#it's later this year than normal. usually i think i read it in winter. first read it in late jan/early feb 2020 then in like feb/march

[biscuitscheesebiscuits]

Ah, yes, time for the annual reread of Red, White, & Royal Blue

[starlightazriel]

bad boy az x school girl au part 3 (fem reader)

warnings: 18+ as usual, smut, angst, drug addiction, drug abuse, underage drinking, very dark childhood, abusive parent, age gap (sophomore x senior)

other parts can be found on my azriel masterlist

wc: 4.4k

Regular sex. I was having regular sex with Azriel. It seemed quite surreal actually, that someone like me would have regular sex with anyone, let alone Azriel. He would wait for me on that same bench, or sometimes with his car, leaning up against it to be sure I saw him. It was definitely strange, people knew my name now. I didnt ask him if we were dating, though it felt like it.

We did more than just have sex, and I couldn't deny that I was completely in love with him after only several weeks, despite not knowing much of anything about him. Only what he chose to show me. It was starting to get colder, the fall air getting more crisp as winter approached. Azriel and I had plans tonight, plans that I was very much looking forward to. So when I left school that day I was expecting Azriel to be there, leaning up on his car and waiting for me. He wasn't there though, my heart sank. Right on time with my disappointment, my phone buzzed. Raincheck butterfingers? im sorry. There was never any warning in advance, no reason why, it would just be some short message that he had to reschedule and it always came right when Id leave school looking for him, only once it was a few minutes late.

-

Azriel looked down at his phone, read, typing and then just like that the typing stopped, nothing. It wasn't the first time he had blown her off, she never left him on read though. Normally, this wouldn't bother him, it wouldn't matter, normally he wouldn't have a second thought about being left on read. With her, it was different for some reason. Like disappointing her was just, gut wrenching, which he didnt know how to feel about that either. Azriel could see the way she looked at him, he could see how happy she was when she was around him, she didnt think about her parents arguing, or about the social pressures of high school, or the pressures of deciding what school she was eventually going to go to when she graduated. He knew it was unrealistic, for someone like her to be with him. He felt like he would just drag her down, like he wasn't nearly good enough for her. Im really sorry I have to handle this. A double text, he never did that, but again, with her, things were just different, she was too innocent, too much of a sweetheart. Plus, he was older, he was supposed to be the responsible one, so that's why he sent her a second text.

He knew that it would have to come to an end eventually, he knew that he would have to break both of their hearts when the time came.

She didnt read the second one, he cursed again and shook his head, parking in front of his house and jogging inside. He went up to his room, sat on his bed and took a few bong rips, Rhys' name lit up on his screen but he let it ring. He'd go talk to him later. He pulled himself together and pushed his night table aside pulling the board on the floor up to reveal his stacks of cash he had been saving over the years, hustling came easy to him, he had been doing it since elementary, he had bought candy bars for a dollar and sold them at school for three, secretly of course, back of the playground, boys bathroom, under the bleachers... Eventually middle school came and the candy bars turned into selling his dad's cigarettes, then high school, the cigarettes turned to pills, weed and mushrooms.

He had each of the stacks separated with rubber bands into a thousand dollars each, he grabbed a band, shoved it in his pocket and replaced the floorboard, pulling his night stand back over it.

With the cash in his pocket he headed to the police station. He pulled up, snapping the rubber band off the cash so it didnt look as much like drug money. "Afternoon boys," he strode in, the cops knew him well I mean, it was a small town for one and he had gotten into plenty of trouble in his days, and for two the neighbors had been calling on his dad and him for domestic disputes for years. And besides that, he had bailed his dad out of jail a few times a year at this point. They never asked where Azriel got the cash, maybe they just didnt give a fuck to care about a teenager and his drug addicted father. "What's the damage?" he mumbles, placing his scarred tattooed hands on the counter.

"750 today," the officer says after checking some things on his computer, Azriel winced before carefully counting the cash and placing it on the counter mumbling, "he's lucky I don't leave his ass in here," he shoves the remaining cash in his pocket before sitting down on a nearby chair to wait for them to retrieve his father.

He sighs as they bring him out, each year he seemed to get worse, heroin, cocaine to balance out the tiredness, really he knew his dad would do whatever he could get his hands on. His face was skeleton thin, pale and bruised, eyes sunken in with dark circles surrounding them. Azriel stood, turned, and started walking out of the building not saying a single word to his dad, really there was nothing to say. There was never a time that he had gotten along with his dad, before his mother abandoned them he had beat his mother until she couldn't take it anymore, he would never forgive either of them, he knew that, he would die hating both of them, and the only hope that he had was to eventually leave his dad and never see him again either. For now, until the end of the school year, it was what it was. Which was another reason why dating y/n was just unrealistic and out of reach, he planned to leave after graduation. To get as far away from this town as he could, even if it meant leaving Rhys and Cass behind, even if it meant leaving her behind. She was just a girl anyway, one he had only known for a few months in fact.

"Hurry up," Azriel muttered before getting into the car, he checked his phone again, nothing from her, she had to be angry with him. That was new, and he didnt like it. He had stood her up a handful of times, none of them had been intentional, simply circumstantial. His dad eventually hobbled to the car, getting into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him. No appreciation, no thank you, nothing. Azriel pulls out of the station and begins to drive back to his house.

"Cigarette, boy," his dad demands, leaning back and sighing as if he had just got done after a long days work, he hadn't worked for years, for years Azriel had been burdened with paying the bills enough so they at least had hot water and heat. Azriel rolled his eyes and tossed a half empty pack to his dad, not wanting to be bothered for another one when he finished the first. His dad growled at the gesture, "if you weren't so damn disrespectful boy, maybe your mother wouldn't have left us, she couldn't bare to see that damn ugly scowl anymore," his dad grunted, Azriel scoffs, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Yeah, that's why she left," he muttered and came to a screeching hault in front of their house. He still recalled the day his mother left like it was yesterday, the night before, she had tried to protect him, his father had been belligerently drunk the night before, enough that he had barely been able to speak. He had only been seven years old.

He remembered the pain best, the blood soaking his shirt from his busted lip, his entire body aching and sore from the tumble he had taken down the stairs. His dad had pushed him because he had left one of his toys in the hall and his father had stepped on it. He remembered being curled up under his bed, hugging his bruised body, crying as he listened to the screams from his mother. Wincing every single time that she cried out. His dad yelling, the sounds of her body hitting the floor over and over again. He remembered waking up the next morning, still under his bed his body aching he remembered feeling like he couldn't move but forcing himself out, he had to check on his mother. "Mom? Where are you going?" he had asked she was covered in cuts and bruises, her eyes both swollen almost shut, he remembered wanting to cry, but not wanting to make her sad. She had been at the door, bag slung over her shoulder. "Oh Azzie baby," she had started crying at the sight of him, rushed to the bottom of the stairs, she hugged him tighter than she ever had before. "He's going to kill me Azzie, I have to go, I will come back for you, Im so sorry baby, stay strong okay?" she had told him before she left. He didnt know then that it was the last time he would see her. Azriel had waited five years before he decided that his mother was either dead, or wanted nothing to do with him because of his father, and he hated them both for it.

"Get out," Azriel reaches over his father with his long arm to open the passenger door, flicking his head toward the house. "I got shit to do," he mumbles not giving his dad even another look.

"Give me a hundred boy," his dad demands, Azriel takes a deep breath, anger coursing through his veins, he wanted to rip his throat out. "Come on boy, been in there for a whole day, you left me in there, I know they called you last night," he didnt move from the car. Azriel didnt have time for this, he had seen his father in withdrawal more times than he cared to admit and he didnt want to deal with it tonight, too much to do. Reluctantly he fished around in his pocket pulling out a fifty and tossing it at him.

"That's all I got, bail was expensive," he muttered and nodded toward the house again. "Goodbye," he says and he hears his dad grumbling about how disrespectful kids are today and that he better not come home tonight or he'd get his ass beat, Azriel wasn't worried though, he was bigger than his father now and anyway he knew by the time he returned his dad would be nodded off on the couch, he never got so lucky for an overdose, only once but he had been younger, he knew he would go into foster care until turned 18 if his dad died, so he had called the cops. He still had spent 6 months in foster care that year before returning to his father.

-

"Fuck is wrong with you?" Cass asks as Azriel entered the apartment belonging to his two older and oldest friends, they were all brothers at this point. They were the only real family he had. Since he could remember Azriel had always been around older kids, smoking first, drinking first, having sex first... Rhys and Cass had always been around, they had once rode bikes around their neighborhood and egged the principals house after Azriel had gotten suspended from the bus for sticking gum to the back of Stacy Willets seat which had got all stuck in her hair, now older and more mature he realized that was bullying. Azriel had only been nine years old when they had egged his house, Rhys and Cass had been twelve. He had met them when he was only five years old, first day of school, a fresh kindergartener wanting to impress the two third grade boys, naturally it happened at the bus stop, Azriel had impressed them by pick pocketing a fellow students pack of gum. Stealing of all things, he guessed he had always been bad, ever since he could remember.

"Just had to bail out my fucking deadbeat again," he grumbles, plopping himself down on the sofa and reaching for the spliff that Cass was holding in his hand, he passes it to Azriel, raising a brow. "Where's Rhys? I need work," he mumbles inhaling the smoke and sinking into the back of the couch.

"Well you're in luck, he just went to pick up," he doesn't comment about his dad, he knew Azriel didnt like to talk about it. "Skate while we wait?" he asked, throwing his hands up as if to ask how about it? His lips drawing in slightly in a turned down smile.

"Yeah, need that," Azriel says and shrugs, standing up to grab his favorite of Rhys' boards off of the racks they had on the wall, even though his was in the trunk of his car. He recalled the days that the three of them would skate every single day after school. They would meet up, get high out of their minds while they walked the woods trail from the school to the skate park and skate until it got completely dark out, not even stopping to eat. They had graduated his freshman year, and the last few years of school had been torture without them, he had other friends, they just weren't real friends he supposed until butterfingers. He couldn't help but smile which earned him a suspicious look from Cass as he grabbed his own board off the wall before leaning it against the couch.

"Peanut butter and mushroom jelly?" he asks and laughs. Azriel puts the now stinger of a spliff in the ashtray, Rhys' board still tucked under his arm and nods.

"When have I ever said no?" He asks him and smirks, sitting at one of their kitchen stools, placing the board over his lap now. He checks his phone while Cass places two pieces of white bread on the bare counter, smearing jelly on one side peanut butter on the other, he then retreated and came back dumping an eighth of shrooms onto the sandwich. Azriels stomach twisted when he opened instagram to see that she had posted a story, she never posted on her socials, he didnt much either, but still. His thumb hovered over it, debating on whether or not he should look, he knew girls were complicated, everything they did was a message.

"If anything will cheer you up it's this," Cass says as he cuts the now sandwich into two equal halves and hands one to Azriel. He takes the sandwich and takes a large bite, almost half already gone and he chews, the board still balancing on his lap. He would never get used to that earthy taste, like he had just picked up a pile of leaves and rotting sticks off the ground and was just chewing on them, he scrunched his nose, glancing up at Cass for only a minute to see him pouring two glasses of orange juice a similar expression on his face.

Azriel just shook his head, setting the sandwich down to take a swig before he finally just decided to watch the damn story. His heart leapt seeing her face on the screen now, a selfie? Since when, did she post selfies? Jealousy was the only thing that stopped him from hearting it. Azriel knew he was popular, yes it was in a different way than the jocks and the cheerleaders but still, he knew how people were noticing her since he had started walking the halls with her. He shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and opened the text thread again, seeing that she had read his last message only about twenty minutes ago, this only annoyed him further. So you can post but you can't respond to my message? Triple texting a girl, who even was he anymore? "You alright?" Cass' voice pulls him from his thoughts and he locks his phone, swallowing the rest of the sandwich and washing it down with more juice.

"Let's go skate," he says and stands backup, the board tucked under his arm again. Cass seemed to accept this as an appropriate answer, he knew him and Rhys had to look out for him, they were like his older brothers, but prying, wasn't the way to look out for Azriel, it would only make him not return their calls for weeks until he sorted whatever it was out on his own. They made their way to the parking lot which had a convenient rail with a cement base near the sign for the apartments, the rail was already left scraped and bare on the top from them skating from time to time.

-

Azriel was definitely slightly drunk, it was late now, well past midnight as he walked from his car that he parked on the end of her street. It was freezing out now but he still wore a tshirt and jeans, his tattoos gleamed in the moonlight, he noted how trippy they looked, the effects of the shrooms him and Cass had done still wearing off. When Rhys had finally got back, they went out, Azriel using his fake since he wasnt twenty one. He had gotten half of the pills off that Rhys brought back, but he wasn't worried, he knew he'd sell the rest at school tomorrow, too damn good not to. She still hadn't responded to him and he had only gotten increasingly annoyed as the day had went on, so when he stumbled into her back yard, it was with intention.

He walked around the side to where he knew her window was and began throwing small rocks, they made small clinking noises before falling back onto the ground. "This is so fuckin stupid," he muttered to himself, shaking his head, he knew he looked like a complete idiot and he was about to go home before he saw the glow of her desk lamp and then, there she was, her brows furrowed as she peered down at him from the second story window. He watched her pry the window open, a smile threatening at his lips.

"Azriel what are you doing? It's a school night," she asks, the tone of her voice like a yell and a whisper at the same time. He couldn't help it, he smiled then, because, of course she would care about that.

"Let me fuck you before you go back to bed," he says back, and he didnt even have to see her up close to know that she was blushing beet red up there. There's a long pause of silence and he looks up at her, raising his arms the same way that Cass did earlier.

"How are you supposed to get in?" she finally asks, huffing out a shaky breath, keeping her voice at a low volume.

"I'll climb," he responds as if it's the simplest task in the world, there was a small roof in front of her window, it covered the back porch area.

"And how will you get down after?" she asks, as if challenging him.

"That's not a now problem butterfingers," he says back, shrugging his shoulders. He doesn't wait for her to say anything else before he's using one of the patio chairs to stand on and he somehow manages to get himself onto the roof and nearly falls into her room. Her hand covers over her mouth.

"Azriel be quiet my parents are sleeping," she hisses softly but he is on his feet by the time she finishes her sentence, he looks down at her, studying her face as if something would now be different.

"Y/n," he was too drunk to care about the surprise that crossed her face and then flush that crept onto her cheeks as her hands slowly dropped at her sides. He had never really said her name before, not outside of class when he had been talking to their teacher. Her lips parted slightly and she stared at him, waiting for what he was going to say next. "Why did you ignore me today?" he finally asked, there were so many things he wanted to tell her, but he knew he couldn't, it would only hurt her in the long run.

"Because you blew me off again, apparently to get drunk," she wrinkled her nose slightly, she may have tried to play it cool, but Azriel knew she was nervous.

"I promise you, it wasnt like that at all," he shakes his head, now feeling slightly nervous as well, which wasnt normally a thing for him. There was a lot of new things with her though. "I had to pick my dad up, and then you weren't texting me and yeah, somehow we ended up here," he finally says, her face softens, which it seemed to any time he mentioned his dad. She really knew nothing, but she knew it was something, he appreciated her understanding, and he appreciated that she never asked any prying questions.

"Im sorry for ignoring you," she finally says after a small pause of silence, he breaks out in a smile and then remembers the selfie, his smile didnt falter when her grabbed her face in his hands, her breath hitched.

"Im going to need every name that slid up on that picture you posted, Im going to lace their weed," he says casually, she didnt even have time to process before his lips were on hers. He kissed her hungrily, claiming her with a dominance he hadn't used before and he pushed her toward her bed, she let out a small gasp as her knees buckled against the bed. Azriel knew if he hadn't drank so much he wouldn't have came here, he knew he wouldn't have been here claiming her as his. Selfish, he was being so damn selfish.

He yanked her pajama pants from her body, placing kisses on her bare torso as he did, her tank top had ridden up just under her breasts that were now peaked, nipples poking the thin fabric. "This?" he mumbled, pressing his palm onto her pussy, holding it, shaking his hand just a little bit causing her to gasp in pleasure as she looked down at him, face flushed, lips parted, propping herself up on her elbows so she could see him better. "This is all mine, do you understand baby?" he asks, his eyes locking with hers, dark with lust, tone unwavering as his eyes bore into hers, searching. He had never in his whole career of having sex behaved this way with someone before, he was too damn drunk to be afraid of it. "Answer me," he says, as she had seemed to be lost for words, her brows twisted with pleasure as she panted before him.

"I understand," she breathed out, he let out a small grunt of approval finally releasing his hand from her and pulling her panties off, humming in approval.

"Look how wet you are already," he dipped his head down, taking a small lick of the wetness gathered at her opening, humming softly in approval at her delicious taste. She whimpered softly beneath him and he stood, her eyes widened a bit, and she looked at him curiously. "On your stomach," he mutters humming again in approval as she rolls over onto her stomach without hesitation. "Fuck," he groans before burying his face into her again, he licked her opening, wiggling his tongue inside her deeper, his nose pressing into the pucker of her ass, she gasps again, trying to pull away a bit but he holds her hips steady, inhaling her sweet sent as he continued to move his tongue. She buried her face into her pillow and he noted the way that her fingers gripped her sheets and her pillow, her knuckles white like she was hanging on for dear life.

He pulled back a bit, licking all the way up from her ass to the top of her neck, goosebumps covered her body and she let out a muffled whimper into her pillow. "This was all you needed wasnt it?" He asks, moving her hair aside so he could ask right in her ear, his husky voice making her toes curl. "Needed me to lick your sweet little cunt and fuck you til you see stars so you can stop acting like a little brat," his lips were right next to her ear, causing a shiver to shoot through her, she only moaned in response. Now this, was more his style, never claiming a pussy as his own, he never cared about having someone to himself. Everything was different with her.

He grabbed one of her smaller pillows, his other hand sliding down her side before he lifted her a bit, sliding the pillow underneath her. He cursed quietly at the sight,, her ass now poking up for him at the perfect angle, her pussy gleamed in the dim light of her desk lamp. He didnt have time to undress, only enough time to free his aching cock from his jeans and shove it into her, making her cry out softly.

"So fuckin wet," he slurred a little bit, his fingers digging into her hips as he began to fuck her, harder, faster and needier than he ever had. She gripped the sheets tightly, no words, only soft moans and whimpers escaped her lips. Her body tensed, and he knew it was coming, he braced himself as her walls tightened around him and she gushed, crying out softly as she came all over his cock. "Oh fuck," he moaned again, the feeling of her sending him over the edge as well, he pulled out, spilling everything onto her ass, his breath ragged as he marveled at her beautiful body. He collapsed next to her, and silence fell as they caught their breath, she was peering at him now with only one eye, her face still smushed into the pillow, it made his heart melt. "No more ignoring me," he mutters, still breathless as he studies the half of her face he could see, he wanted to remember this moment forever.

"I might just do it every day if I get this treatment."

-

a/n: that got so dark for a min there idk what's wrong with my fucked up mind, y'all gonna have to brace yourselves for the next part :( don't forget to tell me what you think

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Seven

Wax Play - Joel Miller/Reader

Summary: Joel and you are paired up for patrol. There are a lot of things unsaid, a snowstorm rolling in and some candles. Go figure (or go read i guess).

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

WC: 1900

Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit Content, Genderneutral Reader, Wax Play, Nipple Play, Infected, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Temperature Play, Snowed In, Two decade old ravioli

AO3 LINK

notes: hi babes! another joel piece today, one that is actually one of my favorites! if you enjoyed the first week on kinktober, lmk in a comment <3

_______________________________

The day is cold.

It's a normal patrol and you stomp through the snow that's been blown into the abandoned house, still high on the success of taking out two runners all by yourself. It's a split moment of distraction as you miss the noise coming from the open bedroom door next to you and that split moment is all it takes as the clicker shoots out of the doorframe and slams you into the nearest wall.

“Fuck!” A yell escapes your throat as you try to keep the Infected out of arm's reach, your fingers digging into the fungal plates on its chest as you stare into a face that has lost all its resemblance to the human it must've been years and years ago. 

Its mouth is wide open and for a split second you think the agonizing scream you hear is coming from the creature in front of you. Then you realize it's your own.

The moment seems to stretch on endlessly, the fear in your chest starting to be replaced by a dreaded feeling of being doomed, of the realization that this may really be it, when he appears in the hallway. 

The gunshot rings in your unprotected ears and through the fog you hear the dampened noise of the clicker falling to the ground next to you, a thud before its body finally goes still.

The grip on you is gone but you can just stare blankly into the thin air in front of you. A few moments later, likely after making sure there's no more Infected around, he's there, in front of you. And now the grip of terror that the Clicker had on you mere seconds ago is replaced by one of tenderness as Joel gently pulls at your shoulders, helping you steady yourself. 

His lips are moving but you can't make out the words. You can tell he holds his breath as he lets his hands roam over your body for a few seconds, turning your hands and bending his own neck one way and the other to check for bites. His touch seems to linger slightly longer too, but this time you're thankful for it.

His rough fingers glide over your neck, pulling at your thick winter jacket slightly to make sure there are no scratches on the delicate flesh of your throat. After a glance at your back, he finally seems to let out a small breath of relief and nods as he steps back, allowing you to take a shaky step of your own into the middle of the room.

He kicks the fungal plate on the floor that is now splattered with blood. ”Jesus, this place is overrun with them.” His gaze only lingers on the body for a few moments, then he turns to check the surroundings once more. It pauses on your form, still shaking, your gaze not meeting his.

“Come on, we're done for today.” Joel mutters and he gently nudges your elbow, staying closer than usual as he leads you back to the horses.

The patrol stop on this route is a cabin in a small resort by a lake, a few miles over from Jackson. It's quite scenic, but also harder to reach and unfortunately, more prone to attacks from Infected.

“It ain't too far now.” Joel calls to you through the snow blowing around your horses. 

It takes a little longer than usual to get both of you into the saddles with how shaken you still are and the abandoned house has cost even more time. The wind has picked up while you have been inside and now the storm seems to be getting closer by the second, inevitably making the way back to Jackson that much harder.

“Should we turn back?” You pipe up, speaking again for the first time. He shakes his head, ”No, I reckon it's best to just find shelter. Cabin should be stocked up.” 

During the winter months, it's not unusual for patrols to stay out overnight, especially if running into bad weather or blocked paths. Noone will worry if you spend the night here and go back in the morning.

Just as the wind starts to get really uncomfortable, you spot the large wooden sign marking the entrance to the small resort and Joel leads the way to the cabin frequented for the patrols. You lead the horses into the attached garage and shovel some snow into a tub to make sure they have some water while Joel secures the area.

After he declares it safe to stay, he locks the front door, ”Ain't like anyone gonna make it out this far in the storm either way.” He mutters under his breath but he is rather safe than sorry. 

You stay quiet, huddled into a corner as you wait for him to give you more instructions. He doesn't.

Instead, he gets out some cans and stirs up a quick dinner for both of you. The two decade old ravioli taste like nothing to you and you struggle to even finish the small portion he has handed you.

Darkness has fallen when you're both done eating and Joel finds the candles spread around the small cabin and starts lighting them, glancing through the curtains as he does. Then, his gaze wanders back to you, still in the same position you've been in since you arrived.

“You're awfully quiet over there.” He mutters.

“Sorry, just- It's been a long day.” You reply quietly, staring at the empty cans in front of you. You can practically feel his gaze on you as he speaks, ”Yeah, reckon it has been.”

You both stay quiet for a moment and he returns to your side, pushing the half-empty cans away with his boot before he sits down, his gaze never leaving your form. His voice is quiet and gentle when he speaks.

“It didn't get you.”

“I know.”

He pauses again for a moment. And then-

“I wouldn't let it.”

“I know.”

Your own voice is shaking and suddenly, you feel like crying. He stirs next to you and a split second later you're cuddling into him, your face resting against the middle of his chest, the leather jacket he refuses to stop wearing framing your head on both sides.

Time doesn't matter as you stay enveloped in him, taking in the scent that smells like safety, the voice that sounds like a distant lullaby and the arms that feel like home around you.

You can feel yourself falling asleep and eventually, Joel nudges you a little. He has pulled your can of food back towards you and sighs, ”Come on, finish dinner and then you can go to sleep, hm?” 

You whine into his chest and he sighs. ”Look, I'll warm it up for you again.”

He does, turning the small cooker back on to generate a little more heat, all the while keeping one arm securely around you. When he's satisfied, he turns the small flame off again and pulls you back a little. 

You gaze up at him and he sighs softly before grabbing a fork and, one by one, bringing the leftover ravioli to your mouth. You know you would never admit it, but you do feel a little better once your stomach is actually full and you yawn a little as he cleans up while you reach for your sleeping gear.

Not wanting to attract attention, you don't start fires unless absolutely necessary so tonight it's staying warm in your thick jackets and sleeping bags. You huddle into the corner of the cabin, crawling into the bag as Joel brings a candle over. He reaches for a shelf above you but the wax is already quite melted and a small drop falls down onto your exposed arm. You yank it back, hissing a bit before it turns into a whine. ”Watch it,” You mutter under your breath and Joel almost instantly stops in his tracks.

Not because he's worried. But because he knows that whine. 

It's the same noise you make when he's buried deep inside of you, when you beg him to finally move.

Slowly, careful not to drop too much, he repeats his motion, this time on purpose.

“What are you- Joel!” The hot wax hits your arm again and the combination of the warmth in contrast to the coldness that's surrounding you draws another whine from your lips. He smirks at his find and places the candle next to the makeshift bed, kneeling down so he can place both hands on the top of your sleeping bag, waiting for permission. You nod quickly and he pulls it down until it pools at your hips before tugging on your sweater:” Why don't you take that off for me, darlin?”

You comply, raising your arms as he helps you out of the thick piece of clothing. He carefully places it next to you before his hands return to you, fingers ghosting over your chest and tracing the lines and curves of it. The cold immediately gives you chills and Joel rubs the palms of his hands over your sides and your stomach for a moment to warm you up before leaning down to kiss each side gently.

Then, he carefully reaches for the candle and you watch the flickering light of it dance over his features as he tilts it very slowly right above your chest. Your gaze wanders to the source of light and you watch as the wax slowly begins to flow towards the edge until eventually a small drop falls down- and the hot sensation it creates on your skin travels through your body and from your chest right down to your middle. The whine is a breathless gasp this time and a curse escapes your lips, ”Fuck-”.

Joel chuckles lowly, clearly enjoying himself. He repeats the motion in different spots, letting a few small and then larger drops of wax fall to your skin until one hits your nipple and you gasp loudly in response, your legs clenching together as the heat from the candle seems to transfer to pool in your lower abdomen. Your hand darts out from under the covers to grab at Joel's shirt, fisting it in your hand. ”Joel, please ,” You whimper.

“Please what?” He hums, a soft tone of amusement in his voice.

“Please touch me, please, it's too much, it feels so- I don't know, I just need- I need you-” You blurt out, unable to contain yourself any longer. 

He chuckles again, a little softer now and shushes you as he puts the candle away, placing both hands on your chest and scratching at the hardened wax. It stings a bit as it comes off but it's just the right amount of pain and this time, he catches your whimpers with his mouth as he leans down to kiss you deeply, occupying what feels like every inch of your body.

He crawls over you, mouth never leaving yours as he shifts into the sleeping bag with you, his hands beginning to wander lower.

You spend the night entangled, limbs mixing under the thick fabrics of blankets and jackets and sleeping bags until you no longer know where he begins and where you end. He kisses your neck as you drift off to sleep hours later.

The night is warm.

[scottsmajorshipbracket]

I feel u on the positive galaxy duo stuff, scott ship acc admin

Thats why imma try and give u my Galaxy duo interpretation across seasons, with a happy ending! :]

in last life they made food and would eat together. Pearl would sing silly little improvised songs per usual, Scott was more of a gentle humming kinda guy. The humming could put Pearl to sleep very easily, good at taming dogs, I suppose. + Last Life took place during summer. Warm happy summer, bright sunshine coming in through the windows, swimming by the river, tending to crops together, feeding the birds. Fun comfy summer together with who you love most. (this will be important later on.. /silly)

during double life soulmates shared some physical traits, due to mind fuckery done by the watchers tho, they didn't notice these changes on anyone til they found their own soulmate. Scott and Pearl got their hair ends the color of the other. Pearl tried so hard to cut it off, chopping her hair with an axe, but the teal ends only grew upwards on her new ends. In the end she resorted to "dying" it, with stuff like berries, flowers and animal blood... it sorta did the work and made her happy, but ppl also thought he smelled TERRIBLE and it was another reason to not approach him. + Double Life took place in winter, cold cold winter killing crops and freezing stray animals to death, snow storms forming like a dispute between parties, who once loved one another, now falling appart. The love is still there tho, it is and it always will be. To hate with such passion, you have to love first.

in limited life, while they *said* they were okay with one another and acted friendly while in a group environment, they still had some unresolved issues to cope with. Pearl probably looked down at the coral isles, from the frog tower. Yeah their teammates, neighbors and your mother could tell they were still not normal about eachother, but hey petty pranks and odd looks are better than torturing eachother! They still miss being together, but for both their sakes they gotta wait it out more. I can still recall our last summer, I still see it all. + Limited Life took place in autumn (different year). Autumn, where leaves start dying off, falling off trees. All that dead waste... it leaves the trees, it prepares for change. For once spring comes... they'll grow stronger once again :)

in secret life they finally found peace, forgave eachother mutually, better than they could have ever before. My sister, a flower expert (/hj), assigned them daisies, for they represent new beginnings. They finally get to be happy together, and they can be in different alliances! They have a good time when they do see eachother, no petty pranks for no reason. Scott even went out of his way to remind Pearl she didnt say "I love you" to him, to which Pearl immediately goes to apologize and say "I love you Scooott♡ does it still count?", and I swear I can HEAR him smirk as he goes ".. I'll take it..". People focus a lot on the finale I think. Healing is a process, it has ups and downs, of course Pearl is still hurt over double life, but she doesnt hate Scott. It wasnt just Gem who offered Pearl to join them, Scott very much wanted him with them aswell, and I refuse to think it was just out of "fear". He didn't wanna have to be up against Pearl again, theyd allied again, finally, fixed their issues. Just to be forced to fight again. I think they found peace in the end tho, while the Scar stays alive the other dead people stay around as ghosts, having to wait til the watchers get bored and make another season. I think they made up again after the finale. + afterall, Secret Life took place on spring. New life, a colorful flowery view, beautiful fields. All to share with a new bond, a new beginning. The new spring of an old connection. Beautiful and sweet. Similar to the summer they met.

Here's where it gets gay as hell tho so uhh yall can stop reading here if u dont like my mlm majormoon vision

.

.

in real life... I have NO platonic explanation for this, im so sorry but theyre literally a married couple. They ADOPTED A KID!! (Cleo, jokingly)("there you go little Cleo" "thanks mum!") I actually think they probably got engaged after the secret life finale, as ghosts, they spent a LONG time there afterall. Winners Void marriage!! Martyn officiated the wedding, Scar was Pearl's best man (theyre siblings to me but thats unrelated), Grian was their witness, I mean he had no option BUT to wintess this so.. also, during that kiss they shared, there was a spark of light in the void, in that deep darkness, the moon and his stars iluminated all around them. Back to the actual season, they can now joke around the old times no problem, they *can* have other alliances, but theyre back to good old. Like Scott said in secret life, "its destiny". Theyre faithed, way past double life, that was just a physical representation of soulmate bonds, but the connections are still real after, and were real before. I see these two bicker during real life and see a married couple, not one that hates eachother, but they tease eachother and roll their eyes at eachothers stupidity at times. They love eachother so much even with their quirks. + Real Life i'd say takes place in summer once again. Years have passed, and they passed them together. They already had something going on in last life but denied it, they were young and unsure. They've matured and are more sure of who they are and what they want. They have fun, once again, like last time.. walks along the seine, laughing in the rain, our last summer, memories that remain♡

Thats it thank you for listening to my TED talk

:O

[sylphidine]

[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 33

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairing: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]

Characters: Spamton Addison, T.M. Tanner, Leroux Kaard, Lance O'Toole, GiGi McCray

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Sweet And Sour Grapes

Chapter summary: Spamton and T.M. fit a lot more into a Sunday morning than either of the two of them had planned.

Author notes:

Again, apologies for the delay in posting. I did not intend to take TWO MONTHS between chapters. I work retail, so yes, the winter holidays definitely eat away at my writing time each year. But offline life, which is Always Interesting [insert sarcastic emoji here] decided to get Even More Interesting this year, and I've had to spend more time than I'd like clearing up the wreckage.

Anyway. On to the chapter. Warnings as always for angst and dark themes, sprinkled in amongst the fluph.

My thanks to @jaimistoryteller for last-minute beta-reading and hand-holding while I dithered over some of the details.

_________________

“You know, you’re the first person I’ve met who thinks in music the way I do.”

“R-really?”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” T.M. straightened up from where she’d been reshelving the LPs and CDs that Spamton handed her, one at a time.  She was filing albums that had aged out from being “new acquisitions” and could be added to the radio station’s core library, housed in Prodo in a recessed alcove. 

When T.M. had invited Spamton along this morning after breakfast, she had explained this was her usual Sunday task, self-imposed of course, but one that gave her enormous satisfaction.

Spamton got the impression that T.M. didn’t invite just anyone to do this task with her.

But things had changed between them since last night.

This morning should have been awkward as hell, once Spamton realized that there was an extra person in his and Swatch’s bed.

But, surprisingly, it wasn’t.

His brain registered that he must have fallen asleep in his clothes, as had Swatch. Spamton still had his arms around Swatch and his face buried in Swatch’s slightly scratchy sweater. That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was the warmth at his back… a warmth that felt like someone else’s back.

Spamton remembered T.M. lying down behind him last night. He himself had turned over to clamber onto Swatch, as was the nightly pattern for them both.

He remembered that she had put an arm loosely over his shoulders, not tightly under his arms and around his waist.

She had been an anchor, not a restraint.

He cautiously moved from his usual position on his right side, to gradually be half on his back, half on his left side.

A head of blonde hair with aqua-blue tips was on a pillow next to him. Half under blankets, he also saw an arm clad in a black and silver sweater with a cat-and-moon pattern.

The puzzle pieces came together then as Spamton remembered blowing an emotional gasket the night before and apologetically telling T.M. that it would be all right if she stayed over. He had felt awful about ruining the cuddle puddle the three of them had had going, but he couldn’t stop all of the rage at Mike from choking him.

Still, it wasn’t T.M.’s fault that he was a screwed-up mess.

 Not only was everyone in their clothes, but he was lying on top of the big comforter. At some point either Swatch or T.M. must have gotten up to find an extra pillow and extra  blankets to throw over all three of them.

Cozy and reassuring.

He must have twitched, or his breathing must have changed, because his thoughts were interrupted by a quiet voice asking, “Y-You awake?”

"Yes," he managed to croak out, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

And then Spamton woke up for real.

His arms were still around Swatch, but the two of them were the only ones in the bed.

The sensations of three, not two, had felt so real, though.

He resolved to mull the night over later.  First things first… nature was calling. No, more accurately, nature was SCREAMING.

He carefully disengaged himself from Swatch, who remained deeply asleep. Not that Spamton blamed them. Swatch had definitely earned a morning of sleeping in.

The question on the tip of Spamton's mind was answered when he sat up and put his hand down on a piece of paper. T.M. had left a note.

Gonna crash on the couch. Wake me up and we can do breakfast.

He quickly grabbed some clothes to change into in the small downstairs bathroom.

When he headed into the living room, T.M. was already pulling herself up into a sitting position on the couch. Spamton felt a tiny flash of amusement at her hair sticking out in various directions. For once she was the rumpled one.

"Morning, Short Stuff," she greeted him. "Guess you saw my note." Her voice sounded normal… chipper, sweet, no hidden undertones. 

"Uh huh,” he answered. “Should we - should we wait f-for Swatch?"

She flung off the blanket she’d been using and stood up, stretching. "Nah, let them sleep. We can go to the caf, I still have guest points from last semester."

That was a relief to him, although he would have been willing to pay his way. "Okay. B-but let me leave a note."

“Sure thing.” 

___________________________

There was an unexpected delay before breakfast, unexpected at least on Spamton’s part. T.M. insisted on stopping by her dorm first to change clothes, saying, “Esther will never let me live it down if she sees me for breakfast in the same outfit I showed up for dinner in!”

Spamton grinned at that.  He remembered Esther from last semester. He was fond of her because she never made a fuss or gave him the side-eye when he asked her to halve the portion of whatever was being served at mealtimes, unlike some of the other staff who would make height jokes in response to his request. And another trait that endeared Esther to him was she seemed to believe that every day should be Talk Like A Pirate Day.

He hadn’t expected to be greeted by a pair of actual pirates when T.M. unlocked the door to her suite.

The shorter of the two barely came up to Spamton's waist, brandishing what looked like a garden trowel. He wore a jaunty black cardboard hat, decorated with a skull and crossbones. Otherwise his outfit was that of any other kindergartner. He had soft, baby-fine brown hair, bright blue eyes, and dimples in his pale cheeks.

“Ho ho! I’m the bad guy!” the smaller pirate chortled, sticking his tongue out. The taller, wearing a similar homemade hat, was quick to say, "Lancelot Roland O'Toole! Standeth down, swabby. These be fellow captains here to parley." Leroux followed this up almost immediately by mouthing, half-silently, "Please playeth alonge."

Leroux's admonishment was apparently acceptable, because Lance looked back, smiled, and replied, "okay, lesser dad", as he put his improvised weapon away.

T.M. stepped into the conversational breach as she strode into the living room. She intoned, "Permission to come aboard, Captains?" At the young boy's almost regal nod, a sharp contrast to his delighted grin, she bent down to shake Lance's hand, then pointed behind her to introduce Spamton. 

"Pirate Lancelot, this is Pirate Stanton. Please treat him as an honored guest."

There was the sound of laughter from the next room, followed by GiGi's voice chiming in with the comment, "Welcome To The Poop Deck!"

Leroux looked pained, but rolled his eyes fondly and shrugged in a what can you do kind of way. T.M. rolled her own eyes back at him in a far less fond manner and continued, "And if you good shipmates will excuse me, I'm feeling filthy as a bilge rat." 

She moved off in what Spamton presumed was the direction of her own room, tossing over her shoulder as she went, "If Pirate Regina has used up all the hot water and not left any for my shower, I'm going to make her walk the plank."

The kindergartner giggled at that, and then grabbed Spamton’s hand, tugging him towards a chair. Leroux followed, pulling his own pirate hat off and running a dark hand through his silvery beaded braids.  He sat on the couch next to a pile of winter coats, and Lance plopped himself down to sit on the floor.

 "Stan-ton. That’s a funny name. Your hair is funny too. Can I call you Grunkle Stan?"

It took Spamton a few seconds to realize what Lance was referencing, but once he did, he decided to roll with it. He leaned forward in his chair and answered in a gravelly voice, doing his best to disguise his stutter, "Kid, I think you’re m-mixing me up with Ford. But I'll take that as a compliment!"

That response had Lance literally rolling on his back laughing and waving his feet in the air. GiGi came into the room, stuffing one last textbook into her backpack, and commented, “Watch where you’re kicking, little guy. Remember to respect the pottery.” Leroux got to his own feet, saying, “Cometh now, my irrepressible prince, it is time to go.”

“Okay!” The little boy grabbed his coat off the pile, and then handed GiGi hers, saying, “Here you go, girldad.” 

Spamton was impressed by the kid’s good manners, but was starting to feel confused about the dynamics in the room. Leroux picked up on the vibe and shot Spamton a worried look disguised by a smile, saying, “Always good to see you. I hope to get a chance to talketh more with you at the next staffe meeting.” He grabbed his own coat from the arm of the couch, and the three left the apartment.

What was THAT all about? Spamton mused to himself. You’d think this was THEIR home and that T.M. was the visitor. 

And, furthermore, it was one thing to know that his boss at the radio station had a child; it was another thing to meet that child and to realize that the little boy looked nothing like Leroux and didn’t even share his last name. And what was the deal with the kid calling Leroux his “lesser dad”?  

The thought crossed Spamton’s mind that the old Gainsboro Stanton Addison would have felt obligated to be appalled, assuming the nickname was a rude one on the child’s part. He was glad to find himself intrigued instead, and felt vindicated in his hard-fought-for belief that family was where you found it.

But if this was how GiGi treated T.M. in the apartment that they were supposed to share, it was no wonder that T.M. found excuses to study, eat, and sleep elsewhere.

The possibility of asking T.M. to move into the townhouse with him and Swatch flashed across his mind once again. Swatch had even joked about it last night, before everything had gone pear-shaped.

Then it’s settled. None of us are ever leaving this couch again. Sorry, Moggy, you live here now.

Swatch had been joking, hadn’t they? 

The lady herself appeared in the doorway not even a moment later and interrupted his further reflection on the topic. T.M. was wearing a deep purple sweater with a wide leather belt, as well as skinny jeans tucked into knee-high fringed boots. She shrugged herself into her studded leather jacket. “Sorry to leave you with the pirate crew, but I really was going to crawl out of my skin if I didn’t get cleaned up. You ready for breakfast?”

“V-very ready.”

____________________

“J-just so I know what you - you mean by ‘thinking in m-music’, do you mean you actually see scenes from your life as song - song lyrics?” That wasn’t exactly what he meant to say, but Spamton was finding it hard to lay his hands on the words he wanted.

T.M. looked over at him and tilted her head to the side. “Not quite, but that sounds really cool, too. Like those AMVs that people make for their favorite characters. No, what I mean is, it sounds to me like when someone says something to you, your brain leaps immediately into responding with a song lyric.”

“Huh. I d-don’t know that I ever p-put two and two t-t-together like that, but you may be on to something.” A suspicion crossed his mind and he blurted out, before he could think better of it, “Hey.  Is this about - about last night? Because I’m still tired of talking about Mike.”

She picked up an empty album jacket and tapped him gently on the head with it. “It’s not always about you. But his name was Mike, huh?”

Spamton was torn between wanting to curse himself out for letting Mike's name slip and wanting to laugh out loud at how slyly she'd maneuvered him, so he settled for a snort and a smirk, saying, “Give the lucky lady ten points, she only needs another ten to win the kewpie doll.”

T.M. smirked back at him at that, and then gave him a piercing look. “You know, Swatch was right. Your stutter really DOES go away when you’re pissed off.”

How was he supposed to answer that? 

At the sight of his conflicted expression, T.M. rushed in to continue, “Don’t blame Swatch. They didn’t give up any secrets about you.  We were talking about Leroux, believe it or not, and how all that ‘ye olde Englishe’ pose of his goes away when he’s really serious about something, and Swatch mentioned something about when Catto tried to go two hours without talking, and then got a fit of hiccups for another two hours, and God, I’m just babbling and making things worse and putting my foot deeper in my mouth, aren’t I?”

She looked so stricken as she said that last bit that Spamton had to laugh. “N-no, you’re fine. If I - I think about it, it’s actually f-f-flattering to know my partner talks about me to his best friend.”

“Damn straight,” T.M. replied in a relieved voice. “They really love you, you know. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Oh, I d-don’t. We - we got that settled after the initial m-m-m-misunderstanding.”

“Good.” 

“Good.”

“But about last night…”

Spamton had to reach up to do it, but he used the same empty record album jacket [NURSERY CRYME by Genesis] to whap her on the head. “Let’s t-t-talk about you, not me, T.M.”

She crinkled her eyes and wrinkled her nose at him with an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Do we have all day?”

His phone chose that moment to interrupt with a text notification, and he held it out to her so she could read it.

From: SWATCH

Sunday: 10:52

Got your note, thank you {REALLY} for letting me sleep. Didn’t know how much I needed it. You coming back here before your work shift or should I meet you at Luigi’s after?

“Well, then. If you don’t mind hanging out with me, instead of flying back to Birdman, I suppppppppppppppose I can let you in on my deep dark secrets,” T.M. said flippantly.

Spamton matched her tone and replied, “Mmmmm, dish to me baby, I love me some d-deep dish.” He typed back to Swatch, It makes sense if I just stay on campus for now and meet up at Luigi’s later. And are we food shopping tonight? It’s supposed to snow this week.

The answer came back immediately. Sounds good. Although I’ll believe snow when I see it. I’m walking around topless. And bottomless.

He grinned to himself and texted, Promise? 

“Oh my God, you’re actually blushing! You two are so cute and domestic, I’m gonna melt into goop, I swear.”

Spamton’s grin froze.  He'd forgotten in the few brief moments of his texting exactly who was still peering over his shoulder.

He looked up at T.M. in embarrassment, but her face was neither mocking nor judgemental, and her next words sounded thoughtful, as though they weren’t meant to reach his ears. “I wish I had what you and Swatch have.”

Should he pretend he hadn’t heard?

The decision was taken out of his hands.  While he was trying to come up with something to say, T.M. brushed him aside, physically as well as verbally by muttering, “Be right back,” as she beat a hasty exit from the Prodo studio.

When she came back, Spamton put on a show of needing to also hit the restroom, to give her a moment. He took his time, but not excessively so. On his return, he noticed that the door to Prodo was closed and the electric  RECORDING IN SESSION! DO NOT DISTURB! sign was lit up over the transom.

After a few nerve-wracking moments, T.M. opened the door and let him in, but the sign stayed lit. She closed the door behind him, turned away and shimmied up to perch on the counter behind the mixing board, kicking her legs nervously. She pointed her finger at him and asked, for all the world sounding like a prophet of doom, “Do you have a ‘Go To Hell’ playlist? I think everyone should have a ‘Go To Hell’ playlist.”

Spamton took a seat near her on one of the office stools, swiveling pensively back and forth on its casters. “That’s - that’s a fair question. I assume you h-have one of your own?”

She nodded. “I’ve actually got multiples. And lucky me, one of them is three-quarters of the songs on one album.”

“Huh.”

“But I need a new playlist for my current situation.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My mother wants to marry some guy she's known for all of four months and move to fucking New Jersey to breed racehorses.”

She let that sink in, and he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “That’s - yeah, that’s what I’d c-call…. Something. I d-d-don’t know what I’d call it, but… yeah.” Spamton could see how upset T.M. was, even without having any context. He felt like it was his turn to be dancing in a minefield.

“What it is, my friend, is pure unadulterated narcissistic selfishness.” T.M.’s voice rose with every word, until she was practically screaming. “The woman didn’t ask me, she TOLD me. On Tuesday night.  Right before you stopped by. And she doesn’t even have the decency to wait until I graduate. She’s got all her plans set for the end of April. So  just like Swatch, in a couple of months I’ll have no home either…”

She paused for breath, and then spoke more calmly. “It doesn’t bug me when you and Swatch make goo-goo eyes at each other, not like GiGi and Leroux. Because I’ve got a gut feeling that you and my Swatchy are going to go the distance, and I’m also pretty sure that GiGi’s going to get bored… or scared… and dump Leroux. I just feel bad for Leroux’s kid… he’ll latch onto anyone who shows him the tiniest scrap of affection.” She snorted as a thought seemed to strike her. “Too damn relatable.”

That was a bomb that Spamton didn’t even want to START defusing. Too damn relatable for me, too.

T.M. seemed to have run out of steam by then. They both sat there in silence for a few minutes, until T.M. said, entirely too brightly, “So! Before you head off for your library job. How’s about a little music therapy?”

"For you, or f-for me?"

"Tell you what. Make it interesting, let's each pick one song." She wore more of a rictus than a smile. "You go first."

He nodded uneasily. "Okay. B-but I need - need a minute."

Spamton closed his eyes to give the impression that he was thinking hard, but almost as soon as T.M. had mentioned a "Go To Hell" playlist, he knew one song that should be on his. It had been a staple on the “psychic jukebox” at The Grass Roots Tavern; he remembered that John the bartender always used to make rude comments when it came on, so he never picked it himself. But the song satisfied something dark in Spamton’s soul.

“G-got it,” he said now, opening his eyes. He flipped through the CD racks until he found the Billy Talent album he was looking for. He fitted the disc into the slot on the mixing board, adjusted the volume so that it was loud, but not likely to burst anyone’s eardrums, and hit the “play” button.

I stumble through the wreckage

Rusted from the rain

There's nothing left to salvage

No one left to blame

Among the broken mirrors

I don't look the same

I'm rusted from the rain

I'm rusted from the rain

Dissect me 'til my blood runs

Down into the drain

My bitter heart is pumping

Oil into my veins

I'm nothing but a tin man

Don't feel any pain

I don't feel any pain

I don't feel any pain

I'm rusted from the rain

Go on, crush me like a flower

Rusted from the rain

Come on, strip me of my power

Beat me with your chains

And if I'm the king of cowards

You're the queen of pain

I'm rusted from the rain

I'm rusted from the rain

You hung me like a picture

Now I'm just a frame

I used to be your lapdog

Now I'm just a stray

Shackled in the graveyard

Left here to decay

Left here to decay

Left here to decay

I'm rusted from the rain

Go on, crush me like a flower

Rusted from the rain

Come on, strip me of my power

Beat me with your chains

And if I'm the king of cowards

You're the queen of pain

I'm rusted from the rain

I'm rusted from the rain

I'm rusted from the rain

He hadn’t realized that he’d closed his eyes again and was practically panting until T.M.’s voice broke through the blood-red haze of his rage. Tears soaked his eyelashes as he blinked at her behind his glasses. She was sitting on the other swivel stool next to him, holding his hands gently but firmly in hers.

“Wow, man. Just… wow. That wasn’t what I expected you to pick, but it kind of proves my point.”

He thought he’d gotten all the poison out when he’d broken down all those times in front of Ballew after Ballew had found him and brought him home.

When he’d verbally vomited up all the details to Dr. George and to his therapist, in his months of treatment, about what he’d put his body through during his homeless stretch.

When he’d outlined the timeline of his rise and fall to Swatch a few days ago.

Would there never be an end to it?

“Your turn,” he said gruffly, his throat feeling like he’d swallowed a handful of razor blades and then washed them down with a mug of bile. “T-tell me who you hate as much as I - I hate Mike.”

T.M. had an odd expression on her face as she dropped his hands and pressed the “play” button for her own selection. “Take a wild guess,” she said quietly as the voice of Tori Amos rolled out from the speakers.

Every finger in the room is pointing at me

I want to spit in their faces then I get afraid what that could bring

I got a bowling ball in my stomach, I got a desert in my mouth

Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now

I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in

Just what god needs, one more victim

Why do we crucify ourselves every day?

I crucify myself and nothing I do is good enough for you

I crucify myself every day

I crucify myself and my heart is sick of being

I said my heart is sick of being in chains

Chains

Got a kick for a dog begging for love

I got to have my suffering so that I can have my cross

I know a cat named Easter, he says, will you ever learn

You're just an empty cage, girl, if you kill the bird

I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in

Got enough guilt to start my own religion

Why do we crucify ourselves every day?

I crucify myself and nothing I do is good enough for you

I crucify myself every day

I crucify myself and my heart is sick of being

I said my heart is sick of being in chains

Chains

Please be

Save me

I cry

And now T.M. was crying as the piano notes reached a crescendo along with Tori’s wails of anguish.

Spamton didn’t think, he acted.  

He only wanted to comfort his friend.

But somehow he ended up half in her lap and she half in his, one of her legs trapped between both of his, her hands in his hair, his hands cupping her face, the two of them just one heartbeat away from kissing.

[dojae-huh]

yeah i still remember doppus were complaining as well back then. Honestlyy.. can i curse to all of these fans on X? Why complain everyday 😂😂. I think unless your idols are suing the company for taking advantage on them, i think it’s safe to say they’re just fine. Everything gotta be mistreatment nowadays. Be it doppu vals tyf 127zen dreamzen nctzen or wtv. Bruh does sm even read from these templates from X? If you’re num 1 on naver then i think they’d care. And isn’t there the recent wkorea interview too? The solo album is coming people. The promotion will be coming. The rollout will be coming. With how hard jaehyun is working and with his vision i think we could be expecting sth spectacular from him. Why not turn this energy by posting more clips on his solo work before, making fun guests on what concept, genre etc that he’ll be making. I know we want ‘official’ announcement from sm but with how many times articles and interview saying his album will be on third quarter, i think that’s confirmation enough? Has there been any cancellations before? Genuinely askin tho. If there is then… we burn sm😈. I personally think it’ll be early sept.

I suppose it's a combination of the victim mentality (my bias and by extention me, as his fan, are the most mistreated), unification around a common enemy (SM sabotages/hates my bias/group), not knowing k-pop history (how SM operated in the past, its approach to doing business), and staying in the bubble (self-reinforcing misconceptions, co-stans not questioning your wrong opinions, echoing them).

It becomes ridiculous though, heh. We have 4 neos going solos in a row, and each time their solo-stans cry they have it the worst. I especially cackled at the part where a Jae's stan )who wrote that article pointing out the mistreatment) said that everyone had their schedules cleared for their album preparations but SM made Jae work in parallell to other activities. When we know from bts videos that both Tae and Do prepared in between 127 concerts and recordings, BA activities.

Neos sometimes complain about SM, but it's normal. Noone likes their workplace 100%. Sasaengs, antis who create false rumours and fans who are ready to attack and blame at any "misconduct" of their bias are those who really bring stress. It's not SM who led Renjun to mental issues and a need to go on a hiatus (while it's SM who allows him to take a break despite a world tour).

I think we'll get a lot of videos DJJ style, similar to the "Horizon" MV, that aesthetic. I also won't be surprised if Jae will have fanmeets like Tae and Ten, not full concerts. He said there will be 4-6 songs on the EP, he won't have enough material (Do's setlist has 20 songs + a medley).

Fans are usually not very inventive with the promotion of their biases. Doyoung impressed k-pop fans who visited K-con, his fans rejoice but don't write posts with links to his MVs, information about his solo, etc. If something trends for a day, there are key words - use it.

SM's new girl group was postponed several times. It was first time promised to be debuted 2 years ago? Then last year, then this spring, finally, this winter. It won't happen to Jae though. The debut may come later than it was originally planned (in September, as you said), but it will happen.

[meret118]

Earlier this month, a study in Lancet showed that 54% of those infected in the first months of the pandemic were still experiencing symptoms over three years later.

. . .

Papers showing that COVID-19 caused a significant depletion in critical elements of the immune system go back to the early months of the pandemic. There are now over 100 studies showing this effect. That includes evidence that COVID-19 causes an effect on the immune system similar to abrupt aging. That effect could be why survivors of COVID-19 have a higher risk of death that extends at least a year after their infection.

. . .

A year after COVID-19 surged across the United States, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention officials noted an unusual wave of RSV virus in the United States. That disease is usually seasonal, striking over the winter along with the flu. Something similar happened the following year, with both flu and RSV surging well ahead of their regular season. In fact, NBC News noted that children were having severe symptoms not just from this early resurgence of normal respiratory diseases, but seeing infections from “parainfluenza viruses, adenoviruses, rhinoviruses and enteroviruses in ways never before imagined.”

Scientists soon put forward an idea that became heavily promoted by news media and angrily talked up by pundits. That idea, as reported by CNN, was that there was an “immunity gap” caused by “lockdowns, physical distancing, wearing masks, washing hands.” This supposed immunity gap was blamed for the early surge in RSV and the resurgence of other diseases. As The Washington Post put it, “Experts agree that people did the right thing by wearing masks and socially distancing because of the coronavirus, but the lack of interaction with germs also made our bodies far less resilient to disease.”

This is, to put it kindly, bullshit. To put it more precisely, it’s deadly disinformation.

As that World Health article notes, the immune system is not a muscle. It doesn’t benefit from exercise and it doesn’t get stronger from repeated use. In fact, fighting off infection can leave the immune system depleted, even when that inflection doesn’t include a virus that directly attacks the components of the immune system. And COVID-19 directly attacks components of the immune system.

. . .

while COVID-19 infections in children are more likely to be asymptomatic than in other age groups, that doesn’t mean children aren’t carrying high viral loads. In fact, young children often show higher levels of the SARS-CoV-2 virus, even while displaying few symptoms associated with COVID-19 in adults.

An early study of children who suffered severe effects from COVID-19 infection found a direct connection to changes in the immune system resulting in “hyperinflammation.” That finding is right in line with the findings of a study reported by the National Institutes of Health in August showing that COVID-19 alters the expression of genes within some immune system cells, leading to high levels of inflammation.

. . .

In 2022, The Washington Post reported that pediatric hospitals had a shortage of beds. There was a specific shortage of ICU beds for children suffering from severe pneumonia or other respiratory illness. One doctor who specialized in infectious diseases said he hadn’t seen anything like it during his 30-year career.

More at the link.

-----

Based on what I've read, I think this is what's happening in China right now, rather than a new disease.

[disappearenceofsomeoneelse]

within that first winter I found you

20TH DECEMBER , 20XX — FRIDAY. School had just finished, and like everyone else, all were excited at the thought of winter break. For it was the time of the year where you got to hangout with your friends and family after finishing up exams, whisking away your worries for whatever a kid could have. You’d have all the time you need to go out and do something…

Quite the contrary for the kid sweeping off whatever trash his classmates left behind, no?

Instead of being outside the building already, he was instead stuck inside his classroom, cleaning up whatever disorganised mess his peers had decided to challenge him with today. From shuffling tables and pushing chairs under desks, to picking up dropped books yet to be placed back in their actual shelves, even going far as to picking up lost items that somehow even gotten under places it shouldn’t be.

How’d he even land here in the first place? What, did he just decided to take one for the team and offer himself to do this even though it was so clearly pointless they’d even care for him?

Well, for Winnie Bosko, yes, yes that was the case.

For an 11 year old boy who had recently moved here from an entirely different city, he was one of many regular students that did regular stuff kids do, like school and such. And all he wanted for this year was to have a normal life. But when you’re practically moving for what feels like every other year, he’d be stupid to think this year would be different. It’s practically the same each time: he introduces himself towards his class, he becomes well loved by his teachers and peers, and he makes some friends midway through the year only to leave them behind weeks later. And of course, none of them ever contacted him again, not even after he sent letters and mail their way. Practically left on read, the poor boy.

It didn’t help that this year wasn’t even decent for him, he basically just got ignored the entire year. If he wasn’t helping someone, nobody would’ve known him at all. That much was already obvious. Nobody came to him for any other reason other than for homework or to borrow his supplies. And if he tried making small talk with these guys? God it’d be the most awkward conversation ever. He’d talk about his life back in some other part of the world and these guys wouldn’t get it, they never could. They weren’t the ones moving houses like it’s vacation, they weren’t the ones who had to cancel their plans just because their parents had a business trip like every weekend, and they sure weren’t people who had to constantly leave all that progress behind and start from scratch for everytime they had to go.

But, there was no point lamenting anymore, especially since not only did he get used to it eventually, he’d also just finished wiping off the last bits of grime on the windows, which means ..he finally gets to go home!

He quickly packs up his bag, picking up all his stationary and notebooks, not even caring to put his papers in his files anymore. His face was now filled with glee, excited at the thought he’ll get to be picked up by his parents when he comes out the building. All he wants to do now is to just go home—

At least, until he’s reminded of the usual misfortune he had this morning.

=========== ===========

There’s something he remembers. As it comes back to him, a voice came from just ahead him.

“Winnie, dear, I’m going to have to pick you up late today, your father’s got an important interview soon, and I’ve got work to do, so just stay at the bus stop and don’t move, okay?”

He remembers how this morning back in the car, just right before he was getting sent off for school this morning, how the blonde lady in professional attire always said that with her ever soothing and calm voice, and how it was never enough to wash the disappointment on his face away as he was being told he’d be picked up late, again.

He whines with a clearly upset tone. “Again? Really? Why can’t you just get someone else to—“

The woman cuts him off, “Darling, we both have important things to attend to beforehand. You understand, right?”

“…hmph.” was all the child could huff out, eyes no longer making contact with his mother’s in the rear mirror.

The mother could only sigh out, replying back with: “Oh, don’t get so pouty over this, it’s just like before, alright? We’ll go out to treat you to something afterwards.”

Winnie could only hide his dull expression he made as he accepted. “..Fine, but we’re getting ice cream just like you said last time, right?

“Sure, but only if you sleep early this time!”

The child sighed but nodded nonetheless. Maybe this time could be different. Maybe something good could happen for once…

Right?

=========== ===========

…looks like he got himself excited over nothing.

The door for the classroom unlocks and locks back up as Winnie walks out. His face practically screams bitterness underneath that bored expression of his. Bending over and tying up his shoe laces, he then proceeds to check if the door was properly locked before walking off towards the exit. The cream yellow-ish colour of the hallway wasn’t exactly the most interesting to look at, but he was mostly trying to distract himself from getting so worked up over something he should’ve gotten used to. Lots of medals, trophies and accomplishments were hung and shown off, sealed behind a wooden shelf with glass for people to peer through and look at. His eyes wandered off those achievements for awhile before he was eventually just right in front of the door.

And so he pushes the handle, and it rattles.

Nothing.

“…eh?” Confused, he pushes the door again, with much more force this time.

Still nothing.

Okay, so… that’s not supposed to happen.

Winnie internally panics with something along the lines of oh god, did someone lock up this already!? am I going to be stuck here forever!? for a moment before noticing the window and how he very much can’t reach it enough to see.

He looked around, searching for anything that could help him take a closer look from inside. Before he could think about whether it’d be okay, he darts for a chair from one of the unlocked classrooms, and grabs it, placing it near the window enough to make sure he can see what was going on out there. And from what he sees, there was a huge pile of snow jamming in front of the door. Looks like he took abit too long cleaning to avoid this… Hell, it looked even harder to open from outside.

The kid grumbled out whatever hope he has left, just hoping that it was just some minor thing. Hoping, desperately hoping so. He wiggles and struggles with the door, pushing and pulling enough for just a smidge of movement. Once again, to no avail.

“…surely I don’t have to go that far, right..?”

The door rattled, growing louder the more he had shaken it. Nothing. At this point, it’s very clear that nothing was gonna work . Which only leaves him with one more option.

He sighs, walking backwards and exhaling whatever sense he has left. “urgh, guess this’ll make do then..!”

The boy in blue was now preparing to karate chop the door off its own hinges! With all the might he has inside of his tiny body, he swings and strikes—

“OW!!”

and immediately cries out from injuring his hand on the now open door..

“W-what the..”

“Whoa, kid. What’s your problem?” The man was slightly concerned, looking towards this child who had just tried to karate chop a door open. Like that totally would’ve worked.

Winnie took a look from behind him and saw the now shovelled snow on the side. Looks like he didn’t need to that after all. How embarrassing.

“N-Nothing…! The door just wasn’t opening..so.. I thought.. uh..” His small voice trails off the more he talks, no matter how people looked at this situation, he really can’t explain this any better could he..!?

“Look, it’s whatever, just get outta here soon, security’s gotta close this up.” The man had a janitor’s uniform on, his face half covered by the shadow casted from his hat, with only his furrowed eyes being the only sign the kid could read out.

“Right, sorry…! I’ll uh— get going.”

Followed by a nod from the man leaving the scene, the child could only sigh miserably once he was out of hearing range. Dragging the palms of his hand from his face, he could only walk out the door for a minute before shivering at the sense of the cold, freezing breeze.

His hands clutched onto his upper arms, hoping it’d make him stop shaking so badly. It does not work, and looks like things might not go so smoothly after all.

Just like always, it seems.

=========== ===========

If the inside of the school wasn’t already that cold, then he sure felt it once he stepped outside.

The snow rained down around the area, and it’s a lot more than yesterday for sure. He’d hoped that it wouldn’t be this bad but life had chosen to prove him wrong. It always had and always will. As such, it became routine for him to quickly button up his favourite blue cardigan and scurry off out the building.

Walking across the entirely snow-covered ground, he could only imagine how long he’d have to wait until he really gets back home. He can’t help but get sick of it, really. How often did he have to wait until sunset just for them to come back? The fact he couldn’t go around anywhere in the meantime sucked too. His parents couldn’t trust him with a pair of scissors for goodness’s sake, he’s had to deal with those kiddie ones for ages! It hurt badly when his classmates made fun of him for those small things, whether it’d be from his choice in attire or maybe how he was incredibly picky with food and hated cafeteria meals.

But what could he do, really? It’s not like he was gonna start eating something slop from the school just because the rest of his classmates did. That’s too much work, really. I mean… he wouldn’t, but…

If it helped make him feel more normal…

helped him feel like he belonged…

then—!!

A hitched breath of air that cut itself off quickly could be heard.

…

Winnie stops in his tracks in response.

=========== ===========

The sounds of sniffling and hitched breaths that were barely going in a rhythm at all were audible to him. The noises would be loud, pleading for someone to hear them, then suddenly die down into what could be close to silence. Strange, he was usually the only one at this bus stop. Maybe someone else is also going home late? I mean, it could happen, but when you’ve been going to the same place for awhile, you tend to pick up a pattern. And that pattern definitely didn’t include… whatever this was.

Wondering who this mysterious person could be, he slowly walked close to the sides of the bus stop, making very little sound as he peeked his head just enough to get a glimpse.

There, he saw him. A small brunette boy sitting on those benches, with his hands gripping onto his jacket’s sleeves so hard he might as well just rip them off his arms. And his knees hiding that tear-ridden face of his, but not enough to fully cover his teary eyes darting towards the ground as he mutters things that were quiet enough for anybody to assume the wind, watering up the longer he kept them open. The child seems… distressed, his furrowed eyebrows say so anyway.

Winnie couldn’t help but be troubled by how upset he looked, even just standing from a distance he could tell how much his face yelled out frustration. He’d know that look from anywhere, simply from experience. There’s not much he could do, but one thing’s for sure, he should definitely check up on him.

Unfortunately, Winnie isn’t the most subtle kid around here, as a voice just from the same direction he’s heading towards spoke, a voice drenched in much misery.

“Hey, you know don’t have to keep staring at me like that, right?”

Looks like he’d been spotted, way to go there.

Seems like he’d been standing near that spot for awhile, and apparently it was long enough for the brunette to have noticed him. Something tells him that he wasn’t that quiet when he tried to get closer either. But whatever the reason could be for his poor stealth skills, it’s not gonna save him from this predicament.

“Oh, I-.. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise—“ The blonde would’ve tried explaining himself but…

“There’s no point in doing that. Just— just don’t talk to me.”He seems to be insistent about making himself clear with how fast he cuts off his words.

“…you could’ve at least let me explain myself.”

“What’s there to explain? You clearly see me sobbing over here and you think you’re gonna just make me feel better with a little pat on my back and some words, don’t you?” The boy scowled, now visibly angry as he turned to look at Winnie, face to face.

..He would’ve said something to oppose to that but… he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t one of the reasons he approached him.

The silence was all the brunette needed to hear though. “…Knew it. You people are all the same, can’t even be honest over something like this…!”

Winnie opens his mouth to interject but upon seeing his reaction, he decides otherwise.

His face was more hurt then ever, the way his eyes grew more watery and his very poor attempt in hiding that fact made it much more evident. It’s clear that there’s definitely something going on. Winnie wants to help him but getting through this way, talking to him like this… can’t be the way to get through that wall. There has to be a different approach to this, he thinks. It might take awhile, and maybe none of this would’ve been worth trying at all for, but..

for once in his life, he’s glad he’s got enough time to try.

Now he’s just got to be worried about whether or not this would be a good idea in the first place…!

So he decides to just sit on the benches, knowing it’s gonna take a long while to get back home, he might as well. He keeps a safe distance from the other boy, not too close to invade the definition of personal space, but not too far to make it seem like he wasn’t interested at the very least. The brunette noticed and decided to quickly shut down whatever questions Winnie’s got in his head.

“…What more do you want? Because if it’s about why I’m crying, tough luck.” His words had a flare of fury in them, a lot more than what usually came from a child of his size.

…uh, on second thought, might be a lot better to not mention that in front of him. So he tries starting a different topic.

“Well, I’m just… waiting here for my parents, nothing much honestly. It’s just like how it’s always been.” His eyes looking towards the road, or …at least where the road was visible before, since it was entirely covered with more snow then back at the school. Nonetheless, that’s definitely not the point.

He turns to face the kid beside him, who was now making eye contact with. “But… I don’t think I recall ever seeing you here before.”

An immediate shrill tone could be heard as he spoke. “W-Why’s that any of your business?? So what if I don’t use this bus stop often?”

“I’m just saying… not many go here just to storm off like that.”

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[angry-geese]

For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.

[mimi-cee-hq]

Laundry Days - Aran x f!reader

Summary: Three times you picked up his underwear and one time you missed doing it.

Genres, other tags: fluff, slice of life, humour, meet cute, domestic fluff, not suggestive lol, married under 25, neighbours to married lovers ;)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: manga spoiler

This is for @neoheros & @coophi's 2021 Summer Haikyuu!! Writing contest. (Okay I'm pretty shy at first so it feels a little scary to tag you two but here's my piece.) I was going for the married under 25 prompt but ended up doing neighbours to lovers too. :D

Don't mind me spreading the underrated characters agenda as well. lol.

*****

A few articles of clothing spilled out of the dryer and onto your feet. Oops. Your neighbour must have forgotten them. You should've checked first.

Your own damp clothes sat inside the washing machine next to it, waiting for their turn to enter the dryer. It wasn't possible now.

You sighed, retrieving the phone from your pocket and scrolling until you saw the name of the neighbour who lived a floor below you.

Ojiro Aran.

You were sure this was the right person after a second look at your texting history. Who'd bring the garbage to the curb, where the lawnmower was kept, and keeping the duplex's stairway clear were some of the conversations you had with him.

You had yet to meet the guy, but he seemed amicable enough.

After shooting him a text, you thought to give him a call instead. Perhaps he'd think a phone call was strange. However, your clothes were damp and you shouldn't leave them for long. Was he even home?

You sighed. Crouched down, you returned the clothes on the floor back into the machine. A scarf, several socks, and a knit hat made their way back inside. But what was this?

Underwear. Men's underwear.

You scrunched your nose as you lifted it from the cold, tile floor. Was that a hole in it?

Click.

"Sorry I just saw your text!" a tall, dark-skinned man blurted out as soon as the door was unlocked.

"Oh! It's alright! I only texted you a few minutes ago!" you quickly explained, waving your hands in front of you.

You shouldn't have done that. The underwear was hanging from your hand.

"Ummm…" Aran scratched his cheek, eyes retreating from you.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" you spat out, tossing the incriminating object to him. "It just fell out of the dryer when I opened it so I went to pick it up!"

Once in his hands, he recognized it as the one with the seam coming undone. "I… umm… should probably have thrown this one out."

"Umm… yeah… you probably should." Those words slipped off your tongue before you could catch them.

"I- I guess I'll go now," Aran said hastily.

He shut the door.

You let out a breath. That was awkward. Heat continued to linger in your body and you weren't sure who was more embarrassed by the encounter.

Wait. His clothes were still in the dryer. Did you dare ask him back?

The door slowly creaked open and Aran peeked his head into the room.

"I forgot something, didn't I?" Aran sheepishly asked.

"Yeah." The corners of your mouth lifted into a smile. "Yeah, you did."

"I'm Aran by the way."

"Y/n."

You never thought this would be how you'd meet your future husband.

*****

The office chair in your apartment was a comfortable spot for folding clothes. The webcam caught your face as you chatted with Aran whose image filled the monitor.

You smiled. Your husband was winding down after a long day with the team and decided to check up on you.

"I'm alright," you told Aran. "I miss you though."

"I literally just saw you yesterday!" he said. "I miss you too."

After that fateful yet awkward encounter with him in that laundry room two years ago, you had run into each other more frequently at the front doors of your duplex. Your classes ended at similar times four out of your five school days. You were surprised he even started a conversation with you. You wouldn't have been able to bear the embarrassment. Fast forward to a confession, a kiss and a rock-embedded ring, and you got a small, snowy wedding during winter break.

It was back to the books for you now, and you dreaded it. Chores seemed much better, easier. Plus doing them for your newly-wedded husband? You got giddy about that.

You quirked your brow, lifting a familiar piece of clothing from the basket.

"Hey, I thought you threw this one out," you mentioned to Aran, dangling his underwear in front of the camera.

"I did! That's, uh, probably a different one."

"Just how old are these?"

"Hey! Wait a moment! Are you folding clothes?"

You avoided the eyes on the screen. "Maybe."

"You have your paper due in a few days! I told you I was going to do it after flying back home."

"I know…"

Aran's eyes narrowed at you, a trademark expression of his. "You're procrastinating again, aren't you?" His tone implied disapproval.

"But I'm still being productive!"

"Y/n…"

"Okay, okay. I'll stop." Your foot pushed the basket away, sliding it across the floor. Maybe you could fold them after you hung up.

Aran must have read your mind. "Show me what the laundry bin looks like."

You groaned. He saw right through you. Complying, you removed the clipped webcam off the monitor and directed it at the pile of unfolded clothes.

"It better be like that when I get home."

"Alright," you said with a pout.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Must he stop you from doing chores? They were a simple reminder you were married to him, as if the gold on your finger wasn't enough to show you.

You were his wife.

A smile snuck into your lips whenever that thought crossed your mind. The honeymoon phase was a peculiar, strange, lovely stage.

Yet it was fleeting.

*****

You groaned as you stood in the middle of the bathroom. Aran's white track pants hung off the counter, the red t-shirt he got for free from first year college laid on top, and of course his underwear, which likely went through hundreds of washes, remained on the floor.

Great.

You rubbed your temples, your headache getting worse by the minute. It was Saturday morning, and Aran, who was nowhere to be seen, had left his mess behind.

I'll clean it up later, he would tell you. You knew his mother had spoiled him, always picking up after him. You understood why he was like this, but why couldn't he just start doing it now?

"Do you have this problem?" you asked your friend through your wireless headset.

"What problem?" she asked.

"Does your husband always leave laundry around on the floor?" You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Aran never picks up after himself."

She laughed. You weren't sure if it was because you were a young, amateur wife or if she understood all too well.

Knowing her, probably a bit of both.

"Okay two things."

You listened.

"One, don't say always or never. That's lying."

"I'm not lying," you snapped back at her. You began to regret asking her.

"Are you sure he never picks it up and always leaves it on the floor?"

You left no comment.

"Exactly."

"Okay fine, but that still doesn't solve the problem. If only he just did it, it would solve everything–"

"Number two," she interrupted.

You groaned at her and she gave an amused snort in return.

"If you weren't picking up his underwear, it means he's dead."

You were aghast.

"You know I'm right."

Still aghast.

"What? No husband, no mess."

"I can't believe I asked you for advice."

"But it's true."

"Ugh," was all you could utter. She had several years more of marriage experience than you, yet you didn't want to acknowledge it.

You hung up the phone after you finished deciding today's outing with her, but you hadn't addressed the issue in front of you. Your head throbbed again.

Sighing, you picked up the underwear.

A few minutes later, the front door opened and you dipped your head into the hallway. Aran shuffled grocery bags through the door and into the kitchen. He yawned, placing the milk, eggs, and other items into the fridge.

A familiar coffee brand peeked out of a bag on the floor. Right. You didn't have your coffee yet because there wasn't any left.

You wrapped your arms around Aran and relaxed against his broad back.

"I can't put the food away like this," he said with a chuckle.

"You left your clothes in the bathroom again."

"Oh shoot!" He dropped a bag and started towards the bathroom but you tightened your grip on him.

"I put them away already," you told him. His body relaxed and he caressed your arm around his waist.

The honeymoon phase was a fleeting phase, novel tasks turned mundane, but your love for him grew deeper still.

*****

Aran was away again, this time at Tokyo in preparation for the Olympics. He eagerly called you during breaks, wishing to see his favourite person – although your hands were full as well.

"I miss you," he told you, his smile displayed on the screen.

"And I miss picking up your underwear," you told him with a smirk.

Like clockwork, he narrowed his eyes at you with a comeback. "Why don't you say you miss me like a normal person?"

"Because I'm your wife. I'm special," you told him as he rolled his eyes. "I wish I could be there though."

"You wouldn't be able to spend that much time with me anyway," he said. "Besides, one of us needs to stay home."

"I know." You smiled.

"I gotta go," he said as Atsumu yelled in the background. Aran blew a kiss at you.

You snorted. How cheesy. You returned the kiss anyway.

Hearing a mischievous squeal behind you, you told him, "I gotta go too."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

After you hung up, you turned around and sighed. A soggy wet diaper sagged on the floor and the little guy jumping in the crib giggled at you as if he did the funniest thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes and smiled before picking up the diaper.

"Alright kid. Let's put a diaper back on you and wash your sheets."

*****

I hope you liked it. This is a little different from what I usually write but I hope you still enjoyed it!

I blame Aran's current concern for giving me this idea along with the person who suggested I write Aran fluff. (As well as the seasoned wife I know who told her husband, "If I wasn't picking up your underwear, it means you're dead." lolll.)

I hope you stick around my blog to check out my other works! My current work in progress is a fake dating Suna series. I can't believe we're on chapter 10!

If anyone is interested, I have a Google form for my taglist.

[kyberphilosopher]

Reverse Flash

A backwards version of your favorite speedster comes searching for Barry, only to find you instead. 

Word Count: 2403 Warnings: Crude Humor. Not proof read yet because I’m too tired. 

As per my latest fics, the gender of the reader is not specified. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Barry was always nice to you.

Well, Barry was nice to everyone. I mean, his parents named him Barry. He was set up for a life of cheekiness before he was even born. But Barry was nice to you even after ‘the incident’. Barry was nice to you when everyone else stopped. On top of that, Barry was being nicer to you than usual lately.

Probably because he and Iris were having a rough spot.

That was the only annoying thing. Barry liked you, and he was interested in you, but you were still second place. He was just using you. He wouldn’t marry you, or feel a deep longing for you. He’d just take you on ice skating rink dates in the winter and give you the best Valentine’s day of your life every year. Which is everyone’s dream, you guess, but it wouldn’t have been genuine, no matter what Barry managed to convince himself.

Barry’s little support team seemed to be on the same page as you (which was a first), which both added to and subdued your aggravation. All of them were in agreement of the simple fact: you were no good for Barry. Mr. Flash was the only one who didn’t seem to get the memo.

In the very beginning, things weren’t like how they were now. Team Flash or whatever the name was considered you good colleague, and they trusted you because Allen trusted you. You had been friends with Barry longer than anyone else there. And of course you were smart, and you handled annoying journalists and incriminating footage like it was nothing. But then you’d suggested using lethal force to subdue one of the Flash’s biggest problems. That’s when the air changed. That’s when people decided you should not now, not ever go on a date with him. It would throw off the whole rhythm of the team, probably Barry’s morals and possible the timeline. Lucky you.

Though flat out rejecting Barry might make it worse. You had been irritable lately. Maybe a little more sarcastic than normal. What if you snap, and then the team snaps too? And sweet little Barry is too kind to tell you off? God, you knew you were the worst, but the thought alone seemed like more than just ‘the worst’. It was like a tornado of stinky shit just barreling toward you, somehow simultaneously faster than the speed of light and slower than a turtle filled with rocks for organs.

And it was all definitely Barry Allen’s fault.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

So, that’s why you’re here now. Stuck with watching Headquarters while all the speedsters go out and... speed. Who knows. You’re out of the loop with the whole... speed demon thing. You’re pretty sure they have a group chat without you. Fuckin’ nerds.

Your legs are stretched out to the desk in front of you. They cross over each other at the ankles, to the left of the big computer monitor that’s supposed to display the heartbeats of the team but is instead displaying something from cartoon network. A near empty bag of Chinese food sits at your side, it’s contents littered across the table.

As you chew, you look around the room. Several suits in display cases curve against the wall in a half circle, illuminated by blue light. Some are burgundy, some are silver, and some are golden. And you could smash every single one of them right now.

But you won’t, and you don’t. Not to say it isn’t tempting- it is. You still don’t touch the suits. 

God, what’s been wrong with you recently? Barry was your friend, and yet you’d been so annoyed with him. His flirting had only made it worse. Wally wasn’t any better. He got even more annoying once thinking about how childish, yet powerful he was. All the Kid Flash’s were just temporary brats that never stayed, whether you  liked them or not. And Iris wasn’t a fan of you. That was fine, because you weren’t exactly a friend of Iris’s either. So the most important part of your life that literally depended on superhuman existence and stopping crime was teetering because of pure social discomfort. Typical.

You’re watching the screen that serves as the closest light in the room as you shovel the next bite of rice between your lips. Neon colors make the shadows across your face feel alive and electric. It makes the glow in your eyes more prominent, encouraged by the childish nature of the media. You’ve just finished a snarky personal comment and given yourself another bite of rice when he appears to you.

He looks like Barry. The only difference is that he’s the complete opposite.

Instead of scarlet, his speed suit is yellow with red and dark grey accents. They remind you of blood lightning at the seams. Even under his half mask, he seems so familiar but so much more defined than your friend. As he exits the slice of colorful air and thunder, the heels of his shoes skidding across the floor, the red glow in his eyes settles into a calmer thrum.

And you’re still frozen in place, eyes wide as you still yourself mid chew.

The yellow speedster settles his orbs on you. They’re intelligent, and in the reflection of the little light in the room you can see they’re not red, but blue. And you? You’re just a deer in the headlights. 

“Aw, you’re not Barry,” he groans in disappointment, standing straighter as his arms cross over his chest. 

You finally continue your chewing, keeping your wide eyes on the intruder. Then you swallow it down. In your chest, your heart thump, thump, thumps with something. Fear? Not quite. Anxiety? Almost. It’s something else. Something more... intuitive. And the way this man looks at you makes you think that he can hear it, even from where he stands. That he knows.

“Uh... no?”

The man responds not a millisecond after you’ve gotten the words out. “Where is he? Where’s Barry Allen?”

Woof. His voice is throaty and laced with sarcasm, even though he’s clearly deathly serious. But the vibrations send a funny spasm straight to that little place between your legs, making the nerves in your spine dance with alertness. Arousal. Barry was never able to do that, let alone with just the sound of his voice.  

“Doing something?” you decide. “I don’t know.”

The golden man cocks his head to the side, almost smirks, and takes a step forward. “Hey, I know you.” His arms uncross. One raises and bends to point at you. “You’re Barry’s tech support. I remember reading about you in his museum.”

Your brows furrow. Hurriedly, you clear the take-out box from your lap and begin wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You drop your legs from their position on the desk to their normal position on the floor, knees bent. “Uh... I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah... Y/N L/N. Now I see it.” The man leans back on his heels and looks around the room. The red glow in his orbs burn away completely so it’s just him. “Ah, so this must be before you defected, huh? Interesting.”

“Pardon?!” you call again. Now you’re sitting forward, disbelief across your face. 

Golden speedster smiles. It looks evilly distorted, even though it’s just a normal smile. It curves his face sarcastically. His hands fly upwards as if in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Y/N. You know actually, you’re kind of a villain in my time. This is nice for me.”

“Great, I’ll tell Barry when I see him,” you bite.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now how about you tell me where Barry is before I erase you from existence.”

“I don’t know,” you repeat as the quick bolt of fear fizzles from your system. Your eyes trail down to his chest for just a quick second, but it’s quick enough to observe yet another difference between your familiar scarlet speedster and him. The circle surrounding the lightning bolt on his chest is facing the opposite direction, red, and that circle is filled with black. It’s as if he were the complete opposite of Barry. A reverse Barry. 

“Yeah you do. Come on.”

You blink once, still in your roll-y chair. 

You’re not sure what to do here. On one hand, this guy radiates pure evil. You should really alert Barry or one of the other members of Team Flash. But for one reason or another you’ve made no attempt to. You’ve got no clue who this dude is other than the fact that he seems more inclined to rip the fabric of time apart than anyone else. There’s no doubt in your mind he really will erase you from existence if you make one wrong move. But what’s the wrong move?

On the other hand, Team Flash has been a bunch of dickhead’s to you. Barry has been ironically slow to the whole thing. Would it be so bad if you did make a wrong move? Not for you, but for your friends? They’d all die, wouldn’t they? This yellow one would end them, and then what? Would it really be so horrible for you? You can’t imagine mourning much.

“I don’t,” you say again, slowly. “They’re in the city. I don’t know where.”

The man seems to think for a moment, cocking his head back so the light behind the glass cases catches his sharpened features. “Hmm.”

Without even blinking, now he’s in front of you. So close, you can smell him. It’s not terribly strong, it’s just masculine. But it’s also flowery, with a dash of sweat from running. And then there’s something more. Something... metallic? 

Both his hands clutch the arms of the chair beside you, trapping you as you lean back reflexively. “Did you know that I killed Barry’s childhood best friend before he was born?” the man says lowly. 

On instinct, you prepare yourself to say, ‘Barry doesn’t have a childhood best friend’. Then you realize why. 

He continues. “Would you tell me where Barry was if you did know?”

You don’t even think about it. You’re true to your nature. “I don’t know, would I?”

Blip! You wait to burst into a cloud of nothingness. To never have been born or even get to be a ghost. But fifteen seconds later you’re still alive. And from the way Barry talks about being a Flash, fifteen seconds is a long time for someone of that caliber. 

The man is back by the cases of suits now. You can see his muscles through his suit. They’re more defined than Barry’s, thank God. 

“I think you would. But it’s gonna be hard to do that when you’ve got my fingers vibrating into your skull.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be hard to speak when my fingers are inside you.”

You cup a hand against your ear. “Huh?”

“I said-” The man stops. His eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest once more. “Oh, I see.” A short, dry- but genuine- laugh falls from his throat. “Very funny. Very, very funny.”

Suddenly, your eyebrows crease together in confusion. You place both palms on the arms of the chair for leverage as you push yourself into a stand, as if stirred by some great, important purpose. “Wait. Did you say you were going to stick your fingers inside me?”

“I knew you and I were the same,” he drawls. He sounds entertained. As if in his eyes, missing Barry and meeting you instead was the best outcome he could’ve hoped for. 

“Can’t you just...” Your shoulders slump as you glance around. “Just kill Barry and get on with it?”

“Aw, no. This is far more interesting.”

“Fingers in my skull...?” you whisper, half to yourself. Then you look up to him with a snap. “You are so weird,” you tell Reverse Barry, emphasizing it with a low point. “So weird.”

“Want me to tell your future?” 

Again with the voice and the nerves in that special place. 

“I gotta say, it’s kind of disturbing,” the man smirks. “You’ll love it.”

“Weird.”

Across the base, just two hallways away, something clicks. It’s a familiar click. It’s the click of the door opening. 

Quickly, you glance backwards, then lean down to pause the show on the computer. You hadn’t even realized it was still going. Once that’s done, the man is still standing in front of you. That sinister and yet innocent grin is still dancing across his face, though his steely eyes are totally locked on you. 

“What, weirdo? You know where he is now. Aren’t you gonna go get him?”

“You want me to so badly, don’t you?” Reverse Barry whispers. You just give him a look. 

“I’ll be back for you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

And then the speedster is gone. Right on time, too, cause Barry jogs into the room not a second later. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you turn around. 

“Did I just... see someone here?” Barry points towards your end of the room in his scarlet suit. Huh. Reverse Barry was taller too. 

“What are you on about?” you throw casually. “Nobody’s been here but me since you left.”

“Are you sure?” the Flash keeps pushing. You hate it. Pushing. 

“Yes, Barry,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure. Oh, by the way, Barry. Did you have a childhood best friend?”

Barry frowns. “No, why?”

You smile to yourself as you turn back away from him. The other speedster’s footsteps are coming closer and closer. You can hear them echo off the walls. 

“No reason,” you answer with a smirk just as one of them enters the room, probably to give you crap again.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Fun fact, Reverse Flash is actually my favorite villain in DC comics. Bro is vicious in the comics. I just hate all the live action versions of him we get. Lego DC Villains Reverse Flash and Injustice 2 are the best versions. Injustice 2 is my personal preference. I’d like to do more with this but, who knows. Depends how this is received. #lol

[daikonwatte]

//Spoiler warning: Toilet-bound hanako-kun chapter 81.//

Thoughts and theories.

First of all, I would like to start with the fact that I partly discussed it with @hania-chan therefore thoughts and facts are similar. Before I come up I stele something.

----------

Facts:

- We now know that Hanako died at 13. [Unless Kou says this wrongly, which I very much doubt]

- Nene admitted she likes Hanako [It was obviously the knowledge we all know]

- The mysterious guy is called Katakuri

Topic one: Tsukasa death, the black hole and the house.

We now officially know that Tsukasa had contact with this hole before his greatest wish. And above all, has expressed smaller wishes, but never for himself but only for his brother.

Tsukasa died for Amane sometime in the winter of 1960. By giving his life in exchange for Amane's life.

Before that one could clearly see how this black hole slowly learned how Tsukasa reacts and behaves. Tsukasa always has the hole by repeatedly copying the sentences.

Then Amane refer to this hole as a god. Or rather, he suggests that it could be something like that.

If this hole, this house were a god, it would certainly not be a real one.

Perhaps at most in the manner of fallen God. And the question is why, in the end, the hole copied Tsukasa. And why the copy does not appear until more than six months later.

And while this copy may seem good, it is arguably not good enough. Because the mother has recognized that it is not her child. At the time that this black hole learned from him, Tsukasa was very fixated on wishes. But only to make his brother happy.

In other scenes from the manga, however, you can see that he is not so focused on it. Perhaps that explains why the elder Tsukasa is so extremely obsessed with desires. Because little Tsukasa brought living beings to the black hole again and again, as a victim the black hole probably thought that this boy doesn't care about any other life except for his brother.

I doubt that, but this would explain his behavior from the older Tsukasa.

The elder Tsukasa must have been killed after November 25, 1969. But still in 1969.

Topic two: Amane his death:

Amane did not die when Tsuchigomori got moonstone from him. He must have died in winter too. We know that Tsuchigomori got moonstone in July. Then there is almost half a year in between until Tsukasa dies. Or even half a year.

Can you think of what? Tsukasa his copy came six months later as a small child. [even if it was a little more. It is similar]

It's just one thing I noticed, I don't see any further meaning in it. Do you have any thoughts on that?

With all this together, however, it is not clear how Amane died. Especially how it came about that he is bound to school. It was once said that there was a family suicide in the Red House. Does that include Amane?

If he died there, with everyone else. Has he then perhaps made up his mind to commit to the school?

If we start from the seenario that he wanted to punish himself, it could be that he wanted to bind himself to the place he hates most. The school. Terrible memories, probably bullying. This has not yet been confirmed.

Or whatever god Hanako had to do with, that was his punishment from God.

There is still far too much room for speculation on this subject.

Topic three: Katakuri:

Is Katakuri Evil? Does the house belong to him?

We know his past, that he was wrongly sacrificed. Maybe he couldn't just see this and his anger, his anger at all the people, have turned into power.

And you have seen that little Tsukasa always sacrificed a life for the house and, in the end, his own.

What if he tries to come back to life through other living beings, through another soul? The question then is why did he keep Nene down below? In the end he expressed the wish, or the request, that she should stay downstairs with him.

Or he's a normal boy who just didn't want to be alone while he will die soon.

Topic Four: Name Katakuri:

Katakuri is a flower that literally means: dog's tooth. She's of the kind of lily ... and that reminds me of something.

It could actually be related to Hanako. Especially on the cover you can see that Hanako is surrounded by such flowers and others.

Their meaning is also quite interesting:

First love, we know that Aida and Iro named Nene as Amane's first love during the festival. That's quite interesting ..

Topic five, why do I find every action by Tsukasa and Katakuri so .. suspicious ?:

[I got this reference on Twitter from ChicaAizawa]

Somehow that gives me the mega Hanako vibes. I don't know why, it could simply be because Aida and Iro like certain behavior patterns, but some things are just very similar.

That too! It irritates me. However, it is now quite unlikely that this person Hanako embody his feelings. And the two are brothers. That's probably why it looks like that here. But usually Tsukasa rarely makes such faces ..

And above all suddenly to Nene ..

Topic six: splinters or splinters of glass behind little Tsukasa:

These splinters also remind of Hanako but also of the separation. What if Kou, with his strong words, did something messed up what will happen now?

What exactly I don't know yet, so what do you think about that?

Thanks for reading my thoughts and theories from Chapter 81!

And I would also be interested in your opinion .. @milkandbubbletea What do you think?

[afeb]

Bucky Barnes - Salvation

long and kinda slow-burn :)

“Stay safe you,” Matt said as I walked out of the small bookshop.

“Always try.” I smiled back as I skipped down the steps.

I scanned over the books I’d bought on my short walk home, turning the first few pages and already sinking into the stories within. The streets were quiet, sun setting as I hurried home to avoid dark.

I finally stepped foot inside my apartment and immediately went around and turned on all the lamps. I detested the dark, an old habit I found hard to break, as I swiftly checked from room to room. I did this to make sure no one was inside, but in the back of my mind I only looked for one man. Books placed on the side, I was about to sit down when a heavy knock sounded from the door.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered as I walked over. I swung open the door.

Fuck.

Slamming it shut quickly my heart raced and face paled. I could throw up, or faint, and I considered doing both. How did he know where I lived? What was he planning on doing? I bargained that I’d never go to police, and I didn’t for that matter, so why is he here?

“Y/N?” The Winter Solider said through the door.

“I-I haven’t told anyone.” I said.

“That isn’t why I’m here.” His voice was softer than I remembered, he sounded...normal.

“P-Please just go.” I begged, hand still tightly holding the doorknob.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised. “I won’t even come into the apartment, I just need to say something.”

I peeped through the spy hole, making sure he was alone. He usually was, however, on one occasion he brought back up. That was the worst of times.

“Step away from the door.” I ordered, to which he readily complied and took two large steps back. I opened the door a crack, waiting for him to pounce. But he remained firmly planted in his spot.

Warily, I creaked the door open. He was dressed in black jeans, a navy top and a black leather jacket. His hair was cut short, his beard was growing out and he no longer donned the muzzle he used to in public. Gloves covered his hand. He looked completely normal.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and I am no longer the Winter Solider,” he said. “Apologising to you is my way of making amends with my past.”

I furrowed my brows. “What?”

He gulped. “I...I did awful things to you, and I’m sorry.”

“Is this...is this a joke?” I asked, peeping my head out a little and looking down the hallway.

He shook his head. “I’m trying to be a better person, and apologising to you is part of that. I could also, do things for you?”

My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“No!” He said. “No, I meant like...jobs or, I dunno...anything.”

“I’m so confused.” I whined as I rubbed my eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

His eyes looked pleadingly at me. He was alone, he looked normal and I could feel the truth drip off his words. After a long pause, I sighed deeply.

“Do you want to come in?” I stepped aside.

“If that’s okay.” He stiffly smiled and walked past me.

I shut the door and watched him. He looked around the small space, standing in the hallway. I had photos lining the walls, all of friends and family, and he took care to look at some of them.

“You can take off your coat and gloves.” He nodded and shrugged of his jacket, however, chose to leave the gloves on.

“Nice place.” He complimented.

“Thanks,” I had no clue how to act around him. He followed behind me as I led him into the kitchen, turning to face him as he lingered in the doorway. “I was going to cook some dinner.”

He nodded. “Anything special?”

I shook my head. “You could...join, we could talk.”

“That would be...nice.” He smiled.

I cooked in near silence. James took a seat at the small table by the window and watched me as I mulled around the kitchen. Chicken in, salad made, I turned to face him.

“It’ll be about half an hour.” I said as I sat opposite him.

“You’re being very kind.” He said.

“So, what is this?” I gestured between us.

He leant back. “The US Government has pardoned me, and part of that agreement is that I have to go to therapy. My Doc came up with a plan to help me...move on from my past. I have to go around and make amends with the people I hurt, or helped, and that means you.”

I nodded. “How many have you done?” I asked.

“A few,” he said. “I was...I was putting off doing you.”

I frowned. “Why?”

His eyes cast over to me as he took a shaky breath. “I...hurt you. In life changing ways, even if you forgave me, I could never forgive myself.”

I pursed my lips for a moment and didn’t speak. His eyes looked down at his lap, a sad expression coming over his face.

“I hated you,” I whispered. “I always thought in my head that if I ever got the chance, I’d kill you. But then I spent a while researching you, your past. What they did to you, how they treated you, what they made you do. And I realised, it wasn’t really you who hurt me, it was them.”

He gazed at me through his lashes. “Y/N...”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” I smiled, reaching over and taking his hand. “Water under the bridge.”

His hands flexed, squeezing mine. “Water under the bridge.” He repeated.

The gloves were soft against my hands as I peered down at them. “Can I see?”

His face grew uneasy as he shifted in his seat. “Um...yeah, sure.”

He peeled the gloves of slowly, almost waiting to me to stop him. The metal had changed. Instead of the bright silver I was used to, it instead was sleek black with gold details. He rolled his sleeve up as high as it would go, the infamous star now gone. It suited him better, I thought, complimented him more.

“It looks nice,” I smiled. “Better than the old one.”

“Thank you.”

“Could I?” He gave me a nod as I ran my ran over the cool metal.

It was really a work of art. Oddly, this one didn’t scare me. The other had felt my skin, brought me to the edge of death so many times, but this one? This one had only gently squeezed me hands.

We both jumped as the oven beeped, giggling a little as I stood and plated up our meal. We ate quietly, James complimenting my cooking one too many times. The evening drew on and soon James was shrugging on his jacket and lingering by the door.

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Dinner was amazing.”

I laughed. “I’ll have to cook it again.”

His eyes glistened with happiness at the chance of us seeing each other again. “I’d like that.”

I opened the door for him. “It was nice seeing you, the real you.”

He nodded. “I meant it you know, need a boiler fixing, walls painted, I’ll do it.”

He quickly scribbled his number in a small notebook and ripped out the page and handed it to me. “I’ll keep that in mind,”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” He danced around me for a moment before enveloping me in a short, tight hug.

Weeks passed and I didn’t contact him. I thought I’d be a painful reminder of his past and thus didn’t want to keep contact with him. That was, until my sink burst and my landlord claimed it wasn’t his responsibility. I’d tried hard to fix it myself, and the local plumbers charged ridiculous rates, so I found myself texting James.

To James B -

Hi! Sorry I haven’t contacted you before, been very busy! Could I pick up the favour you owe me? My sink has burst and I’m in desperate need of a plumber. - Y/N

I didn’t expect a reply, but he text back before I’d even put my phone back on the table.

From James B -

Hey! No worries. Heading over now.

I scrambled to tidy the apartment, dreading to confess I in fact lived like a pig most days. After a frantic half an hour, a knock sounded from the door.

“You’re a life saver,” I sighed as I opened the door.

James offered a lopsided smile, shrugging his shoulders. “No worries,”

“It burst two days ago, I had a go myself but I think I made it worse.” James set his bag of tools on the counter and opened the cupboard under the sink.

“Oh yeah, I see what’s wrong,” he silently set to work, laying on his back and doing god-knows-what.

After a while I went into the living room and read my book, curling my legs underneath me and settling down. James banged about the kitchen and a swear word or two later, he popped his head around the door.

“Done.”

“So soon?” I quickly stood and bounced into the kitchen. I turned the tap and stepped back, expecting water to drown my feet, but instead it simply swirled down the drain. “It lives!”

James chuckled at my remark. “A few bolts came loose and disconnected, easy stuff really,”

“Thank you James.”

“Bucky,” he quickly said. “Call me Bucky.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” I smiled. “Want to stay for lunch?”

“Yeah,”

We chatted mindlessly as we made sandwiches, Bucky telling me about his childhood. When he was the Winter Soldier I only heard gruff orders, but he had a voice that sounded smooth and sweet. His eyes lit up when he spoke of his siblings and parents, of a life that felt like thousands of years ago.

“You got a boyfriend?” Bucky asked, fiddling with the label on his beer.

I cocked a brow. “No, you?”

“No.” Bucky said. “I’ve tried these dating websites but...feel out of my depth.”

I nodded in understanding. “I abandoned those long ago,”

“I’m glad you text me.” He said. “I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering if you would.”

“Truthfully, I thought you wouldn’t want to speak to me.” I confessed.

“Why would you think that?” He frowned.

“I’m a reminder of your past,” I explained. “I can understand that even looking at me must be hard for you.”

Bucky paused for a moment and scanned over my face. “I see you as my salvation, not my damnation.”

I smiled. “I don’t think I said it before,” I shuffled a little closer. “But I forgive you, Bucky.”

His breath hitched, arm dropping to rest behind my head. “Say it again.” He whispered.

“I forgive you.”

Our bodies were close, Bucky resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and waited for him to make a move, but they fluttered back open when I felt the moment slipping.

“I don’t want to push it,” he confessed.

“You aren’t.” I promised.

“I did bad things to you,” his hand stroked over my cheek.

“Then do something good.”

His lips pressed to mine. They were soft, softer than I’d thought, and he went slow and easy. I sighed into the kiss and pressed my body flush against his, my hands planting on his chest. His hand on the back of the couch slid off and looped behind me back, pressing me further into his as the other hand slid into my hair and held me close.

“Please,” he mumbled against me.

“Yes.”

Bucky eased me back into the sofa, lips still pressed tightly to mine as he eased between my splayed thighs. My hands moved up to fist his short hair, causing a quiet groan to escape his lips. Bucky’s hands held onto my hips as he gently, almost teasingly, ground his crotch to mine.

“Lemme make it better,” he whispered, trailing kisses down my cheek and neck.

“You can do anything,” I breathlessly promised, rolling my body up.

His hand slid down my stomach and into the back of my loose trousers, cupping my clothed pussy and flexing his fingers. I gasped and threw my head back, Bucky surfacing to peer down at me with hooded eyes.

“There?” I nodded at his question.

His fingers eased my underwear to the side and felt over the slickness he’d created. The cool metal of his hand ran over my burning cheeks and I thanked god for the relief of coldness in this moment. My eyes widened as his finger tips circled my swollen bud.

“So wet,” he murmured, gazing into my eyes.

“For you.” I whimpered back, cupping his cheeks.

“Me?” I nodded. “Good girl,”

I moaned again at his words, his fingers picking up their pace. My back arched as he eased two fingers into me, stretching me out. He groaned a little, muttering something about my tightness, before pressing his lips to mine.

“O-Other hand,” I said against his lips.

“What?” He pulled back, stopping his movements.

“Can you u-use your other hand?” I pouted my lips.

“Are you sure?” He furrowed his brows.

I nodded. Bucky removed his hand from my underwear, offering his glistening fingers to my lips. I hastily took them in my mouth, small hand wrapping around his wrist as I sucked. He momentarily closed his eyes, losing himself for a second before easing his metal hand between our bodies.

“Really?” He questioned again, playing with the waistband of my trousers.

I bucked my hips. “Please,”

I couldn’t help the loud moan that left my mouth as his metal fingers resumed his flesh fingers task. They rubbed tightly into my clit, causing my eyes to pinch shut and my jaw to slacken and drop.

“Such a good girl for me,” he cooed against my cheek.

I whimpered again. “I-I’m-“

“Gonna cum baby?” He asked, fingers increasing their speed.

I nodded and cried. “Yes!”

“Like feeling my metal hand, huh?” He teased with a smirk.

“I do! Yes!” My nails bit into the skin of his forearm, the other hand running over the smooth metal of his shoulder. “Oh Bucky!”

“Cum,” he shortly ordered. “Please baby, please cum.”

My head threw back and I saw stars. My back arched as Bucky wrapped and arm under me and held me close. He moaned softly into my neck, grounding his crotch against my thigh. My arms loops around his neck as I shuddered against him.

“S-Stop,” I begged, gently coaxing his hand from my underwear.

“Sorry baby.” He sighed into my neck.

We stayed tangled in each other for a moment before I reached a teasing hand down between us. Bucky quickly stopped me, sheepishly grinning down at me.

“I already...just then...” he blushed.

“Really?” I giggled.

“You have no idea how good you looked.” He whispered, pecking my lips.

I smiled warmly, stroking over his cheek. “Would you like to grab a coffee with me?”

He laughed loudly. “I’ll do more than that.”

[onceuponastory]

snow days - b.b x reader

Plot: After being called The Winter Soldier for most of his life, Bucky Barnes hates the snow, so he decides to stay inside instead of joining the rest of the Avengers as they enjoy the weather. Y/N decides to keep him company. (It’s shorter than my usual fics but still very fluffy and cute) Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader Notes: I’m posting this for Day 2 of @staticscreenwriting​ and I’s Christmas Calendar. The prompt was First Snow. If you’d like to be involved (and you don’t have to be a writer to do so), check the rules here, and read the masterlist of the days so far here! Warnings: A few small mentions of Bucky being TWS and the bad memories he has associated with that time, and of Steve being gone.

“What do you mean, you don’t like the snow?” Sam gasps as he wraps a scarf around his neck. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t like the snow! I don’t get why that’s so hard for you to understand. It’s cold! And it’s wet and-ugh.” Bucky trails off. It’s been snowing in NYC all day, and the rest of The Avengers have decided that they want to go out and enjoy it, whilst Bucky has decided the opposite, despite encouragement from the others to go out and join them in their snowball fights or snowman building.

“Well, we don’t get much of it down in Louisiana, so I’m going to go enjoy myself with the others. You have fun inside now.” Bucky nods.

“Yeah, don’t let me stop your fun. See you later.” He waves from his position on the couch as Sam leaves the room. Sighing, Bucky wraps his blanket closer around his legs in an attempt to keep warm and leans back against the couch cushions. He doesn’t mean to be a grump or a killjoy. Actually, when he was growing up, sledging with Steve was one of his favourite things to do when it snowed. But things are different now. Steve’s gone, for a start. And when you’ve had most of your childhood memories wiped, been known as The Winter Soldier for about 70 years, and spent most of your life on ice or just in the cold...the cold and snow isn’t your favourite thing anymore. It just conjures bad memories more than fun. And now he’s alone. Again. He hasn’t decided whether that’s a good or bad thing yet. Bucky glances out of the window, watching as big flakes continue to fall from the sky. It does look beautiful. He can admit that at least. Suddenly, Bucky hears footsteps coming closer, and he glances up to see his best friend Y/N coming his way. He frowns.

“Can I sit?” She asks, gesturing to the seat beside him. Bucky nods and she does so.

“What are you doing here?” He realises his question comes off as more accusatory and rude than curious, so he quickly clarifies. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather be outside with the others, rather than stuck here with me?” Y/N shrugs.

“I’m fine. I don’t like the snow much either. It’s too cold outside for me.” She gestures to the pair of fuzzy polkadot socks on her feet. “And Bucky, I’m not stuck here with you. I like spending time with you. You’re my best friend, remember?” She smiles, and despite how cold Bucky feels, the warmth and sincerity of Y/N’s smile makes him feel just a little bit warmer and happier. “So...whatcha doing?” 

“Well, nothing. I hadn’t planned on doing anything really. Or having you join me.” He chuckles awkwardly. “I was probably just going to nap, or watch a movie or something....maybe listen to music. It’s not normal for me to have the H.Q. to myself a while. I’m quite out of my depth, not gonna lie.” Y/N giggles and nods.

“Well, can I join you? Maybe we can think of something to do together.” Bucky smiles. How could he ever turn her down? 

“Always.” 

~*~*~*~*~

“Oh, come on, that is not a Christmas movie!”

“Yes it is! He’s going to an office Christmas party!” Y/N argues.

“I thought Christmas movies were meant to be festive and happy!”

“What, Bruce Willis saving the day from bad guys isn’t festive or happy Bucky? Cause it is! You’re gonna look at me and you’re going to tell me that I’m wrong?” Y/N raises a brow. Bucky and Y/N decided to watch a film together a few hours ago, but still can’t decide which one to watch. “Well, we can pick something else, it’s okay.” She looks through the collection of DVDs on her lap, biting her lip in concentration. Bucky watches her as she does so. As he does so, all he can think about is how beautiful she looks. How beautiful she’s always looked. The snow falling behind her helps too. He suddenly feels an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Unbeknownst to Y/N, he’s been in love with her from the moment he laid eyes on her, but his feeling of love has never been as strong as it has in this moment. “Well, I don’t have any ideas. Do you?” She asks, looking over and seeing Bucky staring at her. Her eyes widen slightly, and Bucky’s cheeks flush ever so slightly pink. “Why...are you staring at me like that?”

“Oh um, nothing. It’s nothing.” Bucky mumbles, trying desperately to think of something, anything, to change the topic. But all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss his best friend. “I mean we don’t have to watch a Christmas movie, cause at this rate we might never pick one. How about something like....” He rummages through the other DVDs, trying desperately to pick something to stop all the thoughts rushing through his head. Finally, he pulls one out. “Something like this! The Princess Bride! That’s one of your favourites right?”

“Well, yeah it is, but-are you sure? If you don’t wanna watch it it’s okay.” Bucky shakes his head.

“No! Let’s go for it! I’ve never seen it anyways. It’ll be fun.” Y/N nods, and Bucky places the disc in the DVD player. He sighs. Hopefully this will help clear his head a little.

~*~*~*~*~

He picked a romance movie. Of course he did. And of course it’s not helping to clear his head in the slightest. Well, it was his own fault really. What else would a movie called ‘The Princess Bride’ be about? Sure, at the beginning they made it a point to say that this wasn’t just a romance movie, but come on there’s a princess, dashing heroes, true love and....and Y/N is watching this whole thing with a big smile on her face, quoting it almost entirely word for word. And that’s why Bucky knows he can’t be mad about it, not really. Also, it may be a romance movie, but it is a really good one. So, he stays quiet and keeps watching. 

“Aw yes!” Y/N sighs happily as Inigo Montoya defeats the six fingered man. Suddenly, a cold chill comes through the room, and Y/N shivers. Without even thinking, Bucky wraps the blanket around her shoulders, and pulls her closer. So close their bodies are touching. He blushes. Why did he do that? Sure, it feels nice and all that, but why did he do that? He could’ve just given her the blanket and now he’s- “Thanks.” She whispers, smiling softly, turning back to glance at him. Bucky feels a pang in his heart all over again. Now he wants to kiss her even more.

“I should be thanking you. You’re the one who stayed with me today and kept me company, even if you didn’t have to.”

“Are you kidding? Of course I would. I love you Buck-” Y/N squeals suddenly, and clamps her hand over her mouth. Bucky’s eyes widen.

“What did you just say?” He asks. Of course, he heard her perfectly, but he’s still in shock. In shock that she might feel the same way about him as he does with her.

“I um. I said I love you.” She repeats, her words coming out slowly and shakily, like she can’t quite believe she’s saying them. Bucky’s heart rate increases, and for a moment he’s glad he’s sitting down because he knows that if he was standing he’d be on the floor in seconds. “I’m sorry Bucky, it just slipped out, and I know you might not feel the same way but-”

“You love me?” Bucky repeats, still slightly in shock. Y/N nods.

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same but I just-” Bucky cuts her off, taking both her hands in his.

“I love you too.” He smiles widely, sure it’s one of the widest smiles he’s ever had. So wide it could split his face in half. “Can I...can I kiss you?” He asks, and she nods. Slowly Y/N and Bucky lean in closer, and their lips touch in a soft kiss. Y/N’s hands automatically go into Bucky’s hair, whilst his go around her waist. The TV continues playing in the background, but the pair are past the point of caring about the movie by this point. All they are focused on is each other. A voice soon speaks from the TV. 

"Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind." Peter Falk says. Bucky and Y/N pull apart, and Y/N starts giggling. 

“Well, that’s a...definite coincidence.” She laughs. “Did you plan this Bucky? I feel like you might have planned this.”

“Absolutely not! ...But I’m still happy it happened.” He smiles, pulling her closer. “We’re definitely doing this on the next snow day.”

[harryhandstan]

prompt: harry wakes up early on starbucks cup release days and surprises you by buying all the ones he thinks you’ll like. he’s usually able to escape the paps but this time they catch him and he ends up having to explain it in his next interview and gets all shy and can’t stop blushing.

a/n: hello all!! first I want to apologize for my 4 month long writing absence. life just has not been kind to me lately and unfortunately zapped a lot of my creativity energy, but I’m happy to have something done now! hopefully I can continue and keep a more consistent schedule for the remainder of this year!

immense thank you’s are owed to my kind friends @tobesolonely and @meetmymouth for the encouragement to find my creative spark for writing again and for being amazing betas! and to @taintedwonder for the lovely idea! @theharriediaries​ was so sweet to beta for me as well!!

word count: 2.1k

writing tag | masterlist | tiktok inspo 

Harry was usually smarter than this. He had a schedule, a plan, a way to get in and out pretty quickly without being seen. 

But today, he’d lingered too long at the mugs, curious if you’d want one of those as well. Your go-to was iced coffee, even year round in the winter you would prefer something cold over anything warm. He was thinking though, of the nights you were stressed and wanted a cup of soothing tea before bed, or those slower mornings where you don’t have to rush and a mug of coffee fits nicely in your hand while he admires you from across the kitchen table.

By the time he’s decided that yes, you do need this mug with the pastel rainbow print to add to your collection, along with a few of the other cups he thinks you’ll adore and a fresh bag of your favorite flavor of coffee, there’s already a small crowd of people forming in the lobby of the coffee shop and he hopes that he can get through them without being recognized as usual; prays that it’s only the regulars filing in for an early morning fix of caffeine before they rush off to start their day.

The barista thankfully is quick, skillfully giving him his total before rushing off to make the drinks he ordered for the two of you as well. He sees the way her eyes keep darting to him though, knows after years of experience that she knows who he is and is trying to work up the courage to say something to him or ask for a photo. He almost considers offering, she’s been so nice not to draw any attention to him, maybe something discreet could be pulled off. 

In the end he chooses not to, not wanting to assume that’s why she keeps looking over at him. It could be that he still has the hood of his sweatshirt tucked over his beanie or the fact that he’s now walking out of the shop with a small handful of the brown shopping bags with the familiar green logo imprinted on the front.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he makes it back to his car without anyone stopping him. He’s so distracted by securing the bags in the backseat he fails to hear the small clicks of the camera not too far away.

There’s a small comfort in the quietness of your shared apartment when he returns. While he loves coming home to the sound of you dancing around the kitchen making breakfast, his favorite is getting to wake you up himself. There’s a sweet softness in the way the side of your face rests against your pillow, mouth parted slightly and a gentle snore vibrating through your chest. It never fails to make him smile. He cherished the way you inhale faintly, stretching your limbs before blinking a few times, adjusting to the new day you’re waking up to. If he was there, already awake, your eyes always found him before anything else.

This morning is no different, except for the confusion on your face when you find him sitting on the edge of the bed instead of snuggled next to you. 

“You’re up to something, I can tell.”  You’re propped up enough now to accept the coffee he’s holding out for you. You take a few small sips, sighing and letting your head fall back against the headboard as you savor the taste.

“M’that easy to read, huh?” He chuckles, his hand on your thigh now, warming your skin even through the blanket, “Well..would you like your surprise here or will you be joining me in the kitchen while I make you breakfast?”

“Oh I get a surprise and breakfast today? What’s the occasion? Little early for my birthday, H.” 

“Don’t need an occasion to spoil my girl, do I?”

“I guess not.” 

You shrug, trying not to let the guilt bubble up enough to where it flashes across your face. One of his loudest love languages had always been gift giving, a quality about him you thought was wonderful, but still had a hard time accepting. You had to be careful about mentioning things you may want around Harry, he would use any excuse to treat you.

He’s rambling off his reasoning already as he leads you into the kitchen and settles you in one of the tall chairs next to the counter. He always ends his explanation with “I know you told me not to, but…” followed up by what you’re sure to him sounds like a very logical justification for why you need/deserve whatever he was gifting you. There’s nothing out of the ordinary of your regular kitchen set up this morning though, so you do what you normally do when he announces a surprise for you; let him take the lead, not wanting to take away from his excitement. 

“So..surprise or breakfast first?” He stands on the other side of the counter now, his hoodie and beanie discarded, wearing a t-shirt you were sure you bought for yourself but he seems to have laid claim to.

“Breakfast, please. If you don’t mind.” 

“‘Course not. Any requests, baby?”

Your heart flutters for a moment, just as it does each time he uses that particular term of affection for you. He’s already opened the refrigerator, scanning over options for what he could make for the two of you. You recover long enough to tell him no, that whatever he wants to make would be fine, sitting back and enjoying the view as he cracks a few eggs into a bowl.

You don’t even notice that you’re staring until he turns and catches your eye, “What? Did I get a shell in the eggs or something?”

You giggle as he even picks up the clear bowl of eggs that he’s already scrambled and seasoned, even going so far as to swirl his finger through the liquid to double check before you can stop him.

“No, it’s just..I can’t get over the fact that you’re making breakfast for me while wearing my t-shirt.”

“S’it yours?” He glances down at it, “Thought it was mine, sorry..”

There’s a smirk on his face as he turns back to the stove, and you know just by seeing that he knows you don’t mind; you love seeing him in your clothes as much as he adores seeing you in his.  

It’s not long before he’s presenting you with a plate, sitting next to you with his own plate in front of him. When you don’t immediately dig in, he leans over to inspect the food, worried that maybe he’d overdone the eggs or your toast was slightly more brown than you liked. 

So when you say, “You’ve forgotten something very important, haven’t you?” he panics, thinking maybe he should’ve taken the time to include fruit to balance the meal. You take pity on him, not making him wait too long before you lean in and he instantly softens, realizing what you’re asking for. 

He meets you the rest of the way, lips soft against yours, the taste of the coffee you’ve both had lingering for a moment before he pulls away, “Very important. How could I ever have forgotten?”

When you’ve both finished eating, he downs the last of his coffee and stacks your now empty plates to take to the sink, pecking your forehead with another quick kiss, “Alright, close your eyes. Count to 20.”

You begin to count off in your head, and you hear his voice, a bit further away, “Out loud, angel.”

There’s a rustling of bags getting closer as you count, and you can even hear a few clinks as they come closer. You can feel him moving around you, positioning things perfectly for when you open your eyes. 

He’s still behind you when you finish counting, hands squeezing your shoulders to urge you to open your eyes. When you do, you immediately recognize the bags and know exactly what he’s done.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. This is too much, Harry. I let you spoil me with little things here and there, but I cannot accept this.”

Sitting in front of you are..you stop to count them now; 1, 2, 3, 4..6 bags from Starbucks. You know from experience that each one of them contains 2 cups or mugs. You’re sure at least one of them also includes your favorite roast of coffee. He had done this before around Christmas time, when you’d mentioned how adorable a few of the ones from the holiday collection had been, not thinking that he would go back later without you and buy all the ones you’d touched or admired.  

He ignores your refusal, “You can take back any you don’t like. Go on,” He peeks inside one of the bags closest to him and then pushes it closer to you, “Start with this one.”

“Harry, really..”

“Don’t think, just open. If you really won’t accept any of them then I’ll take ‘em back and buy you something from somewhere else.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You try your best to look serious, but you can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face, “Thank you, H.”

You finally go through most of the bags, offering oohs and ahhs and even a few squeals of joy at certain ones. 

“I think I got all the ones you’d pick for yourself. Saw you eyeing one or two the other day and the others I just guessed.”

He had done very well in choosing for you, even going so far as to get the two of you a matching pair of the kind that changed colors with the temperature. 

“For our smoothies.” He explains when you give him a particularly soft look at the idea of matching with him. 

“Also got us a matching set of these,” He skips to the last bag, too eager to wait for you to open it yourself, revealing the mug he’d taken the extra time to select, “For our Sunday morning tea. Or if you change your mind and ever want a hot coffee.”

All you can do is repeat the same expression of gratitude as before you had opened them, “Thank you again, H. I love them all, really. No more though, alright? We’re running out of cabinet space. Did you go to our regular spot or a different one so you wouldn’t be recognized?” 

“Different one. Can’t believe I wasn’t spotted though. Must’ve been too early for the paps to be out and about.”

“Or maybe you aren’t as interesting as you think you are, babe. Harry Styles coming out of a Starbucks is old news now.” 

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, “Oh is it now?”

“Mhmm. You’re just plain boring now, H.” You shrug, peeling at the price tag on the bottom of one of the cups, avoiding his gaze; knowing if you look at him you’ll break into a fit of laughter. 

He’s impossibly calm, just like he is before any interview he does. 

You sit across the room from where he’s currently getting his hair done. The stylist was nervous, understandably so, her hands unsure at first. It only takes a few moments of being near Harry; working his quiet, delicate magic of putting anyone he’s near at ease. By the time his hair is finished he’s pulled a few laughs from her and she leaves the room with a big beaming smile and a wave to the both of you.

Now that you’re alone again, he beckons you closer and tugs you down to sit in his lap, despite your protests of the possibility of wrinkling his incredibly expensive suit. 

“Don’t care,” He leans up to press a kiss to your neck, keeping his face tucked there in your warmth, “Just want you close for a moment.”

Normally you would run your fingers through his hair, but you don’t dare do that now, hand drifting to the side of his face instead, “Not nervous are you, H?”

He lets you gently push him back enough to see his face again, “Never. Just happy to have you here with me, that’s all.”   

It’s not until he’s in front of the audience, presented with the evidence of just a few days before, displayed on a screen for all to see. He had been caught, despite his confidence of getting away. He falters for only a beat, head down in hopes to hide the blush spreading high along his cheeks. He finds you in the crowd, sending a bright smile your way before he shrugs, turning his attention back to the host.

“What can I say? My sunshine likes her coffee.” 

//

tag list: @harrysblackcoat​, @summertime-pills​ 

thank you for reading!! as always likes, rbs, and feedback is welcome and appreciated!!