#like i literally search through every piece of clothing hanging in my closet even though i know it’s not possible for someone to be hiding-

[useryoongis]

tw paranoia??? i’m not sure what to call it

[valkyrieromanoff]

☠️DIY COUPLE COSTUME - MODERN AU: CROSSHAIR X YOU (day 9 of 31)

synopsis: you and Crosshair needed to create a last-minute costume for a Halloween party

warning: fluffy, establish relationship.

 a/n: Hello there, grumpy and affectionate boyfriend is my headcanon for Crosshair,  hope you like it💖

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ���ᴇᴇ

ꜱɪʟᴠᴇʀ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛꜱ

ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴇᴇɴ

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Crosshair’s voice carried that familiar edge of irritation, his long fingers rifling through the clothes in your shared closet, tossing them onto the bed without care. Each discarded item added to the growing pile, and every glance he gave himself in the mirror was accompanied by a scowl before he’d hurl the next piece aside.

“I didn’t know it was a costume party,” you replied, trying to sound calm as you sat cross-legged on the floor, rummaging through a drawer in a desperate search for anything costume-worthy.

Crosshair huffed, his sharp eyes narrowing. “It’s Halloween, darling. Obviously, it’s a costume party.” His tone was sharper than usual, revealing how on edge he was. He already wasn’t a fan of parties—too loud, too crowded—but the idea of going without preparation was enough to send his stress skyrocketing. His usual brooding mood had become something far darker, and you could feel the tension radiating off him.

You shrugged, still sifting through the mess of clothes. “With your brother organizing it? Nothing is obvious.” You paused, holding up a tie to your neck and squinting at your reflection. “It’s Hunter, after all.”

Crosshair stopped rifling through the closet for a moment, and you could see the exasperation settle on his face. “This is literally Hunter we’re talking about. There’s no one more obvious than him.” He ran his hand through his silver-gray hair, now tousled from his stress. The thought of showing up unprepared to anything—especially one of Hunter’s events—was gnawing at him.

You gave a thoughtful hum before responding, “True. He���s not exactly subtle.” You stood, walking over to him, guilt creeping into your voice. “I’m sorry, honey. I misread the invitation. I swore it said next week.”

Crosshair’s body softened slightly, though his expression remained distant. “Darling, you’d miss a party even if your life depended on it,” he murmured with an amused smirk. You could feel his tension easing as his long fingers absentmindedly ran through your hair. 

You leaned into his touch, letting out a soft sigh. “That’s probably true.” You pulled out your phone, scrolling through Pinterest, searching for last-minute costume ideas. You held it up, showing him the first few you thought might work. “What about this?”

He glanced at it briefly, and his expression instantly soured. “I’m not dressing up as ketchup,” he grumbled. “Or mustard, for that matter.”

You bit back a laugh and swiped to the next idea. “How about this? We could be soap and a bath loofah.”

Crosshair’s reaction was immediate. “Hand me that,” he said, grabbing the phone. “Apparently, you’ve lost the ability to make good decisions.”

You flopped onto the bed, resting your chin on his chest while he scrolled through TikTok, looking for something that didn’t make him want to crawl out of his own skin. After a few moments, he snorted in frustration. “These so-called ‘easy’ costumes would take more effort than building a new rifle.”

You grinned, tracing random shapes on his sweatshirt with your finger. “How about Backyardigans?”

His look of utter disbelief was priceless. “No.”

“ETs from Toy Story?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Nail polish bottles?”

Crosshair narrowed his eyes at you. “Now you’re just suggesting the most absurd things on purpose.”

You giggled, propping yourself up on your elbows. “So, Mr. Costume Critic, what’s your brilliant idea?”

He stayed silent for a moment, his brow furrowed as he scanned the room for inspiration. His gaze landed on the *Pulp Fiction* poster hanging on the wall. His lips quirked into a half-smile, and he pointed at it. “There. Mia Wallace and Vincent Vega. Simple, but classic.”

You followed his line of sight, grinning as the idea clicked into place. “Not the most original, but it’ll work.”

A few minutes later, you both set to work, rifling through your clothes for the right pieces. Luckily, the thrift store trip last weekend had left Crosshair with a black suit and dress pants. He was already wearing a white shirt, so you added the final touch—a slim black tie, which you carefully tied around his neck. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot how to tie a knot,” you teased, your fingers deftly tightening the tie.

Crosshair smirked, his brown eyes softening for the first time that night. “I know how. I just like when you do it.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him away. He chuckled, then threw you one of his oversized white dress shirts. “Here. Wear this over your—” his gaze briefly flickered to the black bra you were already wearing “—Mia Wallace look.”

You slipped into the shirt, fastening only a few buttons, then followed him to the bathroom where your makeup bag was waiting on the sink. Crosshair slicked his silver-gray hair back with gel, while you applied a bold red lipstick, adding the final touch with fake blood under your nose.

“Get down here,” you murmured, gesturing to your boyfriend. He knelt before you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head briefly against your belly. The rare intimacy of the gesture made your heart flutter. When he pulled back, you gently started working on his makeup, adding a black eye and a few cuts with fake blood and eyeshadow. 

“Perfect,” you whispered, admiring your handiwork. Crosshair looked up at you with a faint smile. His sharp features were softened by the lighting, the usual intensity in his gaze replaced by something... warmer.

Before he stood, he tilted his head up, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. “Careful,” he murmured, “I don’t want to ruin your lipstick.”

You smiled against his mouth, brushing your nose against his before pulling back. “Maybe I’ll ruin yours.”

Crosshair smirked as he stood up, grabbing the fake blood and splattering it on your white shirt. The red drops sprayed across the bathroom tiles, but neither of you cared. When the costumes were finally ready, you both stepped back, admiring yourselves in the mirror.

“For something last-minute,” you said, adjusting your collar, “we did pretty damn well.”

“Good enough,” Crosshair muttered, taking your hand and pulling you out of the bathroom, leaving the mess of makeup and brushes behind. As you stepped out of the apartment, he glanced at you, his lips twitching in that small, almost hidden smile he reserved just for you. “Let’s hope the party’s worth it.”

Despite the stress of the evening, there was a contentment settling between you. It wasn’t about the party anymore. It was about the two of you, together, navigating whatever chaos life threw your way. As much as he grumbled, you knew Crosshair had enjoyed working through this mess with you. He would never say it, but you could feel it in the way he’d held you close, the way his irritation melted into quiet amusement.

And when you arrived at Hunter’s place, you could only laugh. His costume was a tank top, army pants, and his usual bandana—he claimed he was Rambo. Wrecker’s attempt at a dragon costume was endearing but turned out more abstract than anything else, while Tech and Phee had gone all out with matching steampunk outfits, clearly having prepared for weeks. Echo simply stood off to the side, arms crossed, his face set in his usual stoic expression. “I’m too old for this,” he muttered, though no one dared disagree.

Crosshair sighed, glancing around at his brothers’ half-hearted attempts. “I put in all this effort, and for what?”

You grinned, nudging him gently. “For Omega.”

His expression softened at the mention of her, and he gave a small, resigned nod. “Yeah, for Omega.”

As the night went on, you stayed close to Crosshair, laughing with the others, sipping drinks, and occasionally stealing moments together where no one was watching. And while it hadn’t been the evening Crosshair had planned, he found himself admitting that, maybe, it wasn’t so bad after all. Being with you, solving things together, that was all he really needed.

“Remind me to read the next invitation properly,” you whispered, leaning into him.

Crosshair smirked, his arm slipping around your waist. “No need. I’ve got you covered.”

[smileyjaeminies]

Hey, stranger

Synopsis: You are preparing to say goodbye to uni life and take a leap of faith into the unknown. What happens when you are met with an unexpected visitor? Decisions are tricky… Will you be able to make the right one?

Word Count:  7,5 k

Genre: ex- boyfriend au!, angst

Warnings: smoking, drinking, fighting, cursing

Member: Jungkook, ft Namjoon and Lisa from BlackPink

A/N: This took every last cell of my energy to write. I think a part of me will live within this work. Say hello to my new favourite piece.

  If life was full of crossroads, you could clearly see the one waiting for you only a few steps away. Could the butterfly effect be true? Could every single choice you make drastically change the outcome of every day ahead of you? How could you ever be sure a decision was right?

  Could you trust your heart? Or would it always lie to you? Your head? Or would it force a decision on you? Could you take a friend’s advice? Would it be right to listen to someone else when the result only concerns yourself?

  Still lost in thought, you pry open your window slowly as to not make any sound. You take your legs out first, climbing on the steps of the narrow fire escape. It creaks under your weight, a familiar and almost comforting sound. You squeeze the cup of tea in your hand, hoping that its heat will seep into your fingers. A wisp of air makes you shiver, your teeth threatening to clatter together.

  You shouldn’t be out. You are dressed in your home clothes, leggings and an old oversized hoodie, not nearly enough to save you from the cold air outside. Yet you don’t mind, allowing the cold to surround you as you wrap a blanket around your shoulders.

  You glance back inside, your room in complete disarray. A big suitcase is sitting opened in front of your closet, filled to the brim. Everywhere around your room are opened boxes, some of them half empty, others overflowing with your possessions. The walls seem empty as the fairy lights that used to decorate them are packed in one of the boxes. The collage of pictures that accompanied them is now stored in an album.

  You reach for it, getting comfortable on the fire escape again as you shuffle through it. The smile on your face only keeps growing as the memories come back to you. Your first day in uni, your first dorm, countless pictures of you and your roommate, Lisa, from various adventures from 3am liquor runs to stressing over exams.

 With every picture, you see the passage of time. How you moved out of the dorms and into your first apartment, your first day at your shitty part time job to pay rent. You and your friends’ first time at karaoke night, only for it to become tradition. Beach days and hikes, laughs and crying sessions.

  Lost in the array of pictures is a picture of him. Your first instinct is to bury it, shoving it under all the other pictures. You scoff, turning to look at the skyline for a while. You try to pry him out of your head, but your heart is yearning to look at the picture again. You shake your head again and again, trying to think about something else, anything else.

  Your hands move on their own accord, looking though the mess you made to find his picture again. You find it at last, a sigh escaping past your lips. The picture sports you and Jungkook, your (now) ex-boyfriend, happily smiling with matching peace signs framing your faces. Jungkook’s hair is hidden under a bucket hat, messy strands peeking through, while his eyes shine brightly, a million little stars hidden away in their depths. Next to him, your smile has taken over your features, almost making your eyes seal shut. You both look so happy, so good together, like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.

  You can feel your heart twist inside your chest. The memory behind the picture surfaces quickly, as it from the days you were still trying to impress each other. For your first dates, you would take turns showing the other your favourite places around the city, trying to get to know each other better. This picture was from an outing at one of Jungkook’s favourite pastry places.

  With Jungkook, every day was an adventure, every day brought a surprise. He always went down roads no one ever treaded, happy to make a path for himself where there was none. There were no easy choices with him, only right ones.

  You knew if you kept looking at that part of the pictures, you’d find more traces of him. After all, he had been a big part of your life for almost two years. So you went ahead and looked through the pictures, from your one year anniversary, to meeting his parents, then yours, silly pictures taken on drunk nights, memorabilia from your road trips.

  Tearing away your gaze from the photos, you changed your position, now sitting cross-legged as you beheld the sky line. Your thoughts were bringing back memories from your relationship, as if a film was playing before you and you couldn’t stop watching.

  You recalled your first meetings, soft hellos on the elevator or when you were grabbing your mail. You soon learned that he lived with his best friend on the floor above you, apartment 4C. You and your own best friend were currently residing on apartment 3C. Coincidence? Maybe.

  Then again, perhaps not. For random meetings were one thing, but him walking out to your beloved fire escape more and more often could not be incidental. The first couple of times it happened, a comfortable silence reigned over you after a timid greeting, both of you cherishing the time to get lost in your thoughts.

  You almost jumped out of your skin when he finally walked up to you one day in one of your favourite cafes. You remember well, how he managed to gather up the courage to walk up to you, messy flock of brown hair and all, using his favourite greeting, one he saved only for you.

  “Hey stranger”, the sound of his voice plays in your head.

  After that day, lonely hours on your fire escape became hang out sessions as you talked about what was on your minds, letting go of all your worries. You found solace in him and he grew to trust you more and more. Those stolen moments turned to actual dates when you finally got fed up and asked him out. As you got to know him better, you discovered that the mysterious guy living a floor above you wasn’t mysterious at all.

  Jungkook was… his own galaxy. How could someone’s presence be so enticing, screaming at everyone to take note of him, while he was introverted and quiet? How could someone excel at basically everything he did, everything his hands touched turning into gold, yet be so blissfully unaware of it? How could someone be so passionate, pouring himself into his work, whatever that may be, while remaining unsure of himself?

  He was full of contradictions indeed. And those contradictions became the cause of your relationship falling apart. He made you happy, even in those last days, you truly felt happy when you were with him. But more and more obstacles came to stand between you. You had lost your way of connecting and he seemingly wasn’t interested in getting it back.

  The screaming still lingers in your ears. You can almost hear the glass breaking as you both screamed at each other, desperately trying to get the other person to listen.

  Yet you don’t regret speaking up that day. If anything, it showed you what you already knew. You were both too caught up in yourselves to be someone for the other person to love. While you still cared for him, you knew that staying your distance was what you both needed.

  Especially now. You truly couldn’t fathom how the opportunity for you to get away had just bounced onto your lap. You accepted without a second thought, knowing it was just the opportunity you were searching for. And here you were, packing, ready to start traveling as the personal assistant of one of the most influential photographers in the fashion industry.

  The industry was complicated of course, yet you had always loved it dearly. You had made your first skirt at the age of 13, only for your love to grow as you started unfolding more fashion secrets. From altering thrifted clothes, to making your own, to studying fashion in university, you were dedicated to your dream. Now, you were caught up in it, finally landing the break you wanted to enter the exclusive world you have only caught glimpse of until now and making your dream into reality.

  A knock came from your door, violently snapping you away from your thoughts. You twisted around a bit, calling for them to come in. Lisa’s head peaked from behind your door, a smile lighting up her face.

  “Hey, you” she called, walking over to you.

  “Hey baby” you answered, smiling back at her, the nickname effortlessly flowing from your lips.

  You scooted over, inviting her to sit next to you. You got comfortable on the small space, leaving your legs to hang out as you snuggled under the blanket. Your head came to rest easily on her shoulder, fitting perfectly in position as you both watched the city lights flicker before you.

  “At least you’ve opened up the boxes” she teased you.

  “Hey!” you said, poking her stomach as retaliation, “I’m almost done with my closet and I’ve packed all my books! That only leaves…” you let your voice trail off, your eyes skimming your room.

  “Literally everything else” she joked again, and this time you couldn’t help but laugh with her.

  “Do you need help, baby? I know this must be hard for you mentally” she asked, her tone sweet, deprived from the joking attitude she had only moments before.

  You needn’t think for an answer, only shook your head firmly.

  “I need to do this myself. Come to terms with it.” You told her.

  You felt her nod as a comfortable silence reigned between you. After a few moments, you felt her arms around you tighten. Without a word, you tightened your own hold around her waist.

  “I’m going to miss you so much” you whispered.

  “I’m going to miss you too. It almost feels like I don’t know what to do with myself now that you’re leaving.” She told you.

  You had nothing to say to that. You and Lisa had been stuck at the hip for years and yet, you knew it was time for you to move on. From the very first day you met her in your assigned dorm room, to today, when your paths would inevitably split up, Lisa had been an invaluable friend to you. It was hard for you to imagine a life without her next to you.

  But you weren’t scared. You knew her better than she knew herself, and vice versa. She understood you and you knew that she would always be there for you. Your friendship was strong. It would hold out.

  “You know”, she broke the silence “Joon texted”

  Your eyes widened at the mention of the boy. Namjoon was Jungkook’s roommate and best friend, currently hidden away inside the apartment above you. You looked back at your best friend before asking,

  “What did he say?”

  “Well… It appears that he let slip to Jungkook that you’re leaving. And he didn’t take it very well” she admitted.

  “Oh?” you asked.

  “Apparently he’s throwing a temper tantrum up there. So I thought…” she was saying, when you cut her off.

  “No. Lisa, no” you said sternly.

  “Y/N,” she begun, only for you to cut her off again.

  “No, Lisa, don’t. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him. I just want to drink my tea and pack in peace” you told her.

  “Is that enough? What about closure?” she asked you.

  “I’ve had it. It’s been six months. If he wanted to talk it out, he should’ve done it a long time ago” you answered.

  “If that’s what you want…” she said, her voice trailing off.

  “That’s what I want. I’m leaving this place and him behind me. I only ever need you” you said, trying to give her a comforting smile.

  “Oh shut up you cheesy little shit” she said, cuddling further into you.

  After a few moments of silence, Lisa slowly started to draw herself away.

  “I’m too cold for this. I’ll see you later?” she asked, climbing back inside.

  “Sure. I’ll try to finish up so we can have those drinks we talked about. Girls’ night?” you offered.

  Lisa’s face lit up as she nodded eagerly. You loved the thought yourself, putting your phones away for a while and just having drinks with your best friend sounded like a dream. You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself as you got lost in your thoughts once again.

  You watched silently as cars passed from the road under you, hurriedly trying to get to their destination. Not a lot of people were out, and those who were, were maneuvering through the streets, rushing to return to the safety of their homes.

  There’s a storm coming. You thought, watching dark clouds filled with rain make their way towards the city. Funny, the weather always found a way to match your mood. Your eyes turned to the open boxes once again as you struggled to form a plan to get through packing as fast as possible.

  Then, the familiar creaking sound of a window opening above you startled you. All your muscles tensed up, your body going on overdrive, your senses heightened. You tried to keep your head straight, silently praying that he just opened the window to get some air, that he wasn’t going to get out.

  Your prayers went unanswered.

  The fire escape creaked loudly as more weight was pushed on it. You heard him huff lightly as he settled down, getting comfortable. Your mind could already see him, even though your eyes couldn’t, his legs spread in front of him, cigarettes in hand, back leaning on the wall as his face was colored by the blinking lights of the city.

  “Hey, stranger” Jungkook called you, causing your breath to hitch at your throat.

  You masked your shock by taking a sip of your tea, trying to brush Jungkook off. However, he had other plans.

  “I know you can hear me. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me, just don’t fucking ignore me.” He snapped.

  You didn’t pretend you didn’t hear him this time. You scoffed, annoyed but his stubbornness, turning to look at him, your eyes searching for his. He was sprawled across the staircase just like you expected, his hands busy swirling around a pack of cigarettes. His hair was longer now, you noted, parted square in the middle, curls falling effortlessly to frame his face. His doe eyes were the same, holding your gaze as his tongue moved out of his mouth to wet his lips.

  “Hello, Jungkook” you said curtly.

  “Well then, that wasn’t that hard, was it?” he asked, his lips turning up into a smirk.

  You shook your head, not wanting to lead him on further. It seemed that he was also out of things to say, for silence overtook you for a few moments. Jungkook then opened his pack, placing a cigarette between his lips and fumbling for a lighter. Having located it, he lit his cigarette, taking a big swig of it and letting out a puff of smoke in the shape of a ring.

  His eyes found yours again, for yours were already on him, watching his movements. Something flashed in his eyes then, so quick you didn’t have time to put a finger on it. Without a word, he tossed the pack on your lap.

  Your eyes shifted from the cigarettes to him as you tried to figure out what to do. Your mind drifted back to the thought of crossroads as you grabbed the pack with your hands. Lisa’s voice also replayed in your head. Closure. Such a silly thing.

  You opened the pack, picking up a cigarette and putting it between your fingers. You reached out, motioning for Jungkook to pass you the lighter. He reached for you, lighter in hand, your hands brushing a little as you got the lighter. Sheltering the small flame with your hand, you lit your cigarette, the familiar feeling of smoke filling your lungs overtaking you.

  You blew out the smoke in a puff, failing to make a ring identical to his. You placed the pack and cigarettes some steps above you and in Jungkook’s reach. He tossed them back inside, turning his attention back to you. Only this time, you weren’t looking at him.

  Your eyes had drifted away, back onto the bustling city as the cigarette in your hand burned like a beacon. Jungkook felt his heart twist inside his chest, felt his hands yearning to touch you, his lips to be placed upon yours. He managed to quiet his thoughts, assuming a stoic expression as you turned back to look at him.

  There was something in your eyes, something Jungkook had never seen there before. He tried to hold your gaze, but you looked away too quickly, your eyes falling on the inside of your room.

  “Shouldn’t you be packing?” he asked, testing the waters.

  “Well, I am here now” you said, turning to look at him once more.

   Jungkook’s mind was flooded with possibilities, things he’s never told you, things he wished to tell you, for so long. You were desperately trying to read him, wishing that you know what was happening inside his head.

  “Jungkook…” “Y/N…” you spoke up at the same time.

  You chuckled, Jungkook soon following suit. Still, after all those months, you were in tune. You looked at him, smile still settled on your lips as he returned the look. He motioned for you to go first and you took a swig of your cigarette, trying to buy yourself some time.

  You opened your mouth to speak up when a drop of rain fell on your hair. You were startled, flinching as you turned to look at the sky. He flinched too after a few seconds, a droplet of rain dropping on his shoulder. Slowly but surely, large drops started falling from the sky all around you, leaving you to giggle like a child.

  “Want to take this inside? Help me pack, keep me company, whatever?” you asked, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

  He raised a brow, looking directly at you as you fumbled with your blanket, trying to get it over your head to shield you from the rain. Once you met his eyes again, he was still curiously regarding you. You put out your cigarette, throwing it away and waiting expectantly for his answer.

  With one last drag, Jungkook put out his own cigarette, getting up. He was hovering over you when he said simply,

  “Let’s go”

  You smiled up at him, happy with his answer as you pushed your way back inside. You threw the now damp blanket in a corner of the room, suddenly self-conscious of the awful mess. You heard him shuffle his way in, landing rather ungracefully on the floor under your window.

  “You’d think that after doing this so many times you would have gotten the hang of it… You disappoint me Jeon” you joked.

  Jungkook glared at you, causing you to laugh loudly. You reached for your phone, going to text Lisa that you had someone over, as you always did and vice versa. Your hand hovered over the screen, hesitating to open the messaging app.

  Telling Lisa would… Complicate things. She’d ask questions after, questions you couldn’t answer because in all honesty, you didn’t know why you called him over. How did you go from not wanting to see him or talk to him to inviting him over? You weren’t really sure. In the end, he’d exit the way it came. No trouble at all. Right?

  Yes, your mind answered for you. Lisa definitely doesn’t need to know.

  You realized Jungkook was talking to you, making you turn abruptly on your heels.

  “Sorry, I was kind of daydreaming for a second. What was that?” you asked.

  Jungkook smiled at you, slightly shaking his head before saying,

  “I just said that you looked very concentrated for a person staring at a black screen”

  “Oh shut up” you said, making him raise his hands in surrender.

  You huffed loudly, placing your hands on your hips and looking around your room, trying to decide where to begin. One glance at your vinyl collection made the decision for you. The small stack, which only grew over the years, was an easy thing to check off of your list. Grabbing the box closest to you, you sat yourself down at your desk chair, a comfortable distance away from the shelf your vinyl had resided in… Until now.

  Glancing briefly at Jungkook, you found him still sat on the floor, eyes locked on the screen of his phone. His eyebrows were furrowed together in concentration and without glancing at the screen, you knew he was keeping himself busy with a game on his phone. Still exactly the same, your mind added. The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but it was tense, so you decided to speak up.

  “You know, you could always sit on the bed. Or actually help me pack”

  “So you brought me here to do your dirty work for you? No thanks” he said.

  “Oh come on, you can’t just sit on your phone! Just do the board games or something” you urged him on.

  He got on his feet, making you think that he would actually do as you asked. You turned back to the task at hand only to jump at the feeling of his hands gracing your shoulders lightly.

  “I could always do you” he said, his tone low.

  You almost lost yourself in the touch, when you snapped yourself back to reality, flinching away from him. You were glad you couldn’t see him, it only made your next words easier.

  “In your dreams Jeon.” You said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.  

  You heard him mutter something under his breath, before actually making his way to grab a box to fill with your board games. He settled down, getting to work without a word. Your mind was running on speeds you didn’t know possible, your shoulders still tingling where his hands had touched you.

  At some point you heard him laugh out loud, making your racing mind cease, your attention brought back to him. You looked at him shyly from under your hair, somewhat afraid to meet his gaze head on.

  “Remember when we used to have best friends vs best friends board game nights and Joon would kick your ass in Name, Animal, Plant with words like, oh, I don’t know, fucking Hyacinth or something?” he said, still chuckling slightly.

  You too laugh at the memories. While you and Jungkook were still together, you, Lisa and the boys would often meet up for game nights of board games, loads of food and alcohol. You fondly remembered those nights, were everything was normal, there was no weight in your chest and your smiles came as easily as breathing.

  “Remember that night Lisa sprained her ankle while we were playing charades?” you retorted.

  He broke into a laughing fit, clearly recalling the crazy night that followed the incident. So many memories came to mind, replaying in front of you effortlessly. So many happy memories, so many smiles, laughs and inside jokes, so many things connecting you.

  What went wrong? Your head screamed as you watched Jungkook’s back. He was animatedly reminding you of all that transpired one night where Namjoon believed himself “Extremely sexy” and tried dancing to ‘Havana’ by Camilla Cabello. You, of course, where there, and you recalled the event quite vividly.

  But there was something about watching him retell the story, the corner of his lips turning up as he spoke, his eyes getting smaller and smaller as laughter sealed them shut. His words were often stopped by laughing fits and he turned around to see if you were watching now and again. Each time, you’d meet his eyes, nodding in encouragement as you threw your own two cents in, pushing the story further.

  Having him with you made you feel weird and safe at the same time. You appreciated the company, he always found a way to make you feel at ease and after a while the conversation flowed naturally between you, as if you were two old friends… Which you were. Kind of. Furthermore, the night had a tone of finality in it.

  It was strange for you, sitting in a room with him, surrounded by your things and burdened with so many memories and yet not being able to touch him. You were holding yourself back, filtering your actions, words and emotions carefully. You were balancing on the edge of a cliff and it would only take so much for you to tip into your demise. You stole glances at him, not yet ready to study him openly. You recognized all the small mannerisms and quirks that made Jungkook, Jungkook. But still, you were reserved, keeping your voice down and your laughs short, not being able to lose yourself in him, his presence, his voice, his laugh, his words.

  It shouldn’t surprise you how easily you worked together, moving in different parts of the room and wrapping things neatly. You knew the other well and still, you were in tune, giving the other space when needed or rushing to help sort something out. You could read each other with a simple sideways glance, which could be part of the reason you still hadn’t met his gaze since you came inside.

  You didn’t need to give him instructions or anything, he simply took initiative and started placing your belongings in boxes, trying to save you space and fit as many things in as possible. After sitting on your suitcase, squeezing it with all your might in a final attempt to close it, it was over.

  You stood with your hands on your hips, a final huff leaving you as you admired your handiwork. The boxes were neatly placed one on top of the other in a corner of the room and Jungkook was now dragging your suitcase to sit with them.

  “I guess we make a pretty good team, huh?” he asked.

  And it had happened. You’d tipped from the edge. You felt the tone of the room shift, his seemingly innocent question bouncing off of your walls in an unending echo. Your heartbeat picked up, your hands getting sweaty as you fumbled for words to answer him.

  You sat on top of your bed, craving for some kind of comfort. He turned to look at you then, his doe eyes finding yours. It took all of your strength to muster up a smile, shaky as it was. It sufficed, for you saw Jungkook nod a little, seemingly mulling over his own words.

  “How about some music?” you asked, taking your phone on your hands.

  “No, not you, I’m designated DJ, remember?” Jungkook stopped you, already opening Spotify on his phone.

  You gave him the finger, laying back on your bed and waiting for him to play something that fit the mood. Jungkook admittedly had his way with music. He listened to a huge array of different artists and was happy to provide you with playlist for any given emotion or situation. Your favorite one, one of the last tokens of his you held dear, was the one he had named after the city you lived in, managing to capture its vibe perfectly.

Remember when we first met?

You said, “Light my cigarette”

 He absolutely did not. You shot up on your bed to find him already looking at you from under his curls. A cheeky smile made its way to his lips as your head swirled in circles. He sat back, challenging you with a look.

 He played your song. Your fucking song. On one of the first times you hanged out with him, still in the awkward phase you only bumped into each other and shared a few words on the fire escape, you discovered you both harbored the same love for a singer named Troye Sivan.

  As your relationship matured, blossomed into a true companionship, ‘Strawberries and Cigarettes’ came out. And it fit. It fit like a glove, just like the faint cigarette taste that adorned Jungkook’s lips and the strawberry flavored gum you were somewhat addicted to. It fit in the way he taught you to make smoke rings and the road trips you had gone on together. It fit in the black jeans he always wore, the spare lighters that you always seemed to find in the bottom of your purse and fighting over boxes of candy.

  And even now, it fit. Because you were leaving, ‘giving your heart a holiday’. Because you were wondering if you’d teach each other fate.

  The song softly played as your thoughts raced inside your head, Jungkook patiently waiting for your reaction.

  “Turn it off” you finally found the strength to say, holding his gaze.

  Your voice came out low, shaky and you cursed yourself for not being able to have more conviction. He did as he was told without a fight, as you got on your feet to look outside the window, anything to avoid his eyes. The storm was still going strong outside, the rain playing notes on the metal of the fire escape.

  You took a few deep breaths, making an effort to calm yourself down. Too preoccupied in your thoughts, you didn’t hear him get up or walk up to you. You jumped when you felt his hands on you, trying to wrap themselves around your waist.

  His movements stopped momentarily, obviously waiting for you to shove him away. When you didn’t, he eased his arms around you, placing his hands in the pockets of your hoodie.

  What the fuck am I doing? You asked yourself as Jungkook rested his head against yours and you instinctively melted at the touch. A few moments of stillness and tranquility passed, until Jungkook moved, placing a kiss on the side of your head.

 Your eyes fluttered closed, as all your other senses heightened, the feeling of his hands around you, his scent, his movements, all way too familiar. He breathed in your scent, stopping there for a few moments to ground himself. Then, his kisses moved, first to the shell of your ear, then your temple, your cheek, to arrive and settle on your lips.

  He still tasted the same. The thought made you want to cry as you felt his hand cup your face to keep you in place. You allowed yourself to savor it, savor the way he felt pressed against you, his lips on top of yours. Your legs turned to jelly as your hands grabbed his shoulders to keep you steady. You felt yourself slip back into a time when this was not a rare occurrence but everyday life, when you were awarded with kisses for the smallest of feats and when your lips on his didn’t feel like a breath of fresh air but rather coming back home after a long day.

  Home. The word abruptly brought you back to reality. You pulled away, untangling yourself from him.

  “Stop” you said, still no conviction in your voice.

  “Y/N, just-” he started but you cut him off.

  “No, Jungkook. No. This is closure okay? This is it. I’m leaving tomorrow, you know that. Why are making this harder for me? Why should we re-open old wounds?” you asked him.

  “Because they haven’t fully healed, Y/N! Look, I know you’re leaving tomorrow but…” his voice trailed off, his hands curling into fists.

  “There are no buts, Jungkook! You helped me pack for Christ’s sake, you helped me wrap up things here. It’s done. I’m doing this” you said.

  “Then why would you kiss me like that?” he asked.

  The question hit you like a ton of bricks. Why did you kiss him indeed?

  “I don’t know.” You answered truthfully.

   He scoffed, pressing his body on top of yours once more. He grabbed your hand, placing it over his heart. His movements were abrupt and rushed, his hand pressing yours so hard it almost hurt. You felt his erratic heartbeat as he spoke up,

  “Do you feel that? That’s my heart, still crazy over you. All night, it took everything in me not to kiss you. But I did. And when you kissed back I… I thought there was a chance. Just tell me. Tell me you don’t want this” he said.

  “Jungkook…” you started, your voice trailing off as your thoughts got clouded by your close proximity.

  Taking a step back, you were pushed against the wall, his body caging your own, arms on either side of your body, eyes baring into yours. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, let alone think, everything becoming too much and too intense. You desperately tried to collect your thoughts, find a way to get to him, make him understand why you couldn’t.

  “I have to go. This is something I have to do, for me.” You explained.

  For a few moments, there was silence. Neither of you moved as your eyes were stuck on the necklace dangling from his neck, a small anchor. Your gift. You just couldn’t take it anymore. It felt like you were being dealt with blow after blow and it was all too much. Not baring the silence any longer, you weaseled under his arms as you spoke up.

  “This was a mistake. I’m… I’m sorry I kissed you, I thought it was closure but… It’s clearly not. You should go” you told him, turning your back on him as you desperately tried to keep your voice from breaking.

  “Y/N. Please.” he begged.

  You shook your head, your hair whipping around as the tears started to blur your vision. You looked at him with the corner of your eye, not strong enough to face him head on. His expression was open, his arms dangling on his sides, defeated.

  “I need this, Jungkook, more than you’ll ever know. I need to get out. I need… I need to start over. Please. Don’t make this any harder.” You tried to explain.

  Finally, something flashed in his eyes. Could it be realization? You’d never know, for he pried open the window forcefully, turning around to look at you again.

  “For the record, I’m not sorry. I don’t take anything that I said or did back. I still love you. Always will.” He said.

  Without waiting for your reply, he got out into the staircase and the rain. A few droplets landed on your window seat, but you didn’t care, only watched frozen as he walked away from you.

  A few moments later, your tears slowed down enough for you to close the window.

  “I still love you too.” You whispered onto the glass, a sob chocking you.

  Eyes bloodshot and nose running, you went to find Lisa in the kitchen. Once you walked in the room, Lisa took in your disheveled state and rushed to your side. When she gathered you in her arms, new tears found their way into your eyes.

  “Oh, baby” Lisa said, rubbing soothing circles down your back.

  “He was here” you stated.

  “I know. Joon texted me the screenshot once Jungkook texted him” she told you.

  “Traitor. I didn’t want you to know” you mumbled.

  “I know. But you weren’t sly either. I could hear you laughing clear as day” she said.

   “Fuck. This place isn’t soundproof at all. Thank God I’m leaving” you joked through the tears.

  “Hey. I’m stuck here for another two years for my post grad. Show some respect” she joked back, wiping the tears away from your cheeks.

   “Now sit your ass down. I’m busting open the good wine and we’re going to talk about everything tonight” she said, giving you a theatrical spin.

  And talk you did. As you got through the whole bottle, even bringing out a second one for a couple of glasses, you talked and talked about what transpired that night, Jungkook and Namjoon, school and work and everything in between.

  That night, none of you bared to be alone, so you found yourselves sharing Lisa’s purple comforter on either sides of her bed, your legs tangled together to feel closer to each other.

  This is it. Last night. Your head kept repeating as sleep finally claimed you.

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

   Morning came quicker than you expected, the blaring of your alarm startling you awake. You groaned at the sound, turning it off as quickly as possible before turning to lie on your back. Lisa stirred next to you, as you knew she would, taking a couple of minutes before opening her eyes.

  You stared at the ceiling for a few moments, your brain trying to fully wake up before you peeled the comforter off your form, leaving Lisa to scroll through her phone. You washed up quickly, getting ready and you meeting Lisa in the kitchen for breakfast.

  Only this time, she didn’t greet you with her usual soft smile. She slowly peeled her teary eyes from her mug to watch you walk in.

  “Oh baby” you said, immediately rushing to her side and wrapping your arms around her.

  Your own eyes filled with tears as your best friend sobbed into your shoulder, holding you tightly. You whispered soothing words in her ear, trying to calm her down, reassure her that you were going to be just fine. She composed herself, and you poured two bowls of sugary cereal, one for each of you and a mug of coffee for yourself.

  You nibbled on the cereal in silence, both evidently trying to hold back tears. With a glance at her phone’s clock, Lisa was the first to break the silence.

  “We should go” she announced and you just nodded at her words.

  You moved to your room, dragging your big suitcase with you, leaving the boxes to be picked up in a day or two by the moving company. You checked your purse for last things, making sure you had everything. Your eyes scanned the small room, your heart swelling with nostalgia and your eyes getting teary again. You perched the purse further up your shoulder, before whispering a goodbye to the room that had been your safe place for almost three years.

  You dragged your suitcase to the living room, where Lisa was waiting for you. Again, you looked around a room that held so many memories of you and your friends, lovers, passing people and everyone in between. You had to close your eyes for a moment to stop the tears. With one deep breath and a firm nod, you turned to Lisa.

  “I’m ready” you announced, closing the door behind you.

  The ride to the airport was filled with silence, as a random radio station provided you with music. None of you paid too much attention to it, both too preoccupied with your own thoughts. You looked out of the window, your eyes racing over the familiar streets of the city you studied in. You remembered how lost you were the first times you had gotten out on your own. Now, it felt like the city was imprinted in the back of your hand.

  Finally arriving at the airport, you and Lisa unloaded your suitcase from the back of her car and she offered to carry it until you checked in. After finding the correct counter and checking in, you and Lisa sat down in a nearby bench. A few moments passed by, before she started rambling, clearly nervous,

  “Do you have anything to eat? Maybe you’ll get hungry on the plane, let me go get you something”

  You got hold of her hand before she could stand up, pulling her back in the seat next to you.

  “Baby, I’m fine. Can we just… Sit here for a few minutes before I go?” you asked her.

  Lisa didn’t reply, only nodded a little before resting her head on your shoulder. You rested your head on top of hers, a sigh falling from your lips. At that moment, you were content.

  The time flowed by too quickly for your liking and before you knew it, the airport speakers announced that your gate was opening in only 10 minutes. Your eyes met Lisa’s as both of you got up to walk to your gate. Your movements were slow as you walked, your hands entwined.

  When you arrived, you were surprised to find Jungkook standing in front of the gate, legs clad in black jeans, a black hoodie thrown on top, hair a complete mess. His chest was heaving, his eyes searching the crowd franticly before they met with yours.

  His lips formed your name and you felt a smile creeping on your face. He run towards you and you opened your arms to welcome him. His body hit yours like a tidal wave, as he gathered you up in his arms, crashing his body on yours as if he was trying to consume you.

  Giggles bubbled through you as you felt his arms tighten around you. You buried your face in his neck, breathing him in, the all too familiar scent of his aftershave, cigarettes and soap.

  “I just couldn’t let you go” he mumbled in your ear.

  Your eyes filled with tears as you drew back, desperate to get one good look at him. He let you, your eyes locking in an intense stare. You raised your hand, softly running it threw his hair as his eyes fell shut, melting into your touch.

  A million questions rushed through your head. How did he get here? Why? Why now? Why him? You silenced your mind, choosing to savor the moment, burying your face in his neck once more as his hands moved to wrap tightly around your waist.

  Breaking apart for the last time, you smiled at him as he did the same.

  “Maybe they’ll be a time for us again. We’ll find our way back to each other” you said.

  “Yeah?” he asked innocently.

  “Yes.” You said with certainty, reaching up and placing a small peck on his lips.

  Then, you left him, turning to hold your best friend once more. She squeezed you with all the strength she had and you did the same. Moving back, you raised your pinky and she didn’t hesitate to lock it with her own.

  “Fuck you” you said simultaneously, an old tradition, a token of your friendship.

  Having said your good byes, you moved towards the gate, your steps sure and steady. After the employees checked your ticket, you were allowed to pass through.

  Turning back one last time, you waved to them, sat close together near the gate. You could tell Lisa was crying now and you mentally thanked Jungkook for being there for her, hand across her shoulders. With that last wave, you took a step forward, a step closer towards your new life.

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

  After the bad sleep you had the previous night, it came as no surprise to you that you drifted off not even halfway into the movie you had picked to watch on the flight. You were awoken by a flight attendant softly tapping your shoulder and informing you that you were about to land.

  The nerves decided to kick in at that exact moment, making your leg bounce uncontrollably throughout the landing. The woman that sat next to you eyed you closely, but you hardly noticed her stare. You almost darted up from your seat the minute you touched the ground, but you quickly composed yourself, trying to calm down and have some patience for the few remaining moments.

  When the ‘seatbelts on’ sign was turned off, everyone around you bounced to their feet. You too followed their suit, pulling on your coat and gathering all your things. With your purse perched up on your shoulder, you disembarked from the plane, only for you to get lost in a river of counters, checks and searches.

  After all the necessary procedures were over, you were finally able to stand in line and wait for your suitcase which gave you the perfect opportunity to take out your phone to text your mom and Lisa. After shooting out quick texts to both of them that you landed safely, you rummaged through your coat’s pockets for your earphones. Having located them, you plugged them in, opening up Spotify and leaving your favourite songs to play on shuffle.

  Familiar lyrics flowed in your ear, lyrics you had heard only hours before as ‘Strawberries and Cigarettes’ played, Troye Sivan’s voice taking over your senses, clouding your thoughts, leaving you confused and dizzy. Why Spotify? Why would it play here, on your new beginning? Why couldn’t you escape him?

  But then again, you knew that you’d carry Jungkook inside you for a long time yet. He wasn’t an easy person to escape and you weren’t ready to let him go. Maybe this was teaching each other fate. The smile grew on your lips unbeknownst to you as you realized just that:

  The last chapter of your story hadn’t been written just yet.

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Moonlit Forever After Pt 1

Finale and Part 15 of the Moonlit Masquerade Series

Luz woke slowly, bright sunlight shining on her face from the opened, stained glass window. She grumbled to herself, scrunching her face before turning over to snuggle into Amity. She frowned to herself when she found no warm fiancée and reached out, hand sliding across the sheets, searching, but found them empty and cold, she frowned before peeling an eye open to find the other side of the bed empty, devoid of Amity.

“Oh, right…,” she mumbled groggily and frowning. Amity had stayed with Willow last night so they wouldn’t see each other till tonight at the wedding. She grumbled and let her eye slide back closed, almost falling back asleep.

Her eyes popped open, grogginess falling away as she sat up in bed.

The Wedding!

Today is her wedding day!

She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. Once she’s finished she stops and looks around at what has been her bedroom for the last three years, then her and Amity’s for three more. The room is barren save for the bed, her things for the ceremony, and some boxes sitting on the floor, they have already packed up all their things over the last week and moved most of it into the new house sitting just a short walk away. They decided to wait until after the wedding to move in, even though the house has been finished for over a month. Neither could bear to leave the owl house yet, knowing the time would come soon enough, and now it was here. She looks around at the bare walls a little sadly. It feels so final, even though she knows she will be back in this house many, many times from this day forward, even if it won’t be her house anymore, the Owl House will always be home. She carefully makes the bed for the last time before taking a deep breath and smiles as she walks out, passing the clothes hung up on the closet door in their garment bag, she wouldn’t get dressed in those till the last minute before leaving the house. She took the stairs two at a time before sliding into the kitchen.

“Buenos dia, mi familia!” Luz grinned brightly at Eda, Lilith, and King, sitting at the kitchen table. “Today is the day!” she declared as the Clawthorne sisters smiled back at her.

“Excited?” Lilith asked with a grin.

“Terrified actually, but also excited, yes.” she grinned, grabbing some apple blood out of the fridge before sitting down with them.

“Last chance to back out and run away to the knee and start life as a hermit,” Eda said with a grin that spoke of her teasing.

“Not on your life.” Luz grinned making Eda chuckle.

“Just checking.” Eda smiled at her fondly from across the table and Luz smiled back, looking around at them and knowing that there will be many more days like this again, but they will never be quite the same as this one. It’s sad even as it’s exciting, starting a whole new chapter of her life, with Amity as her wife.

“I’m kinda nervous just thinking about it, this time tomorrow I’ll be Luz… well, still Luz Noceda, but you know,” Luz chuckled.

“You’ll be Mrs. Luz Noceda, married to Mrs. Amity Noceda,” Lilith supplied, nodding and Luz’s stomach erupted in butterflies at that, the same way it did every time someone said it.

Amity Noceda

She grins stupidly to herself at the thought and Lilith and Eda share an amused look.

King sniffles, looking up at her from his breakfast.

“Do you have to go?” he blinks up at her with wide eyes and Luz smiled at him, picking him up and squeezing him gently, he lets her, squeezing back, burying his face in her chest.

“Yes, King, I do, but it’s okay. You can always come over to our house, and I’ll still be here all the time, me and Amity,” she assured the little demon, squeezing.

“It’s quite sad in a way.” Lilith smiled at her forlornly. “The end of an era, it won’t be us sitting here having meals as a family anymore.”

“It won’t be exactly the same,” Luz agrees. “But Amity and I will come over often, you can bet on it.” She set the demon down in his chair and he sniffles but nods. “You’re still gonna be my ring bearer tonight, right, boo-boo buddy?” Luz asks him and he jumps back up, nodding.

“No one will bear those rings better than the King of Demons!” he declares, clawed fist raised in the air, and luz smiles at him.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You and Amity might be the Noceda’s after tonight, but you’ll both always be Clawthorne’s” Eda declared and Lilith nodded in agreement. Luz smiled at them, truly touched by that.

“I could probably convince Amity to let us be the Noceda-Clawthorne’s.” She grinned.

“Aw, that’s too much of a mouthful, Kid, but I appreciate it.” Eda smiled at her.

They eat breakfast in comfortable silence, pancakes, and enjoy this last breakfast that is not the last, but it’s the last one that will ever be like this again.

Luz pulls out her scroll and taps Amity’s contact and types out a quick message.

‘Good morning, my soon to be wife! Can’t wait to see you, mi amor. <3’

She slipped it back into her pocket and looked up at everyone.

“Welp, the caterers, and stuff are in charge of getting everything set up tonight for the reception at the school, and the rest of the wedding party promised to get the chairs and stuff put up at the tree, so I guess I have a while to kill before I have to go pick up Mami. You guys wanna do something? One last unmarried, family hoorah?” she looked around the table.

Eda and Lilith looked at each other curiously before a grin broke out across both their faces.

Luz blinked.

~ ~ Amity yawned as she slowly rolled over in bed, immediately reaching for the warm body she’s so used to and is disappointed when she finds only cold sheets. Her eyes slide open and she’s met with an unfamiliar room and remembers she’s at Willow’s place, while Luz had stayed at home to spend a final day as a resident of the owl house with the others before tonight. She frowns, sitting up, it was strange, sleeping alone after almost never doing so for the last three years. Even during the war when they were out in the field they would curl up together in a tent or even on the ground to rest. Not waking up with Luz’s gentle breath in her ear or her arm wrapped around her; she doesn’t like it. Though she knows that after today it won’t happen again.

She slid out of bed and got dressed, passing her dress bag hanging on the wall as she walked out into the living room, checking her scroll, and seeing Luz's message. She smiled to herself and tapped out one back.

'I can't wait to see you either, querida. Xoxo'

Willow, Viney, and her sister were standing around the kitchen when she walked in.

"There's one of the brides to be!" Emira grinned.

“Hey!” Willow looked up from the stove, smiling.

“Mornin’.” Viney nodded with a smile.

“Good morning.” She smiled at them as she sat at the table.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Viney asked.

“Yes ...and no,” she sighed, running her hands through her loose auburn hair. “I’m nervous, but excited too…,” she mumbled and Viney chuckled as Willow and Emira set plates on the table and they all sat to eat.

“Nervous? You're marrying the biggest dork in the Boiling Isles,” Emira snorted. “Granted, an incredibly brave, sweet, and powerful dork, but a dork nonetheless.”

“Maybe, but I love that, sweet, brave dork.” Amity smiled to herself as the others grinned. “I want tonight to be… and I hate this word; perfect,” Amity hummed, playing with her eggs.

“I’m sure that no matter what happens it will be perfect.” Willow smiled at her.

“Even if something blows up, it’ll still be perfect for you two, cause at the end of the night, come hell or high water, you’re gonna be married,” Viney agreed.

“And let’s be real, it’s Luz, so the chances of an explosion are not as low as we might hope,” Emira laughed.

“Don’t say that…,” Amity moaned as they laughed.

“Did you ever finish writing your vows?” Willow asks as they eat.

“Ah, yes!” She jumped up and hurried into Willow’s guest room before coming back with a stack of paper. She set it and her pen on the table and the other three looked at it questioningly. Emira set her fork down and reached over to pick up the hefty stack of papers and flipped through it, eyebrows drawn between her eyes as she read some, flipping through the many pages covered in her sisters neat, sloping penmanship before she finally looked up at Amity, who was flushed. She knows what’s coming. She went overboard, she knows.

“These are your vows?” Emira blinked holding up the literal sheath of paper.

“Yes…” her cheeks darkened.

Emira, Viney, and Willow share a look.

“It’s an essay…” Viney cocks a brow.

“This is a book…,” Willow says, failing to hide her amusement.

“Mittens… you’ve written a manifesto of your love for Luz…,” she says, flipping through the pages with a laugh.

“I got going and then found I had a lot to say…,” Amity mumbled, face hot.

“Obviously,” Viney barked a laugh.

“I’m sure everything in here is super sweet and cute, sis, but we don’t have all night for you to harangue about why Luz is the most thoughtful and wonderful person who ever lived in any realm.” Emira grinned knowingly at her making Viney laugh harder and Willow coughed, unconvincingly into her hand.

“I know…,” Amity whined, resting her head in her hands. “I can’t figure out how to cut it down…,” she mumbled.

“Let’s try this…” Emira took a blank piece of paper from the bottom and ripped it in half and slid it across to Amity. “Only what you can fit on this,” she said.

“That’s not nearly enough space…” Amity frowned looking down at the half sheet of paper.

“It is, only the really important things, the things you really want to tell her tonight. It should fit on this slip of paper perfectly,” Willow agrees.

“Yeah, you have the rest of your life to wax poetic to her about why she’s the best thing since sliced bramble wheat bread.” Emira nodded. “And if you actually want to be married before tomorrow morning, you need to cut it down.” she smirked as Amity scowled at her.

“I have thirty snails that say Luz forgot to write vows,” Viney piped up over her toast.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Willow smirked, if there’s anyone who knows Luz nearly as well as Amity, it’s Willow.

“I will, my dear sister-in-law can be just as sappy as Mittens.” Emira grinned and Amity frowned at the couple as they shook hands.

Luz would never..., that's what she wants to say, but Amity knows Luz, knows she can be as unpredictable as the ocean. Whether or not she remembered to write her vows is a toss-up, yet Amity can't find it in herself to be annoyed by this, it was all part of Luz's charm. She wrote as much on page five of her own vows.

"So!" Emira starts, pushing the slip of paper and pen toward her. "What do you really, really want to tell Luz tonight when you promise to be her partner in love, insanity, and anarchy for the rest of your lives?" Her sister asks with a grin and Amity chewed her bottom lip and picks up the pen, but she doesn't hesitate, the words come easy, and before she knows it the paper is filled. She reads it over a few times before sliding it back across the table to the other three.

Emira picks it up and the other two look over her shoulders as they read. Emira bites her lip as her eyes glaze over. Viney's mouth hangs open and Willow just smiles and they all look up at her.

"Well damn…," Emira says thickly at last.

~ ~

“Faster, faster!” King squealed from Luz’s shoulders as they sped through the air on her staff.

“Whoo!” Luz whooped as she dived past Eda and Lilith on their own staves. “I know you two are faster than that or are you that old now?” she goads as she and King fly past the sisters. “So much for the ‘Mighty Clawthorne sisters’,” she laughed and King cackled.

“Oh, those are fightin’ words!” Eda shook a fist as she took off with a wicked grin, gaining on Luz. Lilith hot on her heels, scowling as they zipped between the bones of the Isles.

Luz laughed as she flew through the air, barrel rowling and flipping as Eda and Lilith chased her, their laughter echoing through the air as they chased each other through the sky.

Eda and Lilith pulled to a stop next to each other, hanging in the air and laughing as they watched Luz shoot straight up into the sky.

“There she goes.” Eda grinned, pulling out her scroll and tapping the record button, as she held it up.

“What are you doing?” Lilith cocked a brow at her sister.

“Nothing…,” Eda said far too innocently.

Luz pulled her staff straight up, rising higher and higher and higher into the sky, wind whipping at her face and hair., the Isles growing smaller and smaller as she climbed into the open blue sky.

“Ready, Buddy?” Luz grinned as the air thinned around them.

“I’m the King of Demons, I was born ready!” King screeched, hunkering his body against her back, claws dug into her shirt.

Luz allowed the magic of her staff to fade and she slowed as gravity’s grip took hold and pulled her back toward the ground. She let herself go limp, save her grip on her staff, and started to fall, she let it drag her for a second before flinging herself into a few spins and flips

King’s exhilarated scream is swallowed up by the howling winds as she righted herself and held her arms out, whizzing toward the ground nose first and closed her eyes, feeling the cold wind whip at her face and clothes.

At this moment, as she plummeted back toward the earth, she can only think about how incredibly lucky she is that she chased Owlbert through the portal door six years ago.

There were moments that weren't so magical, naturally.

Sometimes she and Amity fought, argued over stupid things and frustrated each other, or she’d have bitter disagreements with members of the covens about the politics of the Isles and how things should be under the new order, and sometimes, even though she tried to avoid it, and though not often, she would still get anti-human rhetoric from some witches and demons.

There had also been the truly dark days of course.

She’d hurt her mother, she knows and feels guilty about it, because as much as she wishes she hadn’t, and that she wanted to take that pain away, she knows that she wouldn’t change the past, and that eats at her some nights, the whispering of selfishness in the back of her mind, but she’s seen and lived through enough things to know that there's no point living a life of regret; it changes nothing.

Lilith had kidnapped her, tried to kill her, and captured Eda, making her lose her magic and she’d destroyed the portal trying to right her wrong and save her mentor.

Eda and Lilith lost their magic, which took them a long time to come to grips with. Sometimes they had been bitter and angry about it, and Luz tried her best to help them adjust in those first few years, showing them how to do things the non-magic way, or the human way as she called it, to make it seem a little less dreary; having their staffs helped.

Then the war had come and they had killed and struggled to survive for two years, feeling like the fighting would never end. Blood and fire had drowned the Isles in so much red Luz still saw it in her nightmares. At times she could still feel the dried, flaking liquid under her fingernails and smell the metallic tinge in the air mixed with smoke and ash that choked her on the days her PTSD reared its ugly head.

As dark as those days had been, they are shadows in her memories, drowned out by the bright light of the last six years spent on the Isles and they are the farthest thing from her mind today.

She met Eda and King, started learning magic, then she met two incredible, lifelong friends, she knew would always be by her side in the form of Willow and Gus, among the others she knew she could call on anytime, day or night and they would come running.

She’d fought a war and changed The Boiling Isles forever, for better or for worse.

She’d met her best friend and fallen head over heels in love with her. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for Amity, and she knows she is loved back just as fiercely, even when they argue, they always make up quickly, they learned long ago to just talk it out.

After fourteen years of feeling like she was an outsider looking in, a character in the wrong play, trying desperately to blend into the scenery; she had finally found the place where she belonged.

She feels weightless.

“Luz!” King shrieks in her ear.

She smiled, opening her eyes as the ground was rushing up to meet them.

She twirled her staff beneath her, feet planted on it and with one hand she jerked upward, pulling them out of their free fall, arcing out of the dive a scant fifteen feet from the ground and Mochuelo’s wings flap as they soar back into the sky toward Eda and Lilith with loud whoops of joy.

“I’ve never felt so alive!” King is squeaking, breathless.

“Nice, Luz,” Eda laughed, tapping a few buttons on her scroll before slipping it back into her hair.

“Quite the graceful maneuvering.” Lilith smiled and Luz only grinned, planting herself back down on the staff.

They hang around, drifting lazily through the air and enjoying the scene of the Isles sprawled out beneath them in all its glory. The bones of the Titan laying still and quiet in eternal slumber, belying the constant hustle and bustle far below. The sun has moved to the western side of the sky and Luz knows that she needs to go pick up her mother. More than half the day has slipped through their fingers, having felt more like only a couple of hours then the closer to six or seven it’s been.

“I need to get Mami,” she finally announces and they know it’s time to go home.

“Right, we gotta get ready too, especially Lily since she officiating the whole shebang.”

Lilith nods and they fly back toward the owl house.

~

Amity and the other girls spend the day primping to the extreme at Emira's insistence.

She would be fine just sitting at Willow's house and hanging out as they prepped but she gives in quickly when Emira offers to pay for all of them, her wedding gift to her sister, who can’t refuse her gift.

The Boiling Isles version of a spa is very similar to the ones in the human world according to Luz, though she admits she’d only ever seen them in shows, she’d only been fourteen when she’d come to the Isles so she’d never actually been to one, but she said the ones in the Isles were pretty similar to what she’d seen, with a few key differences. Such as massages being given by multi-tentacled demons, which was where Emira and Viney had gone, but she digressed.

“This was really nice of your sister,” Willow hummed, sinking further down into the warmth of the hot tub.

“It really was, even if it was unnecessary…,” she agreed.

“Speak for yourself.” Willow looked at her and Amity laughed.

“Has helping with the wedding been that taxing?” Amity cocked her head and grinning.

“No, not that, recently I’ve been getting a visitor to my shop…,” Willow mumbled.

Amity looked at her questioningly.

“Boscha,” Willow grumbled out a name that had caused her nothing but dread during their Hexside years.

"Boscha!?” Amity jerked up. “I haven’t thought about her in a long time… she’s been to your shop?” Willow nodded. “She hasn't been bothering you or anything has she?” Amity frowned and Willow barks a laugh.

“As if she could,” Willow smirked and it’s well deserved. Amity had watched her childhood friend take out scores of loyalists over the two years the war had raged. Last she had heard Boscha’s family had sequestered her away from all the fighting, choosing neutrality. Cowardice, Amity called it, but the result was the same, Boscha was a gnat on the wall compared to Willow.

“So what does she want?”

Willow sighed.

“She comes in twice a week, tries to make small talk with me, buys some flowers or plants and leaves,” she said. “… she apologized, for all the things she did to me when we were kids, and wants to make amends for our school years.”

Amity doesn't know what to say to that.

“She seems different… but I don’t know, after all the things she did to all of us, it’s hard to brush that aside even if she really is different. Hell, she almost destroyed you and Luz.”

“It did end up working out for the best in the end, Luz and I would never have had the courage to be public with our relationship if we hadn’t been forced into the light like that; we were too afraid.”

“You’re condoning what she did?” Willow asks incredulously.

“Absolutely not, I’m just saying that it happened and it ended up working out in our favor, nothing more.” Amity shook her head.

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it.” Willow hummed.

“How’s the water, girls?” they looked up as Emira and Viney walked over.

“Great, how was your massage?” Amity asked.

“Great, I don't know what Luz is talking about, you just can’t give a good massage if you only have two arms.” Emira shook her head as they slipped in beside the other two.

They sat chatting a while before Willow’s scroll dinged and she sat up out of the water and drew a spell circle, the device popping into existence.

“Oh, Eda sent me something…” she tapped the video and watched, the only sound coming from the scroll was the sound of static and wind but a grin was breaking out across Willow’s face.

“What, what did she send you?” Amity asked.

“I don’t know if I can show you, you’re not supposed to see Luz until tonight.” Willow hummed, her grin was teasing, and to say Amity’s interest was piqued was an understatement.

“I think that only counts for in person, I mean, her scroll background is a picture of the two of them together after all,” Emira hummed.

“Checks out,” Viney nodded in agreement.

Willow turned the scroll around to show them the video from Eda of Luz on her staff, climbing higher and higher into the sky, King on her back.

“Oh, we’ve done this before!” Viney said.

“What is she doing?” Emira asks.

“It’s called free falling, watch.”

Finally, Luz reaches the apex of her climb, and then she’s falling and Amity’s chest lurches automatically but relaxes as she watches her fiancee's bright grin as she spins and flips through the air before just letting herself bolt rapidly toward the ground, past the camera, looking serene and at peace.

‘Is she going to splatter?’ Eda’s voice comes out over the speaker and they hear Lilith grumble in reply.

‘Amity would kill us both…’

That makes them laugh.

Finally, just before she meets the ground, Luz pulls her feet atop the staff and pulls up in a graceful arch, flying back toward Eda as she and King whoop with excitement, and then the video ends.

“She is a riot…” Emira smirked.

“Luz in a nutshell,” Willow laughs and Viney nods.

Amity just smiles to herself.

Titan, does she love that crazy woman.

When they get back to Willow’s they start getting dressed

Amity tried hard to follow Luz’s advice and not be so controlling about the things that didn’t matter and let her three bridesmaids pick their own outfits for the evening, though she is secretly glad that the three seem to have at least coordinated with each other and are wearing the same burgundy colored dress, much darker than her own, but in the same family, so she’s happy. She wonders, not for the first time that day, what Luz and the boys picked out.

“Have any of you seen what Luz and the boys are wearing? I don’t want to know what, I'm just curious.” They all looked at each other and shook their heads.

“I doubt they coordinated with each other.” Willow planted a hand on her hip and sighed.

“Well, this could be interesting…” Viney grinned, combing out her hair.

“So long as my future wife is not dressed as a werewolf, it’s fine,” Amity hummed to herself as she curled her hair into loose ringlets, making the others laugh.

“I’m surprised you got Bump to let you have the reception at Hexside,” Emira says.

“Really?” Willow looks at the older woman amused. “Amity and Luz were both top of their tracks, and became the two most famous witches of the war, especially after they killed Belos, they’re legendary Hexside Alumni, it’s great press for the school, being able to say they got married there.”

“We're not getting married there, we’re just having the after-party there,” Amity reminded. “And he offered it to us when we invited him.”

“Wha- really?” Emira laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised really, you were always a teacher’s pet,” Emira teased and Amity huffed.

“I’d also remind you that Hieronymus Bump was a member of the rebellion and Luz and I fought side by side with him on many occasions, he even saved Luz’s life once. We wanted to invite him, he was our headmaster as kids, but he’s our friend now.”

“Sometimes forgot how powerful old Bump really is,” Viney added her two cents. “Still, nice of him to let you use the school courtyard, especially since it’s so close to the grom tree.”

They chatted about their old headmaster and school as they went about getting ready.

[lipstickbisous]

the rei brown series (1/3)

PICTURE FRAMES.

notes: yeah so i do write for (y/n) lol. just not for my oberyn series. this will have two parts but that’s it. this really has nothing to do with the plot of narcos, so sorry, but instead, we’re getting self-loathing javi. literally the only thing i’m good at is angst so...send that shit in. heaavvvvyyyy inspo from @gummiishark 😘

IT IS IMPORTANT THAT YOU LISTEN TO THE SONG. 

the poem used is NOT MINE.

there is a part that might not add up with the whole 80′s setting, just ignore that pls.

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: what happens when memories begin to resurface and javi can’t stop them?

warnings: A N G S T -- ANGST ANGST ANGST. there will be a part two but ANGST. an a john mulaney reference ;)

based off of picture frames by rei brown.

word count: 3.2k

it was dark. that was all javi knew in the moment because he didn’t feel like getting up to check the clock in his kitchen. it hung delicately on his wall, almost like how his heart was delicately and barely clinging onto life. something inside of him was hurting, and it hadn’t hurt in a long time. it was foreign, yet when javier first felt the pang, he was nostalgic.

nostalgic of you? most likely, but he hadn’t thought of you in the past twenty years. it’d been too long, and if he was being honest, he’d been too busy--so he assumed that you had been as well. that you were married off to a kind man, because that’s what you deserved, with several beautiful children, a dog, a big house with good money (because that’s what you deserved). he wasn’t sure if you had gotten that, but he hoped to god it’s what life was meant for you. he knew was his life meant now--cheap alcohol and cigerattes, expensive girls and informants, and a job that had him slumped on his couch, ignoring the spanish being spoken on his television. 

he had wasted the past two decades with a career he thought was destined for him, but instead, he had made his living in murder. javi had spent countless nights with girls who were now unidentifiable. three nights ago, he had a pretty brunette in his bed, and once she left in the morning, he couldn’t even remember her name. martina? no, it started with an ‘f’, he was sure...

even though he had managed to convince himself over twenty years that he had completely rid himself of you for good, he could still remember your name. your teenage face smiling in the texas sunlight. sometimes, you would come over to the ranch and simply just sit with the horses. you’d stated that they had a certain essence to them that you enjoyed, but he knew that despite the girls in your grade teasing you about it, horses were your favorite animal. you had light laugh lines creasing from behind your nostrils to the corners of your mouth every time you laughed. javier could remember admiring them.

god, javier admired everything about you. even now, as his eyes were focused on the television but couldn’t think about a single thing it was showing him, he still admired the way you had laughed during summer hang-outs, or during the halls of high school when he tried to crack a joke. and they hadn’t even all that funny--but then again, you did have a big sense of humor and were easily amused.

he had polaroids of the two of you somewhere in his bedroom. he had made sure to pack them along with him on his way to colombia. he didn’t even want to think about the last time you two had spoke. it had been a neutral departing, and even if javi didn’t know it, you were both hiding things you had to say. he’d given it to you simply--a straightforward “i’m leaving texas”--and you were frozen. 

you wanted to support him, of course you wanted to support him. you would be attending college as well, but you were staying in the state. your mother had been scared to death of you leaving texas for school, and as much as you hated it, you could never defy your mother. so, in that moment, you hadn’t moved for a good three minutes. it took a gentle hand on your shoulder to wake you.

“oh,” you whispered, but it was more of an incoherent noise. “that’s nice.” you’d said as well.

at first, you were angry that he could go back on a promise he made to you when you were both four years old--neither of you would ever leave the other. then, you were quick to realize that your frustration was nothing more than your fault. why would you back everything that was happening on a stupid promise you made when you were four years old?

he’d driven you home that night and you had murmured a quiet goodbye in the sticky summer air, but it had gotten caught on its way to javier’s ears. to him, you had left his truck without a word.

javier pushed that memory away. he dug a hole in his brain and buried the thought in its gravery, shoving the dirty onto its wooden box and taking a swig of whiskey. he stood from his couch and flipped the television off, watching as its screen remained with the green halo and the top was still hot. the streets outside of his apartment were always loud, but even now, whether it was a coincidence or not, only two or three cars were passing by quietly. 

he let out a grumble and flipped off the light to his living room and kitchen, stumbling into his bedroom and collapsing on top of the bed. his sheets, a pristine pearl white, usually calmed him in the dead of night when he had a long day at work or maybe he had lost an officer. these sheets, the ones that held so many girls but never you, now did nothing for him. even the smell seemed bland, they weren’t the normal fresh detergent smell. he pressed his cheek flat against the mattress and pulled a pillow over his head, trying to muffle out any small noise or sight that could bother him in the morning. when stuck between his bed and pillow, he exhaled and immediately cringed. his breath reeked of whiskey and cigarettes and whatever spicy food he’d eaten that night--he couldn’t even remember.

then, an idea sparked. it hadn’t been sinful or devilish but his eyes shot open and he threw the pillow to the floor. a car drove past his window, the lights moving through his room. javier propelled himself from his bed and swung his hand over the floor lamp in next to his desk. the room was illuminated and he could only imagine how insane he looked; his hair tousled in different directions, his eyes puffy from absentmindedly crying, his hands frantically running themselves over every piece of furniture in his room. he flipped the covers from his bed and looked underneath but found no monsters or anything. he pulled out drawers from his desk and emptied their contents onto the floor, but only found highlighters, papers, pens, and work-related material (that, if javier was being honest, should not have been in his home). he left the empty drawers on the floor and turned to the bookshelf, pulling every book off of its surface until the shelves were bare.

a hand rubbed over his mouth as he felt tears threatening him again. he could not cry--he wouldn’t. it was then that javi realized the mess he had made and his anxiety completely tipped him off of the cliff edge. he began to lose his composure, breaking down in a way that he was sure made him look ugly. he fell to his knees and leaned against the end of his bed, bringing his knees to his chest. he wore only a t-shirt and boxers, but even in the colombian heat, he felt cold. 

he couldn’t bring himself to say your name. javier felt that just the small noise of his own voice would scare him, but he had always thought your name was the prettiest.

(y/n). he thought in his head, that mental voice almost screaming at him. just fucking say it. 

javier stuttered, choking on his own words, and he never stuttered. he always knew exactly what he wanted, and in this moment, he only wanted you. but you were over a thousand miles away and he had no idea if you even still thought about him. he hoped so, but he wouldn’t blame you if the name “javier peña” hadn’t been used by your lips in a long time.

back in texas all that time ago, he had left the next day. you called his father back at the ranch to try and make some sort of contact but the news had been announced that javier peña was no longer in texas and was on his way to a new school to meet new people and--this hurt you the worst--new girls.

you had never been one for jealousy. it was a vile monster that you just morally could not let take control over you, but for the second and that second only, it was all you felt. you loved javier and he just left? he left you at home while he traveled over the country.

javier didn’t dare to think about it. as he continued to stutter, he let out the smallest of whimpers with the syllables of your name. “(y/n),” he cried to himself and squeezed his eyes shut. hot tears stained his cheeks as they continued to flow in a way that seemed endless. the feeling of his lips pronouncing your name sent chills down his spine as he said it again, “(y/n).”

there were now small splotches on his shirt where his tears had left his face and dripped onto the fabric, and when pressed flush against his skin as he stood, it felt icy. he didn’t feel like doing much, and maybe that was because in his eyes, he had wasted almost his entire life so far on a fucking job. he was practically praying that you had found something good to do--even maybe hoping that you would still visit the ranch sometimes to sit with the horses, but that seemed like a stretch considering your last encounter. 

finally, javi looked to his small closet that held nothing more than button-up shirts, tan-colored suits, and stacks of blue jeans. he chewed on his bottom lip and furrowed a brow. he couldn’t have possibly been that simple as to put something he held so close to his heart in his...closet? his feet carried him to the closet doors before he ripped them open and began throwing out hangers of clothes onto his bed. really, he didn’t care if it was a mess now--he’d clean it up later because in this moment, what he was searching for was all that mattered.

there was a shelf above the bar of his closet that held all of his hangers, but even though javier was considerably tall, he couldn’t reach it. with a harsh sigh, he kicked all of the clothes surrounding him on the floor away and grabbed the chair from his desk. he cringed as the sound of the wooden pegs meeting the wooden floor was insanely loud in the quiet moment before standing on the chair. he could just barely see over the shelf, but he didn’t need to see anymore. a large cardboard box that had been collecting dust and sitting in bored in closet for years seemed to shine in a halo of angelic light. his gaze softened once his hand reached the back and he pulled the box down to him. 

the creases of the cardboard had aged over time and the edges were slightly ripped, but overall, it had been kept in good shape--even when considering that javi hadn’t even looked at it for a long time, let alone hold it in his arms.

it felt like it was almost an historic artifact, that if javier applied just a bit too much pressure, it would turn to dust in his hold. he breathed carefully before gently setting it down on his bed, throwing the hangers of clothes onto the floor. currently, not a square inch of wooden flooring could be seen in his room. his eyes were wide as he traced his fingers over the box, recognizing the faded logo of the brand of boots you wore in highschool. he’d asked for your shoe box, you had no idea why, but now here javier sat with it in front of him all these years later. 

his fingers just barely grazed over the edge of the lid before lifting it from the rest of the box, the dust gently blowing the air and small puffs of his breath. the first thing he noticed was the photo of you he held dearest.

it had been winter in texas and you were both sixteen. usually, during the cold season, because your hometown was so close to the border, the most winter-ish reaction you could get from texas was ice, but this year had been special because it had snowed. little snowflakes fell so delicately and collected on the ground until it grew to be at least several inches high. the roads were completely ice so your school had been cancelled on that thursday. it had been, personally, you and javi’s first taste of snow. and you both had spent ten minutes outside, bundled up in snow gear you never had to use before until you both decided that the snow was not for you and you retreated inside. his father had even gone as far to make hot cocoa and sandwiches for you two. javi had taken the photo with his father’s camera, one that he normally wasn’t allowed to use, when he had captured the perfect moment of you caught up in your laughter. 

he pulled out various other photos from that day and others out of the box and reached a series of polaroids, and this time, it had been from summer. you had daisies in your hair because javier had taken the time to weave them through they strands so they stayed in place. he remembered how you had poked fun at him because while the gesture was so effortless, he stuck his tongue out like he was intently working. in the picture you sat in the fields while the horses were home in their stables, but a small foal had managed to escape. it’s wobbly knees kept it struggling to stand. the next photo was you noticing the creature almost falling over behind you. the third was you laughing and holding it up with your hands on both sides of its stomach.

you had never faked a smile. javier knew so because the one time you had tried, it had gone horribly wrong and he saw right through it. you immediately spilled everything that had been bothering you and he took you out for dinner the diner. 

he continued to shuffle through the polaroids, carefully examining each one that showed your genuine excitement and happiness of life. his fingers would trace around the rim before he sensitively placed them in one large pile. he grew closer to the bottom of the box, and as he began to see its cardboard base and that boot logo again, his art ached. back in texas, he had so many more photos of you and he absolutely loathed his younger self for not packing them. 

there was more in the box than just photos. he had also managed to pack one of your hoodies because you had left it at his house and never bothered to retrieve it. javier wasn’t sure if the act was creepy in a way, but the fabric had been so soft that whenever he held it, he thought of you. of course, during the past years, the smell of your perfume had completely faded and the sweatshirt smelled like any other old hoodie. 

beneath the hoodie was a numerous amount of papers you had written and hidden in your room, but you had never been one for secrets. a day together over the summer and javi found them sticking out of your dresser drawer. he wasn’t sure if even to this day you knew he had them. on the paper, which had turned yellow due to age, you had written small poems. some had been about love, others about friends, and a few about summer and winter. (javi liked to believe that when you were writing about the winter ones, you were thinking of your time in the snow with him)

then, there were the poems he had written. he had never let you see any of them or even know about them. he had written them in a journal he kept at his desk, and whenever you asked about it, he would dismiss you and say it was ‘an old school journal he kept for notes’, but when javier was packing, he ripped each page out and clipped them together and put them in the box. tears clouded his vision as he reread his poems.

a sunflower soul, with rock and roll eyes. curious thoughts, and a heart of surprise.

he had written about you.

finally, javier stared down at an empty box, apart from the single card that remained at the bottom. it been hidden underneath every memory he had of you, and when his fingers unfolded the paper, he let out a choked sob when he recognized the numbers.

never in his life had javier felt such nausea. was the number even yours? were you even in texas anymore? you could’ve moved to fucking new york and completely altered your life. but...it wouldn’t hurt to try...right? he stood from his knees, instantly feeling the imprinted lines from the wooden flooring in his skin, and he only hesitated no more than two seconds before sprinting to his dining room, almost running straight past the phone.

with the paper in between his fingers and his hand violently shaking, his tears falling and his throat constricting to keep in a sob, he dialed the number and hopefully waited for a voice--any voice, even if it wasn’t yours, although if it did belong to himself, he didn’t know what he would do.

three dial tones later and no one had picked up. his eyes became lost in the darkness of his dining room before the line went blank. “no,” he whispered. “no, no, no, no.” so foolish of him to think that there could possibly be hope. javier dialed the numbers again and waited several seconds before a groggy voice answered. he realized just how late (or early) it had been and that whoever answered would be woken up by this phone call at two-thirty in the morning.

“hello?” the voice was unrecognizable yet familiar. javi was quiet, his breath even inaudible as he contemplated how to reply. “hello?” 

he chewed his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes shut, releasing any other tears that were preparing themselves to fall . “(y/n)?” he spoke your name again and god did it feel good to say the one word that gave him solace.

it was silent. unbearably, cruelly, life-threateningly silent. his breathing began to quick as he felt his heart stop. his brows furrowed in some sort of shock but he was defeated. he clenched the paper in his palm so that it crumpled with a gentle sound, the only thing that really broke that painful silence. until the voice spoke again.

“javi?” you whispered, sitting up in your bed. your eyes were now fully open, your drowsiness had completely left your body. your gaze into the darkness of your room softened as you began to happily cry. “javier?”

on the other side of the line, javi only smiled.

tags: literally no one lmao @gummiishark @cyarikaaa @honeyedspace @talesfromtheguild @absurdthirst @pascalisthepunkest @wakalas @zeldasayer @blushingwueen @forever-rogue @otherthingsinhead @pedropascalito @thewaythisis @javierpenaspinkshirt

[sylvain-writes]

Scarlet Letters (TMNT Raphael x Reader)

Chapter 3/8: Basic Instinct

Raphael wakes up.  The mixed signals you’re getting from him leave you wondering if you’re reading too much into things.

(Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ao3)

Your back aches and fatigue threatens your resolve as you keep vigil over the turtle. Since draining the tub, you’ve had time to wash and dry his shorts and wrappings, change into warm clothes yourself, set up the space heater near the bathroom sink, and cocoon your sleeping companion in nearly every towel and blanket you could spare from the linen closet.  Still, it’s been four hours and the closest he’s come to regaining consciousness is some incoherent mumbling that might have been an apology.

Kneeling in the nest you made using the blankets and pillows leftover after tucking in Raphael, you stroke his head with an attempt to soothe.  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Red. It’s OK. You’re gonna be OK.” You’re relieved to feel he has warmed up but concerned by his newly ashen complexion and the ever-present congestion in his cough. 

When he quiets again, you sit back with a sigh.  For now, quiet is good. The less he talks, the less the coughs.  And it would do both of you well to get some rest. 

 Though your body begs you to sleep, you know your work isn’t done.  You take a clean hand-towel off Raphael's shoulders to run it under the hot water from the sink, and you crank down the power of the space heater.  The latter has done its job to steal the chill from the porcelain and tile of the room. Now, you hope, it can maintain the comfortable temperature without drying out the air too much.  Taking the former to the tub, you offer moisture to Raphael’s reptilian skin. 

 Despite it being a literal pain in your ass to spend so much time sitting on the tile floor, you can’t bear to leave the guy’s side.  He didn’t leave yours. Not when he was delirious with pain and hypothermia. He still followed you to the door to make sure you were safe.  True, all he would have had to defend you from was Lori Abma - the 5-foot-nothin’, 90lbs soaking wet, sweetheart from upstairs, but he was ready to take on the world for you - a total stranger - even at his weakest.

 He could have hidden.  He  should  have hidden.  But he hadn’t.

 Remembering the moment from earlier tonight brings on a fresh wave of affection for the turtle.  You take his hand as it dangles over the side of the tub. Though your intention was to return it to his chest under the blankets, you find you can't give it up so quickly.  You marvel at how comfortable the weight of his hand feels in yours. You slide your fingertips over his palm and stare at the way the curves of your hands compliment each other, especially with his hand so much larger than yours.  

 After a series of small twitches, Raphael’s fingers slowly come to close around your hand.  Though you tell yourself it’s a reflex, though you remind yourself you only know a little more about him than any other patient you’ve had at the walk-in clinic, you can’t ignore the way your hands have locked together - a perfect fit.  

 As large as he is, even for a man, Raphael looks small and peaceful in his sleep.  There’s a sense of delicateness in the flutter of his eyelids, in the beat of his pulse you as it thrums under your palm.  But then his body is wracked by a harsh cough and your humors shift from affection to concern.  

 He lies under the mound of blankets, defenseless, having no choice but to trust you.  And he did, he does, without so much as posturing a threat. You hold his hand tighter, hugging it to your chest.

 The vulnerability of his current situation has you wishing you could scoop him into your arms, despite his size.  You think, if positions were different, he might allow you to hold his head in your lap, at least, and provide the type of comfort you only wish someone would have offered you that night the police drove you home from the crime scene of your father’s murder, where your other parent was in too much shock to offer consolation to their child.  

 It’s presumptuous and out of line and too familiar, you know, but you don’t stop yourself from giving into the desire to press your forehead against Raphael’s as he sleeps.  You stroke the side of his face as you rest against him and whisper into his ear. “You gotta be OK, Red, cause I don’t know what else to do." 

 You’re not prepared to care for anyone in need of advanced treatment, let alone a turtle.  Internet searches have only helped so much. What you really need is for the big guy to wake up and tell you what you can do to help him recover.  To tell you what’s working and what isn’t. 

 With a final stroke to his cheek, you decide it's time to make good on the promise you made to yourself back when you thought your companion was lugging around a pack, not a shell.   You're going to go down the alley. It's a trip into the storm that you’ve been trying to convince yourself not to take, but it's long overdue.  

 If he dropped something behind the dumpster, something that can help you find his brothers or something that will offer a clue as to where he’s lived all these years, then you're determined to find it.

 Leaving a note on the nest of blankets beside the tub, and bundled from head to toe in winter wear, you head into the night.  The bitter wind whips around you and cuts through your layers of clothing. But you’re lucky. The ice storm is good for one thing - keeping the streets empty.  There is no sign of life anywhere, no apparent danger except the cold and sleet.

 The dumpster blocks the worst of the wind for a while, you can see why Raphael had taken shelter here.  But everything is covered with snow and ice. You feel around with your boot until you hit something hard.  Reaching under a heap of garbage and snow, you pick up one of the weapons Raphael had brandished earlier in the evening.  

 You hold the sai’s leather-bound handle tightly in your gloved hand and rummage some more.  Something like a walkie-talkie lies crushed not far from where you found the sai. You scoop up the pieces, mindful not to break any of the exposed wires, and scan the ground for any other signs of the turtle.  On your hands and knees, you search. You come up with nothing.  

 After a loud snap and the crash of ice shattering against a building, the way the neighborhood falls into pitch blackness shouldn’t come as a shock to you, but you jump anyway.  Lori’s prediction was right; too much ice has settled on the power lines and now you’d all be without electricity for who-knows-how-long. 

 Back in the apartment, you use your phone for light to strip off your icy wet outerwear and find your way to the supply closet.  Thanks to your preference for keeping to yourself, years of impersonal birthday and Christmas gifts from coworkers have your top shelf stocked with enough scented candles to get you through the winter, if need be.  You take down two large jars and light them with a torch from the kitchen drawer.  

 Upon the gas range, you set up your two largest pots with water to boil.  They should help to warm the kitchen and living room. You hug yourself as you look around the open space.   It’s better than nothing, you think, before heading to the bathroom to check on Raphael.  

 From the doorway, you watch him as he sleeps.  You worry about how impossible it will be to move him to the pull out sofa in the living room.  You worry about how cold the bathroom will become without the electric space heater or furnace doing their job.  When he starts to stir, you waste no time.  

 Scrambling toward him, you grab your lanyard from where it hangs on the door handle.  Behind your ID badge you and your coworkers usually carry ammonia capsules in case a patient starts to faint.  The first time he fainted, you had been at a loss; you’d already used your smelling salts at the clinic.  But since then you've replaced the capsule with one from a pack in the drawer beside the sink.  Blindly removing the fresh dose from behind your badge, you ask Raphael how he’s feeling.

 He’s barely conscious, but his squinting eyes scan the room like he’s searching for exits and enemies. He presses his temples and rubs them in circles as if trying to alleviate a migraine.

 “I-I’m the only one here,” you assure him in quiet tones, trying not to add to his discomfort.  “I found you in the alley and brought you to my apartment. Do you remember?” The question sends a new spark of anxiety coursing through your veins.  

  Does  he remember?  Does he remember your hand in his?  Your faces pressed together? Your desperate whispers in his ear?

 Raphael narrows his eyes at you before giving a groan and a small nod.  His eyes slowly drift closed again.

 “Can you stay awake?” You ask, ready to snap the capsule of smelling salts under his nose should it come to that.  “Just long enough to get you into the other room,” you explain. “We lost power. It’ll get cold in here fast.”

 “How far?” he asks. The question comes out short, stuck behind a figurative frog in his dry throat.  In the flickering light of the candle, you can see Raphael’s focus is on you. He must be ignoring his own pains to sit up straighter, to maintain eye contact despite the headache that pounds against his skull.  

 His gaze is sharp.  You think,  he remembers,  as you feel yourself shrinking away from the bath.

 But the sound of his voice, clipped as it is, feels like a good sign.  And, in a way, you even find it soothing. You didn’t realize how much you were missing Raphael’s deep tones and accented words.  His shoulder is warm and firm beneath your hand. “N-not far at all,” you say, using the last of your confidence to give his arm an encouraging squeeze. 

 Your smile falters, and all the good feelings that had been building in your chest at seeing him awake, drop when he flinches out from under your touch.  

 “Let’s go, then,” he snaps.  His eyes are no longer on you.  His face is no longer relaxed in an expression of peaceful sleep.  There’s a grimace twisting his features and the turtle that at one time had you confused as to why their shell was tagged with kanji ‘anger’ starts to live up to his brand.

 Even with his injuries and bitten back cries of pain as he pushes himself to stand, you can’t seem to remove the blankets and towels fast enough.  Raphael tosses them to the tile floor haphazardly before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  

 He snatches up his shorts from the vanity counter and exhales ragged breaths through his nose as he pulls them on.  Then, leaning over the sink, he takes in the sight of his stitched lip and the bloodied gauze taped to his side. He hitches up his pant leg to get a proper look at his thigh and winces at the pressure of his fingers as they gingerly test the wound.  Without further word, he lumbers out of the room with a limp.

 Throwing down the armful of blankets you had intended to bring to the pullout sofa, you rush into the hall to follow him.  “Are you-”

 “I gotta get outta here," he announces between coughs.  "Gotta get my stuff… get home.”

 "You're hurt.  Your banadages need changing.  You need to rest." His limp shortens his gait, making it easy for you to catch up to him.

 Using the armrest of the sofa as a crutch, he turns around.  "Who are you to tell me what I need, huh?" 

 Your heart freezes under the coldness of his stare, and the frown you've been holding back tugs at the corners of your mouth.

 You are starting to understand not only why the kanji on his shell spoke of 'anger', but why it was painted in such a fierce shade of red.  As Raphael finds his bearings, his sharp edges are returning. The glimpses of warrior you'd caught in the alley and in the hallway of your apartment are starting to settle into place.  Though his bandana is hanging on the shower rod (too worn to be run through the dryer), his hardened expression is a mask all its own.

 "I'm trying to help," you remind him with a gesture toward the medical kit still on the kitchen island.  "Let me help."

 Raphael takes a quick, staggering step forward and you flinch with concern that he may fall.  Moving has brought fresh blood to the gauze pad you'd taped to his side after the bath.  You imagine his leg isn't faring much better.  They'd really do better wrapped.

 "I don't need ya help," he says through gritted teeth.  

 Watching him, your frown deepens.  There’s something more than anger in his tone.  You struggle to name the emotion, but when you shy away as he shuffles past you, he casts his eyes to the ground and you think you catch a glimpse of hurt, even sadness in the lines of his face.

 Nonetheless, if he's determined to tend to his injuries on his own, you won't stand in his way.  You do what you can without drawing too much attention to yourself. You try not to react when his appreciation for the supply of fresh bandages comes in short grunts.  When his request for water comes out more like an annoyed patron barking his order to a diner server, you stop yourself from barking back. But as the minutes pass into an hour of him struggling to wrap his side, his stubbornness grates on your nerves.

 You feel bad missing the Raphael that had been too weak to argue, but even now that he's showing his true colors, you can't help but find this other side of him attractive in its own right.  The way he mutters to himself when the bandages tangle and he has to start over...  The way his cheeks flush with frustration and embarrassment when he catches you stealing a glance...  You can't keep your spark of affection for him at bay, even as you roll your eyes behind his shell.

 It isn't until you catch him stealing glances at you out of the corner of your eye that you suspect he might actually be ready to give in to your offer of assistance.  

 Struggling to bite back your amusement, you move around the island to stand in front of him.  Your palm hovers between you two, waiting. "You gonna let me help you now or-"

 He doesn't wait for you to finish the sentence before placing the roll of medical tape into your hand.  Patching up his side involves you touching his carapace and plastron more than you remember needing to do initially, and it brings your faces close more than a few times, but you try to ignore the way your body responds to the ghost of Raphael’s breath on your cheek.  You mostly ignore the way he shudders when your hands graze the textured scales of his shell. 

 When you kneel between his knees to tend to his leg, you notice Raphael’s sharp intake of breath as he clamps a hand around your wrist.  

 You pull your hands off of his thighs with a jerk.  “I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately for the touch.  “Did you wanna…” Although bending might cause him some discomfort, you realize this bandage is probably easy for him to change on his own.  The way he refuses to look at you, you think you’ve crossed a boundary; you hope your sincere apology is enough to earn back his trust.

 “No, it’s fine," he grumbles, but he won't look down.  "You do it.”

 The candle sitting on the counter doesn't offer much light, but you hear the hitch of his breath.  You feel the twitch of his muscles as you roll back the leg of his shorts and expose the sensitive skin of his inner thigh again.  His hand remains on your wrist awhile, but its grip gradually loosens before it falls away.

 Raphael shudders again under your touch and realization hits you.  “Are you ticklish?” you ask presumptuously, doing your best to keep your eager fingers from teasing.  

 Raphael only shakes his head.  “Can ya just-” he heaves a sigh before grunting “-finish up.”

 “Of course.”  You bite the inside of your cheek, embarrassed by your attempt toward flirtation and assume a professional demeanor.   You’re reading too much into things, you tell yourself.  The feel of your hands entwined, the way he trembles when you’re close, the way his breath catches in his throat at your touch… none of it means anything.

 A sound of appreciation or something like it comes from deep in Raphael's chest as he shifts on the stool again. You spare a glance up at him.  His hands have come to rest in his lap, carefully out of the way of your work, but holding his abdomen. His cheeks are just a shade darker than you’d have sworn they were a minute ago.  It’s hard to tell in the candlelight.  

 When he finally glances down at you, you try to tell yourself that the warmth in his gaze is a trick of the light.  You try to convince yourself that the way the flame dances in his eyes doesn't make him more handsome, it doesn’t make for a romantic sight.  But you’re lying.  

 Each moment in Raphael’s presence you find yourself more attracted to him.  Even when his vulnerability makes him standoffish, you want to be near him.  You've been wanting to give him a piece of your mind, too, when his attitude strikes out. You think you would, were you not afraid he'll rush into the storm ‘to make a point’: he's strong enough and brave enough to go off on his own.  

 As you continue to look up at him, Raphael’s green eyes don't leave yours.  Your hands pause their work so you can continue to hold his gaze.

 Though you know now that he's one quick to anger, you can see he's in more than just physical pain.  He's been quick to defend but trusting of a stranger. He's been strong and gentle. He’s been stubborn but accepting of help when he needs it. He rushes into action, but he listens  to you.  His paradoxes make him more interesting, make you want to learn more, make you wonder if he's interested in knowing you the way you want to know him. 

 Your hands rest comfortably on Raphael's knees as you wait for some clue as to what will happen next, but even as you catch a glimpse of him swallowing hard, you're getting lost in his eyes.

 You wish he wouldn't swallow his words.  You wish that he would speak.  That he would tell you what he wants, what he needs.  That he would tell you more about his life. But when he looks at you like this - softly, curiously - it’s like his eyes are trying to tell you something he can't put into words.

[sceptilemasterr]

MW Act 2, Scene 5 - Runaway

Title: Most Wanted: The Hollywood Killer (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Dave x Sam

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: The three investigators explore Tull’s trailer, where they find more than they expected...

Previous Scene: Knock Knock

Masterlist: Link

INT. TULL’S TRAILER - NIGHT

Sam kicks the door in, and she, Dave, and Rhea enter the trailer. It is filthy. Trash, moldy food, and dirty clothes are scattered haphazardly. There is no sign of John Tull.

SAM: Dammit! He’s not here!

DAVE (disgusted): Eugh. At least he left a garbage heap of evidence...

RHEA: Literally. Eww.

She looks away from the garbage, catching sight of a photo that has been pinned to the wall near the bed. The photo shows a younger Tull standing with a large group of people, all wearing similar clothing and haircuts. A young girl stands just in front of Tull, who is resting a hand on her shoulder.

RHEA: Huh. What’s this?

Dave pulls on a pair of evidence gloves and crosses over to look at the photo. He gingerly picks up the photo and examines it.

DAVE: A family? His file didn’t mention that... Sam?

SAM: He doesn’t have one... at least as far as I know. Though who knows, with how little we’ve found about him?

DAVE: Might be worth followin’ up on.

He places the photo in an evidence bag. Then he turns, picking up a notepad sitting on a table nearby. He flips through the notepad, frowning.

RHEA (excitedly): A notepad? Ooh! Maybe he wrote his secret plans on it, or--

DAVE: Don’t get your hopes up, Rhea. It’s completely blank.

RHEA: Aww, and here I thought we had something.

DAVE (shrugs): Real life isn’t like the movies. The bad guys don’t usually write all their plans on...

He trails off as he notices something about the notepad.

DAVE: Actually, this might still be useful. The front page was ripped off.

RHEA: And that’s helpful... how?

DAVE: To be honest, I have no idea. But I bet forensics can get something out of it.

He puts the notepad in another evidence bag, then grins at Rhea.

DAVE: We’ll make an investigator out of you yet! Hey, Sam, have you found...

Dave and Rhea turn to see Sam staring at a sawed-off shotgun hanging on the wall. Her hands are balled into fists, and she is quaking with barely-contained rage.

DAVE (hesitantly): ...Massey? You okay?

RHEA: Looks like we found Tull’s weapon, at least--

SAM (with tranquil fury): That is not Tull’s weapon.

RHEA: What? But what else could it be? I mean, it’s here, in his trailer, with--

SAM: It’s the gun Tull’s been using. But it’s not his gun.

She reaches out, running her fingers along the gun’s barrel.

SAM (quaking with rage): It belonged to my mentor, Bill. He loved this gun... called it Old Genevieve. Look at this. Tull sawed it off. Desecrated it.

Dave crosses over to her, and hesitantly places a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder. She holds his gaze for a moment, then relaxes.

DAVE: We’ll get this bastard. I promise you.

SAM: We’d better.

Sam takes a deep breath, calming herself before starting to look around the trailer once again. The three of them search for a few moments in silence.

SAM: Right. So, we’ve got a picture of Tull with... some group or another, a blank notepad, and the weapon he stole. That ain’t nearly enough to go on.

DAVE: That about sums it up, yeah...

SAM: There’s gotta be somethin’ else.

She surveys the surroundings carefully, until her gaze stops at a pile of clothes draped across the far end. She stomps over to the clothes and shoves them aside, revealing a closet door behind them.

DAVE (impressed): Well, what d’you know?

SAM: Jackpot.

She grasps the door handle firmly and throws it open, revealing the inside of the closet. The entire thing is filled with a “shrine” to Hayley Rose; numerous newspaper clippings, photos, and magazine covers featuring the pop star cover every inch of the closet’s walls. The collage has been surrounded in a huge red heart, and several of the newspaper clippings have passages highlighted. Sam, Dave, and Rhea stare open-mouthed at the sight.

SAM: Holy...

RHEA: Freakin’...

DAVE: ...Shit.

They spend several moments just taking in the sight.

DAVE: How many words are there for “stalker?” Mirasol’ll have a field day with this.

He raises his phone and begins taking photos of the shrine from various angles. Rhea and Sam step closer.

SAM: Look... this clipping’s from her debut album in 2011.

RHEA: And here’s one from even earlier! 2003--whoa, fifteen years ago--this says that Hayley was just an orphan when she came to Hollywood. Wow, can’t believe the media never picked up on that story!

SAM: With stuff this old, he must’ve been collecting this for years now. Just waiting for the chance to--

DAVE (with sudden realization): Wait. What did you say?

SAM: Just sayin’, with stuff this old, he must’ve been collecting it all for years...

DAVE: That’s it. That’s the missing puzzle piece. Massey, Sarkar, you realize what this means?!

Rhea and Sam exchange glances as the same realization dawns on them simultaneously.

RHEA: No one hired Tull.

SAM: The people he killed... it wasn’t for cash. Gavin Routh, Jessica Greene... they wronged Hayley when they leaked her pictures. Tull must’ve thought he was doin’ it for her. Sick bastard.

DAVE: This whole time, we were looking for the person who hired Tull... but it turns out they didn’t exist.

SAM: One thing still bugs me, though. Why Hayley Rose? Out of all the celebrities in the world... why her?

RHEA (thoughtfully): Hang on... I might know why.

DAVE AND SAM: You do?!

Rhea pulls out her phone and starts tapping through it. A moment later, a familiar song starts playing.

HAYLEY ROSE (ON PHONE) (singing): Sirens flickering in your tail lights, your long-lost love’s your only flaw... You kill, you steal, you burn the daylight... ‘Cuz you’re my broken, bad outlaw...

SAM: You’re kiddin’ me.

DAVE: It’s the song! “Outlaw!” This redneck moron actually thinks the song’s about him?!

Suddenly, the distinct sound of a shotgun being racked is heard from off-screen! Dave and Rhea whirl to see Tull, standing in the trailer, his gun pointed at the base of Sam’s skull. Rhea shrieks as Sam stands stiff, teeth clenched.

TULL: Call me ‘redneck’ again, piggie, and I’ll splatter Blondie here all over ya.

SAM (angrily): Ugh. Li must’ve set us up--

Tull jabs Sam in the back of the neck with the gun. Dave whips out his pistol in a blur and aims it at Tull, trying to get a clear shot without hitting Sam.

SAM (mouthing): Take. The. Shot.

Dave hesitates, and Tull grins.

TULL: Attaboy, piggie. Don’t do nothin’ stupid. Put the gun down on the floor. Nice an’ easy, now.

RHEA (terrified): He’s gonna kill her! Dave, do what he says!

Dave thinks for a moment, then smiles.

DAVE: I think there’s something you’re forgetting, Tull. I know your secret.

TULL: The hell you talkin’ about?

DAVE: Hayley Rose? Your sweetheart? I saw your super-creepy shrine to her. C’mon, don’t you think she’s a little young for you?

TULL: Shut yer mouth, cop!

DAVE: I mean, seriously, you think she’d go for you? She dates rock stars and heartthrobs, not hillbillies who look like they just crawled out of a swamp...

TULL (growing angrier): I said shut up!

Sirens howl in the distance. Tull adjusts his grip on the gun, jamming it into Sam’s neck once again, as Sam glares daggers at Dave.

DAVE: How about we take this outside, huh? Fight like men?

TULL: I’m gettin’ real tired of listenin’ to your whiny voice, cop! How ‘bout I get this over with, right here?

He adjusts his grip on his gun.

DAVE: You’d shoot her, huh? Just like that. Kill her in cold blood.

TULL: Damn right I will.

Rhea steps forward, clearly terrified but with a confidence in her voice.

RHEA: Gotta say, Tull, you’re a real outlaw.

TULL: What... what did ya just say?!

RHEA (mock-innocently): Oh, you know. An outlaw. (singing) Sirens flickering in your tail lights, your long-lost love’s your only flaw...

TULL: Shut yer mouth, girl!

RHEA (singing): You kill, you steal, you burn the daylight...

TULL (seething with rage): Don’t. You. Say it.

RHEA (singing): ‘Cuz you’re my broken, bad outlaw!

Tull roars with fury and shoves Sam forward! Dave lines up his shot, but then Sam elbows Tull in the face, causing Tull to stagger back with a bloody nose! He raises his shotgun right at Sam, and then...

RHEA: No! You bastard!

Rhea suddenly charges at Tull! Distracted, Tull’s shot goes wide, hitting a stack of plates and causing the lights to flicker!

DAVE: Too close!

Tull turns, kicks Rhea away, and rushes out of the trailer, slamming the door shut behind him. Immediately, Sam runs after him, only to stop short at the door, barred from the outside and now immovable.

SAM: Rrrrgh! No! Tull is not getting away again! What the hell is wrong with you, Reyes?

DAVE: Wha... me?!

SAM: Why’d you stand there blabbin’ for an hour instead of shooting?

DAVE: Because I use my words, like a goddamn adult, and--

Both he and Sam pause in their argument to sniff the air. They exchange glances, all animosity forgotten for the moment.

DAVE: Do... do you smell something burning?

RHEA: Yeah, something’s burning all right!

She staggers to her feet and points toward the far end of the trailer, where thick black smoke is seeping in. Flames begin licking the corners of the trailer.

RHEA: We gotta get out of here! NOW!

_______________________

Next: Conscience and Variables

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0

MW Tag List: @griselda1121

[foxyseok-blog]

Codename

genre: smut

pairing: hoseok x reader

words: 6.2k

warnings: spanking, dom/sub undertones, choking

summary:  “From the moment I stepped inside the fancy building I knew this job would be different. I was sent to steal a ring from an empty apartment and ended up with the owner himself demanding an explanation from me. Hoseok is far from being just another target and I had to learn it the hard way.”

From the moment I stepped inside the fancy building I knew this job would be different. As I climbed the stairs, getting tired after the third floor, I felt uneasy and like something just wasn't right. My black boots matched the whole black outfit I always wore to these kinds of jobs; it was sticking to my frame, not even one millimeter of fabric more than necessary. Someone could say I was an agent or a government spy, but I ain't such thing. My job's description way less heroic than that. Well, to be honest, there's nothing heroic on being a thief but that's where life got me so that's where I stand now.

Literally. I stand in front of the door with an opening kit – as my boss calls it – in my hands. I get on my knees to look better at the door handle, opening it after barely one minute. All these years of robbing made me good at it and, even though I shouldn't be, I'm proud of it.

The apartment is silent, as I predicted, the owner doesn't live in here since it's just another property with his name on it. Imagine having so much money you need to buy patrimony to hide it, now that's the life this guy lives, apparently. I don't know much about him but I look at the picture frames hanging on the light colored walls, a young man with a fluffy looking dog stares back at me.

Damn, he is really beautiful. It should be forbidden to look like this while having so much money.

I shake my head and try not to let anything get in my mind anymore. I need to focus on finding the ring my boss so desperately wants. The living room is big, just like the kitchen and, apparently, all the rooms. They all have furniture inside that indicates someone could live in here very comfortably.

But he doesn't, does he?

I stop breathing as I hear the sounds around me, there's nothing but the calming rain hitting the windows. My boss wouldn't just send me to a house with people inside, he's not that dumb, I guess.

I go to the master bedroom still without turning on a single lamp, can't afford to let anyone outside know I'm in here. I rummage through his absurdly big closet – there are so many coats and hoodies, shoes that costs hundreds of dollars, pieces of clothing that could probably buy me a car. I wonder if I should just put them all in this bag, a very expensive one I notice, and leave without the ring.

But no, my boss would kill me. He's been talking about it the whole week. This guy bought it from a person my boss was hunting down, now I need to rob it from him as we can't kill him, don't know why exactly.

Now that I think of it, I'm happy to know I won't put an end to such a beautiful existence like him. His eyes were glowing even in a picture, his soft features smiling at the lenses with a dog in his arms.

I finally open a drawer of all his jewelries and holy shit, he's got a lot of them. I take my phone out, finding the picture of the ring I need to get, and start looking for it.

After twenty minutes, I give up on the drawer and start searching the whole room. I'm getting desperate, I can't go back empty-handed. All the information we got is that the ring would be here, in this apartment, in his room, in his drawer.

Why isn't it then?

My trained ears pick up a sound it shouldn't be hearing; the front door is opening. I remember the short amount of time it took me to come from the door to the room and realize I have no time to hide outside of this master bedroom. I end up squeezing myself in the middle of two coats inside the closet.

It's not the first time something like this happens to me, to be honest. There's so much you can predict of someone's steps and, sometimes, I make mistakes. I don't let myself think too much about it now, I have to plan how to leave this place without letting him see me because if he does, I'll have to bruise up his pretty face.

I let the closet door slightly open so I can see what he's doing but it's completely yanked open by him. My heart finally starts to beat fast, even knowing I could just punch him and run I still get that adrenaline running inside my veins. But he doesn't see me. The way I'm completely squeezed between two of his dark coats blend my existence and his eyes never meet my frame.

My eyes, though, see him very well. His face is so much more than what that picture could portrait. He's so much hotter, a jawline that could cut, a pointy nose sculpted by the most talented artist, sharp eyes with that hint of a mysterious glow, heart shaped lips with a soft pale pink color to it. His black hair parted to the side to reveal a bit of forehead shines with the soft light of his room. He takes off his long reddish brown coat and I see the dainty body underneath it. It's all proportioned, long legs and small waist, his chest filling the white button up so prettily. He hangs the coat in the closet, still completely unaware of my shaking existence, and leaves without closing the door again.

I see him unbuttoning the wrists of his dress shirt and pulling it up his arms, my eyes are completely lost in the veins of his forearms when I notice the rings on his fingers. A total of three just in one hand and voilá! There is the precious little thing I need to rob.

In his fucking hands!

My whole escaping plan is instantly deleted from my mind as I see I can still save this whole operation. He can't sleep with rings on, who's the idiot that does that anyways? I pray that it isn't him. And as my brain starts to work on another way to get out after actually getting the ring, he starts to open the first two buttons of the dress shirt, revealing the soft golden skin of his chest.

- Any particular reason you're in my closet right now, little one? – his sharp eyes meet mine for the first time.

If my mind hadn't gone completely numb, I'd bathe myself in his honey like voice, deep, calm but firm, demanding.

But I was trained for this, my instincts are stronger than my hormones, I jump out of my hiding spot and try to get to the door before he can get me, trusting my legs to be as fast as they have always been.

Once again, there's so much I can predict. I didn't even think this guy would be faster than me. My legs are long enough so I can always get myself out of this type of situation but oh he's faster.

As my clothes are strategically sticking to my whole body, he grabs me by my ponytail, yanking me backwards until my back painfully hits the floor. When I look up, I see him smirking at me, I get hot all over wanting to punch the faint smile out of his stupidly handsome face.

Did I really say I didn't want to bruise him? Well, can't remember any of that right now.

I rise to my feet getting in position to smash my fist on his nose and bring him down. When I launch forward, he stops all my moves easily. During the ridiculously small amount of time I fail to punch him, my mind realizes that I'm fucked. He's much more than I actually seized up and thought he would to be. I obviously saw he's taller and a bit broader than me but I'm always stronger and faster than my opponents, my boss never gives me a target I can't handle.

But this fight wasn't supposed to be happening; he wasn't supposed to be here.

He grabs my arm twisting it to my back and shoves my chest onto the nearest wall, snatching my other free hand and locking it behind me. I could easily stop such movement – I swear I know how to defend myself properly – but he did it so fast and efficiently that my mind processed everything too late.

- I asked you a question, didn't I? – his breath is on my ear, I feel his whole body encaging me on the wall.

I don't say anything, that's how we're supposed to be when we encounter with our opponents: no talking so they won't have anything against us.

- You're the quiet type. I see. – he's containing the anger inside this velvety voice.

I feel the pressure of his hold loosen a bit and start to think he'll let me go, but he shoves me harder against the wall, the pain in my breasts making it almost impossible for me to breathe.

- But I think I can make you talk.

He pulls me back and starts walking towards his closet, I try to get free but his grip on me is strong enough to bruise even though he holds with only one hand now. I walk backwards hearing when he grabs something inside the closet. A soft sound of clicking and the cold feeling of metal around my wrists let me know he got them handcuffed.

I'm fucked.

- Here's how it's gonna be. – he says as he pushes my shoulders down and I forcibly kneel on the floor. – You'll tell me why you're in my apartment and if it's a reasonable explanation I'll set you free.

He locks the bedroom door putting the key inside the front pocket of his black slacks. God, why did I end up here? This guy came straight out of my wettest dream and probably wants to send me to jail, or kill me.

He crouches in front of me, I can feel the delicious sweet perfume he wears, masculine but soft. His sharp eyes gaze at me, curious and angry at the same time.

- W-what's your name? – the first words I say are choked out, maybe because I shouldn't be engaging a conversation with him.

He gets up, a lazy smile showing up on his features, and slowly disappears behind me.

- My name? – I feel the tug of my hair being pulled harshly, he takes off my scrunchy and lets my locks free as I look up to see his face staring down at me. – You broke into my house and you think you have the right to know my name?

I'm so stupid. I'm being manhandled by the guy I should be stealing from and my whole body seems to sing every time he touches me.

- But I'll give it to you so you'll have something to scream for later. – his hand softens its grip on my hair. – Hoseok.

I let my mind savour this new information, finally giving the handsome face a name just as pretty. And the more I think about it, more I feel like I've heard it before, maybe during conversations of my boss with some of our clients that I probably shouldn't be hearing but I let the curiosity get the best of me.

I hear the sound of a slap before feeling the pain across my right cheek.

- Focus on me. – I look up to see Hoseok staring back at me angrily. – Or is there anything else more interesting in here?

Did he just slap me on the face? How am I letting a man do this to me so easily?

I fight against the handcuffs, eyeing the door once again, thinking of a way to get the hell out of here, just to feel another slap, way more painful, across my left cheek. The cold feeling of his rings still lingers on my bruised skin.

- You're not leaving until I say so. – he tells me.

- Fuck off. – I mutter under my breath, different feelings running through my body; excitement, fear, arousal, anger.

- If you're gonna be disrespectful I prefer when you're with that dirty mouth shut.

- You slapped me and I'm the disrespectful one? – I yell back at him.

He's so calm, standing with one hand in his pocket, looking at me fiercely.

- I'm teaching you manners, little thief.

Oh. So either he knows I'm here to rob him or it's a shot in the dark. But, to be honest, if you see someone with an all black outfit inside your closet it's only suitable to call them thief. If he knows what I'm here for why didn't he call the police?

- You're late for that. – I reply looking straight into his dark eyes. – I'm too old to be taught anything.

- You're not that old, Shadowcat.

My eyes widen in shock. Hoseok knows my codename. Only my boss and the people I work with know about it. It was given to me as I entered this underground world. Since I always have black clothes on and move like a shadow behind my opponents, coming in and out without being seen, they say I'm a shadow that can move like a cat. The realization that I might be in a situation much worse than I previously thought is finally sinking into my bones.

- What? You think I don't know who you are or who you work for? – he crouches down in front of me again, keeping eye level with me. – You'd be dead if I didn't know you.

- Why did you ask then? Why are you keeping me in here like this?

- I didn't ask your name, now did I? I wanna know what you're here for. Certainly not to kill me, Yuyi wouldn't send someone so weak for that.

My boss's real name is something not even I can say out loud, he goes by the codename of Key and that's how we all call him.

- So I assume you're here to steal something. – he reaches forward and sticks his hand inside the only pocket in my pants, taking out the opening doors kit and my phone.

Hoseok looks at the kit, probably knowing what it is already, and lets it fall to the floor along with my phone in a silent thud. His hands travel around my waist, back on my ass where he found the kit, down to my thighs, squeezing and searching for hidden pockets. But my outfit leaves nothing to imagination, there's nothing that could be successfully hidden in it and, because of that, I can feel the heat coming from his palms making me hot.

- And you didn't find it. – he breathes out next to my face and, for the first time, I don't see only anger in his eyes.

There's lust mixed with hate in them.

- I'm not weak. – I respond to his earlier statement since it's the only thing my mind could hold on to when he's so close.

- Yeah? – he chuckled darkly. – Bet you wanna punch me right now but your weak little hands couldn't handle me.

- Asshole. – my heart starts beating fast but for a completely different reason.

Hoseok's hand closes around my throat, squeezing it enough for me to be uncomfortable but not enough for me to stop breathing.

- If you act like a bad girl you'll be treated like one. – he tightens his grip on me. – Why the fuck are you here, brat?

- Y-you know I'm a thief. – I say weakly with the short amount of oxygen entering my lungs.

- I'm not dumb, I wanna know what you need to steal. – his words make me frown a bit, Hoseok says as if I didn't have a choice but to rob him.

I stay quiet, my eyes focusing on the mole on his top lip, his long lashes flutter when he blinks his eyes. Fuck, he's the prettiest man I've seen.

- Aren't you ashamed of looking at me like this? – Hoseok says with a disgusted tone but his eyes give away that he's as affected as me, his pupils completely blown out.

- No. – I say licking my dry lips, knowing damn well I'm throwing away any precaution and plans I thought I had.

Since the very first moment I laid eyes on him, I should have known this operation was lost. He looks like and does all the things I didn't even know I liked.

Hoseok's hand leaves my throat and he closes his fist in my hair but this time around he doesn't pull it to growl at me, he brings my face close to his and smashes his lips on mine.

Finally. One of his hands remains tugging at the roots of my hair while the other rests on my waist. I feel his tongue licking the seam of my lips, asking for entrance. I don't comply and he bites my bottom lip harshly. I whine feeling the metallic taste of blood and open my eyes to see Hoseok smirking at me. He's still so close, our noses touching.

- Open up for me. – he whispers in my mouth, his hands coming to grab my chin.

- Make me.

I see a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes before he manhandles me out of the floor and throws me on his huge black bed. I can't even balance myself on my elbows because of the handcuffs but I see him grabbing my kit and phone from the floor and placing it on the top of a white desk before coming back to me. Hoseok's body towers above mine, his dark hair falling prettily around his face.

- Since you wanna make this harder I'll give it to you hard. – he says before nipping at my jawline.

His hot tongue meets the pulsating poing of my neck, sucking it deliciously and making the skin sensitive.

- You really broke into my house... – he growls on my neck. – ...wearing this tight little thing you call outfit.

His hands slide down my thighs, tugging at the fabric of my pants and opening my legs so he can slam his hips down on my core. I gasp out a strained moan and he takes the opportunity to finally glide his tongue on mine, exploring my mouth, licking my teeth and nipping my lips so expertly that my knees would buckle if I was standing.

My whole body is electrified and we're still fully clothed. I can feel the ends of his soft hair touching my face and I wanna run my fingers through it so badly, my arms restrained behind me are a hurtful reminder that I can't.

- Open the handcuffs. – I mumble inside his mouth. – I wanna touch you.

- Don't trust you yet, little thief. You'll have to earn that. – he rolls his hips on me before I can reply anything, my mind getting lost in the feeling of his bulge smashed against my core.

- Fuck. – I moan out loud, trying hard not to close my eyes so I can see every expression he makes.

- You have such a filthy mouth. – Hoseok bites my lip again, licking the bruise right after, making me squirm under him. – But I have a better use to it.

He gets off of me and I instantly make a complaining noise that is picked up by him.

- Shut up and get on the floor again. – Hoseok commands.

He doesn't help me out of the bed, instead he watches me struggle rolling on my side to get up with a defying smirk on his face.

- Can't you be a fucking gentleman for once? – I say as I stand in front of him, his taller figure looking a bit scary to me now.

- You're not deserving of that, you filthy thing. – he shoves me down again, making my knees hit the carpeted floor. – But I'll give you a chance to show me you can be a good girl. Understood?

- Yes. – I reply submissively, without even thinking twice, because I just can't ignore the constant throbbing between my legs.

- Yes what? – he caresses my hair giving me the chance to make up for the little mistake.

- Yes, sir.

- That's what I thought. – his long fingers open the zipper but he doesn't pull down his pants.

I see the black boxers underneath it before he grabs his dick and pulls it out. I'm not gonna lie, I don't find this part of the male anatomy to be very charming. But oh my God how I love this specific one. It has a soft golden color like his skin, it's pretty, long, thick and a vein going from the bottom to the tip catches my attention. I feel saliva pooling inside my mouth.

- Get to it, you have drool on your chin already. – his words may be degrading but his voice is not even a bit near that, the lust and need in it making him sound a bit weaker.

I stick my tongue out to lick his tip testing the waters, Hoseok makes a restrained noise instantly grabbing my hair and forcing me to take more of him. I try my best not to choke but he hits the back of my throat so easily, I clench my thighs to try and ease the growing need of relief.

Giving blowjobs is not usually an activity I enjoy but Hoseok makes it so good that I probably moan on his dick more than he does. His voice gets deeper, grunting when I swirl my tongue around his tip, he throws his head back closing his eyes exposing the delicious looking neck. I have saliva dripping down my chin like the Nicaragua Falls, since I can't use my hands, but I don't even care. All I do is watch his expressions; the furrowed brows, the hooded eyes looking at me, the plump lips caught in his teeth. I feel like I could come untouched just by watching Hoseok like this.

- Fuck. – he grunts pulling his dick covered in spit away from me. – Seems like you're a talented little thief after all.

- Please. – I beg without even knowing what for, I just feel my core screaming for attention, my panties sticking to it.

His hands, that were tugging painfully at my roots, now pet my hair softly while a lazy smile spreads on his face.

- Yeah, baby. You deserve a reward. – he pulls me up and holds my waist, carefully walking me backwards. – I'll give you what you need.

His words obviously have a double meaning behind but I pay no mind to it as I'm finally gonna get my end of this deal. The back of my legs hit the bed and I sit on it, watching Hoseok put his dick back in the black boxers, leaving the zipper open.

- What are you doing? – my voice is raspier with all the times his tip hit my throat way too deep.

- Didn't you want me to be a gentleman? – he looks down at me before placing one knee between my thighs, his body leaning close until my back hits the mattress. – I have to stretch you open first so I can fuck you properly later.

A strong shiver runs down my whole body when I hear his words being whispered in my ears, his sharp teeth nip on my earlobe before Hoseok looks at my face again. My pupils are blown out, hairs sprawled around the sheets, bruised lips parted so I can breathe better, completely lost in my own hormones. He seems satisfied with that, though.

- You look so hot like this, all needy and fucked out. – his fingertips gently slide between my breasts, going down to my bellybutton.

He tugs at my blouse and lifts it up revealing a simple black bra underneath it. His long fingers pull down the fabric covering my breasts, a knowing smirk showing up when he sees my hard nipples responding to him without even being touched.

Hoseok keeps his eyes locked with mine when he lowers his head and captures a nipple in his mouth. I throw my head back letting my ragged breath come out. The feeling of his hot tongue around my nipple is enough to make me wanna scream. When he's satisfied with the first one, he goes to the other one, giving the same unrelenting attention, sucking, licking and bitting.

- J-just fuck me already. – I whimper, my arms getting more and more uncomfortable just like the need between my legs.

He lets my nipple go with an obscene "pop" and gives it a little lick that makes my eyes roll behind my back. As if he's not hot enough, he's also a tease in bed.

- I barely started, ungrateful thing. – the hand that was holding me still by my hips starts a slow trip from my stomach to the elastic band of my pants.

- Please. – I say softly trying to clench my legs together, completely forgetting the way his thigh is keeping them apart.

He catches the movement and chuckles with amusement.

- So impatient. – Hoseok says but finally starts to drag down my pants along with my panties.

My boots are yanked off and thrown out somewhere in the room just like my pants. When he comes back to tower above me I feel exposed, he's fully dressed while I'm undressed to his sharp eyes. He doesn't pay attention to my sudden reddened cheeks, just snakes one arm under me, lifting me by my waist and plopping me down, my head hitting his soft pillow.

Fucking hell, Hoseok's eyes are so absurdly hot, they travel around my body devouring me inch by inch slowly.

- Good thing I installed hidden movement sensors and cameras in this apartment. – his hand is on my stomach, caressing it gently. – Imagine the surprise I had seeing your pretty ass on the screen of my phone when you were looking for something on the floor of my room.

Cameras? Who the fuck installs cameras inside their own bedroom? Besides, that's something my boss should have known way before me coming in here. How did this job turned out to be so wrong?

Two harsh slaps on both of my thighs get me out of my thoughts really fast.

- Focus on me. – Hoseok growls, he opens my legs delivering more painfull slaps while he kneels between them.

- Hoseok! – I yelp opening them to try to get rid of the punishing hands.

He runs his palms on the insides of my opened thighs, making me quiver with desire as his eyes are focused on my exposed and glistened core.

- I prefer you like this; red, needy and panting my name. – he says darkly, lifting his eye to my face. – Aren't you ashamed of how disgustingly wet you are when I barely touched you?

- You've been manhandling me around since the very first minute though. – I whisper back.

- Didn't know someone could get aroused by being mistreated. – he mocks me but his blown out pupils and the tent inside his pants tell me otherwise. – What a slut.

He delivers two hard slaps on my thighs again, I scream loudly at the pain but he just glides his hands up, keeping me opened and exposed to his eyes. At this point I know I'm dripping down on the sheets.

- You're making such a mess. – his fingertips finally slide softly on my lower lips, I feel my whole body tense in anticipation.

Hoseok buries his face on my neck, licking the skin before pulling it between his teeth, and looks at my face again.

- Keep your eyes open or I'll punish you again. – he says as I feel two of his fingers being pushed inside of me.

I'm so wet that they slide right in, the feeling of his rings against my lower lips makes me release a soft moan when he's knuckles deep. Hoseok starts pumping his fingers in and out immediately, scissoring them inside me, literally stretching my walls the best he can. To keep my eyes open reveals to be a very hard task when he's fingering me so good.

- Keep looking at me, baby. – his other hand brushes the hairs sticking to my forehead, a sweat that I wasn't even aware of dripping down my temples.

His thumb finds my clit and I arch my back, my hands grip the sheets wishing they could grip on his hair.

- You have a tight little pussy, don't you? – he says in a husky voice.

I can't help but to close my eyes feeling my walls clenching around his skillful fingers. Hoseok slowly slides them out, opening my folds and gliding them up and down, missing my clit on purpose. He plunges the same two fingers into me again, making me cry out loud with the teasing, just to repeat the same process again, spreading my wetness all over. By the fourth time I'm begging for him to fuck me with tears running down my face.

- Look at you, falling apart when I have only two fingers inside you. – his voice diminishes me.

Hoseok slides his fingers out of my walls, bringing them to his mouth, and I see the ring I should rob covered in my own juices. He licks one of them, keeping his eyes locked on me, then offers me the middle finger with the fucking ring on. I open my mouth letting him do whatever he wants, feeling myself on my tongue. When Hoseok is satisfied, he lets me eye his beautiful skin being revealed while his hands work on the buttons of the white dress shirt still covering his chest. His faint abs make me wanna lick every line of it.

- But I'll take mercy on you. – he suddenly grabs my waist and flips me over, forcing me to get on my knees while my face is pressed down against the pillow.

- Please. – I beg for what it seems to be the millionth time tonight.

Hoseok opens my lower lips again, tapping my clit two times, making me squirm in desire.

- I want your little clit to get slapped every time I fuck into you, baby.

I moan so loud that any neighbor sleeping at this time will probably wake up. His words are so filthy, they send me into a frenzy and he isn't even touching me.

When I think I can't wait anymore, the painful throbbing between my legs becoming unbearable, I feel the tip of his member pushing inside me. Hoseok doesn't even let my walls adjust around his girthy length, his hips pound me incessantly since the beginning. He could have spent hours fingering me and I still wouldn't be ready to take him like this, the stretch is an addicting mix of pain and pleasure. I bite the pillow trying to muffle the ridiculously loud moans that form in my throat but Hoseok's hands start spanking my ass.

- Don't keep your sounds in unless you want me to force them out. – he growls at me.

- I'm sorry. – I manage to choke out.

- Sorry what? – his palms come down again even harder and I know I won't be able to sit tomorrow.

- I'm sorry, sir! – I cry out loud.

His pace never falters, just gets more and more punishing, his balls slap on my exposed clit every time, making me lift my chest a bit and look down on my body. I see him pounding in and out of me, a little droplet of a mix of our wetness slides through my folds and drips on the sheets. The scene is so overwhelmingly pleasurable that I'm instantly ready to combust.

- I'm so c-close. – I mutter under my breath.

- You're not allowed to cum yet. – even when making so much effort to practically rearrange my insides with his cock, he still has a controlled voice.

- No, sir, p-please. I-

My voice gets lost in the middle of a sentence when my hair gets pulled back. Hoseok brings me flush against his chest, my palms opening to feel the tensed skin of his abs. This angle makes him hit my sweet spot directly and he knows it, because he starts hammering that place unmercifully. I feel my orgasm so close that it's almost painful.

- I said no. Learn to hold that shit in, slut. – he whispers darkly in my ear.

My walls instantly clench around him with the way he talks to me, making it so much harder for him to move. I hear a soft moan leaving his mouth.

- Of course you'd like being called slut. I should have had my fingers in you when I slapped your face, I bet you'd clench on them too. – he slips one of his hands down my stomach while the other one keeps me in place by my hips. – Cum.

With that command, he slaps my pussy. And that's when I lose it. My whole body spams, he lets go of my hips and I fall on the pillow, his hips are still moving, not as hard as before, fucking me through my first orgasm.

- Fuck, you take me so good, baby girl.

The new petname makes me smile faintly against the pillow. My clenching walls are probably making him feel so good he forgot the harsh façade for a while.

- Come here, I wanna look at your face. – he slides out of me and when I start moving to get on my back he holds me still. – Wait a bit, little thief.

I feel the handcuffs being tugged and then I'm finally free. I bring my hands down, supporting my weight and looking at the red marks around my wrists.

- You won your freedom for now. Do anything stupid and I'll tie your four limbs to the bed. – he says unmercifully before twisting me, putting me on my back again.

Hoseok helps me to get out of my blouse, his hands not wasting any time in feeling my whole body again like I was fully dressed until now.

This time around I make sure to drag my fingertips on his abs. He looks at the scene under him, my legs opened and thighs all glistened, hands savouring the feeling of his soft skin.

- Fuck. – Hoseok curses making me look up at him.

The ends of his hair are wet with sweat, it's still parted letting me see the forehead, his hooded eyes are ready to eat me whole, lips red with our bruising kisses. He's still wearing the pants that hang low on his hips with the visible V line going down to his dick.

Hoseok is the hottest guy I've ever laid eyes on.

And he fucks me all over again. But slowly, with languid strokes that make my toes curl, dragging every inch of his length inside of me, making me feel full. I drag my hands on his soft hair, pulling at it, bringing his lips to mine, drag my nails down his strong back, leaving red marks. I feel his teeth doing the same with my neck, marking me so I'll see him when I look at the mirror again.

But I'd see him on me even without the marks. The feeling of his skin on mine is too remarkable to ever forget, the drag of his girthy length inside me too fucking good to let it go.

He seems to notice my mind is away and delivers a punishing thrust in me that makes my eyes widen.

- What did I say about not focusing on me? – he whispers on my lips.

Before I can even think of anything else, he's sneaking a hand between us to play with my swollen bud, making sure I'm feeling the maximum pleasure that he can give.

After what it feels like the third time I'm cumming, he finally slips out of my heat and lies down besides me. Our laboured breathing mixing with the constant sound of the rain outside.

- You can have this. – Hoseok finally speaks, taking off the ring on his middle finger and placing it on my belly.

- How did you know? – I frown looking at the beautiful ring closely.

- I saw it on your phone

My phone? The only time he had alone with it was in those small seconds when he got it from the floor and placed on his desk. Hoseok is way more skilled than I thought and now I wonder who exactly I just fucked for the past hour.

- Listen to me, Shadowcat. – Hoseok gets up on his elbow, cupping my face with one of his elegant hands. – Take it to Yuyi.

For the first time I don't see lust or hate in his eyes, he looks at me fondly, making my heart ache for affection.

- And come back to me if you wanna change the life you live.

[yeoldontknow]

Cover Me

Author’s Note: happy birthday @yeolology <3 im just managing to sneak this one in for you <3 in your time zone, it is no longer you birthday but when you wake we will continue the celebration <3 welcome back to chanvember everyone!! enjoy more fluff that i am not used to writing! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: On your birthday, you search frantically for your boyfriend’s hoodie only to find it is no longer there. Genre: fluff; romance Rating: PG Warning: minor swearing Word Count: 1,841

Technically, the hoodie is his.

His money paid for it, his hands chose it, loved it, without you in mind - years before he met you, and still suiting his taste even after you decided you liked it, too. Technically, it was never something you could rightfully call yours. Even though you wore it, even though you kept it, even though you imagined it was his body and his skin that kept you warm, breathing the scent of his cologne deep into your lungs while you wrapped yourself in the soft fabric, it still belonged to him.

Technically, these are technicalities, semantics. In the end, they mean nothing when it comes to true ownership, true devotion to a thing. His hands offered it to you first, lips pulled into a smile every time he saw it hanging low on your thighs. Mutually, it was decided that you would keep it, appropriating it to meet your needs: a sweater, a pillow, a comfort blanket, a cloth for your tears of frustration. It became him, amorphous and black and, therefore, able to be whatever you decided it could be.

And now, when you needed it, him, most, it was not here.

It’s not that your birthday is bad - far from it, it’s just that, without Chanyeol to turn every moment into something exciting, the moments in your day simply become pleasant somethings. Generic, pleasing things that fade without truly leaving a mark or imprint upon your soul.

Hugs from your family, cards from friends, the notion that tonight you will be taken to dinner and allowed to order all your favourites, these feel warm and sweet, like honey, delicate and wonderful. But, without Chanyeol’s touch or gregarious laugh, they fade almost instantly into your long term memory.

Without Chanyeol, you imagine a future version of yourself will look back on this with a furrowed brow and your tongue tucked behind your teeth, concentrating almost too hard to bring the memory back to life. In the end, all you will be left with is a summation of happiness, nice thoughts and dull colours. The notion that, I cannot remember anything terrible, so therefore everything was fine.

In the morning, you’d woken to a series of texts each more enthusiastic than the last.

Yeollie[4:12 AM]: ITS YOUR BRITHDAY Yeollie[4:13 AM] - Message sent with Confetti: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeollie[4:13 AM]: HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY Yeollie[4:15 AM]: i missed midnight Yeollie[4:15 AM]: im the worst boyfriend Yeollie[4:16 AM]: forgive me? Yeollie[4:17 AM]: i want you to wake up knowing i love you Yeollie[4:18 AM]: youre annoying but youre still perfect Yeollie[4:18 AM]: reading week was only last month but i already miss you Yeollie[4:19 AM]: i miss your knees and how they bump me in bed Yeollie[4:20 AM]: and how your showers take too long Yeollie[4:21 AM]: and how soft you are Yeollie[4:22 AM]: its your birthday and i love you Yeollie[4:23 AM]: ill call later today Yeollie[4:24 AM]: ill go back to sleep now Yeollie[4:25 AM]: MAYBE WE CAN MEET IN DREAMS!!!!!!

Waking to these felt like a paradox. At one moment, you wooned into your pillow, hands still stiff from sleep and unable to type a reply. Laughter spilled from your chest and into your pillow, eyes squeezed tightly shut as your smile started to border on painful. Every text was read in his voice, loud and demanding your full attention, rich and luxurious, and settling over your skin like feathers. Each word was chosen carefully for you, delivered with its full intent and said because they came naturally, because they were the only words he could fathom alongside you.

But hearing them in his voice meant accepting the cold understanding he was not there, imagination bringing forth the noise and the warmth of him against your skin. With your eyes closed, it was his voice in your ear as he spoke and his arm draped over your waist to hold you to his chest. You heard and felt these things with cruel tangibility while you basked the blackness of your mind, and opening them meant separating yourself from his adoring touch.

And so because your morning had started with him, because your birthday made little sense without him here to share it, you craved the fantasy of the hoodie, the easy way it made you believe he was near. Tearing through your room, it soon became apparent it was missing, neither in your closet nor in your laundry. And as you continued to search, you realized you hadn’t seen it in far too long.

With a final glance around your room, undesired clothing strewn across your bed and chair and floor, you sigh at the mess and pull out your phone, defeated.

Y/N[12:31 PM]: yeol wheres my hoodie? Y/N[12:31 PM]: :( :( :( Yeollie[12:36 PM]: which one? Y/N[12:37 PM]: the black one Yeollie[12:38 PM]: you have a lot of black ones tbf Y/N[12:39 PM]: you know which one i mean!!!! Yeollie[12:40 PM]: when was the last time you saw it Y/N[12:41 PM]: last time you were on break Yeollie[12:42 PM]: a month ago? Yeollie[12:42 PM]: how would i know where it is now?? Y/N[12:44 PM]: IDK! Y/N[12:45 PM]: maybe you took it Y/N[12:46 PM]: did you take it? Y/N[12:46 PM]: istg if you took it Yeollie[12:48 PM]: is it taking it if it was originally mine Y/N[12:48 PM]: chanyeol. Yeollie sent a Photo Y/N[12:49 PM]: CHANYEOL Yeollie[12:50 PM]: WHAT Y/N[12:51 PM]: T____________T Yeollie[12:52 PM]: it smelled like you! Y/N[12:52 PM]: THAT DOESNT MEANT YOU CAN TAKE IT Yeollie[12:52 PM]: ITS THE BEST PILLOW I OWN Y/N[12:53 PM]: YEAH BUT Y/N[12:53 PM]: LITERALLY Y/N[12:54 PM]: SAME Yeollie[12:55 PM]: it smells like your shampoo Yeollie[12:56 PM]: like youre with me just after a shower Y/N[12:57 PM]: ok but Y/N[12:57 PM]: now i have nothing to wear today Yeollie[12:58 PM]: you have…. Yeollie[12:58 PM]: clothes Y/N[12:59 PM]: omfg Y/N[12:59 PM]: im so mad Yeollie[1:01 PM]: don't be mad Yeollie[1:03 PM]: i love you so much Y/N[1:04 PM]: youre holding my soul hostage Yeollie[1:05 PM]: id rather hold your heart Y/N[1:05 PM]: FUCK RIGHT OFF LMAO Y/N[1:06 PM]: stop being cute Yeollie[1:07 PM]: no Yeollie[1:07 PM]: go outside Y/N[1:08 PM]: why Yeollie[1:09 PM]: just do it Y/N[1:09 PM]: what did you do

Excitement makes your fingers start to tremble; confusion molds your brow into something hard and quizzical. It takes a mighty effort, controlling your synapses and keeping your heartbeat steady. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t run through your mind a speed that takes a second to process their motions, body hesitant and apprehensive. Part of you feels as though you’ve swallowed your tongue, mouth suddenly dry and muscles turned to stone, wary of disappointment.

While it is not entirely out of the realm of possibility he would drive the many hours to see you, it’s also wholly like him to orchestrate something extravagant even when he is not here to experience it with you. And while you will be grateful for whatever lies in your driveway, the lack of his physical presence will hurt deep and down into the wetness of your blood. 

So you brace yourself, close your eyes and wait for the shallow inhales of your lungs to become deep and languid.

As if pressing you for action, your phone buzzes in your palm.

Yeollie[1:14 PM]: stop overthinking and go outside

A great tidal wave of emotion consumes you, tears welling in your eyes as you move through your house and out to your drive.

Of course he would. Of course he would.

He runs to you the moment you throw the door open, long limbs stumbling and struggling to carry his tall gait. Chanyeol is a large blur of white teeth and pink ears, hair tucked beneath a black snapback.

It happens quickly, the arms around your waist and the scent of him consuming you. Beneath your ear, his heart thunders, excited and fraught with emotion - much like yours. Around you he is firm, grip on you tight and breath cascading into your hair, warming you and soothing you, both acting as though the height difference does not exist.

‘Happy birthday,’ he murmurs as his fingers press into your back, steadying himself as much as you. ‘You really thought I’d miss this?’

The wetness on your cheeks is hot, tears gently seeping into your pores without your permission. This is not like you. You are not one for emotional displays, but the relief you feel reaches down to your toes. Bewildered, it takes you a moment to answer, mind caught in a fog of realizing that love and loving are two different things; that you love your family, but loving Chanyeol means days are only special because he is there to make them so.

‘How the hell would I have known?’ you laugh, pressing your nose into his sternum. Your skin recognizes the fabric and, on instinct, you cling to him a little tighter.

Chanyeol scoffs in mock offense. ‘Yee of little faith.’

‘You were here last month. It’s such a long drive.’ On instinct, you take a step back to pull away to peer up at him, wanting to search his face and find all the pieces of joy he keeps tucked into his cheek bones. But he holds you too him, unyielding and unwilling to let you depart from him so soon.

‘You’re more important than the gas,’ he reasons, softly.

‘The gas is expensive.’

‘And you aren’t,’ he teases quickly, and you can hear his smile. Against your best wishes, you smile with him.

‘Ass,’ you laugh. ‘When did you take that picture?’

He laughs, deep and rich, the sound vibrating down in your bones. ‘A few weeks ago. Waited for you to wonder where it went but you never asked.’

Comfortable silence settles between you, time slipping by in unmeasured moments. Chanyeol’s touch warms your skin, raises goosebumps of affect and only when he shivers slightly to realize the air has taken on a chill.

‘We should go inside,’ you sight.

Against the crown of your head, he nods.

‘I brought the hoodie home,’ he says, sounding content.

‘That’s okay,’ you whisper, raising onto your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. ‘You can keep it for now.’

At this, he pulls back to regard you with surprise.

‘For now,’ you smile, ‘I just want you.’

[hazellvesque]

Some Kind Of Miracle

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: G 

Pairing: Adrien/Marinette

Summary: If Marinette had her way, she would have had nothing to do with Alya's latest celebrity crush. So how did she get roped into stalking him around Los Angeles? When fashion icon Adrien Agreste quite literally crashes into Marinette's life, they have no choice but to put up with one another or risk ruining both of their potential careers forever.

An AU based on the iconic Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 - Unstoppable

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On the morning of July 7th, a train wreck had hit Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s bedroom, leaving behind mountains of tank tops and shorts in its path.

Marinette herself was too busy frantically trying to tear the rest of the house apart to notice the path of fabric destruction she was leaving behind her. The storm had just barely avoided devastating the living room, and luckily, had mostly contained itself to the four pink walls upstairs. Still, the occasional spool of thread or pin had found its way down the stairs during the girl’s frantic search.

“Maman!” she yelled in no particular direction. “Have you seen my green halter top?”

“You already packed it,” Sabine’s voice floated up the stairs.

Sure enough, after rifling through the contents of her third suitcase, Marinette found the shirt she’d been meticulously working on for the past week buried under dozens of other various articles. “Thank you!” she called out. “Now where’s my sunhat…”

It felt like she had been packing for an eternity, and yet, she still didn’t have enough clothes. She didn’t even want to think about how she was going to manage to properly accessorize with what little items she was allowed to bring.

“I’m sure you’ve packed enough,” Alya said, lounging upside down on Marinette’s bed, clearly more interested in whatever was on her phone than her friend’s current fashion crisis. “It’s only two weeks, you don’t need to bring your whole closet.”

“But the weather is so different there. I’ll have to wear shorts practically every day.” She gasped and dramatically slapped her hands to her face. “What if it rains? I didn’t pack my umbrella!”

Where even was her umbrella? Come to think of it, did she even own one?

Alya flipped herself right side up and crossed the room, placing two calming hands on her friend’s shoulders. “We’ll buy one at the airport if we need it,” she laughed. “Honestly, Marinette, everything’s going to be fine!”

Marinette took four deep breaths, trying her best to come to her senses. Her eyes widened once again as another piece fell into place in her mind. “My sketchbook! I can’t believe I almost forgot it!”

“Well, okay, we probably can’t buy that at the airport,” Alya admitted.

Luckily, she didn’t need a search team to find the book. It sat just where she had left it last, on the edge of her desk next to the computer mouse.

The book looked much less important than it actually was – a simple blue-covered notebook with mostly blank pages. Marinette had taken her time writing ‘Los Angeles, California’ in large, curly script at the top of the first page. This would be the start of a new era of Dupain-Cheng designs.

“I don’t even know where I’d get one there,” said Marinette. “The idea of learning to use American money is scary enough, but the stores there look absolutely massive, I wouldn’t know where to start!”

Alya resumed her position on Marinette’s bed, scrolling on her phone as Marinette tucked her sketchbook and a few last minute smaller items into her carry-on bag. “I still can’t believe you’re going to Los Angeles and you’re going to be drawing the whole time,” Alya said.

Drawing? No, Marinette had every intent on designing a masterpiece while on this trip, and no peer pressure from Alya was going to stop her.

“Well you’re just going to be stalking celebrities the whole time. There is more to life than pretty boys, Alya,” Marinette teased. She ducked to dodge the pillow that Alya flung at her head. “What are you so concentrated on anyway?”

“I’m looking for some very important information,” Alya said vaguely.

“Right…” said Marinette. “Besides, Hollywood fashion is so different from what we see here. I can’t risk seeing something that inspires me and not being able to sketch it out. I have a feeling this-“ she tapped on the pocket where her book was for extra emphasis, “-is going to be one of my greatest fashion breakthroughs yet!”

“Mm-hmm” Alya muttered. “So long as you don’t drop it in the ocean.”

The ocean. Hundreds and hundreds of miles of water between here and their final destination. Marinette gulped, trying not to think about it too hard. The flight would be over before she knew it. She could even get a head start on her designs in the airport. After all, people from all over the place would be making their way through the Charles de Gaulle. There would be plenty of inspiration to draw from as soon as they stepped out of the car. Marinette smiled at the thought, her mind already running wild with new ideas.

“Girls!” Marlena Césaire, Alya’s mom, called up the stairs. “Are you ready to go?”

Alya and Marinette exchanged equally stupidly big grins. “Coming!” they shouted in unison, playfully shoving each other down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Sabine Cheng and Marlena Césaire had used their combined culinary skills to spend the entire morning making the girls snacks for their trip. The counters were covered in various meats, cheeses, and fruits all packed in boxes and bags for the ride. Not to mention the baked goods that were practically overflowing in their containers.

“This all looks wonderful,” Alya politely hugged her mom before voraciously digging into the closest bag of snacks with her free hand, her other still gripping her phone for dear life. “Those Hollywood socialite-types are going to love this stuff!”

Sabine nodded. “This is such a wonderful opportunity, Marlena! I still can’t believe someone so far away requested your food for their party.”

“And offered a huge amount of money and a free trip for it,” Alya mumbled through her cookie, raising an eyebrow at Marinette who stifled her giggles behind her hand.

“This is all wonderful, Mme. Césaire!” Marinette said politely. “And thank you again for bringing me along, I honestly don’t know how to repay you.”

“Just be sure to let your mom know all about the culinary scene in America. You’re her valued reporter for this trip, Marinette!” Marlena said. Sabine winked at Marinette behind Mrs. Césaire’s back.

Marinette smiled. “Alya’s your star reporter but I’ll try my best!”

Marinette knew that paying attention to the ins and outs of the food business didn’t really need to be a priority. Her parents had sat her down a few days ago and told her to just enjoy her time on the trip. Sabine and Tom liked their small hometown bakery the way it was, and they weren’t really looking to branch out the way Alya’s mother was. Regardless, it was still a good excuse to use as to why the Dupain-Chengs were allowing their teenage daughter to leave the country for two weeks, and way Marlena was so enthusiastic to have Marinette come along.

Alya gasped sharply at her phone. “Look!” she cried.

Marinette, Sabine, and Marlena all snapped their eyes to Alya, startled.

“Isn’t he gorgeous,” she sighed, pushing her phone too close to Marinette’s face for comfort. Marinette had to cross her eyes to make out the image of the boy on the screen, who had a look on his face and a gleam in his eye like he was admiring something marvelous. Though, Marinette thought, judging by the way the photo was obviously taken in a studio, he was most likely just blinding himself with the harsh lights.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to his outfit, which consisted of a blue flannel top – what was it with Americans and flannel? – and all too tight jeans that made a blush rise to Marinette’s cheeks with just a glance.

She pushed the phone away and blinked a few times, readjusting her vision. “Is he that actor you’re so obsessed with?”

The girls’ mothers laughed, tuning their attention back to their own conversation and packing the last of their food.

“Why yes,” Alya announced dramatically. “This is the actor, model, singer, beautiful human being extraordinaire Adrien Agreste, and this new photo shoot just got released! We are among the first in the world to be blessed with these images. Isn’t he amazing?”

“Wonderful,” Marinette deadpanned.

Alya lowered her voice. “We have to see him. We’ll be in his hometown, it’s practically fate! And don’t tell me you’re going to be busy, we’ll have so much time in-between mom’s events that we have to go out and explore! I know all of his favorite spots, we’re bound to run into him at one of them!”

Marinette smiled to herself, allowing her friend to get lost in her silly daydreams. Of course Marinette herself was known to be a bit obsessive over some things (i.e. the great packing debacle of ten minutes ago), but Alya had her days too. Especially when it came to her little celebrity crush. There was no denying the boy was attractive, but what made him different from any other celebrity on television nowadays?

“He’s known to hang out in a club that’s not too far away from some of my mom’s catering jobs she’s doing this week,” Alya continued to ramble. “We could totally run into on the dance floor! And then we’ll lock eyes across the room and he’ll ask me to join him for a slow song. Then he’ll ask my name and recognize me from my blog and fall head over heels for my amazing journalism skills and-“

“Alya!” Marinette had to resist laughing. “You don’t even know this boy, why do you think he’s going to be so wonderful?”

“I do know Adrien. He’s the same age as us, he’s a Scorpio, he loves chocolate chip cookies, and he reads my blog every day. He has to,” she said defensively. “It has thousands of hits, one of them has to be him.”

Marinette arched an eyebrow at her friend. “Wow, a sixteen year old Scorpio who likes food and might be able to read. Amazing.”

A mischievous look crossed Alya’s face. “You might be interested to know something else. His dad’s a fashion designer,” she sing-songed.

Marinette froze. The cogs in her head started turning ever so slowly. Suddenly this whole trip was looking to become a lot more interesting. “Let’s get there first, then we’ll figure out how to stalk this Adrien boy, alright?”

Alya gave Marinette a two-fingered salute. “Ay, captain!” Success!

“Are you girls all set?” Sabine asked, to which both Marinette and Alya nodded.

It was time.

Marinette nearly bounded over the kitchen counter give her mother a long hug goodbye before trudging up to her room and returning with her three bags, making sure to grab extra snacks before descending the next flight of stairs. She gave her father a long hug and kiss on the cheek as well after he finished loading the Césaire’s car with all of the girls’ belongings.

She slung her carry-on bag over her shoulder, Alya plugged in her phone’s car charger, and just like that, they were off to the airport.

Alya stayed attached to her phone staring at pictures of the model practically the entire way there, silently swooning. There had nearly been a fight at the security gate when she was required to put the phone away before stepping through the metal detectors.

Even after boarding the plane, Alya’s eyes stayed glued to the screen until the pilot announced that all electronics had to be turned off. She made a show of dramatically pouting before powering her cellphone down and turning over to take a nap. “Makes the time go faster,” she said.

Honestly, Marinette just could not understand the obsession. Maybe he was some swoon-worthy heartthrob to others, but Marinette had barely even heard of him aside from Alya’s pining. He was huge in America, but in Paris, his name was practically unknown.

His did have a decent body type, though. And pretty aesthetically pleasing features – the green eyes, blonde hair combo was rare, and Marinette couldn’t help but wonder how much fun it would be to dress someone like that in pops of color that would draw attention from a crowd. Plus, starting some designs now would be a welcome distraction from her flight nerves.

Huh. Look at that. They hadn’t even left France yet, and already, Marinette had found a new source of inspiration.

As they taxied down the runway, Marinette removed her sketchbook from her bag and flipped open to the first page. Just underneath the title she’d written earlier, she hastily scribbled two words: Adrien Agreste.

In just a little over twelve hours, she and Alya would be in Los Angeles, California for the trip of a lifetime.

This was going to be fun.

[webcricket]

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam Winchester

Word Count: 1503

A/N: Drabble request by @charlotteofcamelot – “Could I maybe request a super short drabble of Cas interacting – and I don’t mean sexually – with an overweight character that has body image issues, please?” Reader has serious self-doubts about their body. Enter Castiel stage left with the fluff. I have a theory that’s why he wears the trench coat all the time – extra pockets to carry more fluff. (P.S. You specified “super short” length, but my muse is not so great at following instructions. I had to give up editing it because more words kept getting added. Oops!)

This is pointless! I have nothing to wear! Your frustration grew more and more unbearable with each article of clothing hastily pulled from the closet and tugged over your round shoulders or yanked up too generous thighs and ultimately yielding the same unsatisfactory reflection in the mirror. Ten minutes. We’re leaving in ten minutes. You’d have settled for looking just okay at this point. You weren’t out to win any beauty pageants tonight. Far from it – only going out for cheap drinks and live music in a hole-in-the-wall bar with shitty lighting. But nothing fit right. Nothing made you feel good enough to go out with the Winchester brothers. Not with Dean and his gorgeous green eyes and charismatic personality and boy-next-door bod who managed to make flannel and layers simultaneously approachable and sexy. And certainly not with Sam and his devastating combination of a swoon-worthy sculpted muscular build and bottomless intellect for deep conversation – not to mention better hair than you on your best days. Ten minutes, ten hours, it doesn’t matter. I look terrible! Worked into a tizzy, you chucked your favorite oversized sweater at the mirror, knocking it from the dresser in a cacophony of shattered glass, and flopped defeated onto your bed. I’ll just stay in tonight. It’s not worth it.

“Y/N,” a sharp knock echoed on your door, Sam’s warm voice sounding from the other side, “you alright? I heard a noise.”

“Dropped something is all!” you half-shouted, scrambling to your feet. Making your way to the door, careful to avoid the glinting shards of reflective glass littering the floor, you quickly threw on a robe and cracked the door ever so slightly to assure Sam you were fine.

“You’re not coming out with us?” he inquired, astutely noting your casual state of undress.

“I’m actually not feeling well,” you lied, the well-worn excuse spilling from your pouting lips without a second thought, “you guys have a good time though.” Lying was easier than admitting the truth – you hated the way your clothes looked because no matter how flattering they might be to your figure, none of them could hide the fact that in your mind you were overweight. You knew every lump and bump and rolling imperfection hidden beneath the thin fabric, and nights like this the knowledge was so overwhelming it paralyzed your ability to participate in life.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked quietly, brow knitting in worry. “You need anything? I could stay back, order some pizza or something. That new series we wanted to watch is up on Netflix.”

Despite the genuine concern in his timbre, you were so far into the pit of self-disillusionment that you instantly rejected his offer of company, imagining he sounded wholly unconvinced of your feigned malady. He feels sorry for me, dammit. Sympathy offer to hang out, wonderful. “Nah, don’t let me hold you back. Got another bad headache. Already took Aspirin, just gonna sleep it off,” you winced and rubbed your temple for effect. You hated yourself even more for being dishonest with a friend.

“Feel better then,” Sam frowned, politely nodding goodnight, lanky legs swiftly carrying him down the hall to disappear around the corner.

And you did feel better – the receding thud of footsteps unburdening you of social commitment, freeing you to wallow in your insecurity without an audience for the night…or so you thought.

Comfy pajamas donned, freshly popped bowl of popcorn in hand, bunker to yourself, you made your way from the kitchen to your bedroom, ready to snuggle under the covers and get lost in a favorite movie – to be swept up in another universe, far away from the body image issues that plagued you. Rounding the hall corner, you stopped up short at the threshold of your door, unexpectedly catching sight of a familiar shock of tousled dark hair atop a tan trench coat.

Castiel stood in the middle of your room, blue eyes concentrating with indiscernible intent upon the various piles of discarded clothing scattered across the floor and dresser you had yet to remand to the closet. He held aloft a broken sliver of the mirror you must have overlooked when sweeping up, turning the shining piece over and over gingerly in his long fingers. The near inaudible shuffle of your socked feet drew his attention, striking blue eyes resolving their focus upon you as he spoke, “Y/N, Sam said you were unwell. I came to see if I could be of assistance.” Gesturing wide at the tornadic mess of clothing, head inclining askance, he questioned, “What happened in here? Are you okay?”

Your eyes stung with the pressing threat of tears. Telling a little white lie to Sam to persuade him to leave you alone was one thing – lying to the angel wasn’t an option. He would see through your deception, however innocent, immediately. And that would mean more questions. “I’m fine, it’s nothing. My usual clumsiness. You know me,” you tried to impart a chipper quality to your voice, avoiding directly meeting his inquiring gaze, brushing past him toward the safety of your bed.

He did know you, and he knew you were anything but clumsy. By virtue of the multitude of experiences weathered during his friendship with you and the Winchesters, he also knew humans could hurt in ways not obvious on the surface, and that they didn’t always know how to ask for help. Unconvinced by your explanation, insistent on providing whatever aid he was able, he gently caught your arm as you flew past, “Y/N, you know I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“I know,” you sniffled, trying to shake free of his light grasp. You couldn’t talk to him, not about this. The way you saw yourself, all your flaws bursting at the proverbial seams, wasn’t something he could fix with the tingling caress of his grace like some bloody wound or fractured bone. No, this literal weight, this encumbrance upon your very being, was something you condemned yourself to suffer alone. You wouldn’t understand. The thought screamed to be liberated as you fought to suppress it. How could you? Look at you, the very definition of angelic.

He released you, features fretfully falling as he observed you sink into the bed.

You felt his lingering gaze, endeavoring to ignore his continued presence as you fluffed the pillows behind your back and idly arranged the comforter over your legs.

He remained standing there in the middle of the chaos, awkwardly silent, expressly because you hadn’t outright refused his offer to talk. He would stand there patiently until the end of time if that’s how long it took you to either share what troubled you or ask him to leave.

“Cas?” you finally submitted to the quiet persistence of his demeanor, peering up to find his blue eyes fixed, gentle and undemanding, upon your countenance.

He listened, waiting for you to summon the fortitude to speak he knew you possessed.

“Do you ever hate yourself?” you unceremoniously spit out the crux of your problem, however ineloquent in its presentation. You searched his face for any judgement, discovering instead a sad shared empathy gloomily clouding the edges of his shining eyes.

Breaking off his steady gaze, he walked to the edge of your bed, motioning to the open space at your side, “May I?”

You nodded ascent, scooting over a bit further and smoothing the comforter so he could sit.

“Hate is a strong word,” he reclined against the headboard beside you, still not looking at you, admitting, “but I do frequently doubt my own worth.”

“You do?” you couldn’t mask your shock, “But why? You’re practically perfect – self-less, kind, intelligent, brave…handsome.” You blushed at acknowledging the last part aloud.

“That’s nice of you to say, but in truth I am broken, burdened by failure, perpetually disappointing those I love while trying to do the right thing, and trapped between Heaven and Earth and not truly belonging anywhere,” he disparaged, pausing before going on to glance over at you, bearing intensely earnest, “I could ask you the same thing, Y/N. What do you possibly have to hate about yourself? You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve had the privilege to know in the entire span of my existence.”

“I-I am?” you stammered, wetness blearing your vision and brimming over to streak your cheeks.

He wrapped an arm firmly around your shoulders, drawing you to his chest in a tender hug, confirming, “You are. And more important than you seem to know.”

You let yourself relax into his embrace – daring to believe, if only for a little while, that he might be right. Maybe you were too hard on yourself.

And Castiel likewise surrendered to the moment – for if this human, flawless in his summation, and whom he cared for so profoundly experienced the same crippling pain of self-doubt he did, then perhaps there existed some small hope he wasn’t as damaged and alone in this world as he led himself to believe.

[survivingthejungle]

Never Fade Away, part v

BEFORE WE BEGIN: some thoughts.

-im really stressing out bc we’re scheduling classes fr next year and i decided to take ap spanish a year earlier than i was planning n now i CANT TAKE ART MY FAVORITE CLASS WITH MY FAVORITE TEACHER AND FAVORITE ENVIRONMENT n i’ve got a feeling i’m going to fail it but its oaky i guess u kno wat ever

-my hair is hella soft and shiny rn its RL noice thx u morrocan argan oil conditioner

-my writing is getting shittier and shittier i apologize u guys deserve better. hOWever if you’ve got something in mind for me to write hit me up bc im on a block rn with this other request i’ve had for a while now and i need to get dat creativity flowin

-a terrible boy who aint worth my time is once again ruining my life, please send help i cant keep forgiving him and being the one who ends up apologizing when ive done nothing wrong ugh fuck me

-enjoy por favor

It turned out that the event that Jerome had been so looking forward to was a charity ball for Gotham’s Children’s Hospital. About three hours before it was scheduled to begin, you were once again handed over to Barbara and Tabitha to be dolled up again. “Make sure she looks perfect,” Jerome instructed, “But not like she stands out or anything. Can’t have those GCPD bozos trying to take her away from me.” The two women voiced their understanding and kicked him out of the room, but not before he winked at you as you sat on the other side. You were sitting in the same spot you had been in the first time the two women had used you as a life-sized barbie doll. Once they got started, the entire event of getting you ready for the gala went by in a flash. Barbara did your makeup again, however this time it was much less natural-looking. Your eyeshadow was a dark pink to light pink fade, and your cheekbones were lightly contoured. Tabitha was doing your hair again as well, instead this time she kept your hair down; from what you could see in the mirror she was going for a wavy style. The dress hanging on the closet door across the room was crushed pink velvet with spaghetti straps, straight, and ball gown length. Once your face and hair was to their liking, they had you put the dress on behind a divider.

“Hang on,” Barbara said, rummaging through a drawer on the other side of the divider. She handed you something over the top; when you took it you saw it was a black choker. “Wear that. I’ll get ginger in here so we can go.”

Seconds later, she reentered the room with Jerome, whose eyes were being covered by Barbara’s hand. You’d already stepped out from the divider. She let her hand fall and his eyes landed immediately on you. “Wow,” he said in a low voice, “You look absolutely stunning, babygirl. Spectacular.“

“Thank you,” you whispered. He walked over to you, taking your hands in his. He was considerably taller than you, even despite the fact that Barbara and Tabitha had given you a pair of strappy, matte, black heels.

“We can have so much fun when we get back.” He shot his signature evil grin at you, before leading you out the door. ‘Absolutely not,’ you thought to yourself. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.’ The car ride to the event was relatively civil. You didn’t talk, which wasn’t unusual, and as much as you pushed yourself into the car door to keep distance, Jerome still managed to keep a hand on your leg the whole time. You couldn’t let it distract you, however. You were too busy formulating an escape plan in your head. ‘How will I get away from them all? Do I go straight to the police right after, do I lay low for a while instead?’

The events of the night must’ve been entertaining, you were sure, but you were too busy looking around every two seconds in search of an escape route. While Jerome and Barbera were preparing their act backstage, you were kept by Tabitha’s side the whole time. The only thing keeping you from running at every chance was the expertly hidden pocket knife she kept at your side all night. You kept silently praying someone in the crowd would recognize you and say something, but then, what would that’ve meant for the knife at your side? Escaping wasn’t going to be easy, but you would be damned if you knew you had let the opportunity for freedom pass because of a piece of metal with a point. Before the show started, Tabitha had dragged you along with her to a dark corner in an unoccupied hallway. She stood facing you and moved the pocketknife away. “Listen,” she started, “I don’t want to have to keep you locked up after tonight. Theo has something planned tonight, and I want to help you get away when it’s all over.”

Your jaw just about dropped to the floor. You were dumbstruck! “I- I don’t understand…” you stammered.

“Look, just- just hear me out.” You nodded. “If I let you escape, you have to promise you won’t tell the cops about the rest of us. Just tell them that when Jerome had you, he was alone. No accomplices. No roommates. None of us. Just him. The police tells the news what you told them, and you’ll be fine. Theo won’t try to come after you if he thinks you got him off the hook. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’re a good kid, (y/n). You deserve to move past all this. You didn’t deserve any of it. So can I trust you not to run your mouth?”

“Of course. Thank you, Tabitha.” You meant it. You had no hard feelings towards her, or even Barbara for that matter. They were nice to you the whole time, what’s the difference if they were both a little whack? They weren’t the ones who kidnapped you or held you hostage. Tabitha was literally helping you escape. You would always be grateful for that.

She smiled. “I still have to keep this on you though,” she motioned to the knife. “For the sake of convincing Theo I’m not planning anything.” You could understand that. Once you reached your table. You did your best to hide your face from the rest of the crowd. You didn’t want someone spotting you now and ruining your whole plan, that would just end badly.

The events of the night flew by, up until when Jerome highjacked the magician’s bit and started killing people. Some in the crowd had escaped, but the majority of them, like you, were not as fortunate. Then, of course, there were the bits where GCPD detective, Jim Gordon, tried to intervene (if only for a minute or so), and when Jerome tried to kill Bruce Wayne, but none of that was as shocking as what happened next.

Theo Galavan, his mentor and leader, betrayed his trust and murdered him on the stage. You couldn’t help but react a bit shocked- despite what he had put you through, a stab to the throat seemed to be a very unleasant way to go. As soon as the knife was lodged in his neck and Barbara had escaped, everyone at the gala immediately fled, seemingly afraid that something worse was coming if they stayed there any longer. Tabitha did her best to guide you away from Theo’s view, pushing you into the crowd so you could blend in. You turned around and your sight of her was lost; maybe in order to help you gain some escape time against her brother.

When the cool, refreshing night air hit your face, you cried. You immediately started searching for the police when a strong hand came down on your shoulder. Your head snapped around to find the source, and you found yourself in front of a man wearing a GCPD badge. “Oh my God. (y/n) (y/ln)?” The man asked you.

As much as you had been crying before, you were full out sobbing now. “Yes,” you choked out, nodding your head. You weren’t sure how to respond to the situation at hand. Your captor was dead, you were free, standing next to one of the only people who had any control over the madness of that God-forsaken city, and you were alive. You barely knew what to say next, so you said the first thing you thought of. “I wanna go home,” you cried.

The ride back to the GCPD precinct was quiet, but you didn’t mind. The detective, who actually ended up being the infamous Jim Gordon, had given you a blanket before putting you in the car and calling your family to let them know that you’d been found, and you were alive and unharmed. Before being allowed to go back home, you had to be taken in to give an official statement. When you arrived, you had been given a change of clothes- a t-shirt and some sweatpants- and a big mug of coffee, your blanket still hanging around your shoulders. You were sat down on the other side of Gordon’s desk when the official recording started. “Just say what happened.”

“Um, well Jerome, he- I was walking home from school on the day that I was taken and he kidnapped me then- it was just him, I never saw anyone else. And he kept me locked up-he never did anything to me, just talked, but I think he must’ve had an obsession.”

Gordon interrupted. “Why do you say that?”

“He- he always kept talking about how he thought I was ‘his’ like he- like he owned me, or something… he liked pet names a lot. And then tonight, he brought me to the gala, he said he wanted to ‘show me off’, or something dumb like that. The only reason I didn’t run during was because he said if I tried anything, he’d kill my family, that he had them tied up somewhere. So I stayed where I was until that man killed him. Then I ran.”

He switched off the tape recorder. “Thanks for cooperating. Your family is on their way.” He stood up to go finish his work. “And, (y/n)-” he stopped to face you. “I’m really sorry about what happened to you. You seem like a good kid. You didn’t deserve any of that. I'll have one of the guys escort you and your family home. And-... I'd recommend group therapy... or something like that. To help you cope.”

“Thank you. For everything. And... I'm sure my parents will be on board with that. ”

The reunion with your family was full of tears and hugs. Your parents had bags under their eyes, they looked like that hadn’t slept in weeks. You embraced each other in the steps of the precinct, falling to your knees. You couldn't tell how long you all had been like that, but eventually you were led back to your home by one of the officers. The night was indescribably emotional and full of tears.

Your story was on the news for a week or so, and afterwards, it faded into the background. The only reason it was such a popular story was because of the fact that Jerome was involved. There were hundreds of kidnappings every week in Gotham, and most of them went unnoticed by the media. But they had a field day with you. Apparently during his raid of the GCPD, he mentioned how he was the one who had taken you, and that's why the police were in such a hurry to find you.

Your parents signed you into a hospital 3 weeks later. You had been mostly back to normal since you had been recovered, so they weren't expecting your sudden mental breakdown at all. The full weight of your trauma hadn't hit until then, and then suddenly it came crashing all at once. It started with you having random outbursts or crying here and there, but then your handle over the situation deteriorated. Next, you stopped eating. You couldn't risk it without being sick. Then, you stopped leaving your room. This went on for a few weeks until one day, you passed out on the stairs.

You had never really been a depressed kid before, so this was alarming to your family. Your time spent in theater had molded you into an extroverted, generally happy, and energetic person. When the light disappeared from your eyes and smile and were replaced by hollow, sunken cheeks and dark circles around your eyes, you all knew something was wrong. The doctors diagnosed PTSD and recommended 2 weeks in the hospital for your recovery.

You had lots of visitors, and that made you happy, but you could no longer express that happiness. You were put on mild medication, which helped, and you started feeling better as time went by. Most of your visitors were friends and family, but sometimes other people would come. Most of the time, they were Jerome fanatics. There must've been a cult of them or something, because every time it was a different person or group of people. They idolized him, and, by association, you. They saw Jerome as a messiah and you as his 'chosen one'. They always tried to get you to tell them about him, and at first you did.

"Well, he's... extravagant, for sure," you'd say. "He never hurt me, necessarily, but I mean, he killed people. He was a bad dude. I'm glad he's gone." This, of course, upset them. They were convinced he was just a rebel against authority and believed he could do no wrong, which is why you requested they stop being allowed to visit. This didn't mean the cult stopped keeping tabs on you, however. It just meant they had to keep their distance in order to keep you in their plans to resurrect Jerome and reunite him with you.

-THat was a shit cut off point i know and i'm sorry, im just tired and this took a long time

-j man will be back in the next installment of this series so don't worry ya lil brains

-PLEASE REQUEST STFF IM SO BORED AND NEVER BUSY AT ALL AND I NEED TO START BEING CREATIVE AND WRITING AGAIN

-my art class sketchbook is looking killer im so proud of her she's beautiful and if u want to see any of the works in here let me know i want to share ehr with you all

-my depression has been pretty subsided lately and that makes me super happy!! i mean like i still never do shit anyways but like at least im starting to be less sad about it i guess

WELL THERE U HAVE IT THATS AL L FOR TONIGHT FRIENDS

[keepingupwiththejugheadjone-blog]

Figure in the Night Part Two

Part One Jughead x Reader The morning after the storm came all too quickly. Waking up knowing that a suspicious boy was staying on your property without your parents knowledge was nerve wracking to say the least. You  didn’t think Jughead was a threat to your life anymore, but you also didn’t trust him completely, not to mention that you barely knew anything about him. Getting out of bed you changed out of your pajamas and threw on jeans and a sweater to brave the morning ahead of me. As quietly as possible, you made your way down the staircase to see Jughead, for the second time in 24 hours. If your parents had known that you were sneaking out to see a boy that was literally living in your backyard, they would kill you; so of course the fuzzy heel of your sock slipped on the slick wooden stair, causing you to fall flat on your back midway down the staircase. Cursing to yourself, you waited a minute to see if you had awakened your parents, but luckily, no sound or stirrings came. You looked at your house shoes from last night, soggy and caked with mud, and groaned. After some searching, you pulled your old rain boots out from the dark depths of the coat closet, and turned the handle to the door. ‘What if he isn’t even awake yet?’ You thought to yourself and decided that if there were to be a time to talk to him and get his clothes washed, it would be now. You crept through the grass, glancing up at the bedroom of your parents, and sighed of relief at the closed curtain.

Your hands and arms struggled to lift the weight of the storm cellar latch, but after what felt like an hour of trying, the heavy door finally gave in and opened. With every step you took down the stairs to the final barrier between yourself and the curious boy, your heart rate continued to rise. You began to calm yourself with the knowledge that he was Archie’s friend. Your dad worked with Archie’s before he got his current job, and so Archie had become a regular occurrence in your life for quite awhile. You worked up the nerve to knock on the thick metal door, hoping Jughead would hear you. Thankfully, he did. His disheveled hair peeked out from every angle of his wet beanie, but his outfit was eerily dry and familiar.

“I see you found the spare clothes in the closet.” You smirked, looking at the pajamas that were about two sizes too short and three sizes too wide for Jughead.

“Morning to you too. My clothes, they were really wet and it would’ve been really uncomfortable to sleep in them, but I’m sorry. I can take them off right now actually.” Jughead said, looking down at his frame and tugging at the sides of the top.

“God, okay. First of all, stop!” You exclaimed, before he could get his shirt over his head. “Second of all, wear whatever you can find in here. Although I will say that I’m not sure that those clothes are your size. Those pajama pants are practically pajama shorts.” You laughed, looking down at his bare shins.

“Yeah they are quite disproportionate, aren’t they?” He said, a smile forming on his face. “But it could be a look, you know? Jughead Jones, fashion extraordinaire. No one would see it coming.”

Both of you chuckled at his humor and you sat on the cellar bed. “How was your sleep?” You asked, swaying your feet off of the bed, back and forth.

“It was the best sleep I’ve had since the drive in closed. That’s where I was, where I was staying before it, you know, closed.” Jughead’s smile faded at the memory of the drive in closing weeks prior.

Your heart broke for him. You stood up and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder in support. “You’re a really strong person, you know that? I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. I’ve been so lucky with what I was born into, and I feel like such a complete ass for complaining about your family in chemistry.”

“You  didn’t know, Y/N. And your situation doesn’t discredit the fact that your parents are the embodiment of evil.” Jughead gave me another small smile and turned to his backpack, perched on the cellar’s dresser. He pulled his wet clothes from the handlebars of the dresser and stuffed them in his bag, which he then threw over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” You asked, confused and worried.

“Leaving?” He responded, looking equally as confused.

“Why?” You questioned, as though he had just presented an outrageous idea.

“Y/N don’t look at me like that. Look I’m beyond grateful that you let me stay here last night, but this can’t be a permanent situation. Sooner or later you would grow attached to the idea of having a ‘tortured boy’ living in your backyard, and I would get used to having my own place and a pretty girl talking to me everyday. And then we would get caught and it would ruin everything. So just, I need to go.” He explained as though what he had just said was a common understanding.

“You think I would get attached? To You ? Listen you are reasonably attractive, sure, but you are so moody, and I can’t handle that. And also, I don’t think of you as some ‘tortured boy’. I don’t have time to nurse a human being back to health, mentally or physically, so you can get that concept out of your mind Jones.” You declared, irritation creeping up through your bones, and into your body.

“There’s something else, too.” Jughead broke eye contact with you and began to knock his feet against one another.

“Something else what?” You shook your head, puzzled and still incredibly frustrated.

“I’ve been watching you for awhile. Since before I was homeless. Since chemistry actually.” His voice began to trail off but there was no mistaking his words.

“What do you mean? You’ve been stalking me? For two years?” Your breath picked up and the same fear you had felt the night before resurfaced.

“No! God Y/N, it’s not like that! I walked by your house one day while I was on my way to Archie’s and I saw you through the window arguing with your parents. At first I didn’t think much of it but then when I saw you run up to yourr room crying, something changed for me. You weren’t just a girl at school anymore. I know it’s stupid and that you could’ve been anyone but you reminded me of my family and I couldn’t look away. It was like a story to me. My story.” Jughead was pulling on the fringe of the pajama top as he spoke and you could tell that he was beginning to become extremely unsettled and exasperated.

“That’s why you asked about your family in chemistry. I thought you were just making small talk. I thought I was burdening you with my repetitive stories. But you wanted to hear them? Did that not hurt you emotionally?” Your shock was evident as you spoke, and it was obvious that Jughead noticed.

“It hurt me at first. I would walk by your house once a week on my way to Archie’s and after a couple of months, you stopped crying when you fought with your parents. I watched as you  stopped caring about pleasing your parents. I watched you become stronger and more broken at the same time. I watched you dance around in your room after a fight to release the adrenaline that it had caused in you . You gave me hope, Y/N and I...I” He struggled to get out the last words, and you sat back on the bed in shock at his disclosure.

“What Jughead? What else?” You spoke quietly.

“I fell in love with you .” Jughead’s voice trembled as he said the words, and he sat on the dresser, burying his face in his hands. “And I know. i know that you didn’t experience the same thing. I can tell that you don’t trust me at all. I know that I don’t know as much as I should about you , and that in many ways, I know too much. But I do. I love you . And I can’t stay here. It’s not your fault. I just ca-” You cut Jughead off before he could speak another word.

“Jughead.” You called his name and his face lifted up from beneath his hands. “You’re right, I don’t know much about you . And I didn’t watch you through a window for three years - and yes I still don’t completely get that. But Jughead I don’t trust anyone. It’s not about you . It’s about my family. And I liked you in chemistry. Maybe not the way you liked me, but I spilled stuff to you about my family that I’ve never told anyone.”

“Y/N, I appreciate that you’re trying to let me down gently, but it truly just makes it hurt worse. I really can’t be here anymore. I’m sorry.” A tear rolled down Jughead’s cheek as he got up to go. It was you grabbing his arm this time.

“Juggie…” I said quietly, my voice weak. He turned around to look at me and it was obvious that he was on the verge of crying at my use of the nickname I would call him in science. His eyebrows raised as if to ask me what else I could possibly want from him.

“I want you to stay here. You deserve a home. I can’t let you go back out on the streets or to a homeless shelter.” By the time the last words came out of your mouth, you were tearing up. At the sight of you crying, tears began to stream down Jughead’s face. You had never seen a guy your age cry before, and the drops trailing down this boy’s face broke your heart into pieces.

“In chemistry, two years ago, I wanted to be your friend. I used to go home and think about asking you to hang out, as friends, but I didn’t think you liked me. You were the only person to listen to my problems and attempt to give me real advice. And you always found ways to cheer me up.” You smiled at the thought of the stories about his strange childhood he would tell you when you were sad.

Jughead just looked at you, his eyes red and puffy, as you spoke about your fleeting friendship two years before. “Y/N, I don’t know what you want me to say. I didn’t ever intend for you to find out about any of this. I didn’t expect you to see me yesterday. I shouldn’t have agreed to stay last night.”

“Jughead I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I can’t tell you that I’m in love with you right now because I’m not, but I do care about you, and I won’t ever even know if there could be something more between us if you decide you’re going to exit my life completely. I like you as a person. I like the curls of your dark hair that can’t stay inside of your beanie. I like that you have a sardonic sense of humor. I like that you care about me. I’m just not where you’re at.” You exhaled at the end of your speech.

“Can I take you on a date then?” Jughead looked at you inquisitively, awaiting your answer with fear and curiosity.

The question came as a shock to you, despite the obvious signs that this was coming. To you, Jughead didn’t seem like the type to blatantly ask anyone on a date, but you weren’t about to say no either. “Yes? But only if you stay.”

A shy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when you answered and you responded by walking over to Jughead’s backpack, pulling out the wet clothes, and triumphantly carrying them out of the cellar, through the yard, and into the house to be washed and dried.