#like obviously the end has never been a Loud place. but god it’s so eerily silent without the city and the fallen god buried under the sand

[crepusculum-rattus]

in thinking abt pre-flood endlantis as a real city (and then applying the same worldbuilding to all of the realms having cities or little towns at one point or another)….. it truly makes phil being all alone so much more haunting

[bucky-hues]

stucky fic recs

here are some stucky fic recs! as always, be sure to read the warnings for each fic <3

one shots

finding home | @thedamageofherdays

cap steve x modern bucky

After he is caught in a terrible rainstorm while hiking, Bucky is glad to find shelter at the cottage Steve shares with his daughter and his dog. Bucky ends up finding so much more than just a safe place to spend the night.

x | @dreadlockholiday

steve x bucky

Request: Bucky looking through a glossy magazine and saying something like "God, can you imagine being paid for just looking cute?" And without thought Steve replies, "you'd be a millionaire" and Bucky just blushes furiously while Steve's all like 😳 *oh no, I just said that out loud*

x | @dreadlockholiday (18+)

steve x bucky

Bucky finds his BFF Steve's sketchbook... and it's full of nothing but sketches of Bucky... naked.

sweethearts | @musette22

steve x bucky

Steve confesses his feelings to Bucky using sweethearts

my moon, my man | @musette22 (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

AU meet-cute. Strangers on a Train, but with less murder and more sexual tension.

make it till you fake it | AggressiveWhenStartled (AO3)

steve x bucky

“Ned,” Peter said, like a drowning man sighting land. “Ned. Captain America and the Winter Soldier are fake dating right now and it is the most painfully awkward and obvious thing I have ever seen, all of us want to die, Ned.”

things my heart used to know | Nightwing11 (AO3)

steve x bucky

In a world where soulmates can communicate telepathically with their partners, Steve Rogers has always had Bucky Barnes with him, a calming voice in a sea of turmoil. And, when Bucky falls off the train during World War II, Steve experiences deafening silence for the first time.

Now, after crashing a plane in the Arctic to save the world and being frozen for 70 years, Steve’s still trying to figure out how to live without Bucky there. His new friends are trying to help him adjust, to move on. And he thought he was doing better, he really did.

So, why is he suddenly hearing Bucky’s voice again?

catfish | @buckmebxrnes (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers is a famous movie star, known for his role as Captain America. Bucky Barnes is a bored law student who drinks too much wine. Bucky gets on match.com to boost his confidence. What he doesn't expect is a guy using Steve Rogers' pictures on a dating profile. Bucky decides to mess with the guy. After all, what idiot uses Steve Rogers' pictures on a dating site?

Not like it's really him, right? Bucky may need more wine.

let's go have fun | @sebastanbucky

steve x bucky

“Nat wanted me to-” Nat clears her throat and he rolls his eyes. “I wanted to tell you something.” He looks at Steve with a look he hopes says ‘play along’. “Okay. What did you want to tell me?” Bucky has to take a deep breath to keep from laughing again, it helps with his performance as Nat nods encouragingly at him. “I’m gay.” He says, making his voice sound shaky and weak.

the way you came around | sokaless (AO3)

steve x bucky

After a while, Bucky says, “You know, this song sounds like it was written for you.” “That's funny,” Steve remarks. “I chose it because it reminded me of you.” Steve gives Bucky an iPod full of his favourite songs from the 21st century to help him deal with his nightmares. Bucky has a new mission- to find out who Steve is in love with, because there are a few too many unrequited love songs on that iPod.

stuck on you | wearing_tearing (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

you have the place next to my place | justanotherStonyfan (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

prompt: “We live in adjacent apartments and our bedrooms are on opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you crying and talked to you through the wall” AU

Captain America helps the Vet next door.

you’ve got (30) new matches | williamkaplans (AO3)

steve x bucky

When everyone finds out Steve's bi thanks to Bucky's recovering memories, Natasha kicks up her match-making into high gear. Steve has zero luck, but Natasha won't give up, especially when Sam (jokingly) suggests online dating. It isn't long before Steve finds someone, a someone who seems eerily familiar.

perfectly right wrong number | melonbutterfly (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn't enter Steve's life (meaning: Bucky wasn't born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

put your number in my phone | MacksDramaticShenanigans (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve tucks his phone back into his pocket and turns back to the computer. He only has to click a few times before he finds the link to the questionnaire and opens it, inputting the participant number before hitting next. The beginnings of the consent form fills the page, and all Steve has left to do now is wait for the participant— one James Barnes, according to the website— to show up.

Thankfully, Steve doesn’t end up having to wait very long. James Barnes shows up ten minutes early and knocks on the door before cracking it open and peeking in.

“Oh, hi,” he says, when he spots Steve sitting at the desk. He pushes the door open all the way and steps into the room just as Steve spins in the chair to face him.

“Um, I’m, uh, a bit early, but I’m here for the decision making study,” James continues, clear blue eyes flickering around the room before landing on Steve again. The skin between his eyebrows crinkles up a little, and god, Steve probably shouldn’t find his uncertainty as cute as he does. “Am I in the right place?”

wouldn’t it be nice | MacksDramaticShenanigans (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

"You are never going to believe what just happened," Bucky bemoans, shaking his head. He's at Steve's side in a moment and doesn't bother to give any warning before he dramatically falls into Steve's lap. Steve just barely manages to save his book from getting squashed.

"What is it?" Steve asks, matching Bucky's dramatic tone. "What am I not going to believe?"

"I just got off the phone with Natasha," he starts. "She cancelled on me!" Bucky throws his arms up, nearly smacking Steve in the face in the process.

Steve carefully places his hand on Bucky's forearm and lowers it away from his face.

"You're kidding," he says, a frown curving onto his lips at the news.

"I wish I was," he sighs. Bucky presses his lips together into a disappointed line and deflates against the back of the couch, slinking down Steve's thighs a little. "Who goes to Coney Island alone? How pathetic is that?"

Steve snorts, earning a glare from Bucky, and pats Bucky's thigh. "Aw, don't be such a sourpuss, Buck," he says. "Who said anything about going alone?"

all jokes aside | darksknight (AO3)

steve x bucky

"Before we know it Banner’s gonna be makin’ insinuations.” (Everyone "jokes" about Steve and Bucky being in a relationship until, eventually, they admit that they are.)

barnes & rogers and the goddamn truth

steve x bucky (teacher au)

There are three well-known facts at Shield High:

1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm. 2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.) 3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other.

Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

in the shadows | DragonWannabe (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Five times they thought they were almost caught, one time someone found out, and one time they didn't have to hide.

OR:

Bucky and Steve grew up in a time when people like them went to jail.

single and looking | Jaiden_S (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

"Bucky held his place with his index finger and turned the magazine over to check the date on the cover. It was brand new, just out this month. An unexpected cord of anxiety tightened in Bucky’s chest. Single and looking? Frantically, he flipped back to the article. What exactly was Steve looking for? According to the article, Steve’s dream girl should be intelligent, altruistic, well-versed in current events and have a wicked sense of humor. Oh, and he had a thing for high heels and red lipstick. Bucky’s stomach churned as he re-read the article. Was that really what Steve wanted? Make-up and stilettos?"

A slightly sappy tale of two utterly besotted super-soldiers who excel at miscommunication.

these american dreams (ain’t no white picket fences left for me) | kariye (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

In which Bucky has a house, a dog, an herb garden, and a serious case of insomnia. Welcome to Havensport, Indiana (population 8,294), where Tom’s Neighborhood Grocer stays open all night, little old ladies call the car shop to get their refrigerators repaired, and the heat of summer days and the length of summer nights can make you think that this perfect world will last forever.

i’ve been careless with a delicate man | paraxdisepink (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Steve lets SHIELD think he and Bucky were boyfriends so they’ll let him see the Winter Soldier in medical.

knock on wood | 74days (AO3) 

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers lives a quiet, steady life, until his next door neighbour moves in and starts having incredibly energetic sex every night. All Steve wants is for him to move his bed away from the wall so the damn headboard doesn't knock a hole through his wall.

progressively bigger keys | spinawren (AO3)

steve x bucky

“A very little key will open a very heavy door.” ― Charles Dickens, Hunted Down

Steve and Bucky, it appears, have less need for a key and more use for a battering ram in trying to come out of the closet.

(The one where Steve tries to do one thing (one thing!) without causing a national ruckus, but the press are determined to see Bucky as Steve's best friend. And nothing more.)

stucky discover gay rights | Alicia_Borealis (AO3)

steve x bucky

“Then, why-” Steve stopped himself and looked at Bucky, who had tears rolling freely down his cheeks. “We’re- we’re not sick?”

“Wait, what?” Tony asked.

“Being a homosexual, it isn’t… wrong?”

-

The story of how Steve Roger's loved and lost Bucky, then how he got him back and then how he realised he was allowed to love him after all.

thursday nights with bucky barnes | Ellessey (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve has a comfortable, well-worn routine for his Thursday nights, until the old man who runs the laundromat breaks his hip.

Then Steve has Bucky instead.

to seek a nood-er world | jehans (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Send noodz

Steve has been staring at his phone for the last six minutes, eyes narrowed so much they’re almost closed at this point, trying to figure out what the hell Bucky means. Noodz? What the fuck are noodz?

Listen, Steve is at least marginally aware of modern pop culture. He’s heard of nudes — not that nudes are exactly a modern invention; artists have been creating them for millennia — and he does know that people tend to misspell words to be cute or funny. They did that when he was young, too. Because time is a flat circle, apparently.

But, wait—does that mean…?

No. Not possible. Bucky isn’t asking Steve to send him…nudes.

Right?

tied ‘round your throat | sleepypercy (AO3) (18+)

police officer steve x serial killer bucky

Steve's a small-town police officer trying to track a serial killer who's been in Steve's bed the whole time.

much tattoo about nothing | Deisderium (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

the perfect man | Ellessey (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Setting up a dating profile is decidedly not in Bucky's skill-set, but against all odds he manages to connect with someone who makes the one-night stand he thought he wanted feel like not nearly enough.

kiss me and take off your clothes | steveandbucky (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers is dared to send a dick pic to a blog which critiques dick pics (run by none other than Bucky Barnes). Hilarity ensues.

i can’t dare to dream about you anymore | steveandbucky (AO3) 

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve considers himself to be a pretty open-minded guy, which is why he can't quite understand why he feels so uncomfortable whenever he sees his gay roommate kissing guys. He's not homophobic, but how else can he explain the way his stomach twists at the sight?

It takes him a while to catch on.

exam room b | steveandbucky (AO3)

modern steve x nurse bucky

“Wait, what do you mean he asked for me?”

“He asked if the cute male nurse with the ponytail was working today. I assume he meant you.”

kickstart my heart | Kalee60 (AO3) (18+)

doctor steve x modern bucky

Bucky’s Wednesday wasn’t off to a great start. Not only did he wake up in a hospital with his annoyed best friend staring down at him, his treating Doctor just happened to be way too familiar, and the reason for that was slightly mortifying.

With misunderstandings in the air, a snarky nurse who is a pain in his butt and the ugliest neck brace known to man attached to his body. There was no way his Wednesday was ever going to improve. Could it?

you make me feel.. | kalika_999 (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

All Steve wanted was to take a breather, decompress after a mission and go out for a jog in the rain. He wasn't expecting to hide out in a bookstore filled with new and used books or that the employee that worked there thought he was an absolute loser and didn't even realize he was insulting Captain America.

nothing in the world that could stop it | rainbow_nerds (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky just wanted to send his best friend a picture of his cat being an idiot while he was taking a bath. Was it really his fault for forgetting the full length mirror right opposite the tub?

rescue me and hold me in your arms | 74days (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky is on the worst date of his life, and what he really needs of for this waitress to get the message he's sending her with his mind to rescue him. She doesn't, but she does send someone to extract him from a night of torture...

odd ways | peterbparker (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“And it would have been an amazing night with my son if he wasn’t distracted by the hot guy on the other side of the room,” Sarah sighed, shaking her head. “He’s been looking over at you for the past fifteen minutes.”

Bucky choked on the mouthful of beer he had just taken.

“What?” he croaked. Things were starting to make a little more sense now.

“Right?” Sarah said, waving her hand towards her son. “He completely ignored my garden stories because he’s been making eyes at you so I decided to come over and introduce myself.”

series

rare is this love (keep it covered) | @musette22 (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

It’s 2014. Captain America has been out of the ice for three years and is trudging along, saving the world and trying to get used to living in the future. Steve thinks he knows how the rest of his life is going to pan out – a life of duty, which he chose when he signed up to be Erskine’s science experiment. But then, he meets Bucky Barnes: the out-of-this-world-gorgeous mechanic and war vet, who turns Steve’s life upside down and makes him question everything he thought he knew. Slowly, Steve comes to realize there is more to life than duty and punching Nazis. Just one problem though: how on earth does a 96-year-old virgin who only just realized he may not be entirely straight make the transition from crush to relationship? Cue healthy amounts of self-doubt, awkward flirting, pretty blushing, existential crises, emotional growth, and maybe, possibly, a sexual awakening.

coming up easy | @musette22 (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Steve says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentatively hopeful expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer would say, right now, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest. Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them.

"Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."

“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “I mean, if you’re sure, that would be amazing.”

4 minute window | @cesperanza

steve x bucky

"Look, if they catch me," Bucky muttered, "they're either going to kill me or they're going to put me in a box with a little window and—Steve, I can't."

swapped | writeonclara (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

if u wanted my number u couldve just asked

u didnt have to steal my whole phone ;)

Steve stared down at his phone, confused. He didn't recognize the number – except, oh wait, he really did. That was his number. On his phone.

He flipped the phone over, then slid one hand down his face. Not his phone.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

[stupid fucking] brooklyn hipster bros | relenaflanel (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky's mother gives him an ultimatum. Bucky doesn't respond well.

All Barneses are stubborn assholes, Steve observes, as though he doesn't see the irony of calling someone else stubborn. Or an asshole.

And Bucky can't even deny he is a total asshole for lying to his mother about dating Steve just so he doesn't have to bring someone else to her wedding, but damn if he's not going to give the lie everything he has.

brought to brightness | eyres (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like.

When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

slide to answer | relenaflanel (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

"What do I do?” Steve appealed into the phone. “I’m freaking out.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. It lasted so long that Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear and frowned at it. Pay phones were old. Maybe this one wasn’t working despite the obvious dial tone when he picked up.

“Ok,” a stranger’s voice said over the phone. “First acknowledge the fact that you dialed the wrong number, but be quick about it because my cab is a few blocks away from my own plans and I’m about to drop some truth bombs on you.”

how to woo the winter soldier | writeonclara (AO3)

steve x bucky

“I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said.

“What,” Natasha said.

“What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier.

“Steve, no,” Clint groaned.

Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier.

all these things that i’ve done | @not-withoutyou 

steve x bucky

Steve was the patron saint of waiting too long. Bucky was atoning for his sins. Maybe they’d both been forsaken, abandoned by the light. Maybe they’d find a way back to each other again.

Post civil war, if things had gone differently.

find a way (to make it back home) | belwrites (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (college au)

Fresh off a year abroad, Head Resident Assistant Steve Rogers finds his senior year of college to be full of changes, and he's not just talking about the growth spurt. He's more concerned with the fact that his best friend...isn't talking to him? Is dating his ex? May or may not be missing an arm?

In which Steve has no fucking clue what's going on, but he's trying, Bucky learns how to communicate with his best friend again, and everyone quietly panics about the future.

is it pretending if i already want you? | OhCaptainMyCaptain (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Based on prompt: Pretend Boyfriends AU where one of their families is always wondering why they're never in a relationship, so the other offers to pretend to be their boyfriend for some family event

the roommate | layersofart, Niitza (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

dear mr. postman | odetteandodile (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve and Bucky revive an old friendship, get married (but totally just as friends, for reasons), and navigate a few of the many trials of the heart that come with falling in love with your best friend.

fate will play us out | steveandbucky (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

Bucky has landed himself a job with Stark Industries. He doesn't know yet that the job is actually being the PR manager for the Avengers.

Bucky has also started dating Steve Rogers. He also doesn't know yet that Steve is Captain America.

Bucky's life is about to get a whole lot more exciting.

the avengers hate club | notebooksandlaptops (AO3)

pop star steve x modern bucky

Bucky falls hopelessly for Steve and starts an Avengers hate club with the lead singer of the Avengers.

songbird | chicklette (AO3) (18+)

modern steve x musician bucky

At 43, James Barnes is a washed up old man. He’s got a dozen Grammys in the hall closet, an agent that can’t get him a deal, a decade-old case of writer’s block, a moody teen-aged daughter, and the gorgeous actress Natasha Romanova for an ex-wife. Well, one of them anyway. He’s a man who’s given up on finding joy in his life, and if it wasn’t for his kid, he’d have probably found a way to quit the world a long time ago.

Enter Steven Grant Rogers, struggling twenty-something, orphan, and someone who has no idea who Barnes is, other than some musician his mom liked a lot. The two men meet by accident, doing nothing more than passing the time in a quiet bar. But when a pap gets a shot of the two men embracing, Bucky takes it as a chance to finally come out as bisexual, and his agent makes him a proposition: Ten new songs and one very sweet boyfriend will get him a new record deal that will maybe, just maybe put him back on top.

Now all he has to do is write the songs, convince the kid, and not fall in love. Should be easy, right?

the right partner | LeeHan (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x ws bucky

Steve meets a beautiful man with a bright laugh on a sunny day in Italy. Captain America meets the elusive Winter Soldier moments later.

Date Bucky Barnes. Defeat the Winter Soldier. Bring down Hydra. How hard could it be?

[onthecrosslook]

Three Acts

Note: Fuck it, I’m just going to post this now. @call-me-moo.

Act Three

I dial Mary’s number on my dying mobile. “Do c...come in. It’s a little cramped…I must warn you.”

I’m sitting on a rickety old chair in an abandoned building. No, not even a building- a mere façade.

Just like Mary.

I shake away the thought and concentrate. I don’t have long before I start bleeding through the stitches. Every passing minute is crucial to both the plan and my survival.

I’ve already gotten through the bulk of the phone call with Mary. It’s mostly filler to keep her from storming inside and shooting me on sight, and it’s working so far.

Like scenes from a play...

She’ll be coming inside soon, judging from her initial distance from the building. It won’t be long now.

I can hear her breathing quicken over the line as my question grows more and more personal. “What do you want, Sherlock?” she growls, her voice lower than I’ve ever heard it.

“Mary Morstan...stillborn in 1972. Thought it’d be...a-awfully clever, taking her name like that,” I say softly, clutching my chest with my free hand. “It’s why you don’t have any...f-friends from before...then.”

Common enough tactic.

Mary’s sharp laugh rings out. “You don’t sound very well, Sherlock. Perhaps we should get you to a hospital.” Her voice lowers. “Or a morgue.”

“How...how good of a shot are you?” I ask, biding my time with the questions. I need to stall. Answers can come later, hopefully with John’s assistance.

Even so…

I need to know.

I can almost hear her smirk from the other side of the line. “How badly do you want to find out? I’d be more than happy to demonstrate. I can see you’re right in front of me, it would only take a single pull of the-“

“If you’re such a good shot…” I take a few shaky breaths and continue to interrupt her, “…th-then...demonstrate. Unf-fortunately, I don’t have any l...live targets, forgive me. You’ll h-have to...settle for a coin.” I force a weak laugh that makes my stomach ache and my labouring lungs burn. “That is...i-if you can…”

The line crackles a bit on her end. “You think you can bait me, Sherlock? I thought you knew me better than that.”

Yes, Mary.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“I want to...know how good you are,” I say encouragingly. “Go on...the doctor’s wife must b-be...rather bored, by now...Because…” I gasp for a much-needed breath.

“Because what?” she snaps, frustrated, as she adjusts the leather strap of her heavy purse.

Added weight of the gun. Obviously unaccustomed to carrying it around. Is she still a good shot?

“Because...you’re a psychopath...and p-psychopaths get bored.” I groan into my coat collar in pain. At this rate, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold out.

“Ha,” she scoffs. “I’ll entertain you, Sherlock. God knows you can’t have much left in you, anyway.” Mary pulls out a fifty-pence piece from her purse and holds it aloft. She glances above, gauging the height of the ceiling with a critical eye, and flips the coin in the air. In one swift move, she aims the gun and fires. A metallic clank is heard, and she smirks triumphantly.

I hang up the phone with a flourish. “Impressive,” I whisper, the faintest smile on my face visible in the flickering light.

Mary turns to look at me, clearly startled. “You’re…standing. Then who...Ah. I see. A dummy? Fairly obvious trick, don’t you think?” She slides the coin over to me with the tip of her boot.

I lean over with a grunt and pick it up, pausing only to examine it. I straighten up, the stabbing pain making it harder to stand. My breathing is growing more and more erratic, but I choose to ignore it in favour of my deductions.

Ordinary fifty-pence coin, no obvious assistive modifications. Hole where the 0.38mm bullet penetrated is precisely in the center. Fifteen-plus years in the killing business, at least. She’s a remarkable shot, I’ll give her that.

Not good enough, though.

“Impressed?” she asks, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Spectacularly...accurate sh-shot, yet you...failed to place...a kill. Sentiment, or d-did you...not want to...blow y-your cover?” It’s a risk to taunt her so openly, but unfortunately a risk I must take.

“Neither. John wasn’t supposed to come save you. The doorframe creaked fairly loudly and that alerted him. You would have died if it hadn’t been for my damn recklessness,” Mary snarls, looking more angry at herself than anyone else. “It’s not a mistake I’ll make again.”

Wait-

She raises her gun to my forehead.

-this isn’t how it’s supposed to-

I hear a click and a loud shot.

When I open my eyes again, I see Mary crumpled on the floor, her chest weakly moving up and down as blood leaks from her body, filling spaces it shouldn’t be. I can hardly breathe from the shock of seeing her so suddenly vulnerable.

“You...d-don’t...you didn’t…h-have a...g-gun…” she chokes out. “H-how…?”

“Sorry,” I hear a bitter voice behind her say, and suddenly John is standing there, his gun pointed straight ahead, and it all makes sense. “Not that obvious a trick.”

“John- b-but-“ I stutter out, my mouth moving, but hardly any noise coming out.

How…how did he…?

Mary groans loudly, and I move to ask him again, thinking perhaps he didn’t hear me.

“J-John…”

“You. You don’t get to speak,” John hisses, before leaning down to Mary’s side. “Mary, I can still…”

“N-no…” she says softly, obviously straining to sit up. “It’s...t-too late, John. I...I suppose...n-now I know how...Sh-Sherlock f-felt...Ah-!” She cries out in anguish and lifts a shaking hand to John’s face.

He doesn’t push her hand away. “You’re a pathetic liar, Mary. You lied to me, you shot my best friend, you- you-“ He’s practically hyperventilating with anger now, each breath harder than the next. “You killed our baby.”

Mary is eerily silent for a moment, but she nods eventually. “I d-did...John...Will...w-will it matter...i-if I say...I-I’m sorry…?”

“No,” he says honestly. His face is more pained than I have ever seen, contorted with unspoken rage and agony. “You’ve destroyed it all, Mary. I will never forgive you.”

“P-please…” she begs, clinging onto his collar with an almost frightening desperation. “I c-can’t go...n-not like this...J-John…”

“You should have thought about that…” John swallows back a sob, “...before you shot Sherlock.”

Tears stream down her pale, stricken face. “I th-think I l-loved you...o-once...d-did you ever...l-love me...J-John…?”

“Once,” he says softly, closing his eyes for a moment. “Not anymore. Not since Sherlock came back, I think.”

I’m silent.

What could I possibly say…?

Her face grows sadder, if that’s possible. “I...c-could never...c-compare...not t-to…him…”

“I’m not gay,” he says with a weak smile, forcing a small chuckle.

“A-and...I’m...n-not an...a-assassin…” she gasps out with a laugh, pulling harder on his coat. “I...w-would have...n-never really...k-killed you, y-you know…?”

His face is grim. “I don’t know that, Mary. Because I don’t know you at all. I- I bet...I bet your name isn’t even Mary.”

“It’s n-not,” she admits, her grip beginning to fail. “Th-that- ...wh-what I just s-said…- was a lie...I w-would have…” she coughs out, dark blood trickling from the corners of her pink lips. “I w-would h-have...I w-would...b-because I’m s-selfish…”

He nods. “I didn’t believe you, anyway.”

“I e-even...w-wanted...R-Rosamund…” Mary’s trembling hand slips from his jacket.

“Mary…”

“R-Rosamund...f-far better...th-than...Sh-Sher...Sherlock…” Her breath hitches on my name, and her face tightens with the effort. “G-goodbye...b-both of you…”

“Mary,” John breathes. “D...don’t…”

“G-go b-back to B-Baker S-Street...J-John...And Sh-Sherlock…?” She turns her head slightly to look at me. “I-I’m...s-sorry…T-take c-care...of...J...John…”

Her eyes go glassy and dull as she quietly exhales for the last time. John looks numb as uses two fingers to gently push her eyelids shut. Pressing a final kiss to her clammy forehead, he abruptly stands up and snaps his fingers. “Sherlock. Let’s go,” he says, his tone deathly quiet and clipped.

“J-John…”

“I said...let’s go. There’s nothing left for us here.”

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I’ve waited too long. I should have called someone. I should have called the hospital. I can almost hear John scolding me already- ‘Why do you never call the police?’

My vision goes blurry as my legs fail me. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, but then again…this night has been full of surprises. Nothing short of dangerous encounters and yet another miraculous deus-ex-machina from John Watson.

Not dead. Not yet.

“Amb- ambulance…” I whisper hoarsely, before collapsing on the floor next to Mary’s cold, limp, unmoving body.

John rushes towards me, and I get a glimpse of her pale face as my eyes flutter shut. Her lips are slightly parted, almost upturned. She seems to be finally at rest. She doesn’t deserve it, but I don’t think I could think of a better way for her to exit this world. A brutal display of karma…

…And yet…

I feel my flat expression become a weak smile.

She looks...so peaceful...almost like she’s sleeping…

The End (?)

~

Act One linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656892650818011136/three-acts

Act Two linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656968775195934720/three-acts

Epilogue linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/657054522939686912/three-acts

[syntheticpoetry]

Constellations

Summary: When the text comes in from Tina, Kurt can hardly believe what he is reading. When Blaine doesn't respond to his messages he thinks his heart may actually stop beating. AO3 link || FFN Link

Author’s Note: I was watching Shooting Star and overcome with a million emotions, mostly having to do with the fact that we don't get ANY conversation or scene with the NYC gang during this insanely emotional episode. So this is my take on it. A little bit of canon, but a little divergence for the Klaine scene I desperately wanted to see as well as Kurt, Santana, and Rachel’s reactions. I promise there is a happy ending in this through the rollercoaster of emotions that is Blaine's mind during this absolutely horrifying ordeal. Big thanks to @roxymusicandlayers for beta reading this for me!

“And I am lost, so lost, but you’re the constellations that guide me.”

_________________________________________________________

“Alright guys, start texting and tweeting, whatever social media you use.  Let everyone know what’s going on here.  But don’t say where we are, shooters have smartphones too.” 

Blaine hears Mr. Schue’s urgent whisper as though he is underwater.  The words sound muffled and heavy with the depth of the room’s collective terror embedded into every upturned syllable.  Despite his best effort to keep the hysteria at bay, they know he is just as frightened as they are.  Blaine bites his lip and remains so still that every muscle starts to quiver, threatening to give way.  The burn feels familiar, like the ache he gets from lifting weights in the gym with Sam, and he pushes through the pain as though it is just one more rep away before they can finally rest.  

Any slight movement will betray his feigned composure and he knows the domino effect of his breakdown will begin.  Around him the gentle, frantic padding of fingers against glass echoes around the room like a discordant symphony of additional gunshots.  He knows they are not as loud as they actually sound in his head.  But the panic in his chest still swells.  He hugs his knees tighter.  The small movement is enough to send the first wave of tears down his cheeks.  He bites his lip harder and tries to focus on the pain of teeth against flesh instead. 

‘I should do what they’re doing.  Pick up your phone.  Keep it together.’

“Blaine, it’s okay.  It’s going to be okay,” Sam reaches a hand out and the touch of his fingers against Blaine’s forearm sends thunderbolts up his spine.  “Where’s your phone?” 

Blaine opens his mouth to speak and instead gasps loudly, the breath shuddering on the sharp intake of air.  He claps a hand over his mouth and squints his eyes shut as more tears come.  His mistake was moving at all.  Statues never cry.  He stretches out one leg and wrenches the phone from his pocket to see it at 1% battery.  With one hand pressed firmly against quivering lips, the muffled whisper comes convulsing out in staccato bursts.   “It’s— it’s almost— d-d—” 

He can’t bring himself to say the word dead.  As though breathing life into it will somehow fulfill some unspoken prophecy, and he is bound to doom them all by simply uttering it.  Sam squeezes his arm and whispers back, “Do you want to text anyone with my phone?” 

Blaine nods frantically when his phone screen finally turns to black.  He gingerly places it on the ground in what feels like slow motion, taking extreme care not to make a sound, and extends his hand out to Sam.  He thinks back to Mr. Schue’s garbled words and wonders if they really are underwater.  

“I can’t get in touch with my mom,” The subdued sound of Marley’s panicked sobbing ricochets off of the walls. “She won’t respond!  What if she— there’s no back way out of the kitchen!” 

While Kitty and Jacob whisper empty reassurances Blaine stares at Sam’s phone in his hand like it is a foreign object.  He knows what he is supposed to do with it, but the phone numbers in his mind are written in invisible ink.  

‘I can’t even remember my parents’ phone numbers.  Oh god, what if we die in here.  What if I never see them or Cooper or Kurt—”

A flash of hands clasped tight, buried deep into a mattress fills his vision.  The breathy whisper of his own name makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  His trembling thumbs begin to fly seamlessly over the keypad and he has never been so thankful for autocorrect before.  Just as he hits send the dull pounding sound of running footsteps in the hall crescendos until—

Rattle! Rattle! Rattle!

The jittering of the door handle makes them all collectively jump as though this is just another lesson in synchronisation for their next competition.  Blaine’s heart slithers its way into his throat, and he drops the phone.  It slides away from him and bumps into Sam’s ankle.  Sam’s leg jerks and sends it careening across the floor of the choir room where it settles underneath the piano.  The entire scene is something straight out of a shitty comedy movie that feels completely unbelievable, like the chances of something like this happening are one in a million.  The irony of the realm of impossibilies reaching its peak today is not lost on him.  The entire room stills.  Blaine wishes that stupid ticking of the metronome in the center of the room would. Just. Stop.  It feels like a countdown.  

Smash!

Blaine jumps again and presses his hand harder to his mouth to suppress the sound that begs for escape.  He hugs his knees closer to his chest in a one-armed embrace and tries to will the demon perched on his shoulder whispering unpleasantries to vanish.   The burn settles in again.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Artie struggling to sit himself up against the cabinets.  He wants to move, wants to help him; but when he tries to unhook his arm from his knees, nothing happens.  He continues spectating as Sam begins lifting Artie up by his shirt until he’s sitting comfortably upright.  Then he witnesses the moment of pure panic in his best friend’s eyes right before Sam hisses frantically to Mr. Schue, “Brittany doesn’t have her phone, she’s in the bathroom! She’s all alone!” 

___________________________________________________

“Oh honey, no goddamn way!” Kurt snatches the remote back from Rachel.  “Santana and I were here first, you don’t just get to come in and throw a hissy fit about having a bad day so you can put on whatever you want.  How do you know we didn’t have a bad day too?” 

Santana averts her attention from the television to watch them instead, positively beaming.  Their fights are honestly her favourite thing to watch.  Always far more entertaining than whatever trashy reality shows she and Kurt had been immersing themselves in lately.  Today it had been a marathon of the first season of Rock of Love. 

“Well, considering you’re both in the exact same spot I left you in this morning I seriously doubt it,” Rachel huffs loudly and sinks down into a creaky wicker chair, arms folded tightly across her chest.  Kurt rolls his eyes at her and changes the channel back before the gentle buzzing of his phone across the coffee table distracts him from Rachel’s moodiness. 

“Go make some popcorn and I’ll let you vent— oh,” Kurt stares down at his phone.  

“What?” Rachel lowers her arms, keeping them folded across her stomach still, and exchanges her scowl for curiosity. 

“Sam texted me, he usually never…” The rest of his sentence trails off once he opens the message, leaving them to stare.  He loosens his grip and drops his hands against his thighs, the phone resting precariously on his open palms.  After the fourth quick scan of the text the message still does not seem to sink in. 

Sam 12:36 p.m. I love you so much and I’m so sorry about everything that happened I’m so glad I got to see you at the wedding you’re amazing and deserve everything in the world I’m so proud of you don’t ever settle for anyone less than perfect because that’s exactly what you are 

‘This can’t be for me.’

“Kurt, what is it? What’s wrong?” Rachel leans over, her palms on her knees now, her brows furrowed in concern. 

“What’s Trouty mouth saying?” Santana snatches the phone from him.  He does not even protest her invasion of privacy, his brain is too busy slicing through the fog to decrypt the reasoning behind the message.  She frowns and looks between the screen and Kurt a few times.  “Did I miss the part when you and Sam got together? No way my gaydar is that far off.”

“There’s no way that’s for me.  He obviously meant to send it to someone else.  Do you think he meant it for Mercedes?” Kurt plucks the phone back from her hands to reread the message before typing out a reply. 

Kurt 12:44 p.m. I don’t think you meant this for me? 

“What did it say?” Rachel pipes up and cranes her neck to try to read over Kurt’s shoulder.  Kurt tilts the phone to show her.  “Ooooh, wait did something happen between them at the wedding? Wasn’t he there with Brittany then though?” Kurt shrugs and scrolls through his contacts until he lands on Mercedes’ name. 

Kurt 12:50 p.m. Okay maybe random question but is there something going on with you and Sam again? I got the weirdest message from him just now 

Mercedes 12:55 p.m. ???? What did he say? 

Kurt takes a screenshot of the message and forwards it to her. 

Mercedes 1:00 p.m. Omg nope nothing happened with us at the wedding.  Maybe he meant to send it to Brittany? Has he not replied? 

Kurt 1:02 p.m. Nope

Tina’s name flashes across the top of his screen in a drop down banner and he taps on it.  “Oh my god.”  The words come out small and frightened as he reads the message.  “Tina just said—”

“She just texted me too,” Santana replies in an eerily despondent voice that Kurt has never heard her speak in before.  It suddenly makes the situation feel ten times more real.  For once, she’s silent as she stares down at her own phone, frantically typing out a text.

“Me too,” Rachel whispers.  “Oh my god, do you think everyone is okay?” She stands and crosses the room, pacing by the window as she rereads the text over and over again.  “Kurt, have you heard from Blaine?”

‘Blaine.’

Kurt cannot find the words to respond to her as he taps on his favourites list.  Blaine’s name is still at the very top.  He had told himself he had never gotten the chance to adjust the list and remove him after their breakup.  Really, he never had the heart to erase his name.  The sight of it now makes his throat constrict.  He tries to speak but no sound comes out.  

“Brittany isn’t texting me back.  Neither is Sam,” Santana borders on hysterical as she grips her phone between her hands like it is her only lifeline.  Kurt mimics her action as he composes a text to Blaine. 

Kurt 1:10 p.m. Tina texted me are you ok

“Has anyone heard anything from anyone else?” Rachel asks.  Neither of them respond. 

Kurt cannot look away from Blaine’s name.  The feeling washes over him suddenly and intensely, dragging his logical mind into the riptide of superstitious terror as he recites the name silently like a mantra.  If he looks away, he might lose him forever.  It doesn’t make any sense to think that way.  He knows it.  But it provides some tiny semblance of comfort and control as he tethers himself to it and waits for a response.  Two long minutes pass by and still nothing comes. Tina’s name and phone number fills the screen, swallowing Blaine’s name, and he finally finds his voice, the words frantic and choppy as he taps multiple times to decline the call, “Someone call Tina, she’s calling me.  Someone call her so she stops calling me!” 

The sight of Blaine’s name again anchors him down once more and the rest becomes background noise. 

'Please be okay.  Please be okay.  I’m never saying goodbye to you, you idiot.  Just text me back.  Please.’

__________________________________________________________

“Mr. Schue, I have to get to her! I have to make sure she’s okay!” 

Blaine watches, horrorstuck, as Mr. Shue and coach Beiste struggle to restrain Sam.  He is thrashing wildly in their arms, his quivering voice crescendoing past the panicked whispers that everyone else has adapted.  It isn’t until coach Beiste whispers something in his ear that Blaine cannot hear, and Sam locks eyes with him that he finally settles down.  Blaine exhales sharply, lungs blazing and heart thudding at the base of his throat, and realizes he must have been holding his breath at some point.  Sam slinks back over to their corner and sits beside Artie, his head hanging down in defeat.  Blaine tries to parrot back the same empty promises Sam had whispered earlier, wants to tell him everything will be okay even though he is not quite sure if he believes it himself, but nothing comes out.  

“Maybe she’s with Tina,” Artie whispers hopefully to Sam.  “Maybe she isn’t alone.”

Blaine takes note of Artie’s lack of confidence and how he is careful not to speak in absolutes.  But maybe he is right.  He thinks about the word maybe in the context of his life.  Maybe Kurt did not want to admit how much their hookup at the wedding had meant.  Maybe he and Kurt really are back together.  Maybe Kurt still loves him.  Maybe he will see him again when this entire ordeal is finally over with.  ‘Maybe’ starts to feel like a pretty good word the more he thinks about it.  ‘Maybe’ feels like hope.  ‘Maybe’ feels like a second chance.  

The sound of a door opening breaks through Blaine’s inner dissection of the word, and he looks over just in time to see Mr. Schue skulking out of the door.  It reminds Blaine of one of Finn’s video games about spies and stealth.  Maybe they will get another chance to play it together after this.  He clings to that and tries to focus on the upcoming Friday night dinner with him, Burt and Carole as Marley’s sobbing continues to grow louder.  Her gasps for air further enforces his previous belief.  Maybe they really are underwater. 

It isn’t long before the choir room door opens again and a collection of cheerleaders rushes in followed by Mr. Schue.  Blaine watches Sam vault off of the cabinets like a spring loaded toy to pull Brittany into his arms.  She has never looked so terrified before.  But there is no sign of Tina amongst the red and white uniforms.  Blaine forgets about the maybe’s floating around his brain like buoys at sea and feels like he is drowning again.  He twists his head away and stares down pathetically at the blank screen of his cellphone, willing it to magically come alive.  

‘How could I have forgotten to charge it? I used to lecture Kurt about this all the time.’

Maybe it is a sign.  Maybe it is a metaphor of sorts.

He does not know when Artie began recording them with his phone, but the start of Marley’s hiccuped confession fills his lungs with water again.  “In the bottom of my desk drawer,” She breaks off to compose herself.  The volume of her crying sends off alarm bells in Blaine’s head and he tunes out the rest of her message.  He looks towards the hastily strewn barricade against the door.  Maybe it will prove to be sturdy, but it does not feel like enough.  The continued tapping of fingers against glass screens fills in the gaps of silence between the metronome and scattered crying when Artie pans the camera onto Blaine.  It feels like a slow dance towards a death sentence.  Maybe the rhythmic ticking really is a countdown. 

“Blaine, do you want to say anything to anyone?” 

He drops his face down into his knees.  Maybe he should take the opportunity to leave behind one tiny fragment of his life before he becomes another forgotten statistic.  But Artie has already redirected the phone towards Sam and Brittany when Blaine looks up again.  Maybe he has missed his chance.  ‘Maybe’ starts to feel like a cursed word now.  Like something sinister and evil and concrete.  Maybe he has inflated the word with too much hope causing some sort of rebound effect.  Maybe—

“All clear!” 

The words break through the hurricane in the choir room and suddenly everyone is getting to their feet except Blaine, who still feels sluggish and dazed.  Sam and Brittany approach him and hold out their hands.  He stares at their open palms, trembling and sweaty, and his body acts before his brain does to grasp them.  They lift him up like he is made of helium despite the lead shackles he envisions around his ankles.  He becomes aware of Sam’s arms around him and shakes away the anchors in his own arms to return the embrace.  The burn is still there, leaving his muscles fatigued and weak, but he cannot bring himself to let go now that he has latched on.  

“It’s okay, it’s okay.  See? We’re okay,” Sam whispers against his ear before Blaine realizes why he is taking such extra care to console him.  The sound of his own sobbing, punctuated by rattling intakes of air, reminds him why he tried to remain so still at the start of all of this.  He buries his face deep in Sam’s neck to muffle the sound and feels the addition of Brittany’s slender arms around both of them, leaving him sandwiched in between.  The shuffling sound of footsteps towards the door leads to the eventual end of the embrace and Sam jogs over to the piano, crouching down to retrieve his phone before they join hands and follow everyone else on the way to the parking lot.  

“Blaine, I have a charger in my car.” Sam says as he raises his phone to his ear.  Brittany slips her hand away from Blaine and he hears her whimpering Santana’s name before seeing she has also pulled out her phone.  Blaine laces his fingers with Sam and clings tightly as they weave their way through the crowd towards Sam’s car.  “Mom, hey I’m okay.  We’re okay.  We’re outside now— please don’t cry, I promise I’m okay.” 

When Sam finally pulls his hand free, Blaine thinks he might just float away.  It takes Sam only a few seconds to wrench open the car door and jam his key into the ignition.  “Blaine, here— Wait, Kurt’s calling my phone.  Mom, let me take this, and I’ll call you right back? Blaine’s phone died, he has no way to— yes, I’ll be right home as soon as I can.  I love you too.” 

Blaine’s fingers are numb by the time Sam has pressed the phone into his hand.  Kurt’s frantic, breathless voice breathes life into them, and he curls them tightly around the device just before it is about to fall.  “Sam! Brittany called Santana and said you guys made it out.  I can’t get in touch with Blaine, is he—”

“It’s me,” Blaine exhales and the volume of Kurt’s sob makes his knees shake.  He leans against the car door but slides down it as Kurt continues to cry loudly in his ear.  

“Why weren’t you answering me?” Kurt sputters out, his voice traversing the length of his entire vocal range like a warmup. 

“My phone died, that’s why I texted you with Sam’s—”

“You didn’t say it was you!” Kurt’s voice rises three octaves.  Blaine presses the phone closer to his ear like it will actually close any of the distance between them.  “I thought it was a mistake! I thought it was Sam! Why didn’t either of you get back to me on— Blaine, are you crying or laughing?” 

“Both, I think,” Blaine responds airily between watery laughter.  In the timespan of less than two hours he feels as though he has mastered every element associated with human emotion.  The fire in his lungs has been reduced to embers as Kurt’s voice continues to blanket him.  The laughter should feel inappropriate, but it feels like letting go.  It feels like a release.  He finally feels grounded.  “The stupid phone— it was insane— I dropped it and Sam kicked it under the piano— if you saw it— I’m sorry, I don’t know why I can’t stop laughing, but it just feels so good to hear your voice again.  I thought I was never going to hear it again or see you or—”

“Don’t you ever, ever, write a message to me like that again!” Kurt interrupts his rambling and suddenly the laughter becomes lodged in his throat.  Maybe he had been wrong to assume all of those ideas about them earlier.  Maybe Kurt’s next few words will feel like an actual gunshot wound.  

“Kurt, I’m sorry, I thought—”

“I told you I’m never saying goodbye to you,” Kurt parades through his apology, trying to sound bold and certain.  Blaine can see the hairline cracks in the foundation as Kurt wavers through the next command.  “Don’t you ever try to say goodbye to me like that again, do you understand me?” 

“Understood,” He replies with the remnants of his previous laughter, the solitary sound coming out strangled and relieved all at once.  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You’re sorry you—” The way he says it sends shivers down Blaine’s spine.  It is the same breathy exhale that had been reserved for their night in the hotel as their hands sank deeper and deeper into the mattress.  “Blaine, you must have been fucking terrified, how can you focus on me?” 

“Because I love you,” Blaine says simply.  For once there is no anxiety or fear to cage the confession.  It flies freely over the soundwaves and he does not worry about the reply because he already knows the response without Kurt having to say it.  But Kurt says it anyways. 

“I love you too.” 

‘Maybe’ starts to feel like a second chance again.  ‘Maybe’ feels like a promise. 

[thebisexualdogdad]

Sidekicks and sex pollens chapter 5

Co-written with @inhumanshadows

It had been a month since Bruce found out you were Mistletoe and he wasn't happy that Dick and Jason were still seeing you. 

"He's a good person Bruce, he's not Ivy, he's not penguin and he's certainly not Joker," Jason stated. 

"You don't truly know someone until you've seen them at their worst," Bruce responded. 

"I don't need to see him at his worst to know he would never hurt us," Jason went on.

On the other side of town, Ivy was giving you an eerily similar conversation.

“Ivy? I love ya boss. But I can not quantify how much I do not care. I trust them. And if they screw over I can handle it.”

“Just be careful numb skull. I actually enjoy having you around. Tell anyone that and you’re dead.”

"You like me over Harley?" You tease. 

"I don't like anyone over Harley dear," she winks, "speaking of i should get going, we have a very hot date planned tonight." 

"Night boss... Have fun with your girl," you call out. 

"Harley Quinn is no one's girl," Ivy laughs as she leaves.

She has as point. Harley is all her own

You lock the doors and shed your pants and shirt for one of Dicks sweatshirts. And nothing else. 

Maybe I’ll text one of the boys

You: 'You up?' 

Jaybird: 'did you just you up me?' 

You: 'can't handle your own playbook Todd?' 

Jaybird:  'touche'

You: 'I’m bored and wanna cuddle.'

Jaybird: 'why not text Dick?'

You: 'He didn’t answer so you coming or not? Oh and I’m not wearing pants.'

Jaybird: 'I'm on my way'

Twenty minutes later and Jason was at your front door. 

"I see you were telling the truth about the no pants thing," he laughs taking in the way Dick's large shirt barely covers you. 

"Would i ever lie to you babe?" 

"Never"

Jason jumps into your arms and you carry him to your bed.

You put on the last episode of a show while Jason strips and puts on your shirt. You lay on his chest and watch the show on screen.

“So how was your day?” You ask

"Bruce is being a prick again," he sighs. 

"About what?" You ask. 

He hesitates to tell you the truth, not wanting to hurt your feelings. 

"He doesn't trust you," Jason says nervously. 

"I don't need Bruce to trust me Jay, as long as you and Dick trust me that's all that matters"

“Oh... that’s good.”

“And besides Ivy doesn’t trust you two as far as she could throw you. I told her that if you two fuck up, I’ll handle it.”

“How?” Jason asks.

“You don’t wanna know.”

"Do you ever think about leaving Gotham behind? You, me and Dick just... Running away and starting over somewhere new?" Jason questions. 

"I have and as nice as it would be, none of us could ever leave Gotham behind, it's part of who we are," you say rubbing you thumb over his ribs comforting him.

“But isn’t Gotham like a toxic family member? Sometimes you gotta leave it behind to be better and happy?” Jason points out, uncharacteristically.

“Someone’s been raiding my bookshelf. But you have a point... enough of that for now. I just wanna lay with one of the best things in my life.”

"Alright," Jason says pulling you closer to him. 

Suddenly your phone begins to buzz, you groan not wanting to move but lean over to grab your phone off your bedside table. 

"It's Dick," you smile sliding to accept the call, "hello?"

"Hey sorry i just got your texts," he says out of breath. 

"Patrolling alone again?" You ask. 

"Yeah but it turned out to be a bust." 

"Well Jason is over at my place you want to come join the half naked cuddle session to make you feel better?" You chuckle. 

"I'll be over soon."

Dick must’ve sprinted with how fast he gets to your door. That and how out of breath and sweaty his is.

“Hi. Dick, normally love you all sweaty. But uh- you gotta shower.” You say, pulling him inside.

Dick chuckles and pecks your cheek before he strips naked and walks to your bathroom.

“Feel free to join me you two.”

“My shower isn’t that big. Just shower and get your soon to be clean ass over here!!” You shout.

Shortly after a freshly showered Dick is stepping out of the bathroom and climbing into bed next to you. 

"I don't know a better feeling than being between my two favorite people," you say snuggling into them both. 

"I love you guys," Dick says. 

"I love you both," you say in return. 

You expected Jason to say it back but instead you were met with the sound of him loudly snoring. 

"Guess it's time to go to sleep," you laugh. 

"Good night," Dick says kissing you softly. 

"Night."

You wake up around 5AM to two very obvious things poking you. Normally, you'd do something but you just lay on Dick's chest and try to sleep more, praying for an uneventful day.

You seem to get your wish when you wake a few hours later to Jason's ass peeking out from the blanket, still asleep and Dick reading a book that obviously came from your bookshelf. His free hand slowly moving through your hair. 

"Morning. I made breakfast and put your plate aside."

"How should we wake the sleeping bird."

"Let him sleep, he has no issue eating cold food," Dick says. 

You take a bite and stuff it in your mouth, "can I ask you something?" 

"Anything," he says taking a sip of his coffee. 

"How do you feel about Bruce not trusting me?" You ask him. 

"It doesn't bother me as much as Jason, he hasn't quite learned yet how to ignore Bruce's intrusive opinions," he says casually, "does it bother you?" 

"I don't want it to but I know how important Bruce is to you guys."

“Thanks. But honestly to me at this point... I couldn’t give less of a shit what Bruce thinks.” Dick says.

“That’s okay... I guess.”

“What about you? With Ivy. I know you think pretty highly of her.”

"Ivy showed me that i could do more for the world than being stuck in a lab all day, she's my mentor but we don't agree on everything," you explain. 

Once again your phone buzzes taking you out of the moment with your boys, this time however it's Harley calling. 

"That's weird, Harley never calls me," you say out loud before picking up, "uh hello?" 

"Y/N? Y/N get your ass to the old oil refinery downtown," Harley tells you. 

"What? Why?" You say confused. 

"It's Ivy she's in trouble," she responds and the line goes dead. 

"What's going on?" Jason asks in a haze of waking up. 

"I- I don't know- I gotta go," you say stumbling out of bed looking for any clothes you could find.

“Be careful...” Dick says, but you’re already gone.

You get to the Oil refinery, skin changed and the persona of Mistletoes assumed. 

Harley is outside, pacing.

“Harley! What’s going on?”

You take in Harley's appearance, she's got cuts all over and covered in sut, the smell of a fire is now filling the air.

"We went in there to destroy some new fracking machine they are building but there was an explosion and I can't find her anywhere," she says clearly scared. 

A shadow passes over you two, both looking up to see a sliver a cape fly into the building. 

"Shit it's the bat! Y/N you gotta go find her!" Harley shouts. 

"I'll find her I promise," you say running into the building.

The smoke is thick, dark and burns your eyes. You toss some air filtering seeds down to do what they can.

“Ivy!! Ivy!! Where are you!!”

The only answer you have is an explosion from above you. You jump forward, narrowly avoiding a painful potential death. 

Damn it! I gotta find her and get out fast... and before Bruce finds her...”

You scower the refinery, ending up in dead end after dead end..

 "Help"

That was Ivy's voice. 

"Ivy!" You shout. 

 "Y/N"

You follow the voice and that's when you see her. 

She's trapped underneath a fallen beam. 

"Ivy!" You yell again as you run to her.

“Hey kid...” Her voice is weak.

“Don’t talk. Let’s get this off of you and get you back to Harley.

You toss a semicircle of the air filter plants and then summon many vines to lift the beam off of Ivy.

A few more booms ring in the facility. As soon as she’s free you drag her from under, throwing her arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s go. If we die... Harley would bring me back just to kill me.” You joke.

"Ivy what did you do," a bold voice from above yells. 

"Not now Batman," you say dragging Ivy along desperate for an exit. 

Bruce jumps down from a riser landing in front of you. 

"I said not now!" You say angrily, sending vines towards him to throw him away from you.

You hear his body crash against a wall and to be honest- you gave zero fucks.

You have a few more vines tear open a metal door, Harley in the distance. You can tell by her body language she’d been crying. 

“Hold on Ivy, almost there.” You tell her. There’s another chain of explosions as you approach Harley.

“Oh thank god!!” Harley cries.

She takes Ivy from you and you pull two vials from your bag, the liquid a slight green glow.

“Here, these will help Ivy get her strengths back. Use one now and the next tomorrow morning. I’ll try and buy some time with the Bat.”

Harley takes the vials and gives you a knowing nod and takes off, carrying Ivy in her arms.

You knew your emotions had gotten the best of you in that moment so you ran back inside to make sure Bruce wasn't hurt. 

"How could you let her get away after doing this," Bruce scolds dodging another falling beam as it hits the ground. 

"Do you know what they were going to do with that machine? It would kill the environment!" You shout. 

"This refinery is what keeps Gotham out of poverty and now it's destroyed," Bruce retorts. 

"Oh like you care about the people breaking their backs in this place for minimum wage while the rich get richer from their hard work, Wayne industries can keep this entire city out of poverty alone but instead you sit in your high castle only adding to the problem."

"I do everything i can to help this city," Bruce says.

"But it's not enough, it will never be enough, not for Gotham, not for the world," you stammer, "all Ivy and i want is to save the environment from those who are killing it like this refinery." 

"There's gotta be a better way-" 

Before Bruce could finish his sentence a loud crack came from the ceiling, another beam engulfed in flames heading straight for Bruce.

You stretch your arms and have vines pull you and  Bruce towards the door, an explosion rocketing you both outside.

You hit the ground and roll with a thud, ears ringing. You clutch your head and look for Bruce amidst the debris. 

You find him a good ten feet to your left, slowly rising.

“You-you saved me...” He says.

“Don’t be surprised... I may not like that you don’t trust me. But I know how important you are to this city and to Jason and Dick. Plus, I’m not a monster.”

You toss a pollen pod at him and use the cloud to escape.

It's a few days later, you haven't talked to Dick or Jason about what happened, you don't know how. 

You're sitting in your lab, studying samples from a crime scene when there's a knock at your door.

"Come in," you shout across the room. 

When the door opens you turn around and it's Bruce. 

"What are you doing here?" You say surprised. 

"I've been thinking about what you said and i have an offer for you," he says walking towards you. 

"What kind of offer?" 

"I want you to come work for Wayne Industries." 

You sit there speechless. 

"You were right, Wayne Industries can do a lot more not only for Gotham but for the world than what we are currently doing so I want to create a new initiative within the company to fight the damages done to our environment and I want you to lead the department," he explains.

You fully turn to face Bruce, eyebrow raised.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I promise. You’d be in control of the department. I’d also like to offer you a room in the Manor and apologize for not trusting you. You saved my life yesterday.”

“I can’t just up and leave my job here.”

“Actually you can. I’ve had Alfred prep recruitment papers. All you need to do is sign.”

"Have you told Dick and Jason?" You ask. 

"No i didn't want to get their hopes up in case you decline," he tells you. 

"And how am I supposed to tell Ivy?" 

"As long as you don't tell Ivy who I really am she won't know you're working for the enemy just the richest man in Gotham," he chuckled. 

"And she would be pretty happy to see me lead my own initiative," you say considering your options, "I'm in."

“Glad to hear it. What about the room at the Manor? I’d be more than happy to pay for any and all moving expenses.” Bruce supplies.

“I’ll take it. And would it be alright if I told Dick and Jason? And we could start packing my place

"I'm sure they would rather hear from you than me," he smiles, "well I'll let you get back to work." 

"I gotta call the boys," you tell yourself when he leaves.

[enragedbisexual]

how wonderful life is while you’re in the world

carolmaria; angsty bc of some misunderstandings n shit but it ends on a good note i promise <3

also on ao3

The pain, Maria remembered, had once felt as heavy as the boxes they had carried into their first apartment, as sharp as her ex girlfriend’s wit. She remembered it being so overwhelming, so suffocating. That’s what it would have been like for me out there, Maria often thinks, now. Suffocating.

“Out there,” was Maria’s two syllable euphemism for a one syllable word that terrified her: space. Space—the infinite, alien world where Carol had been, while Maria was at home, lost and bitter and angry. And achingly alone.

She didn’t feel any resentment or anger of any kind when it came to Carol; she never could. And besides, in this case, she certainly didn’t have a reason to. Whatever Maria had been feeling all those years, whatever seemingly impossible struggles she went through, she knew Carol couldn’t have been doing much better. Part of Maria was grateful she didn’t know where Carol was that whole time, or what she had been doing, because if she had, god knows how much worse life would’ve been. It wouldn’t have only been her pain, it would’ve been Carol’s too. If she had known Carol was out there, somewhere, not with her? That they were both alone? It would’ve been unbearable.

When Carol came back, though, Maria went through everything all over again. Except this time, it was—notably—worse.

It didn’t start out that way, of course. For a few, fleeting seconds, in fact, it was the complete opposite. It was euphoria.

When Maria saw Carol again, after six years—six years of hoping and wishing and giving up and inevitably starting all over again—an inexplicable sensation had whirled through her entire being. The feeling was something that, to this day, Maria struggles to truly characterize or express. The only thing that even comes close to the way she felt on that day, is the way she felt on another, very different day, in the summer of 1984.

That summer was vibrant, it was electrifying; it was karaoke nights that rescued them from distant, trepidatious days. And it had been on a particularly loud, dizzy night, after a particularly long and weary day, that Carol had kissed Maria for the first time. It was that feeling, multiplied by a thousand. A million, even. That was what went rushing through her veins when Carol came back.

“Aunty Carol? Mom! It’s Aunty Carol!”

Monica’s words felt cruel, at first, like the universe didn’t think Maria had suffered enough. But then Maria turned around, and she looked at Carol with her own eyes. Carol held her gaze, and suddenly Maria was the one who wasn’t really there. She was in the bathroom of a bar and she was nineteen and it was the end of July, and she had her eyes closed and her back against the door and Carol’s hand on her waist. That was the feeling.

Just as soon as it had been given, the feeling was taken away. It disappeared bluntly, eerily reminiscent of the way Carol had disappeared six years ago.

“I’m not really who you think I am.”

“Cruel,” at that point, was an understatement. A pitiful attempt to explain the sense of loss Maria felt, grasping at words that weren’t there, because of course they couldn’t be there, because god why would anyone create a word for a feeling no one should ever have to feel?

Maria asked herself that over and over. She was riddled with guilt, and she hated herself, and the world, and she couldn’t make sense of anything. To feel something other than bliss or gratitude when your person comes back from the dead—it felt like she was committing an act of treason against every god there’s ever been.

But Maria couldn’t help her devastation. Carol was back, yes. She was on Earth and she was alive, but she didn’t remember anything. The only person Maria had ever been in love with didn’t even know who she was, let alone reciprocate the sentiment. Maria was technically truthful from the start; she did tell Carol that they were best friends, after all. She never lied, she just ... omitted some major details. What else was she supposed to do?

Hey I know you just got back to Earth and you’re pretty shaken up considering the whole you-don’t-remember-ninety-percent-of-your-life thing and also you can shoot blasts of energy from your hands now, but we were actually supposed to get married, so, is that still on the table?

Please! Maria could never bring herself to say something like that, not even after Fury and the Skrulls, when life was back to some semblance of normalcy. This would take time. It was still too much to come to terms with.

-----

Today, though, a little over a year after Carol saved the Skrulls, Maria was doing just that. She was past “coming to terms” and on her way to healing, actually. She knew Carol had been finding pieces of herself everyday (small pieces, but they fit just the same), and Maria couldn’t have been happier for her.

Be that as it may, she wasn’t holding out hope for a miracle, anymore. One day, she and Carol had been looking at old photos, which they did all the time. It seemed to bring Carol real comfort, and Maria wanted her to feel safe. Glancing at a photo of the two of them in uniform, making silly faces at the camera, something in Carol’s eyes had flickered—a spark Maria had desperately hoped meant I remember, I’m yours.

It didn’t. But instead of letting her spirit crumble, (like the Jenga towers they and Monica were always building too high), Maria forced herself to stop feeling so hopeless. It sounds insane, even as she thinks back now, but she managed to heal her deepest wounds in a short few days.

All it took, truly, was a serious shift in her perspective. She had been feeling so cheated, like the universe didn’t care about her at all. She felt like she had been cosmically cursed, and she would get so angry. Plenty of days, she wouldn’t sleep at all, plagued by nightmares made up of her own memories. Maria was so focused on everything she didn’t—or couldn’t—ever have again, that she was so wildly unaware of the gifts she had been given.

At the end of the day, Maria decided, she was just happy, and lucky, to know Carol. She was lucky to have Carol in her life again. Any and everything she might have beyond that was a blessing.

And she did have a lot, in fact. They didn’t kiss, or make love, or fall asleep together every night. But they were incredibly close, Monica included; they were a family, if an unconventional one. Maria can’t count the number of times she’s fallen asleep with Monica’s head in her lap and Carol’s on her shoulder, or the nights Carol has come into her room shaken by a nightmare, and Maria has held her close and stroked her hair and whispered reassurances until her friend fell back asleep.

When you fall in love with someone, and they never hurt you—things end on good terms, or maybe you never even got together in the first place—when you fall in love like that, it’s so hard to fall out. In the back of your mind, they’ll always be there, hanging around and showing up in your daydreams when you least expect it.

You might move on, you might “get over” them, in theory, but in practice? If they showed up and asked to be yours, would you say yes?

See, after some serious, and, yes—tearful—ruminating, Maria knew the answer. She knew it would never change. But she also decided she didn’t need everything. She didn’t need for them to be in love, whatever that even meant, and she didn’t want to waste her time on this Earth full of sad feelings. She wanted happy feelings, and she had them.

Forgive me for being a living cliche, Maria had pleaded jokingly, and to no one in particular, but this is more than enough.

As for Carol, she had been getting little pieces of her memory back: a fuzzy vignette of a family road trip she took as a kid, blurry frames of the day she first learned how to ride a bike ...

... A vision of two hands shaking as they interlaced their fingers, a flash of skin on skin and a fire in her stomach whenever she lay next to Maria for too long, a jolt of energy as her lips pressed someone else’s to the offbeat of loud karaoke in a dark bathroom stall.

Okay, she hadn’t told anyone—she hadn’t told Maria—about those last three pieces.

First of all, Carol couldn’t even be sure of what was happening in her own mind. She obviously didn’t trust herself, or her memories, because she knew they had been toyed with before. And although it was, admittedly, a bit of a stretch to think that would be happening to her again, it felt more like leaps and bounds to think that she and Maria had been .... something.

So, she presumed, the former it must be, then.

Carol shoved all her soft-edged pieces—a label designated for those memories which focused on the two of them—down and away from the big picture. They didn’t fit.

Well, she wasn’t sure if they did. She hasn’t asked Maria about it. She was far, far too terrified.

-----

Maria had been getting the strangest sense from Carol over the past few weeks. She wanted to ask her what was going on, but she didn’t want to make Carol feel bad or uncomfortable. Maria knew it wasn’t right, or reasonable, to think of Carol as being so fragile. She was one of the strongest beings in the entire universe; she could handle a question. Or two.

Monica was at school, and Carol and Maria were sitting on the couch—close enough to touch but decidedly, not—watching reruns of Charlie’s Angels. An especially irritating commercial interrupted their viewing, leading Carol to quickly press MUTE on the remote.

For a second, Maria was grateful. After all, they had seen this guy drone on about Chevy’s plethora of meaningless awards at least ten times over the past 24 hours alone, and it was annoying. Except, now, the room was unnervingly quiet, save for a faint, steady buzz coming from their refrigerator in the other room. Under different circumstances, Maria wouldn’t be bothered at all by this sort of silence. She and Carol were perfectly capable of coping with lapses in conversation; in fact, they enjoyed it. At this exact moment in time, however, the lack of chit-chat was making both of them unusually anxious.

They knew they needed to talk about the way things had been recently. Maria noticed Carol had been keeping more and more to herself, holding her breath whenever Maria got too close. For weeks, Maria had been dying to bring it up, always on the verge of unlocking whatever kept her from saying the things she was thinking, yet always swallowing the key in favor of swallowing her pride.

Now, it’s been unlocked. And there’s no going back, Maria concluded.

“Carol, is everything okay?” Maria asked. She tried to be nonchalant about it, but you could tell it was anything other than a casual question.

Carol didn’t turn to face her, like Maria had expected. She kept her eyes on the television, the bright whites and blues of a new commercial flashing across her face in the dim light.

“Yeah? Everything’s okay.” Carol made eye contact, now. “Why? Are you okay?”

The first yeah wasn’t a lack of conviction on Carol’s part. On the contrary, actually. She seemed confident, like she only made her voice go up in that inquisitive manner in order to ensure that her puzzlement with Maria's inquiry was properly expressed.

“I’m okay,” Maria said slowly, without breaking eye contact. A split second passed, and it was long enough for Maria to change her mind.

Quickly, Maria admitted, “I’m sort of confused, to tell you the truth. Did I do something wrong? I feel like, lately, you’ve been acting like, I’m a ticking time bomb or something. I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m probably just being-“

“No, no it’s okay,” Carol interrupted. She was looking at Maria, but Maria was looking away, as if she could literally see the words she didn’t get to say hanging in the air.

“Hey,” Carol said, her voice more insistent this time. “Look at me, it’s okay.” Maria looked, her face a picture of relief and confusion. Carol was smiling softly at her.

When Maria didn’t ask anything else, Carol knew she had to be the one to clear the air, even if she had approximately zero idea what to say.

Carol plopped her hands down onto her jeans, over the top of her thigh, and audibly took in a breath. Her eyes, like her hands, were on the tattered blue denim she was wearing. She moved her hands up and down her thighs nervously until she stopped at the place she had began, shrugged her shoulders up awkwardly, and then exhaled as she closed her eyes and let the muscles of her upper body fall back into a relaxed position. Her head was still pointed towards their carpeted living room floor.

Maria, chewing her lip in an attempt to tame the beast that was her anticipation, watched as Carol opened her eyes and turned to face her.

As soon as their eyes were locked, Carol started, “I’ve kind of been keeping something from you.” She felt the guilt and the worry start to bubble up in her stomach. “I’m really sorry.”

Maria didn’t seem shaken. Carol didn’t know what to make of that.

Maria just sort of nodded, ever so slightly, and Carol realized this might be more of a monologue situation than she had originally anticipated.

Nevertheless, she continued, “You know how I’ve been remembering stuff, here and there, and how we always talk about the stuff I remember? Well, I ... well. There’s just some memories, or something, that I’m not so sure about? I mean, I’m sure I’m having them, like, I’m definitely seeing everything, I just don’t know if they’re mine.”

Maria looked horrified. “You think someone got inside—is, inside—your head again?”

“I don’t know,” Carol said. She felt so awful, making Maria worry like this. She had to come out with it.

“No, I don’t think so,” Carol confessed defeatedly, heaving a sigh. “I’m just making excuses, I guess. I’m scared, Maria. Promise you’ll tell me the truth?”

“The truth about what? I would never lie to you. You know that. And you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” Maria grazed the top of Carol’s hand with the tips of her fingers as she asked that last question, and Carol’s hand sprang up from the couch, startling them both.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I don’t know—I don’t know why I did that,” Carol explained hurriedly, trailing off at the end of her sentence. Maria just stared.

“Look, I-I’ve been having these memories. Of us? Not how we are now but like, us, Maria. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

If the silence had been a grey cloud before, it was a full blown thunderstorm now.

The look on Maria’s face was the same look she wore the day Carol arrived in their little suburbia. Carol didn’t know if that was a good thing. She wanted it to be. She really, really wanted it to be.

Practically whispering, Maria leaned closer and said, “I ... can you—can you tell me more?”

Carol swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“Yeah, yeah, yes,” she assured. “Okay. Um, there’s a few. Sometimes, I see two hands trying to hold onto each other. They’re both reaching, and shaking, and then they intertwine their fingers ... I wasn’t sure what to think of that one. I thought to myself, well that could be anyone. But, that’s not true.” Carol delivered those details without facing Maria directly. Her eyes were staring off into space, like she was here, with Maria, but she was also somewhere else.

“I know what my own hand looks like,” Carol explained, “I know what yours looks like. I don’t know. I’m just afraid, I guess. I don’t know what to believe.” She looked a bit ashamed. “No, I’m-I’m afraid to believe. I’m afraid.”

Maria lifted her hand off the sofa and reached up to press it against Carol’s left cheek, staying there for a moment, and then gently moving Carol’s face towards her own.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Carol. I promise. Just take a breath, yeah?” Carol nodded, and visibly took the advice. “What else have you been seeing?”

Carol began, “I see flashes of something, um.” She felt herself blushing, and she knew Maria would notice. It only made her skin hotter.

“Yeah?” Maria encouraged her to continue.

“You know how you said you’ve been feeling like, well, that I've been making you feel like, a ‘ticking time bomb?’ I think-“

“I’m sorry,” Maria cut her off. “I’m sorry I said that, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty-“

Carol didn’t let her finish. “No, no it’s okay. That’s not what—no. It’s okay.” She beamed at Maria, hoping to hammer home the statement, which was one hundred percent genuine.

Then, she continued, “It’s just, I’ve been seeing us in bed. Together.” She sighed, and looked at Maria.

“We’re not—in the memories we’re not—we aren’t ... sleeping.”

By now, the tension was mounting, although it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. It just felt like a precursor to something inevitable, something important. Maria did have a bit of a knowing smile on her face, but she also looked hesitant, like she desperately wanted to do something and at the very same time was petrified by what that something might be.

Well, love conquers fear, as they say.

While their gazes were both locked onto each other, Maria leaned in and kissed Carol, quite quickly, on the mouth.

It seemed as though the act was over in less than an instant, and yet every instant they had left on this Earth had now been forever changed. The trajectory of their lives was finally back on track.

Apparently, Carol didn’t exactly appreciate the moment being so brief. She kissed Maria again, and unlike her friend, she didn’t show much restraint. Her hands were in Maria’s hair in less time than it had taken her to mute that commercial, and Maria had her knuckle in the loop of Carol’s blue jeans.

Between kisses, Carol mumbled something along the lines of, “Hey, this is just like that night at the karaoke bar.”

Maria pulled back instantly, her eyes wide.

“You remember that?” Maria asked, her voice full of wonder and awe.

Carol grinned. “Yeah, babe. It’s been the only show on the Carol Danvers channel,” she said, tapping her index finger against her temple, “for, like, the past month.”

Immediately, the room was filled with the sound of Maria’s laughter, then Carol’s too, and, eventually, another silence.

This silence wasn’t intimidating. It wasn’t a storm, no. It was the clouds slowly dissipating, the way they do right before the sun comes back out to say hello.

Both of their eyes were sparkling, their faces glowing and their hair lightly tousled. They looked like they could’ve been in a commercial themselves: “couple waking up and drinking coffee together in their pajamas,” or something.

It was Maria who spoke first.

“So,” she began “we’re ... us, again?”

Carol let the question bounce around in her mind for a few moments.

“I can’t believe we ever stopped being us, Maria. Let’s not let it happen again, okay? You’re my person. Always.”

Carol laced their fingers together. Another memory come true.

“If I remember correctly, we have one more memory to relive, don’t we?” Maria teased.

With a disapproving click of her tongue, Carol replied, “Rambeau, always with your mind in the gutter.”

Maria rolled her eyes.

“Okay okay!” Carol said, “I’m just kidding. Come here, my love.”

Maria was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt, and at any other moment with anyone else in the world, she would’ve been thinking about something incredibly ridiculous, like whether or not her smile made her look unattractive. Right now, here, with the girl she's loved since she was nineteen? She couldn’t have cared less.

[shadedrose01]

Truth or Dare (Yes, I Double Dare You)

Ships: Parkner (Harley Keener/Peter Parker), mentioned Thompsborn (Harry Osborn/Flash Thompson)

Summary: Peter play Truth or Dare with his friends.

Tags: Febufluff, Day 8, I dare you to kiss me, Truth or Dare, Party Games, Birthday Party, They play truth or dare y'all, Peter has a crush on Harley, Harley likes him back, Thompsborn is in this too, Bisexual Peter Parker, Gay Harley Keener, Dare, Calling your crush, admitting feelings, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Kissing, Cute, Fluff, a lot of swearing, I dont know why i made them swear so much, im sorry lol, Bad French, Poor translated french, I Tried

Day eight of Febufluff: "I dare you to... kiss me"!

--

"Hmm, I dare you to speak in a French accent for the next three rounds." Flash grins over his cup, swirling the drink in front of his mouth before taking a sip, watching the smile drop off of his boyfriend's face, an incredulous expression replacing it.

"Seriously?!?"

"Yes, seriously! And that wasn't in an accent!"

"Oui, oui, baguette." Harry deadpans, looking so entirely done with Flash's bullshit, the entire room erupting into laughter as said boy sits up, shoving his boyfriend's shoulder hard.

"No halfassed bullshit, dickwad. The real deal."

"Fine, you want the real deal?" Harry sits up straight, and Peter starts giggling like a mad man from the other side of the room, leaning against the wall to watch the scene unfold, knowing exactly what is about to happen. Harry clears his throat, holds a dramatic pause for a few seconds, before- "Tu veux un accent francaise, tu vas recevoir un accent francaise."

"Oh my god, I forgot he spoke French!" Flash moans, slowly slipping down the wall in shame.

"Oh la la, ma chérie, qu'est ce que tu as fais, eh?" Harry grins, smug, cheeky, knowing he's won this hand as his boyfriend sinks even lower, his head almost level with the ground, his face red.

"And why is it so hot?!?"

"Okay, okay, enough." Ned laughs, sitting chris cross apple sauce beside Peter, the party hat sat on the top of his head beginning to sag.

It was Ned's 17th birthday, and instead of throwing a big party full of alcohol and loud music like most people in their classes did, he decided to have a smaller party, a sleepover full of board games, video games and now party games, with his closest friends, with their friend group. So here they all were, packing into Ned's smaller sized room, Flash and Harry practically conjoined at the hip sitting against the wall, Peter and Ned sitting on top of his bed on the other side of the room, and MJ and Harley leaning against said bed, sat on the floor, playing what would hopefully be a quick game of Truth or Dare. Hopefully.

Peter had never liked this game. There was always too much risk for him in this game, of being asked to reveal one of his many secrets, or of being asked to embarrass himself for laughs. He gets the appeal of it, the adrenaline rush, the amusement of watching your friends do something stupid, it's a fun game to watch, but that doesn't mean he likes playing it. He hadnt even called on yet though, and he was hoping to keep it that way.

He shouldn't have jinxed it.

As if his thoughts manifested into reality, Harry turns to stare at him with a unknown, horrifying glint in his eyes. Oh no, this is definitely not going to end well. "Action ou Vérité?"

Peter sighs, looking up to the ceiling as he mumbles "Dare.", assuming that's what Harry asked. If he's going to go down, he may as well go down in style.

Harry's grin widens, and Peter is already regretting his decision. "Je te défie de telephoner ton béguin."

Peter blinks at him in confusion, before MJ translates, "He's daring you to call your crush."

"What?!?" Peter sputters, Harry cackling at  his flushing face while Harley speaks up for the first time in a while, his ('beautiful, gorgeous, fuck-') face turned towards MJ, scrunched up in thought.

"You know French? Since when?"

MJ just shrugs, face impartial, the only sign of her shyness being her pushing a stray hair behind her ear. "Since I got bored one day and learned it."

Harley just nods, like that makes sense, all while Peter is internal freaking the fuck out. Normally, this type of thing wouldn't be an issue. Sure, your friends will find out who your crush is, and tease you about it, and it'll be embarassing and whatever, but that's not the problem. Oh no no no no no, that would be too easy for Peter Parker. No, the problem with this question for Peter is that his crush is in the damn room, sitting directly in front of him leaning against the bed, an easy smile tilting up his thin pink lips, showing off his adorable dimples as he scans the room again with those big, stunning ocean blue eyes, hair coiffed back just right, messy, but just neat enough to be perfect, one stray blond curl falling in front of his eyes and fuck, fuck, frick fuck.

What is he going to do?!? He can't exactly call Harley when he's right in front of him, but he can't exactly say that he won't do it either, he wont be that guy. And now everybody is staring at it, expectant, waiting, shit, shit, shit-

Ned's eyes are the only ones that are sympathetic, because he knows, he knows who Peter likes and why this is such a big deal. Harley is one of Peter's best friends, they've been friends for years, and Peter is closer to Harley than he is to anybody else, he cant just throw it all away because of a game, can he? Harley definitely doesnt like him back, so if he does call him, it'll only end badly, but theres this tiny, tiny, traitorous part of him that wants to fo it, wants to tell him, if only to get it out in the open. But he cant ruin their friendship like that, he cant, but- but- oh god, oh no-

"Come on, Parker, we don't have all day." Flash complains innocently, not knowing of Peter's internal dilemma as he throws a stray piece of popcorn at him, Peter catching it subconsciously and throwing it into his mouth, just to try and get a few more seconds of peace before all hell breaks loose, before he destroys his closest friendship with his stupid ass feelings, goddamn it-

"Yeah, Pete, come on, dont keep us on the end of our seats." Harley teases, placing his head onto the blankets and looking back at him upside down, his hair surrounding his head like a halo, making him look even more angelic that he normally does, and god, why him, why? "Who's caught your eye, hm?"

Peter takes a deep, long, shaky breath, trying to prepare himself for the worst (and failing), taking his phone out of his pocket and scrolling down to Harleys contract, the black letters and two heart emojis on either side staring back at him mockingly. He hovers his thumb over the call button, noting how much its trembling, before he gulps and presses it, placing the phone to his ear, squeezing his eyes shut like a coward, unable to watch, knowing that Harleys expression was going shift, was going to turn from soft and warm, friendly, to hard and angry, to hatred and disgust and-

ACDC blares out into the room, the noise very obviously Harley's ringtone, and Peter grits his teeth, biting his tongue hard, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Wha-" Harley sounds so confused, so so confused, and Peter's squeezes his eyes shut tighter, holding back the burning tears that are threatening to spill. "Peter, why are you- wait..." He stops, pauses, and Peter digs his nails into his palm, squeezing his phone until he hears it start to crack. "...really?"

His voice is shaky, and god, Peter made him upset, he is probably so hurt, so confused, so disgusted, god stupid, you're so stupid, why would you do that, why didnt you just not do it, why why why-

He nods once, slowly, swallowing down a sob before whispering out "I'm sorry," into the now eerily silent room, his friends seemingly shocked into silence. He doesnt even want to know what they're thinking, what expressions are on their faces-

Theres another pause, another moment before he hears somebody shifting, Harley standing up, he's leaving, he's leaving- Good job, Parker, now you're forcing him to leave, you made him feel so uncomfortable that he's leaving, good fricken job, god, what is wrong with you-

A hand rubs his cheek gently, so so gently, spurring him out of his head as it brushes away a tear that had broken free, before another hand joins it on his other cheek, cradling his face. Peter blinks opens his eyes, shocked to see that its Harleys hands on his face, and that its Harley sat right in front of his face, with a wide smile and glowing eyes, face bright. "You mean it? You really mean it?"

Peter just nods again, so, so confused but also filling with a spark of hope, of joy as Harley's smile grows even more, filling his face before he launches into Peter's arms, hugging him tightly. "Oh thank god," he breathes into Peter's shoulder, and Peter is so lost, what is happening- "I thought you  were gonna call someone else, and I was gonna have to act all happy and like it didn't bother me when it totally would have and-"

"Wait, wait," Peter finally puts together the pieces, and pulls away to stare at Harley with wide eyes, the beginning of a smile twitching at his lips. "You like me back?"

"Yeah?" Harley cheeks grow a rosey hue, and he looks away bashfully. "I thought it was obvious."

Peter shakes his head wildly, eyes still wide, this cant be happening, he likes me back, he likes me- "No, no it wasn't, it really really wasn't-"

"So, what I'm hearing," MJ cuts in, tone blunt as always, but with hints of warm amusement softening the usual edge, "is that you two are oblivious idiots."

They both laugh breathless, staring into each others eyes. "Apparently." Harley murmurs, his blue eyes swirling and flickering up and down, looking down at his lips before looking back up again.

Peter gets an idea, a cheesy, cheesy idea, and grins. "Hey, it's my turn now, right?" He asks to the group, never taking his eyes off of Harley.

"Yeeup!" Ned responds enthusiastically, seemingly thrilled to see his two best friends realizing their feelings for one another.

"Well," he leans forward a bit more, watching as Harleys pupil's grow bigger. "Truth or dare, Harls."

"Dare." He responds easily, quickly, seemingly getting more and more antsy by the second. Peter can't blame him, he feels the same way.

"I dare you to kiss me." Peter doesnt even finish his sentence before Harley's lips are pressed to his, his hands moving upwards and running through his hair, fingers grabbing lightly onto the strands as Peter grabs his hips lightly, pulling him closer, both of the boys grinning into the kiss. Peter can hear MJ gagging in the background, Harry exclaiming "gross!" like he doesnt kiss Flash every two seconds, and Ned squealing like a fangirl, but he ignores it all, just focusing on Harley, focusing on this moment, his heart swelling in his chest.

[twokinkybeans]

Jar Or Dirt Chapter 8: Bottle Of Vodka [Starker Fanfiction NSFW/18+]

Kink/Sexual Warnings: None (No sex in this chapter) Other Warnings: Peter gets very drunk and assaulted (kissing only), angsty feelings, emotions. 

All Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10 ... Masterpost (More to come!)

---

Chapter 8: Bottle Of Vodka Peter isn’t entirely sure he’s back in this world after the mindblowing and extraordinary high he experienced this morning. His body feels so heavy, his mind extremely slow. He’s in the kitchen, waiting for Tony to follow him out of the shower so they can eat lunch together. He’s slowly tapping his fingers on the countertop - and frowns. Huh? He lifts his hands up, turning them around and staring at his fingers. They feel almost numb. Not tingling like they usually do. It’s almost as if they’re turned off? He takes a deep, shaky breath, flexing his fingers a few times.

Now that he’s starting to pay attention, he notices how eerily quiet it is around him. Where he would hear the wind hit the high rise, there’s nothing now. However, when Peter looks through the windows he sees the swift-moving clouds. He blinks a few times, looking over the New York City skyline. The colors are flat, all contrast dulled to grey shades. He feels empty, no longer feeling his heart pumping his blood through his veins. He’s cold. He’s never cold. The record player doesn’t scratch his ears. There’s no low hum he has to actively cancel out. It’s weird. It’s… Ordinary. He hasn’t felt this way since…

“Hey kid, watcha up to?” “AH!” Peter jolts and turns to find Tony right behind him. Startled, he scrambles and trips over his own feet, landing on his butt with a loud groan. He pants heavily. “Whoa, there!” Tony looks at Peter worried and moves to help him up. Peter takes his hand and feels the tears sting in his eyes when he doesn’t feel Tony’s heartbeat either. “Are you okay?” “I didn’t-” “Didn’t?” “Sense you. I didn’t sense you,” Peter chokes out. “I didn’t know you were behind me.” Tony frowns at Peter. This boy has an unreal accuracy when it comes to knowing where other people are around him. He should’ve sensed him walking up to him. He always does. He explained how he feels the air shift, hears Tony’s clothes ruffle as he walks. This doesn’t sound good.

"Mr. Stark-" Peter's voice is shaky. Tears well up in his eyes as he keeps looking at Tony's hands holding onto his. "-I... I think there’s something wrong with me?” The boy seems genuinely scared and Tony swallows. He bridges the gap between them to hold him close. “Pete, tell me what’s wrong. What’s going on?” “My senses… T-They’re gone? My fingers are numb, everything is silent and dull and… and…” “Alright, baby. It’s going to be alright, okay? Let’s go to the lab, so I can run some tests.” Tony says gently, scooping the boy up and carrying him to the elevator so they can go down. He doesn’t trust Peter to walk by himself right now. “O-okay…”

-

Tony sighs as he takes another sip of his wine. The penthouse feels empty without Peter around, but he’s glad he managed to encourage Peter to go to Ned’s first frat party. The boy hadn’t wanted to go at first, scared of his now ordinary senses, but at the same time, he didn’t want to bail on Ned. It was scary to see him like this, but F.R.I.D.A.Y. had assured Tony that there was nothing off with the boy, aside from a massive hormonal disbalance. Which, actually, wasn’t a disruption at all. It was the opposite. Peter’s hormones are now completely balanced out, like a normal human being. From what Tony has seen in the boy after a bad fight, his hormones have always healed naturally within a few days. Apparently, the sexual overstimulation caused his Spider senses to shut down completely as a defense mechanism, but he should stabilize within two days tops.

He’s listening to one of the records Peter got him this morning, enjoying the last few hours of his birthday. He took out the Adam Ant one; he hadn’t listened to that for years. It’s good to hear it again. God, this is the singer that definitely helped him realize he was gay. He chuckles. He’s come a long way since being the 14-year old kid he’d been back then. Oh, the memories. He figures he should spend his time a bit more productively and picks up on the NASA article he’d started on reading earlier today, his eyes gliding over the words. Soon enough, he’s interrupted by Peter’s playful ringtone. He catches himself smiling instantly and picks up. “Heya, Pete!” “Mr. Stark?”

Well, that’s definitely not Peter. There’s clearly a party going on in the background, but the music is getting softer, telling Tony that whoever this is, they’re moving away from it. "Heya... Not-Peter?" He sits upright. "Who are you? Why do you have Peter's phone?" "Mr. Stark, it's me, Ned!" Something eats at Tony. This doesn't feel right. Peter never leaves his phone for someone else to take. Not even his best friend. "Oh, hey! Everything alright?" "Well, I'm not sure," Ned says worriedly. Tony stands up from the couch. "Peter's missing." "Peter's what?!" "He left without everything! His phone, his bag- Mr. Stark, even his Spider suit is still in his backpack." "Shit." Tony rushes to the lab to see if there's anything on Peter that could be tracked. "He seemed out of it too- did anything happen?" Tony grimaces at Ned’s question. Yes, something happened. And now Tony can't help but think that this was all his fault. He brought Peter that deep into subspace. He fucked up his hormone levels. He urged Peter to go to Ned's party and have fun. This is on him.

"Ned, did he do anything out of the ordinary?" It's quiet for a second as the other young adult thinks. "I don't think so? He came in feeling a little anxious, so I gave him the vodka bottle so he could get tipsy." "You gave him an entire bottle of vodka?" "You know him, Mr. Stark. His Spider stuff makes alcohol leave his system faster. He has to drink at least half a bottle of that stuff to even get kind of tipsy." God fucking dammit. "Did you see him do it?" Tony stops in his tracks, waiting for Ned to answer. "Do what?" "Down the alcohol?" Tony swipes his hand a few times, activating F.R.I.D.A.Y. "Yeah, his face was hilarious like always, but he chugged at least eleven shots worth, probably more." "Oh my God." Tony nearly drops his phone out of his hands. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is looking up the security footage near the house Ned organized the party at. "What?" Ned asks innocently. "He's drunk, Ned." The uni student is obviously confused. "Peter doesn't get drunk." "He does today. We gotta find him."

Ned helps Tony as much as he can, asking other people if they’ve seen Peter, while Tony is looking at every single inch of the footage F.R.I.D.A.Y. is showing him. According to Ned, Peter had still been inside five minutes ago. He can’t be far. Tony should go to that party and look for Peter himself. He quickly swipes the footage to the screen on his phone and rushes downstairs to get to his cars. “Are you driving, Mr. Stark?” Ned asks when the engine starts. “Yes, I’m headed to campus. Should be there in ten.” “But isn’t it at least a-” “No questions.” Tony cuts him off. He knows damn well he’s driving too fast. “I just want to find my boyfriend.”

Eight minutes in, F.R.I.D.A.Y.S.’ voice echoes through the car. “Mr. Stark, I have signaled Peter just two blocks away from the target location. I have changed the destination in your navigation system,” “Perfect. What’s his condition?” “His motor skills are not functioning up to expectation, but his vitals seem to be fine. I am uncertain whether he is under attack or not.” Tony glances sideways at his phone, looking at an indeed very drunk Peter. There’s another kid too, trying to pull Peter in for a kiss. The boy is trying to push the other dude off him, but it doesn’t seem to be working. “Fuck,” Tony slams his hand against the side of the steering wheel, pushing the gas pedal further down to speed up even faster. “Ned, you hear me?” “Yes, Mr. Stark?” “I found Peter. I’m taking him back to the Tower, we will explain everything later.” Tony rushes out. “Thanks for calling me, could you keep an eye on his stuff? I’ll pick it up tomorrow.” “S-sure, will do, Mr. Stark.” Ned answers. Tony ends the call, feeling like a dick for doing so. Peter is his number one priority right now.

When he gets to the location that F.R.I.D.A.Y. sent him, Peter’s still there, trying to walk away from the other dude, who grabs his wrist to pull Peter back in, kissing him. His boyfriend’s just standing there, frozen in place, his eyes wide. Paralyzed, yet swaying slightly. Tony curses under his breath as he parks the car and gets out of it as fast as he can. “Hey!” He exclaims. The other dude looks up and takes a surprised step back, immediately letting go of Peter. “Y-You’re Tony Stark.” “Yes, and you, kid, are assaulting my boyfriend.” The uni student takes another few steps away from Peter, trying to scramble up a half-assed excuse. “Don’t wanna hear it. Now, get the hell out of here before I lose it.” The kid’s eyes go wide, choking out some weak apology as he runs off. Tony hurries towards Peter, cradling him in his arms. “Baby, are you okay? Come on, let’s get you home.” Tony whispers. Peter is limp in his arms and Tony can’t shake the feeling of how this is all his fault. This isn’t his Peter. He should’ve listened to him. Peter said how bad he was feeling. Tony never doubted that for one second, but he surely hadn’t realized just how bad it had been.

“Am okay,” Peter mumbles. His eyebrows curl up into a frown as he looks at Tony’s arms around him and then at the vehicle Tony is guiding him to. “Hey, wait- I don’t know what you are trying Mister, but I have a boyfriend. I don’t care how nice your car is, my- my boyfriend is even nicer.” Peter slurs, barely able to keep himself standing up. Tony frowns. “Boyfriend?” “Hmmmm,” Peter sighs, dreamily, “-yes. He’s great. Speaking of which, I… I should call him. I-I think I lost my phone. Can I use yours?”

Oh god. Peter doesn’t recognize him. Part of him wants to cry, but he can’t help the nervous laugh from bubbling up his throat. “So, who is your boyfriend, kid?” "Gah!" Peter nonchalantly waves his hand. "You probably don’t know him." "Try me." Peter steps closer and whispers. "Don’t tell anyone!" Peter pouts, and God, he’s actually kind of adorable right now. "We're VERY private." "I can keep a secret." Tony smirks and cocks his head. "Gooooood." Peter relaxes into Tony’s hold and sighs, not continuing his train of thought. "So?" Tony raises his eyebrows. "So what?" "Who's your boyfriend?" It’s cheeky, yes. Tony knows. But he can’t help but wanting to see where this is gonna go. Besides, keeping Peter awake until he’s in his bed is also the easiest on Tony’s back. As long as the boy can kind of stand and talk, the older man won’t have to actually carry him.

"Right! I was gonna tell you that. He's-” Peter pauses to think for a second. “He's, my sun!" "Oh, is he?" Tony plays along. He opens the car door and gently lowers the boy into his seat. "Yeah, he makes me feel warm and safe!" Tony leans over Peter to secure the seat belt, smelling the vodka in Peter’s breath. "But who is he?" "Mm… Stark!" Tony leans back so he can look at Peter’s face. He grins. "Tony Stark?" "Yes!" Peter looks up at him, his eyes wide in surprise. “How’d you know?” Tony shakes his head at the boy. Now that Peter actually seems to be doing fine, his nerves are settling. “Wild guess.”

The entire ride to the Tower Peter keeps gushing on how amazing Tony is, and Tony just takes it all in. He knows Peter loves him, obviously, but drunk Peter talking about him so openly, so freely, even when he thinks Tony’s not even there… It sure warms his heart a whole lot more than he’d like to admit. After all these years, he’s finally got himself a boyfriend he truly and utterly loves. Only fate would’ve known it would come in the shape of a man younger than socially acceptable for most people. At first sight, it might not make a lot of sense to people, but they’ve got so many things in common. Peter might still have that youthful innocence and enthusiasm, but he’s been through enough to know what’s important in life and what isn’t.

“Wow,” Peter says in awe when they arrive at the Tower. He eyes the high rise, angling his body in an attempt to see the top. “You sure have a big house! Mr…?” “Uh,” Tony improvises, “-call me Robert.” “Well, Mr. Robert, Sir… Can I ask you a question?” “Sure, go ahead.” “Can I stay here tonight? I… I think I’m a little drunk.” Tony nods, pressing his lips on top of each other to hold back a smile. “You sure are.” Tony guides Peter into the Tower, his hand resting on the boy’s lower back. “I-I don’t think I can find my dorm like this,” Peter chuckles. His expression turns serious for a second as he looks Tony straight in the eye. “But don’t tell Uncle Ben, he’d kill me for sure.”

Tony’s eyes widen and he stands frozen, staring at Peter. Oh God. The kid doesn’t remember… Doesn’t remember that his uncle has been dead for years. Tony knows how much it kills Peter- how much he still misses that man every single day of his life. They get into the elevator and the doors close slowly. “I mean- it’ll be a lecture about responsi-res-responsibility for sure,” Peter laughs at his own inability to say the word right and Tony shakes his head. “I just don’t wanna worry him, you know?” Peter looks at his feet. He leans on his heels and then looks back up at Tony. “I promise I won’t tell him,” Tony answers quietly, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach. “Gooooood,” Peter slurs and leans against the elevator wall, his head slowly bobbing along with the music. “I love this song.” “My boyfriend chose it,” Tony mumbles, still shaken by the comment about Uncle Ben. He’s torn between how relaxed, but worryingly drunk Peter is. It’s adorable in a way and it’s not. It’s horrifying to see how the boy has zero feel for the world outside right now. How out of it he is. This is probably the first time the kid’s ever gotten drunk, and he wishes Peter didn’t have to endure all this. With all his heart, Tony wishes the kid won’t remember these conversations in the morning.

“Mister Robert, sir, did you know Tony Stark is very good in bed?” Tony jolts to stand upright, surprised at the sudden remark. “Wh- Really?” “Yes,” Peter beams giddily, “-he fucks me really good. He makes me see stars!” His jaw drops, gasping. “Do you think that’s why he’s called Stark?” “I don’t th-” “‘M-already hard thinking about his cock, that’s how smitten I am.” “Alright kid, time to get you tucked in.” Tony replies, trying not to engage in Peter’s… Conversation about his dick. The elevator doors slide open, and Peter stumbles out, staring around the suite with his eyes wide. “Bedroom’s this way.”

Peter follows him without any hint of protest and Tony is so glad he found his boyfriend before the other dude had the opportunity to take his chance on him. Peter’s so naive. So obedient. Anyone else could’ve taken advantage of the kid’s state so easily. He pushes away the vivid scenarios in his head, showing everything that could’ve happened. Everything that could’ve gone horribly wrong. “Woah!” Peter exclaims when he sees their bedroom. “I can sleep in here?!” “Yes, go on, get nice and comfy, I’ll take the couch. See you in the morning.” Tony turns around to walk out, not wanting to intrude on Peter’s safe space now that Tony isn’t perceived to be his boyfriend. He knows it’d make Peter uncomfortable if he’d stay. But before he leaves, he hears Peter’s soft voice from behind him. “Mister Robert, can you believe it? Cause I can’t sometimes.” “Believe what?” “That Tony Stark likes me?” Tony's heart skips a beat, God, his boy is so sweet and innocent and precious. Please, let him never lose that. "I'm sure he loves you, Peter." "Hmmm, he better, or I'll kick his ass.” Peter chuckles out loud and drops onto the bed. “G’night, Mr. Robert.” He sighs into the pillow. “Sir.” “Goodnight, kid.”

-

Peter wakes up slowly, bright sunlight washing over his face. Oh, man. His head’s exploding. He turns around, trying to evade the brightness and he reaches around for Tony. The sheets are empty and cold, and Peter frowns. Slowly, his eyes flutter open and he’s met with an empty room. He’s alone. He squeezes his eyes shut again. Too much input. He feels nauseous, not enough to make his body throw up, but he’s definitely not doing well. What the fuck happened? “T-Tony?” There’s no response. Peter takes a shaky breath, curling his knees up to his chest and hiding deeper into the comfort of his sheets. “F- F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’s Tony?” “He’s picking up your belongings at your campus dorm.” “My- what now?” “He didn’t specify.”

Peter groans and turns around, reaching out for his phone. Only to find the nightstand empty, except for a bottle of water and a strip of painkillers. Fuck. He still has no clue what’s going on, but at least he knows that he needs to take those meds for the awful thumping in his head. He sits upright and breathes through yet another wave of nausea, and then downs the two pills. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., please tell Tony to come up when he returns.” “I will, Peter.” “Thank you,” he mumbles, laying down again. He tries to think about yesterday. It was a Sunday, right? Meaning it's been Tony’s birthday. Yes. Yes it has been. He remembers giving him the vinyls. Remembers Tony giving him… uh, the sex toy. After that, things get hazy though.

“Hey, kid,” Peter shoots up, realizing he must’ve dozed off again. He groans, his head is still very much hurting him. Tony’s eyeing him carefully. “Tony, what happened?” “Oh, glad you remember me again,” Tony smirks at him, dropping Peter’s backpack onto the floor and then raises his hand, Peter’s phone dangling between his fingers. “You sure took a hit, never thought I’d see you so wasted.” Tony throws him his phone and kicks his shoes off, walking to Peter’s side of the bed and laying down next to him. “How are you feeling?” “Awful.” “Figured. You took the painkillers I left you?” Peter nods, snuggling into Tony, who wraps his arms around him in return. Tony seems a bit standoff-ish, his sarcastic wall pulled back up and Peter wonders if he said anything to him last night. “Tony… What happened?” Peter asks again, carefully. “I don’t remember.” “Good.” Alright, something’s up. Tony sure loves to joke around but he’s never like this. Not around Peter anyways. He’d never joke about Peter feeling sick without reason. He must’ve done something bad that he doesn’t remember. Besides, the drunk story doesn’t make sense to him. He’s never been able to get truly drunk and boy he tried. “How’d I get drunk?” “Vodka.”

Peter bites his lips and takes a deep breath. He really fucked something up here. If he wants Tony to talk, he’s going to have to be patient. He carefully turns around in the man’s embrace, looking up at his face. Tony’s looking down at him, his expression almost unreadable. Almost.

Guilt.

Peter should’ve known. There’s only one thing that makes Tony act like a bit of an asshole towards him. Whatever Peter did, Tony’s feeling guilty about it. So, he carefully reaches out to touch Tony’s face, trailing his fingers across his cheek. “Talk to me?” “There’s nothing to say, kid.” Tony answers curtly. Okay, Peter has a lot of patience, but not this much. His headache is keeping him from being focused and he just doesn’t want to deal with any of this now. He just wants to be in Tony’s arms, quietly feeling loved. This is not quite it yet. “Don’t kid me, not right now, Tony. Something bad happened, and I want to know what. I could ask F.R.I.D.A.Y., but I’d rather talk to you. We both know I don’t get drunk. But I did. Why?” Peter demands. He doesn’t like talking this way, but he’s not leaving Tony to drown in his guilt alone. “Because…” Tony starts, trailing off as he tries to find his words. He isn’t looking up at Peter anymore, his eyes cast away to the walls. “I didn’t realize how bad it was. The… The hormone stuff.” “The what?” Peter asks, his eyes widening. Tony huffs quietly. “First, I need you to tell me the last thing you remember.” Tony’s voice is stern and Peter closes his eyes to think. Blocking out all the bright lights from outside. “We… We had amazing sex,” he says after a while. “Don’t think I ever felt that good.” Tony sniffs and takes a deep breath. “That’s the last thing?” Tony asks, barely believing Peter’s words. The boy nods slowly. There’s nothing else in his mind other than the memory of Tony letting go on top of him. “It is.” “Shit, I-I pushed you too hard, Pete. I got your hormones fucked up, you didn’t have your heightened senses anymore. You told me how bad you felt, and I still talked you into going to Ned’s party. You got drunk and went missing. Ned called me, I picked you up and brought you back home. There, that’s it.”

Peter stares at Tony’s face, squinting his eyes slightly. “That’s it?” “That’s it.” Peter purses his lips, not satisfied with the answer. He makes himself smaller as he looks away from Tony, pressing the top of his head into the man’s chest. “Did…” Peter frowns, trying to figure out the best way to ask it. “Did I hurt anyone?” Tony immediately pushes Peter away from him, forcing the boy to look him in the eye again. “No. You didn’t.” The look on his face is so serious, so worried, that Peter feels tears sting in the back of his eyes. His voice cracks. “Did anyone hurt me?” Tony’s jaw clenches and his eye twitches, causing Peter to suck in his breath. It takes a few seconds for Tony to reply. “Some dick tried to get into your pants,” he mumbles. Peter can tell the man wants to look away from him, but he doesn’t. “He ran off when he saw me.” “Did he-” “He kissed you. Nothing more.” Tony bites the inside of his cheek. “You tried to push him off, but he kissed you.”

It’s Peter who breaks eye contact, looking down again. “I’m sorry…” he whispers softly. Tony pulls him in tight again, the boy immediately softens up against him, curling his arms around Tony’s body. Tony wants to cry. Peter is apologizing for the fact that someone took advantage of his drunk state. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Pete. This is on me.” “I should have known I couldn’t drink as much as I normally do.” Peter’s voice sounds muffled against Tony’s chest. “It’s okay, kid…” Tony takes a breath. “I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry.” Peter’s fingers press into Tony’s skin through his shirt. “I love you, Tony.” Peter’s shoulders jolt slightly and Tony holds him even tighter. He hates it when Peter cries. The boy doesn’t deserve this pain. Especially since this was not his fault. At all. He presses a soft kiss on Peter’s head and closes his eyes, feeling a dagger pierce his heart as he remembers all the things Peter said yesterday. A part of Tony sees how the drunk Peter he saw yesterday, could’ve been Peter if he hadn’t been Spider-Man, if Uncle Ben hadn’t been murdered. Worried about his Uncle’s opinion like any other regular teenager would. Peter isn’t regular, though. Tony can only hope that his embrace softens the pain, like it always does for him. “I know.”

--- More: Chapter 9  Masterpost

[retrocelly]

Brother’s Best Friend

Summary: Being the youngest sister of Jamie and Jordie Benn has many perks, including being introduced to their attractive friends. When you and Tyler Seguin start dating, it’s hard to find the right way to tell Jamie - well, unless he finds out on his own.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen - neither of you had. When you first met Tyler, it was because Jamie had brought you to practice. You’d sat on the side of the ice, slightly bored, having been raised on hockey. Tyler had looked over at you with curious eyes at first, which turned into flirty glances. By the end of practice, Tyler was itching to get your name. So when Jamie brought you onto the ice and introduced you as his “baby sister,” Tyler’s heart dropped.

It was a few years, a couple dozen charity events, and too many days off later when Tyler finally got tired of just being your brother’s friend. Still, he didn’t want to face Jamie, or god forbid Jordie, to tell them that he had the hots for their youngest sibling. When he asked you out, it hadn’t surprised you, but when he urged “don’t say anything to your brothers yet,” you were shocked. It took a while, but you understood the difficult place that Tyler was in, and you figured that you wanted to decide if this could be a serious relationship before announcing it to the family anyway.

For the following 5 months, you’d been much more eager to go visit Dallas, as well as more eager to attend practices and games. Jamie noticed. He also noticed that Tyler had been more careful around him. He wasn’t going home with any random girls, he wasn’t poking as much fun at Jamie, and he was eerily curious about Y/N. But still, Jamie didn’t put two and two together. Because of course, one of his best friends wouldn’t go behind his back with his sister, right?

In fact, you and Tyler were head over heels. You FaceTimed and called one another as often as you could. When you and Tyler were in the same town, you snuck secret dates in whenever possible. It was nearly a month ago when Tyler had first told you that he loved you, a sentiment which you gladly returned. The two of you had even talked about you moving to Dallas, after all, you’d known Tyler for years, and the relationship was moving quickly in the best way possible. You then decided that it was time to make your relationship public.

You had just landed in Dallas, ready to attend your first Stars game as not only Jamie’s sister, but Tyler’s girlfriend as well. You and Tyler planned on telling Jamie after the game, hoping that the Stars would win so that he would be in a good mood. You’d already told your parents and Jordie, all of whom took it surprisingly well. Tyler had let the news slip to a few players, but they knew to keep their mouths shut unless they wanted a very tense season.

You found your seat in the bleachers, calming your nerves for the night ahead. As the game started, everything was looking up. The Stars got on the board early, and Tyler even got an assist. You settled into your roll as cheering squad, Jamie got another on the board, and things were going well. Down on the bench, however, things were about to take a turn.

“That was a beauty, Chubbs!” Tyler beamed, giving his friend a pat on the back.

“Thanks Segs,” Jamie replied, “y’know you’ve been really nice to me recently.”

Jamie let out a chuckle and Tyler was about to dispute the statement when Radulov scoffed.

“I’d be nice too if I were banging the Captain’s sister.” Raddy laughed, Klinger hit his shoulder, and Jamie and Tyler froze.

“You what?” Jamie spoke, his voice low. If there wasn’t a game going on, Tyler was sure that Jamie would drop his gloves.

“Jamie,” Tyler started cautiously, “can we talk after the game?” Tyler was sure that he’d turned white as a ghost, and Jamie wasn’t feeling sympathetic, but he knew that he had a game to focus on, so he swallowed his pride.

Without speaking, Jamie turned his head toward the ice. The bench was filled with a thick uncomfortable silence, despite the fact that the arena was so loud. When Tyler and Jamie went on for their shift, Tyler was holding his breath. In any other situation, he would say that Jamie was a dedicated captain that put his team over most everything. But right now, Tyler wouldn’t be surprised if Jamie checked him into the glass just for payback.

Luckily, that didn’t happen. What did happen, in fact, was that an opposing player checked Tyler - hard. It was a late hit, the refs called it, and the player went to the penalty box. Without thinking, Tyler looked to Jamie, expecting the man to drop gloves and scrap over the dirty hit, but Jamie did no such thing. Instead, Tyler was met with Jamie’s unforgiving glare and an overwhelming feeling of guilt.

When Tyler got hit, you gasped. You stood up to yell for the obvious penalty. You’d expected your brother to start a fight for his friend, but that didn’t happen. When you looked onto the ice, Jamie was glaring at Tyler, who was still slowly getting off of the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you say that Jamie was mad at Tyler; but why would he be? It’s not like he had any way of knowing about your relationship.

The rest of that game was... weird, to say the least. The Stars won, but Jamie had been playing much more aggressively than normal. Furthermore, it was like he was refusing to communicate with his team. When the game ended, rather than celebrate like normal, Jamie skated directly off the ice and down the tunnel. The nervous feeling returned to the pit of your stomach - you knew that something was wrong.

You immediately left your seat and went to find your brother. When you did, you immediately wished that you’d stayed put in the bleachers. Jamie was sitting in the locker room, visibly pissed and nearly shaking with anger. You knew that he’d seen you come in, but he didn’t acknowledge you at all.

“Jam,” you began, taking slow steps toward him, “what’s going on?” When you reached him, you heard another person enter the room. This time, Jamie stood quickly and took two large, aggressive steps toward whoever else was in the room. When you turned, you were met with the terrified face of Tyler. Oh shit.

“How fucking dare you!” Jamie screamed, you’d never seen him so livid. “Not only did you go behind my back to fuck my sister, but you decided to brag about it to the entire team?!”

Oh shit. He was definitely taking this the wrong way - and you didn’t blame him. You knew Tyler’s reputation, and from Jamie’s view, Tyler had been messing around with you only for the boasting rights.

“Jamie, that’s not what it is,” Tyler pleaded, looking to you for some relief from the situation.

“Don’t even fucking look at her! Are you kidding me, Seguin? Of all the girls in the world, you decide to go after Y/N?” The more he yelled, the angrier he got. “Did you already sleep with every other girl in the fucking world, or what?”

“Jamie!” You interrupted, putting yourself between him and Tyler, worried that if you didn’t, Tyler would end up with a broken nose. “That’s not what’s happening! Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m some stupid kid with no say in this. We’re dating for god’s sake!”

Jamie paused, breaking his death glare at Tyler to look down at you.

“How long?” He asked, his voice strong and punching.

“Five months.” You replied, equally as bluntly. The two of you glowered at one another as if you were in a childhood argument all over again.

“So what, you just figured you’d never tell me?” Jamie asked, becoming more animated as his anger grew again. “Was I even gonna get an invite to the wedding? Am I already an uncle and you just decided not to tell me that either?!”

“Stop, Chubbs.” This time it was Tyler that spoke, earning a glare from both you and Jamie as you internally scolded him for using that nickname right now. “We decided not to tell you until we knew that it was a serious thing. I mean, I know that this isn’t ideal, and I’m sorry that we went behind your back, but we just didn’t want to make a big deal of something unless it was actually a big deal.”

Miraculously, that seemed to calm Jamie down. Tyler still kept his distance, but he walked over to you and gently grabbed your hand. Jamie scowled at the action, causing Tyler to drop your hand quickly. You sighed and grabbed his hand once more.

“Listen, Jam,” you stayed calmly, “we were planning on telling you tonight, and this obviously isn’t the way we wanted to do it. Tyler and I love each other, and that’s something that you’re going to have to get used to. I get that you’re mad right now, but when you calm down, we can actually talk about this instead of screaming at each other. Goodbye.”

You leaned up and gave Tyler a quick kiss on the cheek, earning another scowl from Jamie. You then left the locker room and walked into the hallway, which was filled with a very uncomfortable looking Stars team. You smiled at them and continued walking.

You had been sitting on the bleachers alone for nearly 20 minutes before Jamie came up to you. He sat next to you, sighing heavily.

“I’m sorry for getting so pissed.” You knew that it was hard for him to swallow his pride and apologize, given the current situation, so you were proud of him for doing so.

You looked up at him with a smile, which he returned with a scoff.

“S’okay, Jamie,” you muttered, “I hope you know that we’re good together - Tyler and I. Mom keeps calling him ‘lovestruck.’”

“Dammit, Y/N,” Jamie laughed, “mom knows too?”

“Yeah, you were pretty much the last one in on the joke. Jordie handled it a lot better than you did, by the way.” The conversation felt light again, and you were happy.

It wasn’t long before Tyler found his way over to you, sitting quickly and putting his arm around your shoulders. Jamie shook his head, still not used to the new relationship. In return, Tyler gave Jamie’s shoulder a shove from around you.

“You better at least tell me before you propose to her, Segs.” Jamie started, causing you to blush wildly.

“Well obviously; someone’s gotta help me pick out the ring.” You blushed further at Tyler’s words, and when you looked at him, he was just as red.

It would be a little bit before things were fully back to normal, but you were content with where they were now, and looking forward to the future.

[solastia]

The Mix Up

Pairing: Yoongi x Jimin

Word Count: 5,792 (Okay, this was supposed to be just a quick under 1k drabble, but it spiraled out of control)

Summary: With how exhausted Yoongi was when he went to go pick up his luggage, it’s not that shocking that he mixed up his bag for Jimin’s. If only he had figured it out before he’d looked inside and discovered that Jimin packed a lot more than clothes.

Notes: Enjoy this smut to pass the time while I finish up the chapters you’re actually waiting for lol. No real warnings, just pwp. Rated NC-17

Yoongi shuffled into his hotel room and threw his bag into the corner before plopping down face first onto the fluffy cloud of a bed. He loved it when they came to this hotel because the bed was one of his favorites, covered in thick blankets and a mattress that was almost as famous as the hotel itself. The entire flight from Seoul to L.A. was spent thinking of lyrics and this bed.

With a groan, Yoongi managed to make himself sit up, cringing at the way his tired bones popped. He needed to shower before he slid under the plush covers. Maybe order some food too. He hummed to himself as he stripped and jumped into the shower, the water turning hot almost instantly. He realized he’d forgotten his shower supplies and chose to just use the soap the hotel provided just this once. He was not about to rush out into the cold for his stuff. He thought about jerking off but decided to wait until he was out there on his laptop. He was too tired to try without some visual stimulation today.

He finished his shower in record time, anxious to finish and get back to relaxing. Noticing the robe emblazoned with the hotel logo next to his towel, he quickly wrapped himself up in it, luxuriating in the softness. It was moments like these that made all the hard work worth it. Memories of seven boys to one room and constant cold showers unless you shared made Yoongi shiver and clutch the precious robe closer. None of that anymore. Now he had his own room where he could eat, jerk one out, and go to sleep, in that order. All in peace.

Yoongi hummed to himself as he walked towards his luggage bag to grab his laptop and lotion. He picked it up, yawning as he set it on the bed. He unzipped the bag and pulled it open, only to stare in shock. This was most certainly not his bag. All of the clothes were way too colorful, not to mention there were too many of them. He liked to travel light and buy whatever he needed once they arrived. 

He was fairly certain this might be Jimin’s bag, judging by a couple of the more familiar shirts. The other hint that this was not his bag was the giant bottle of cherry vanilla flavored lube and the flesh colored lump peeking out from under some boxers next to it. Yoongi’s breath was growing shaky as he reached in to grab it. He was pretty sure he knew what it was, but some deranged part of his brain was screaming that he needed to verify.

He grasped it, feeling the slick rubber and rigid fake veins. He could have left it at that since it was pretty much obvious what it was, but he was apparently a sick, sick man. He pulled it out anyway, staring at what was apparently Jimin’s pretty realistic dildo sitting in his hand. Yoongi wondered how long Jimin has been getting away with carrying this thing around without anyone else knowing or airport security calling them out for fun.

He was pretty surprised how similar it was to his own dick, actually. It was almost the same size, although the dildo had a bit more thickness to it and was maybe a touch longer. The shaft was incredibly veiny, similar to his own, but not something you see often on toys. It even had stretchable loose skin, so that when it was moved up and down it created a foreskin. Clearly, this toy was made to be as realistic as possible. 

Pure morbid curiosity made Yoongi pull a bit of his robe to the side and level the dildo next to his own cock that had become hard without him realizing. He looked back and forth between the two of them, shaking his head at how eerily similar it was to his own. They couldn’t have done a better job making this one unless they’d made a mold of him.

Once his brain had processed the fact that the dildo was basically his dick twin, it moved onto the fact that Jimin was the owner of said dick twin. Then it created a nice little movie in his head of Jimin fucking himself with a dick that looked exactly like Yoongi’s, eventually moving on to replace the bodyless dildo with Yoongi’s form. Yoongi stared at the toy wide-eyed as the image of him fucking Jimin into a crying mess on his fluffy hotel bed seared itself into his brain.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hissed and threw the dildo back into the bag, scrambling away from it like it was a live snake.

The last thing he needed was to think about fucking one of his members. Sure, there was that one time back when they first formed when he may have entertained the idea of pursuing Jimin. Okay, maybe more than once or twice, but he was only human. Still, he’d never gone through with it because this was his career- his livelihood - and he would never risk that for some ass. No matter how great the ass looks. If things went wrong, he’d be putting both of their careers on the line. Assuming Jimin would have ever returned his feelings in the first place.

Yoongi sat in one of the dining chairs that faced the bed, staring at the opened bag. He supposed this meant that Jimin had his bag, and he’d have to go switch them back. He could totally play it off like he just peeked, right? No biggie. Even if he had seen stuff in there, he doesn’t care. He’s calm and collected, totally unbothered by the idea of Jimin having a sex toy in his bag. There were seven people living in their dorms, so walking in on each other was a regular occurrence. He’d seen Jimin’s dick at least a handful of times and handled it just fine. He could do this.

The sudden knock on his door made him jump, and he wondered if he actually could do this. Hopefully, it was just one of the kids and he could shove Jimin’s bag at them and tell them to bring him his. That way he wouldn’t have to see Jimin until tomorrow when his mind had calmed the fuck down.

Yoongi shuffled towards the door and opened it a crack, peering out into the hallway. Just his fucking luck. There stood Jimin in just his own hotel robe and slippers, grinning as he held what was obviously Yoongi’s own bag.

“Hey, hyung, let me in? I don’t want to flash anyone,” Jimin giggled as Yoongi opened the door wider to allow Jimin to glide past, before shutting and locking it once more.

“We got our bags mixed up, so I came to switch. Where is mi….” Jimin’s voice trailed off and Yoongi followed his gaze to the bag on the bed. The still open bag. Yoongi inhaled sharply as Jimin looked over at him, his eyes searching Yoongi’s face.

“You looked inside?” Jimin asked softly. Yoongi felt guilty even though logically he shouldn’t. He saw a bag he thought was his and opened it. End of story.

“I did. Figured out it wasn’t mine pretty quick.”

Jimin was blushing and chewing on this full bottom lip. Yoongi’s brain was apparently still malfunctioning because he wanted to bite it for him. Suck the lip right into his own mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry you had to see that, Yoongi hyung.”

“I’m not.”

As Jimin’s eyes widened, Yoongi made the unfortunate realization that he’d just said that out loud.

“You’re not,” Jimin said flatly, his gaze on Yoongi turning weirdly intense.

“No.”

Shut the fuck up, Min Yoongi! What is wrong with you?  

“Why?” Jimin asked with a tip of his head, looking like a sweet confused puppy, despite the stare. And the slowly growing smirk as Yoongi floundered for an answer.  

“Did you...maybe like it?” Jimin’s voice was growing softer and Yoongi wondered if the rumors of him selling his soul to Satan to become a god damn sex god were true, because he felt like he was being hypnotized into giving Jimin the answers he apparently wanted.  

“Yes.”

Jimin sat on the bed next to his bag, glancing inside and no doubt noting that the toy wasn’t where he’d left it, instead displayed right on top where Yoongi had tossed it for all to see.

“Did you like it because you want to borrow it or because you liked me using it?”

“Yes.” It was official. Min Genius was no more. His brain was fried and he was only capable of one-word answers that made no sense.  

Jimin smiled, and Yoongi wondered if that was the kind of smile a male spider saw right before he got fucked and had his head bit off. It was deceptively soft, inviting, and full of promises.

“You know, I wasn’t really into the idea of having my own room. I was going to be so lonely. The only thing that I was excited about was getting to use this.” Jimin softly stroked the length of the dildo with a fingertip, looking at it fondly like one would a lover. Yoongi hadn’t known it was possible to be jealous of a sex toy, but here he was.

Jimin turned to Yoongi, peering up at him coyly through his lashes. Yoongi’s heart sped up so much it felt like thunder rumbling in his chest. He knew whatever Jimin was about to say was going to change everything.

“But maybe I should just stay here, then I won't be lonely and still get to play. Do you think that’s a good idea, Yoongi?” His voice sounded gentle and unassuming like he was just asking to hang out, while his dark gaze and words meant anything but that.

“Quite possibly the best idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi managed to rasp out, his mind already trying to wrap itself around the picture that Jimin painted in there.

Jimin pulled the toy out of the bag and set it in his lap, playing with the skin on it as he innocently swung his legs. Yoongi most definitely was not waiting for flashes of skin as the robe moved with the motions.

“You know I had this one custom made? I mean, the company already had some good ones for sale. Like, there was one that was pretty similar to this one but it was almost ten inches! And thick! Sounds like fun but it wasn’t what I was looking for. I had to “accidentally” peek during costume changes to get your size right, and I’m pretty sure you have a couple more veins than I was able to get on this. It’s still a pretty good likeness though, right?”

Yoongi dropped into the dining chair across from the bed, staring at Jimin as the implications of his words sunk in. Yoongi had noticed the similarities, but Jimin was telling him that was by design. He’d wanted to be fucked by Yoongi’s cock?

“You almost caught me with it once. I thought I was alone in the dorms one day, so I’d attached it to the wall in the shower, pretending you were fucking me so well. I yelled out your name and I guess you’d just been passing the door on the way to the kitchen because you knocked and asked if everything was okay. I almost told you to come in because I wanted you to see me like that. To see how pretty I look with your cock buried in me. Instead, I chickened out and I pretended that’d I’d called you to set a towel outside the door for me.

Yoongi adjusted himself, sure that the robe was showing how fucking hard he was. He remembered that day too. He’d thought Jimin had hurt himself and was calling him for help. Instead, he’d been in there fucking himself on that god damn toy while he talked to him. Then he came out and cuddled him like a koala while they watched a movie.

Jimin cocked his head and fiddled with the tie of his robe.

“Yoongi, if you don’t want this just say the word. I won’t bring it up again. Otherwise...maybe I can take this off?”

Yoongi gripped the arms of the chair tightly. He nodded quickly before he changed his mind.

“Words, hyung. Do you want me to take off my robe and show you how I use your cock?”

Yoongi swallowed hard. “Yes, please.”

Jimin smirked and stood up, keeping eye contact with Yoongi as he untied the sash, letting the robe fall swiftly to the ground. Yoongi gulped and scanned Jimin from head to toe now that he was allowed to. He’d seen him nude quite a few times before, thanks to close quarters living and costume changes. However, it’s a different experience when you’re looking at someone nude with intent behind it.

Jimin was hot as fuck, he already knew that. He was beautiful all over; from his innocently seductive face to the hard planes of his abdomen, the powerful thighs. That fucking glorious ass that he’ll admit to jacking off to more than a handful of times. 

Yoongi found his eyes glued to the one area he’d never been able to spend a lot of time looking at before without fear of being caught. He was waxed everywhere, it seemed. Jimin wasn’t the biggest, merely average sized, but pretty. Pale pink like his lips and already hard, a little drop of precum growing on the very tip. Yoongi licked his lips, wondering how he tastes.

Jimin sat back down on the bed, spreading his legs wide enough for Yoongi to catch a glimpse of his puckered rim, as pink and waxed as the rest of him. Yoongi’s mouth watered as he thought about sticking his tongue there; eating Jimin out until he came just from that.

Jimin brought the toy to his lips, flicking out his tongue to lick the tip of the toy.

“I always wondered if I did this part right. I practiced so many different ways, trying to pick which one seemed more like you. Were you the just the tip kind of guy or a kitten lick the shaft type. Wet and messy, making me spill spit and cum all over the floor. Maybe you’d fuck my face without mercy, getting off on the way you could see your dick bulging in my throat.”

Yoongi’s hand was twitching with the effort it was taking to not reach into his robe to relieve the pressure. Shit, he knew that Jimin wasn’t innocent, but this man on his bed was a fucking shameless incubus. And judging by the confident grin, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Jimin licks from the balls to the tip slowly.

“Tell me, Yoongi. How do you want me to suck your cock.”

His own real one gave a wild twitch at that, but he held himself back from his real desire of telling Jimin to get the fuck over here and suck the real thing. He was just so in awe that this was actually happening that he was happy to let Jimin play his game.

“Kiss the tip and rub it across your face.”

Jimin let out a delighted giggle as he followed Yoongi’s orders.

“Hyung, you like your cock worshiped? I suppose it’s worthy of it. Gosh, imagine how pretty I’d look if this was the real thing. If I was kissing and nuzzling your cock, getting your precum all over my face and lips. Don’t you think I’d look so pretty like that?”

“Fuck yes.”

Jimin’s eyes fluttered half closed as he sucked the tip of the toy into his mouth, his beautiful lips wrapping about it. Yoongi bet that felt amazing, like a pillow for his cock to lay on.

Jimin pulled the toy from his lips with a loud pop and glanced over at Yoongi with a mischievous smirk.

“You wanna see something cool, Yoongi?” He didn’t even wait for him to answer before he was shoving the toy right down his throat. Yoongi didn’t hear any gagging, just the squelching of saliva as Jimin fucked his own throat.

Yoongi couldn’t take it anymore, the picture of deepthroating Jimin so exciting that his hand went right into the opening in his robe, grasping his painfully hard dick to relieve it. He wiped the tip with his thumb, amazed at how much he was dripping already. Jimin slowing pulled the toy out, licking his lips as he watched Yoongi’s hand.

“Hyung? Yoongi? Will you take your robe off for me? I wanna see you too.”

That was fair, Yoongi supposed. He observed Jimin as he slowly reached for his sash, his confidence growing the more Jimin looked like he genuinely wanted to see and wasn’t just playing with him. Despite the show, Yoongi liked to think of himself as a realist (though many would say pessimist), and he didn’t want to count out the chance that Jimin might just be fucking around getting his rocks off at his expense. However, he looked so into it, his cute cock twitching as he watched Yoongi peel off his robe and throw it on the table next to him.

Jimin whined when he saw Yoongi’s cock, so hard the tip was a dark red, precum streaming slowly off the side. Yoongi grunted as Jimin was seemingly so fucked up just from getting to stare at it freely that he’d jammed the toy back in his mouth, slurping on it without moving his eyes from him like he was pretending it was the real one. 

Jimin suddenly pulls it back out and reaches over into his bag, pulling out the lube and sliding the bag away from the bed. Without warning, he slathers the toy and slides it right in, propping himself up with one elbow to watch Yoongi’s face. 

“I’m still open from playing with myself in the shower. What do you think? Do I look pretty with your cock inside me? Look at how well I’m taking it all, Yoongi.” 

Yoongi could barely remember how to breathe as he observed Jimin moving the toy in and out slowly, teasingly. “You look perfect, Jiminie. So beautiful,” Jimin moaned lustily at Yoongi’s hushed words, plunging the toy inside of himself faster. 

Jimin’s eyes were wild as they met his, before trailing down his body to where his leaking cock lay hard against his stomach. 

“Can I...can I touch you? Is that okay? If you only want me to keep doing this I will, but...please, Yoongi hyung.” 

Yoongi licked his lips as he fought his initial response of panic. He wanted to let him. He wanted whatever Jimin would give him. They’d already gone this far, so going all the way couldn’t fuck things up any worse, he supposed. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you can do whatever you want.” 

Jimin pulled the toy out slowly, his eyelids dropping to hood his eyes in a way that appeared devilish. He threw it across the room towards the bag, the toy just barely reaching its target. 

“Those are dangerous words, Min Yoongi. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Do you really mean it?” 

Yoongi had never been both so nervous and turned on before in his life. Not even his first time. 

“Yes. As long as this won’t fuck things up, or not if you’re like just bored right now and just messing around. Because you know I don’t do stuff like that. I’ll kick your ass, Park Jimin.” 

Jimin giggled, the adorable sound so at odds with the lewd scene of him lounging naked on the bed that it made even Yoongi crack a smile. 

“What’s so funny about that, I mean it.” 

“I know, hyung. It’s just such a Yoongi answer. I mean it, though. I want you so bad. I always have, but I was always worried about messing up the group or making you hate me.” 

“I could never hate you Jimin. I want you too.” Yoongi blushes as he moves closer towards the bed until he’s standing directly between Jimin’s spread thighs. “I’m serious. Do whatever you want.” 

Jimin’s eyes study his face until he finally beams sweetly, sitting up until their faces are closer. “Then kiss me.” 

Yoongi huffed in surprise. “All that for a kiss? I thought you were asking to tie me up or some shit.” 

Jimin laughs, putting his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders. “Another time, hyung. For now, kiss me.” 

Yoongi’s eyes drop to Jimin’s lips. The same ones he’s envisioned in multiple fantasies but never thought he’d get to really touch. They looked so soft. Yoongi licked his lips and slowly leaned in, pressing his own to them gently.

He could taste the honey chapstick that Jimin applied countless times a day. They were soft, so plush against his own. He wanted more. With a groan he laced one of his hands into the hair at the back of Jimin’s head, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. Jimin sighed and opened his mouth for him, his fingers pressing harder into Yoongi’s shoulder like it was an effort to let Yoongi keep leading. 

Yoongi explored his mouth, letting his own tongue trace Jimin’s, that damn thing that had plagued him for years. He pulled back a little to nibble and suck on Jimin’s bottom lip, something he’d also wanted to do countless times before. Yoongi still couldn’t believe that this was actually real for once. 

He pulled away to look at Jimin. He looked as fucked out as Yoongi felt, so he considered that a win. His lips were red and swollen, and a pretty flush had taken over his cheeks. His eyes fluttered open and the look he speared Yoongi with was full of pure hunger. 

“Get on the fucking bed, Yoongi.” 

He inhaled sharply, normally not one to take commands like that, but somehow with it coming from the usually sweet Jimin, it worked for him. He quickly crawled up onto the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. Jimin quietly observed him, smirking when Yoongi’s cock gave an involuntary twitch when Jimin stared at it a little bit too long. 

Jimin sighed, crawling over to sit between Yoongi’s thighs. 

“Its so hard deciding where I want to start. There’s so much I want to do to you, Yoongi, and so much I’ve wanted you to do to me.” Jimin’s finger trails slowly down Yoongi’s chest. “Have you ever bottomed?” 

Yoongi’s breath hitched. “Yes.” 

Jimin’s gaze was still simply curious and thoughtful as he nodded. Yoongi knew he was just being coy, but fuck. Is this where it’s going? 

“What’s your preference?”

“Uh, either really. I guess I usually top more, but I don’t mind bottom. Never saw the point of restricting myself to just one.” 

“I know, right?! Everyone acts like it’s some unspoken law that everyone must follow. Like, once you’ve had a dick up your ass, you must always have a dick up your ass.”

They laughed together softly as Jimin tenderly stroked Yoongi’s thighs.

God, they hadn’t even done much yet, but Yoongi loved this. They were so comfortable, even with Jimin constantly surprising him. 

“I ask because I really want to fuck you, hyung. We can switch for round two if you want, but can I?” 

Yoongi exhaled shakily, “Yeah.” 

Jimin leaned forward and pecked Yoongi’s lips before pulling back and staring down at him playfully. 

“Yeah what, Yoongi? What do you want me to do?” 

“You can...you can fuck me.” 

“Are you sure? It doesn’t sound like it.” 

Yoongi’s stomach roiled with nervousness. So this was how Jimin wanted it. Yoongi wasn’t usually one to beg, but he wanted Jimin enough to say fuck his pride. 

Yoongi locked eyes with him, letting some of his own desperate desire color his words. “Please fuck me, Jimin.” 

Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut, his own breathing sounding rather unsteady. 

“God, hyung. I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long.” 

Jimin trailed butterfly kisses down his chest until he was facing Yoongi’s aching cock, his hot breath teasing him. Yoongi hissed as Jimin wrapped his hand around him. He was so fucking sensitive and the sight of Jimin’s small fingers trying to wrap all the way around and failing was hot as hell. He was not going to last long today. 

Jimin glanced up at him mischievously as he kissed the tip, rubbing it across his lips until they were shiny with precum. He hummed, sucking it into his mouth and tracing the veins that ran all over Yoongi’s length. 

“You’re so soft, hyung. Use a lot of lotion down here?” 

“Fuck you.” 

Jimin giggles and bends to lick a strip from his balls back up to the tip before swallowing him down. Yoongi was pretty sure that Park Jimin’s mouth was fucking heaven. So wet and warm and sucking him so fucking good. Yoongi let his head drop against the pillows, his eyes fluttering closed. So wet. Jimin wasn’t holding back at all, letting it get filthy and loud. 

Jimin had secretly lubed up his fingers because Yoongi could feel one tracing his rim, lubing the outside and pushing in. The stretch burned a little since Yoongi barely even had the time to mess around even by himself anymore, but he forced himself to relax and focus on the sinful mouth sucking him dry instead. By the time Jimin was three fingers deep Yoongi barely noticed with Jimin swallowing him to the hilt, his nose pressed into his tummy as he hit the back of Jimin’s throat. Yoongi barely held back the embarrassing whine that tried to escape. 

“Jimin, fuck, I can’t. I’m not gonna last. Fuck me now.” 

Jimin pulled out his fingers slowly and crawled up to him. Yoongi opened his eyes to meet the others. Jimin lips and chin were soaking and he couldn’t bring himself to care as he dropped down to kiss him. 

“Legs up to your chest, baby,” Jimin ordered against his lips. Yoongi shivered at the pet name and did as he was told. 

Jimin smirked, not missing the reaction. “You liked that? Instead of hyung should I call you baby? Sweetheart? Maybe Princess?” 

Yoongi groaned, “How the fuck are you like this?” 

Jimin giggled as he lined himself up, “Always trying to pretend you’re so tough and unemotional. But you’re not, are you baby? Just want to get fucked right and be treated like a pretty princess.” 

Jimin pushed in halfway, stopping to look at Yoongi with a raised eyebrow. 

“I can’t hear you, angel. Is that what you want? I’ll give you whatever you ask for.” 

Yoongi tried to push himself further down, releasing a frustrated grunt when he failed. 

“Yes, goddamnit. That’s what I want. I want to be good for you. Please fuck me.” 

Jimin pushed a little further inside. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby. So tight.” 

When he finally bottomed out, he leaned down and captured Yoongi’s lips in a harsh kiss. 

“I’m going to be totally honest right now and tell you I’m not going to last long. I’m too excited and you feel too fucking good,” Jimin muttered against his mouth, breathly harshly. 

“Thank god, because neither am I. I’ve been ready to blow since you dropped your fucking robe.” 

Jimin stuffs his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, giggling as he tries to nibble at it without leaving a mark. When he sits back up, he pulls out a little and holds himself still for a moment before snapping his hips forward, using all of his considerable dancer muscles to create a powerful rhythm. Yoongi was almost certain his pelvis was going to bruise from the force of his thrusts and he didn’t give a fuck. 

“So beautiful, Yoongi baby. You look so pretty being fucked and you feel so good wrapped around my cock.” Jimin panted, biting his lips as he drilled hard into him, loud slaps of skin against skin echoing throughout the room. “You’re mine now. Gonna fuck you every day. Gonna ki...shit...gonna kiss you every day. Gonna treat my Princess so fucking good.” 

Never had he considered that Jimin would even want to take control of him. Never before had he wanted someone to own him, even when he had bottomed in the past. However, as Jimin was pounding away on top of him, still looking glorious as ever - calling him his - he wanted to give him everything. He wanted Jimin to keep him. 

Jimin held Yoongi’s thighs to balance himself as he drilled harder, pistoning himself straight into Yoongi’s prostate. He leaned down every now and then to suck a mark into Yoongi’s chest, a safe place from the public eye, and he wanted to cry. He felt claimed. 

“Am I doing good, baby? Am I treating you right?” Jimin huffed, his own voice borderline whining as his pounding became erratic, a sure sign he was close.

“YES! Please, Jimin! Let me...please!” Yoongi was past caring that he had actual tears streaming down his face as he whined. All he knew was he wanted to cum and he wanted Jimin to be happy with him. 

“Please what? Does baby want to cum? Are you going to cum without me even touching you? What a good boy.” 

Yoongi keened, pushing his hips up as much as he could with Jimin’s hands weighing them down. 

“Fuck. Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum on my cock and I’ll fill you up good.” 

Yoongi cried out as his body stiffened, his hole clamping down on Jimin’s cock. A flood of pleasure washed over him as he shot wild bursts of hot cum from his twitching cock, most of it landing on both of their chests, some dribbling down his shaft. Jimin gasped as some of it found its way onto his dick, fingers tightening almost painfully. He slammed himself as deeply into Yoongi’s body as he could get, shouting his name loud enough that there was no way the neighboring room couldn’t hear them. Yoongi moaned happily at the soft pumping of Jimin’s cock inside him, and the warm rush of his cum filling him up.

Jimin was breathing harshly as he sat up and stared down at the spot where they were joined, pulling out gradually, his eyes growing wide with excitement as his cum trailed out of Yoongi’s ass. Yoongi hissed, knowing that was going to be a bitch to clean out, but it was still fucking hot. Some primal part of him almost wanted to plug himself up; to walk around with Park Jimin’s cum up his ass like he was marked. Yoongi huffed at his own ridiculousness. 

Jimin scooted up and settled himself right on Yoongi’s sweaty chest, throwing his left arm and leg over the top of him. He hummed and rubbed his head against Yoongi, sounding like a contented cat. Yoongi reached a hand down and laced it into Jimin’s hair, stroking softly as they both caught their breath. 

Yoongi was dreading having to move. He knew he had to get up to pee and eventually take another shower now that he was covered inside and out with cum, but he really didn’t want to. That meant it was back to reality. He wondered how long it would take until Jimin realized what he’d done and ran away. 

“Hyung?” 

Fuck, they were already back to hyung? Yoongi sighed, pausing the hand still laced in Jimin’s hair. 

“Yeah, Jiminie?” 

“I meant what I said, you know.” 

“Which part? You said a lot of stuff.” 

Jimin giggles. “Yeah, but I mean...I want to keep you.” 

Yoongi inhaled, holding his breath for a moment as he processed that. He exhaled shakily. 

“What exactly does that mean?” he asked nervously. 

“I mean, like, dating and stuff. I want to be your boyfriend. Obviously, you like me enough for this, but do you think you’d want to date me?” 

“Are...are you sure? We have a lot riding on us not fucking up. Do you think I’m worth it?” 

Jimin glances up at him, scrunching his nose. “Of course you are. You’re an asshole sometimes, but you still have hundreds of other things about you that are great that balance that out. We already know everything there is to know about each other. I love you and I’m willing to work for this.” 

“Love?” Yoongi whispered, his heart thudding wildly. 

Jimin’s eyes were wide, a gentle blush growing on his cheeks as he smiled shyly. 

“I mean, yeah. I have for a long time, but I get if you don’t or that it’s too soon or..shit, I fucked up. I’m sorry, hyung.” 

“I love you too.” 

Jimin searched Yoongi’s face after the hushed declaration, the other now smirking as his confidence rose. Finally, Jimin smiled softly, laying back down to cuddle back into Yoongi’s chest. He laced his left hand with Yoongi’s right, the left back to work scratching in Jimin’s hair. Jimin brought the hand to his lips to kiss it tenderly, and Yoongi felt his heart flutter uncontrollably. He’d never been treated with such care after a fuck before. He never cuddled or talked; it was just fuck and run. This was...so fucking nice. 

“Let’s go on a date later,” Yoongi blurted suddenly. 

“A date?” 

“Well, yeah. You’re my boyfriend now, right? Boyfriends date. You said you loved me and if you try to take that back I’ll have to kill you.” 

Jimin giggled, “Yeah, hyung. Let’s date. We’ll sneak out after Sejin hyung is asleep later.” 

“And what’s with this hyung stuff?” 

Jimin glanced up confused until he saw Yoongi’s blush that he was trying to hide. He smirked, scooting up until they were face to face. 

“You want me to keep calling you baby?” 

“Well, obviously not in front of the kids, but its...nice. I like it.” Yoongi stammered. 

Jimin hums and pecks Yoongi’s lips sweetly. “I figured. You always tease me about my obvious praise kink, but you’re just as bad. I’m just more vocal about it.” 

Yoongi speared Jimin with a mock-disgusted look, the other only laughing.

“Okay. When we’re alone you’ll be my baby. You’ll have to think of a name for me when you fuck me later though.” 

Yoongi choked. “Yeah, alright.” 

Jimin kisses under his jaw, nipping it lightly. “You have until I wake you up with a blowjob in a few hours to think of something sufficiently romantic.” 

“Anything for you, Jiminie.” 

[goldchandeliers]

He let out an exasperated sigh, “Look, it’s better if she doesn’t know. It’s not like she reads the blogs, and you didn’t want to go public anyway, so this sort of works out.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from him. It was pitiful, this cop out of an apology. “So, what you’re saying is that this is really my fault?” I accused, getting more upset by the second.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Mandy,” Joe sighed, “Jesus, stop making it such a big deal.”

“It is a bit of a big deal to me, Joe. You’re outside hanging out with a girl who is clearly still infatuated with you, who refuses to face reality, and I’m kept in the dark about the whole thing? Why is she here anyway?” I thought out loud, having a hard time looking him in the eye. I knew I was slightly overreacting, but it really didn’t feel like I was.

Chapter 12 - Breaking Up The Girl

In a modern culture / My friend you must be careful / They’ve a million ways to kill you / In this dangerous world / There’s an art to growing old / Taking chances / Magic happens / One mistake's all it takes / And your life has come undone / Walk away cause you're breaking up the girl / It’s a drag / I know it's hard / But you're tearing her apart / Walk away cause you're breaking up the girl / I am afraid that there's much to be afraid of / Here today and gone tomorrow / Don’t end up in the gutter / Just like the one before / You’re just the same / Such a loser / You’ve go to let her go because you're breaking up / You’re breaking up the girl

“What the absolute fuck is going on over there?” Steph’s voice rang out from the receiver of my phone, me pinching the bridge of my nose. For the first full day of being “home,” it hadn’t been very relaxing. My head was completely done in, the events of the night before almost being too much to handle. In fact, I had no idea how I was handling it at all. 

“Obviously, you know. I mean, you met Joe, you saw how he was acting with me. So yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” I tried to explain, not really knowing what I was explaining.

“Yeah, TMZ did a pretty good job of filling me in on that fact, even if your official statement says otherwise,” she chastised and I winced on the other end, “I do have to say that I’m happy for you, even if you hid it from me.” I did feel guilty that I couldn’t give her a straight answer when it all happened, but there was just too much too quickly, and now, things had shifted again. 

“I’m sorry about that, you know I told you everything I could at the time.”

"I forgive you, but only on the condition you tell me everything," and I could tell she wanted details. I obliged happily. I filled her in on London, how I dragged him around and the moment on my balcony, how he shamelessly flirted with me the whole day before the awards, walking me to the door and asking me to be his girlfriend. I daydreamed about our night in Paris, kissing me on the top of the world, playing on the sand and loving every minute I spend with him. It all sounded so fake telling someone else, but it was true, and it was my life. 

"...and he sang to me last night, in front of everyone,” and I took a seat at the end of the bed, letting the memory of the night before roll through my brain. 

"Oh god, they didn't play your cheesy song again, did they?"

"Hey, it's not cheesy! I kind of like it..."

"No, you like the singer. The song is terrible." She had a bit of a point. It wasn't like it had the most creative or riveting of lyrics, but still, having a song that was my same name was nice, "Anyway, anymore biting?"

I had forgotten that I told her about him biting my lip after the kiss in Philly, and how we had analyzed it to death when I talked to her in New Jersey.

"I mean..."

"Is it still weird?"

"No... I like it..."

"Dirty Mandy!" She exclaimed and I felt my cheeks go red, even just over the phone. 

"So, what do you think?" I asked, curious as to her thoughts about him, now that she had met him.

"I think that he obviously likes you a lot, and that he's a nice guy, if a bit of a flirt," she started and my face fell. I never really thought of Joe as a flirt, but he knew what to do to get a reaction out of girls, but then again, that was his job. He certainly flirted with me, but that was because he liked me. 

"Really? A flirt?” and I stood to peek out my window, seeing Tiff closing the door on her powder blue convertible and walking up the drive. Why the fuck was she here?

"Yeah, Mandy, big time. He flirted a little with me when I was there,"

"But he just wanted you to like him. You are my best friend, he wanted to get on your good side."

"You said there was that party last night, what about any other girls? Does he flirt with them?" My mind flashed back to his reaction when Tiff launched herself into his arms, the looked of genuine surprise. He didn't know she was at the show, but then I didn't stick around long enough to see how he was with other girls, "I'm going to take it by your silence that he does flirt with other girls."

"No, I really don't know. I didn't pay attention last night. Something else was going on.” I was so preoccupied by the wonder of Malibu Barbie invading the house that I almost forgot the most important part of the night before. 

"What?"

"I got approached by someone."

"Someone." It wasn't a question, or even a statement. She was being purposely condescending, which was both something I hated and loved about her. Steph had just the right way to twist my thoughts around and force me back to reality, which I knew I needed sometimes. 

"An editor for Rolling Stone." Silence from the other end and I couldn’t help but nervously chew on my bottom lip. 

"Holy fuck."

"My thoughts exactly." I still hadn't really wrapped my mind around it, but one thing I decided right away was that I wasn't going to tell anyone just yet. It didn't make sense to get the family all riled up for nothing, especially just because it was nothing but a business card right now. 

"What did they want?" 

"They want to talk to me. I guess, somehow, they heard about me and my article. I mean, there was a press release that stated I am a journalist," I reasoned out loud. 

"Do you think they want to read it?” She asked and my stomach did a flip. I was trying to not think of it at all. I had sort to forgotten that I was writing an article, after all of the commotion of the last day or so. 

"I don't know. I've given up trying to figure out how this business works. I just live here now," I lamented and sat on the bed. 

“Well, you are going to call her back, right?”

“Of course I am…” I said unconvincingly.

“Mandy! You have to call her back!” Steph shouted at me through the phone and I actually had to pull the device away from my ear for a moment. She knew me too well, and knew my preference of not talking to anyone in charge or stepping out of my comfort zone. 

“Yes, I know. I promise, I will call her sometime today,” and I meant it. It made no sense to put this off. 

“Not, sometime. Like, as soon as we hang up, you take a breath and call her! She probably just wants to talk and see what you can do.”

“Yeah, I will…”

“Mandy,” and her tone of voice went as serious as I had ever heard it, “You can’t let this go. This is everything you’ve worked your ass off for. I’m going to let you go so you can call her now,” and we said our goodbyes. 

Steph had this odd ability to always be right, and at times it was a bit annoying. Standing from the bed, I fished Joy’s card from it’s place in my wallet, turning it over in my hands a few times. The red RS seared into my eyes, like a branding, and my stomach flipped over just as easily as the card. 

I do have to call her. I know I do. I didn’t come this far to just back away from the edge once things got too real. I wanted to take that leap, to free fall, to not be afraid of the unknown and see where I landed. Six weeks prior, I would have. But now?

People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

Or in my case, roll them.

~~~~~~~~~

The house was eerily quiet for a day where everyone was home. Descending down the staircase, I made my way into the kitchen but stopped when I saw the scene; Kevin, Dani, Nick, Joe… and Tiff, all on the back patio, just hanging out. I mean, I had seen Tiff come up the driveway, but I had no idea she was invited over. And especially since I wasn’t. Before I could decide how I wanted to handle this situation, Kev locked eyes with me and decided for me.

“Hey, Mandy, where have you been?” he called and all eyes shifted onto me, forcing me out onto the patio as to not seem rude. They had been swimming, or were about to, it didn’t look like anyone was wet yet. Of course, Dani was in a very cute yellow one piece with frills going down one shoulder, but Tiff was already laid out on a deck chair, attempting to get more of a tan in a too small hot pink bikini. Being that all my clothes were in the laundry, I was just in jeans and a t-shirt, no makeup, not even lipgloss. I uncomfortably shifted my weight from one leg to the other, an arm across my chest and my other hand gripping my phone tight. 

“I’ve been here the whole time, just needed to make some phone calls…” and I trailed off, noticing that Joe seemed to not be as concerned about Tiff’s lack of clothing as I was, “I wasn’t aware that there was a pool party going on.”

“You look familiar…” Tiff said, tilting down her sunglasses as to get a better look at me and I couldn’t help but glance at Dani, “What commercial were you in?”

“I’m not in any commercials, we met last night at the show. I’m Mandy, Joe’s…”

“Intern. My intern,” Joe quickly cut me off and all eyes snapped to him, “Well, not my intern, the band’s intern…” Nick let out a low whistle and averted his gaze from the scene. 

“Oh em gee, like Monica Lewinski?” Tiff said scandalously, laying back on the chair, completely unconcerned as to who I was to any of them, least of all Joe. Apparently her single brain cell couldn't retain any information.

“We had this conversation last night...” I finished before rounding on my supposed boyfriend, “Joe, can I talk to you in the living room please?” and I turned on my heel to go back into the house, Joe standing to follow me. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs right now. 

I let him firmly close the door so we would have some actual privacy before rounding on him again. “What the fuck?” was all I could get out. It was the only phrase that seemed to fully encompass how I felt about what had just happened, between Tiff being here at all, not remembering me from the night before, not knowing who I really was, not to mention the cold shoulder Joe was giving me. What in the actual fuck was going on?

“I know, that wasn’t great, I’m sorry,” he started, pulling a hand through his hair that he neglected to flat iron this morning.

“Not great doesn’t really cover it, Joe.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, “Look, it’s better if she doesn’t know. It’s not like she reads the blogs, and you didn’t want to go public anyway, so this sort of works out.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from him. It was pitiful, this cop out of an apology. “So, what you’re saying is that this is really my fault?” I accused, getting more upset by the second.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Mandy,” Joe sighed, “Jesus, stop making it such a big deal.”

“It is a bit of a big deal to me, Joe. You’re outside hanging out with a girl who is clearly still infatuated with you, who refuses to face reality, and I’m kept in the dark about the whole thing? Why is she here anyway?” I thought out loud, having a hard time looking him in the eye. I knew I was slightly overreacting, but it really didn’t feel like I was. I didn’t trust Tiff at all, and for some reason I had a hard time trusting Joe around her. Not that I thought he would actually do something, but the little voice in my head was echoing Steph’s words. Joe was a flirt, and sometimes had a hard time turning off the charm before it got him into awkward situations. 

“She just showed up, I don’t know, she talked her way into the party last night and now here she is. I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark, I swear nothing was planned,” he tried to explain, but the rest got lost on deaf ears. 

My phone had started to ring. Joy Richards’ number was scrolling along the top of my screen and my body froze completely. 

God, fuck, this was the worst timing. I couldn’t exactly miss her call, and maybe end up playing phone tag, that was if she even took my call again. But right now? I was in the middle of a heated discussion with my boyfriend, and the irony wasn’t lost on me. I either picked up the phone, or picked Joe.

“Do you need to take that?” he asked, a confused look on his face and I let out a frustrated sigh, sliding the arrow to accept the call while taking the stairs two at a time. 

“Hello?” I answered and I couldn’t help but recognize the hurt on Joe’s face as I left him standing in the foyer alone with no explanation as to why. He turned to go back out as I quietly closed my bedroom door, feeling my empty heart beating out of my chest.

“Hello, Amanda? This is Joy, we spoke last night?” Joy started and I took a seat on the floor, my legs having a difficult time bearing my weight anymore. 

“Hi, Joy, how are you?” I mustered up my best interview voice and feigned enthusiasm. I was excited, I really was, but there was too much pain and anxiety going on outside of the call to really enjoy the moment.

“I’m well, thanks for asking. And thank you for taking the time out to speak with me for a few moments,” her voice was cool but inviting, sounding just like she had the night before, “I’m sorry we didn’t really get a proper opportunity to talk last night, but basically your unique situation really piqued our interest over here at Rolling Stone, and as you may know, the Jonas Brothers are going to be on our cover in a few weeks.” ��Yes, I saw the proofs from the shoot, they’re very proud.” “They should be, it’s very exciting to be the cover story, and you should be proud as well. Amanda, we’re interested in running your story alongside their article, but we know that your article and internship still has about… two weeks left?”

If I wasn’t already sitting on the floor, I would be down for the count now. Rolling Stone wants to run my article? To go along with the main cover story? Holy. Fuck.

“Uh, yes, a little less but yeah, two weeks,” I breathed out into the phone, still not believing the conversation I was having. My brain felt like it was short circuiting, not being able to handle everything that was going on.

“That’s still good with our timing, however before we commit to it, we would love to review some of your other articles. What I need from you is a sample of your portfolio, say maybe the three best pieces of writing, one of those being an article of similar nature to the one you’re writing now. Of course, I don’t expect you to have anything exactly like touring with one of the world’s biggest acts, but something compelling, investigative, tells a story from a perspective few have ever heard, that sort of thing. If you can e-mail those over to me today, I can present them to my boss and we can get a decision to you in, lets say, 48 hours?”

“Absolutely, yes, of course I can do that for you,” I answered, probably just a little to eager, “The same e-mail that’s on your card, correct?”

“That’s the one. We look forward to working with you, Amanda,” and Joy finished the conversation. 

This was next level. This was the complete opposite of where I was not even five minutes ago. This was it. This was the break, the opportunity that only comes once in a lifetime. 

This was my future starting.

Immediately, I dragged my MacBook over to my seat on the floor and scoured my documents folder. Luckily, I was a digital hoarder and never threw out any of my previous works, even ones that I wrote Freshman year English 120, not that any of those would be the ones I would send over. I knew I wanted to send over two of my articles from the newspaper, one of them the front page story, and I thought that maybe it might be nice to throw in a creative writing piece as well, to show my range. I was thrilled to be so spoilt for choice, but that also meant I was going to have to kill some of my babies, so to speak.

Taking five of them, I sent them off to Steph to do a final proofread and to help make the objective choice, and send a quick text to her, relaying the urgency of the situation. This could NOT wait until after work hours, for sure. It was almost surreal, this moment. I never imagined in a thousand years that I would have a chance like this, that my career could start in this way. I wanted to scream it from the rooftop, to jump up and dance, to share it with everyone... but I knew I couldn't. Nothing was set, there was no use in getting everyone excited over what could be nothing. No use in making anyone think that I was leaving yet.

“Knock knock,” came from my door and I quickly closed the lid of the computer, “How are you doing?” Dani asked sweetly, fully opening the door and taking a step into my room.

That was a bit of a loaded question. Obviously I wasn’t okay with the whole situation going on in the backyard, but at present my brain was so wired from the conversation with Joy. It was hard for me to fill articulate the rollercoaster I was on.

“Joe looked pretty pissed off,” she tried again and that information processed a lot quicker.

“Yeah, nothing really got resolved...” I lamented.

“It was a bit like watching a car accident in slow motion,” and she came to sit on the floor next to me, “I don’t think he meant to hurt you like that. Tiff really did just show up, and she has a way of talking herself into situations with him.”

“But that right there, why does he let himself get talked into them in the first place?” That’s what bothered me most about all of this, it just seemed with her he was powerless.

“I don’t know...” she answered quietly and it seemed like finally someone understood why I was currently in my room, “But, I’ve seen you and Joe together and he cares about you so much, in a way I’ve only seen when it comes to his brothers. Joe is bad at breaking away from people who he knows he shouldn’t be around, but right now, being holed up in here with your computer, you’re letting her win.”

I looked at her in confusion. I wasn’t in competition with Tiff, or at least I didn’t think I should be.

“She didn’t know you would be here, she doesn’t have the whole story and you do. You being here ruins her plans too, and right now you’re just letting her get what she wants.”

Oh fuck that. I wasn’t going to let Tiff get anything that she wanted when it came to Joe.

“Right. I need a bathing suit, mine is in the wash.” Dani stood with a huge smile and helped me up, leading me down the hall to her room.

​

**********************

Slowly, I descended the steps again, a hand on the banister because the sandals Dani lent to me were platforms. I felt more naked than I even did in the red dress or in Cannes, but she assured me that I looked "hot." She let me borrow a blue two-piece she had brought with her, with bikini bottoms that were just a little too small, and a triangle top that had straps that wrapped around my torso. None of it looked bad, the opposite really, I could pull something like this off, but I still felt self conscious. I didn't look like me, but this was war now, and I couldn't hesitate. 

Kevin and Nick had made their way into the pool, but Joe had decided to stay back with Tiff, laying in a chair next to her. Dani opened the french doors for me, beaming at Kevin over her handiwork. I tried my best to walk out confidently but opted to take a seat at the end of Joe's lounger. These shoes were impractical and the worst.

Joe gazed at me over the rim of his sunglasses, his face not giving way to any reaction from him, which hurt a little. I had thought that he would at least say I looked nice, or great as he was want to do, "New suit?"

"It's Dani's, mine's in the wash," I sheepishly answered. I didn't want to fight with him, but I wasn't going to be made to feel badly for wanting Tiff to know who I really was, while still keeping the world out. Joe just nodded and pushed his glasses back up, laying his head back. 

"It's cute..." Tiff tried and I just gave her a small smile. It was strange, this feeling, even though it had only been a few weeks since I had last felt this way. I felt outside, other, not like everyone else. I didn't like it, and I hated that it always seemed like my position with everything was a direct reflection on how Joe was feeling towards me at any given moment. "If you want to sit, there's a chair over here," and Tiff gestured towards the empty lounger next to her.

"Here, take mine, I'm going in the pool," and with that, Joe stood from the lounger and straightened out the towel he had draped there. I pushed myself back, settling to lay in the sun.

"You're brave, wearing a strappy bikini like that. Those tan lines would kill me," Tiff commented, not even looking at me. 

"Oh, well, I'm white as a ghost so I have no lines to be killed by," I responded dryly, trying my best to make nice.

"Now I remember you!" Tiff cried as she sat up, looking at me, "You're the intern!"

"Yeah... Joe just said that..." I started.

"No, last night, I met you in the bathroom, you were with Dani! And you said you're working for the band! God, sorry it took me so long to put it all together, you just look so different from how you did yesterday," she lectured.

"I look different?" I asked, feeling slightly offended.

“Well, not different. You’re just more natural right now,” and she emphasized natural, but I knew what that meant. I wasn’t dolled up in fifty pounds of makeup and hairspray. 

“Again, I suppose I’m just confident enough to not need any enhancements...” I spat. 

With that, Tiff sat up in her chair and leaned over to me, lowering her sunglasses so she could look me in the eye, “Joe holds a certain position, and he needs a woman who is at that level, not a girl who needs a team to get ready every time they go out to dinner. Frankly, it doesn’t matter what insults you throw my way, it’s just all the same shit I hear day in and day out from all the other jealous, ugly girls who are mad that I’m with Joe and you aren’t.”

My mouth hung open, unable to even fully process the mouthful she had thrown at me. She was completely fucking delusional.

“Are you fucking with me right now? I’m not jealous, you have nothing I want. You don’t know anything about him, he doesn’t want to be with you, and all you keep doing is forcing yourself into situations to be around him. Have the two of you talked, like, at all? Can you even hold a conversation?” I snarled, my voice rising more than normal. 

“Mandy, that’s enough,” Joe snapped, standing at the end of our chairs. Tiff and I were so embroiled with each other that neither of us noticed that he got out of the pool and had heard our fight. 

“She just said some terrible things to me!” I defended, desperate for someone to step in and be on my side for just once. Why does everyone make accommodations for her? Just because she knows about one of the Jonas girlfriends? I fucking am a Jonas girlfriend and I was being treated like a child.

“Ugh, I think I’m kind of over the pool,” Tiff scoffed, gathering her things into her beach bag, “Joey, we’re still on for tomorrow?”

My breath hitched in my chest and my eyes found his, however fleeting, before he averted his eyes to his feet, a hand on the back of his neck. I knew the answer.

“Okay,” was all that I could say and I stood, leaving the vicious flip flops there and just going back into the house.

“Wait, Mandy,” I heard behind me, but it didn’t matter. Now I knew exactly where I stood, with the family, with Joe, with this whole bullshit Hollywood life. I was so stupid to think that maybe I could actually be part of this, to even consider for a tiny fleeting moment of giving up my dreams to try to stay. 

Climbing the stairs, I made it to the guest room but I wasn’t able to close the door before he caught up with me.

“Please, talk to me,” Joe begged and I stood at the window, watching Tiff get back into her car and disappearing down the street. I didn’t want to turn and face him, swallowing back tears.

“I don’t really know what there is left to talk about,” I responded, my arms firmly folded in front of my chest, still unable to meet his eyes. Joe crossed the room in a few steps but didn’t pull me into his arms, instead settling on lightly stroking mine with the tips of his fingers.

“I heard what she said to you,” he breathed, but somehow that didn’t make me feel any better, “I’m sorry I snapped at you, this whole day has just been so… unsettling.”

“Unsettling?” I questioned, finally turning to face him, wanting him to see the pain that he helped to cause, “Unsettling? For you? Joe, look what I’m wearing,” and I opened my arms so he could really see the seductive, strappy nightmare that I put on in a fit of insecurity, “I just wanted you to actually fucking look at me today.”

“Mandy, I can’t keep my eyes off of you…”

“Really? Because as soon as she walked in, suddenly I didn’t matter anymore,” and I grabbed an old tee, pulling it over my head and putting it on. I didn’t feel like being so bare around him anymore.

“Of course you matter, I told you, I swear I didn’t know she was coming over,” and Joe’s voice started to rise. Oh god, we were actually going to fight.

“And now you’re going on a date with her tomorrow? Why? What possible excuse could you have this time?” 

“It’s not a date! It’s an appearance and I’m going for moral support, as a friend…”

“Friend?! For fucks sake, Joe, she thinks you sang to her last night! That slut does not want to be friends with you! And she won’t stop until one of two things happen: either you tell her to stop, or she gets what she wants,” I seethed, knowing in my heart I was right. I’ve known girls like Tiff, hell, I’ve even tried to be like her, and she won’t let go gracefully. She’s not as dumb as I wished she was, she knows what she’s doing, and the only one who could put an end to all of this was currently pacing around my room. 

“I thought you were better than that,” was all he said, an observation, not a statement or question, and it felt like another arrow going right through my chest, “I thought you were better than catfights and names, than to stoop to games to get what you want.”

“Please, Joe,” and I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, “She’s going to want more tomorrow. She’s not going to leave you alone until you’re hers.”

The silence hung in the air between us and I wanted so badly to just close the distance, to take the steps and have him wrap his arms around me. I wanted to apologize for showing my truly ugly, jealous side. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to say he would stay.

“At least with Tiff, what I see is what I get.”

**************************

I didn’t go down for dinner, saying that I had a headache, which wasn’t far from the truth. I needed a cigarette so badly, but I didn’t have any and as far as I knew, I wouldn’t see Garbo again until probably my last day, to say goodbye. I had showered and changed into my pjs ages ago, and now I just laid on the bed, computer to the side, absentmindedly clicking on shit that didn’t matter. 

Were we together still? Was it that easy to break us up? After everything Joe had said to me, in London, Paris, Cannes, hell even LA, was any of it true? He acted like he was so deep into me, into this, into what this would turn into, but all it took was one flash of someone else’s tits for me to become an afterthought. And the apologies, god the apologies, he would know he was doing something wrong and still go ahead with it, asking for forgiveness after. 

Why was everything so wrapped up in Joe anyway? I had earned a standing in this family, in this company, before he and I ever even kissed. None of that went away just because he and I had a fight.  Was it different because there wasn't anything going on right now? All the other employees of the company had gone to their own respective homes, so why was I here still? I know it's because Denise wants to give me an inner perspective, so that I write something unbiased and true, but their personal life becoming my own was definitely a blur on the line of professionalism. Maybe it would be easier when I wasn't an employee, but for now, I didn't even know where I stood.

Steph emailed me back, ranking my articles from strongest to weakest, and echoed my sentiments that I should include a bit of creative writing as well. Using her suggestions, I crafted an email over to Joy, attaching all the articles in their intended print layout, and held my breath as I hit send. There, it was done. There was no turning back now, and my future was in someone else's' hands. 

This should have been a happy moment, one of excited anxiousness, like when you're applying to colleges or auditioning, and instead it was in quiet solitude. I know this is the right thing to do, but was it really for the best? What was that line from The Devil Wears Prada? 

"My personal life is falling apart."

"That's what happens when you start doing well at work. Let me know when your entire life goes up in smoke, then it's time for a promotion."

**************

Blue skies, birds chirping, Denise already in the back garden after making cinnamon rolls for everyone. LA certainly had it's own magic, that was for sure. I could only wish some of that magic would sprinkle down on top of my head, instantly making me feel better. Sadly, even though Disney was in the picture, no such luck for me. I dragged myself out of bed and dressed for comfort, as always, braving that the kitchen might be fairly empty for the mid morning and I might be able to snag a cinnamon roll. They always were my weakness. 

Nope. 

“Hey,” Kevin tried lightly, sitting at the island with a few papers around him. Of course, he was still working , even though everyone else had decidedly claimed this time as a vacation. 

“Hey,” I responded in kind, “Working on your break?” And I nodded to the papers. 

He laughed lightly, “Yeah, a little bit. Just looking over some of our contracts to see if I need to call the lawyers.”

“Lawyers. Uh oh, that sounds ominous. Did someone break the NDA?”

Kevin laughed again, although this one was a bit more strained than the last. I just picked at my cinnamon roll, not sure what to say. I was only joking when I said someone broke the NDA, but from the look of him, someone actually did. 

“Yeah, or rather, is about to. Dani and I have decided to go public.”

A/N: It’s not quite dead yet. Figured I might as well post since the JB are back. Any comments are welcome! Thanks for reading!

[soleilees]

late night drives | na jaemin

summary - best friend!jaemin wants to go for a car ride at midnight during the summer and it leads down an unexpected path

genre - fluff, drabble

warnings - none

word count - 2.3k

from nana: u up?

It was nearly midnight when Jaemin texted you, but you were still up, watching Netflix of course.

So you had texted him back a simple yes, why? because you were curious to know what on earth your longtime friend and crush could possibly want at midnight.

from nana: wanna go for a drive?

And that’s how you were now in your car and on your way to his house.

You had taken your hair out of it’s messy bun and brushed it out, put on a little mascara, and swapped your Nike shorts out for a pair of jean shorts. Of course you kept on your oversized hoodie.

You had left a note on your bedroom door saying you needed something at the store and gone, though you know your parents wouldn’t mind.

However, you aren’t sure how Jaemin is planning on getting out of his house.

When you pull in, you turn your headlights off and send him a text. Only a minute later do you see Jaemin open a window in the front of the house. He ungracefully climbs out of it before letting himself jump out, a smile on his face as he does so.

“That was really graceful.” You sarcastically note s he gets into the car.

“Hey, a guys gotta do what a guys gotta do.” Jaemin shrugs, flashing you his toothy smile that’s strong enough to make anyone melt.

You roll your eyes at him, turning the car back on and backing out. “How is it that you ask me to go for a drive and I get stuck driving?”

He wastes no time in unplugging your phone from the aux and plugging his in. “You did just see me climb out of a window, right? If I took the car I’d most definitely be dead.”

“Fine, where are we off to?” You ask, pulling out onto the main road that is eerily empty.

“The overlook?” He suggests.

“Should we stop to get snacks?” You ask, glancing over at him.

You both nod at the same time, drawing out the same “yeahhhhh”.

So you pull into the nearest open gas station. You grab a bag of hot cheetos, Snickers, a bottle of Arizona Tea to share, and a water. Jaemin just grabs a bag of gummies and a water. You of course pay for the snacks - though you don’t mind - and then you two head out.

The two of you don’t really talk on the ride there. Instead, you both sing songs as loud as you can.

The best part about summer is this.

Of course, it started last summer when Mark was the only one who could drive. You, Jaemin, Jeno, Haechan, and Renjun would all pile into Mark’s car and go for joy rides, occasionally hanging out at places like the parks or lakes.

A month into summer and the whole group had only gotten around to doing that once. This is your and Jaemin’s third time, though there was one time that you managed to drag Haechan and Jeno out.

“Okay, gummy me.” You say as you wait for the next song to come on.

Jaemin places a gummy in your extended hand. You pop it into your mouth before turning onto the short road that leads to the overlook.

The road leads through some trees with maybe two street lights.

“This feels like a horror movie waiting to begin.” You say, turning your brights on.

Jaemin snorts. “You’re such an idiot.”

You reach over and hit him before pulling into a parking spot. “I will leave you here.”

“No you won’t,” he beams. “You love me too much.”

You wouldn’t say love, but you do like him too much. You just roll your eyes at him as you turn the car off. “Do not.”

He just laughs before grabbing the Arizona, the gummies and your Snickers bar. The both of you leave your phones and your keys in the car before climbing out.

The routine has been to sit on the hood of your old Volkswagen and talk.

Which is what you two do.

You lay on your back and let your feet dangle off the front of the car. Jaemin does the same after taking a drink of the tea and setting it down between the two of you.

“Are you scared for college?” Jaemin asks, gently kicking his feet over the edge of the hood.

College isn’t too far away, though you try not to think about it. You just shrug. “Not really. I just try not to think about it.”

He glances over at you. “I’m scared.”

You turn your head so that you’re looking back at him, the glow of the one lightpost and moon outlining his face. You can barely see his face, but you can make it out.

“You’re not scared about getting murdered up here but you’re scared of college?”

A grin slowly appears on his face. “Listen, if a murderer shows up I will protect you.”

“I really appreciate that, you’ll definitely scare them off.” You tease, reaching for the Arizona. “What about college scares you?”

Jaemin shrugs before looking back up at the sky. “I don’t know.” He sighs. “Maybe just everyone going their own ways.”

You drink from the Arizona while thinking about school. You don’t even know where you want to go and you know the boys certainly don’t either. You like to think that no matter where everyone goes you’ll all still keep in touch and come together whenever you possibly can.

“Well at least we still have another year before we have to worry about that.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, staring up at the endless sky. Past the glow of town stars twinkle in the dark sky, full of scattered clouds. There’s a cool breeze blowing through the warm air.

“Do you still suck at finding constellations?” Jaemin asks.

You snort because the boys like to tease you for your lack of skill of being able to pick out the Little and Big Dipper. You’re fairly certain they’ll never let you live it down.

“Sorry to disappoint but I haven’t been spending my summer studying constellations.” You quip.

A mischievous grin grows across his face as his eyes scan the sky. “I already found the North Star.”

“Good for you, nerd.” You mock, turning your eyes back up.

He bumps his leg against yours. “You’re just jealous.”

You laugh, “Most definitely not.”

“Can you even find it?”

“I don’t want to find it.”

Jaemin laughs next to you, obviously aware of the fact that you actually can’t find it. You almost jump when you feel his hand grab yours. You glance over at him once more as he points your finger to trace out the Big Dipper. The smile that’s always on his face is there as his eyes twinkle from the starlight.

He turns his attention back to you. “Y/N, you’re not even looking at it.” He pouts.

You grin despite the weird butterflies in your stomach as your hands both fall to the hood of the car. But he doesn’t let your hand go.

So you do perhaps the bravest thing - since you kissed Lee Felix last year after your school dance - and move your hand around in his so that your fingers are clasped in his.

His pout just turns back into his contagious smile before he runs his other hand through his hair and looks back up at the sky.

You’ve never really showed how much you like Jaemin. Sure you’ve hugged and fallen asleep with your head on his shoulder, but you do that with all of your friends. Other than your girl friends, Haechan is always the only one who is ready to cuddle.

So holding his hand is a big deal.

Maybe the first time you realized that you liked Na Jaemin was when he had asked his crush to the same dance that you had kissed Felix at. You’d always treated him like a brother until you realized he actually really liked this girl. He had sworn that she was nice and that everyone would like her but once your friend group met her, you decided you didn’t. Most of the others didn’t like her either.

So when Felix asked you to the dance, you said yes because you didn’t want to spend the night thinking about Jaemin with that girl. Then at the end of the night you decided you wanted to kiss him to prove to yourself you didn't like Jaemin. Turns out the kiss just made you realize how much you wished it was Jaemin that you were kissing instead of Felix.

Jaemin and the girl lasted a month before he realized that she didn’t really like him, she just wanted to do things that made everyone uncomfortable, including Jaemin.

And while you had been ecstatic that they no longer were even speaking, you never acted on your feelings for him.

Each stroke of his thumb over the back of your hand sends electricity up your arm.

You bite at your lip to stop the big smile on your face as you watch clouds roll in.

“Do you think it’s gonna rain?” You ask.

He laughs. “Oh my God, we aren’t resorting to weather conversation are we?”

You sit up and look at him. “I’m being serious!” You exclaim. “I don’t want to get rained on!”

Jaemin shakes your hand. “You’re so lame.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, then what would you like to talk about? More constellations?”

“Hey, don’t mock the constellations.” He threatens.

“Or what?” You mock.

He raises his eyebrows, feigning shock. “Really?”

“Really.”

Jaemin uses his hand that’s latched onto yours to pull you up with him so that he’s leaning against the hood of the car and you’re standing between his legs. This is maybe one of the rare times that you’re taller than him, even if it’s just by an inch.

You don’t realize you’ve been looking at his lips until his smile begins to fade. When you look back up to his eye you can make it out in the moonlight that he’s looking at yours.

The breath in your lungs becomes stuck as you realize how close you are to Jaemin. His bangs lightly tickle your forehead. His breath fans across your lips and chin. His hand is still intertwined with yours, the other rubbing your arm gently.

Maybe Jaemin notices because he brings his eyes up to yours.

“Y/N, if you don-“

“No, no, it’s not that.” You quickly say, bringing your free hand up to the base of his neck. “It’s not you. I’m just nervous.”

“Are you saying I make you nervous?”

You slap his shoulder despite your grin. “Stop!”

He laughs even as you put both hands around his neck, playing with the soft hair at the top of it.

“You know I like you, right?” He asks.

You smile at the confession, your cheeks even get warm. It’s like someone lets loose a bunch of butterflies. While he isn’t a shy person, he’s never really showed signs of interest that you’ve noticed. But you suppose you haven’t acted on your feelings either.

Instead of trying to find something else to say, you let your lips find his. You let your eyes flutter close. You let your arms pull yourself closer to him.

His slightly chapped lips are soft against yours as his big smile molds into your lips. His hands press against your sides tenderly.

Pure bliss is his lips against yours, parting only for a second to breath before they’re reconnected. Jaemin’s soft hands reach for your face before they get lost in your hair. You can’t help but fall in love with the feeling of his hands in your hair, on your cheeks, or even on your sides.

You could let yourself drown in him if it wasn’t for the feeling of a cold drop hitting your skin. The first drop of rain makes you jump.

The second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth- you begin to push away from Jaemin, groaning against his lips.

“Jaemin!”

His bright smile is maybe the only reason your lips part.

“Hm?” He hums, his arms sliding back down to wrap them around your torso. He pulls you closer so that your chest is against his as well as your forehead pressed against his.

You squirm in his arms as rain begins to pelt down, soaking through your hair and starting to soak your sweatshirt.

“It’s raining!” You exclaim. “Can we please get back into the car?”

Jaemin shakes his head, hair already sticking down to his head. “We’re already wet.”

You pout, pulling your hood up, though it does very little. “Can we at least save the gummy bears and Snickers?”

He shakes his head once more. “How about we kiss again instead?”

Never in a thousand years did you imagine that Na Jaemin would be asking you to kiss him- again.

You snake your arms back around his neck and let him pull you back against his body, only so that you could feel his warmth.

Before you can even press your lips back to his, thunder rumbles in the distance.

The both of you stop.

“Now can we get back in the car?” You plead, the pouring rain now soaking through your sweatshirt.

He nods, letting go of you and reaching back for the foods. You quickly grab the bottles before rushing back into the car, a huge smile on your face.

[drink-the-midnight-oil]

Our Eternity: Part 2

Bughead AU: It’s been a decade since Betty left Riverdale when she was sixteen. Now, the death of an old friend brings her back to the town she grew up in and loved. And along with it, the return of old friends, memories, and a love that has haunted her for the past ten years. 

Part 1

They say that when an earthquake hits, a tsunami follows. It’s a horrible after-effect of what is already a terrible disaster. A tidal wave rushes onto the land, swallowing everything that the earthquake left unharmed. Just when you think it’s over and try to stand back up, another wave crashes, pulling you back under. 

Archie’s death had shaken Betty’s world to its core, the walls separating her past and present, collapsing. She’d struggled to regain her ground. And then the tsunami hit. 

Jughead Jones stood in front of Betty, his expression indecipherable. His beautiful black curls formed a halo around his head as they blew in the wind. His perfect lips parted as he spoke.

“I never I thought I would see you back in Riverdale.”

Neither did I, Betty thought. But here we are.

“I heard about Archie,” she said. “I came to pay my respects.”

“It’s horrible, what happened to him,” Jughead held her gaze. His blue eyes stared at her with a fiery intensity. “But he’s in a better place now.”

“I guess so,” Betty said, uncomfortable.

Jughead pulled a hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair, brushing it back. A glint of something shiny caught Betty’s eye. As he brought his hand back down, Betty noticed a silver band adorning his ring finger.

So he was married. A miserable feeling rose in her throat. She wanted to run to her car, drive back to New York, and hide for eternity. Unfortunately, that couldn’t be done. So instead, she compromised.

“I would love to stick around and chat Jug, but Veronica is waiting for me at the Pembrooke. You know how she gets when people are late.” 

A sweet smile to accompany a blatant lie.

“Oh, um, okay then,” Jughead answered, a hint of discernable disappointment in his voice.

Immediately, Betty felt bad. They’d barely said three sentences to each other and she was trying to leave already. What was she doing? It wasn’t his fault that she didn’t want to talk. But a person’s initial response to a tsunami is to run away from it as fast as possible and seek high ground. Currently, that was Veronica’s penthouse. 

She sighed, hating herself for feeling so guilty.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Jughead replied. “How long are you in town?”

“Another two days and then I’m gone. Back to the city.”

“Oh.” A look of defeat.

“Anyways, it was great seeing you. Bye.” 

“Bye.” A moment of incompleteness.

Betty turned and fled, not wanting to drag it on. She fumbled through her purse, searching for her keys. Finding them, she unlocked the car door and slid in. In the rearview mirror, Betty noticed Jughead looking at Archie’s grave. Maybe she’d meet him again. They might grab a milkshake at Pop’s. 

Betty shook away the uneasy feeling creeping up on her. After all, what was the most that could happen in two days?

He wasn’t wearing the beanie, Betty thought as she jogged down the sidewalk. It was early Saturday morning and Riverdale was still asleep. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, promising a beautiful day. But all Betty could think about was her encounter with Jughead the previous evening. 

The way he had looked at her, as if he couldn’t believe that it was really her. It had made her own heart flutter, seeing him again. He hadn’t changed much. Still the same beautiful face, just a bit more matured. The same quiet, broody manner about him. Betty remembered his hands and the way they would cradle her face when he kissed her, the way his fingers pressed against her waist when he pulled her close-

Get your head out of the gutter, she scolded herself. He’s a married man.

Betty picked up her pace, her shoes hitting the concrete with more force. The wind whipped around her face and rushed past her ears. But she pushed on, willing herself to run faster, away from her officious thoughts. Her lungs burned and her calves screamed but Betty didn’t slow down.

She ran around the corner and down the path until she finally allowed herself to slow down to a jog and then stop, panting. She bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. There was a nagging ache in her side.

Straightening, Betty looked up and saw the sign on her left.

Sunnyside Trailer Park 

Great. Of all the places in Riverdale, she’d ended up here. Just like the rest of Riverdale, the outer appearance of the trailer park hadn’t changed. The welcome sign stood old and rusty. The area was eerily quiet. Cautiously, she entered the park, not sure of whether to proceed or turn back. But her curiosity got the best of her.

Surprisingly, Betty made her way through the maze of trailers quite easily. It had been so long yet even the trailers were in the same places. Up ahead, she spotted a familiar rundown trailer, the home of the Jones family. Betty remembered how often she used to come here to see Jughead and FP. 

FP Jones, Jughead’s father, had always been kind to her and she felt a twinge of guilt for the way she had left without telling him.

A loud clanging noise from behind the trailer made her jump. So someone was home. Slowly, Betty walked around the trailer to see a man in a white tank top and jeans bent over a motorcycle, working on something. The muscles in his toned arms tightened as he screwed on a part. His long, grease-stained fingers worked nimbly. 

She drew in a sharp breath, realizing who it was. She was just about to leave when the man turned around and saw her standing there.

“Good morning, Betty,” Jughead greeted, obviously surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Is that old Bess?” Betty pointed at the motorcycle. Old Bess had been Jughead’s Honda CB550 that he rode during high school.

“Sure is,” Jughead said, giving it a pat. “Just thought I’d fix her up before I went back home.”

“You don’t live in Riverdale anymore?” This was new. But not unexpected.

Jughead shook his head.

“No. After I quit the Serpents, I went to college. I got my major in Creative Writing. Moved out of Riverdale.” 

“You quit the Serpents?” Betty was shocked. Jughead used to talk so much about how the Serpents had been the family he’d never had and how he wanted to live up to their standards. He used to idolize them.

“Yeah. I couldn’t see a future for myself with them.”

Betty was quiet. She regarded the motorcycle, longing to feel the wind in her hair and the ecstatic feeling she used to experience when she was young and carefree.

“I was going to take old Bess out later for a ride,” Jughead said suddenly. “Do you want to come with me?”

Betty tore her eyes away from the beautiful bike and looked at Jughead, startled. It was as if he had read her mind. She would refuse politely and walk away if she knew what was good for herself, Betty thought. But this was Jughead. She had never been able to refuse him. And besides, what harm would a bike ride do?

Jughead was looking at her expectantly. The long extinguished flame within her caught a spark. A slow smile spread across her face.

“I’d love that.”

Betty entered the Pembrooke warily, so as to not disturb its sleeping inhabitants.

But Veronica was wide awake, sitting at the coffee table and reading the newspaper. Her glasses were perched on the tip of her nose and she was nursing a mug of coffee. The sound of Betty entering made her look up.

“Good morning, Betty,” Veronica said, smiling. “Out for a morning run?”

“Yeah. Just thought I’d get a quick jog in,” Betty replied, sitting down at the table.

“Where’s Sweet Pea?”

“Pea’s at the gym. He should be back soon,” Veronica answered, taking a sip from her mug. 

Just as the words left her mouth, the front door opened again and this time Sweet Pea entered, sweaty but fresh. He smiled at the two women, greeting both.

Veronica stood up and kissed him. He went to wrap his arm around her but she pulled away, stepping back. 

“Not while you’re sweaty, babe,” she said. “Go shower.”

He dropped a kiss on her nose and chuckled. 

“Whatever you want.”

“Hey, Betty, do you have any plans today?” Veronica asked.

“Um, yeah actually. I’m going out,” she said, hesitantly. “With Jughead.”

Veronica almost dropped her mug. Sweet Pea stopped in his tracks.

“Jughead’s back in town!?” he asked incredulously. “He didn’t even call.”

Veronica’s eyebrows looked like they were going to fly off her forehead.

“Betty, you’re going out with Jughead? As in Jughead Jones? The same boy you went out with in high school? Where did you meet Jughead?”

“At the cemetery, yesterday.”

“Oh my god,” Sweet Pea said, shaking his head. “I am going to kill him for not telling me he’s back,”

“Well, where are you guys going?” Veronica proceeded, ignoring Sweet Pea.

“Just on a motorcycle ride. He wanted to exercise old Bess and asked me to come with.” Betty shrugged like it was no big deal. “I said okay.”

Veronica was staring at her, jaw open and stunned.

“Oh my god, Veronica. Relax. It’s just a bike ride. We aren’t going to do anything stupid,” Betty laughed. “Besides, he’s married.”

“Married? But I thought-“ Sweet Pea started to say but Veronica cut him off.

“That’s great, Betty. I hope you have fun.” The smile on Veronica’s face was an attempt at genuineness, but it wasn’t quite there.

Betty smiled at them. As happy as they appeared for her, she didn’t miss the knowing glance that passed between them.

An hour later, Betty was back at Sunnyside, a backpack on her back and a hat on her head. She was dressed in a simple white crop top and jeans. A denim jacket hung off her shoulders. Without even realizing it, she had put her hair back into a ponytail. 

The sound of an engine roaring made a thrill go through her and a helmet-clad Jughead rode out on old Bess, now shiny and gleaming. He had changed his outfit, now in a dark t-shirt and jeans, as well as a Sherpa jacket.

Stopping the motorcycle next to Betty, he handed her a second helmet. She traced the small crown symbol carved onto its front. Her old helmet.

“Ready?” Jughead asked, smirking.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Betty answered, trying to contain her excitement.

Fastening the straps of the helmet, Betty climbed onto the motorcycle behind Jughead, her arms automatically wrapping themselves around his waist. The contact made him freeze for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he revved the engine, making it roar. And just like that, they were off.

Betty grinned as they cruised down the empty road, the wind slapping their faces. Jughead rode fast, and it caused a rush of adrenaline which Betty felt all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. She laughed, thrilled to be on a motorcycle again. In the side view mirror, she saw Jughead smile. 

They rode past the town, and were soon out on the open road. Farms and fields flew past them, all a green and yellow blur. 

“Where are we going?” Betty yelled over the roar of the wind.

“You’ll see!” Jughead yelled back, and sped up.

Betty tightened her grip on Jughead, her hands tucked against his stomach. She could feel the hard planes of his abdomen underneath her palms. Her mind started to drift, imagining what it must look like, underneath the layers. 

Horrified at herself, Betty pulled her arms away, afraid of her own thoughts. Jughead turned sideways.

“Don’t let go! You’ll fall!”

Tentatively, Betty put her arms around his torso. 

No dirty thoughts, she scolded herself.

Jughead turned onto a narrower road leading straight into the woods. The trees grew denser and wild animals ran around, unafraid of them. 

They pulled up to a clearing and Jughead turned off the engine. Handing her helmet to Jughead, Betty looked around. 

They were in a small opening where the woods met Sweetwater River. It wasn’t a place that Betty had ever come in all the years she had lived in Riverdale. She reached the edge of the river, where the water lapped up against the gravelly banks.

A splash caused Betty to jump. She looked and saw that Jughead had taken off his shoes and socks and waded into the river, his jeans rolled up to his knees.

“Come on in!” he yelled to her.

Betty looked at the river. Who knows what creatures lurked in those waters? But on the other hand, she’d been swimming in Sweetwater River before and it had always been safe. Besides, Jughead wouldn’t take her anywhere she would be in danger of getting injured, right?

Screw it, Betty thought, pulling off her own shoes. Grinning she rolled up her own jeans and ran into the river.

The water was cool and pleasant. She felt sixteen again, laughing and splashing in the river. They waded upstream and came to a small thicket where berries grew ripe on the bushes.

Jughead plucked a berry and tossed it into his mouth, smacking his lips.

“Here,” he said tossing her one.

“Are you sure these are safe to eat?” Betty questioned, eyeing the berry.

“Betty Cooper, do you question my wilderness knowledge?” He feigned hurt.

“Considering that everything you ever ate was either Chinese takeout or one of Pop’s burgers, don’t feel offended if I say yes,” Betty retorted, grinning wickedly.

“You have me there,” Jughead admitted.

But nevertheless, she popped it into her mouth.

They walked along the river bank, skipping stones and splashing each other. Betty realized how much she had missed this, the running wild and goofing around.

After a while, they sat down on a blanket that Jughead spread out and ate the sandwiches which he had packed. The surroundings were quiet, except for the hushed rustling of leaves in the wind. 

“So,” Jughead said, dusting crumbs off of his jeans. “You left in a bit of a rush yesterday. No one waiting for you today?”

Betty flushed, ashamed of her actions from the previous day.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to seem rude.”

“Well, you can make it up to me now. Where have you been the past ten years?” Jughead leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out in front. 

“Here and there,” Betty answered. “I moved around a lot. Washington, Boston, and I recently moved to New York.”

“New York?” Jughead looked confused. “When?”

“About three weeks ago,” Betty replied. “I got a job as editor of the New York Times.”

Jughead’s eyes widened. 

“The New York Times?! Congratulations, Betty. That’s huge.”

“Thanks. What about you? What have you been up to?”

“Writing,” Jughead said. “I finally published my novel. And a few other books. Nothing too big.”

“You did? That’s fantastic, Jug. I’ll have to check it out once I get back home.” 

Jughead looked like he was going to say something but hesitated and then shook his head.

“Sure.” Was his only reply.

A silence grew and it made Betty nervous. Clearing her throat, she changed the subject.

“I didn’t know Veronica and Sweet Pea were a thing. Kinda surprising.”

“I know. It was a bit of a shock when we all first found out. Toni went ballistic,”Jughead laughed, recalling the memory. “Their wedding was fantastic though. Silk handkerchiefs, a ten-tier cake, the works. Made me feel poorer than usual.”

Betty shook her head, smiling. Casually, she pointed to Jughead’s hand.

“So you got married too, huh?” She tried to keep her tone light.

Jughead looked down at his hand and saw the ring.

“Oh, um, yeah,” he replied. “I was married. For three months. We got an annulment about a month ago.”

“Oh,” Betty said, trying to contain her curiosity. “What was her name?”

He didn’t say anything. At once, Betty felt embarrassed. It wasn’t any of her business.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be intrusive or pry-“

“Sabrina,” Jughead spoke suddenly. “Sabrina Spellman. She was a city girl. Called herself a psychic. We went to the same college.”

“What happened between you two?” Betty pushed carefully.

He pulled up his knees and rested his elbows on them. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. Instead, his gaze was on the horizon.

“We dated for a while. She was a wild and fun-loving girl. I was a stay-at-home-and-binge-Netflix kind of guy. I was with her because I had convinced myself that I loved her. I was trying to put the past behind me. But this one weekend, we went to Vegas with a bunch of our friends. There was some drinking although almost none on my part. She said that she wanted to get married. So in the spur of the moment, we went down to the chapel and got married. But it didn’t work out.” 

“Why not?” Her heart was pounding.

“Because,” Jughead said, finally looking at Betty. “I was still in love with someone else.”

Suddenly, it became hard to hold Jughead’s gaze and Betty looked down at her hands in her lap. Her cheeks grew warm as she fought the urge to scream. This. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. The second wave hit and Betty felt her head go underwater. She was fighting against the current but it was useless. The dark water pulled her deeper and deeper. A vague realization that she was drowning. And there was no one to save her.

An uncomfortable presence settled in the air between them and Betty concentrated on the faded scars on her palms. Ten crescent moons in a line. Her way to regain control. She fought the urge to dig her fingernails into the skin, to find the relief. 

“Why, Betty? Why did you leave?” His voice was soft.

Betty felt her throat block up and her eyes well up with tears. It wasn’t fair of him to ask that. He hadn’t known what she had been going through. She didn’t want to hurt him more than she already had.

She peeked up and saw him watching her, a forlorn look in his eyes.

“Please, Betty. I need to know.”

“You know why,” Betty said, choking up. It was hard to speak and she was on the verge of crying.

“No, I don’t. You left without a word to anyone, not even your mother. No one could find you or figure out why you left. But I have to know.”

“I- I didn’t want to hurt you,” Betty said, wiping her runny nose. Her throat had closed up and she couldn’t swallow.

“Betty, you hurt me by leaving me with no explanation.” Jughead was looking at her, desperate for an answer. “It’s been ten years and I still don’t have any closure. Please, Betty.”

“I didn’t want to cause anyone more pain. I didn’t want my family to have to deal with the repercussions of my actions.  I- I didn’t want to f- fail you, again,” she said, trying her best to not cry.

“Fail me?” Jughead looked bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“The miscarriage, Jughead. I mean the miscarriage.”

Wow. I can’t believe I actually finished that part. And I know a lot of people are going to bash me for ending it like that. Well, I have some bad news. The next chapter won’t be out until the week after next because I have finals. I wish I could just write and write and write all day, but unfortunately, I can’t.

But fear not, I JUST MAY post a coda/flashback part next week because I’m a sucker for writing. Once again, I can’t be sure if I will be able to do that. 

But anyways, I enjoyed getting all your wonderful reviews and am so freaking grateful that so many of you enjoyed the first part. Thank you all so much. I love you to pieces.

XOXO

Rhea

[bussanbaby]

It all looks like a postcard, Magnus muses as he steps out onto a wide branch, his hands finding purchase on a thinner one above his head to prevent a fall to his not-quite-death as he surveys the neighborhood.

It’s not very fancy, per se; after all, it’s only the suburbs, although there are white picket fences, trampolines and children’s toys scattered between lawn sprinklers, making for quite an idyllic view. Speaking of kids, there are none in sight, as it is only 10 a.m. on a Saturday morning and most of them are probably watching cartoons and eating sugary cereal in their pajamas.

The sun warms spots on Magnus’ skin where it breaks through the thick canopy of leaves, as he makes his way across the tree and jumps down onto the roof just below the branch.  The window is already cracked open, so Magnus pushes it further up, enough to fit himself through it. It’s not that easy, with legs much longer than when he was a kid, but years of practice pay off and he manages to not fall on his face.

Magnus slips a dark tote bag from his shoulder and sets it on Alec’s desk – the only cluttered spot compared to an otherwise tidy room (for a teenage boy, anyway), before making his way to the bed pushed against the opposite wall. Alec hasn’t acknowledged him yet from where he’s lying on top of the sheets, a book propped up against his bare chest, part of the title being the word ‘mockingbird’. Only his best friend is nerdy enough to do the optional reading during the summer, on a Saturday, of all days.

The mattress creaks and protests when Magnus climbs onto it, plops himself down almost right in Alec’s lap, their legs tangled and Magnus’ back pressed against the poster-filled wall. Belatedly, he realizes it might not have been the wisest decision, because Alec’s shirtless and definitely incredibly distracting. Still, this is a foolproof way of getting his attention so Magnus just hopes he doesn’t embarrass himself.   

Alec rests the open book down on his chest and pushes himself up onto his elbows with a soft sigh; the look he shoots Magnus was probably aiming for unamused and maybe even chastising, but it falls short and instead ends up being disgustingly fond.

“You know, you can use the front door like a normal person,” Alec says, a lopsided smile curling onto his face as he flops down again. He looks pretty like that – with hair a bird’s nest, sun-born freckles spilling over the bridge of his nose, and eyes glittering with a sleepy kind of mirth.

Magnus shrugs nonchalantly. “The tree is more fun.”

They lapse into a moment of comfortable silence and Magnus occupies himself by drawing shapes on Alec’s side with his finger, watching the muscles beneath the skin twitch and tense when it tickles.

“Where are your siblings?” Magnus asks, letting his head fall back against the wall to watch Alec from beneath a fringe of lashes; it’s eerily quiet in the Lightwood household, with only the subdued din of Miss Lightwood puttering in the kitchen downstairs.

“Izzy’s at her science club, then she has her self-defense class later in the evening. And Jace is off somewhere, disappointing God probably. Maybe committing minor crimes with Simon, who knows,” Alec answers with a hint of a smirk in the corner of his lips, playing into his and Magnus’ inside joke - Alec’s adopted brother has recently started his rebellious phase, trying to seem all tough and badass, which so far has only gotten him into more trouble and detentions than it’s worth.

“And you’re in your room, just waiting for your best friend to save you from boredom,” Magnus alludes, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. His knee bumps against Alec’s ribs, another point of contact that turns Magnus’ skin hot.

Alec levels him with an analyzing stare, one of his eyes squinted and the tip of his tongue trapped between dry lips.  

“Okay, I’ll bite the bullet. What are you up to?” he asks, feigning suspicion while he tries to fight back a smile.

While people usually assume Magnus is the more reckless one, it’s been proven in the past they both have an audacious streak a mile wide, bouncing ideas off each other until they inevitably end up with amazing memories and maybe a scar or two.

Magnus straightens up, catching Alec’s eyes like he’s gearing up for a confession.

“I want you to shave my head.”

“What?!” Alec yelps, sitting up so violently Magnus worries he’s gonna get whiplash, hazel eyes wide with almost comical horror; his book thumps onto the ground, forgotten.

“Not the whole thing, you idiot! Just the sides, so I can have a mohawk,” Magnus explains, hands lifting to gesture towards his hair.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” Alec chides, shaking his head. He gives a long sigh, one of his hands resting on Magnus’ knee. “And why me? I’m not a hairdresser.”

“Because my dad won’t let me make an appointment, since it’s ‘unprofessional and I will look like a punk’ as he put it.” While quoting his father, Magnus lowers his voice to make it sound menacing and smooth at the same time, adding air-quotes to the equation just out of sheer pettiness.

His dad has always been strict with Magnus in a different way than Alec’s parents were with him - Asmodeus Bane consistently put forth elegance and good reputation, his influences stretching far over the town as a big business figure. He didn’t want his only son looking anything else other than immaculate and poised all the time; obviously, a mohawk didn’t fit that sort of appearance, but Magnus was tired of answering ‘Yes, papa’ to every request given to him.

“I don’t really wanna be on your dad’s shit list, I feel like he doesn’t like me anyway.” Alec’s voice is quieter, almost unsure. His eyes drift to his lap where he starts picking at a stray thread in his sweats.

His dad has some opinions about Alec that Magnus doesn’t want to voice out loud, but after all the years Alec and Magnus have spent joined at the hip, Asmodeus had no choice but to warm up to the eldest Lightwood son.

With a cut off noise of protest, Magnus wraps his fingers around a warm wrist, squeezes once, making Alec look up at him, his lower lip worried between his teeth.

“He does, he just has a funny way of showing it. So, pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

Alec’s arm twitches in Magnus’ grip and for a split second, he thinks Alec’s gonna do something, either take it back or deepen their touch, but nothing like that happens. After a moment of deliberation, Alec rolls his eyes with such emphasis that something cracks in his neck.  

“Fuck, okay. You know I can’t say no to you.”

The breathy way the swear leaves Alec’s mouth and the words that follow it confuse the blood in Magnus’ body - it can’t choose whether to flow up into his cheeks or go downstairs. Still, his face lights up with a pleased grin as he brings both his palms to cup Alec’s cheeks with theatrical seriousness.

“You’re the best, buddy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Say that again when you look like a cockatoo after a close meeting with a lawnmower,” Alec says defeatedly, but there’s laughter beneath the fake resignation, mixing with Magnus’ snickering. As much as Alec tries to make himself seem indifferent, Magnus sees right through him, notices the smile he tries to hide as he moves off the bed and towards his desk.

Hooking one finger into the edge of the tote bag, Alec glances inside, taking note of the trimmer neatly wrapped in its cord. “I see you came prepared.”

They relocate to the small ensuite bathroom, barely enough space for the two of them to stand face to face, but they make do - Alec subtly kicks a dirty t-shirt closer to the laundry bin and Magnus elbows him in the ribs as they try to switch places.

Magnus can’t count the times he’s been here before, taking quick showers before tucking himself in for sleep on the spare mattress by Alec’s bed, chilling on the closed toilet as Alec brushes his teeth on lazy mornings when they’re too tired to even go eat breakfast.

Magnus plops himself down in the tub to minimize the mess, then tugs off his shirt, throwing it aside. Behind his back, Alec tinkers with the trimmer, trying to get the interchangeable part to stay on, Magnus can see his reflection in the mirror above the sink - brows furrowed in concentration, mouth twisted into a sour line.

The soft light filters in through the small window near the ceiling, accentuating all the lines of Alec’s body and the ropy muscle he’s been building over the last couple of months in the garage gym; it paints all the fuzzy hairs coming in over his sternum and down the middle of his stomach gold as he leans back to plug in the cord.

The trimmer wakes up to life and Alec perches on the edge of the tub, his fingers carding through Magnus’ messy hair. “Only the sides.”

Magnus nods with a quiet chuckle. “Make me look beautiful, Lightwood.”

“I don’t have to do anything, then.” Alec’s answer is immediate, soaked with comfort, like the words have been sitting in the back of his throat for a while. His hand freezes for a split second, buried in dark hair, but then it resumes its work, with the help of a comb marking out all the areas to keep lines straight.

Magnus presses his lips together into a thin line, a smile trying to worm its way onto his face.

They’ve been like this for a while, all lingering touches and flirtatious quips, quick kisses dropped into hair when the other one is supposed to be sleeping. Magnus has been told that best friends don’t behave like this, that they’re weird, but he and Alec have never been anything other than strange.

Magnus doesn’t remember a single year of his life that didn’t have Alec in it - all through kindergarten, elementary school and now middle school, they’ve been by each other’s side; they played pirates and read superhero comics on the floor of Magnus’ living room, walked along the creek behind the town’s edge, casting stones into the water and telling bad jokes.

And they still do all of these things and so much more.

Magnus has never found anyone he felt as safe with as Alec, whose opinion mattered just as much, who could placate his anger and fear just with one touch of his fingertips. Back when he used to have nightmares, Magnus would climb over the tree and into Alec’s room. Even at three in the morning, the half-awake Alec would only pull back the covers and wrap Magnus up in his arms, murmuring something about kicking every monster’s ass out there before drifting back into soft snores.

They lapse into comfortable silence with only the steady buzzing to accompany it. At one point, Magnus closes his eyes, hangs his head slightly, focusing on the sensations around him.

One of his feet feels close to being asleep and Alec’s touch keeps surfacing goosebumps onto his skin, sending shivers skittering down the knobby line of his spine. Magnus breathes deep, focuses on the drag of those fingertips down the curve of his skull, how careful and diligent Alec is, making sure to get everything even.

“What if I shaved a dick onto your head?” Alec hums at one point, drawing Magnus out of his thoughts; surprised, he bursts into a fit of immature giggles and Alec laughs along, his palm fitted into the crook of Magnus’ neck.

“If you were Jace, I’d consider that as a danger. But I trust you.” Magnus turns to look up at Alec - it feels significant somehow, the way they hold each other’s gaze, Alec’s hand on his bare shoulder.

“Alright,” Alec hums and that’s it, another moment to tuck into their pockets like colorful autumn leaves just after they fall. Lately, everything feels charged, a storm waiting to happen between them, first thunder growling in the lingering glances, in the unspoken words left hanging in the air.

It’s some time later, when Alec straightens out with a sigh, stretches with arms high above his head. “Done, I think.”

He brushes off all the loose hairs from Magnus’ back and helps him out of the bathtub, before motioning towards the mirror.

It actually looks better than Magnus expected - the hair atop his head is still sticking up in all directions, but the sides are just the right length; when he runs his fingers across them, it feels funny, scratchy but soft at the same time.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he says, turning around and leaning against the edge of the sink counter.

Alec pushes off the tiled wall, crowds closer to Magnus until there’s little space between them, before reaching out to brush his knuckles against the side of Magnus’ face.

“Stray hair,” he offers for an explanation, but his fingers drift further, over Magnus’ cheekbone and the sharp line of his jaw to stop at his mouth, thumb pushed against the lower lip.

They’re teetering.

Always walking a thin line of something more, of a touch a second too long, of a heartbeat just on the side of too quick. Magnus loves it, hates it, a little bit of both. It makes him lie awake at night, imagining the moment when the tide breaks.

It also scares him, in a way. Because this is Alec, the person that knows Magnus better than he knows himself, his best friend that he loves with his whole heart. Maybe that’s the problem, maybe the love that used to be purely platonic changed directions, left Magnus wanting more.

A couple years back, Magnus realized he and Alec don’t fit the clean-cut best friends stereotype. Watching other boys run across the soccer field behind the school, hearing them swear and push at each other in pent-up anger, laughing about how ‘gay’ hugging another guy is, Magnus was left with a weird feeling sitting low behind his ribs, a realization he subconsciously already understood.

The signs were all there, from comments whispered as they passed through the school corridors, through meaningful glances from Izzy and Jace, to their parents’ reluctant confusion. And Magnus isn’t blind, he knows normally boys don’t watch the stars from the roof underneath one blanket and they don’t teach each other to swim only to end up in a tangle of limbs at the seashore. They don’t hold hands while falling asleep and they don’t wear each other’s t-shirts just because and they don’t pine after their best friends, because they love them.

They were never normal. They were them, Magnus and Alec, two boys against the world.

Magnus swallows, watches Alec’s eyes follow the movement, deer-like eyelashes sweeping slow against the delicate skin underneath. With a staccato tremble stuck beneath his skin, Magnus lifts his palms from where they hang along the line of his body, fits them against Alec’s sides instead.

Alec’s breath hitches, Magnus moves his hands up, up, up, over the plane of his stomach, over the lines of his ribs, to where his rabbiting heart sits in its cage.

Magnus is tired of walking on the tightrope, trying to keep his balance; he wants to jump.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers into the distance between their lips, feels Alec’s thumb slip to his chin, then around the side of his neck; his other palm settling at his lower back, tugging him just a fraction closer.

“Please,” Alec whispers back, voice trembling.

Magnus jumps.

It’s nice and strange and slightly overwhelming; Alec’s lips are soft and dry, he tastes faintly like tea and something sweet; his hands tighten on Magnus, bring him even closer until they’re chest to chest.

He starts to understand every line about kissing in books and all the movie scenes he has seen, where the world stops and only two people are left at their own mercy. Before, he could hear birds chirping on the branch outside and the buzzing noises of the tv downstairs, but now his ears are filled only with the hum of his own blood rushing through his veins, the marching beat of his heart.

Magnus forgets to breathe, forgets to think as he wraps his arms around Alec’s neck. His nose presses into Alec’s cheek as they shift together, fall into a rhythm that turns from testing waters into a fervent confession of want. They kiss harder, braver, like everything is about to end even when it isn’t.

They break apart to catch their breath, but being far from each other feels like a curse, so they gasp for air with foreheads pressed together, buzzing with a craving to touch. Alec tips forward, presses his warm mouth against Magnus’ neck, scrapes his teeth against the skin there, wrenching a soft moan from Magnus’ chest, heat curling low in his stomach.

He’s been staring at those pink lips for a while now, imagined how they would feel on his, but nothing he ever came up with compares to this - electric and exciting and so oddly familiar Magnus doesn’t know how he survived without them so long.

With a low noise in his throat, Magnus spins them around, surges for Alec’s lips, who kisses him back like his life depends on it; perhaps in that moment, it does. Those hands bury themselves in Magnus’ freshly cut hair, grip it tight in fistfuls and pull, not enough to hurt, but enough to turn Magnus’ knees into jello just for a second.

Alec calls his name in a breathy voice like it’s the only word he knows, makes it sound like so much more than six letters, like a plea and a command at once.

They’ve crossed a line they can never step back behind, but it feels good, it feels like the right thing to do; Magnus doesn’t care, because he’s not falling - he’s flying close to the sun that won’t burn his wings.

Shifting his weight, Magnus pushes a thigh between Alec’s, feels the taut lines of his body, how equally affected he is by what they’re doing. It sends a spike of white-hot adrenaline through Magnus, as he repeats the motion, kissing Alec again, reckless and open-mouthed and just a little bit sloppy.

Their hands roam freely as they kiss, Alec’s palms drifting from caressing Magnus’ cheeks to squeeze at his shoulders, then scratch blunt nails down his back, equally impatient and reverent in each gesture, as if he can’t believe he’s allowed to.

Magnus can’t believe it either, that’s he’s here, in Alec’s tiny bathroom, kissing the boy of his dreams, pressing curious fingers above the waistband of his sweatpants. He needs to feel more, make another memory to keep tucked into the favorite corners of his brain.

Swiftly, Magnus puts his hands under Alec’s thighs, hauls him onto the counter and oh, the new angle is something beautiful. Alec makes a surprised noise, fingers grabbing tight around Magnus’ biceps to steady himself; they break apart again and Alec looks utterly debauched - his lips are red and shiny, his face is flushed and his eyes hazy, focused only on Magnus himself.

“Working out paid off,” Alec teases, but it has no bite, as he’s breathless, smiling giddily at Magnus.

“I’m going to benchpress your ass one day,” Magnus barks back, half-thinking about what he’s even saying, busy with staring up at Alec; his higher brain functions might as well be all switched off.

Alec throws his head back with a laugh and Magnus uses that opportunity to nose along the line of his clavicle, catching hints of Alec’s favorite cologne.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Alec quips, wrapping his legs around Magnus’ waist to pull him closer; something behind him clatters to the floor, but neither one of them looks.

“You’ll see.”

Magnus slowly moves his palms up Alec’s thighs and over his hips to grope at his ass, but suddenly, there’s the unmistakable sound of footsteps on a creaky staircase.

“Alec, is everything alright?” Miss Lightwood calls out, knocking on the closed doors to her son’s room.

Both of them freeze, wide-eyed; Magnus swears his heart stops beating for a couple of seconds.

Alec’s mouth hangs open as he blinks rapidly to get back some semblance of coherent thought, his brain working on overdrive.   

“Everything’s good, mom! I just dropped something!” Alec yells back and they both pray Maryse doesn’t hear the tremble in Alec’s voice.

There’s a moment of silence, a mother considering whether her teenager is bullshitting her or telling the truth; in the end, she believes him.

“Okay. Come downstairs, help me do the dishes.”

“In a minute!”

The stairs creak again, indicating Maryse’s departure and Magnus lets out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Alec’s fingers find his, tangling together, the previous mood simmering down to something more subtle, not forgotten, but put on hold in a silent promise.

“That was close,” Magnus huffs, swallows the cotton stuck in his throat.

“Yeah.”

Maybe it should be weird, awkward, filled with half-aborted confessions; it isn’t. It feels like nothing changed between them, like they’re still them, still Magnus-and-Alec.

Magnus lifts Alec’s palm to his lips, kisses the ridges of his knuckles.

They still love each other, that will never change.

[dreamin-of-somewhere-else]

1997 [7]

Previous parts

Characters: Dean Winchester, twin sister!reader, Sam Winchester, characters from 4x13, OC characters.

Words: 3500 (I couldn’t exactly cut it off in the middle of the showdown, could I? ;) )

Warnings: Some violence (during the hunt, like usual), and then the usual language which means a little bit of swearing

A/N: This is as I said, the showdown of the series. There’ll be another part to round it off, but yes, this is the second to last chapter of this story :) Hope you like it!

Also, if you want something to listen to, try this Alleyways - The Neighbourhood. It’s what I listened to while writing this :) (And as usual I haven’t checked the lyrics).

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With a slightly shaking hand, you opened the heavy door of the school. Unlocked still, but the building was eerily quiet.

That special feeling filled you up from the inside, the one you get when you see a place that’s usually crawling with people, uncharacteristically and completely empty. You felt shivers running down your back.

Dean was right behind you, so close that you can hear his breathing, and thank god for that. You were always thankful to have Dean, but it was moments like these you were a little extra happy to not be alone.

”Okay, now where is that stupid ring?” Dean whispered, his senses just as heightened as yours.

You both were on edge, watching and listening for any movements, any sounds.

Together you moved further and further into the dimly lit corridor, a pretty useless gun clutched in your hands, the shotgun in Dean’s. The fluorescent lights were a stark contrast to the shadows forming closer to the walls and in every corner. The strip lights were usually enough during the day, when sunlight seeped inside through the windows, but apparently not during the late evening. Although, some light still seeped in from the windows, originating from the full, bright moon, bluish in color.

Suddenly, the sound of a door closing echoed through the otherwise silent school, making you and Dean both flinch, unconsciously stepping closer to each other, rising your weapons. A man stepped out into the far end of the corridor, and he was obviously not a ghost, but you didn’t relax immediately.

It was when he spoke up you hid your guns.

”Hey, what are you two doing here?” He exclaimed, beginning to walk closer. ”You shouldn’t really be here, seeing what has happened lately.”

”Sorry, I was just, uh, picking up some stuff,” you answered, as you stepped closer to the row of lockers next to you, as if you were going to open one.

”Wait, are you Sam’s older siblings?”

The man’s question made Dean and you look at each other, until you stared at him instead. The very same question also made you realize who it was — Mr. Wyatt. Sam had mentioned something about him the other day, but you couldn’t remember what.

Right now, all your mind was focusing on was the fact that he was inside the school, which meant that he was a target.

The man’s question made Dean and you stiffen and look at each other, until you stared at him instead.

”How did you know?” Your brother asked, expression unsure as he eyed the teacher.

”Sam wrote a story about you for English class,” Mr. Wyatt’s voice died down, and the look in his eyes made you feel like there was more to the story than that, for some reason. Like he knew something about you.

You decided to leave it, but it did make you wonder.

”Well, I’m just gonna get my homework, and then we’ll leave.” You smiled politely, rounding off the conversation.

”Good. I’m going to finish up in some stuff and then I’ll leave too.”

He smiled as well, and you and Dean returned it. Then he walked off with a quick wave sort of thing, a non-verbal goodbye.

Once he had disappeared into another room, the door slamming shut behind him, you turned to your twin.

But before you could open your mouth, Dean opened his.

You always knew what the other was thinking.

”I’ll go outside,” he informed you. ”The usual drill.”

”Great,” you nodded. He was going to get the teacher out of the building, at all costs.

”Keep guard.” Dean ordered, pointing at you as he started to walk backwards in the direction you came from.

”Aye, aye captain.” You nodded.

Dean gave you a thumbs up and turned around to jog towards the doors of the school.

You were once again left alone on the eerie corridor, but it didn’t take long before the faint sound of a car alarm going off reached your ears. And then another car alarmed, followed by another. Because, when there was several cars to choose from, and you didn’t know which one, you just had to go for them all.

You just hoped that Mr. Wyatt heard them too.

At the sound of the alarms, you walked down the rest of the corridor to round the corner just in time for the teacher to run out of the classroom he had been staying inside and then out of the school, worried about his car in the parking lot.

Now you were completely alone. Heartbeat hammering while you were as tense as you possibly could be. Holding your breath, you listened for any indication that something had gone wrong outside, waiting for your twin brother to show up. The walls felt like they were getting closer, the shadows seemed to move. With clammy hands you adjusted the grip around your gun, eyes latched onto the door, gasping as it swung open.

Dean quickly closed the door behind him, locking it. You breathed out slightly.

”Okay, let’s go,” Dean stated as he ran over to you, and you began making your way towards the stairs.

Back at the motel, Sam was worrying sick. Pacing around the room, he just couldn’t bring himself to sit down. He couldn’t relax. And when the phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

”Sam.” He answered, heart hammering in his chest.

”Hey, son, it’s your dad. I got Dean and (Y/N)’s messages and I’m on my way.”

”They are already out there, right now, hunting alone.” Sam replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone. ”You never let us hunt alone.”

”I understand.” John paused for a second. ”I don’t like them hunting alone, but they’re doing the right thing.”

Yes, because two teenagers hunting a teen-killing ghost alone was a great thing, Sam thought to himself.

”Okay.” He just responded, tone emotionless, not letting his dad hear what he was really thinking.

”See you soon.”

Sam hung up.

”(Y/N)?”

You froze at the voice, and Dean stopped too, noticing that you had. You were right at the foot of the stairs, caught in action. Both of you then turned around, facing the owner of the voice. Dean didn’t connect the dots immediately, but you felt the hairs on your arms stand straight up along with the fine ones in your neck.

No way.

”Jeremy.” You smiled, flashing your teeth while your blood ran cold. ”What are you doing here?”

But you knew the answer instantly after you asked the question.

”Guitar practice,” he responded, eyeing you and Dean. ”You?”

Shit, shit, shit.

”Forgot my homework.” You casually responded, trying to keep the quiver off your voice. You were a practiced liar, but this was Jeremy. It was harder. ”I’m just gonna go and get it, and then Dean and I are out of here. Don’t wanna be here when people are dying, right?”

You hoped he would get the hint. You didn’t pray, but right now you almost did. You just wanted him to understand. And leave, and go somewhere far away from here. Go back home, to safety.

Jeremy wore squinty eyes as he looked at you and Dean, much like you had done to the teacher. He too knew something was up, but he also seemed to understand what you meant, thankfully. ”Yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna head home now too. See you tomorrow?”

”Of course.” You smiled, trying to keep the anxiousness off your features. You just wanted him out of here, now.

He nodded and glanced over at Dean who sort of waved once as a combined ’what’s up’ and ’goodbye’.

But just when Jeremy was about to turn around, it happened. The lights flickering was a sad excuse for a forewarning. Neither you or Dean had the time to register it before your friend screamed in surprised as he suddenly was thrown off his feet.

You watched in terror, paralyzed, as he was flung into row of lockers, a loud crash echoing through the quiet school. The formerly quiet school — now the crash and your scream filled that silence. That along with the strong wind that had appeared along with the ghost that now stood looming over Jeremy, who was laying too still for your comfort.

Luckily Dean had his mind in the game — in contrast to you — and brought out his shotgun. Through the roaring storm that pulled papers and posters with it he aimed and sent a salt-filled shotgun shell flying through the air, hitting the ghost. It vanished with a hiss.

It suddenly got quiet again.

You blinked, your eyes falling onto your friend again.

”No, no, no, no.”

You ran up to him, hearing Dean’s footfalls following right behind. Reaching Jeremy, you fell to your knees.

Placing your hands on the sides of his face, you lifted up his head. It was heavy with his neck limp. Jeremy’s expression was completely relaxed — not in a good way — and his amber eyes hidden underneath heavy eyelids.

”Jer?” Your voice was small as you tapped his cheek. Meanwhile you felt Dean’s presence right behind you, him to waiting for a reaction as he watched over your shoulder.

No answer. No movement.

”Jeremy! Come on, wake up!” You couldn’t keep your voice from breaking. You shook his head, but nothing happened.

You were getting really scared, this numbing fear wrapping itself around your body and your senses.

”Hold on, (Y/N), let me look.” Dean placed a hand on your shoulder that was as gentle as his voice.

Inching closer so that he sat next to the still boy, Dean placed two fingers on Jeremy’s exposed neck.

The moments that followed seemed excruciatingly long. Endless, even. But then finally Dean came with a verdict.

”He’s got a steady pulse.”

Then Dean held out a hand right above Jeremy’s nose and mouth.

”He’s breathing too.”

You nodded, feeling a little comforted.

”He’s probably just knocked out,” Dean reassured you, his expressive green eyes meeting yours.

You know that it’s not that dangerous, it’s happened to you many times before. But still, it wasn’t good, and it looked awfully scary. You’d always think that.

You sat back on your heels and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. But you didn’t stay there for long, because a couple of seconds later, you scrambled to your feet.

You quickly rubbed your eyes, swiping away unshed tears you hadn’t noticed had formed in your eyes.

”I’m going to end that ghost.”

Dean looked up at you, determination coloring his features. ”Yeah, let’s kill it.”

You felt horrible leaving Jeremy. You knew it was the best option, if you tried to leave with him, the ghost would not only get away and continue to kill people until you got another shot at killing it, it would also probably not let you leave. Besides, you needed to distract the ghost, drawing it to you, so that it’ll leave Jeremy alone.

You steadied your brunet friend up, so that he was unconsciously sitting up, leaning against the dented lockers. And then you get on with the hunt, continuing on the search for the ring the ghost was bound to.

Before you walked up the stairs though, you threw a glance over your shoulder and the sight was scary. The way Jeremy was just sitting there, was quite bizarre.

”Promise I’ll be back soon, Jer,” you whispered, before you followed Dean to the second floor.

After ten extra minutes of searching, you found the glass display case where the ring was located. Sharing a quick glance with your brother, you brought out a lock pick from your duffel and began unlocking the case, eyebrows knitted together in concentration, tongue sticking out just a little — as Dean always told you, ’like some cartoon character’, before he usually laughed.

A faint click informed you that the lock gave away, and with a steady yet clammy hand, you opened the glass door. Then you reached inside with a slow hand to pick up the old, surprisingly elegant ring with gentle fingers.

But just as your fingertips grazed the ring, the ghost returned. Soon you found yourself being thrown against the wall behind you. Meanwhile, the ghost tipped over the glass case and it shattered the moment it hit the ground with a loud crash, the ring lost within the mess. Before you had time to blink, or Dean to move, a particularly large shatter of sharp glass levitated off the worn floor, hanging in the air by an invisible force.

The next few things happened fast.

The ghost transported, appearing closer to you, face cracked up into a haunting grin.

”DOWN, (Y/N)!” Dean cried out, words dripping with sheer panic. At the same time, he quickly lifted his shotgun and aimed for the second time tonight.

A split second later the large piece of glass, that had turned so that its sharp point was directed at you, was soaring through the air.

Thankfully, you just had time to react, pushing yourself down towards the floor, and the sharp end of the glass burying itself in the drywall with a  thump. Right in the exact spot your head had been. In the exact spot.

A loud gunshot rang through the building and the ghost dissolved with a scream — and you and Dean were once again left in silence.

Your heart was hammering, your mouth felt dry as you tried to swallow in vain. A dull ache was throbbing in your back that forcefully hit the wall. You were just barely aware of the way you could feel your heartbeat in your ankle, pain crawling up your leg.

Your eyes were round as they latched onto Dean, who hurried up to you and kneeled down in front of you, just like you had done to Jeremy.

He took a few seconds to check over you, before asking, ”Are you okay?”

”My back hurts. I think I sprained my ankle too, but nothing bad. Almost lost my head,” you gazed up at the glass, ”but I’m fine.”

The fear practically radiates from your brother’s eyes, just as it always does whenever you get hurt. ”Good.”

”Now, let’s just get that goddamn ring.”

Dean instantly turned to the mess of glass and began looking for the ring. He handed you the salt-shotgun since you were a bit too dizzy from the impact to bend down at the moment. Instead you kept guard. Once, you had to shoot the ghost as it re-appeared, but no more than that. Right after, Dean found the ring.

”Finally!”

You immediately brought out the gasoline and pour a small amount of it onto the piece of jewelry — you weren’t interested in science, but hopefully it’ll help alighting the ring of hell — and then you placed it in the sink of a water fountain attached to the wall a few feet away, brought out the lightener and watched it burn. The ghost’s scream echoed through the school, but you didn’t bother to turn around and watch the show, instead you looked on with satisfaction as the ring burned.

You groaned as you and Dean once again hauled Jeremy up, adjusting your grip. Not because Jeremy was very heavy, he was average weight for a guy his size, but because of your ankle. You were favoring it as it was, pain flaring up every time you put your weight on it. It didn’t help that you and Dean were carrying your friend by wrapping one of his arms each around your shoulders.

Another groan was heard through the dark night, and this time it wasn’t coming from you. Jeremy was stirring, his head rolling from side to side.

You and Dean stopped your walk down the street simultaneously, letting Jeremy fully return to consciousness in peace.

”Hey, Jer,” you said softly, chest filling up with a blooming happiness, loving the fact that he was awakening.

”What… happened?” He asked, squinting and blinking his eyes, taking in his surroundings.

He looked like he just woke up a Monday morning. Cute.

”It’s a long story,” you responded, letting out a soft sigh. ”I’ll tell you all about it when you feel better.”

That way you were postponing the explanation, which gave you a bit more time to think of one. You didn’t know how much he remembered at the moment — preferably, not much.

Jeremy nodded, buying your answer.

”How are you feeling?” You then asked, focusing on the important part.

You caught his gaze, looking deeply into his amber eyes that was warm as a sunset.

”Tired,” he replied. He sounded tired as well, and you had no trouble believing him.

”Yeah, we should get you to bed.” You agreed. ”You wanna go home, or do you want to come with us?”

You were scared what his parents would say if you brought him home in this state, but you couldn’t tell Jeremy that. And besides, he was the concussed one, he should be the one deciding, no matter the consequences.

Jeremy looked around himself. ”We’re almost at my place…”

He vaguely pointed to the left, and you and Dean shared a look.

”Okay.” You nodded. ”Your parents are probably worried,” you then added, mostly to yourself. You couldn’t relate to the feeling that your mom or dad worried about you.

”Nah,” Jeremy shook his head. ”They don’t really… care.”

Dean, that had been quiet for most of the time, spoke up. ”Sorry, man.”

”’S okay. I can sneak out whenever… I want…” He smiled lazily. ”Not that I do… but you know.”

You laughed lightly. ”Sure.”

You kept walking until you reached a nice, clean and pretty big house. You and Dean gaped, staring at the smooth, light facade.

”I-Is this it?” You asked, astonished.

”Yup.” Jeremy responded. His voice was sluggish, but you could still hear the disinterest.

”So… are you okay on your own?”

”Yes,” Jeremy answered determinedly, eyes latched onto the front door of his home. It was only about sixty feet away, but you knew he was dizzy.

”Okay, then,” you nodded, and once again a small smile ghosted over your lips.

It was a horrible thought but sometimes concussed people acted in an absurd, funny, way. You knew because you had been around your brothers when they had been concussed and you had also been in that state yourself.

”See you tomorrow,” Jeremy said casually, as if the dramatic things that happened to night hadn’t taken place at all.

But then again, you weren’t sure he remembered any of it.

”Yeah, see you, Jer.”

Jeremy waved, and walked up the path up to the porch of the house.

”Well, at least he’s got willpower.” Dean looked over at you, a crooked half smirk playing on his freckled face.

You laughed. ”He sure does.”

Then Dean swung his arm around your shoulders, placed yours around his to steady you, and you walked home.

Before you could put the key in the keyhole, the door was unlocked from the inside with a light click. It then opened with a creak, to reveal Sam, looking so relieved although scared, as if the fear hadn’t let go of him yet. You were surprised to see him, as you thought he would be in bed, sleeping away right now. It was two in the morning after all.

In Sam’s hand he was clutching the shotgun you and Dean had left him, just like Dad used to leave one for you two with the orders of watching out for your younger brother. Sam quickly put it away though by leaning it against the wall by the door.

And then in an instant his arms were wrapped around your upper body. You staggered backwards slightly.

”Hey, Sammy.” You spoke with warm and soothing words, as you could just tell. Meanwhile you gently ruffled his brown mop of hair, combing it with your fingers.

Dean looked at you with round, guilty eyes and his eyebrows furrowed. Neither of you had thought that Sam felt like this.

Sam himself let out a quivering sob. ”I-I was sure. That something… had happened.”

”Shhh…” You hushed him, running a hand up and down his back, in a comforting manner. ”We’re fine. A little late, sorry about that. Really. I’m sorry, Sam.”

You realized that you hadn’t quite understood how this was hard for your little brother. Through all the nerves and preparations for the hunt, you hadn’t seen it. Not that he could have come with, because you would still rather have him back at the motel, than in the crossfire. It already could have ended bad tonight, and if Sam had been there too… You cringed at the thought. But then again, what if something had gone wrong.

”Yeah, sorry Sammy.” Dean spoke up from next to you. He put a hand on his baby brother’s shoulder.

”This is why I h-hate being left here. I don’t know if you’re hurt or w-worse. I just have to w-wait… and see if you come b-back.”

You grabbed Sam by the shoulders and guided him away from you, so that you could meet his eyes. ”We’re fine Sammy, promise. I’m a little banged up, but it’s nothing bad. You don’t have to worry anymore, okay?”

Sam nodded slowly, and looked over at Dean for reassurance. Dean nodded and smiled lightly. Sam the wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist, hiding his face in his chest. Dean simply ruffled his hair, and held him close, letting your little brother calm down in his own time.

Right after Dean and Sam finally parted, the front door of the motel opened, revealing the one and only John Winchester.

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[serpent-jugheadjones]

The Partner Revealed - Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Reader

Description: Their investigation on Jason has to take a break while they try to save the Drive-In. 

Warnings: None I can think of. 

Word count: 5384

A/N: Can’t believe I’m already on Part 5. You guys are awesome for the reading. Sorry it’s such a slow burn. Yep, there’s a subtle Supernatural reference... Thank you @jugheadxreaderinyourhead for helping me with vocabulary. 

Jughead’s point of view 

Jughead is woken up by loud noises at the Drive-In. He goes down, still in his boxers, ready to strike in case it’s a burglar, but it was just the manager. Seeing him makes Jug feel at ease again, relaxing his muscles, although the fact that the man is putting things in boxes can be a little concerning. “Hey, Jake. What’s up?”, he asks, puzzled. “Here’s your payment, Jughead.” The man hands him a thick envelope. “This is a lot more than I earn.” He tries to hand him back the envelope, for he might have given him the wrong one. “Oh, you don’t know yet. They’re shutting down the Drive-In.”, Jake says, while throwing his belongings into the cardboard box in a somewhat rough manner. Jughead stays silent with a dumbfounded expression. “It’s the month’s salary, next week’s advance and a little extra for all these years of good work.”, Jake explains the amount of money and goes back to packing. “Why?”, he simply asks, still thinking it could be a complete joke. “It was bought off.”, the man says sadly. Just like for Juggie, that place means a lot to him. “You should read this.” Jug takes the letter in his hands with the explanation from the Mayor. He can see the man reminiscing about his youth, talking about how he used to take his dates there, or that he worked at the projection booth douring high school, having managed the Twilight for most of his adult life, just as in many occasions they’d talk about all those things. But it was all going down now.

Jake loads his car with the last of the boxes full of memorabilia and personal objects. He closes the trunk door and shakes Jug’s hand, who is now fully dressed, including his beanie. “Take care of yourself, kid.”, he says with a lot of weight on his words. Jughead is left standing there, looking at everything like it’s both the first and the last time he’ll ever do, until the car is no longer visible. He remembers when he started working there and Jake found him sleeping on a thin mattress on the floor, head on his backpack. He was scared to death of being thrown out and fired over it, but the man simply walked out and came back half an hour later with a rollaway bed, a pillow and some blankets he assembled in the projection room without a word. With all that in his mind, he doesn’t even have time to think about what Betty found out regarding Archie and what she might do with such information.

He returns to his room and sits down on the bed, staring at the letter for a while, not being able to read past ‘It will be demolished’.”. His home away from home, the place in which  he has had a few happy childhood memories is being torn down. Jughead looks at the envelope containing his last payment and then at the projection room he’s been living in for the past 2 years, wondering what the hell he’ll do next. He just grabs a jacket and leaves, walking for miles without paying attention to anything. The words from that piece of paper stand out in his mind: anonymous buyer, shut down, scheduled demolition… He adds a few on his own, like jobless and homeless. When this upset boy finally stops to look around, he recognizes the front door he’s standing on: Y/N’s. “When did she became the person I go to when I’m in need?” he asks himself and turns back. “Jughead!”, she shouts. He’s already walking away, not wanting to trouble that outstanding girl with that, when he feels her hand holding his. (She’s not gonna let him go.) He’s actually incredibly thankful she did that. Truth is he doesn’t want to be alone in that moment. He’s just not good at asking for help.

They walk in still holding hands. “Do you wanna talk about what happened?”, she asks, letting go of his hand. “If you don’t mind, that’s the last thing I wanna talk about.”, he answers, missing the warmth of her touch. “I have pizza. Pizza makes anything better.”, she says, taking out the box from the fridge and putting it on the pizza pan to heat it up. “Agreed.”, he tells her, but what really makes him feel better is seeing her. “Your parents aren’t home yet?”, he inquires, looking around, noticing pictures of her as a kid on the walls. “No. There was an emergency somewhere, with some patient.”, she tells him with little interest. “And they just leave you?” He wonders if that sounded rude. “I’m used to it. To be honest, I enjoy it.”, she tells him and he relates to her fondness for being alone, although right now he prefers being with her. “It’s my mom that doesn’t like it. My dad is the love of her life – she can’t stay away from him. But she’d like to be home more often.”, Y/N explains and he wonders if his dad was the love of his mom’s life; if so, how he stopped being.

The pizza is eaten before any slice even has a chance to cool down. Then they talk for hours, about the first time they watched ‘A Clockwork Orange’ and could barely blink, their favorite potato chips flavors, how they both love Edgar Allan Poe, some video games they both play and even a little bit about things he wrote before starting the novel. Jughead even forgets about the Drive-In. That girl makes him feel things he never felt before. He’s never even had a crush on a fictional character and now all he wants to do is be there, looking at her and hearing her talk about things they love. “I can’t help but notice you haven’t used the free food ticket I gave you.”, he remarks, wondering if she hasn’t used it because she’s not into him. Besides, it can be the last time he’s able to. “Wasn’t aware there was an expiration date.” They both laugh. “I was saving it for tonight, obviously. Come on, Jones. Buy me dinner.”, she says with a confident smile, something he had never seen on that pretty face before, and it matches her. “It’s a date… Did I just say that out loud? No, thank god. Also, did I just call this a date?” He rambles in his own mind.

Y/N’s point of view 

The Chock'lit Shoppe isn’t far from her home. Even in the slow speed they’re going, it won’t take them too long to get there. “Sheriff Keller stopped by this morning, before you.”, Y/N tells him as they walk. “He’s been going around door to door.”, Jughead reports.  “He heard about the fight and wanted to know about my involvement with Jason.”, she says mockingly, with air quotation marks, immediately noticing a barely perceptible frown on Jug’s face. “I told him he should come back another time, when my parents get home. I’m pretty sure he found that suspicious.”, the girl adds. “He doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing. I mean, nothing like that was ever supposed to happen in Riverdale.” He stops as the Sheriff drives by them not failing to stare until he was out of sight. “It’s starting to look a lot like Salem during the witch trials.”, he delivers it eerily and she can see he’ll use that in his novel.

They arrive at Pop’s parking lot. The red light form the neon sign shading their faces,  the amazing smell of food being cooked inside watering their mouths. “Jughead!”, someone shouts and they turn around. Betty, Veronica and Kevin are walking towards them. “Hey, guys.”, Jughead responds unexcitedly. “And who’s this?” Veronica asks curiously. Y/N’s just about to answer, detecting Jughead’s difficulty in finishing his sentence. He’s stuttering on ‘she’ when Betty finally answers for them. “This is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s writing with us at the Blue and Gold.”, the blonde reveals and both Veronica and Kevin move on to a different conversation. “Am I?”, she inquires with a quite puzzled expression. “Yeah, if you take my offer.”, Betty concludes hopefully. “What offer?”, Jug asks, even more confused than Y/N.  “Betty called me last night inviting me to work with you guys, but I’m not a writer.”, she says, expecting that would be the end of it. “Acording to my mother, you are.” Betty is not comfortable to bring her parent into the conversation, but she’s kinda desperate. “Alice is kind to say that. But if that internship taught me anything, is that I’m not cut out for it.” Y/N tells her, remembering how hard she had to work to keep up with the Coopers. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”, Kevin interrupts, already walking in. “I’m Veronica by the way.”, the raven-haired girl introduces herself, shaking Y/N’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m a fan of the DIY manner you used to deal with the Chuck situation.”, Y/N says, observing Betty doesn’t take that the same way Ronnie does.

Hermione Lodge comes to take their orders as they sit in a booth. Jughead chooses the place in front of Kevin and Betty quickly sits next to him, leaving both Jug and Y/N wondering if she didn’t notice they arrived together for a reason, but neither being able to tell the girl. Veronica is already sitting next to Kev, so Y/N finds a chair to sit at the corner of the table, felling a bit left out. “So sorry about the Drive-In, Jughead.”, Kevin says, taking a sip from his soda. “What about it?”, Veronica asks indifferently, like she’s just making conversation. “They’re shutting down and demolishing it.”, Kevin explains, as if it was some simple small town gossip. “The Drive-In closing is just one more nail in the coffin that is Riverdale... No, forget Riverdale, in the coffin of the American dream.” Juggie sounds as if he was holding that in all day and now she knows why he looked so doom and gloom earlier. Y/N has a hard time processing the news but doesn’t fail to notice how poetic Jug is, even with the saddest of things. “This doesn’t make any sense.”, she agrees. The Drive-In is where she’d go with her father to watch cult movies and then they’d discuss their opinions afterwards at Pop’s. She can’t imagine that special place not existing anymore. “As the godfather of indie cinema, Quentin Tarantino, likes to say...” Jughead starts, but is cut off by Kevin. “Please, God, no more Quentin Tarantino references.” Y/N definitely doesn’t feel the same way as Kevin over Tarantino references. “What? I’m pissed. Not just about losing my job, the Twilight Drive-In should mean something to us. We should be trying to save it.”, Jughead claims desperately and Y/N is just about to back him up. “In this age of Netflix and VOD, do people really want to watch a movie in a car? I mean, who even goes there?”, Veronica asks rhetorically, making Y/N look at her with contempt, wanting to prove her wrong. “Me.” Y/N starts saying, but is cut off by Kevin, who she thinks has the annoying habit of doing that. “People who want to buy crack.” They both look at each other reprovingly. “And cinephiles, like me and Y/N, car enthusiasts.” Jug looks at her thankfully, really appreciative of her help on the subject. “Anyways, it’s closing because the town owns it but didn’t invest in it. So when an anonymous buyer made Mayor McCoy an offer, she couldn’t refuse...” Jughead is trying to explain, but Veronica cuts him off. ”Anonymous buyer? What do they have to hide? No one cares.”, she speaks her mind, laughing. “I do.” Both Y/N and Juggie say at the same time. “Anyways, you guys should all come to closing night. I’m thinking ‘American Graffiti’, or is that too obvious?”, he changes the subject a little bit. It’s visible he’s already thinking of other options. “Anything starring Audrey Hepburn, or Kate Blanchett.”, Veronica votes and Y/N thinks it’s probably because the girl herself looks like she’s been taken out from one of those movies. “Or ‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’.” Kevin suggests and Y/N wonders if they only enjoy movies they can relate to. She also wonders the same about herself. “You do have Tom’s jaw, Kevin.”, she says. “Thank you.”, he says and she’s not sure if it’s utter thankfulness or sarcasm over being compared to a killer, although a very handsome one. “Betty, your choices?” , he looks at the blonde girl who’s been silent this whole time, snapping the girl’s attention into the conversation for what seems to be the first time so far. “Maybe ‘Pretty in Pink’. How about you, Y/N?”, the Cooper girl wants to know, and Jughead stares at Y/L/N intently. “I think ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ is a good fit.”, she shoots. Hermione arrives with their food, putting an end to that debate.

“That’s an odd combo.” Kev says and looks at the trio who just walked in, making everyone turn heads. Archie with his dad and Miss Grundy, of all people. Betty quickly walks out without Jug or Y/N even having a chance to stop her. They know perfectly well that approaching him like that isn’t a great idea. “What’s happening?”, Kevin asks confused, just like Veronica. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”, Y/N responds, hoping they’ll let it go, but it actually makes them more interested. As soon as Betty walks out with the ginger boy, their curiosity grows. Unfortunately, none of them is about to tell why the blonde needed so desperately to talk to Arch. Y/N has just met Betty, having no long lasting friendship loyalty to her, and she doesn’t even know Archie, but she wouldn’t want to be told on if she was in that situation. “What’s happening out there? Do we know? Is it about me?” Veronica asks hurriedly and Y/N thinks how self-centered that girl has to be to think everything is about her. “I have a strong inkling.”, Jughead says vaguely. “I’d stay out of it if I were you.”, Y/N advises the New Yorker and she looks surprised Y/N even knows what’s going on. “But you’re you and I’m me. You do you, girl. I’ll be back.”, Veronica spits on her way out. Kevin respects their privacy out of fear of the unknown.

Jughead’s point of view 

Alice shows up to pick Betty up before things get worse. Archie walks back in to his table as if nothing has happened and Veronica looks both pissed and surprised at the same time. “I’ll leave this to your very capable hands.”, Jug tells Kevin, who is desperate for gossip. “Y/L/N, if we may?”, he says pointing at an empty booth on the other side of the diner and she quickly gets up waving the ones staying good bye. They sit in front of each other, just the two of them. “As it should’ve been all along.”, the beanie-clad boy adds trying to salvage what could’ve been their first date. “Why didn’t you tell me about the Drive-In?” That’s exactly what he’s expecting her to ask. “I wanted to forget about it.”, he says sadly now that the anger has gone. “I want to be able to help you, Jug, but I can’t if you won’t let me.” He can hear the honesty in her voice. “Help me print out and distribute the flyers about the last screening?”, he asks for her assistance. “Absolutely. But we shouldn’t give up yet. We have to hit pause on Jason’s investigation. It’s not like we have any new leads anyways.” He nods in agreement. “We should talk to Mayor McCoy about keeping the Drive-In.”, she suggests and he realizes it would be incredible if they could find a way to change her mind about the sale. He’s also amazed at her tenacity to fight for something that is probably doomed, because it’s the right thing. After all that happened this night, he’s glad he didn’t call it a date. It would’ve been a complete epic fail. He pays for Y/N’s food as she hands him the ticket. “Keep it.”, he tells her. “Give it back to me when you need a free meal.”, she says, putting the piece of decorated paper in his jacket’s pocket. He can feel her finger gently touching his body. If they weren’t in a diner full of people, he would’ve probably kissed her.

Jughead arrives early at school to hand out as many flyers as he can. Archie finds him on one of the hallways and starts rambling about Betty discovering his affair with the music teacher. Jug cares about his friend, but he has more important things in his mind, like the roof over his head that is about to be demolished. Even if he didn’t, saying nothing was the most moral choice. He couldn’t either betray Arch and tell Betty not to do anything or warn the red-haired guy without going against Betty, who wasn’t wrong. He assures his friend Betty wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Despite everything, he can’t miss the chance for some irony. “We’re both trying to hold on to something much older than us.”, he says, as he glues a poster on the school’s wall with a near perfect drawing of James Dean, made by Y/N, revealing the movie of choice: Rebel Without a Cause. Could he make it more obvious he’s falling for her?

Y/N is waiting for him outside after their last class, for they planned of walking to the town hall and talk to the Mayor. “Interesting friends you have.”, Y/N states, referring to the previous night’s scandal. “Archie and Betty are my friends, the others were just there…” He knows how mean that sounds. “So, only the womanizer jock/musician and the absent-minded blonde? Not the gay kid? Or the deluxe rich girl?”, she hits him with the same level of sarcasm he strikes the world with and they both laugh.

Mayor McCoy is not pleased with their visit and she makes that pretty obvious by not giving them her full attention, messing around with papers they are sure could be dealt with after the 15 minutes they asked for. Jughead looks longingly at the town’s model in the middle of the room and Y/N walks right to the Mayors desk in a stern way, demanding to be heard. “The Drive-In is a piece of this town’s history. You want to throw a 75th Anniversary Jubilee while you destroy our roots?”, Y/N asks with conviction and Jughead doesn’t think he could’ve put it better himself. “It’s called progress, Miss Y/L/N. Do you think we kept everything exactly like it was 75 years ago?”, the Mayor asks like Y/N is a kid and that angers Jughead. “There must be something we can do to keep it.”, he demands with a hint of desperation. “I’m sorry, but the Twilight Drive-In it’s a blight that’s become a cesspool, and a hangout for criminals… and transients.”, she says with little regard to the people who love that place. “And the deal’s done. Andrews Construction is scheduled to demolish the lot on Monday.”, she adds happily like that’s a job well done. “Mayor McCoy, when I was a kid, my family and I would go to the drive-in all the time. We couldn’t afford tickets for everyone, so my sister Jellybean and I would hide in the trunk until we parked. We’d sneak out.”, he chuckles and notices the soft expression on Y/N’s face who was listening attentively. “It’s like I’m home.” He emphasizes the word ‘home’, hoping that a more sentimental way could get to her. “Thank you both for your input on this. But the future of Riverdale is at stake. There’s nothing I can do.” She motions them to the door.

Jughead has the look of defeat all over him. “We’re not giving up. We can talk to Mr. Andrews. If he backs out, it will at least slow it down until we find a permanent solution.” She cups his cheeks talking very close to his, making Jughead’s heart skip a beat. He takes a moment to regain control of his body after she let go of his face. “I should be the one to do it. I’ve been best friends with his son all my life.”, he says trying to find an explanation to why he doesn’t want to involve her in this without having to mention his drunk father. “Makes sense. Let me know how it goes. I have to meet Betty for something anyways.” He thought she would be hurt by being left out but it actually surprised him she has plans with the blonde cheerleader. “Are you guys friends now?”, he asks with jealousy. “I wouldn’t go that far. She asked if I was in for some sleuthing. It’s probably Jason-related and she just wants my opinion.”, she explains. “So, about tomorrow… I can borrow my mom’s car. And I was wondering if you’d like to watch the movie from the audience’s point of view one last time?”, she asks with so much insecurity he thinks it’s cute. “I’d love to. I’ll fix the roll and meet you there.”. He looks at the beautiful smile now forming on Y/N’s face, not realizing he has the same one on.

Y/N’s point of view 

Y/N stands at the address Betty texted her. Despite she’s not late yet, the Y/H/C girl has her doubts if she’ll really come or if this was just a prank. Thankfully, before she has time to fall into a panic attack over it, she spots the blonde Nancy Drew walking her way, alongside the raven-haired princess. “So much for letting this go.”, Veronica says as Y/N now realizes they are standing in front of Geraldine’s car. “Wow. Are we really breaking into Grundy’s car right now?” Y/N asks while Betty pulls out a slim jim out of her bag. ”How do you even know how to do that?”, Veronica asks whispering and looking around. “My dad and I fix cars together. Thank God, she drives an old…” Betty looks at the other girls with a proud look since she has successfully opened the blue beetle’s door and they all get in. “I have to say, when you said sleuthing I figured it was about Jason and not breaking in the music teachers car.”, Y/N whispers and Betty quickly looks around the car. “If I’m committing a felony, I need at least to ask the question. Are you doing this because you still have feelings for Archie, or…”, Veronica asks and that makes Y/N huff and fall back on her seat felling her body hit something. “No. We’re doing this because Grundy has Archie under some kind of sexual spell, and he won’t listen to reason. We’re looking for anything that proves Grundy isn’t as clean as she says she is.” Betty says. “Probably what you’re looking for.”, Y/N says and hands her a lock box she found on the back seat and Betty expresses a deep ‘thank you’ with her eyes. “Bobby pin.” She looks at Veronica who obviously had many hidden around her perfect wavy hair. “Ok, Ms. Gyver.” Veronica hands her the bobby pin and she masterfully opens the lock. “Nancy Drew detective handbook?” Y/N asks impressed. “Yeah!” Betty is proud to be compared to such a wonderful writer. She opens the box pulling out a driver’s license with the name “Jeniffer Gibson” and Ms. Grundy’s picture making the girls question the teachers real identity. However, what really surprises them is the gun Betty pulls out. They hear noises in the house. “We gotta go.” Y/N urges, already opening her door with as much care not to make a noise as she does when sneaking out of her room when her parents are home. Those little outlaws leave.

Betty convinced them they should tell Archie about what they found. Y/N really wants to be left out of it as she doesn’t even know Archie. But she was involved in it either she likes it or not. Obviously the red-haired wasn’t too pleased about the illegal actions the girl took, but he couldn’t deny that it’s suspicious for his lover to have an ID with a different name and a gun, considering a student was shot. He said he’d deal with the situation on his terms, not Betty’s, and Y/N thinks he’s right. Even if what the lovers are doing is wrong, it’s not their business. They leave with a very angry Archie slamming the door on them.

 Y/N hadn’t looked at her phone while she was out breaking the law with Betty and Veronica, so when she get’s home, there are a few texts to answer. She skips her mom’s, going directly to Jughead’s.

From: Jughead

No luck with Mr. Andrews.

From: Y/N

Then let’s think of something else. 

He doesn’t reply after that and she’s sure it’s because it must be a lot to take in. She has a lot of unfinished homework to get to. Since they became friends, she’s been spending her time in getting to know him rather than schoolwork. Fact is her parents wouldn’t be pleased if her grades started getting lower, which creates a strong conflict, because she really wants to keep his friendship. Y/N decides to sleep a bit less to try to make everyone happy, including herself, by making a cup of coffee to get her through those papers. She eventually falls asleep on the desk with only a few words left to write on her last essay.

Y/N takes one last look at herself in the mirror before leaving for the Drive-In. She’s not usually worried about her clothes the way Veronica and Cheryl are, because she feels there are more important things than appearance, but right now she wants to look good. She chooses a black see-through buttoned-down shirt that barely shows her bralette underneath, a red wine jacket, dark gray skinny jeans and simple converse shoes. She lets her Y/H/C hair loose and natural. The girl even attempts on wearing some lipstick, giving up at last because it feels too much.

She arrives quite excited at the Twilight, only second to the Serpents, who were probably there a lot earlier. Looking at the big sign showing “Rebel Without A Cause” makes her blush. The girl parks her mom’s 1967 Impala in the middle of the field where the lights from the concession stand won’t be visible and the noise from the gang won’t be too loud. The smell of fresh popcorn fills her nostrils and she buys two buckets, since Jughead will be joining her. Not too long goes by and the whole space is filled with cars. It has been a while since the Drive-In is this crowded. So sad to think it will be the last time.

Half the movie has gone by and Jughead is still in the projection booth. Y/N wonders if she’ll be stood up one more time. The Serpents are being loud and obnoxious, making it hard to hear what the characters are saying. Thankfully, Y/N has watched it many times before, enough to memorize the lines. She can faintly hear someone screaming back to the gangers, telling them to shut up. When she looks behind her, she sees Verocina sitting back down in Kevin’s truck. Everyone hunks in agreement.

The passenger door opens and Jughead sits next to her. “Took you long enough.”, she says, handing him a half empty bucket of popcorn. “Yeah, I ate it.” He chuckles, resting his hand on the back of the seat. “Smooth.” She thinks, glad he did that. Jim has just kissed Judie and Y/N faces him. He’s leaning in, getting closer to her face, brushing the locks of hair away from her face, glancing at her lips. She’s desperately waiting for him to finally reach her. Perfect mere inches from contact are ruined by one of the Serpents turning on his bike to leave and the noise makes him back away, quickly opening the car door. “I should get back to check on the film...” Before she even has a chance to reply, he’s already out of sight.

 Jughead’s point of view 

Joghead closes the projection booth and slides down till he hits the ground. “What the fuck was that?” He has never kissed anyone, never even wanted to. But then there he was, just about to do it, and he truly wished it had happened. Best of all, he could see she did too. If that darn bike hadn’t made him self-conscious of the risks of his actions, he probably would’ve. He’s not used to being scared, so he just left her there to be alone in his safe haven one last time, but in deep regret.

The movie ends and the loud noise of cars leaving makes him look from the small window at the field. Her car is the only one still parked. Jug wants to go down, but he can’t face her now. His phone buzzes.

From: Y/N

Do you need a ride? 

From: Jughead

Nah, thanks. I still gotta fix some stuff, it’s gonna take a while. 

From: Y/N

Ok. Good night, Jug. Sorry we couldn’t save the Drive-in. 

He’s relieved at her messages. He was expecting her to be mad but it seems as if she could read his mind and know he was just afraid of being rejected. Jughead watches her driving away, wanting to scream for her to come back. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut with dread. He proceeds to pack his bag with whatever he can make fit, mentally preparing to leave for good in the morning, not even sure yet where he’ll go to, his dad’s place being the last one on the list. When he finally lays down, both his mind and body are tired and he falls asleep immediately, letting his unconsciousness continue the act he left unfinished earlier.

He grabs his heavy bag containing all his belongings and some souvenirs from the Drive-In. He takes a look at the walls that were about to be destroyed and he wants to add something of himself to that place. He tags “Jughead Jones Wuz Here” adding a crown on top with spray paint. After leaving his mark on the world, he’s ready to leave but is met face to face with the Southside Serpents’ leader. Anyone else in his place would probably shiver, but he was at ease. After all, the man standing in front of him is his father. FP may be an alcoholic gang-banger, but he truly cares about his son. He ensures his father he will be fine, mostly trying to convince himself. And he leaves The Twilight Drive-In without looking back.