, but you ignore it when you slip your cash into the designated sleeve. 

“Yoongi.” You mock, handing the sleeve back to the waitress who seems scared of Yoongi’s deep tone. 

“I was supposed to pay.” He pouts, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Be faster then.” You grin, standing up and crouching in front of Yoongi’s side. 

He laughs, remembering your promise from earlier and slipping onto your back. The path you to through the kitchen is a bit less crowded now, but you felt the same amount of eyes on you the entire time. You felt much less embarrassed about it now, though, because Yoongi had a way of calming you down even at your worst points. 

“The night is still young,” Yoongi speaks as he slips off of your back and unlocks his car, “would you like to revisit Yongsan Park?” 

“Always.” 

It wasn’t a far drive from the restaurant, and it was spent mostly talking about music and the new album that Yoongi was extremely proud of. Of course you had already listened to it but you didn’t want to take away from his excitement of showing you some of the songs. 

When you made it to the park, the lights lining the jogging path were already on. You hadn’t expected it to be so dark yet but fall time always had a habit of sneaking up on you. 

There was an intense rush of nostalgia associated with this park for the both of you. Nights where the two of you huddled close under the stars were spent here, right beneath the biggest tree in the park. It was unspoken that that was your spot, and you hadn’t been to it since you broke up. 

Yet, muscle memory kicks in and both of your legs carry you right to the tree. 

“Isn’t it funny how we spent so many nights here?” You bring up as you sit at the base of the tree. 

Yoongi nods, “So many nights in this exact spot.” 

“I love it here, it was our spot.” 

Yoongi’s proximity to you is much closer than it should be but neither of you are making any move to change it. His shoulder brushes against yours and you resist the urge to rest your head on his shoulder. 

“It still is.” He corrects, tapping your knee gently with his hand and resting in there. 

You freeze for a moment, not knowing how to process his touch anymore but you can’t push him away. In fact, you’re relishing in the heat burning on your skin beneath his hand. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. 

“Do you remember when you tried to scare me by climbing a tree and the branch broke?” Yoongi looks up, and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at the memory. 

“Yeah but that was because I was trying to get you back for pouring ice water on me when I fell asleep on my text book.” You roll your eyes at the memory, distinctly remembering the chill on your back while Yoongi cackled in your small one bedroom apartment. 

That same cackle leaves Yoongi’s lips from beside you. You snap your head towards him, “Oh you think it’s funny still?” 

“Yeah,” his laugh turns into a giggle, “you can still see the broken branch.” 

“What?” You glance up, and sure enough the branch is still gone. Your jaw drops and you use your hands to push Yoongi over. He doesn’t fight you on it and falls with ease even though you didn’t use very much pressure at all, and you’re quick to try and wrestle him down. “It must be so funny,” you groan as you try to pin him down, straddling your legs on either side of his waist, “to still be pinned by- holy shit you’ve gotten strong.” 

Yoongi takes his opportunity to flip the two of you over, switching positions and easily pinning your hands on either side of your head. Vaguely, you wonder how much time it took for him to gain so much strength, but your mind quickly shifts once you realize the precarious position that Yoongi has put you in. 

Glancing down, you see his hips rest just above your navel, and images of the many nights you shared together flash through your mind. Rushed breathing and sweaty skin sticking together as you explored each other’s bodies and always found new ways to please each other. Briefly, a rush of heat flashes through your lower abdomen at the way your imagination flushes with possibilities of Yoongi’s touch. 

You inhale, your chest heaving and Yoongi’s eyes fly to the way your cleavage displays itself for him. You’ve gotten fuller than before, and it suits you. He’s enjoying every second of it. 

Before he can stop himself, he leans down and smashes his lips onto yours. The grip on your wrists loosen just enough for you to slip out and have your hands flying to his cheeks. He tastes the same as he did before, his smell intoxicating as it fills your nose. Your senses are overwhelmed with him, his tastes, his scent, the way his lips feel against yours. The familiarity is there, but they feel new and exciting at the same time, like you were pushed back to your youth. 

He exhales against you as if he’s been waiting all night to do just this. Slipping his legs out from beneath him, he presses his chest against yours as your hands slide to the back of his neck to hold him against you. The rest of the world falls, dissolving into nothing. You keen helplessly as you feel him grind against you, and that noise seems to push Yoongi over the edge. He growls into your mouth, pulling away to start his descent onto your neck with bites and licks in all the places you loved before. 

Arching into him, your hands loop through his black locks with a gasp as his tongue licks at your wine kissed collarbones. 

This is everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything feels so right. 

Yet, it’s wrong. You need to stop him. You need to ask him to pull away. But you can’t. He feels too fucking good. It’s not until he reaches the stop of your chest, his fingers hesitantly reaching at your collar does he look into your eyes for permission. 

And you stop him. 

“I- I think I need to go have a very uncomfortable conversation with Junwoo.” You state, and Yoongi’s face drops. 

“I can’t believe you still managed to think about him when I was kissing you.” He says nearly incredulously, crawling off of you and leaning his back against the tree again. His chest is rising and falling faster than before, showing that your affect on him was much stronger than you previously had thought. 

Your heart twinged at Yoongi’s cold tone. You swallow, “If you think there’s a possibility of us continuing this, I have to end things with Junwoo.” 

Yoongi whines, “Why now?” 

You let out a little giggle, sitting up and leaning your head on his shoulder like you wanted to before. “Even if I didn’t do it right now, I don’t think we could go any further in the middle of a park.” 

“I thought you liked exhibitionism.” Yoongi leans to the side, kissing you once again. It’s much breathier than before, and he prays that you don’t feel his heart pounding wildly in his rib cage at the mere thought of someone catching the two of you outside. 

You gasp into the kiss and force yourself to pull away even though you didn’t want to at all. Giving him a look, Yoongi sighs. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll drive you home so you can have that uncomfortable conversation.” He mutters, standing up and pulling you with him. He’s much more touchy than before, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders while he guides you back to his car. 

The conversation you’re about to have with Junwoo will truly be one of the most anxiety inducing things you’ve ever done. 

~*~*~

The dorms are dark when Yoongi arrives back. The living room in which everyone has a tendency to congregate after a particularly grueling practice day holds no one, a small reminder that everyone finally got some well deserved rest. 

He hums softly to the tune of ‘People’, one of his favorite songs from his recent mixtape and opens the fridge to grab a bottle of water. When he closes it, Jimin is standing on the other side. 

Yoongi jumps, “Jesus fucking christ, Park Jimin!” 

“Didja get back together with her?” 

“What?” Yoongi takes a second to assess Jimin’s pajama clad body, “N- no. We just hung out.” 

“It’s a shame,” Jimin reaches forward and grabs the water bottle from Yoongi’s hand, “I heard you humming so I figured you finally got laid.” Yoongi opens his mouth to protest but Jimin continues before he can, “You know, I’ve known you for so long and I don’t think you’ve ever had a woman sign an NDA? Have you even had sex since you broke up with the pretty nurse?” 

“I feel like that’s none of your business.” Yoongi yanks the water bottle back, opening it and praying that Jimin didn’t backwash. 

“But it is my business because I have no clue how you did it. I’m sure she was fucking other guys regularly. I hear it’s bad for women to go without sex because they turn into-” Yoongi attempts to drown out the sounds of his roommate, his hand gripping the counter top tightly with unwanted images of you in another man’s bed ripping through his brain, “-and I’ve always wondered what it was like to only ever have your hand to get yourself off. Is it lonely? How much porn do you-” 

“Jimin!” Yoongi shouts. 

“Cutting me off is awfully rude, don’t you think?” 

“Shut. the. fuck. up.” Yoongi grits his teeth, moving to walk away as Jimin laughs. 

“Called it! I knew you were a born again virgi-” 

“Goodnight!” Yoongi calls back, walking up to his room and locking the door behind him. He plops down onto his bed, the TV situated perfectly level with his bed. It’s a stark contrast to the small black and white TV he could afford all those years ago, so the familiar sound of his TV sounding on brings a smile to his face as he realizes yet again how fortunate he’s become. 

Now he’s determined to make sure you feel the same sense of fortune that he has. Because he has you back in his life. Was it a twist of fate or the inevitability of soulmates, Yoongi isn’t sure. However, he’s immensely grateful to have you back, even if you’re not truly his yet. 

~*~*~

"I’m breaking up with you.” 

“What?!” 

You cover your mouth as the unexpected sentence leaves your mouth. Junwoo sits in his office with his fists clenched tightly on top of his desk. He’s never been particularly good at hearing bad news, and even though it’s only been a few months you feel as though you’re signing divorce papers judging my his reaction. 

It’s been two days since you last saw Yoongi. You put off speaking to Junwoo for a little bit to try and figure out exactly what you were going to say to him. You had a whole speech ready, talking about how he deserves better and that he’ll find his soulmate eventually. 

But when the moment came, your speech was practically thrown to the ceiling fan and torn into a million pieces.

“W- why? What did I do?” Junwoo asks, he seems more angry than anything which you didn’t expect. 

“You didn’t do anything,” you sigh, plopping in the seat on the other side of his desk, “I just don’t think it’s going to work out.” 

“Everything was going so well!” Oh god, he’s yelling. “It’s that fucker Suga’s fault, isn’t it? He’s putting you up to this!” 

“Fucking hell, Junwoo! How old are you, honestly? Immediately assuming that it was Yoongi is the most childish thing you could have done.” It is Yoongi, though. You know that, and unfortunately Junwoo knows that as well. It isn’t in good conscience to deny his allegations but you can’t help but do so. 

Though, the inevitability of your relationship ending would have happened with out without Yoongi’s push. 

“Well excuse me for thinking you would fuck a member of the biggest band on the planet! For God’s sake, any whore would drop their pants for one of them.” 

Your jaw drops, “I didn’t fuck him.” 

Junwoo rolls his eyes, “Are you sure? Because it’s almost like I could smell the stench coming off of you.” 

You place your tongue in your cheek, biting back a response. Should have figured the man wouldn’t know how to take a break up. 

Then, you laugh, “Okay. You got me, I fucked him.” 

“I knew it.” Junwoo’s nostrils flare. 

“Hundreds of times, eight years ago,” You spit, standing up quick enough for the chair behind you to tip over. “it wasn’t working out anyway and clearly that’s for the best. The last thing I need is a chauvinist asshole who refuses to see what was right in front of him.” 

“I-” 

“No,” you put your hand up, “I’m done.” 

You turn around swiftly, walking out of his office and ignoring the stares from his receptionists. Surely they heard the yelling and the last thing you needed was to feel judged. 

Except you weren’t being judged. Just before you reached the elevator, one of the girls spoke out. “You’re the second break up he’s had this week, don’t feel bad.” 

You turn around, watching her flick vivaciously through a magazine. “What was that?” You speak slowly, turning around walking up to the desk. 

“Another woman came by earlier this week, she said he’s been fucking some nurse behind her back and threw a ring at him.” She shrugs, then leans forward with a whisper, “You’re better off without him.” 

You scoff, “and I had the decency to break up with him before I fucked someone else. Thanks for the tip, darling.” 

As soon as the elevator doors close, you whip out your phone and text Yoongi. 

To: Suga Delivered: 13:52

Deed is done if you still want me to come by 

You make it to your car and hear your phone ding. 

From: Suga Received: 13:57

I’ll meet you outside

Your heart flutters, so you start your car and drive as quickly as you can towards the directions of the dorm. It’s not hard, everyone in Seoul is keenly aware of where BTS stay, but there’s an unspoken rule that nobody is to bother them. One of the things you enjoyed most about this whole situation is the amount of respect they boys have earned, and you couldn’t feel more proud of Yoongi. 

The gated group of buildings is intimidating to say the least, but you’re unable to contain your excitement as you pull up. Yoongi is a few feet away, waving from the other side of the gate as he presses a few buttons before you hear the gate click and begin to side open. 

Your excitement over simply seeing him is nearly too much to contain. A week ago you struggled to not get nauseous at the thought of him seeing you but now you didn’t know how you ever made it without him. Inching your car forward became an arduous task because it took precious seconds away from you being able to kiss Yoongi once again. 

So, you throw your car into park as the gates slip closed behind you and run out of your car to jump towards Yoongi. 

He catches you, immediately slamming your lips onto his. It’s soft this time, the urgency isn’t there but he doesn’t mind the feeling of your hands gently tugging at his hair and scratching his scalp. 

“Mm,” he hums against your lips, “does this mean you’re mine again?” 

“With some adjustments to both of our lives,” you smile, “and making time for each other, then I’m willing to try again.” 

“Good,” he grins, “let me take you inside and show you how much I’m gonna try.” 

He slides you down his torso and grabs your hand, yanking you closely behind him. You let out a quiet yelp as he does so, following him into the building and welcoming the warmth that greets you. You’re lead through a long hallway but are stopped abruptly once Yoongi spots Hoseok walking through the living room. 

“Hey pretty nurse, and Yoongi.” Hoseok says without looking up, and Yoongi lets out a sigh of relief. 

You give him a questioning look but shake it off when Yoongi leads you up a lot of stairs and straight to his bedroom. 

“Okay, there’s two ways this can go-” Yoongi slips his shirt over his head and you try to process everything as it’s happening because holy shit you’re going to fuck Yoongi for the first time in years and might actually be able to have an orgasm “-slow and steady or hard and fast.” 

“Save the romance for next time,” you giggle, slipping your dress over your head and falling backwards onto his bed, “I haven’t had you inside me in years. Hard and fast.” 

He chuckles, “You got it baby.” 

He jumps on top of you, his hand flying to your thigh to steady your leg as he grinds his still clothed cock into your core. He’s already hard, and you’re already dripping. The last two days you spent not being near him was the most difficult thing you had experienced because you knew what was coming and how he was going to do it. 

And you’re loving every second of it. 

Spreading your legs wide, you reach between the two of you and play with the hem of his boxers. He groans into your mouth, inching upward so your hand slips further in, “No teasing, baby girl. Hard and fast.” 

“Right, yes. I’m sorry.” you bite his bottom lip before lifting your hips and feeling his hands loop on either side of your panties to slip them down your legs. He drops between your legs immediately and inhales your scent, tossing his head back in pleasure. 

“Fuck, just like I remember.” Yoongi dives back, his nose brushing against your aching clit while his tongue darts out and licks your quivering hole. You let out a quiet moan but are quick to cover your mouth as you remember there are six other men on the other side of these thin walls. 

The pleasure of knowing that he remembers your scent is enough to send you feral, your back arching off the bed as his lips finally wrap around your clit and sucks hard. The obscene sound of him drinking in your juices fills the room, his groans against your core sending chills up your spine. If there was anything you knew about Min Yoongi, it’s that he knew how to use his tongue. 

You fill your core begin to heat up as your orgasm builds and before you know it, you’re uncovering your mouth and letting out a moan loud enough to be heard for miles. 

Yoongi can’t help but smirk against you as he drinks in your release, moving to trail kisses up your abdomen as you come down from the pleasure. 

“You ready for more?” He kisses your lips, and it’s then that you notice his cock his gloriously hard against his stomach, boxers long discarded. 

“Please, yes. Please please plea-” 

“Alright, hold your horses.” Yoongi jokes, brushing the head of his cock against your slit a few times teasingly. 

You pout, “You said no teasing.” 

He nods, “I can’t help it. Your face is so cute when you’re begging for my cock.” 

As you’re thinking of a rebuttal, Yoongi finally slips inside. Both of you moan in pleasure at the clenching of your core. He remembers exactly how to move to get you to gasp, how deep to move to get you to clench, and he remembers what each of your movements mean. Your nails currently dig into his back harshly but he doesn’t complain, because that means his thrusts are going at just the right speed. 

He wishes you can scream like you used to, but he realizes how weird that could be for his bandmates to hear. However, he can’t say that he necesarily minds all things considered. He’d love for Jimin to hear what he’s doing to you after the way his smart mouth moved the other night. He could imagine his face as he listens, but then Yoongi is dragged back to the moment when he feels you clench particularly hard. 

You feel him tensing more and more, struggling to hold on as your vice grip on him tightens even further. The soft sponge of your warm cunt is nearly too much for him to bare, and as you feel your second orgasm approach, you grip Yoongi’s face in your hands, “Cum for me. Please.” His eyes flutter closed and he begins to thrust faster, lips on yours and sweat building on both of your foreheads. Then, your second orgasm washes over you deliciously, Yoongi’s hips stuttering before he follows with his own release, his cum coating your walls white. He’s still for a moment, gasping above you. When you reach up and brush the hair from his forehead, he collapses on top of you, “Fuck, that’s even better than I remembered.” 

“Good,” you giggle, kissing his nose, “because there’s so much more I want to try with you.”

His heart flutters irrevocably, knocking the wind out of him when he realizes that you’re in this for the long run just as he is. This time he swears he’s going to make it work, and he plans on spending the rest of his life with you. 

His lips brush against you once again, then he speaks. 

“Write me a list, baby girl.” 

[julemmaes]

Honey - part two

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre roommates au

A/N: I’m so tired yall have no idea. My eyes are burning and my fingers are cramping cause I’ve been writing all day to get this done, so yeah, I’m very satisfied and some of the blogs that I consider big or are big for a fact started following me and commented on the first part, so I freaked out a little, but I can tell that I’ll sleep peacefully tonight because of that, so thank you all. Enjoy!:)

Oh, and I almost forgot, the song at the end is called “Honey” and it’s by Johnny Balik (shoker, as my man Kieran would say)

masterlist

Word count: 4,966

Lorcan's least favourite day was definitely Friday, unlike all people his age. Not because he didn't like going out in the city at night to have fun and drink until you forgot even your mother's name, but because it was the only day of the week he had to work at both the shelter and the toy shop.

He loved working with the dogs and the few cats they brought in, and although he wasn't really a people person, he enjoyed spending time deciding with the kids and parents what was the best gift to go home with. And although Lorcan would never admit it out loud, he had grown fond of some of the regulars - especially a mother of three who he knew worked as a lawyer in one of the offices above the shop. Almost every day she would come in during her lunch break to buy one of those surprise sachets that cost a euro each and if Lorcan didn't see her coming before he went on his break, he would wait a few minutes before closing up just for her. Elide had managed to find out this detail a few months later after she moved in and he knew she would never stop teasing him because he had a heart of gold.

The phone vibrated in his hand just as he got behind the wheel and he wasn't at all surprised to see that the last message he had gotten was from Elide.

He huffed, not even opening yet another link that would surely send him to yet another website with information on why the world was ending very slowly and why humans were to be blamed entirely. He started the car and drove off towards their house.

Lorcan wasn't a bad person and he really cared about everything Elide was sending him, but he was tremendously tired and all he could think about was how much he wanted to take a shower and pass out in his bed. The fact that none of this was going to happen because Fenrys and Rowan had forced him to accept the invitation out to dinner made it all worse.

It took him less than ten minutes to get home and when he parked and saw the lights in their living room on, he seriously considered backing up and getting out of there to get to Vaughan's house before Elide noticed his car and he wouldn't be able to get away no more.

He was sure his friend would take him in without question if he asked to put him up for a night.

But luck was not on his side as Elide's petite figure appeared in the window and Lorcan could not see her face, but he knew she was smiling as she bounced and waved to greet him.

Despite everything, Lorcan raised his hand in turn and smiled back at her, knowing full well that even she could not see him so low and hidden by the evening shadows.

As he climbed the sixth flight of stairs and mentally prepared himself for two more, he could foresee the flood of words that would wash over him when he entered the house. Elide hadn't kept quiet for the entire day, sending him voice messages and staying with him on calls for the entire duration of his lunch break, so much so that at one point he had wondered if she had gone to class and then to work. He had discovered that yes, she had gone, but she hadn't paid the slightest attention to what they had explained and had gotten half the customers' orders wrong.

When he opened the front door, he recognized the melody of one of the songs she'd put on her apology playlist, the one he'd made for her nearly three weeks earlier after she'd found out he still smoked. She'd seemed so hurt that after he'd gone to bed and cleaned the tiles of his blood until they glistened, he'd stood at the kitchen table and spent hours and hours searching for the perfect apology songs. A bit dramatic perhaps, but it had had the desired effect.

He sighed, slipping off his jacket and putting it as far away from Elide's as possible, so that no animal hair would get on hers. He would clean it later.

The girl in question sputtered out of the living room with a beaming smile on her face, her cheeks strangely red and her eyes so bright they were glossy, "Hello, handsome."

"Hi, Ellie." he murmured, straightening his back and making the bones in his neck crack. Elide approached and Lorcan took a step back, bumping his back against the door, "I haven't showered yet," he put his hands forward to keep her at arm's length, "you can touch and hug me all you want later, but please not now," he begged her.

She gave the cutest pout he had ever seen, "But-"

"No buts, you can wait three minutes for me to wash up without dying," he continued, walking past her without touching her or making any overly sudden movements.

"You're such a pain in the ass," she complained, that adorable pout deepening all the more, "I can always take the antihistamine if I get allergies."

Lorcan shook his head, turning a confused expression on her, "I'd rather you didn't take medication just because you want to hug me."

It was true.

To their great misfortune, Elide was one of the very few people he knew who was allergic to animal hair. Any animal. More precisely, she was allergic to the mites that lived in the fur and the dust that accumulated in it in enormous quantities even on a normal basis. Given that the dogs Lorcan worked with were left to run loose in the fields all day, when he came home he was covered in anything that could kill his friend and roommate in one sniff and he didn't want to have to take her to the emergency room again because they couldn't tell if she was breathing properly.

It was why every night since he'd started working at the shelter he had taken a shower before doing anything else. It was why their water bill had gone up so much since they had found out about this allergy of hers.

"It's just a pill Lor, it's not like I have to get shots or..." she shrugged, as if to indicate anything more invasive than a simple pill.

He brought his hands in front of his mouth like a prayer, looking her in the eyes, "How many times do I have to explain to you that if you take one type of medicine every day, after a while your body no longer perceives it as an extra foreign thing to help you, but as the norm and so it no longer has any effect?"

Elide grimaced, "I hate you."

He chuckled, walking backwards until he reached the bathroom door, just in case she had the great idea to ambush him and jump on his back, "Just wait five minutes."

"It was three before," she said frowning, "And, speaking of showers-" and then she did something that made Lorcan freeze in his tracks. He didn't register what was going on until Elide's shirt was too high up for him to avoid seeing everything. And by everything, he meant everything.

"Elide what the fuck are you doing?!" he turned around, screaming, then his eyes went wide, trying to figure out if what had just happened was true or not. He squeezed his eyes shut, closing his hands into fists, biting his knuckles, "You're not wearing a fucking bra." he said in a voice sharper than he had intended.

He heard her giggle, but the sound came out muffled, "Loorcaaan." she crooned, "Help."

"I can't turn around Ellie, you're naked," he pointed out to her with his eyes still closed, then in a lower voice, "God, you're naked. What has gotten into you?"

He felt her move as she walked around him and stopped in front of him, "Help." she said in a flat tone. Lorcan had to laugh, her tone reminded him so much of the way the green aliens in Toy Story talked.

"Help what?" he asked letting out an amused laugh.

"I'm stuck." she said slurring her words and he felt her move, she was probably wiggling to get out of her t-shirt. And if she was wiggling, that meant her-

Lorcan took a sharp breath, cursing under his breath and trying to quiet his wandering mind.

He arched an eyebrow, though he was pretty sure she couldn't see him either, as doubt crept into him, "Are you drunk?"

Elide was silent for a while, then giggled like a child, "Just a little tipsy."

"Ellie it's seven o'clock," he exclaimed amused, but surprised to learn that she had been drinking, "why on earth are you drunk at seven?"

"Just a little tipsy," she repeated like a broken record. Then she screeched like a pterodactyl and Lorcan burst out laughing again, turning and taking a step or two forward to avoid risking accidentally touching her once more.

"Alright, why are you just a little tipsy at seven o'clock on a night when we're supposed to be going out with the others?" he asked now a little more eager to know the answer.

He heard her snort audibly, "The world is ending, Lorcan, why won't you understand that?"

He opened his eyes wide, not believing what she was saying, pinning them on the picture their friends had given them for Christmas, the one with all their best pictures collaged on a coloured canvas.

And here he thought he was the dramatic one of the two.

He nodded to himself, "So you're telling me that the reason you decided to get drunk before you even went out is because of global warming?"

He heard a rustle and then something hit him on the head, "Sorry, I didn't mean to slap you," she said in the tone of someone who couldn't care less about having hit him, "Anyway, yeah. Global warming and forests catching fire and animals dying and plastic burning..." she took a deep breath and then continued for a few minutes, making a list of all the things she had learned that afternoon by reading all the articles she could find about why humans were the worst living thing in the world.

Lorcan stood patiently listening to her, occasionally getting lost when she introduced topics that were a little too specific, but listen to her he did. The way she was saying all those things was always reminiscent of the little green aliens, but he knew the subject was more serious than it sounded.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he didn't think he'd moved too much, but at one point Elide sneezed and he cursed himself for not having moved fast enough to go to the bathroom.

"I told you you'd get allergies."

"But I didn't even touch you," she squealed back.

"You know that's not necessary for even your soul to start itching too," he scolded her.

Elide remained silent for a while longer, then started talking again, "And we should seriously get some glass bottles, if I see you with those stupid plastic bottles again I'll kill you. Scout's honor." she threatened him.

Lorcan chuckled, "Elide you've never been in scouts."

"How punctilious of you." she scoffed at him, then gasped, "We could buy matching flasks, with glitter and," she gasped again, sounding increasingly excited, "We could have one of our pictures printed on it."

A smile broke out on Lorcan's lips and he knew that if he had looked in the mirror at that moment he would have seen the face of a boy lost in love. He pulled himself together, straightening his back, trying not to think about how he felt about Elide. It wouldn't have done any good to admit that those feelings were real and tangible inside him.

He was staring at Fenrys' face in one of the pictures they had taken on holiday that summer, when Elide spoke again.

"This is a list of things that should make you understand why we have to shower together."

Lorcan choked on his saliva. He coughed a few times, patting his chest.

How had they gone from polar bears dying from melting ice to them showering together?

"What are you talking about?" he asked her in a squeaky voice.

The fact that she was alluding to them showering together while he knew she was half naked behind him, a breath away practically, made him feel so many different kinds of wrong.

"We can't waste water Lor, it's not hard." she sounded exasperated, then muttered, "Sometimes I really think you're being obtuse or stupid."

Lorcan's eyes went wide, "Wow, thanks Ellie."

"You're welcome." she chipped.

He shook his head, sighing and running a hand over his face, "Don't you think there are plenty of other ways we can start saving the world, before we have to shower together?" he took the fact that she wasn't answering as a cue to continue, "Like start recycling?"

Elide gasped again, making him chuckle, "Did you sign the petition?"

"Which-" he trailed off. She was talking about the petition to have a door-to-door rubbish collection service introduced in their town. Something that would force everyone to sort their garbage. "Yes, I signed it."

"Good." she whispered.

"I signed them all," he reiterated, because it was true and he knew that Elide never sent him stupid petitions, that whatever she sent him must be important and it didn't cost him anything to put his email and name on a website if it meant he could make a difference in his own small way.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it." she said in a weak voice.

Lorcan felt strangely uncomfortable all of a sudden.

And not because of the fact that Elide was naked behind him and had just confessed to wanting to shower with him, but because he would have wanted to turn around and kiss her, not do what any other guy would have thought of doing with a half-naked girl. No. Lorcan just wanted to kiss her and take his time in the process, savour the kiss and not be hasty and quick.

He wanted it to be slow and heartfelt, he wanted her to feel every single thing he couldn't say out loud.

"Lorcan?" she whispered, "I'm always stuck and I'm starting to get cold."

He blinked, "Yeah, you're right." then interrupted. They were silent a few seconds, "You really can't pull your shirt down?"

"No."

He took a deep breath. Then another.

"Okay, I'm going to turn around and keep my eyes closed, please stay still so I don't touch- anything. I'm not touching anything. I'll try to help you." he stammered, clasping his hands along his sides. She made a simple grunt of assent and he huffed, raising his hands in the air and lowering them slowly until he touched her head. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and then released the elbow that had gotten stuck in her shirt.

"Yay." exclaimed Elide.

Sensing that she was moving freely on her own, Lorcan pulled away again and when the sound of clothes stopped, he asked, "Are you done?"

"Yes," she said singing.

His shoulder sagged a little and he smiled. He opened his eyes, ready to move Elide to the side and go take that holy shower, but whatever he'd thought when he'd asked if she was done must have been the exact opposite of what she'd thought, because Elide's tits were freer than ever between the two of them.

Lorcan grunted, slapping a hand over his face to cover his eyes, "What the fuck, Ellie. Stop flashing me, I'm begging you."

He heard her giggle and then a gust of wind and her laughter fading down the corridor let him know she had run off. He opened his eyes tentatively, peering through his fingers to make sure she wasn't still in front of him and sighed with relief when he finally managed to get into the bathroom and lock the door behind him.

He leaned against the sink, clutching the ceramic between his fingers and staring at his reflection in the mirror.

He never thought the first time he would see Elide's tits would be under these circumstances. He ran a hand over his face again, trying to somehow erase the image he knew he would never forget.

He had just stepped into the shower when he heard something very large and heavy slam against the door. Something that seconds later burst out laughing. Lorcan could only follow as he imagined a half-naked Elide running towards the bathroom and failing to stop in time.

"Are you alright, honey?" he asked her just in case. He turned on the water, hissing when he found it frozen, but not moving from under the jet. After all, a cold shower wouldn't hurt him.

"Let me in." she shouted, slamming her fist against the door, "Let me iiin!"

"Are you dressed?"

"No."

"Then you can't come in."

A scream of despair followed by what could only be a fake hysterical cry made him burst out laughing again, but then for a few minutes all that was heard was the sound of the shower and water falling from his hair.  

"Ellie, are you still there?"

The answer came quickly, "Yes."

"Are you still naked?"

"Maybe." then he heard her move against the door and realised she'd been sitting on the floor.

Perfect, he was stuck in there. He reached for the phone and thought of something.

As he finished untangling the knots in his hair and washing out the conditioner, Elide was talking about how harmful the soaps they used were and had even gone so far as to say that they should both shave their heads so as to minimise their impact on the environment.

"What did you do today?" she asked him suddenly.

Lorcan didn't answer, dialling the number of a certain blonde girl who could help him out of this situation. Aelin answered after the fifth ring and Lorcan knew full well that she had done it on purpose, hoping he would hang up so she wouldn't have to talk to him.

"Hello?"

"Listen, something kind of weird happened and I need-"

"Who is this?" Lorcan arched an eyebrow, pulling his ear away from the phone to check the number. It was Aelin's phone. And the chick's voice on the other end was her, he was sure of it. "God, Lorcan, I'm fucking with you, what's up?"

"Funny," he deadpanned, "Elide's already drunk."

"What? But it's not even eight o'clock."

"I know, I came home and she was already like that."

A few moments of silence passed, "Okay, and what do you want me to do?"

"Well, she took her shirt off at one point."

Lorcan waited for a reaction, but Aelin didn't respond.

"And now she's naked in the hallway and blocking the bathroom door and-"

"She's what?" the friend burst out laughing.

"She's naked," he gritted through his teeth, "And she's blocking the bathroom door. I don't know how to get out and I don't want to open the door and push her off and risk hurting her. Is there any way you could come over here and help her? Help me?"

"I’ll make sure she'll never hear the end of it." Aelin laughed louder and Lorcan heard Rowan ask her what was going on. The blonde took breaths before saying, "Ellie flashed Lorcan and how he's stuck in the bathroom because he's afraid of a pair of nice-looking boobies."

"So are you planning on coming?" he asked before he completely lost his patience.

He imagined her wiping tears from under her eyes, "Yes, we'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"We?"

"Me, Ro and Fen. He's the one driving tonight and he picked us up."

"Okay," Lorcan murmured, "but they can't come up to the house."

"Why?" drawled Aelin, "Because you're jealous?"

He counted to ten, restraining himself from hanging up on her, "No, because this is going to be humiliating enough for Elide without two more of her friends seeing her half naked, so please just come up alone."

Aelin huffed, "You're right, but you're no fun."

They said their goodbyes and Lorcan put the phone down, starting to blow dry his hair.

"Lorcan."

"Lorcan."

"Lorcan."

Elide hadn't stopped saying his name for half a second throughout the call and it was starting to annoy him. Then he shook his head, no. He wasn't annoyed by Elide, it was Aelin.

That girl could get under his skin like few could.

"What?"

"You didn't tell me what you did today."

And Lorcan did, so that at least she would stop slamming her hand against the door.

He told her about the last man who'd come to see what dogs he could give his daughter and how he'd seemed so much like the guy who'd abandoned them on the side of the road after not even a week and it had pissed him off. He told her the morning had been even worse, because one of the children had started opening all the toys on display and his mother, who had been right next to him the whole time with her eyes fixed on the phone screen, hadn't stopped him and it had been up to Lorcan to tell him he couldn't do it. It was only then that the woman had realised what a mess it was and had simply apologised to him, running out of the shop so fast that he hadn't even noticed they had left. He had to call his manager and he was not exactly pleased to hear this story, but he also said that they would donate the toys to the church down the street, which was responsible for distributing them to kindergartens in the neighbourhood. That cheered him up a little.

By the time he had finished his story, Aelin had arrived and once he had taken her to her room. Lorcan could finally go out and get ready himself.

***

It was after midnight, the entire group was rocking out on the dance floor of their favorite outdoor club, a place called "The Wild Night" that was on the edge of town, closer to the forest than anything else, and normally Lorcan would have joined his friends to dance and sing, but there was a problem.

A big, huge, handsome problem.

And the problem was called Kyllian.

He couldn't figure out whose idea it had been to invite the boy with them that night, but whoever it was, this person's days were numbered, because Lorcan would kill them first and then use the limbs of their corpse to kill Kyllian.

Kyllian who had now been rubbing up against Elide for hours and who had offered her more drinks than stupid charming grins - and he really was reserving a lot of those for her.

"If you don't stop looking at him like that you're going to make his head explode," someone said, throwing themselves onto the small bench next to him.

He turned his head so fast he wondered how he had managed not to break his neck, "What are you talking about?"

Fenrys arched an eyebrow, "Even if you weren't staring at Kyllian like you wanted to see him disappear off the face of the earth, everyone here, including Elide," he told him with so much as a glare, giving him a slight shove, "would know that you're not really into what's going on on that dance floor."

"He's right," Rowan said to his left, sipping the drink of Aelin's she'd left him. When the hell had he sat there?

Lorcan didn't answer, remaining motionless with his sullen expression.

"I can give you a hand if you want," Fenrys murmured, sucking on the fuchsia straw sticking out of his equally pink glass.

He inhaled through his nose, "And how would you do that?"

"You have to trust me."

"Never." said Lorcan as Rowan said at the same time, "Don't."

Fenrys looked at them both with his mouth wide open and a hand to his chest, "I'm hurt." then finished what was left of the drink in one gulp and stood up abruptly, staggering a little, but holding himself up nonetheless. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the two boys still sitting, grinning, and Lorcan knew immediately what was going to happen.

"Ellie!" he shouted, turning more heads than necessary, "Love of my life!"

Kyllian pulled away from Ellie just enough for Fenrys to grab her hand and spin her around a few times until she burst out laughing and begged him to stop. The new boy didn't even seem to exist anymore as his best friend laced her arms around Fenrys' hips and rocked left and right, increasingly drunk.

Lorcan's heart clenched in his chest as he heard that sound so carefree, so happy.

He didn't realise he was smiling until Rowan cackled beside him, "God, you're fucked."

He didn't pay any attention to him and stood up, keeping his gaze fixed on her face.

He heard Lysandra and Aelin calling his name, hyping him up and threw them a real, quick smile that made them scream even louder, as if they were fans at one of his concerts. When he finally reached Fenrys and Elide's side, the blond spun her around ninety degrees and for a moment she closed her eyes, giggling, intoxicated by the amount of alcohol she had ingested, but when she opened them again and saw Lorcan standing in front of her, a smile as wide as he had ever seen it spread across her face.

"I'll leave you Ellie, you're in good hands," Fenrys told her, winking at him from above her head.

But neither of them even looked at him.

His eyes locked into hers as they both took a step forward and found themselves a caress away. Her chest rose and fell in an agitated rhythm. After all, she'd been dancing with everyone for hours, so much so that Lorcan wondered how she hadn't thrown up yet.

His gaze ran over her body, her bare shoulders, the line of her collarbones, and further down between her breasts. Breasts he'd had the chance to see for a millisecond a few hours before and remembered perfectly. The darker shade of pink that had characterized her-

"Lorcan."

He felt his heart pounding in his throat.

She had never said his name like that.

His eyes went up, sliding over lips so full, so perfect, up, over her nose and then up again, finding hers and the music changed, becoming slower, the lights dimmed as the strobes were turned off. Elide seemed to recognise the tune as her lips parted slightly, "Lor," she repeated. He raised a hand until his knuckles brushed her cheek and when she let go a shuddering breath, Lorcan began to sing under his breath.

"Tell me everything and hold no lies. Say you're waiting for better skies," he leaned forward as his other hand slid to her hip and Elide moved closer, until their bodies were fully joined to each other and one of her legs was between his and their hips were one thing moving in sync with the music. He felt Elide's breath against his neck and had to suppress a shudder when she too began to sing along with him.

"Oh, but honey don't taste like summer no more. Stick around now, I miss you every night,"

He lowered his head even more, brushing her nose with his own. The hand that had been on her cheek had slipped over her shoulder and was now tracing the path down her back, grazing the top of her bottom until it rested on her hip.

"Elide," he whispered, breathing on her lips. She closed her eyes, pushing herself up, towards him, and Lorcan held her tighter, moving his fingers over the exposed skin between her miniskirt and the black top she was wearing and there he was. Elide was there, with him, and she was so close to his body that he could feel the heart beating in her chest.

She was there and the next second... she wasn't. Because Elide had snapped away and was now vomiting on his feet. Lorcan held his breath as she was shaken by another gag and he had just enough time to take a step back that she threw up again.

The people around them quickly scampered away, creating a small circle of spectators and casting a quick glance at his friends he saw that they had a large audience. He just hoped Elide was too drunk to remember what happened the next day.

He looked down and grimaced, all sorts of emotions swirling inside him as the girl he loved clutched at him and puked her dinner all over his clothes.

He cursed at whoever decided how things went for breaking the best moment of his life with vomit and then gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, tying it with an elastic band he kept on his wrist specifically for these occasions.

He heard her whimper and put both hands on her shoulders, stroking her in circular motions to help her warm up. Aelin and Lysandra appeared next to them shortly after and when Ellie was firm enough on her feet to walk, they stepped over the pool of vomit and Lorcan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pushing her towards the exit.

"Let's go home, Ellie."

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[mochegato]

Covert Dating

Written for the Jasonette July First Date prompt.

This was it. Marinette had managed to get out of the house without Adrien knowing about it so she could have her first date with Jason. Not that she didn't want Adrien to know about it, it's just that she absolutely DID NOT WANT ADRIEN TO KNOW ABOUT IT.  At least not until after the first date… or tenth, you know, whatever.

Adrien knowing meant endless teasing, “knowing” glances, waggling eyebrows, and in-no-way subtle references.  Adrien knowing meant an attempt at a shovel talk, which as humorous as it would be to see Adrien attempt to shovel talk a man twice his size, and as flattered as she would be that he tried, no.  Just No.  She was nervous enough about this date.  She had waited long enough for this date.  

She and Jason had been building up to this for months. They had first run into each other a few months ago at a coffee shop they both liked and started exchanging courteous nods and discrete, longing stares whenever they ran into each other, eventually building up to smiling at each other and occasionally making funny faces to get the other to smile.  But they only really started talking a few weeks ago when she sat at his table and started up a conversation.  He looked shocked for a few seconds but then grinned that heart-stopping grin of his and started responding.  After that they chatted and flirted whenever they were both there until they finally took the next step, or rather he did, asking her on a date just after she knocked a would-be mugger on his ass after he had attempted to take another patron’s purse.

Hmm… should she be worried that violence seemed to be the tipping point for Jason?  Nah, she was going to assume it was because he liked strong women, another bonus to add to the growing list of impressive things about him.  

Jason was absolutely amazing. He was funny and he was smart and he was handsome and he was so sweet to her.  He cared about others and she had seen him stand up to a few people he thought were acting improperly, which they were.  He was interested in her and he had always been more than willing to listen to her and encourage her.  He seemed to return the favor and would talk to her about his days and trust her with some of his secrets too.  They had built up an immense amount of trust in a very short time, which was frankly a little alarming but also comforting, like being with Jason was right.

They had taken so long to get to this point and now she was completely enamored with Jason.  She needed this date to go well.  She didn’t need outside interference messing it up.  And if Adrien messed up this date, she was not going to react kindly. Which would be a problem because blood was a bitch to get out of carpeting.

She had taken all the necessary precautions.  She had smuggled her clothes for the date out of the apartment the morning before and hidden them in her office so she could leave straight from her office that night.  She then told Adrien she had to work late, which wasn’t unusual for this time of year so he shouldn’t be suspicious, plus it was kind of true. She had worked late on some designs before getting ready for the date, so it wasn’t a lie.  It wasn’t ideal getting ready in the office, but she made it work, not that she needed a lot of space or time, really.  

She had opted for casual elegance rather than fancy, which would seem out of place in the small, cozy restaurant they had agreed to meet at.  She had chosen a loose silk shirt with red detailing and black tailored pants paired with red flats, in case they wanted to go for a walk after the date, and bright red lips, in case he needed something to focus on during the date.  The killer red leather jacket she had designed and created, inspired by Jason, tied it all together and was hanging on the chair behind her.  It wasn’t her regular style but she liked the end result and if it made Jason speechless for a few seconds, even better.

The waiter brought a glass of water for her while she waited.  She thanked the waiter and brought the glass up to her lips to take a drink then thought better of it and set it back down.  Her phone pinged almost as soon as her hand left the glass.  She looked down and saw a text from Adrien.  

‘Too scared to actually take a drink?’

What?  No. She was NOT too scared to take a drink. That's not why...  Well, kind of.  It wasn't her fears that were getting to her it was her anxiety, which was caused by fears. It was a fine line, really.  

She knew everything was set for them to have a great date.  They had great banter, they trusted each other, they were attracted to each other (if the lingering stares he gave her were any indication), and they were both interested in the other and single.  She knew she had no reason to be nervous and as soon as Jason got there she would relax, but anxiety didn’t always need a reason to take over.  So she focused on controlling as much as she could in the hopes of repressing her anxiety.  She had chosen the perfect outfit and done her makeup flawlessly.  And her lipstick!  She couldn’t take a drink before Jason even got there because she didn't want it smudged before he could... wait… What the Fuck!! How did he… Oh no.  No, no, no, no, no.

Her head whipped up as she looked around the restaurant.  There were a few couples laughing and gazing lovingly at each other, quite a few people on their own watching their phones as they ate, a group of three at another table partially hidden behind menus.  They were a bit suspicious, but the blonde in that group was a girl and the boys both had black hair, so they weren’t Adrien.  She looked behind her and saw someone grinning at her.  

Well, fuck.  Apparently not all the necessary precautions then.

Because there was Adrien in a “top notch” disguise; dark glasses, baseball cap, a black mustache, seriously? A black mustache with his blonde hair?  That looked… natural, and was that a trench coat!? Yep, that was a trench coat. WTF Adrien! That idiot has absolutely no chill. None whatsoever. Not too surprising really, being the drama king that he is.  No blending in unnoticed skills either, which is, you know, a bit surprising considering all the times they snuck out together and that he was Chat freaking Noir.  Apparently all his stealth was used when he was Chat and he had none left over for Adrien.

Marinette glared at him and was about to start threatening him when she heard the bell from the door opening.  She turned around in time to see Jason entering.  Adrien momentarily forgotten, Marinette relaxed and gave a beaming smile, standing up to greet him.

Jason walked in and scanned the room narrowing his eyes then rolling them and started muttering under his breath.  Her anxiety ramped up.  He didn’t seem to be in a good mood.  Shouldn’t he be happy to be there?  Granted she was nervous, but she was also really excited and happy.  She couldn’t be the only one that felt that way about first dates.  No, Adrien said he felt that way whenever he went on first dates too.  Jason just looked annoyed.  Oh God, what if he had changed his mind?  What if he didn’t want this date anymore?  Before she could spiral further, his eyes landed on her and lit up, “Hey Pixie,” a smile spread across his face and his shoulders relaxed as he made his way over to her.  His eyes gleamed as he looked at her, “Damn, you look amazing.  But then you always do.” He gave her a hug and kissed her cheek before sitting down.

She blushed slightly then responded when her heart calmed down a bit, “Thanks.  You look good too.  But then you always do too.” She noticed his eyes shifting around the room with suspicion. “Hey, Jason,” she started hesitantly, concern and a bit of worry etched in her face, “is something wrong?  You seem… distracted?”

He sighed.  “Sorry.  I don’t mean to be distracted.  I want to focus on you and making you blush more,” he grinned when his words worked and Marinette blushed again.  “It’s just… there’s a creep in the corner in a trench coat making me nervous.”  

“Ahh,” she shifted nervously.  She was going to kill Adrien.  “Do you want to go someplace else?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Marinette started to gather her things.  “Normally, I’d consider staying just so I could watch him and make sure he doesn’t do anything that I might have to…uh, stop,” he stuttered over his words and hoped she didn’t notice.  “But I see several of my family attempting to hide over there,” he said indicating a table to their left with three people hiding behind their menus, “and they can keep an eye on him.”

She stopped and looked at him with an amused glint in her eye, “Your family was worried about me?”  

“No, maybe for you but not about you.  They’re probably more curious who I was able to convince to go out with me, since I wouldn’t tell them about you, BECAUSE IT IS MY PRIVATE LIFE AND NONE OF THEIR FUCKING BUSINESS.”

The three at the table she had noted before slunk down a bit further in their seats until the older man spoke up.  “Hey Little Wing, what are you doing here? What a coincidence, huh?” he said sheepishly.  

Jason rolled his eyes and took a deep steadying breath.  “I hate my family” he muttered to her under his breath.

“Huh, maybe your nosy, intrusive family should join the creepy guy’s table.  They can chat about violating other people’s boundaries.” She giggled with an amused smile. “The creepy guy in the trench coat is my overprotective, mother-henning brother, who somehow found out about this and wanted to make sure you weren’t a serial killer or rapist.”  She seemed to think it over quickly and consider all the possible ways that could backfire on her, “On second thought, they shouldn’t meet.  We should keep them far, far apart.  They can meet at the wedding.”

“Wedding huh?” He said with a smug glint in his eye

Marinette’s eyes went wide and her cheeks turned a bright red color that would make Rudolph proud.  “It’s an expression?” She offered weakly putting on the jacket she created for the date.

“I think we should probably have at least one date before we run off to Vegas...”  He started smugly, until he looked down and finally took in the jacket she had put on. His eyes widened incrementally and he lost his next words and breath for a few seconds, “…although, I can get us a jet on short notice if this date goes really well.”  He leaned closer to her and lowered his head so he was just a few centimeters away from her ear and whispered, “You look really good in that jacket.  Red is a good color on you.”

“Thank you.  I’m glad you like it.  You inspired it after all.”  She grinned up at him and it was his turn to blush. “Although I think you’ve been keeping things from me.  You know people who would give you rides in their private jets with no notice? I feel like I should have mentioned as part of the dating package.  I might have asked you out sooner.”  She gave him a mischievous grin as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

He rolled his eyes at her, knowing better than to take her seriously.  “You know I don't actually own the jets, right?”

“Even better. I’ve been told maintaining a jet is a bitch.”

“Oh, so you know people private jets too.”

“I might know a few. But no one who would just give me rides whenever I ask.”

“That's a lie!” she heard yelled from the back of the restaurant.

“SHUT IT, AGRESTE.” She yelled back at him.  “You weren’t invited into this conversation.”

“Hey, you’re here to watch her?  We’re here to watch him.  Wanna watch with us, Blondie?” the blonde girl from Jason’s family table loudly called back to him.

“Sure,” Adrien responded grinning excitedly and getting up and sitting at their table.

“Oh my God, they’re joining forces.  What do we do?”  Marinette whispered in not-so-mock concern.

“Run away.  My motorcycle is right outside.  I know a different place we can eat.  It’s a nice, family place.  You like Italian, yeah?”  Jason said conspiratorially grabbing her hand and entwining their fingers as they made a break for the door.  Marinette giggled and Jason smiled at the sounds of protest that came from their friends and family.

 Continued in Covert Romance

Inspired by this image:

Tag:

@fsketchart @jasonette-july-2k20

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

36. Angel

prompt used - Lifting the other one up | fluff | mentions of f*cking | to @drarry-is-my-therapy because she's an angel and it's her birthday. Happy Birthday love.

The drowning sun reflected over the stagnant waters, making it glow in red and yellow, the soft breeze humming in their ears as they Walked barefoot with their shoes in their hands intensely conversing about the movie they had watched a week ago. It was in a faint hesitation harry spoke up to the silver boy glowing in golden.

" think we should try to recreate that scene where he picks the girl up in the air, for fun "

" oh yes, golden boy, as if it's that easy "

" it seemed easy" harry shrugged.

Draco contemplated for a moment, he would be lying to himself if he said that he didn't wanted to try it out but it seemed far too risky

" it wasn't "

And yet somehow harry with his amazing pursuing skills had convinced draco to recreate that specific dance scene from dirty dancing.

" I can't believe you're making me do this " draco shook his head as his rubbed his palms together as if he was getting ready.

" just run alright, I'll catch you. Just trust me " harry motioned his hands in a gesture to indicate draco to run towards him

" that's the problem, I trust you too much " and with that Draco ran forward towards Harry and just when it came for harry to catch him, he stepped aside, making him fall on face over the beach sand.

" what the fuck was that for?" Draco looked up from the ground at harry

" I'm sorry, I just got scared. It suddenly seemed scary, I'm sorry , fuck I should've said something-"

" damn right you should've said something " draco groaned, half wet from falling over the sand and his hair covered in sand itself.

" I'm sorry, I really am " harry nervously said as draco flipped so he was facing harry

" you bloody idiot " draco grimaced

" sorry " harry pressed his lips in a thin line and offered his hand for draco to take, which obviously in his pride he didn't take and swatted Harry's hand away.

"fuck " and just in the moment harry immediately grabbed onto draco's waist and helped him stand

" are you alright ?" Harry asked concerned

" I think- I sprained my ankle you dimwit " draco grimaced in pain

" let's get you to hospital" and with that harry grabbed all his thing's and apparated them to a muggle hospital nearby.

" well, whatever happened, the sprain is a bit more severe, not that it's a fracture but it will take a few days to recover. So try not to walk too much and apply these ointments " the doctor with spectacles said

Draco shot harry a threatening glare before thanking the doctor and leaving with harry.

" I said I'm sorry " harry rolled his eyes at Draco, taking away the bag of ointments from him and his jacket too, leaving draco to carry nothing

" that doesn't change this sprain harry " draco rolled his eyes. Just as they stepped outside the doors of the clinic, draco winced.

" maybe we shouldn't apparate. I wouldn't want you to have any splinching " harry suggested

" I can't walk " draco responded.

" well, there's not much option-"

" carry me " draco smuggly said as if he was waiting to say this for a long time

" what?" Harry questioned, somewhat shocked at such a proposal

" yes carry me. It will compensate for you causing this injury and we'll go home too. It's not that far anyway " draco frowned trying to explain harry how it wasn't such a bad idea.

" I- well it only makes sense though " harry pouted looking at the road ahead, thinking about how far he'd had to go.

" you've not more options. Give me a piggy back ride. I'm sure the flirtatious doctor would appreciate it "

" one,he wasn't flirting with me and second you're very demanding "

" you wanna fight me ?" Draco raised his eyebrows in a threatening way

Harry chuckled " Darling, I think you'd definitely lose. Now hop on" he kneeled onto the ground for draco to cling his arms and legs around him.

" don't drop me " draco said as he finally put his arms around Harry's neck. In a Swift move, harry put his arms under draco's thighs and got up.

" wow, you weigh too much. Draco I think you're getting fat " harry teased as he hopped draco a little to get a good grip then finally started walking

" I have not " draco hit Harry's head Playfully, adjusting his face in Harry's neck, breathing into it

" are you sure, because I think otherwise"

" please I work out. Have you seen yourself ?"

" you mean being fit and having a good physique, thank you very much "

As much as draco wanted to deny that, he didn't because God knows why he had Always adored Harry's body. Well adore is a bit too smooth of a word for saying he had always found himself staring at harry if he ever got a chance. It was so finely carved with all the curves and abs at the right places, the toned muscles, the slightly broad shoulders with perfectly not too much toned arms and a perfect arse. Draco every once in a while allowed himself to gawk like an owl at harry, but never would he ever admit that harry was considerably hot, especially whenever harry wore draco's sweater.

" whatever " draco rolled his eyes hoping he had not blushed.

They talked on their way over, giggling about things, making jokes about each other, discussing celebrity crushes. Harry felt odd with draco breathing on his neck. He had never felt this way before, the way draco's giggles in his ears sounded so soft and his breathing down his neck causing shivers and the smile he'd feel over his neck caused a fluttering effect in his stomach, like butterflies and the way draco just seemed to talk today was so different that harry wondered how had he never admired his voice before, of his hands, or his fingers or his laughter, everything about him but whatever it was, harry enjoyed feeling it. It was new and Harry was a sucker for new things.

Just as they reached draco's flat, harry first helped him get waters, then taking him to his bedroom while harry fetched the ointments he left at the kitchen table top. When harry returned to his room, he only found draco standing with his sprained leg spread out, without a shirt. He did work out, and it seemed pretty hot..

" what ?" Draco asked when he saw harry simply staring at him

"you're fat " Harry lied blushing, keeping the ointments on the bed

" well, thank you harry for thinking I'm hot " Draco smirked, putting on a new shirt. Harry allowed himself to stare at his soft chest, the left part of his chest covered with a phoenix tattoo, the v line disappearing under his pants and his abs glowing softly in the dim room light and the way draco was putting on a shirt, Harry only wondered why ?

But before could notice harry practically lusting over him, he had moved his eyes to the opposite side of the room, much to draco's disappointment.

" well, I'd come back later?" Harry asked

Draco thought for a moment before nodding " you're going to be at that get together at Ron's place, right " harry nodded " right, so pick me up. I don't think I'd be able to drive or apparate till then "

Harry nodded again before telling him when would be come to pick him up and finally going home with such eruptions of feelings he had once felt for Ginny, but something completely different. Harry didn't think much about it.

Over the next few days as harry spent picking up draco and helping him with regular things, he found it hard to resist himself from feeling things for him. Even if so he wanted to ignore them, he'd just find draco fondly looking at him and harry would blush like a flower and simply turn away, inappropriate thoughts rushing into his mind. The truth as harry spent thinking about in night was that, harry might've always liked draco in some way but right now, the way he felt just made him want to do things he could only possibly think of. But having learnt about heartbreak ages ago, he found himself Afraid of such feelings. He promised himself that he wouldn't fall for anyone who was just, ordinary but then again, draco wasn't ordinary.

The night finally came for the get together at Ron's place before he left for a 6 month mission to southern Europe and would not return until it's done. Despite the fact that it was a normal get together, everyone invited for forced not to dress too casual nor too formal, something harry never quite understood. Voila, comes the fashion king into his mind, draco. He had irrevocably amazing fashion sense and nobody could deny that so he picked up a few shirts, pants and jeans and drove to draco's place an hour early.

" you're early " Draco frowned as he opened the door wider for harry to come in

" fashion advice " and without a doubt draco understood what he meant..

They moved into the living room, draco settling down on the couch with harry standing in front of him with a bunch of clothes.

" what the hell not too casual and not too formal Is supposed to mean ?" Harry rolled his eyes as he dropped everything onto the chair.

" well technically it means the event is special but with close people. I have dibs on how maybe he's going to propose Hermione "

" you know what, I thought soo too " harry gossiped

" anyways, I think you should go with a nice pants and a button down shirt " draco suggested

" that's what I'm standing in " harry said with a as a matter of factedly face

" well- that's right. Show me what you got " draco ordered and one by one harry started showing him everything he could bring only for all of it to be rejected by him.

" well, we've run out of clothes " harry said as he looked down at the pile of shirts and pants on the other chair.

" that is true- you know what. I have a shirt for you, I bought it sometime ago but it's a bit lose and you can just pair it up with any of the black pants "

" what are you waiting for then. Show me " harry excitedly said

" well a fractured man can only walk so fast "

" you don't have a fracture "

" but I can take the advantage of saying that " Draco's voice echoed as he walked down the hallway into his bedroom, fetched the shirt and came back.

" I've got to admit you're quite dramatic. I'm pretty sure the sprain is fine by now. It doesn't even have a swelling " harry said as he took the shirt from draco's hands

" what do you know " draco narrowed his eyes at harry before settling down in the couch before harry.

Harry placed the blood red shirt over his chest, frowning at how good it looked

" didn't know you liked red now ?"

" rare occasions. Wear it. I've got to get ready too "

And with that Draco departed into his room to get ready. Harry had just began to put on his shirt when draco walked into the living room asking for something.

" oh " Draco's Throat echoed as he saw harry shirtless

" what ?"

" I didn't know you were- well undressed " draco blushed

" not like you haven't seen me this way before" Harry shrugged putting on the shirt.

Why, god, why, draco's inner voice screamed in lust.

" anyway- which one is better ?" Draco asked still blushing

" both are good draco. You've got a nice dressing sense "

" don't flatter me. I can't wear both, choose one " draco asked again. Harry scanned both the shirts.

" the light blue satin shirt. Makes your skin- eyes look good " harry Blushed.

Draco wondered what the fuck was harry blushing for when he was the one complimented with one of the finest compliments.

" I did not know that " draco said lowly

" well now you do " harry smiled. Draco nodded before walking away, the glimpse of harry rolling his sleeves invading his senses.

After about half an hour, they both were fully dressed and ready to go.

" you look good " harry complimented

" so do you " draco smiled in returned

" shall we ?" Harry as he pointed the door.

When Draco finally nodded, they both departed to Ron's place, realising the get together was at the roof top.

Half-way through the party, harry sensed Draco was probably right and was still finding it hard to not see Draco from all the way across the room. There was no men finer in the entire room other than him and harry hated it as much as he loved it. It was excruciating to find someone so attractive who was your best friend who you had no chance with but the desire to want him was longingly growing inside his chest.. he was so desirable across the entire room, bunched about with a few people, laughing and smiling over something harry couldn't possibly decipher. His thoughts ran in his head like an endless loop until the boy in Harry's desirable dreams saw him and paused his ongoing conversation and made his way towards harry. Caught in the act he tried to busy himself with the bottom of his shirt until the other man cleared his throat.

" oh, didn't see you there draco "

" right, so you were looking at ..."

" pansy. She looks good in that dress "

" Pansy isn't even here harry " draco chuckled, blocking Harry's line of sight.

" oh"

Draco genuinely smiled at harry knowing exactly that he wasn't the only boy caught in the loop of desiring the other.

" so you want to pretend that you weren't looking at me for half the party, not to mention with an admirable gaze " draco smirked crossing his arms in front of him

" that would be nice " harry frowned lightly

" well then I have to pretend that I wasn't checking you out back at the flat almost as admirably as you were " Draco smugly said as he shifted besides harry, standing against the railing..

" as long as we're pretending then I think I'll pretend I didn't check you out a couple of days ago when you were changing " harry replies smiling, almost liking this pretend game.

" okay then, I'll pretend that I haven't checked you out everytime you're shirtless, or everytime you wear one of my sweater or when you ruffle your hair " draco smirked. Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco, slightly amused

" then I'll pretend that I didn't enjoy carrying you on mu back a few days ago because I got to be close with you " harry smirked

" then I'll pretend that I don't like being this close to you " draco said as he stepped forward..

" then I'll pretend that I don't have these fluttering feelings for you which seems to invade all my senses "

" I'll pretend that I haven't liked you for almost forever "

" then I'll pretend that I don't want to take you home right now "

" I'll pretend I didn't agree "

______________________________

" I knew you bought that shirt for me " harry lazily smiled as he softly grazed draco's naked arms spread over his chest covered on blankets

" don't flatter yourself potter " draco rolled his eyes as he snuggled further into harry

" fine I won't but doesn't stop me from teasing you about how you let me fuck almost 5 times last night alone " harry grinned cheekily as if it was proud achievement

" If you do it again, you are going to regret it " Draco softly threatened

" well you did let me, not once, not twice, not thrice, not fou- what's the word- four times , five times-"

" you're an asshole " draco rolled his eyes

" well I'd like to be your asshole, if you want me to be ?" Harry asked, worried if he had ruined the conversation by bringing this up.

" if you don't shut up and let me sleep, I won't let you be my asshole but if you do, I'd let you be so much more " draco yawned, tired from all the activities from last night.

Harry chuckled at the lightness of the tone before kissing the top of draco's forehead.

" sweet dreams angel "

And draco hummed, falling fast asleep again in Harry's arm..

Unedited

Day 35 - every inch of you | Day 37- you're my home, draco

[luminescencefics]

you feel like home - part five

“I’ve got to go,” Ryan says, grabbing her mobile in one hand and flicking off the lights until she’s standing in her entranceway, throwing a gentle look over her shoulder to make sure that Luna is still sleeping soundlessly on her couch.

“Have fun, Ry! Give me all the dirty deets tomorrow. I want a full synopsis on how Harry is in bed, and don’t leave out the size of his—”

The red button on the bottom of her screen has never looked more inviting. 

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***

In Which the World “Date” is Used Lightly

“This was a stupid idea—I’m not going.” 

Ryan is staring at her complexion in the vanity mirror as she swipes another layer of mascara over her dark lashes. Her mobile is balancing between a glass bottle of foundation and an eyeshadow palette, with Fiona’s wide-eyed expression staring back at her. When she gasps, Ryan’s dark eyes dart down to the grainy image of her best mate who looks as if she’s about to reach through the screen and shake Ryan repeatedly until she gets her head on straight.

“You’re absolutely barking,” Fiona scoffs. Ryan places the wand back into the mascara bottle, running a shaky hand through her freshly-dried hair as she tries to remember why she even said yes to Harry in the first place.

When she thinks back on it now, she’ll blame it all on a rare moment of bravery. Or quite possibly, amnesia. Because for some strange reason, her brain momentarily short-circuited, completely forgetting about every other time she’s been in Harry’s presence and how she rarely can get through a few sentences around him. Now that she’s agreed to spend an entire evening with him, on his own turf, under the watchful eyes of his observant toddler? 

Ryan can already feel the bile rising in her throat.

“Fiona, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not even sure I was thinking!” She’s panicking now, pacing back and forth on the navy blue tiled floors of her bathroom to try and quell the thumping of her heart. “He definitely doesn’t think it’s a date. I’m just making a fuss, because he didn’t even use those words! He only invited me over because he feels bad that I had to watch his kid for a few hours. That’s it. Nothing else.” 

She isn’t even sure who she’s trying to convince at this point, but she is sure that her pacing is causing her breath to come out in uneven spurts, her chest rising and falling as she slowly pushes herself to the brink of a full-blown panic attack.

“Ry, will you please stop moving? You’re giving me a bloody migraine,” Fiona calls out. Ryan acquiesces, coming to a stop once again and leaning forward on the countertop of her vanity so that Fiona can see the redness tinge her cheeks and her mouth fall open as she tries to catch her breath.

“I can’t do this.” Her voice sounds shaky and fragile, the same way Jackson’s did whenever he mentioned his mother in the past tense a few hours earlier. 

Suddenly, Ryan wishes she was somebody like Fiona. Somebody who didn’t overthink every situation she fell into. Somebody who didn’t have a near panic attack at the trivial notion of making pizzas at her attractive next-door neighbor’s flat. Somebody who could just be normal, without the added pretense of anxiety and social awkwardness that sometimes felt all too crippling.

“Will you stop with that? You can do this. You will do this, even if I have to drive all the way to Hampstead during a lockdown and drag you five meters to his fucking door.” Ryan frowns at Fiona through the screen, wishing for the first time since moving out that she was in the room across the hall from her, close enough so that she can hear her friend’s words of encouragement in person instead of through the tinny speakers of her mobile.

“Okay,” Ryan says quietly, reaching for her mascara and beginning to unscrew the wand before she stops abruptly, an afterthought on the tip of her tongue. “He probably doesn’t even think it’s a date anyway.”

Fiona groans loudly, frustration etched on her freckled face. “He wouldn’t have invited you over if he didn’t want to spend time with you, Ry.”

“But Jackson will be there, too. And he even called it ‘a proper thank you,’ so there’s really no need for me to be freaking out, right? I’m not even sure why I’m putting makeup on in the first place,” Ryan huffs, dropping the mascara on the countertop before releasing her forehead into her hands, feeling overwhelmingly exhausted.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Ryan lifts her head slowly, wondering if Fiona hung up. When she sees her friend leaning closer towards the screen, her big, blue eyes wide and full of patience (an emotion that rarely crossed Fiona Kitchen’s face), Ryan cocks her head to the side in surprise.

“Ry,” Fiona says through an exhale, “I know you’re nervous. I know you’re scared. And I know this makes you feel uncomfortable and awkward, but Ryan—” the added stress on her name causes her to stare back at her blue-eyed friend unblinkingly, wondering how Fiona could be so understanding, “You said you felt something, yeah? This afternoon?”

Ryan nods, remembering the way Harry looked with a blush covering the apples of his cheeks, the way his body shifted in his trainers when he fumbled over his words, the way his eyes looked at everything else besides the brown of her own or the glasses on her face. The way she somehow made him nervous for the first time, and the way her brain seemingly shuts off whenever she’s in his presence.

The way she blinked and he was practically inches away from her face, his green eyes swirling with fascination and desire and all the other feelings that caused Ryan’s stomach to flutter—and she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but she’s sure it had to mean something.

“See!” Fiona squeals, as if it were supposed to bring clarification. When Ryan stays silent, Fiona groans again in frustration. “He wants you to come! He’s probably just as nervous as you are.”

Ryan considers this for a moment, wondering if Fiona was on to something. “Stop harping on the word date, Ry, it’ll only drive you mad. He wants you there. You want to be there. Finish getting ready and have fun for once in your life!”

The proverbial kick in the arse from Fiona is exactly what Ryan needed, and in an uncharacteristic wave of confidence, she unscrews the mascara wand and finishes applying it to her other eye, brushes up her eyebrows so that they look somewhat even, and adds a bit of tinted lip balm to her pouty lips. 

She settles on her trusted pair of light wash, straight-legged denim, a white thinly strapped vest paired with a chunky, cropped camel woolen cardigan overtop that hangs off one shoulder, and finishes off her comfortable look with an old pair of Reebok Club C trainers. 

“Can’t you wear the brown booties I bought you last Christmas instead?” Fiona whines from her position propped up on Ryan’s dresser.

Ryan laughs, turning from the mirror to her friend. “It’s pizzas in his flat, Fee.”

Fiona scoffs and Ryan nervously pulls at the edges of her cardigan, obsessing over her outfit for the hundredth time, debating if she should have curled her hair instead of left it to air-dry into unkempt waves, or if she should add more makeup to her face, or if she should just strip it all off and wear leggings and an oversized jumper instead. 

“Ry,” Fiona says through her mobile, and the urgency in her voice causes Ryan to spin on her heel, her back against the mirror and her eyes falling onto Fiona’s. “You look great.”

Those three words cause Ryan to finally breathe clearly for the first time since she started getting ready, and the relief that courses through her veins unfurl the tension-filled knots on her shoulders, releasing the rigidity of her neck. She feels pretty and she feels like she’s going to be okay, and when Ryan smiles brightly at Fiona, her friend imitates it, and suddenly she feels ready for her almost-maybe-sort-of date with Harry.

“I’ve got to go,” Ryan says, grabbing her mobile in one hand and flicking off the lights until she’s standing in her entranceway, throwing a gentle look over her shoulder to make sure that Luna is still sleeping soundlessly on her couch.

“Have fun, Ry! Give me all the dirty deets tomorrow. I want a full synopsis on how Harry is in bed, and don’t leave out the size of his—”

The red button on the bottom of her screen has never looked more inviting. 

Ryan leaves the hallway light on and slips her mobile into her back pocket, opening the heavy oak of her door and closing it softly without turning the lock. She’ll only be next door, anyway.

With the last stretches of her confidence still flushing through her system, Ryan takes the short trek to Harry’s front door and knocks three times for good measure, leaning a bit forward when she hears the faint sounds of a record spinning on the slipmat, the needle creating that scratchy sound that only comes from choosing a turntable over a regular speaker. She can hear the indistinct echoes of Jackson’s giggles, and before she can hear anything else, the front door whips open and Ryan springs backward, standing upright as to not give away the fact that she was spying on her neighbors.

But the smirk on Harry’s lips and the upward arch of his eyebrows proves that she was caught red-handed.

So much for confidence.

“Hi, Ryan,” Harry says in that soft, slow voice of his that causes Ryan’s stomach to bottom out. When she finally lifts her eyes to fall onto his frame, she’s suddenly at a loss for words when she takes in his appearance.

His hair that was a disheveled mess earlier in the day with strands pulled upwards in every direction was now tamed, the ringlets forming perfect coils with the ends still a bit damp, as if he had rushed to take a shower before Ryan appeared. His torso was covered with another threadbare graphic shirt, the white sleeves falling just around the midpoint of his protruding biceps, with a blue tea towel hanging around his shoulder that had tiny flour fingerprints on the edge. Along his waist and down his legs were a pair of comfortable, camel-colored dress pants that Ryan would never think to match with a shirt that mentioned something about eating honey. And when Ryan’s eyes fall towards Harry’s feet, she sucks in a small breath when she realizes that he wasn’t wearing anything below—just the sight of his toes and what seemed to be lettering tattooed on his ankles.

Ryan was suddenly glad she chose not to add another layer of blush, because the way she was just so obviously checking him out made the colors of her cheeks flush a notable, deep pink. 

“Hi, Harry,” she finally manages to say. And when her brown eyes finally creep up towards Harry’s face, she can see that his eyes are blown-out a bit, the greenness of the irises a bit harder to detect. His gaze seems to fall on the area of skin uncovered by the neckline of her cardigan, where a few layers of gold necklaces are stacked, practically tangling together. 

Before they can redirect their gazes and gather their breaths, a loud “Ryan!” shouts out from behind Harry’s frame, where a messy-haired and bright-eyed Jackson can be found. He’s wearing pajamas and wielding a child-sized plastic rolling pin covered with flour, and the sight instantly brings a smile to Ryan’s face.

“Hey, champ,” she calls out, feeling herself regaining her composure.

“You and daddy match,” he says simply, his chubby finger floating between Harry’s trousers and Ryan’s chunky cardigan, the matching shades of brown distinguishable to the four-year-old standing in the entranceway. 

Ryan offers a shy giggle and Harry looks at the articles of clothing, smiling when he notices that they are, in fact, matching in an off-handed sort of way. The trite realization brings a wide grin to his lips, and he begins to wonder what else he and Ryan have in common.

“Have you finished planning your toppings, Bubs?” Harry asks, opening the door wider so that Ryan can enter his flat, shutting it behind her once she’s infiltrated the entranceway. 

Jackson goes off on a tangent, listing all of the possible toppings he could add to his personalized pizza. Ryan listens as she steps out of her trainers and leaves them near the shoe rack, trying her hardest to be polite. And when the trio enters the kitchen, she stops and watches Harry and Jackson fall into place behind the granite island, Harry lifting Jackson effortlessly on the barstool so that he can kneel on the leather cushion while spreading out red sauce over his much smaller dough, with Harry beside him beginning to roll out his own. Ryan averts her eyes to the floor when she notices Harry’s muscles constricting under his shirt when he pushes the rolling pin away from his body, stretching his long arms out just so that he can pull them back in. 

When the spot near Harry remains vacant, he lifts his head up to see Ryan standing under the archway, wringing her hands in front of her body nervously. “C’mere, Ryan. We’ve got you a nice little setup.”

She notices the pre-floured area on the other side of Harry and slowly enters it, noticing how close she is to his body. The area isn’t as large as she once assumed, and when Harry continues to roll out his dough, she can feel his elbows brush against her arms and suddenly she feels a bit warm in his kitchen.

Ryan unbuttons the top button of the three on her cardigan so that the sleeves fall a bit lower on her shoulder, exposing her sweltering skin to the cooler air. The last thing she needs is to be a sweaty, awkward mess in front of Harry.

Harry notices her fidgeting in his periphery and stalls his movements when the olive skin of her shoulder closest to his body is uncovered. When she lifts her arms and begins formulating the dough, more inches of her skin begin to show from the looseness of the fabric, and when she reaches for her own rolling pin, he can make out the etchings of a small tattoo on the back of her shoulder blade. 

He stays silent, gulping deeply when he realizes that he’s been staring for far too long.

“Ryan, can you help me with the pepperoni please?” Jackson asks from the other side of the countertop, and she stops spreading the sauce on her own pizza so that she can pop over and assist him. Harry’s a bit jaded, considering he’s usually the one to help his son make his pizza, but when he catches Jackson pointing at specific spots on the dough and Ryan placing the slices there expertly, sneaking a smaller piece into his hand so that he can munch on it quietly, Harry can’t help but sense that red-hot feeling of longing rush through his skin. 

When Ryan goes back to her pizza, Harry finishes adding the mushrooms to his own before grabbing her attention. “Want a drink?”

“Please,” she responds, suddenly noticing how dry her throat had been.

“I’ve got wine, beer…” Harry sticks his head further into the fridge, “Juice?” 

He smiles when he coaxes a pretty giggle from her mouth. “Beer works,” she calls over.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What’s a better combination than beer and pizza?”

Harry chuckles, grabbing two bottles of Carlsberg and opening them easily before handing one over to Ryan as she sprinkles cheese in a swirl over the red sauce of her pizza. He’s watching her as she brings the neck of the bottle to her lips and takes a generous sip, before reaching for the spinach and adding that to the dough.

“I lived off of this when I was at uni,” Ryan offers as she’s spreading her toppings generously, and Harry’s wondering if the distraction is allowing her to speak to him freely.

“Yeah?” he asks, coaxing.

She hums and takes another swig, and Harry finds that he can’t look anywhere else. “Every Thursday night during my final year. My best mate Fiona and I somehow got away with having no lectures on Friday, so every Thursday we’d order pizza and drink beer and watch The Only Way is Essex.”

“Sounds like my old flatmate, Niall,” Harry says between drinks. “Used to live above a kebab shack so we’d eat that almost every other night and whatever liquor was discounted at the shops.” Ryan sprinkles chopped up pieces of bell peppers over her unmade pizza. “Watched Great British Bake Off instead, obviously we were far more cultured.”

Ryan’s brown eyes lift to meet Harry’s, and she quirks her eyebrows in response to his obvious teasing. “Clearly you’re a far more sophisticated drunk than I gathered.”

“You gathered, huh? What were your predictions, then?” Ryan can’t tell if he’s flirting with her or not, because she’s never really found herself in this situation with Harry before. But when she takes in his direct eye contact and the half-smirk covering his face, and the way his attention only seems to fall on hers, she’s almost certain that he is. 

“Sloppy, for starters.”

“Hey!” Harry interjects, facing her completely so that his back is towards Jackson, which in any other circumstance, would probably be a very bad decision.

Ryan giggles before continuing. “I mean, you take up far too much space as it is, I can only imagine a drunk Harry Styles flopping all over the place.”

“Aren’t you the clumsy one in this friendship of ours, Ryan?” Harry says with a small chuckle, flitting his finger back and forth between the pair of them. It’s only when he catches Ryan’s smile faltering, her body turning back towards her pizza and her eyes focusing on adding more vegetables, when Harry realizes that he’s said the wrong thing.

Before he can right himself, Jackson’s captured her attention, and suddenly she’s left him again—floating to the other side of the countertop and away from his body, and he tries his hardest not to frown when he no longer feels the warmth against his left side.

“Daddy, can I show Ryan my room, please? I want to show her the fort we made last night!” Jackson asks, and Harry looks up blankly, somehow forgetting that his son was even in the same room as them.

When two pairs of eyes fall on his frame, he blinks quickly before responding. “Right, uh, go ahead, Bubs. I’ll just pop these in the oven.”

Ryan feels a bit bad leaving Harry alone with their mess, but suddenly Jackson’s asking her to lift him off the barstool and onto the floor, placing his smaller hand in hers once his bare feet have touched the hardwood, dragging her through the living space and down the hallway into his bedroom at the end. 

She takes in his room with childlike wonder, observing the deep blue walls and light wood flooring with a circular rug in the middle near all of Jackson’s toys. A twin-sized loft bed is nestled into the corner with a ladder leading up to the mattress. Underneath are two massive beanbag chairs surrounded by shorter bookshelves, and the hand-constructed fort put together by different items in the flat along with multi-colored quilts and stuffed animals.

When she cranes her neck up, Ryan can make out a cluster of stick-on neon yellow stars on his ceiling, and she smiles to herself, remembering how she had the same thing in her childhood bedroom.

Her neck swivels around the room as she takes in the little pieces of Jackson he’s left scattered around—Crayola-filled artwork hanging along the walls, small trainers and wellies falling out of the closet, a Paw Patrol juice cup on his nightstand. When Ryan takes a step towards it, she notices a picture frame behind the cup, an outline of three bodies upon first glance. It’s only once she’s stepped a bit closer when she realizes that it’s technically two and a half persons—a man, a woman, and a small baby.

With shaking hands Ryan clutches the wooden frame and immediately recognizes Harry as the body on the left. Albeit his hair was much longer and messier, there was no mistaking his boyish grin and sparkling eyes. This younger version of Harry still made her cheeks flush and her heart rate skyrocket, and for a brief moment she lets her mind wander at the prospect of potentially meeting this version of Harry when she was at a pub in uni, or out shopping around the city, or even running into him in the Underground. She wonders if she would fall for this version just as quickly as she did with the older version waiting right outside this very room, a version without a child and without responsibilities. 

Ryan’s gaze falls to the figure his arm is wrapped tightly around, and with one look at the shape of her eyes and the slope of her nose, she knows instantly that this is Jackson’s mother. She’s beautiful—the type of beautiful that you couldn’t help but feel envious of, because her button nose and almond-shaped eyes and pouty lips and perfectly structured jawline were put together in such a fashion that made it seem almost unfair that one person could possess that type of beauty. Her blonde hair fell in curly ringlets down her back, and her eyes were so blue that Ryan was almost certain she could see herself through the reflection. She had that type of smile where her mouth sort of fell open and you could practically hear the laugh fall from her parted lips. Jackson was swaddled inside a green homemade quilt in her arms, and Ryan could only make out thin wisps of chocolate-colored hair, and suddenly she felt as if she was looking at an image that wasn’t meant for her eyes to see. 

Before she could get caught, Jackson’s soft voice calls out to her from inside the fort, and Ryan’s forced to crouch down on her hands and knees and crawl her way through the opening.

“Do you like it?” Jackson asks once she’s seated across from him, her legs crossed underneath her torso so that the tips of her denim-clad knees brush against Jackson’s flannel ones. 

“I love it,” Ryan replies, smiling when he flicks on the spinning nightlight against the wall, illuminating the inside. It’s only with the new light that Ryan notices the personalized touches Jackson added to the inside of his fort—the Tonka trucks along the floor, two grey pillows that seem to fit in a king-sized bedroom set, an iPad in the corner with a Marvel film queued up on Netflix, and a glamorous assortment of stuffed animals surrounding the border of the tent. 

She’s quite impressed with his interior design skills, if she’s being honest.

“Me and daddy watched Spiderman here last night because we can’t go to the cinema no more. He asked me if I wanted to watch Harry Potter with him, but I told him no because we haven’t finished reading the book yet,” Jackson explains slowly. “I told him I’d only watch it with you anyways. I think he got a little sad about that.”

Ryan’s heart swells inside her chest. “Why will you only watch it with me, champ?”

“Because it’s our thing.” He says it so definitively that Ryan feels stupid for even questioning him in the first place, and the thought of him telling his father no, all because she spent an afternoon reading a few chapters with him, causes a warm feeling to rush through her insides. It’s a different type of warmth than the feeling she gets from Harry—instead of a sweltering wave of heat, it’s more subtle, more muted. It feels like wrapping yourself in a heavy blanket in the middle of winter when you’re laying on your mum’s couch, just before you’re about to fall asleep. It feels like comfort.

It feels like home.

Just as Jackson’s in the middle of telling her about the new Spiderman film, a fuller head of curls pops in through the front entrance. Ryan peeks over and sees that Harry’s smiling shyly, looking as if he’s afraid to interrupt their moment together.

“Pizza’s done,” he says quietly. Jackson practically jumps through the blanketed roof, pushing Harry’s shoulders so that he falls backward on his bum as he runs through the entrance with only the kitchen in his sight. 

Before Ryan follows him, she makes sure to turn off the nightlight and rearrange the pillows she and Jackson were sitting on. When she crawls out of the tent on all fours, she looks up from the carpet and sees Harry watching her from the doorframe, a comical look in his eyes.

“Don’t,” Ryan says from her position on the floor, shaking her head in silent laughter once she hears Harry’s loud chuckles from across the room. Before she can get up on her own, she sees large bare feet in her line of vision, with a strong tattooed arm waiting to be held on to.

Her right hand clutches the outside of his own while the left falls into his palm, and with practically no effort, Harry heaves her upright so that she’s standing a few inches away from him. She blinks in the low light of Jackson’s room and realizes that she can still make out the freckles in Harry’s eyes. They’re suddenly in the same position as earlier when they’re standing far too close to each other and breathing a bit too heavy and saying absolutely nothing. It’s only when Harry reaches his right hand out to move her cardigan back into place on her exposed shoulder when she realizes that she’s still holding on to his left hand for dear life.

She unlatches her tight grip and lets her hands fall back to her sides, wondering if she’ll always feel as if her heart was going to burst through her skin whenever she stood too close to Harry. He coughs unnecessarily into his fist, stepping back slowly and giving her a forced smile.

“Let’s go eat.” His voice comes out low and scratchy, and it sounds as if he’s forgotten how to speak. Harry desperately is craving for a beer or water or anything to reprieve the dryness coating his throat, because he somehow has forgotten how to breathe correctly around Ryan, especially when she’s looking at him with messy hair and blown out eyes and tinged cheeks.

When they arrive back into the kitchen, Jackson’s already seated at the kitchen nook, working his way swiftly through his first slice of pepperoni pizza. Ryan slinks in next to him, already reaching for the stack of napkins in the center of the table and wiping his sauce-covered chin as if the motions were practically ingrained in her system. Harry watches a bit slackjawed, before refocusing and grabbing the half-emptied beer bottles from the counter and falling into the seat across from them.

“Thank you,” Ryan mumbles once Harry hands her beer over, and when their fingers brush during the exchange, she tries her hardest not to quiver from the rush of electricity crackling under her skin. 

Harry nods and grabs a slice of his own, bringing it to his mouth and chewing. Ryan does the same, and when Jackson peers over at her pizza, squinting at each topping and trying to decide if he liked them or not, Ryan rips a small sliver and places it on his plate.

“What’s that?” Jackson asks through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

“Jackson, chew with your mouth closed,” Harry instructs from across the table.

“Sorry,” Jackson mumbles, trying his hardest to move his lips without opening his mouth, causing Ryan to giggle on the side of him.

“They’re bell peppers,” Ryan explains when Jackson holds a slice of green pepper in front of his eyes. He instantly squishes his face in disgust and places the vegetable back onto the slice, exchanging it for the pepperoni.

“Hey! Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Ryan exclaims from Jackson’s side.

He shakes his head so quickly that the curls on the top of his head begin to flutter. “I don’t like vegetables.”

Ryan rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah? Coming from the kid who eats dried fruits as a snack. I don’t believe you for a second.” Her light tone indicates that she was only teasing, and when she tickles Jackson’s side and he begins to laugh loudly, she giggles right along with him.

But Harry’s confused as he’s watching them interact, wondering how on earth Ryan knew that piece of information. “Dried fruits?”

Ryan nods when she realizes that Jackson’s chewing. “Yeah. He told me his mum used to feed him that for snack time.”

When she looks up and sees a look of puzzlement across Harry’s face, she’s suddenly wondering if she’s accidentally pried open Pandora’s box, unassumingly spilling out memories that he had forgotten long ago. Memories of a pretty woman with blonde hair and blue eyes who fed her son dried fruits and has slowly become the elephant in the room that neither Ryan nor Harry seem to want to address.

Ryan reaches for her beer, tipping the bottle back until its contents are sliding down her throat. When she notices Jackson’s cup of water is empty, she grabs it and sneaks past him out of the kitchen nook, recycling her bottle and filling up Jackson’s drink. Feeling Harry’s gaze on her lower back, she looks over her shoulder and asks, “Need another?” and it’s as if the uncomfortable interaction never even happened.

Once she’s back across the table from Harry, she looks down at her plate and realizes that Jackson’s stolen her piece with the vegetables, chewing slowly as if he were trying to decide right then and there if he enjoyed the taste.

Ryan feels her chest puff with pride and she’s not quite sure why the site of Harry’s toddler eating the vegetables off of her pizza makes her feel important in some odd, inconsequential way.

“I guess it’s okay,” Jackson offers, causing both Harry and Ryan to laugh loudly across from each other.

Not long after their plates are emptied and their beer bottles a bit lighter, Ryan can see Jackson stifle a yawn from her periphery. It’s cute, the way his eyes squint and his small fist tries its hardest to catch the breath leaving his mouth before anybody can notice. But Harry does, and he’s looking at Ryan with a knowing look on his face. “Think you tired him out.”

Expecting a fight from the sleepy toddler beside her, Ryan suddenly stiffens when she feels Jackson’s head rest against her arm, his tangled curls tickling below her chin. When she angles her head downward, she smiles when she sees him rubbing his eyes, expelling another deep yawn for good measure.

“It’s alright, we had quite the day,” Ryan agrees, ruffling Jackson’s hair softly. “Go ahead and take him to bed, I’ll put these plates away.”

Harry pauses halfway out of the kitchen nook, looking at the pretty girl with his sleeping son practically on her lap in wonderment. The domesticity of her proposal surges through his skin, causing his heart to pump faster inside his chest. He knows he’s being ridiculous—she’s probably just being nice, offering to put the plates in the dishwasher because she didn’t want to intrude on Jackson’s nighttime routine.

But still, his cheeks flush at the thought that maybe this could be a normal occurrence, and for a slight moment, he revels in it, thinking of all the what if’s and could be’s. 

When he offers her a slight nod, Ryan places Jackson on the floor, before stacking the glass plates and bringing them over to the countertop near the sink. She turns around and smiles at the sight of Jackson holding Harry’s hand and leading him out of the kitchen.

But before he can get too far, Harry mumbles something that ends with Ryan’s name, and suddenly he’s ambling over to where she’s standing, blinking the sleep out of his eyes before he mumbles, “G’night Ryan.”

Ryan crouches before him, reaching him just at eye level. “Night, champ. Have a good sleep.”

All of a sudden, two tiny arms are wrapped around her neck, practically causing Ryan to fumble backward at the collision of Jackson’s small body falling into hers. She can feel his tiny hands gripping her brown hair, and after regaining her composure, her arms wrap around him fully so that she’s giving him a proper hug.

“Thanks fo’ today. I had the bestest time ever.” His sleepy admission causes Ryan’s breath to still, and that warm feeling is back—but instead of a warm quilt during winter, it feels like a heated blanket in the middle of summer, and suddenly she’s wondering what this all means.

And when he backs away slowly with a tiny wave, Ryan can only offer a shy smile, feeling far more confused than ever before. She’s too nervous to even look up at Harry’s face, because she’s almost certain that he’s probably horrified at the sight unfolding in front of him. Especially when he was fidgeting over her dried fruit comment, and the fact that Jackson’s mother’s beauty was incomparable to her own, and the fact that Jackson’s probably grown a little bit attached to Ryan, and she’s not sure if she can break his heart when she ultimately has to tell him the hard truth.

Ryan stands up quickly and gets back to loading the dishwasher, trying her hardest to focus on the task at hand instead of the whirring sound of her brain trying to formulate meaning to the situation she suddenly finds herself trapped in.

It’s only once she pushes the start button and takes a deep breath when she hears the familiar foot pattern of Harry entering the kitchen. She turns around and begins to tell him that she should probably be heading out too, but before she can even think to speak, Harry’s looking at her with an indescribable emotion in his eyes, and suddenly she can’t bring herself to move.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” Harry says slowly, reaching for his unfinished beer that Ryan moved to the island countertop, before bringing it to his lips with ease.

“It’s no bother, really. You did most of the cooking when I was in Jackson’s tent.” It’s a lame excuse and thankfully Harry doesn’t push it. Instead, he reaches into the fridge and offers up another beer, and how can Ryan say now when his boyish grin is back and she’s still trying to figure out what that look in his eyes means?

And that’s how they find themselves in Harry’s living room—with Harry perched on one end of the couch, watching Ryan fondly as she peers at all of the records lining his walls, figuring out which one to choose per his request. 

“It’s not rocket science, Ryan,” Harry teases after a few minutes have gone by and his record player is still void of a vinyl. 

“No, not rocket science. But it is quite an important decision,” Ryan counters, moving on to the next bookshelf and stopping at the K-N alphabetized section.

“Just pick what you like!” Harry exclaims through a chuckle.

Ryan stands up straight and turns around so that she’s staring at him head-on. “Music is your thing, isn’t it?”

Harry nods once he realizes that she’s waiting for a response.

“Right. So you’re going to judge me either way based on my decision—”

“—Whoa, who said I was going to—”

Ryan’s hand silences him. “It’s an internal judgment. Not a bad thing! I’d feel the same way if you were picking out a book in my flat.” She turns back around and bends at the knees, skimming through the M shelf. 

“Fleetwood Mac is too easy. You obviously are into classic rock with the way you wear graphic t-shirts and have two Rolling Stones albums framed near your guitar. Also, don’t get me started on the George Michael lyrics tattooed on your ankles.” Ryan’s still scrounging through Harry’s record collection, therefore she can’t see the look of astonishment grace his features.

She stops right in the middle of her search and plucks a yellow album with a colored picture of mountains in the background. It’s simple enough and the cover of the album is what drew her in, and when she squints her eyes and makes out Joni Mitchell in loopy cursive, she shrugs, deeming it okay.

When Harry grabs it from her hands and looks at her with a shocked look on his face, she smiles back, feeling confident in her blind decision.

“Joni Mitchell? I’m quite impressed,” Harry says as he’s placing the vinyl on the record player, bringing the needle to the outer-most edge and heading back to his position on the couch once the cracking sounds of the first song begin to play.

“Don’t be,” Ryan responds, gripping her beer and beginning to follow him. “I only picked it because I liked the color.”

Harry’s head falls back in laughter, before asking, “I’m supposed to believe that you know nothing about music?”

“Exactly,” Ryan starts, walking past an end table filled with picture frames. “I’m just observant. You give off the classic rock vibe with one look at your workspace, and it doesn’t take an idiot to recognize Careless Whisper lyrics—quite the bold choice, might I add.” Before she can say anything else, she recognizes Jackson’s mum in another photograph, and suddenly she’s forgotten her point. 

Harry’s arms are wrapped around her shoulders again, but instead of holding baby Jackson, she’s holding a beer and surrounded by four other people. Harry’s hair isn’t as long as in the first photograph, but it still falls well past his ears, so Ryan can only assume that this is from a time before Jackson was even a consideration. One arm falls around her shoulders, and his other arm is around the waist of a taller bloke with dark hair and a thick scarf around his neck. It seems to be winter, with the way everybody is wearing woolen coats and knitted jumpers. When Ryan squints, she can make out Christmas lights in the background, and she feels the elephant in the room come back, but this time she’s sick of running from it.

“Is this Jackson’s mum?” She’s not quite sure why she even bothered asking, because the way Harry’s eyes stop twinkling and the way his grin falls to a frown, Ryan already knows the answer without him having to speak.

“Yeah, her name’s Rachel,” Harry starts, placing his beer on the glass coffee table. “She’s just, uh, sort of not around anymore.”

It’s only once Harry’s still quiet, still looking pensive, when Ryan realizes how stupid she truly was. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” She’s fumbling again and shifting her feet and averting her eyes, and suddenly she wishes she were anywhere but here.

“Wait, what? Oh. Oh,” he laughs, sipping his beer. Ryan stares at him wide-eyed, wondering how on earth he could possibly find this funny. “Christ, she’s not dead, Ryan. She’s just, uh, not really around.”

Ryan nods stupidly before falling onto the other side of the couch, finishing her beer easily and placing the empty bottle on the table. 

“We grew up together,” Harry starts, and Ryan brings her eyes up to look at his face and finds that he’s alarmingly calm. “When I came back home after uni we just sort of started hanging out with our sixth form mates again. Rachel and I never really were anything, but it was during that time after uni when you feel really lost and have no idea what you want to do with your life, so we just found comfort in each other, I suppose.” He pauses and Ryan wants to tell him that he really doesn’t owe her an explanation, but before she can say anything he’s shifted his eyes from the floor to her face and she knows that for some reason he wants to tell her.

“I hate to call it an accident, because Jackson’s the best little guy I could have ever asked for. But all of a sudden Rachel was pregnant and I was panicking because a kid wasn’t ever in the cards for me. Not so soon. And not with somebody I—”

Ryan nods, assuring him that she knows exactly what he means even if Harry can’t bring himself to admit it.

“So we… tried, I guess. She couldn’t bring herself to, uh, terminate it—him,” he winces softly and Ryan suddenly wants to grab his hand and never let go. “After he was born, we really tried. Got a flat near Finsbury Park and really did the best we could. And I was in, I was fully committed, one hundred percent. But, uh, Rachel. Rachel wasn’t.”

Ryan feels incredibly sad for Harry all of a sudden. Not the Harry that’s sitting before her—successful, kind, handsome. But the Harry she never met, the Harry she imagined when she first saw the photograph with Rachel in Jackson’s room. The one with long hair and big eyes, the one who didn’t really deserve to deal with the burden of raising a child on his own. The one who did it anyway, selflessly.

“She wanted to go to law school. Had all these dreams about being a career woman and living in a posh flat in the middle of the city. A baby wasn’t in her plans, either, I suppose.” He pauses and offers Ryan an encouraging smile when he sees the look of anguish on her face. “It’s okay, really. Didn’t want to stick around where I wasn’t wanted, right? Didn’t want that for Jackson, either.”

“We’re okay, now. Still friends and such. She sees Jackson one long weekend out of every month, and I think he’s getting used to it. But with covid and everything, she just hasn’t really been around much. So it’s an adjustment.” Ryan can tell that Harry really isn’t okay with everything, because how could you still be friends with somebody you made a child with? That same somebody who decided it wasn’t meant for her? That same somebody who let the responsibility fall onto one parent?

But one look into his eyes, Ryan can see that even after all that heartache and stress and pain, that Harry somehow did it. He raised a great kid, he figured out a career path, he ended up doing it all on his own—and suddenly Ryan feels quite in awe of the man sitting across from her.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” The words fall from her lips without a second thought, and she can feel the brightness from Harry’s grin, her own eyes squinting when she takes in the image of a beaming Harry with fluffy curls and strong arms and a stupid look plastered on his face.

Harry suddenly wonders if he should scoot closer towards her on the couch. Because she’s looking at him with bright, brown eyes, pouty tinted lips and a look on her face that he just wants to unravel. But he’s timid, because he doesn’t want to overwhelm her with the story he just told her and the feelings that are brewing in his stomach.

So he changes the subject.

“Jackson really likes you.” His words cause the apples of Ryan’s cheeks to raise.

“Yeah, well, guess I can sort of relate to him in a way,” her words come out so softly that Harry had to lean forward to make sure he heard her correctly. Because suddenly Ryan’s giving him information while looking into his eyes—not focusing on spreading out her pizza toppings, not mulling over which record to pick. She’s looking directly at him.

And Harry’s almost certain this is better than sitting closer to her.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Well, I was around the same age as him when my parents split up,” Ryan frowns when she realizes the direction their conversation is heading in. “I mean, not that you and Rachel were ever married or whatever. Or that you’re doing a bad job, I just, uh,” Harry encourages her to continue with a gentle nod, but suddenly Ryan is aware that her throat is closing up and her mind has gone blank. Her thoughts are just a swirling mess inside her brain, disappearing on the tip of her tongue the second she tries to formulate her response.

She can feel her social anxiety take hold, and she desperately needs a minute.

So she tells him. “Just, hold on. Give me a minute.”

Harry is nothing but patient, and when he can hear the breath lodged in her throat, her chest compressing as Ryan tries her hardest to push it out of her lungs, he reaches for the hand squeezing her thigh, rubbing soothing motions on the back of her hand with his thumb to calm her down. 

Ryan’s eyes immediately look into green, and she can feel her chest fall as the breath finally leaves her parted lips. With one look into Harry’s eyes, one graze of his hand on the back of her own, she can feel her breathing regulate, and suddenly she’s calm for the first time all night.

“Lost you again,” Harry whispers.

Ryan nods thrice, feeling her skin prickle with goosebumps even though her insides are sweltering. “Sometimes I can’t think when I’m around you,” she admits.

“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?” Harry asks gently.

“Not really,” Ryan gulps harshly, forcing her eyes to look into Harry’s. “Not for me.”

It’s quiet, safe for the opening guitar riff of Car On a Hill playing softly in the background. Harry feels his body shifting just the smallest bit towards Ryan’s, so subtle that she can barely recognize it as it’s happening. She’s trapped in his eyes, swirling greens and golden hues spotted with freckles telling her to lean in, to come closer, to push herself into his personal space the way he’s been dreaming about ever since she left with his tea mug the day before. 

And she wants to, so badly, that suddenly it’s all she can think about. The confidence Fiona instilled in her hours earlier is back, and when her eyes dart down to Harry’s cherry lips, taking in the chapped ridges and the way his tongue darts out to lick the dryness away, she’s almost certain he wants the same thing as her.

His hand is still on hers and that’s all of the affirmation she needs, so with one fell swoop she makes a move to close the gap between them. And just as Ryan is centimeters away from his lips and her eyelids are about to shut—

—Nothing.

At the last moment, Harry backed away the smallest of inches, but it was enough for Ryan to understand that he didn’t, in fact, want the same thing as her.

So with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, Ryan stands up abruptly, ripping her hand out from under his own warm palm, offering a lame, “I should go,” before grabbing her trainers from near the shoe rack and heading straight for his door without even stopping to put them on her feet.

Before Harry can hear his front door close, he kicks into high gear, running after Ryan before she can get away again. Because he’s an absolute fucking idiot for backing away, for his muscles turning rigid and his mind swirling with far too many thoughts. 

But once he’s reached the entranceway, he finds nobody there. Just the sight of his door half-closed and the hallway rug upturned at the corner. And when he peeks his head out into the hallway and hears the sound of heavy oak closing, he realizes that he’s missed his chance.

And there’s nobody to blame but himself. 

*** A/N: Hi guys, please don’t hate me. Here’s part five of you feel like home, aka the longest part I’ve posted so far. Originally I was going to have it be two parts, but because I didn’t want to create another title, it’s just one. I know this is probably not how we thought (or wanted) the “date” to go, but I promise there’s more to the story! Part six will be posted on Thursday December 3, so feel free to chat (or yell) at me in the meantime. This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! And to everybody celebrating tomorrow, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving. x

taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light @onlyphysicallypresent @dontwanttobealone @justsaying20 @elemayox @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum @kakayam @harryinsweatersandbandanas @hopelessly-harry @ficnarry @morethanamelodyy @niallgolden @harryswinterberries @caramello-styles @harrysstyle @greatestview @solllaris​ @niallgolden​

[localswordlesbian]

rose-coloured boy

The Lonely left it's mark on Martin, with his formerly dark brown hair going a stark white the moment the fog touched him. Whenever he sees his reflection in the mirror, he sees the man who became the victim of a fear that nearly swallowed him whole. So he decides that a bottle of pink hair dye is the way to go.

(or: a bunch of friends were sending art of pink haired martin on discord and I was inspired, thank you to @bagginshield and @m-e-w-666 for encouraging me to write this <3)

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Martin was beginning to wonder whether he’d fucked up.

He watched as the water vanished down the drain before his eyes, tinged ever so slightly pink as it ran freely from his head and into the sink. Hunched over the cold ceramic, Martin listened to the music he’d set to play from the speakers to occupy his mind while he waited for the water to run clear, a process which was taking an almost infuriatingly long time. Despite the music, his mind was spinning – he couldn’t remember what, exactly, had spurred him to dye his hair. His walk to the convenience store down the road had almost disappeared from his memory, as though he’d done it in a daze, and he hadn’t hesitated before pulling the plastic gloves onto his hands and squeezing the light pink goop from the bottle onto his head.

Half an hour of sitting on the cold bathroom floor, paired with being hunched over the sink which was too short for someone of Martin’s height, was beginning to cause his muscles to tighten and his bones to ache. Eventually, the water spilling over his head finally ran clear and Martin straightened, his spine popping as his unruly curls flung water all over the bathroom. Sighing as he grabbed a towel and began to dry off his hair, Martin stretched. He kept his eyes away from the mirror – he knew this had been his decision, but a deep-seated fear squirmed through his gut at the thought of seeing his own reflection; what if he hated it? What if he regretted it immediately and had no way of getting the dye out?

He shook his head. Spiralling into a panic over nothing wasn’t going to help, he tried to tell himself. Towel still wrapped around his hair, he left the bathroom and stepped onto the cold tile of his kitchen.

Tea would calm him down, he reasoned. Tea usually calmed him down. Martin got the kettle, two teabags, and two mugs, and got to work – it was a calming process, and that combined with the music still spilling from the living room was enough to distract him from his panic about his hair.

As he was seeping the tea in the boiling water, he heard the distinct sound of the front door unlocking and someone coming inside. A smile pulled at Martin’s cheeks as he saw a familiar figure enter the kitchen.

“Welcome back,”

Jon smiled at him, his tired expression lifted as his eyes met Martin’s. “Thank you. Perfect timing,” he noted, gesturing to the tea.

Martin laughed, and the sound seemed to make Jon smile wider. “Yeah, it is.”

The two stood in amicable silence while Martin finished making and pouring the tea, handing Jon his mug. His scarred hand wrapped around Martin’s as he accepted the tea, giving his boyfriend’s hand a squeeze. They stood in the kitchen as they sipped their drinks, music continuing to pour in a continuous stream of company as they enjoyed each others’.

“Is that a new fashion accessory or something?”

Martin looked up suddenly. “What?”

Jon gestured to his head. “The towel. I wouldn’t normally point it out, but you never wear a towel on your head when you shower, so…”

Martin smiled softly – the fact that Jon knew that about him was still a little pleasant surprise sometimes. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Well..” Jon tilted his head sideways, waiting for Martin to continue. Sighing, Martin grabbed the towel with one hand and yanked it off his head. “It was sort of an… impulsive decision,” he explained.

Jon seemed to study him for a moment before setting his mug down and walking over to stand in front of Martin. Reaching up, he hesitated before making content, and at Martin’s nod he took a strand between his fingers. Martin could see that the colour was very pale, an almost pastel pink, just dark enough to be noticeable but not so much so that it would call attention. Jon gave a soft smile. “I think it looks lovely,” he murmured. “Why the sudden impulse, though?”

Martin finally let himself consider that question, the question he hadn’t let himself think about since he made the decision to venture out to the store to buy the dye in the first place. He thought about all he and Jon had been through the past few years, the horrendous traumas they’d both faced – the degradation of both of their psyches at the hands of their power hungry immortal boss. Jon’s scars were a constant reminder of the avatars who had wanted them dead simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and after the Lonely–

“I suppose I didn’t want to be reminded of it anymore.” Jon tipped his head sideways, urging Martin to continue. “Every time I looked in the mirror, I could see it – the fog, the blurry horizon hardly even there, the vague silhouettes of people who were just as alone as I was. And it’s not like I could justify it with “going grey young;” it was white, Jon. There was no– no compartmentalizing it anymore. And I just couldn’t bear it.”

A beat passed, then Jon reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb across Martin’s cheek – Martin hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He wordlessly took Martin’s hands and led him over to the couch – Martin sank gratefully into the cushions, suddenly exhausted. He felt weary down to his bones, as though a film of grey had settled over his vision and made his brain all fuzzy and spaced out. Jon said nothing, simply held Martin’s hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckles in a soothing back and forth motion.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait until I– until I forget,” he confessed in a broken whisper.

Jon let out a dry, humourless laugh. “Love, I don’t think either of us will ever forget what we went through.” He squeezed Martin’s hands. “Though, that’s not to say we’ll never move past it.”

Martin nodded. “I feel like I’m giving in.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know, the fear? Peter Lukas and the Lonely? Heroes are always supposed to rock their scars, hell even you live with constant reminders of what you went through painted on your body, but I can’t even look at myself without feeling… cold. Cold and lonely and abandoned.”

Jon lifted one of Martin’s hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Martin shook his head. “Jon. It’s not your fault. None of it was, or is.”

Jon nodded. “I know, I–” he broke off, squeezing Martin’s hands again. “I can’t promise that it will get better. The nightmares, the memories, the… the habits. But I can promise I’ll never abandon you ever again. I never want you to feel like you’re alone, not as long as I’m with you.”

“You didn’t abandon me the first time. I chose to work for Lukas, I chose to sacrifice myself. That wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“So are you!”

Jon laughed. “I suppose you’re right. My point is, I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what. No matter the colour of your hair,” he added fondly, lifting one hand to thread it through Martin’s curls. Martin leaned into the touch, taking comfort in the simplicity of this moment – sat on the couch, with tea that had gone cold, two broken people desperately trying to figure out how to simply be in a world that had taken so much from them.

Jon leaned closer, tilting his head in a silent invitation, one which Martin accepted by pressing their lips together – it was a soft kiss, a gentle one, a reminder that not all was lost, that despite it all they still had each other. Jon’s hand threaded through Martin’s hair, and Martin savoured every sensation as he cupped Jon’s cheek and felt the stubble scrape his palm. This was what had been missing in the Lonely – the feeling of touch, of direct contact with another person without feeling as though there was a layer of something between him and anyone or anything around him. But here, in this tiny flat, he was present in this very moment, present for the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips moving against his, a reminder that right now he wasn’t alone. No matter the colour of his hair or the nights where he’d wake up in a cold sweat after a dream where he’d been drowning in fog, his lungs full of cold, wet smoke and his eyes unseeing, Jon would be there.

Jon hummed against his lips, and Martin pulled away. “What?”

His boyfriend has a small smile on his face. “I just realized something,” he said. “You’re a real rose-coloured boy.”

Martin barked a laugh. “Really? That’s your great realization?”

Jon pouted. “I thought it was cute.”

Martin chuckled, brushing his lips over Jon’s again and pulling away before he could press closer. Jon let out a petulant growl, and Martin grinned. “You’re cute.”

“Am not!”

“Yes you are, don’t deny it.”

“If I agree, can I kiss you again?” Martin nodded. “Fine, then I’m adorable.”

Still grinning, Martin brought his lips to Jon’s again, and they stayed on that couch for a good long while.

After this, they’d go about their regular days. Martin still didn’t know whether he’d be able to bear his own reflection, now that his hair was no longer the stark white it had turned after the Lonely. He knew that this wouldn’t keep the nightmares at bay, the terrifying dreams of losing Jon to a fog so thick he could hardly move through it, of losing himself piece by piece as everyone walked by, of being forgotten and discarded as though he’d never mattered. He knew this wouldn’t solve anything long term.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe this was the first step.

That night, Martin looked up from the sink and beheld the pink curls on top of his head for the first time. He held his reflection’s stare, as if challenging it to go after him. The memories weren’t gone, but the telltale twist of a corkscrew of panic driving its way into his chest was, for once, absent. He simply felt… normal.

What normal was, Martin could only hope it wouldn’t remain that way forever. Jon was right – he’d never forget, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t heal, piece by piece, bit by bit, never alone again.

Perhaps that was enough.

[maeve-writes]

Summer Camp

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Rating: 18+; Minors DNi

Warnings: PWP, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex, brutally murdered teens by an immortal serial killer at a summer camp (though that is just mentioned).

Summary: You and the boys investigate the slaughtering of counselors at a cursed summer camp.

a/n: This was written on a Friday the 13th and an excuse to write Sam smut.

-

It was a case straight out of a campy horror movie, five counselors were slaughtered as they got the camp ready for the summer. Normally it wouldn’t have been your kind of scene, but the cops wouldn’t talk about it and the only survivor was missing two limbs and held up in a psychiatric facility. The news said she claimed that whoever killed her friends was still out there and impossible to kill, even after they set him on fire and managed to stab him in the chest.

“Think it’s a Tulpa,” Sam asked as he lugged your bags towards a cabin.

“Could be,” you hummed. You honestly hating camping, the dirt, the bugs, the heat, but living the life as a hunter brought you out into the deep woods from time to time and you learned to deal with it. But at least here at camp there was indoor plumbing and beds. “Or it could be a serial killer bent on revenge against horny camp counselors.”

Sam grinned as you pulled the rickety door open and allowed him in first. The cabin was small, but had a tiny sitting room that lead to a bedroom holding an aging queen bed and bathroom that you barely fit in, so you weren’t sure how Sam was going to use it, but at least you had your privacy. Dean was rooming with, much to his delight, the rest of the actual counselors in hopes of a hookup before facing the big bad.

“My parents shipped me off to camp every summer,” you recalled idly, unpacking your clothes into the small wooden dresser. “I hated every minute of it.”

“Why? I would’ve loved to have gone to a regular camp,” Sam laughed from where he stretched out on the bed, the springs creaked with his breathing. “Probably would’ve been better than chasing werewolves all summer.”

“I built so many birdhouses out of popsicle sticks it’s not even funny.” You tucked away the last of Sam’s shirts and moved to crawl in the bed with him, the thin mattress gave easily to your weight and groaned in protest. He reached out for you as you moved closer, his hands found your hips as you straddled his. “And they forced me to go fishing,” you grimaced. “Had to hook poor little worms, it was so sad.”

“I promise you don’t have to do anything like that while you’re here. We signed you up as the swim instructor,” he informed with a glint in his eye.

“What? You said I was doing archery,” you gasped, slapping at his chest.

“And miss the chance of seeing you in a bathing suit all day? No way,” Sam grinned and blocked the rest of your playful hits.

You rolled your eyes and fought against him as he pulled you down for a kiss. “You’re a pervert, you know that?” You lost the battle and allowed him to press his mouth against yours. “And hopefully we aren’t all chopped up into tiny pieces and eaten before the camp opens,” you muttered against his puckered lips.

“You really know how to kill the mood, Y/N,” he groaned and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

You laughed and winked, climbing off of him. “C’mon, let’s go find your brother.” You pulled him out of the bed and eventually the cabin, heading out to join the others already gathered around the evening campfire. Dean was chatting with a pretty blonde around your age, wide eyed and flushed as the other Winchester flirted shamelessly. “I see that you got straight to work,” you greeted them when you got close enough.

“This the Brittany,” Dean turned his attention to the both of you. “Her parents own the camp.”

She gave a little wave to the both of you. “They’ve been talking about buying it for a while now. They met here when they were younger, they were counselors here. Just celebrated their 25th anniversary, so they caved and guilted me into running it.”

“How sweet,” you cooed.

She nodded and smiled, but it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “Thanks for accepting the job, it was hell trying to get people to want to work here.”

You tilted your head, feigning ignorance, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head, “We’ve got a nasty mosquito problem. Everyone’s worried about bird flu or whatever.” She laughed loud and nervously and you played along. “Anyway, let’s get drunk!” With a clap of her hands, she was up and jogged over to the cooler the others had open and full of cheap beer.

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Think you can get it out of her, Dean?” The eldest Winchester winked and joined in the merriment of bad music and alcohol, his arm already wrapped around Brittany. “Wanna look around?” You grinned up at your boyfriend and grabbed his hand, leading him back towards your cabin. “I thought you wanted to work?”

“Dean’s working,” you replied with a half shrug. “Besides, don’t you know the best way to get a crazy serial killer to come out of hiding is for two young, beautiful people to fuck like rabbits while their friends party outside?”

Sam laughed and scooped you up to carry you the rest of the way to the cabin, “Is that right?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, “it’s in the rule book.”

“There’s a rule book, huh?” You pulled the door open once again and Sam bee-lined straight to the bed. He unceremoniously dropped you on the cheap, thin mattress and eagerly climbed on top and between your legs. “Does it say how we’re supposed to do it? Hard and fast? Nice and slow?”

You tilted your head in thought when he sat on his hunches, pulling off his thin white shirt that was already soaked through with sweat. “Hard and fast,” you decided. “And very loud.”

“Loud? I think we can manage that,” Sam chuckled and worked on his pants as you wiggled out of your own tank top and shorts, tossing them aside. Stripped down to your underwear, he was back on you, mouth attacking yours with his normal primal greed, teeth and tongue and growls. Your fingers twisted into his hair, your sweat slicked bodies clung together as he rolled his hips against yours.

The bed groaned beneath you as the two of you moved in tandem, drowning out your whimpers and Sam’s moans. Any other time, any other place, you would have complained and moved to the floor as you’ve done in past hotels, but somehow, being in a camp like this hearing the springs protest beneath you made it all the more dirty and got you a bit more hot and bothered.

“C’mon, Sam,” you whined, pulling away from his hungry lips, “fuck me.”

“I’m workin’ on it,” he grumbled, but sat back once more to pull off his boxers. Your panties were next, already soaked from your slick and sweat, peeled off with the hook of his thumbs. A devious smile split his face and he dropped so that his shoulders could spread your thighs.

“No, no,” you shook your head and tried to coax him up to you, “no foreplay, straight to the dicking!”

Sam shook his head right back at you and licked at his lips, his thumbs that removed your underwear now parted your folds and he stared hungrily at your core. “Didn’t get dessert when we stopped for food,” he reminded you.

“I’m not ice cream!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam sniggered and licked a long, flat strip from your fluttering hole to your clit and groaned at the bittersweet tang. A shiver shot through you and your legs clenched around him, a whining moan begged him for more. “Thought you said it’s gotta be loud? I could barely hear you.”

You slapped the top of his head and scowled down at his beautiful, smirking face. “That’s ‘cause you gotta fuck me.”

“I am,” Sam snorted. His eyes locked with yours as he licked another slow trail from hole to hole to your swelling bud. You struggled around him and groaned, your eyes threatened to flutter closed, but you fought against it to glare at him.

“It’s been five days since you’ve been inside me, Samuel,” you snapped. “Stop fucking around and dick me down, dammit.”

“You’re really bossy when you’re desperate,” he teased, but climbed up your body once more to give you a taste of yourself as he lined up. “I kinda like it.” You grinned up at him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders and when he pushed in one fluid motion to the hilt, your smile turning into a sinful O. “You said hard and fast.”

You nodded eagerly and he pulled back, leaving just the tip before slamming back home with the bed squeaking underneath you. “Sam,” you hissed, “just like that.” Your legs and arms wrapped around him as he started the quick, brutal pace of his hips. The thin metal frame of the bed rocked and swayed with his thrusts, your desperate moans only joining in the chorus of the whining objection of the mattress beneath you.

Sam’s lips found your skin once more, kissing and marking the slick flesh. “Louder,” he murmured against your jaw, pinching the skin off its bone with his teeth. “Want that killer to show up, don’t you,” he chuckled breathlessly.

You did as you were told, lewd sounds ripped from your throat as Sam changed his angle, searching for the right spot to get you really singing. You did your best to encourage him, sobbing out dirty words, telling him to fuck you harder, faster, and he did. His hips slammed repeatedly against your ass, the squeaks of the bed barely registering over the sound of skin against skin or your porn worthy moans.

And when he found your spot, you clawed at his back, latching onto him which signaled him to let loose. He fucked into you with wild abandon, his face buried into the side of yours, both of you losing your voices as Sam worked you closer to the edge. Neither of you registered the sound of your cabin door open or the sounds of the footsteps creeping closer.

You hit yours first, the blinding white of you orgasm burst through you and came out with a cry of Sam’s name. You clung to him desperately as you rode it out, Sam still pumping into you with a feral need until he spilled his own deep inside of you.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me,” Dean said from the doorway, a crooked grin on his lips.

“Are you fucking serious,” you yelled, grabbing a pillow and hurling to across the room only to miss.

Dean watched the pillow fall to the floor and he snorted, “Nice throw. You might want to get your clothes on. We’re getting out of here.”

“What? Why,” Sam asked, reluctantly pulling out of you. Dean gagged playfully and turned away so you two could get decent.

“Because the whole thing is a hoax. The ‘survivor’,” he used air quotes, “we talked to? Brittany’s crazy sister. And Brittany? Just as crazy. The family made the whole thing up to get people to come to the camp. There’s no killer, there was no murders, just a scam to get publicity.”

You sighed heavily and climbed out of bed, gathering you clothes on the way to the shower. “We’ll pack up and meet you in twenty, I guess.”

“If you two wanna keep playing naughty counselors, I’m all for staying the night,” Dean chuckled. “Brittany might be crazy, but she’s got some nice ti-”

You made a loud yelp to get him to stop. “Get out, Dean. We’ll meet you at the car.” You disappeared into the bathroom with Sam on your heels. As you predicted, he was barely able to get around the small room and when you two climbed into the shower, he couldn’t turn on the water without elbowing you in the face.

“You look disappointed,” Sam noted, his fingers running through your dampening hair.

“I wanted to kill something,” you pouted.

Rolling his eyes, he reached for the shampoo and started to wash your hair. “I’m sure we’ll find something for you to murder soon. Close your eyes.”

You whined pathetically but did as you were told. “Next time we agree to go to summer camp, there better be an immortal serial killer on the loose or I’m gonna be pissed.”

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers GRAND EDITION for Switch ;; More, Blood ー Yuma Maniac [09]

ー The scene starts in the hallway

Yuma: Oi!

Yui: Yuma-kun? Uhm, yes...?

Yuma: I’m thirsty. Go make some tea and bring it to my room, pronto.

Yui: ( Another abrupt request... )

Yuma: Oi, did ya hear me?

Yui: I did. Just wait a few seconds okay, I’ll bring it you as soon as I can.

Yuma: Ya better not keep me waitin’!

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the kitchen

*Pshhh*

Yui: ( Geez, he really is a tyrant. )

( That being said, ever since he met up with Shuu-san in the library...Yuma-kun has been in a constant bad mood. )

( He said things about ‘being different’ or ‘rich boys’ but...What exactly does he mean with that? )

ー The scene shifts to Yuma’s room

Yui: Sorry for the wait, Yuma-kun. Here, I made you some tea.

Yuma: Whatever, just give it to me.

*Cling*

*Sluuurp*

Yuma: Nn...Kuh...Nn...

Yui: ( He doesn’t put any sugar in this tea even though he eats so much of it on a regular basis. How strange... )

( ...Actually, I guess he doesn’t need to because he’s always snacking on it. The inside of his mouth is probably sweet. )

Yuma: Ahー Fuck...It pisses me off...

Yui: ...The thing with Shuu-san?

Yuma: Don’t mention that guy, it makes me sick!

All those rich bastards are the same. They’re all rotten to the core!

Yui: ( Ever since that happening, he’s been on the offensive (1) )

( ...Could it be...? )

Selection

→ Do you want to be rich? (S)

Yui: Do you want to be rich as well, perhaps?

Yuma: Aah...? Don’t say that, not even as a joke. It gives me chills.

I’d still rather get married to ya, than have to become like those jerks!

Yui: ( ...He probably just flat out insulted me, didn’t he...? )

Yuma: I fuckin’ loathe those who associate with the rich!

→ Do you hate the rich? (M)

Yui: Do you hate the rich?

Yuma: I loathe them. Just watchin’ those bastards makes me wanna puke.

Yui: Is that why you dislike the Sakamaki’s as well?

Yuma: Guess so.

Altho I don’t like them on a personal level either, so I’m pretty sure they would have annoyed me, even if they weren’t rich boys.

Yui: ( Oil and water don’t mix after all... I wonder if this is what they mean with people hating those who are too similar to themselves. )

Yuma: That damn NEET...Sakamaki Shuu. He especially gets on my nerves.

And it’s not just ‘cause he’s a lil’ rich boy. I’ll repeat this over and over, but I can’t stand people who don’t have an opinion of their own.

That’s why I can’t help but get pissed seein’ those kinda people who just go with the flow.

The only reason he’s able to live his lazy life is ‘cause he was born as a rich boy.

He’s got a roof above his head as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, a nice, soft bed and gets to enjoy food even if he sleeps all day.

They take that kinda life for granted.

Must be nice, huh? Meanwhile there’s people who barely get to enjoy some breadcrumbs even after being beaten to pulp.

Yui: ( ...I wonder if he’s remembering his time in the slums. )

Yuma: Say...Don’t ya think that people are being discriminated against from birth?

Yui: That’s...I wonder.

Yuma: They are. Those rich boys and an orphan like me have lived in different worlds since birth.

We would have never even crossed paths if I didn’t become a Vampire.

For one, you’re in a disadvantaged position as well, ya know?

*Rustle*

Yui: Eh...Kyaah!?

–> If you are playing the Limited V edition or the Grand Edition, little black roses will appear on the screen. If you click on them, you get an extra line of dialogue.

“Just shut up and listen.”

Yuma: Even if ya get on top of me like this, lookin’ down on me.

It doesn’t change the fact you’re bein’ controlled, havin’ yer blood sucked, right?

Ya get toyed ‘round by me...As I do with ya as I please. And there is nothin’ ya can do to change that, right?

Yui: ...I don’t know.

Yuma: Ya think ya can?

Yui: ...I don’t know but, some things you don’t know until you try them, right?

Yuma: ...

Yui: ( I’m not very confident though... )

Yuma: ...I knew this guy in the past who said the same thing as ya and tried to bring change.

Yui: Eh...?

Yuma: He was a gang leader and an amazin’ guy, lookin’ after me while I was living in the slums.

My comrades back then were the outcasts of society...But each and every one of them lived their life to the fullest.

Despite all the times they were looked down upon for being ‘dirty’, kicked or even hurt...They desperately clung onto their lives. They too had dreams of their own, and they never gave up.

I...lived alongside them.

That’s why guys who waste away their life like that piss me off more than anythin’ in this world;

Boss was the type of guy who would even sacrifice himself to save our lives, or to fulfill his own dream.

He was just a brat with no power nor money, but he was a strong fella who never gave up on his dreams, smilin’ as he said ‘you never know until you try’.

...Yet people who don’t do a damn will laugh at a guy like that. 

And those are the guys who get to live long lives. Even tho Boss died like it was nothin’. Makes one realize just how unfair this world is. 

Yui: ...

Yuma: ...Well, not like tellin’ ya all of this will change anythin’.

You’re just a stupid Sow...But from time to time, ya say the same things as Boss did...It throws me off.

Monologue

As Yuma-kun looked up at me from below,

watching me, yet also seemingly looking at something in the distance.

Humans and Vampires most definitely live in different (違う) worlds.

If my blood had been ordinary,

I can only assume I would not be in this situation right now.

However...If someone were to ask me right now,

if I had rather never crossed paths with Vampires at all,

I wonder if I would be able to give them a direct response?

From the moment there was a doubt (迷い) in my mind,

the answer had already become clear.

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) The verb used here is 突っかかる or ‘tsukkakaru’ which means you are constantly trying to either attack or bother someone, either physically or verbally.

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

<- [ Maniac 08 ] [ Maniac 10 ] ->

[solastia]

Sanctuary | 2

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x F!Reader

Summary: Your bed & breakfast has a new regular...Jeon Jungkook of BTS

You shuffle into your office, still a little sleepy despite having a shower and having a steaming cup of coffee in your hands. You weren’t sure what the cause of it was, but you’d been entirely too restless to sleep well. Too much excitement, perhaps?

You shrug to yourself and sit into your office chair with a loud yawn, ruffling your still damp hair as you power on your laptop. You still hadn’t received any reservations for this week and you were hoping someone would come by for the weekend at least. You had some honeymooners reserved for next week, but that didn’t help you now. An entire week without guests would put a noticeable deficient in the books.

That’s why when you pulled up your check-in program and saw that you’d been booked for the entire week by a single client, you had to verify that you weren’t still asleep. You pinched yourself and cringed at the pain, staring again at the program.

Sure enough, it was all still there. One client, for seven days straight. They’d booked the biggest room upstairs, the only one up there besides your own. What was incredibly strange is that they changed the offered rate. Normally, you were one of the cheapest places in the area and charged $120 a night. Not bad for one of the more expensive areas in Northern California. This person was offering you a deal of $300 per night, along with fees for meals and a hefty “to be discussed” tip if you were to close reservations for anyone else. They were trying to rent the whole place? So probably some celeb going for anonymity by hiding in an unknown B&B.

You shrugged. It wasn’t that crazy, although most local celebs tended to hang out in Carmel rather than around here. And it certainly wouldn’t be the first one you’d hosted, simply the first one that had been so generous. The other two were well-known names and you’d been expecting a hefty tip from them but they’d been surprisingly tight-fisted. One had even tried to argue your nightly fee down in exchange for using the name of your place on his social media. You’d been happy to decline.

While a little more business would be nice, you didn’t want the place overrun. You wanted it small and cozy. Safe, for yourself as well as your guests. The whole purpose of the place was to have somewhere calm and comfortable to escape to.

This person must be especially desperate if they were booking the entire place to be alone. There wasn’t a mention of them bringing any other guests with them. You exhaled noisily and clicked accept, sending them a little welcome email with all the instructions they’d need. You wondered with a self-amused grin if you should start putting a little footnote mentioning that celebrity scandals or drug-filled parties were not allowed on the premises.

You lean back in your chair when you’re done, taking sips of your now luke-warm coffee as you think over everything that you have to do to get ready. According to the form they filled out, they’d be arriving that evening. You kept the house in shape daily so you didn’t have much to do in the way of chores, but you should make a menu for the week, get the fireplace in the room prepped, and hit up a few of your friends for the local event tickets.

Thor comes up and bumps your thigh, reminding you that you still had to take him out.

“I got you, buddy,” you chuckle, standing up with a groan and going to fetch his leash. “We have a long day ahead of us, and then maybe you’ll have a new friend for a bit, huh? You gotta be on your best behavior.”

Thor barks softly and you pretend he’s answering you instead of demanding you hurry the hell up with your shoes. You decide at the last minute to throw on a hoodie too since the temperature was lowering fast. You hiss as you step outside and hope that Thor manages to get his business done fast. But even the chill wasn’t enough to bring down your mood. Today was going to be a great day. You could just feel it in your bones.

****

You had just finished putting another batch of cookies in the oven when you heard someone arrive and ring the little bell you kept on the front desk.

“Good evening! I’ll be right there, but go ahead and shut the door if you want!” You holler from the kitchen as you wash your hands.

You’d left the door open just in case they came around while you were putting around the place, but now that they were here you could finally turn on the heater.

You dry your hands and pat down your shirt and pants as you walk, hoping you didn’t look too casual. Jeans and a flowy blue button-up blouse with matching flats seemed casual yet comfortable. And you were wearing your pearls just in case they were the stuffy sort that would look down on you for not looking at least a little professional.

“Hi, welcome to Sanctuary! I’m -”

“Hey, Noona,” a cheeky-toned voice answered as you turned the corner and entered the foyer.

Your eyebrows fly up as you see the tall figure standing there. “Jungkook?”

He looks...fucking glorious. Black pants that look like they are painted on tucked into those stomper boots he seems to love. Plain black t-shirt tucked into his pants and a blue flannel shirt over that. Sitting next to him is a large black backpack that is easily half as big as him.

He grins cockily and leans against the desk. “They gave me a couple of weeks off so I’m here on vacation. Please take care of me,” he bows with mock formality.

“You’re the one that booked the whole place, right?” you ask, bringing up your computer application to check him in. He leans in way too close and looks over your shoulder as you work.

“Yup! One of the managers did the form though. Did he do everything I asked? Up the rate and made sure you feed me?”

You snort, “Yes, Jungkook. They are paying me an astronomical amount and I have plenty of food. Although, I only went shopping for one normal person. You’ll probably go through it all it two days, so make me a list.”

He chuckled lowly and you shivered, feeling his breath on your ear.

“Well, I’m not eating every meal here. I’m going to go out sometimes, too. Maybe noona can show me some nice places?”

You struggle to hold back a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A shrill beeping started in the kitchen and Jungkook jumped back, looking around curiously.

“Cookies,” you answered the silent question. You finish typing a couple of things in the program than jump up and rush towards the kitchen, amused to notice Jungkook hot on your heels.

You shove your hand in a glove and pull out the pan, your own stomach rumbling a little from the delicious smell of chocolate chip cookies. It probably also didn’t help that in your rush to prepare for your guest you might have forgotten your own meals.

You scoop them onto the wire rack, so focused in the work that you forgot about the other person beside you until his thieving hands begin reaching towards one of the scalding hot cookies. You smack it with the spatula.

“Let it cool,” you order unapologetically, forgetting for a moment he was an actual guest. His sheepish grin assured you that there were no hard feelings. And that he would probably do it again.

“Are you hungry for actual food?”

He nods quickly, helping himself to one of the bar stools at your prep counter.

“Yeah. I ate this morning, but then I had to finish this interview before they’d let me go free. And that means an hour in hair and makeup for five minutes of questions,” he rolls his eyes and props his cheek onto his hand as he watches you.

“Ugh,” you grunt sympathetically. You look around for the menu you’d made for the week and hand it to him. “Look this over, will you? Let me know if there’s anything you don’t like.”

He silently reads your list as you prepare him a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. And maybe you sneak a couple for yourself as well.

Finally, he nods and tosses it over. “It’s good. Maybe add some Korean food if you know how to make any. I noticed there weren’t any restaurants.”

“Yeah, this place isn’t really known for its diverse cuisine. But if you want fifty seafood places, we have you covered.”

He snorts, “Kinda like home.”

You laugh, remembering how many little food carts littered Busan’s beaches.

You place his snack in front of him and he dives in happily, his eyes wide with happiness. You slide into the seat next to him and study him.

“So, Jeon Jungkook. What are your plans for the week? Are you going to stick around the house most of the time or should I maybe find some places for you to visit? I have lots of friends that I can get tickets from.”

He takes a huge gulp of milk and sighs contentedly before he answers. He shrugs, “Mostly around here. This is my time to actually relax. Definitely going to the beach and taking some photos. Other than that, I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” you hum, propping your chin in your hand. “The main attractions out here are all marine-based, so it’s up to you if you want to see any of it or if it’s all just old news to a Busan boy. But we do have the marine sanctuary nearby, there’s whale watching, and I think the butterfly exhibit is still going on. It really depends on how far you’re willing to travel. Monterey has even more things to do.”

He looks almost shy when he glances up at you. “Is it okay if we just stay here tonight?”

Your filthy disgusting mind conjures up all sorts of things hearing a sentence like that coming from Jeon Jungkook’s mouth, but you gulp and hope your voice sounds normal.

“Yup. Of course. It’s your vacation. Most guests don’t even interact this much with me. They just check-in and have meals sent to their room.”

“It’s okay. I like having noona around,” he grins, his eyes crinkling mischievously. Brat.

He looks around suddenly. “Hey, where’s Thor?”

“I usually keep him in my room until I figure out how pet-friendly the guest actually is.”

“You can let him run around, I’m fine,” he grins with excitement and follows behind when you get up and head towards the stairs.

Once you reach the top you can already hear Thor sniffing on the other side. You fling open your bedroom door and let him practically fly towards Jungkook. The man tries to sneak a peek inside before you slam the door shut, not ready to let the international celebrity see your mess.

Instead, you nod towards the room across the hall and gesture with your arm.

“This one is yours.”

He grins softly and walks around peeking at everything, patting the covers of the bed until Thor jumps up. He sits next to him and nods.

“It’s so nice. You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” you grin lopsidedly as you take a quick look around. “I think I did okay too. I’m no interior designer, but I was hoping for homey.”

“It’s relaxing,” he agrees with a nod. “I couldn’t even do this with my own place. I just threw some blankets on the floor and set up my PC. I don’t even think I have proper dishes. I had to eat cereal out of the plastic bag inside,” he giggles.

You shake your head, unsurprised really.

“This TV is pretty big too,” he grunts as he climbs towards the headboard of the bed, then crosses his ankles with a sigh, setting against the plush pillow behind him and playing with the remote. “Do you get all the channels?”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing there awkwardly now as he gets comfortable. You should probably go make dinner now or something, right?

“Oh nice,” he suddenly exclaims exactly, tossing the remote away. “Deadpool is on. Come watch, noona,” he says, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

His eyes are huge and there’s not a single hint on his face that this is a joke. He looks innocent and earnest. Just where was this “shy” Jungkook you’d always heard about?

You shuffle towards the bed and slowly lower yourself onto it, trying your best to avoid actual contact with him. He didn’t seem to approve because he actually scooted closer until his rock hard thigh was pressed right up against yours.

“Get comfortable, noona. I don’t have rabies,” he chuckled, tugging you down a little more until you were sharing a pillow.

Fuck. How was it possible for a man to smell so good, you moaned in your head. Thor - the traitorous bastard - was cuddled in a circle right in between Jungkook’s legs. He looked well on his way to taking a nap.

You focus on the tv, not really watching the movie, and trying instead not to hyperventilate. He was so close and you didn’t know what to do with your hands. You felt like a nervous teenager.

It was probably midway through the movie when you first heard it. A tiny little wheeze. Then, the man next to you felt like he was slipping. You turn and grin when you notice that Jungkook is pretty much out for the count. His head has slipped right onto your shoulder and his mouth is wide open as he sleeps, his nose making a cute little rattle instead of outright snores.

You huff and look around, yawning as the feeling of laying in bed finally begins to catch up with you as well. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, so it was understandable. But Jungkook probably didn’t get much sleep on a regular basis, so you’d hate to disturb him now. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rest your eyes for a little bit. Just until it was time to make dinner.

You give in to the lazy feel of the room and shut your eyes, snuggling into the pillow a little more. You barely noticed when a strong arm flipped you over gently and pulled you closer.

[alexis-vaughn]

😏 - Duncan.

send me ‘ 😏 ’ and my muse will honestly answer the following q’s from here

1. How physically attracted they are to your muse

Oh god is there even a scale for this? Let’s not forget that from the first meeting on Alex was a dripping mess already by just looking at him 🤣 so do I have to say anything more?

2. How romantically attracted they are to your muse

On top of the fact that he’s the hottest man alive for her, Alex realized her affection for him as she watched him handling Trixie. In that moment she knew she was damned to fall for him and never made it out of that hole after.

3. How often they would like to have sex with yours.

Oh damn too often. Sometimes she wants him so much that she can’t even hold back when Trixie is in the same room asleep but it’s just super hard for her to hold back with him around especially when her fear to lose him crawls back into her veins (like when she knows he has to leave next day or when they are in some kind of danger). She just wants to use every second she has with him so she wouldn’t regret anything later.

4. Where they would most likely have sex with yours

Her bed for sure. But all in all her flat. They can have sex wherever they want but because of Trixie they are sometimes limited and since he mostly visits her and they don’t really meet outside, it often ends in her bed (and sometimes in his when she threw a tantrum or kicked him out threatening to end it when she never could and knocks like a little puppy later).

5. Whether they think yours would be “good” in bed

Ugh too good. Alex is someone who really has a lot of sexual experience no matter if with men or women and she isn’t easily impressed. But Duncan just blew her away from the first time. She adores his strength and confidence, the way he just handles her like he wants to when she’s usually always the one in control. She doesn’t give that up easily either but he made it possible that she trusted him enough to allow him to own her from the very first moment and that means something. She wouldn’t have done that without the needed trust or when he wouldn’t have been amazing from the get go. And he gives her the feeling to be seen, that she is indeed the only woman he needs in that moment and that means a lot to her coming from him (other men were often arrogant through her confidence and then disrespected her or thought they could have anyone and just fuck her waiting for a praise, but despite his confidence Duncan never looked down at her and that’s what she loves)

6. What titles / nicknames my muse would like to call yours during sex

She loves to use his last name cause it sounds so beautiful and dangerous when it’s moaned. Also she likes to call him D (for different reasons ;)) and babe but tries not to use too soft ones on him.

7. Up to 3 kinks they would like to explore with yours ( with consent of course )

No matter how much Alex loves sex and had it before, she was never really brave when it came to places. First of all cause of Trixie but also because the other guys were never worth the risk. When it comes to Duncan she therefore has more kinks that could be considered nearly romantic cause that’s just not his regular way of fucking. She really would like to explore certain places with him, especially her office or bars where he just walks in and dominates her. Of course she had Make out sessions in clubs but these were mostly initiated from her and never went that far and a part of her just wishes that everyone would see who he belongs to and who the only woman is he sees. Alex loves attention and she craves to be special for at least one person and someone she admires and loves would be the only one giving it back to her the way she needs it. They’re kinky enough in the bedroom and there are no real boundaries for her in that case. It would probably be more unusual for them to have a normal date with candlelight and romantic music and sex in a bed under the stars and maybe she even dreams of that a little to have that at least one time with him. But shhhhhh she wouldn’t admit that.

8. What sort of sex they’d prefer to have with yours ( slow & sensual, quickie, etc. )

Hard and long. She had enough vanilla boys who couldn’t handle her temper. She loves he is able to do that. But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t want to explore the soft and romantic part as well or doesn’t like to seduce him 🤷🏼‍♀️

9. What type of relationship my muse would like to form with yours. ( typical couple, friends with benefits, etc. )

Damn I think Alex doesn’t dare to have hopes in Duncan’s case. She never expects him to settle or she even tries to lower her expectations by telling herself that he probably has a hundred women all over this planet. But that doesn’t stop her from enjoying the time they share to the fullest and trying to impress him so she would stay his number one. Of course she would love to be his one and only, that he stays longer than just a few days and sometimes she imagines him being the father for Trixie she never had, but never would she dare to say that. So she’s fine with whatever he’s able to give her.

@mettleborn

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 1! Reader's job has no chill and Wanda means well (Tony does too), but, as we know, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Reader discovers the source of some peculiar things and can't help but be overcome with curiosity. F-bombs galore!

Fun fact: this story's main soundtrack is Claire de Lune, for some reason. Usually I can't stand classical music.

I didn't anticipate my first day at the bodega to be remarkful in any way but I was quickly proven wrong. My expectations were low: few customers, some of them flat-earthers of the garden variety, perhaps one or two of those 'witches' from social media blogging platforms and an overzealous Satanist or two, since I was pretty sure I saw an Ouija board and a silver pentagram hanging in Odette's office on the day of the interview.

Boy was I wrong.

We averaged a customer every fifteen minutes with each person requesting increasingly strange items: healing quartz and sage were on the closer end of normal; I felt like I had teleported to Hogwarts and was now attending Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class, having to race between the high shelves and memorize the exact location of each and every ingredient. In the end, I sacrificed a few dollars and bought one of the beautiful, leather-bound notebooks off Odette to write down the shelf and position number for the most commonly requested items and planned to begin memorizing them at home.

There's a little bit of Ravenclaw in all of us, I supposed. My curiosity only extended further: sometimes, a haggard looking person would come up and declare they had an appointment with Odette and was quickly whisked away by my boss to her office, coming out looking slightly less haggard in about half an hour or so.

I adapted to the routine fairly quickly, choosing to make my personal peace with the strange customers and Odette's mysterious meetings: after all, I got the job because I needed money - who was I to judge her for doing Tarot readings and spiritual séances for an extra dollar?

The bodega's atmosphere did grow on me rather quickly, as I had thought it would. It was warm and homely even on the rainiest afternoons, there was an unlimited supply of herbal tea, free of charge, and I grew to appreciate it just like I learned to find the positives in my job at the café. That remained a constant, mildly interesting affair too - my regulars, especially the superheroes, had started coming in during the morning hours and we were able to resume our chit-chats without a hitch.

Wanda still fished for my most recent, memorable reading and Dr. Banner left his incomprehensible scribbles on every napkin within an arm's reach for me to return to him on his next visit. The fully grown man with multiple PhDs didn't fail to blush like a schoolgirl every single time it happened, causing Mr. Stark to double on his own salacious jokes, should the engineer have had come with. They often came together, blabbering things I couldn't even fathom understanding even with the help of Google.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Wanda sounded surprisingly chipper for it was freaking seven in the morning.

I blanched, banging my arm against the display door painfully with a softly muttered, "Fuck!".

The witch frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I muttered, hoping my face wasn't portraying the mixture of confusion and fear that I felt. "Something weird happened at my other job yesterday, I'm still processing," I replied honestly, looking to the side.

In fairness, I didn't know what to think. The situation wasn't something that should have shocked me, with aliens and magic people an abundance in NYC, but seeing it with my own two eyes had been jarring.

A limping, paranoid young man had arrived for an appointment with Odette shortly before closing time; I had escorted him to her office without as much as a blink, only noticing he was dripping oddly colored blood when the door behind him had closed. I cleaned it up, dead set on confronting Odette about the obviously injured person - the blood, it was more of an attempt to clean it, since it merely stuck to the rag, refusing to wash off it with water or any of the organic cleaning solutions kept under the sink.

I had to leave the rag in a paper bag, acutely aware of the fact it could not have belonged to a normal person. My best guess was that a man was a mutant - NYC had plenty of them living behind a blue wall. Odette's office wasn't soundproof: I heard a pained yelp and then a vocalisation of relief as whatever was causing the man to bleed had been removed. In a few minutes while I was closing the cash register, he came out looking almost brand new - and as I paid him a more careful look, he was missing his scleras, leaving his eyes to look slightly terrifying.

And then he winked at me, a surprisingly human, boyish gesture - the smile that crawled up my face was purely automatic. I was sure it looked frozen. He disappeared without a word as Odette herself emerged from the backrooms, a tired sheen to her brow.

"Did you manage to clean up?" She asked, eyebrows raised at the lack of stains on the hardwood floors.

"It stuck to the rag," I replied, eyeing her warily. "The rag is in the unmarked bag next to the sink. I didn't know what else to do with it."

"Sometimes it does that," her sigh was very telling. This was to be expected to become a regular occurrence. She motioned for the notebook I got to keep track of everything in the store, rattling off a recipe for a cleaner and solvent combo, made purely from the items she had inside the store, giving me stern instructions to add the ingredients in the exact order I was told. I sighed but added the footnote. Odette was a far cry from the greasy git from Hogwarts so she deserved the benefit of the doubt at least.

I didn't dare to ask any more questions about the strange man; not that day, not after I had suprised Wanda with a quick recap of my story. It's not like I had anything against mutants - as long as they were peaceful and didn't harm humans with their abilities, I was content to co-habit, share my space and even be friends with them. A very nice old lady who came by three times a week had gills peeking out of the top of her turtleneck and she was just the most polite, sweetest thing.

Wanda's curiosity was understandable and not suspicious in any way: I was under the impression she was a mutant, too, along with her twin brother - so the feeling of dread that blossomed within me as soon as the two suited figures entered the small store I attributed to the larger size of the man and vulture eyes of the woman. They both appeared extremely out of place with their black two-pieces and badly hidden pistol holsters, topped off with badges I couldn't take a good look at without losing my customer service facade.

I decided to play it dumb, self-conscious of the thudding of my heart in my ribcage. My body screamed 'danger' at me. "Hello, how can I help you?"

The woman cast an observant look over me, my plain clothes, lingering on my star-patterned scarf and matching hair band. "Are you the owner of this store?"

"No," I frowned, not liking where this was going. "Do you have an appointment with Odette?"

"We'd like to see her," the man pointedly moved his arm, exposing the gun and the badge.

I dropped the nice act, staring him down in earnest. I never liked self-righteous, pushy government officials; even less so, when they didn't follow protocol and started the conversation with demands instead of proper introductions. As I shot a quick text to Odette, noting that there were 'strange people in uniform' looking for her, my suspicions were only confirmed when the woman looked around the store with eyes that knew what they were looking for. Those two definitely weren't cops or even feds, they were straight up shady.

Odette all but flew to the bodega, the imposing, suffocating aura I'd seen only once on full display. It was hard to breathe standing so close to her; with muted satisfaction, I noticed both agents squirm, their fingers twitching, as they took in shuddering inhales through their, undoubtedly, lying mouths.

The whole spectacle was over quickly. I had managed to serve and quickly usher out Ike, one of the Satanists (yes, we did, in fact, have a few of those as regulars) with his paper bag full of powdered goat horn and a fresh cat skull under his armpit before the curtains parted and the two agents left without saying a word. I thought their eyes looked - wrong, like glass marbles, dull, lifeless and unseeing.

Odette dismissed my worries with a frivolously waved hand: "They won't be bothering us anytime soon," closing the door to her office - it reeked of strong incense and horseradish, for some reason. Like she'd been making some hell salad in front of the two nosy officials.

I took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. The weirdness should've bothered me more, I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to decide whether I wanted to know what that interaction was actually about or live in blissful ignorance, where my boss might be some sort of a mutant or an actual witch that helps other mutants.

The longer I thought about it, the louder anti-mutant propaganda articles screamed at me: children being killed or abandoned because one day, they woke up and could fly or move things with their mind; every potential situation could end up like Carrie or Brightburn - two movies so blatantly obvious in their point to instill fear against children that could grow to work alongside Earth's Mightiest Defenders.

Needless to say, my conscious calmed down pretty quickly. I had felt the hairs on my nape stand up as soon as the agents entered the room and in my experience, a reaction like that was never good. I had been taught to trust my gut.

Odette had cancelled her visits for the day, holing up in her office as the whole store rapidly filled up with the stench of horseradish, old blood and sage. The occasional noise came from the office, interrupted by mumbling, and I was quickly told to just turn up the old, vintage radio if it bothered me.

I was too busy taking in the contents of her office - the table that previously stood in the far end of it, stood in the middle, folded out into the shape of a circle. Something was drawn on it, something the color of dried blood, and there were light candles, white and blue, littered on almost every possible surface. The air was clouded with incense smoke, so thick, it made my eyes water.

Odette's grin was sardonic as she met my eyes, wide and shocked, that had previously landed on what looked like a pot- or a cauldron, emanating the strongest bitter stench that wafted even through the lead curtain of incense. No wonder the whole store reeked.

Before she gently shut the door in my face, I caught the centerfold of the whole show - an extremely large, tattered, leatherbound tome with yellowed pages and a heavy metal padlock laying next to it. Overcome by stupor, I didn't manage to make out the intricate silver letters on its cover.

Needless to say, walking home that day was an adventure. In part, I was cautious that the agents would find me, follow me home, interrogate me - I've never been arrested even by usual cops and it was unlikely that shady government agencies were delicate in their approach. A larger part of my brain was wondering about the implications of what I had seen, I'd nearly chewed off my fingernails remembering the vacant, lost face expressions on the agents' faces.

As soon as I got home, I set to do some serious googling. And find information, I did. Plethora of minor details - candle colors, herbs used, deeply individual incantations and mythical deities that chose to work with a particular witch. It was nothing short of a whole science; I'd go as far as to say it was a complete lifestyle. The use of magick bled into every aspect of daily life, from sleep to food to communication with others.

Part of me felt incredulity at the implication of sacrificing so much to get results that might be the opposite of the ones desired. A larger, braver part of me - the very same that used to push me to explore abandoned buildings with my friends and drink booze given by a stranger - admired the work and the dedication my boss and her kind put into their work.

Having received my first paycheck and successfully having made it through rent day without having to make excuses, my conscious allowed me to treat myself to a few items - I decided to give into my curiosity and placed an order for a few books on modern witchcraft, happily waiting for the package to arrive next afternoon. I went to sleep with my head full and a new world at my feet to explore.

The books were late - or more like, never showed. The refund couldn't come soon enough. My curiosity began to reach unbearable levels the longer I worked the front desk at Odette's. These days I didn't need much assistance anymore, ready to help any new or returning customer with the help of my notebook. Time after time, I noticed a certain working order, a pattern to things if you may - and was able to recommend a few things here and there. In short, I stepped over my initial apprehension and dove into the world of natural remedies and energetic manipulation headfirst.

It made all the sense that Odette would start to take absence from the bodega as my training progressed. On the days she had fewer or no appointments, she would don her favourite scarf and trot out the front door, large purse in tow, to run errands or restock on the rare, pricy items that couldn't get delivered directly to the shop. I'd grown accustomed to locking up on my own; the spare key to the entrance door was my pride and joy, the dull silver a warm comfort hanging on a chain around my neck. Its antique design made a fairly pretty necklace.

The customer coming to pick up a special order hardly disrupted my time. I had Janis Joplin blaring from the old radio, my skirt swayed to the rhythm of the song together with me. The elevated mood while working in the shop was something I appreciated fully - with a kind smile, I departed for the backrooms to search for the package with the customer's name, not finding it anywhere near the proper place. A call later, I was opening Odette's office and extracting the paper-wrapped shoebox from the fridge, passing it into the customer's arms with utmost care: 'FRAGILE. KEEP REFRIGERATED AT ALL TIMES.' read on it in Odette's sharp cursive.

The bell above the door rang as the woman departed but I was already inching behind the curtain, overcome by sudden inquisitiveness.

The book. It stood right in the middle of Odette's desk, shut, but missing its padlock, beckoning with the thick gothic letters spelling out 'PRACTICAL ALCHEMY'. I noticed it as soon as I stepped into the office, confused and puzzled by my own unbearable desire to approach it immediately. I knew something was amiss, yet, my legs had a mind of their own and my hands firmly placed themselves upon the heavy cover of the book, seemingly without the input from my brain.

"What the hell..." I muttered to myself, finding the books contents to be - for the lack of a better word - peculiar. "Protect a babe born on all Hallows Eve..." I numbly mouthed the first words that my eyes registered. The pages made a soft noise as my shaking fingers turned them, one after the other. "Bestow healing upon a barren womb... Punish a thief..." There were - spells, and potions, and so many plants I've never even heard about before.

The pages turned and handwritings changed - at the start, words were written out precisely, the cursive neat and sharp, obviously written by an ink pen. Some things were scribbles, pencil or charcoal, so barely intelligible I had to guess about a third of the words written. Towards the end of the book pages made with a typewriter appeared - blocky letters and numbers, language modern, ash and cigarette smell coming from the paper.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The longer my hands touched the pages, the stronger the tingling sensation became - I failed to notice it at first, attributing it to the exhilaration of finding something so strange yet so precious, but as I was finishing a page that contained a fairly short spell for protection of a witches' home, the discomfort of my palms rose into a mild stinging pain.

"Fuck," I yelped, casting a look at my fingers. They were hot, angry, as if I had briefly touched boiling oil - and the skin on my fingertips began to blister, little white pustules forming where I had gingerly held the pages of the book in place. "What the fuck?" Was my reasonable question to nobody in particular.

The books contents were, no doubt, interesting but I was more concerned with the state of my hands - had I ignored the pain for five more minutes, I might have had to go to the hospital to treat what was beginning to look like a second-degree burn. I slammed it shut none-too-gently, placing it exactly as I found it and winced when barely a second of touching it brought on more excruciating pain.

The healing peppermint oil salve I knew people bought for mild burns only soothed the initial sting, so I had to suffer until I clocked out, stopping by a drugstore on my way home to purchase some much-needed burn cream. And while it didn't make it worse, I knew that my next day at work was going to be Hell.

Most thankful, however, I was to my voice-to-text option on my cell. Not only it allowed me to communicate with my friends without hurting my abused skin even more, but it also dutifully saved the short, simple spell that was supposed to protect my house. There was no harm in trying it, I supposed, after seeing what I didn't doubt was the book's own protection wreak havoc on my snoopy little hands.

The tag list is open until the story is finished.

@couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites