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abbysbasement · 2 years ago

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(Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader)

— PAPI BONES

A/N: Hi, this is the formerly scrapped, 3x longer, 2 months writing project that I had because I wanted to fuck abby in a closet! this was actually supposed to be my first post on tumblr, but i got mad at it and sent it to the dungeon for two months :/ but yall wanted it, so I'm super happy i got to finish it, even though it took multiple days and cups of coffee to power through. sorry for the wait, hope you fuck wit her.

content tags (can you tell i don't want to write anymore ;w;): college au, childish antics at a big age, drinking, cool, ellie and dina are in this! kind of abstract sexual descriptions, assplay, cunnilingus (r!receiving), boob... touching? small mention of drugs because dealer!ellie, drunk sex, enthusiastic consent! :D, reader is kind of annoying sorry, men being assholes, reader catching feelings for a girl she fucked once, real.

wc: 7.6k ;w; (send help)

proofread?; barely.

tl : @clearheartgreyflowers, @oatmilkchaii, @ghostfacebunny, @ellsbclls (thank you to the sweetest deb @ellsbclls for helping beta read this, i appreciate your suggestions and encouragement and this would probably have been scrapped TWICE without your help ;w; )

synopsis: your best friend dina drags you to a college frat party. you hate shit like this, and you're painfully shy but when she does those puppy dog eyes you can't say no, so in a cruel twist of fate you end up in the closet with abby Anderson, and lose your virginity. yay college! (apart of the 'jackson university' thematic!)

Your idea of a Saturday night well spent wasn’t squeezing through a sea of sweaty backs; but like many things in your life, it wasn’t up to you, because you were easily swayed. Everything was overstimulating, the waves of bodies on bodies that pulsated and threw you between different poses and balances to keep on your feet, the ringing of laughter, of music, of every sound echoing in your head, around your body, vibrating through your very core. The smell of liquor and drunken antics and that one guy puking in the corner made you sick. But somehow, you were here, spurred on by peer pressure friendship and goodwill, trudging through the blackened room to your target; the snack table.

Dina, your roommate, and determinant best friend held a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you through the crowd and causing a small jolt to run down your body as she steered you around every obstacle and corner in the room. She was a woman on a mission, and the one who dragged you out of bed, convincing you - against your better judgment- that it was fatal that you accompanied her to a frat party. You knew she was good-natured, and your first friend when you moved 500 miles away from home to college. It was an instant click, but you were opposite best friends.

Dina, ever the social butterfly, had connections in all different spaces; she could party with the sorority girls –hold the coke, please,– out-cram everyone, even the National Honor Society kids, all the way to the top of the class, hell, she was on the damn debate team, which was probably why it wasn’t a struggle to get a ‘yes’ out of you. You, on the other hand, were uncomfortable at bars, school sporting events, and parties, and one time you even thre– fuck, never mind. It was all effortless to her, in almost an enviable way. Dina loved to go clubbing, loved to hang, out, and she had been near-begging you to come out with her and her cool friends for months, not that you’re not cool, I mean.

And somehow, despite everything, it worked.

You could almost remember how you got there if you put away the sticky crunch of coke sticking to your shoes with each step, and reached back into the recesses of your mind. Or at least, back three-and-a-half hours ago.

“They’re all great people, no weirdos, promise!”

It was the emphatic plea made to you as you lay on your bed, queuing up the next episode of the apocalypse show you watched each week, watching her make Dina list off every reason why you just had to follow her out tonight. It was clearly very life-or-death shit to her, but you were unconvinced. It was just a party but there was going to be a smaller, more intimate kickback in a friend-of-a-friend’s basement. She was in the middle of getting ready, sitting at her school-issue desk and looking at herself in the mirror, dark hair coned over her head in a bun as she sat in deep concentration, words slurred and simple as she applied mascara, her mouth slacked into an O position.

“So you’re gonna like, fucking go, yeah?”

She said it as though it was obvious, like it wasn’t a question, but one look at you, –curled up in covers, laptop on chest, martini glass pajama pants and teddy bear teeshirt ON, unbothered– showed her that it would be a tall order, and that big guns would be needed.

“Not interested, sorry.”

“Not even a tinyyyyy bit?” Dina squeezed her fingers together for emphasis, throwing her head back in mock exhaust, a theatric groan rumbling out of her throat. “Not even a little bit.” You echoed, your roommate cutting her eye at you through her handheld mirror, but it was what it was. You weren’t into all of that stuff; the bump and grind of sweaty bodies wasn’t alluring, listening to someone else’s shitty music at ear-bleeding levels felt like hell, and if you wanted to get pitifully drunk and throw up all over yourself, there was a garbage can right under your bed. But your friend really, really, wanted your company and it made you feel, really, really bad to always blow her off.

“Why are you going so hard on this?” You bemused as you propped up on your elbows, watching as she stalked around the room in her newly painted face, quickly rummaging through her drawer for a spare outfit.

“Maybe because it bums me out to see my super cool roommate wasting away in her dorm every weekend?” In Dina’s mind, she was making a lot of sense. She was waiting for you to chime in, to say you know what, Dee? You’re right, I get it. But instead, you stared blankly, and she threw down her arms in exasperation. “You’re in fucking college, man! You don’t even wanna have one night of fun?” She punctuated the ‘fucking’ with a wild gesture around her head, which made you chuckle to yourself.

“I mean, I was planning on wa–”

Your body was jostled by an insane amount of weight, almost turned completely over by two roughhousing dudes– a mess of limbs and arms, who looked at you and then at each other, as though they had spontaneously sobered up. You didn’t even have the time to start to be angry when they prattled off a blended, slurred apology and thrashed somewhere away through the mass of hands and faces in the dark room.

Fucking assholes, ruining the flashback sequence.

The room was lit only by haphazard mood lights; soft LEDs and gaudy, flickering Christmas baubles, a solitary television, camped by stoners who laughed madly, and the dim auburn glow of the odd ceiling lamp nestled in the far back of the house. You were out of your element; you couldn’t dance, weren’t the most social, and even though you were with a friend, all of this made you feel very alone.

Dina cut through the crowd with her elbow, bellowing out “Ex–cuse me!” while she pushed you through gaps as they formed. Her voice fell to mutter again, barely audible, chunked and cut by the music bouncing from wall to wall, grumbling that she had places to be, and if E*&^$ didn’t get her off at least once, there would be hell to pay. She was determined to get to the other side of the room, where it was arranged that by the chips, as smokers usually are, she would find her current fuckbuddy and her friends, waiting to hotbox and pregame a bit more before the room peaked. She was driven by horniness and selfishness, as one typically is after four shots of Tito’s vodka, and getting smoked out and ��taken care of’ upstairs was half the reason she even came.

You’d never met her most recent suitor, and the question of her girlfriend was always met with a ‘no, she’s just my sneaky link.’ but you didn’t question it enough to know more. She was just the girl who Dina would go off campus to meet, and as long as she wasn’t a slasher, and her pre-rolls knocked you on your ass, it would be what it was. You were carried away by your friend’s excitement, by her heavy hand nearly lifting you off of your feet as she beelined to the kitchen, wrangling your twin bodies every which way.

“Ellie! Ellie!” She yelled, jumping up and down a bit to compensate for her voice being swallowed by the bass. She burrowed through the wave, pushing you towards a girl leaning against the sink, nursing a red cup and low, hazy eyes. Her auburn hair was swallowed by a black docker, and a dark-coloured backpack jutted out from behind her as she smiled and waved the two of you –mostly Dina, into her orbit. She looped her head under your shoulder to be pulled into the strong hug of firm biceps, and Arms looked you over, offering a friendly nod.

–

“It’s on streaming. You can watch ‘Many of Them’ literally whenever!”

“Live tweeting is a part of the experience.” You chided matter-of-factly, sitting up cross-legged. It wasn’t like the brunette was wrong, exactly, but you couldn’t give up too much at once. Going soft was not a part of the plan.

“Fuck, whatever– You know the girl I’ve been hooking up with, right?” Her eyebrow raised at your dispassionate ‘not really.’ “Well you know her fucking joints, she sells– weed, shrooms… pills?” Dina listed off with her finger, mulling over the last detail for a second, then confirming in her head with a nod. It’s fine, you’re cool, and the two of you had always bonded over your love of recreational joy anyways. “So, if you wanna smoke orsomething– I got you, all you have to do is show up.” Her hands were up almost sheepishly as she tested the waters, but you weren’t super convinced, and your idea of fun wasn’t exactly playing wingman while she got tongue-fucked by a drug dealer, and the pregnant pause was enough to cue her into having to bring out the big guns.

“-And, and! I'll wash all our dishes, and cleanyoursideoftheroomforaweek.”

Damn, she practically ran through that last part, so under her breath you knew she was hoping that you didn’t hear. But you did, and for a second you could almost see a smirk play on her face as your eyes lit up. She was always up for a good bribe, and even though she would act annoyed, it was great for breaking you out of your shell. She would offer to watch the zombie show if you came out to the bars in your college town with her, pizza if you confessed to your crush instead of instastalking them three times a day, even though it didn’t work, –oh well, shooters shoot– and tonight? A week free from chores if you just spent a couple of hours in your own personal hell. Yeah, you would give her this one.

“Now we’re talking. If you want someone to be the lookout while you and Jesse Pinkman go at it, who am I to deny?” You teased, kicking your legs over the edge of the bed.

Your roommate craned her head up, momentarily stopping her mission of rifling through her clothes. “Who said that?”

“You’re in your ‘good panty’ drawer.” You whispered cheekily.

“Well, you got me. Someone has to get fucked around here.”

“Oh fuck you, bitch!” You laughed, throwing your pillow, hitting smack in the center of her chest.

Dina bounced around the room, practically billowing with glee. There was a descending, barely audible ‘fuck yeah’ as she traipsed down the hall towards the bathroom, rounding the corner and disappearing from your periphery.

“By the way, you know Jesse’s last name is Huang, right, not Pinkman? And we’re uh– not together anymore.” Dina shouted through the silence.

“That’s a character from Breaking Bad. It was a joke– because he’s a drug de–” You stopped yourself midway. “Never mind. It’s not funny if I explain it.”

“Oh– I never watched Breaking Bad. Too Long.” She deadpanned. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you slid your way off the bed.

That’s how you found yourself in a dimly lit bathroom, missing the comfort of your memories as ‘Ellie’ rolled a blunt. You stood leaning against the door and Dina sat on the closed toilet seat. The dealer sealed the last of the leaf with a flick of the tongue and a lick of spit, maintaining direct eye contact with Dina so she could not-so-subtly show off. She passed it to the brunette first, who mimed a cheeky, ‘why thank you’ and drew poutily. You three sat there for a while, smoking and talking, steam from the hot shower wafting above your heads as music pumped through the foundation of the house.

There was laughter outside of the door and it soon became awkward for you, Ellie and Dina finishing the blunt, –you were a lightweight– and chatting idly as Dina traced a fingertip against the outline of the tattoo Ellie was showing off.

The temperature of the tiny room ran hotter between their reddened eyes, and it was as though you were being banished by a galactic force. You couldn’t mistake how the red-haired girl’s glance caught an extra second or so at the way Dina’s body was hugged just right in her party dress, cleavage strained against the fuchsia PVC of her neckline, and how she bit the corner of her lip when her eyes hooked on a dark mole on Dina’s breast that was framed by the feathers of her black hair.

It was time to go, unless you were interested in seeing your best friend get dug out on the countertop.

You were already a little bit wobbly, hearing a giggle that slipped from Dina’s lips morph into a squeak as you slipped out of the crack you pulled in the door and into the fray, getting carried down the stairs and back over to the drinks. You crossed over a kissing couple, cutting into their makeout and heavy petting session, and through a huddled together group of girls whispering something about seeing an ex across the room.

You gripped onto the countertop for stability when you finally broke free from the pulsating wave of bodies. There was a bit of everything surfing in deep bowls of ice and water, open bags of chips and snacks bunched up together on the island. You could not be sober for this shit. You wedged up the pop cap on a hard seltzer and brought it to your lips, the spirit coating your tongue and boiling its way into your stomach. There it was again, the familiar warm feeling in your hands and feet, the soft pressure already creeping across the flat of your face. Yeah, now that was it. The anxiety began to melt away, and you leaned against the countertop, flexing your legs.

Wow, they’re inviting giants to the shindig too. You laughed to yourself as the scarlet-lit ocean parted, and a tall, wide figure walked through and into the darkness of a descending flight of stairs. If only it was that easy when you needed to piss, notwithstanding that you had already been in the bathroom.

It’s fun being sardonic sometimes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your roommate coming down the stairs, the dealer’s deft fingers pulling down part of her dress that rode up her ass. She arched her head up, straining left and right like the eye of a submarine as she looked for you; her eyes lit up, waving to you as she fisted her companion’s belt loop, bouldering through the sea of people. She was high as fuck, if her bright pink eyes were enough to speak to it, and your gaze lingered over the new expanse of a deep purplish hickey on her neck, small indents from teeth glimmering with saliva in the light.

There was that hotness again that burned in the pit of your stomach, not from drunkenness or anxiety, but the can of fruity liquor in your hand covered up for the embarrassing flush of your wild cherry-coloured cheeks. You peeled your eyes back up to her face and smiled dumbly. You’d never had *that* before. You’ve watched things before at least, and obviously, touched yourself to the thought, but you’ve never had someone to fool around with in bathrooms or hold your skirt when it rode up.

There was your first kiss, but it was in middle school, so it didn't count. It was all clammy lips, two noses that couldn’t get the space between them *quite* right, and an overzealous set of chompers that left you with a bloody lip. Actual horseshit, but somehow, a core memory. It was annoying in a way, how it just didn’t come to you, but you wanted to be wanted. To be lusted over, desired even in that casual touchy way that simmered between your best friend and the girl you didn’t know very well. Dina was making grabby hands at you, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Your drink bobbed as she whisked you to her will, you and Ellie sharing a knowing look as she pushed your bodies through the hall and down the darkness of the stairwell.

–

“RULES ARE SIMPLE,” some asshole in a hat bellowed as he stood over all of you who sat in the circle, mildly drunk off your asses and looking for easy fun. He held up a black beer bottle, carrying it like a trophy and swishing it around your noses for a closer look. “You kids might know seven minutes in heaven.” You didn’t know him, but according to Dina, this was his house, his party, and his very annoying rules. A light patch of raised skin played against his nose as he scrunched his nose over and over again, hands on hips, clearly trying to steal back whatever thought the liquor took from him. Jason, right?

Whatever.

“But we’re all grown-ups here, so I present to you–” He rolled the bottle in hand, clearly soft-launching his bright idea. “Fifteen minutes in purgatory!” There was a deep groan radiating from some, but there was a small minority that exploded in cheers, and whoops. “Pretty self-explanatory, two adventurers venture deep into purgatory, and come out forever changed.

“Two adventurers go deep into purgatory,” He gestured his head at the foreboding broom closet in the back of the room. “And return forever changed.”

“We’ll use the bottle to choose our unlucky voyagers, and you’ll spend fifteen minutes in the closet.” He explained, dropping the mystique in the second half. “Alright kids, let’s start; and just for the record– If you’re a pussy, get the fuck out of the circle!”

The drunken cast of partiers whooped and cheered, hyping each other up, spilling beer out of red cups as they gestured wildly, entirely too grown for this. The room played ‘not it’ to pick who got the first spin, and the unfortunate soul was a blonde who sat cross-legged, blank-eyed at the black glass handed to her, nodding her head tersely.

“We got our very own Abigail Anderson– !” Her eyes narrowed. “Andddd….” Hat praised, cueing her to spin. She took the bottle, pointing the tip towards herself and then spinning it, the glass doubling, tripling the circle, making you dizzy chasing it with your eyes, and everyone sat with bated breath. It slowed and slowed and slowed, until, like ugly fate, it stopped at your feet.

“Our newbie!” He got up to cheese, leaning over you, placing his hands over your shoulders, and rocking you from side to side. You laughed awkwardly, putting your palms up defensively at nothing.

“Um– uh…” You were at a loss for words, only cut off as his head shot into your field of view, hot, hopsy breath tanging your nostrils. “What, you scared?” He taunted, all eyes on you, watching as you nursed a deep discomfort about the whole thing behind an uneasy smile.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Jordan.” The girl, Abby, groaned. She looked up at you from her downward pointing head, swishing her bottle of hard cider in the hand propped over her knee. Jordan, that was the name of this dickhead. Yeah, fuck him. “If she doesn’t want to get in the closet, she doesn’t want to get in the closet. I’ll just spin again.”

Dina cut in, the redhead still leaning lazily against her. “Yeah, don’t–dont be a dick, Jordan.” Her face was tight, and Ellie was annoyed because Dina was annoyed, and the room held a pregnant silence, and even though it wasn’t your fault, you felt all too responsible and all too uncomfortable with all of the eyes watching you.

“It’s fine, guys. Let’s all– eh, chill out, okay? I’m going to take the dare.” You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, trying to steal back the vibe, trying to replace the tension with playful drama as you circled your head around, wiggling the fingers slightly of your held-up palms. “Because I’m not a little bitch.”

The crowd exploded in raucous laughter, each voice clashing together and mimicking the sound of a pipe bursting. You looked over at your partner, who seemed pleasantly surprised, a smirk playing on her peach lips. She placed down her bottle and stood, and as she towered over you, you realised that maybe you were playing with fire. She was scary and nonchalant, but the outer workings of her face were soft and gentle. She didn’t look like the girls in the videos you watched at night; she was something different, uncharted, and before you knew it, a nervousness, and something lower, darker, ran through your body.

Then it was time to go, you piling in first, looking around at some of the half-darkness in the room, barely enough to fit two people in.

The asshole patted the girl’s back, corralling her into the closet behind you. Blood rushed to your head, the pressure was too great, like getting skullfucked through your ears. show her a good time, you could hear him say, and then something that you couldn’t quite understand over the bass. The mountain’s eyes narrowed, but before she could shoot back, her large body crashed into yours and the space became tighter and tighter, just enough for the two of you to put your arms out to either side or turn around. For a split second, you could see Dina’s face from over Jordan’s shoulder, tightened in concern, a timid thumbs up at the side of her head. Then, he closed the door, and the last of the light slipped out through the crack in the wall.

There was a deep silence, and somehow, like the hazy feeling you get right before you wake from a dream, you were chest to chest in the darkness with her blue eyes staring back at you, damn-near bioluminescent. You’d seen her around, because everyone sees her around, but it hadn’t registered that the giant who had parted all of those people in the crowd like they were just water, was standing right in front of you. Outside you could hear the rumble of the music, vibrations of the bass wrapping around you and shaking you from the inside out. The closet was too tight, too warm, too filled with smells from towels and coats and folded blankets and dusty boxes of light bulbs and two cramped, awkward bodies.

Suddenly, you felt all too intimidated.

“You’re Abigail, right?” You questioned. “Off the rugby team?”

“Abby.” You couldn’t read her face in the dark, and though she spoke pointedly she didn’t seem angry, but the accidental overstep was enough to make you want to dig a hole through the floor with your bare hands and die in it. “And yeah– captain, of the rugby team.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry.” You yielded. “So… what are we supposed to do? In here, I mean.” You gestured at nothing, knocking some washcloths from a top shelf down in the dark. “Ah, damn it.” You cursed under your breath, bending down to pick up the small stack. You could hear Abby behind you, sucking her teeth with a judgy hum. Her brows were almost touching her eyelids, captured in secondhand embarrassment, and she almost felt bad for how awkward you were, scrambling to pick them up from the floor.

If you could see her face, you’d be able to tell how her eyes flicked up and down her body, taking everything in. Your black skirt slid slightly to bunch at the front, uncovering portions of your doughy thigh and the ever-so-tiniest range of fabric hiding your prettiest secret. She had to tear her eyes away, almost. She jumped, even, glad you couldn’t see as you popped back up.

You were cute, holding the disheveled stack in your hands, a look of sheer pride on your face. You looked over to the side, tossing them unceremoniously on a free shelf, gravity taking a couple back to the ground. Your sated chuckle, the way your tits pushed up slightly, illuminated, almost framed like art by the neckline of your cream cardigan made her hungry. She pushed the ideas of what she wanted to do with them out of her mind, but damn, she could think about some things that would make the devil embarrassed. She stomped down her desire, stoicism crossing her for a second, only for her to open it back up on second thought.

“They want us to fool around, fuck, ideally.” She started, analysing your expressions for any hint of discomfort at the conversation. “But– we don’t have to do anything.” She tried to cut some of the thick discomforts with a placating smile, almost lost in detail in the low light. She was huge, more so than you, or most anyone else you knew, the jutting-out edge of a shelf knocking the back of her head every time she leaned her head back in the tight space. The hard washboard of her torso was framed by an opening of a grey hoodie and barely much else, just the thick band of her boxers peeking from her sweatpants, and the black of a cropped tank top that stopped right below her bra line.

“Jordan… is typically a good guy, but when he gets drunk he’s a total POS.” Abby was sallow-faced, pursing her lips, tension running through her jawline. “I shouldn’t have let him put you on the spot like that. So… I’m sorry that you got pressured to get in here.”

“It’s fine, I just.” You started, ready to say that big phrase, the one that slightly burned your back to admit. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“What, played seven minutes in heaven? Yeah, kind of a jackass thing to suggest in your twenties.”

Shit. She was going to make you say it.

“No. I mean I’ve never–” and you thought your tiny voice couldn’t get any tinier. “had sex before.”

Abby breathed in the deepest sigh, pure anxiety crossing her face for a split second, before she was feeding you apologies. “It’s fine, we don’t have to do anything we can just sit here and talk. Or be in silence if you want it’s alr–”

“I want to do it.” You said doggedly, pressing yourself into a tiny corner. Her brow perched, and there was something in those narrowing blue eyes that said she didn’t believe you. You were pigeontoed, legs shifting against one another, declaring in your firmest voice that you wanted her to take your virginity.

“Are you sure?” She breathed out, stepping a bit closer. “You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything because you think they want a show.”

“Oh, my god.” You were pouting, annoyed. “I can choose if I want to have sex you know, and I want to have sex right here right n–”

She kissed you, softly as possible, testing your waters to see how far you were willing to go. Her hands were patient, one lightly knotted in the woolen knit of your cardigan to lightly pet your lower back, the other making gentle grips on your sweatered arm. Her fingers were barely bruising, gripping around your wrist almost tight enough, and a tiny shockwave coursed between your thighs and convinced you that you wanted more. In this low light, in this dark room, in this place between space and time, you wanted to be her conquest. To be taken, touched, manhandled, to be made to weather the storm of her overwhelming strength against you, lost in the middle of the ocean.

It was perverted, almost, how the idea of her showing restraint raised hairs on your skin, how you deepened the kiss like you were being overcome with an insatiable, bloody hunger. You had to take back the moment, to steal her attention in a way she couldn’t deny before she thought you were all talk; you stepped closer, positioning yourself so that her thigh hovered right below the heated space under your skirt. Her hand was warm, soft as you grabbed it, moving it lower, deeper down the divot of your back and where the fat of your ass connected. She caught on, groaning into your lips as she kneaded around your body, her tongue sweeter and heavier against yours, working that one damned hand up your skirt to cup bare skin.

You jumped.

As fast as it had come, her hand slipped back from under your skirt and the touch was lost completely, awkwardly hovering for a second until Abby pulled it back into her pocket and stepped back. You were miserable, eyes welling up in frustration like a lost dog at the lack of feeling. She was pulling you into insanity but was too chivalrous to drown you in it, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she looked down at you.

“Fuck– didn’t mean to be aggressive like that. I–” The redness bled across her cheeks, freckles on full display as her fingers met the wet spot that you were hiding, your hands guiding hers to the space between your thighs. There was a pause, a knowing, a challenge between the two of you as an unknown heat spread throughout your bodies, and you collided once more. The blonde’s mouth sucked a nasty pressure into your throat, agitating it with bites and licks as her head traveled deeper, hands playing at the front of your sweatered torso to undo the buttons that held your breasts hostage.

Her entrance was assured as she popped the loops open, fingers gripping the fabric of your camisole and lifting up, taking your bra with it. She nipped at the exposed flesh, heat from her mouth traveling directly to your vagina, clit throbbing hard with need. Abby engulfed a nipple with the wetness of her tongue, closing her lips around the rapidly hardening bud to pull it to full attention, chuckling as she scraped the flesh with her teeth. The wet head was replaced with her palms, each thumb and forefinger rolling one or the other. The sensitivity of the tiny flesh was insane, enough to make you whine out loud as she continued, better than anything you had ever done to yourself.

You were biting your lip, eyes big and doe-like as you waded through your pleasure, soft pants heaving your chest. She fished it out from between your teeth and hooked it within her own, popping the plump flesh into her mouth as she pared yours with her tongue. You swore the room was spinning, a wetness slicking between your thighs, a drip positioned between two pairs of hungry lips. You could’ve spent all fifteen minutes– or an eternity, in this beautiful hell, giving and taking and relishing in a different, sort of strange type of want.

“Don’t stop.” You moaned in between stolen breaths, the blonde chasing your mouth each time you pulled away.

“For you, pretty?” Gripping you tighter for emphasis, pressing you closer into the wall, angling further between your spread legs. “Never.”

It was like you were some weird intoxication to her, a drug that she couldn’t get enough of. How your ass molded right into the divots of her palms, those tiny moans that rang through the cage you two were in, the rapid beating of your heart rippling through your body. She wanted to peel your cardigan from your shoulders, wanted to shred your clothes from your body and take you however she liked, and make you feel better than you knew what to do with. Needed to make you scream and fuck you until you cried. But it was your first time, so she resigned to being gentle and soft, like you were a little deer in the forest, and she was trying to get close without scaring you off. so she would give you only what you needed.

She didn’t have a lot of strong feelings about that nickname she had earned in sophomore year, War Machine, from all of the pretty girls she ran through and left unable to walk, unable to talk for a couple of days or more. but when Jordan said it, in front of you, in front of sweet and innocent, pretty and tiny *you* she could’ve reeled back and torn him apart. But she still didn’t want to scare you. So she had forced an alright, the one a child forces when they get scolded, and hid the burning in her palms that made her want to fight in the pocket of her pants.

Your eyes bored x-rays through her formidable thighs as she bent her knees to squad before you, strong hands rubbing up and down your thighs with contrasting gentleness to the hard angles of her face, the brow that was crooked down slightly in concentration, the slightly parted lips playing with mischief as they took you in. You were frightened for just a second, until Abby looked up at you with sympathetic eyes, a hand leaving your thigh and linking with your fingers, guiding you to the base of her skull to envelop her honeyed strands.

She was back at you, the darkness in your stomach leaking out as you palmed her head, and she ran her hands upward, more upward, until the ruffles of your cotton skirt were overturned in her palms. From the waist down, you were completely exposed, a wet spot working itself into your panties from your innermost recesses and a musky scent betraying your shyness.

Abby pressed herself gently into the fabric, her fat lips creating a cool pressure against the hot flesh, her nose itching lightly into your pubis. You bucked your hips unconsciously, nearly fucking her face in your abandon. A vibration from her laugh traveled through you, nestled inside of you, and more wetness began to slick your channel. That friendly ache formed in your rapidly hardening clit, and a similar pain throbbed in your pinkie and middle finger. Her other hand moved up, gripping fistfuls of your ass, less forgiving now, and forcing a squeak from your lips.

You were dumbstruck; a stranger’s hands all over you, mouth nearly on top of your sacred place, nearly leaking from sheer lust. She had barely done anything. Your jaw slacked, and in your mind you felt like a fool, lamenting how you thought your first time would be special. Soft circles rubbed into your inner thigh as she pulled your legs apart, peppering angel kisses throughout the little divots.

“S’okay, baby.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a tiny encouragement that calmed the buzzing in your mind. “Tell me how you want me. I’m yours.”

and you thought that declaration would destroy you,’ I’m yours.’ and it felt very, very real.

“I want you to touch me.” You said, barely a whisper, nodding as she pressed her face to your thigh, sliding down your panties to about knee-level. It was as though she had seen heaven’s gate open, awestruck at the blood rushing to engorge your lips, how your clit stood on end without even being touched. The thatch of hair curling between your thighs and around your depths. She had to have a taste, and there wasn’t much room for second-guessing as she pressed her mouth to the hot spot and flattened her tongue directly against the wettest space.

Juicy noises slid from her mouth as she rolled your clit between her tongue and sucked sharply with her lips, and it was as though you could’ve sunk to the floor, the way your legs became distinctly not yours. It was enough, enough, not enough, then too much. It was like you were an endlessly gushing fountain as Abby’s wet, firm tongue parted your lips, dipping ever so lightly into your hole as she licked out a string of nectar from your drooling cunt. It was as though you were animated, possessed even, as your hands flew into her hair, pushing her head down further and further, to that release you chased violently and madly.

Abby was humble, letting you guide her where you needed her; she was soft at first, but you didn’t want soft, you wanted more.

She obliged.

The blonde slipped her fingers between your thighs and parted your slit, opening up an endless, waiting tightness. She was intrepid, pressing through your clenching muscle and opening you up more than you had ever done; thick digits tearing through you, fucking your pussy at an unforgiving pace, concentration forming in the muscles of her neck. You hid an inhuman growl in the pit of your throat, in the crook of your sweatered elbow, and she moaned out, satisfied with that which she had created inside of you. You were fucking her face in a tight, dirty closet, calf propped over a muscled shoulder for support, the heel of your booties pressing into the wall, locking her in.

It was as though the two of you were fighting, every roll of your hips she chased with her head, every time you shied away from the pleasure she held you harder, taking you even hungrier, diving deeper to a spot you didn’t know was there; every taut pull at her scalp met with an even tighter grip into the flesh of your plush ass. The pads of her fingers violated the sopping warmth of your cunt, and you clenched your stomach unwittingly, walls flexing, holding her hand there. Drool dripped from between her lips, pooling and soaking down into the fibres of an old shag rug, caked with dust and whatever else.

Your own slipped between your lips before you could suck it back in, and the silver trail bounced, the way it does when it breaks, and the thick drop cascaded down her temple, getting lost in your brow. The piece that was yours snaked down your collarbone and between your breasts and somehow, you felt a connection.

Abby snorted, sucked in a breath as her fingers left you empty. Fuck. She didn’t go for her face, wiping them on the skin of your pussy, they traveled upwards, firm grips on your ass. She rubbed the flesh as though she was throwing clay, stretching the skin between her rough fingers, calluses on her palms coasting over every bump and groove. She had found what she had wanted, craning her neck lower, lower, until you could just barely see her eyes. Her fingertips prodded, greedy, opening your lips, tongue leching against your soft fruit as though she was funneling the juices directly into her mouth. You thought your thighs would give out but she held you, stronger, and you fed her willingly.

Her middle finger dipped down into the slit, collecting juices, stealing a breath from your lungs, you wanted to scream her name but it was caught inside of you, so you stood slack-jawed, fuck drunk as she abused your walls, fucking every ridge painfully slow. The tight hole stretched around the meatiness of her finger, and she hooked it as though she was searching, retreating from the warmth, slick with your nastiest of liquids. Again, she split your ass with one hand, and you clenched your tightest hole without thinking about it.

“Don’t worry,” She said, muffled against your mound as she latched against it once more, “gonna help you so fucking good.” You were confused, but you trusted her, a complete stranger. For a second you began to ask what there was to worry about, but your mind was pried away from you as you felt the pressure of her coated fingertip tracing around your asshole. A gentle kiss played at the head of your pussy, comforting you as you nodded your head wildly, something of a ‘yes’ flying from your throat as her middle finger parted that threshold.

Your mind exploded, head shooting straight up into the air, a small yelp burning into a silent open-mouthed cry. You were spinning, the room was spinning, your body heated up instantly. Then, the wet warmth traveled back to your clit, her opposite hand nestling two fingers into your aching, needy twat, her tongue lapping as her fingers resumed digging and that one damned finger fucked in and out of your tightest hole painfully slow.

She fucked you like an animal; you cried out like a bitch in heat. The music trembled through your ears, and you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough, that everyone would hear, everyone would know. You were both drunk and this didn’t matter, didn’t mean anything, but she was bottoming her tongue out in you and you wanted it to mean a lot. Girls talked and you fucking hated them all. She was loose, she got around, and you wanted to be hers.

You wanted to capture her and be interesting to her and walk with her hand on your lower back around campus. Wanted her callused fist in your hair, around your neck as she took you every night. Wanted badly to fucking cum, to open the portal, to wash her face with this unholy water, wanted to kiss wet lips and taste everything. Wanted to know if she could ever like you, after you gave it up, quickly, bellowing like a foghorn against a rack of coats. You wanted to be kept, to keep her spit inside of you like a keepsake but she sucked it back in a quick second, before you could even feel her cheeks hollow between your thighs, and felt dirty for even thinking of it.

A sweet pain formed between your thighs and you couldn’t stop the groan that rose from your throat, every muscle in your face clenching and unclenching, your eyes crossing as your orgasm came quickly into view. Abby fucked you through it, fingers slow and forgiving. It was as though a stream of slowly descending tidal waves were crashing against you, and you needed more, it hurt but you needed more. Something deep burned inside of you, endlessly hot, and you wondered how she could stand the heat as she hit it over and over again. You sobbed, and swore that you could feel a tear roll down your cheek, feeling the need to rub your eyes for good measure.

She looked up, entranced, face softening for a second, watching as you gave up your mind to your body. There was a hard knock at the door, the music lowered a decibel, silence filling the two of you, her fingers still deep inside of your two holes. A sing-song voice bellowed out ‘five minutes!’ and the darkness ridged her eyes.

For the first time, her voice was hard, removing her hand from your cunt, making sure to curl the one in your ass tighter in compensation. She slammed the door twice with her fist, the frame bulging in a way that made you fear the whole thing would just fall down. “Fuck off.” Her voice was loud enough to tear through the uncomfortable tension. There was an apprehensive, ‘woah man,’ that you could barely hear, and the music regained, the party rejoiced, and hopefully, the fear of God being struck enough in your host to leave well enough alone.

Her lips were still slick, soft, kissable with your juices. She flashed you a genuine, pretty smile. Her hands gripped a little too tight but you wanted it all. She looked down at the mess between your trembling thighs, then at your heavy, panting face. She leaned back on her heels as a wide smile played on her face, satisfied with herself. A windy chuckle passed through her glistening lips, wiping her mouth and chin on the inside of her hoodie. “Fuckin’ insane.” She breathed out in between pants.

“Abby.” She said, as though the strength of your orgasm traveled through your brain and made you forget the events of the last 15 minutes. “Constance Hall. Dorm 425 on the second floor.” It was as though your heart skipped a beat, but you punched it down, a weak smile playing against your lips.

She was fucking disheveled, almost inhaling the last sweet smells of your pussy, creating a memory of the flavour and filing it away in her mind for safekeeping. She was delicate, pulling your white panties up to your thighs again, soothing a finger where those soft, curly pussy hairs were hidden again. She let down her hands, skirt furling down, covering the marks of dark possession that she left behind. “Come see me again sometime, ‘kay?” She chuckled, giggled even, and that glint in her eyes was enough to make you faint.

She stood up, waiting for you to compose yourself and straighten everything out before she pushed open the now-unlocked door and peeked her head out.

Jordan was already on her as the door flew open, and you could hear his hushed nosiness as you hugged the wall and tried to act casual, eyes locked on her retreating back as she reentered the room, light haloing her. ‘So what happened?’ you swore his lips read, and your stomach dropped. But she cut through his questions, loud enough for you to hear, convincing enough that he wouldn’t have anything to run his mouth about later on.

“Nothing man, we were just talking.”

Maybe she was actually just that charming.

Yeah.

#tiki writes #abby x reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson ff #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby tlou #abby tlou smut #abby smut #abby anderson x female reader

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clubdionysus · 7 months ago

Text

[BAD DECISION #37] Faking It

warnings: pleased be seated for THE JANITORS CLOSET hehe, and iconic chapter in the bd universe. seokjin! pregnancy scares! tittie worship, thigh riding, semi-public, a lil self-pleasure, multiple orgasms, kissing <33, cum in panties??, idk, one of my fave bd smut scenes and they don't even shag! there's a lot of plot in there. all the fave characters!! and the biggest villains!!

a/n: i figured out the wrong headers!! this header was actually the og 36 header and the og 37 header is what I used for 36 lol

also also also i knew i said there would be more updates tonight buuuut I finished write #60 today so I'm editing that instead hehe. there's a direct reference to something said in this chapter in #60!

wc: 18k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

In the quiet bustle of Jeongguk's favourite downtown cafe, Yoongi frowns.

"Are you even listening to me, Gguk?"

On the table sits a half-drunk coffee, the bitter taste a little too much for Jeongguk at this time in the morning. Notebooks open, pens scattered on the driftwood table, Jeongguk has spent the morning earnestly scrawling down revisions to his business plan.

The centrepiece of the table - a single white rose in a thin vase has been put on an empty seat. Just would have been in the way.

Also kind of made Jeongguk's blood boil, but he knows he shouldn't be irrationally angry at a fucking flower. A nice one at that. An expensive one.

Just like Seokjin had made sure to remind you on his calling card.

Happy Birthday, Darling. Exquisite roses for an exquisite girl. You can pretend they're from your new guy if you like - I'm sure he agrees you deserve the best that money can buy. All my love x

Stupid prick hadn't signed his name, but he has set a precedent. There's only one person who'd send you white roses. Not just a dozen. Not two dozen. Three fucking dozen. Thirty-six.

36 identical, soulless roses destined to die within a week or so, already embarking on their demise.

Danbi had snorted. "What's that? A rose for each time he cheated?"

You had smiled. Shook your head. "Think four dozen would be needed for that."

Jeongguk had been with you when you'd redistributed the roses to your CU ajumma aunties, and had to deal with their scrutinising eyes. Had smiled, and played nicely, even when they called Seokjin the 'handsome one'. As much as he might hate that tall mother fucker, he's got a pair of eyes. Knows he's a bloody god.

And so Jeongguk had moved the rose on his table out of sight before he even realised that he would need to.

The display of his iPad, which is still covered in your small fingerprints from lazy days wasted in his bedroom, has dimmed. It obscures the last revision of the plan. Hides it away from prying eyes.

A work in progress for years, now, he started planning for the samgyeopsal restaurant during his first semester of university. Had been a hypothetical project that he just hasn't been able to let go of. Like a first love, it kept coming back to the forefront of his mind.

For a little while - he's not sure how long; three, maybe four minutes - Jeongguk has been watching the beads of condensation sweat down the side of his glass. The straw, given to him by a barista with a warm smile and nothing else remotely interesting about her, lays beside the glass, still encased in its plastic wrapper.

He hears your voice and its tone of concern each and every time he raises the now-wet glass to his lips.

Careful, Koo. It'll hurt your teeth.

With every fabricated iteration of your concern, his mile-a-minute heart temporarily eases. For those scarce moments, it doesn't feel as if it'll burst straight out of his chest from the sheer exhausting stress of the unknown; His future. Yours. The one that you may or may not have together.

Funny how you're the main source of his stresses right now, and yet are the only thing able to ease them.

And so the straw remains as it is - still, untouched - just so he can pretend you care.

Dazed and most definitely confused when he looks up, Jeongguk's vacant eyes land on Yoongi. There's a frown on the older mans face, but a softness to his eyes.

"Hm?" Jeongguk hums. "Sorry?"

Sighing, Yoongi reaches for the straw that Jeongguk has so purposefully left discarded. Snaps the thin plastic wrapper apart. Reaches over and pushes the straw through a cluster of stubborn ice that just refuses to melt. Helps his friend in a way that makes total sense, and yet Jeongguk's mind is so jumbled up that it almost feels an attack.

It's him who frowns, now. Dimples form in the creases between his lips and cheeks, a thick line making itself known in the ridge between his eyes. Yoongi pays it no notice. Simply says, "Coffee'll stain your teeth. You'll thank me when you're older."

Perhaps he will. For now, Jeongguk's teeth are still pearly white. He's no need to worry about them.

"What wrong with you, huh?" Yoongi presses. "Spent all of last week badgering me to help you out, and now that I am, you've been a world away all morning. What gives?"

For all of the words that he could use to rabbit on about you for hours upon hours, they all seem to be stuck in his throat, dryly swallowed down like bitter pills sticking against his oesophagus.

To mention you now would be to admit that you occupy all vacancies inside his brain, in each and every waking moment. You're there in the moments he doesn't spend awake, too. A constant. Just as permanent as the glitter that's trapped between the woven threads of his cotton comforter, and as deeply embedded into him as the tattoos on his skin.

Pressing his lips together, piercing flipping in the corner of his mouth like it so often does, Jeongguk shrugs. "Sorry. Think my brain is shutting down."

If Yoongi suspects anything other than this as a viable excuse, he doesn't mention it. Just nods. Accept the white lie, and Jeongguk hopes he knows there's a white flag tied around it, too.

It's not that he wants to lie to Yoongi. He just doesn't want to be honest with himself.

Phone face down on the table, Jeongguk's device holds a whole host of contradictory search terms in his browser history. Questions he could probably ask Yoongi, but won't. Questions he should ask you, but most definitely won't.

Girlfriend - cause he figures it will bring back more results than fwb, or whatever else he could equate you to - missed her period, what should I do? Do girls miss periods often? Missed period, meaning, what? Having a baby with fwb, what now? Abortions? What if an abortion doesn't work? Is adoption good for the baby? How to be a single dad? What if only one person wants to keep it? What the fuck oenejoiegohhfo e.

The final result is still open in his browser. Was about three in the morning. Jeongguk had been sweating beneath his duvet, skin just as clammy as the condensation rings that have soaked into the wooden table from his iced coffee glass.

Nothing is confirmed. No test has been done - and yet he's thinking about where a playmat would fit in the living room, but also knows the name of the clinic downtown that would quickly and effectively prevent that from ever being his reality.

"We've made good progress," Yoongi tells Jeongguk. "Can take a break, if you like? Got a couple weeks till your meeting with the bank. Still got time."

There's no place in Jeongguk's business plan for a baby. He half wonders if maybe he should ask Yoongi where to factor it in. Knows better.

So instead, Jeongguk nods. "Yeah. Think that might be good. Sorry."

Yoongi just dismisses it. Tells Jeongguk it's fine, and really means it. Knows that trying to straighten out the fine details of a hypothetical business is harder than it would first appear. They've been troubleshooting; thinking of problems just for the sake of it. Making sure that Jeongguk's application for a business loan is airtight.

Of all of his friends, Yoongi is the only one who's ever been through anything similar. Is a fountain of knowledge with a wealth of experience that he's lucky enough to have access to.

Jeongguk half-thinks he must be mad for jumping in head first with this restaurant idea of his. Isn't sure he's got what it takes. Just knows he has to at least try, so he can say he can. So that even if he suffers the lows of failure, he will have experienced the highs of hope. Maybe even the uncharted territory of success.

"Could be a good idea to talk some things through with other people," Yoongi offers. "Someone in hospitality. Maybe DB. Get different scenarios neither of us have thought of yet."

Jeongguk doesn't need any more make-believe scenarios where you're involved. Has already thought of far too many all by himself.

But Yoongi doesn't know that, and Jeongguk would like to keep it that way. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

It's this encouragement from Yoongi that has a text from Jeongguk pinging through to your phone a quarter of an hour later. Phone in your back pocket, you'll check the notification that buzzed quietly in a moment or so.

For now, you're locked in conversation with a woman who is both everything you fear and everything you want to be. Peachy-cheeked, with a crystal white smile and lips that are somehow perpetually glossed, Jina has been talking you through the upcoming event that Taehyung is showcasing for at the Ryu.

"I was really impressed - hold on," she huff a little through the strain of reaching across the desk for her file. You immediately get to your feet to help her out. Her peach cheeks are now pretty pink apples. She exhales a deep-rooted breath and plonks back into her own chair. Laughs at herself, and her inability to do even the simplest of tasks, then rests her hand adoringly over the incredibly large bump that protrudes from her stomach. Is appreciative as she says, "Thank you." Looks down to her bump, and laughs again. "Hurry up, now. Mummy has jobs to do."

The way Jina speaks to the little life that's growing inside of her makes you want to violently vomit. Not for disgust, or anything negative, but for the fact that you're terrified of a similar fate.

Well-put together, still in designer garments, Jina has her life together. Is the Lead Gallery Coordinator at the Ryu. Spent her twenties working her way up, only to land her spot at the top two weeks before she welcomed in her thirties. She's distinguished. Had worked damn hard to stay at the top, even when her assistant is consistently trying to fill the shoes she hasn't even taken off yet.

It's why she's still working, even when her due date is within touching distance. Will be damned if some jumped up twat that studied illustration at the expense of his wealthy parents, and has never actually produced an illustration worthy of any praise, ends up behind her desk. Perhaps she's jaded, and perhaps she's bitter that she never got an easy ride, but she did at least have passion - which is more than can be said for her assistant. The only reason she keeps him on is because his parents are benefactors of the gallery. Can't fire him, even if she wants to.

"Sorry," she smiles back up at you, then hums. Ponders. Pregnancy brain is not being kind to her these days. "Where was I?"

With a kind smile, you happily remind her. "You were saying you were impressed?"

"Ah, yes! I was. I am. With the both of you, actually. Kim Taehyung is producing art that actually entices people, which is a rarity these days. I'm surprised his portfolio wasn't passed onto me sooner."

Although when she considers her assistant, the surprise wanes.

"And you," she continues, then looks down to flick through the proposed show in the file you put together earlier that day. "You say you're just doing this part-time? As a favour?"

Nodding, you explain, "Taehyung's a friend, and this is my area of interest. Should have gone down this route straight after university, but you know what the industry is like."

With a pitiful smile, Jina nods. "No money in it unless you already have money."

It's no secret that the arts are a luxury for those who can afford them - not just the masterpieces themselves, but the time to indulge in them. Apprenticeships and internships pay poorly, so in order to get your foot on the ladder, you have to come from money. Have to be able to rely on parents, or aunts, or uncles to fund your living expenses while you live out your dreams.

Wasn't an option you'd had, so a compromise had been made in the form of the art cafe. It's minimum wage, but you do at least enjoy it and can pay the bills.

At such a point in her career where the money is good enough for her to never worry about finances, Jina's heart bleeds for you. From one creative to another, she wishes there was a way she could help.

"You've got everything I'd look for in an assistant," she tells you, and the compliment just serves to make you feel disappointed. Success has always been a goal of yours, and you regret not working harder towards it. The past year has taught you many things, but mainly it's reinforced the idea that you shouldn't spend time on things or people who don't enrich your heart.

And so you throw caution to the wind; chance a suggestion that you know is beyond your capabilities.

"Well, perhaps I could help out when you're on maternity leave?" You chance. Know that you don't have enough experience nor credentials to take on her role, but fuck it. What's the worst she could do? Say no? "Help keep things running smoothly?"

When Jina smiles, you know that rejection is coming your way - but at least you tried.

"No money in the job," she sighs. "The gallery director hasn't opened up a vacancy. My assistant is stepping up."

Even saying it out loud makes her blood boil - but she knows it's bad for the baby, so tries to cool it.

"I have a sneaky suspicion that they'll open up a vacancy in April. Maybe May. When it does, you'd be top of my list for recommendations," she offers. Knows that things are gonna fall apart without her there. The higher-ups won't realise what a fundamental error of judgement they've made until it's too late. "That if you'd be interested?"

You don't think you've ever been asked such a stupid question.

This is a lie.

You've spent time with the Dionysus boys. Have been asked a million questions than this one.

"Of course!" You enthuse. "I mean, I don't get me wrong, I love my job - but an opportunity like this would be... I don't even know," you laugh, unable to articulate yourself properly, so try simplicity. "Yes. Please. If that happens, please pass along my details."

She nods. Understands your excitement. Was in a very similar position, once upon a time. All it took was someone taking a chance on her. She'd like to do the same for you. Has seen your work ethic for an unpaid favour to a friend. Knows you wouldn't let her down.

"Now," she smiles, moving along the conversation as to not dwell on a situation that might never happen. "We're about a week out from the next show - has Taehyung finished the new piece? Any causes for concern?"

"Yes, and no," you assure her, even if it is a little lie.

Taehyung scrapped his piece last minute and has been in the studio ever since your birthday. Had a new wave of inspiration, apparently. Declared as such about twenty minutes after the knocking from Danbi's bedroom had eventually come to an end, so you dread to think of what this new piece could be like.

Still, you trust his creative process, so know that whatever he produces will be more than enough to satisfy the gallery execs.

The meeting runs smoothly; no hiccups to iron out. The subway ride back to the middle of town has to contemplate what life could be like had you met Taehyung earlier; if you could have a career to be proud of by now.

But there was no Taehyung without Jeongguk, and no Jeongguk without the devastating impact of Seokjin. Funny, how the entire time you were with Seokjin, he'd wished you had a better job. Lamented the minimum wage, and your irregular working hours. Would steer the direction away from what the pays the bills whenever you'd meet one of his friends, and they'd ask, 'what do you do for work?'. He'd never been proud, and so in turn, nor had you.

You wonder if he'd be proud now. It's bittersweet.

And as you arrive at Jeongguk's favourite cafe and spot him immediately - chin in his palm, a soft pout on his lips, papers scattered all over his table - you're the one who feels proud.

Seeing the ones you love chase their dreams is a special sort of pride. One that makes your heart swell. So much potential. So much hope.

Ordering up fresh drinks before you head over, there's a thick tension in the air. Jeongguk doesn't even realise you're here yet. Is too consumed with thoughts of you, like the idiot he is. Thoughts you, and his future, and how he doesn't know how to plan anything when he doesn't know what life will look like a year from now.

He clocks you as you're confirming the order with the barista. A hot flash of panic disrupts his body, but it cools just as quickly. Fucks with his body temperature regulation. Makes him feel all clammy and horrible despite the aircon in the cafe.

There's a smile on your lips, and Jeongguk finds one on his, too. There's a shine to his eyes that only glitters whenever you're nearby, and it's noticeable all the way from across the cafe.

Coffees in hand, clothes remarkably formal for a day off, Jeongguk narrows his eyes as you approach.

"What have you been up to?" he queries instead of greeting you properly, not caring for small-talk. Wants to know the big stuff. His brain has been cruel to him today. Hopes you can help remedy it slightly.

"Gallery," you simply say, taking the seat beside him.

There are four chairs at the table. Yoongi had been sitting opposite Jeongguk. You could have chosen to sit there, too.

He doesn't mention it.

"Everything going alright?" He asks, reaching over for his coffee with a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks."

"All good, I think," you say, sucking a little air between your teeth.

He cocks a brow. "You don't sound convinced."

With a bit of a defeated shrug, you purse your lips together. "I just..."

The way you trail off is all too familiar. Jeongguk's used to it. Has been a while since you struggled to find your words so badly.

"Big girl words," he teases softly, which earns him a small laugh from you.

"Fuck off," you smile, then shake your head to realign your thoughts. "No, I just... Sorry. Did it again. I just don't know how sustainable this all is, yanno?"

Jeongguk doesn't say a word. Knows that you aren't done formulating just yet - and when you sigh, before launching into a little ramble, he's proven right.

"I mean, I'm already a shift down this week to help with prep, and next week I've had to book two days off work. And like, honestly, it's fine," you stress. "I enjoy it so much, but long term? When Tae's shows get bigger and bigger? I just dunno, Gguk. Dunno."

You want it to be long-term. Never knew it was something you wanted until you realised maybe you can't have it. Seem unattainable now in a way that you knew before you started helping Taehyung out. The thing so wonderful about dreams is that you fool yourself into thinking they can come true. You neglect rational thinking.

Confronted with the restraints of the industry, it's hard to ignore. Hard to pretend like you could still have it, if you really want it. Things like that don't happen for people like you.

"Well just wait until I get the restaurant going," he smiles, knowing he doesn't have a solution for you - but that he does have the ability to talk about the future with you in a way that doesn't feel all that terrifying. "When I'm super successful and have queues out the door, I'll hire you. Will pay you above minimum wage and let you work with Tae on the side."

"Oh yeah?" You grin, enthused by the childlike excitement in his sparkly eyes. "Gonna be a big hot shot restaurant owner?"

"I'll have you know, I'll be the CEO," he nods his head smugly.

"Oh, that's sexy," you tell him.

"I know."

You hum a little and then decide that a little flirt is okay. "Would be kinda hot, fucking the boss, wouldn't it?"

He raises a brow. Swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, wetting his lip ring as he toys with it. "Would be a HR nightmare."

"Would give me a reason to call you Sir."

"Don't," he smiles, eyes closing, teeth showing. Sweetness encapsulates him despite the stickiness of the scenario that's playing out inside his head right now. Shakes his head. Slowly opens his eyes to find you again. Laughs. "You're fuckin' trouble, Byeol."

"S'why you like me."

"True," he admits rather shamelessly. Doesn't fancy denying it today. Not to himself. Not to you. Not to the world around him.

The air between you gets thinner. Feels like you can only keep breathing if you keep your eyes on one another. Up, and up you go into the atmosphere. Any higher, and you'll be in the fucking stars.

"I hate to ask..." Jeongguk murmurs and you immediately feel your floating soul crash back down to earth. The stars are off-limits today. Your feet must remain firmly on the ground.

"Then don't," you say sharply, not wanting the conversation to go in the direction you know he's steering it in.

"Byeol," he simply reprimands, knowing that it's a conversation that needs to be had. "You've not given me any updates."

"'Cause there's been nothing to report back," you say, as if it's no big deal; as if you haven't spent every waking moment thinking about it. As if your daydreams aren't getting more and more concerning. "I've skipped a month. That's all. It's not that uncommon."

"Well, according to WebMD, apparently some women get periods even when they are pregnant - like, certified, tested, proven true pregnant," Jeongguk states, his late-night research coming to the forefront of his mind. "That's not supposed to happen. Just like you're not supposed to miss your periods when you're not pregnant-"

"Gguk," you plead. "It's not that linear. All sorts of things affect periods."

"I know," he replies, and bless his heart, he really does think he knows. "Stress, eating habits, exercise, medical issues - I've read, like, 6 articles about PCOS in the last 24 hours. Didn't even know what it was last week."

You're fond as you smile over at him. "Why have you been reading PCOS articles?"

" Because ," he stresses, but gives no immediate follow up. Looks over to you with pleading eyes, like a puppy dog waiting for scraps. "Look B, I don't know what's going on. You won't tell me what's going on. The best I can do is try and understand."

"I've told you, Gguk. It's fine. Please. Just trust me."

It's a naive ask, for him to trust you, when you don't even trust yourself.

"Will you please just take a test?" He asks. "The longer it takes, the less options you'll have. We'll have."

You know he's right. Know that there's a test waiting in your bedroom, and that you've spent hours looking at because you're terrified of a result. A positive result, that is.

You won't admit to the way that the idea of a negative result makes you feel. Not to Jeongguk, nor to yourself. It's not what you want. You know that it wouldn't fit into your life. You know that the idea of being in Jina's position would wreck any goals or plans for your life.

And then you're feeling defensive. Pressured. Overwhelmed.

"Look, I said it's fine," you insist, trying to reassure not only him, but yourself too. "I know my body. It just does this sometimes. If anything, I'm probably less fertile than I should be."

"Yeah, but you don't know that-"

"And you don't know that I'm not."

"B, this affects us both," Jeongguk says, his patience waning, tone firming. He's right.

"I know that!" You snap back, 'cause it feels like he's backing you into a corner. "You think I'm not aware? Gguk, if I am-" you refuse to say the word, then quieten your voice. Look around. Get a little closer. "If I am , then I'm the one who has to deal with it. I'm the one who has to live with it. I'm the one who has to experience it."

"Oh what, so suddenly I play no part in this?" He argues right back, but keeps his voice quiet. Mirrors you. Is right there in the corner with you. If this is a boxing match, then he's not your opponent; he's the coach giving you water in the break and patching you up. There's no need to see him as the enemy. "I'm not just some random fucking guy, B. I'm not about to jump ship."

"Okay, hypothetical," you say, encouraging him to use his imagination a little. Try and see things how you see them. "It's positive. I don't want it, you do. Then what? What do we do?"

He's silent for a moment. Looks a little defeated as he shrugs. Doesn't look at you. "We'd get rid."

And even though it's what you think is the correct answer - putting priority on the carrier of the child - it still makes you a little sad. There are layers to such a decision. It's not straightforward. The complexities are beyond what you're capable of considering. There is no 'correct' answer. There are just choices; the one that you take, and the ones that you don't.

It's a curse how vivid your imagination can be; how you can imagine the rough skin by the tips of his fingers as he'd hold your hand in the waiting room, the look in his eyes as you turn to steal a glance at him before going through a pair of double doors that would ultimately change the outcome of your future, and the sterile scent of a medical facility that you'd really rather never visit.

You can picture his smile; pretty but ever so weak. Gorgeous little lies of 'it's okay' wrapped up with bows that could have maybe one day been tied in a child's hair instead.

Pull yourself together, you scold yourself. You don't even want a kid!

"If I were to get rid of it, while you wanted it... Gguk, you would resent me for what I took from you until the day you died," you say solemnly.

The gravity of it all is setting in. A positive result would ruin your lives regardless of whichever option you choose.

The pair of you have been gambling, and it seems like your luck is out.

"I wouldn't," Jeongguk frowns.

"How do you know?"

"Well how can you be certain that I would?" he counters. Is desperately trying see your point of view, but it's obscured by his own opinion on the matter. "Look, none of this is worth us getting worked up about until we know what the fuck we're dealing with. You might not even be pregnant."

He's right. You know he's right. The word makes your stomach lurch regardless.

So you nod, but plead, "Just give me a little time. Please."

He agrees. Knows that you do at least have a little more time before any certain decisions would need to be made. Walks you home. Tells you to keep him updated.

But then one day turns into two, then three, then four - and before you know it, you're ignoring one another, trying to pretend like all of this isn't happening; as if nothing has changed, and as if you haven't potentially fucked it all up just 'cause you couldn't stop messing about.

It's laughable, really. Your insatiable need to fuck one another has become its own form of birth control. Jeongguk isn't even waking up hard these days. Too stressed. No worry of fucking, now. Dick seems to be broken.

In all reality, he knows that it's nothing to do with his cock. He's not waking up hard, 'cause there's a lack of blood flow. Heart isn't pumping it like it normally does. Goes with the territory of not having you around.

But if he acknowledges that, he acknowledges everything he stands to lose before he's even had a chance to have it. Have you .

It's what he's thinking of now - cock limp, scowl hard - the night before Taehyung's art show. It's been five days. You've not kept him updated. He's not asked for updates.

You've both been pathetic - but he's attributing it to you. Thinks you're deliberately being childish so that he won't think having a kid is a good idea - as if he even wants them right now.

Sitting on the couches of Taehyung's studio space, the usual suspects are up to nothing much. Just having a few drinks the night before the show. It's a bit of ritual - nothing set in stone, just kind of what happens. The easing of Taehyung's nerves means he always wants to indulge.

Stewing in the corner like a little parasite, Jeongguk's face of thunder hasn't eased all evening. He never gives a straight answer when he's asked about these little moods of his, so no one has bothered to press too hard. He is at least in attendance - which is more than can be said for you.

"It really doesn't matter," Taehyung smiles, unphased by Jeongguk, stroking Danbi's back as she scrolls through her phone, looking for outfit inspiration.

"Yeah, no offence Danbi, but everyone's gonna be looking at the art," Jimin mumbles through a mouthful of overpriced breadsticks. "No one is gonna care what you wear."

Rolling her eyes, Danbi doesn't care for his opinion. "So? I want people to look at me, which is why my outfit needs to good."

Still stroking her back, Taehyung is so incredibly fond of her unwavering self-assured place in the world. "People will be looking at you," he supports her. "What's DB wearing?"

Flicking through to your message thread, which had ended earlier that afternoon with a very blatant bullshit excuse for your lack of attendance, Danbi scrolls up to find the picture you'd sent her earlier that day.

"Oh, it's nice," Taehyung downplays it. Knows exactly why Danbi is desperate to find something showstopping. Will never let her be aware of this, though. What he does do, is make sure it reaches the right people. "She shown you, Gguk?"

The grunt that Jeongguk makes is barely audible. If there's one thing he doesn't want to see right now, it's you. Especially you looking all fancy and shit.

He's still annoyed. You haven't spoken to him since your fight other than to send him dumb instagram reels. Rabbits hopping about. Shit like that. He smiles every damn time and it only serves to piss him off even more.

But, like the true nuisance she is, Danbi forwards the picture through to Jeongguk. She hasn't heard directly from you that you're fighting with Jeongguk, but anyone who has spent time with the both of you in the last few days will be able to figure it out.

Jeongguk knows better than to click through on the notification. Knows that if you wanted him to know what you're wearing, you would have shown him.

But he misses you.

Wants to see you, even if he knows it will only serve to annoy him even more.

He's proven right.

Standing in front of your mirror - the one used for your first selfie with the bird necklace on Christmas Eve, and also used for your own sadistic pleasure on that very first evening Jeongguk learned what it felt like to be yours - you're in a black dress.

Satin, he thinks. Something silky. It's short, like your dresses so often are, cutting off midway down your thighs. Fitted. Sweetheart neckline that blooms over the top of your chest, with sleeves that follow this same structured line. Shoulders fully exposed, there is a small tickle of satisfaction when Jeongguk notices your bird sitting prettily in place, right where it should be.

Even if you are annoyed, like he knows you are, you're keeping him close. It's more than can be said for last time. You've no intention of pushing him away or so it would seem. He takes comfort in this, a self-indulgent smile on his lips - until he realises and flattens them once more.

"S'fine," he just says as he locks his phone, as if his heart isn't beating all irregularly. "I'm sure she'll look nice."

Danbi glances over to Taehyung, who just rolls his eyes, and encourages her to show him more of her own options.

Jeongguk pretends to scroll through his phone. Is really just looking at that picture of you again. Hates the way it makes him feel. All fuzzy and out of sync. Perfectly safe and yet terrified all in the same fleeting moment.

Has him thinking about what he should wear, too, even if the other boys are telling Danbi that it really doesn't matter.

You look so well put together, he thinks. So intentionally gorgeous. He would say unintentionally , and knows you'd look just as gorgeous in one of his old shirts, but is well aware that you've put effort in. It should be appreciated.

It's decided - at two-thirty in the morning, all alone by himself, contents of his wardrobe piled onto the floor - that Jeongguk will also be wearing all black.

He will match you. It will be intentional. He will hope you notice.

'Cause even if he is a little pissed off with you, it doesn't matter. Had grown up with parents who'd bicker, but would always say 'there's no one else I'd rather argue with.'

He thinks the same could be said for the pair of you.

If your worst fears are confirmed, and you're forever tied to him, then it's something you'll need to learn to navigate. Neither of you are perfect, but neither of you are pretending to be. You're showing him exactly who you are by showing him nothing at all, right now.

And he adores you all the fucking same.

Jeongguk decides on black slacks, and will pair them with a thick belt. A satin shirt will be tucked in, unbuttoned just enough for a little bit of his chest to show. Nothing too indecent. Just wants to match your neckline.

The jacket he's chosen is red. Hopes it'll dare you to look at him, and prevent you from ever looking away. He's being bold, 'cause he stupidly thinks he needs to be, as if you won't be searching for solace in the form of him all night.

He also thinks he needs to consider the kind of man you want . The kind you need . You seem to go for the prim types. The proper. Well-dressed, well-groomed. He's got the outfit sorted. Knows he's being a little risky with the lack of a top button and tie, but he also knows he looks good - so fuck it.

Which is also what he says to his barber on the morning of the show.

"You've been growing it out for a while," she hums. Only re-permed it a couple of weeks ago. Hadn't been expecting him to come for a walk-in appointment so soon.

He shrugs. "Fuck it. It's just hair. It'll grow back."

She laughs, and tells him that he's right - but double-checks before she goes in with the clippers. He's not had anything so close to the scalp in about a year. Started growing it out around the same time you started showing up to the bar.

He braces himself. Grits his teeth. Don't let fear get the better of you.

"I'm sure."

Time stands still within the walls of the Ryu. Moments of life - fleeting expressions of biased emotions - are preserved for voyeuristic viewing pleasure. You're a guilty participant. Salivate over the mixed media, and equally mixed messages. Have a desire to understand. To decipher. To know.

The walls are dark. Slate grey when the floodlights are on, they look black under the diffused bulbs that focus solely on the works.

'Unplugged: The Lonely Hearts of the Digital Age' reads the exhibition branding on the front of the paper guide in your hand. There's an evocative nature to the pieces; an exploration of intimacy and isolation in the modern landscape of smartphones and high-speed internet.

"Oh, entirely," you smile pleasantly at the gentleman twice your age, who had come to stand beside you while you had been observing some of the work. He's been asking your thoughts, and you've been bullshitting spectacularly. "In a world where we're more connected than ever before, there somehow seems to be this... disconnect . A real lack of interpersonal relationships that stand the test of time."

He nods, half-moon glasses resting across the bridge of his short nose. "Too easy these days. Dating apps, and whatnot."

You cast your eyes down to the fingers he has wrapped around a champagne flute. He's without a ring. You wonder if he's a victim to them, too.

"The grass is greener mentality," you agree. Know all too well what it's like to be on the receiving end of such a dilemma. "Always searching for something... more."

A small chuckle emits from his thin lips as he continues to agree.

One of the serving staff, no older than a high school senior, offers their tray of champagne in your direction, but you decline. It's unusual of you - but it's no secret you've not been feeling exactly 'usual' lately.

From across the room, Jeongguk glances in your direction as you shake your hand and head, a polite smile on your lips as you refuse a drink. Your eyes don't flash to his, but he doesn't need them to.

When your gaze falls back to the artwork in front of you, he can easily see your perplexion.

He also notices how your skin doesn't sparkle like it usually does beneath gallery lights. A tight frown forms on his face to match yours.

The paintings you're looking at aren't Taehyung's. Jeongguk doesn't know the artist. Oil, he assumes from this distance. Hyperrealism. Enlarged. A matching pair with stark differences.

The first, to the left, is dark. Navy blues and deep purples depict the foils of condom wrappers, each with a name and date scrawled into them. They're scattered atop what looks like a legal document.

He can't work out the words from where he is. Doesn't realise they're divorce papers.

None of the wrappers match the name of the document, yet all of the wrappers are dated during the duration of the marriage.

On the right hand side, the other painting is clearly part of the same collection. A packet of oral contraception. 28 days worth. Includes the placebo days. Like the condoms, each empty window of the contraception has a name. Some repeating. Some not. There are no names written during the placebo week.

It begs the question; is the taker of the contraception just using the men when it's convenient for her? Or are they just using her when it's convenient for them, and leaving her in the dust when her body is unavailable?

You're not sure which scenario makes you sadder. Reminds you of this time last year. Reminds you of Seokjin. Reminds you of the people that you used to forget about him on the lonely nights.

If you were to think about your own pills, and the names that would inscribed, you know you'd have packet after packet with only one name. Everyday of the week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, every night. Over the placebo days, too.

Not because Jeongguk has been fucking you all day every day - although sometimes it does feel like that. No. It's not that all.

Instead, it would be because he gives you the intimacy you need to make those pills worth it. He doesn't have to constantly be in bed with you. Quite often isn't. It's just that you'll keep taking those pills 'cause you always want to be available for him in any capacity you can be. Those pills are his just as much as they are yours.

And you hate it.

Hate that you feel this way. Hate that indulging in such intimacy with the person you hold closest has resulted in such a clusterfuck of emotions. Hate that he isn't beside you right now, deciphering the names and making up ridiculous stories about the fictional people in front of you. Hate that when you glance over to his direction, you find him engaged in conversation with a group of people you consider friends, only to notice that Hayun is there, too.

Your arms fold a little tighter into your chest as your eyes fall back on the painting. You're alone, now, the man who had been chatting with you also now distracted by associates.

"Hey," a soft, feminine voice sounds next to you. Seoyeon. Hair loose, but with pretty little plaits running through it, she's wearing white trousers and a fitted blazer. Looks demure as ever. "You okay?"

A simple question that calls for a simple answer - yet it feels all rather complex.

You nod. Say you are. Return the question. She returns your answer.

"Gosh, that's depressing," she says of the artwork, and it makes you laugh. She's not wrong.

"Makes you feel something, at least," you offer, to which she hums in agreement.

"I suppose - but I was feeling perfectly happy before I saw it," she giggles, nudging your shoulder, seemingly aware of your less-than-stellar mood. "Watcha doing over here all alone?"

It's a great question. Fantastic question. Devastating answer.

Oh, so I've been fucking Jeongguk for months and he's convinced himself that I'm carrying his spawn and now he's mad at me because I haven't done the test to confirm nor deny. Oh why? Why I haven't done it? 'Cause it'll change the trajectory of my whole entire life and I'm fucking terrified. And I skip periods all the time. No biggie.

Now isn't the time for such honesties, though.

"Just wanted to read all the names," you say, nodding towards the art.

"See any you recognise?"

"Well, there is a Jimin on the first Wednesday," you grin.

"Why am I not surprised," Seoyeon laughs. "Our very own Casanova. Oh - speak of the devil!"

"Devil?" Jimin questions as he approaches you both with fresh champagne flutes in either hand. "Me? Please. You both know I'm an angel."

The way you incredulously both raise your eyebrows at him, bemused smirks on your faces, would suggest that no, you don't 'know' he's an angel.

"Oh, piss off," he laughs, standing between you both, offering you the champagne flutes. When you decline, he's curious. "Oh? Dry night?"

Nodding, you decide that you'll give as few answers as possible when it comes to your lack of drinking - not that it matters, given how much you've abused your body with star fuckers in recent weeks. Any damage is already, inevitably done.

"One of us needs to be the sensible one," you joke, and ignore the burning gaze you can feel from across the room.

His stare is sweltering, like early May heat after a freezing spring, regardless of the cool air that's currently circulating around the room.

It's stuffy, the way his eyes follow you. Suffocating.

And yet you love the warmth. Want evidence of him on your skin like the burn of a summer sun.

Turning your head as Seoyeon and Jimin natter, you're surprised to find his shamelessly dark eyes still on you.

Hair pushed back, he's wearing it shorter than usual. It takes you a moment to realise it's been cut. You think a part of you dies from such a devastating loss - but it's revitalised within the same millisecond. It's criminal how handsome he looks. How mature he seems. Jaw tense, bone structure highlighted, he's a vision. Heaven. Ethereal.

Matching your all black attire, there's one keen difference. One that throws you off entirely: his jacket. It's one you've never seen before. Red. A kaleidoscope of different tones. Dappled, they bleed into one another. You can tell it's expensive. Tell it's being worn with a purpose.

It's unusual for him, and yet he holds a beauty that can only be compared to that of Venus herself. The jacket was made for him.

But you don't like the idea that maybe actually it was made for him, by the only seamstress you know. See no other reason for him to own such an item.

Stupidly, it upsets you how good red looks on him. Pisses you off.

Across the circle of people he stands with is the seamstress herself.

Just as you match him with your silky black dress, she matches him with her scarlet nails and deep ruby cocktail number. Gorgeous in the way that her hair effortlessly waves over her shoulders, she pays your judgemental eyes no notice.

They look good together. Like they belong. A good girl. Upper class. Bad boy. Her bit of 'rough'. Jeongguk likes a good Romeo and Juliet type story. You're sure he loves the romanticisation of their coupling.

So caught up in your own head, you almost miss the way Jimin deliberately chooses to include you in on the conversation once more. Just asks your opinion on the piece, then asks if you know the artist. He wants to check that he's not the Jimin scrawled into the pill packet.

"I'll find out," you promise him - but you're certain he's not. Park Jimin isn't exactly the most unique of names, but you don't want to hurt his ego.

"Legend," he grins, before roping Namjoon in for his opinion on whether or not it's his name.

"It's nothing to be proud of," Namjoon assure him. "If it's you, you're being branded as a hit it and quit it kinda guy. You're only on there once. Most of them are on their a few times. You not good enough for round two?"

Scoffing, Jimin looks to you for defence.

You just smile. Make your excuses and leave. Bless him.

As beautiful as the show is, there's a sadness to it. It revives unpleasant memories. Provokes parts of your brain that have been well trained to not make a noise.

Schmoozing with some of the higher ups from Shilla finances, you're going for the hard sell. Telling them all about Taehyung, and how he's hotly tipped to be one of the most successful artists of this generation.

It's all bullshit, of course, but someone has to have that title. Why shouldn't it be him?

"He certainly does have a gift," one of the older men acknowledges. His name evades you now, but you remember him from networking events with Seokjin. Would always treat the serving staff with kindness, which is more than could be said for most of them. It's the only reason you're entertaining the conversation - the other men you recognise from those events have been avoided by you at all costs.

You're about to call Taehyung over, when the looming intrusion of a bowing gentleman makes itself known in your personal space. It's his presence you notice first. Aftershave second. Stoic, burly voice third.

"Director Choi," he interjects from behind you. "It's good to see you here."

Smiling, with just as much kindness as he shows to everyone, Choi nods back. "Kim Seokjin! I didn't realise you'd be here tonight."

"Ah, well," Seokjin smiles. You can hear it in his tone, even if you daren't turn to face him. Your skin suddenly chills as his large hands rest over the tops of your bare shoulders. "Was back in town, and couldn't miss it. You're speaking with the city's best curator."

The way he squeezes your shoulders, skin on skin, makes you want to be sick. It's as if you've had far too much of the champagne you've been turning down all evening - but your stomach is empty. All you'd be able to do is gag.

Yet your body is entirely frozen.

And neither of the men care enough to notice.

"It's quite the collection," Choi nods, but doesn't keep his focus on you. Like the serving staff, he's always polite to you, but will always see you as a second-class citizen. You're not a man. He doesn't respect you. As human? Yes, he does. But as a person? Why would he waste his time if he can't profit off of you? "Tell me Seokjin, how have you been? I hear your department is up by 3.7% this week?"

The conversation around you is stuffy, like that sticky summer heat clinging to your skin once more. It's unpleasant, but inescapable. There's nothing you can do, except let it ruin you.

One breath in; through the nose. One breath out; through the mouth.

Repeat.

One breath in; through the nose. One breath out; through the mouth.

There's a squeeze of Seokjin's hands; a silent instruction to not move your shoulders so much.

Half a breath in. Half a breath out.

You've an inability to focus on anything other than basic survival.

In the times you've seen Seokjin since the breakup, he's always been so good at acting as if it never happened. He touches you just the same. Speaks with just as much fondness that always made you think you actually meant something to him.

For so long, you wished he would be like that with you in public. Would proudly claim you as his own.

But now that he is, all you want is for him to look at you with remorse. Regret.

Sort of like Jeongguk is doing, as he spots you from across the room. Was just doing his quarter-of-an-hourly checks to make sure you're still okay - even if he is annoyed with you. Thinks that anyone who has ever spent even a smidgeon of time with you should know that the look in your eyes is far from okay.

They're downcast. To the floor. Your nostrils flare ever so gently as you inhale. Mouth forms a delicate pout as you exhale. Breathing exercises. He recognises them instantly. They're the same ones Jeongguk does when he's frustrated and trying his damn hardest to not break another display case.

It's been working lately. Not a permanent fix, no, but it's been going okay. Has finally been reading one of Namjoon's self-help books that's been on his bedside table for months. Fills the time that should be spent on you doing that, instead.

But Jeongguk thinks all of his hard work might just go down the fucking drain when he realises what's happening. When he notices exactly who has a possessive grip on you. When, from across the room, he hears Seokjin laughing at some vapid joke that he knows mustn't be even remotely funny.

"Hey, Dan," he calls over to your best friend, breaking her from her conversation with Taehyung. When she looks at Jeongguk, she follows the direction in which he nods.

She gasps. Drops her hold on Taehyung's forearm, and doesn't hesitate to beeline straight for you.

Jeongguk knows it should have been him - but he also knows you're stubborn. Knows you might have chosen to stay put just to spite him. Also knows that stress if bad for the body. Says so in another one of those webMD tabs open on his phone. You're stressed enough as it is. Don't need him causing a scene. Danbi is what you need right now.

Not him.

But he needs air - so heads out towards the stairwell and just keeps on going up. Up and up, until there's nowhere left to go. Closer and closer to the stars. Further and further away from his very own.

Elbows resting on the wall of the rooftop, Jeongguk lets a deep-rooted sigh exhale from his body. Lungs heavy in his chest, he's in need of respite - yet even that seems like an unattainable goal these days.

He wishes to be back in Busan; where the sun shines and so do you.

The darkness of the city envelopes him, now, much like it obscures his heart. Confuses it. Tells him all sorts of lies. She loves you. She loves you not. She loves you. She loves you not. He's not sure what's the truth, anymore.

He's not plucked at daisy petals since he was a kid, but he does occasionally pull glitter from his skin. That's when the rhyme repeats. That's how he knows he only has space in his heart for you.

And so when the bustling sound of the city is interrupted by a voice that isn't yours, he frowns.

"Watcha doing up here, buddy?"

The roll of Jeongguk's eyes is so damn weighted he's surprised it doesn't sound like stones are being turned. Of all the people he wants to be alone with right now, Hayun would be towards the bottom of the list. Likely beaten only by your shitbag of an ex.

"Needed some air," he lies. Doesn't look at her as she takes the space beside him, then shuffles over a little. Doesn't wanna touch her. The intrusion of her perfume is enough to make him feel sick. Has done ever since she approached him in the courtyard of Dionysus.

"Could have gone for a smoke with Tae," she says all rather pleasantly.

Jeongguk is well aware of this. Truth be told, he could do with a cigarette. Could do with many things right now.

Could do with a few shots, or even a high. MDMA, maybe. Something that'll have him thinking death is inevitable before he manages to reach his come up. Could spend the whole night pinging. Wouldn't have to think about you, or your ex, or the fact his heart already feels like it's got a little ecstasy running through it these days.

But you're not drinking, and so Jeongguk isn't smoking. Is finally actually trying to make some good decisions for a change, to atone for all of his questionable ones.

He shakes his head. Bunches his face up ever so slightly. Is dismissive as he simply says, "Didn't fancy it."

Just like he doesn't fancy engaging in this conversation.

She nods, pretending to care. Fabricating a persona that matches how awfully pretty she is. "You don't seem like yourself."

Mentally, Jeongguk sneers. Physically, he remains unchanged. Statuesque.

"You've been saying that ever since you came back," he eventually sighs. Looks over to her. Doesn't mean to be so cold, but frankly no longer has the patience. "You can't fuck people over and expect them to welcome you back with open arms. Doesn't work like that, Yun."

Hayun's laugh is parasitic. Gets under his skin. Crawls about. Makes him feel sick. His body rejects it.

"She's inside your head," is all she says. "Never used to be like this before she came around."

In the far distance, a police siren sounds. It's swallowed up by the fumes of rattling exhaust pipes and the posing arrival of planes from foreign lands. In a city that never rests, Jeongguk thinks it mad that Hayun expected him to remain exactly as he was.

Doesn't even register what she says about you. Pays it no attention.

"I don't wanna keep doing this, Hayun," Jeongguk says quietly.

It's strange, because he knows it's the 'right' thing to do, but it still doesn't feel entirely correct.

Years of knowing her - of loving her - have been reduced to nothing but resentment and wasted time. Everything he experienced with her equates to emptiness. The good - of which there was plenty - and the bad - of which there was marginally more.

"What do you mean?" she asks, as if she doesn't already know.

"I don't wanna pretend like we're still friends," he simply states. "It's doing nobody any favours."

It's something he should have said a long time ago. Something he's known for far longer than he's wanted to admit. Something Jimin has been telling him for years.

"Gguk," she tries, and reaches out for his hand - but Jeongguk tears it away from her.

"No," he reaffirms. Is setting boundaries. Is being as firm with her as he wishes you'd be with Seokjin. He keeps his voice measured. Sensible. Wastes no more energy than is needed. "I'll be perfectly cordial with you, but I'm not gonna act like we're anything more than strangers. Said it yourself, you don't know who I am these days. Please stop trying to find whoever you think I used to be."

"So I guess the marriage pact is vetoed?" She tries to joke. Thinks that making light of the situation will ease things. Make them less awkward.

He doesn't dignify her with a direct response to that. Instead, he stands a little straighter. Taps his ringed fingers against the wall so that a clunky pat sounds against the urethane coating that covers the entire roof area. Turns to face her. Looks down upon her. "I'm asking you nicely, Hayun - but if I have to ask again, I won't be."

There's nothing she can say to reel him back in. Not anymore. Not like she used to. She knows this. Hates this.

But one thing Hayun refuses to ever do is embarrass herself. Not for a man. Especially not for one she didn't even want that badly in the first place.

That's exactly the issue at hand, though. He was always the one chasing her. Always. Must have worn through a hundred pairs of shoes in pursuit of her - but he's stopped running now, and she can't quite wrap her head around it.

"Okay," she simply says. Smiles. It's insincere. Jeongguk doesn't realise this, 'cause it looks like every other fuckin' smile she's ever cast his way. "Look, emotions are high. I won't take this to heart. Whenever you're ready, you know where to find me."

Glancing over to the door, Hayun's ruby-red lips falter. Her smile almost cracks, but she holds herself well.

"Oh, goodie," Hayun hums. "Suppose I should leave you to it."

Jeongguk doesn't follow her gaze. Knows that there's only one person who could evoke such a reaction - and right now, he's annoyed with you, too.

He does, at least, say, "I suppose you should."

It's not until Hayun begins to strut away that Jeongguk turns to the door. Not to watch her walk away, no.

To watch you walk towards him, instead - but you don't.

You stay leant against the door frame. There's a sultry smile on your lips, and he's surprised to see they move a little as Hayun approaches. He can't hear you, but he knows your lips almost better than he knows his own. Can work out exactly what you're saying.

Lipstick's a little smudged.

Jeongguk knows that it absolutely is not - but the way Hayun's hand lifts to her lips suggests that she doesn't know this.

It's evident you're trying to evoke some sort of insecurity in her. Seems to have worked. Also seems to be incredibly mean-spirited - but he's not gonna hold it against you. Knows that it's the least Hayun deserves. It's not like he was exactly kind to Seokjin upon meeting him, either.

The sounds of the city echo out around you as a small breeze carries the scent of the trees that are finally starting to rebloom after a harsh winter. There's hope to be found in the darkness of this night. The promise of rebirth.

Or at least there is, until you begin to make excuses to leave.

"Just came up for some air," you explain, not looking to engage in conversation with him. If anything, you just feel like you're losing your breath.

He nods. Purses his lips. Turns away from you. Hopes you'll come to join him.

There's a you-sized spot right beside him. Hayun had tried forcing her way in, but the fit just wasn't right.

His broad shoulders widen as his elbows rest back upon the wall, body silhouetted in the skyline. Something about him today feels so new. So different. Maybe it's just the hair - but hair holds history. You feel like he's cut you out of his. Is starting afresh, maybe.

Whatever the case, he's clearly not concerned in inviting you into his current narrative. Is quite literally blocking you out.

You had arrived to find him locked in conversation with Hayun. Engaged. He'd watched her walk away, and the moment she was gone, couldn't stand the sight of you, or so it seems.

And so as Jeongguk waits - wishes - for you to walk towards him and slink your arm around his waist, you decide to cut your losses. Hadn't even come up to the roof to see him. Had been hoping to be alone after the whole Seokjin debacle.

It's not like you hadn't known Seokjin would be in attendance tonight.

He had messaged you to confirm the date. You just hadn't expected him to waltz in like a proud partner, parading you around in front of his colleagues.

So yeah, you had been shocked. Had been unable to respond in a way that accurately conveyed how you felt. Had panicked. Had cried in the storage room that Danbi had dragged you into while she gave you a pep talk and wiped away your stray tears, before suggesting you get some air.

You wonder if perhaps she knew Jeongguk would be here. Seems likely, knowing her.

Your lip trembles as you go to speak, unspoken words vibrating between them. There's no sound. Just the city. The cars, and the revellers from a bar a few blocks down. Jazz music echoing up the stairs to the rooftop, too.

And then there's Jeongguk's voice. Quiet. Controlled. Commanding.

"The first bird," he says. Looks down as he does so. Builds his confidence, then turns around to look at you. Is displeased to see your body facing away from him now, about to walk away - as if you hadn't instantly turned your head to look at him. "The first one. We went to the water park. Some guy looked at you in a way you didn't like, and you went straight on over and told him to stop being a perv. Remember?"

Of course you do.

But you say nothing. Do nothing. Just turn your body. Let him know you're listening. He continues.

"You know your limits, B. You know your boundaries."

You nod, now. Still stay silent.

Jeongguk's jaw grates, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. You're avoiding his confrontation, just like you've been avoiding all talks of anything serious since that day at the cafe.

And it's pissing him off.

"So why do you let him overstep them?" Jeongguk continues - and finally, this accusation gets a rise from you.

"I don't let him do anything," you scoff - and then you accuse. "You're the one I've just found hiding up on the rooftop with your ex. What about those boundaries, huh?"

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. Turns away from you. Looks out over the city, and wishes it would swallow him whole. "You've got no fuckin' idea, B. No idea."

"So then tell me!" You say, as if it's as easy as reciting your ABC's. "I'm not a mind reader-"

"And nor am I!" He says sternly, but doesn't raise his voice any higher than yours. "You've spent half the week ignoring me, only for you to barely even look at me now. You're not even wearing any glitter -"

"Why does that even matter?" You interrupt, unsure exactly of what he's trying to say.

Is the lack of glitter intentional? Yes.

Is it for the reasons he assumes? Probably not.

"'Cause we both know he fuckin' hates it," he snaps, decidedly far more pissed off now that he's speaking his thoughts into existence. "We both know you didn't wear it because of him in the past. So for you to show up with no glitter? Let him leech all over you? After he sent you all those fucking roses, and you won't fucking talk to me? Tell me what I'm supposed to think, huh?"

"Why does it even matter to you?" You fight back. It takes two to tango, and he seems to know the steps pretty fucking well. "You've been ignoring me too-"

"It matters to me because you might be fucking pregnant, B!"

Silence shatters around you both. Steals any words that could be said in the wake of such a declaration.

You roll your eyes. Do a fantastic job at pretending as if you don't feel like your world is caving in on itself.

"No, you don't get to treat me like I'm being irrational when you've been drinking cranberry juice all evening," he scathes, the frustrated gestures of his hands letting you know just how upset he is - and rightly so. "You don't get to act like you've not been thinking about it too."

"We don't even know if I'm pregnant-"

"And who's fault is that?!

"Gguk-"

"No, you're being such an asshole about this, B. This doesn't affect just you. This affects me too, okay?

Shaking his head, Jeongguk turns away from you. The way you're behaving is so unlike you, or so he thought. Maybe he didn't know you as well as he thought. Maybe he did get wrapped up in fallacies of you; in the what if.

"I fucking defended you," he says quietly. Isn't even sure if you can hear him. Doesn't care. Shakes his head and lets it dip between his disappointed shoulders. You'd be forgiven for think he was giving his next words careful thought. In all reality, he just starts ranting. "When he was at the tennis club, and was chatting shit, I defended you. Me . And yet you're more concerned with keeping up appearances for him ."

"You did what ?"

Now that he's started, Jeongguk can't stop. Not when he turns around. Not when he looks at you. Not when he starts to walk towards you.

"I insinuated we were together to get him to shut the fuck up," Jeongguk scoffs, thinking about his former self. Is embarrassed, now. Is letting his frustrations show because fuck it . He's hurting . Feels like a deer bleeding out on the side of a road, left to rot by some asshole driver who rammed straight into him at a hundred miles per hour. "So he's out here, showing up to your event, putting moves on you - even though he thinks you're with someone else - and you're fucking giving him the green light. Real fuckin' nice of him. A stand up guy. Respect must be his middle name. You really know how to pick 'em, B."

"Literally, how was I supposed to know any of that?!" You ask, eyes wide, brows furrowed. These new revelations are just as devastating as they are infuriating. All you can do is repeat a previous sentiment. "I'm not a fucking mind reader!"

But Jeongguk's irate now. Comical, almost, in how he downplays his anger.

"Oh, well, forgive me for assuming that you wouldn't bend to your exes every fucking whim!" He exclaims, a sarcastic smile on his face that snaps to a scowl within an instant. "I didn't think it was important because I thought you were beyond that point-"

"You're being cruel," you interrupt him, because he is. He knows how hard you've worked. Has been with you every step of the way - but this is how he views you?

"Me?" He laughs. It's cold.

"Yes," you say. "You."

"Nah." He shakes his head. Casts his eyes to the floor, 'cause looking at you like this only makes him feel even more frustrated with the current state of affairs. "Cruel is what Seokjin's doing right now - but you're giving him a free pass."

"I'm not. I don't want him leeching all over me," you say quietly, ashamed, turning away from him as you walk across the roof. Crouching, you bundle yourself up protectively, as if it'll make a difference. As if you can shield yourself from your friendship with Jeongguk as it comes crashing down on you both.

The only thing that makes any fucking sense to either of you right now is that you'd do it all again.

He'd ruin the friendship a million times over.

Not because he doesn't care, or because he's okay with losing you. Quite the opposite.

He'd ruin the friendship because - fuck it - that isn't what this is. The friendship flew out the window months ago. Maybe he was too late to realise it. Maybe he should have tried to claw it back in - but what use would that have been? It would have been wounded. Scratched to smithereens. Damaged.

Standing up straight, you curse at the sky. Are saddened by how few stars are out. Feels like they're shying away. Maybe they're ashamed, too.

"I have to head back," you say. Are defeated as you turn to face Jeongguk. "Tae's doing his speech, soon."

Jeongguk nods. Looks to the floor. Doesn't want you to go. Knows he hasn't exactly done anything to make it worth staying.

Both struggling with the current state of affairs, there's no one to blame. Joint bad decisions have led you here.

But he wants you close. Wants things to feel normal. Is willing to do anything.

"Look, your ex is down there being a prick," Jeongguk sighs. He waits for a moment. Lets you work out what he's gonna say in your own head. Wants to see your reaction before any of his bias comes into play. "He thinks we're together.... The best way to get him off your back?"

Your lips part ever so slightly. A crease forms between your brows, but your eyes remain kind. "Gguk..."

Shrugging, he plays off the weight of a suggestion he hasn't even vocalised yet. "He thinks we're together. Makes sense for us to act like we are."

For reasons you can't explain, the idea of other people seeing you and Jeongguk act intimately towards one another fills you with fear. It's not like it's an abhorrent thing - but to see the way your friends look at you as you present yourselves as a couple is to see their genuine reaction to it. If they're disgusted, you'll know that you're not suited. If they're elated, it will only play into these weird feelings that you've been having and are so desperately trying to avoid.

Eyes scanning him, you try and work out what he thinks of it all. If he's disgusted, you could probably live with that.

If he's elated?

Makes you feel queasy. Scared.

He holds out his hand. Knocks his head to the side. "C'mon. Face those fears of yours. Hold my hand."

It's bizarre, how Jeongguk has quite literally licked your arse, and yet this feels like the most obscene thing he's ever asked of you.

When you arrive back in the main room, Jeongguk stands behind you, ever so slightly to the side. Loops his arm around your waist. It's unintentional, the way his hand comes to rest over your stomach. Fingers splayed, he pulls your back to his chest, and you pretend like you're able to stand up straight without his support. Pretend as if the world around you isn't caving in on itself.

It wouldn't matter, even if it was. You're safe here. Safe with him.

And yet you insist on pushing him away.

"I wouldn't stand like this with a boyfriend," you say. "Too overbearing."

"Well, I would stand with a girlfriend like this," he assures you. The fingers that aren't firmly keeping your stomach protected come to your chin. Encourage it to the side. Get you looking at him. "I'd stand with her like this," he whispers, glances behind you so briefly that you almost miss it. "And when her ex boyfriend is looking in our direction - of which he is now - I'd kiss her."

"That wouldn't be very professional," you whisper.

"No," he acknowledges. "I don't suppose it would be."

He pulls away.

"I'll let you get on," he says. "The second he even so much as breathes in your direction, you come to me."

"Gguk-"

"You make your excuses and you come to me."

"I can handle it."

"Fine then," he shrugs. Begins to turn away, but makes sure to say, "I'll come to you."

And despite the deep-rooted need for you to prove yourself, there's a stranger sitting next to your determination. She goes by the name of Desire. And all she does is fucking laugh.

As Jeongguk rejoins his usual crowd, he's met with silence.

"Hmm?" He hums, reaching over for the glass Jimin is holding. Doesn't know what he's drinking. Doesn't ask. Downs it. Hands it back. "What are we talking about?"

Mouths a little ajar, neither Taehyung nor Danbi quite know what to make of what's happening, nor the foul mood that so clearly has a grip on their friend.

"Riveting," Jeongguk says sarcastically, when the silence lasts for a little too long. "No, really. Please go on."

But then, right on cue, Seokjin is heading in your direction, and Jeongguk may as well be bleeding through his tear ducts, given how red his sight is.

Bolting for you, Jeongguk almost knocks into one of the waiting staff. Spends a short moment apologising, then makes sure to interact with the people standing behind you. Has never seen them before in his life. Has no idea who they are - yet he greets them like old friends. Wants Seokjin to question his place. Wants him to think that Jeongguk is so much more important than he actually is.

And when he arrives to find Seokjin already speaking with you?

Yeah. Ain't no way he's letting him win.

Jeongguk does not give a fuck. Does not care about the opinions of anyone else. The world around him is burning red, flames that refuse to flicker out - and you crash through them like a beam of white light. A shooting star that offers the promise of something better. Something new.

Imposing in his stance, Jeongguk comes to stand beside you. Offers his hand out to Seokjin.

"Ah! Seojoon," he says, deliberately getting the wrong name, and not caring that maybe it's indicative of the fact your former fling has also been on his mind. Fine! Maybe he's obsessed with the fact other people have more of a claim on your romantic history than he does. Sue him. "We met at the golf course, remember?"

Seokjin doesn't correct Jeongguk on the incorrect name, nor the incorrect location. Knows exactly what he's doing. Shakes his hand.

"Jeongguk, yes. You had to run off pretty quick, no? Didn't get a chance to rally."

Oh, but we did, Jeongguk thinks. Knows it's a good job he didn't stick around. Would have probably thrown a racquet at Seokjin's face. Accidentally.

"Mm," Jeongguk nods. Protectively grips the nape of your neck. "Had plans. Maybe next time."

Seokjin nods. "Maybe."

The tension between the men is getting thicker.

Soon, you won't be able to breathe.

So you smile towards your ex, and say, "Excuse us."

Which only serves to piss Jeongguk off. This is your shot. Your chance to show Seokjin how little you care - and instead, you want to run away. Un-fucking-believable.

Still he smiles at Seokjin, as if he knows something that he doesn't. Wants him questioning this interaction for weeks. Regretting. Lamenting.

"See you around," Jeongguk says pleasantly, as you lead him down the hallway, your pace getting angrier with each step. He rolls his eyes. Knows you're gonna wanna fight, and thinks fuck it. Will just let it happen this time. Can't be fucked with keeping the peace.

The janitor's closet you had visited with Danbi is down this hallway, and it's where you're headed. Want privacy. Need it.

Especially 'cause Jeongguk's spouting off like a facetious twat before you're even inside. "Worst fake girlfriend I've ever had."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to pretend to be your fucking girlfriend!" You hiss quietly once you're inside, as Jeongguk knocks across the latch on the door, as if anyone else would even think to be in a janitor's closet right now.

You only know the door passcode from when you had been setting up, and even that was a lucky guess. Had just tried the code that works for another door in the gallery when Danbi had dragged you here, too.

"Well, it's not that fucking hard!" He hisses back, trying the handle just to make sure it doesn't open.

"Apparently it is!" You reply childishly.

Turning to face you, Jeongguk is obscured by the lack of light coming in through the small window on the back wall. You can barely see one another, 'cause neither of you have flicked the light on - and quite frankly, you don't want to. It's easier to fight when you can't see how delicate he looks, or how handsome his jaw is when it flexes out of frustration.

"Oh fuck off," he laughs, but it isn't humorous. "Even the caricature artist in Busan had to ask if we were a couple. We are perfectly capable of looking like one."

"I'm sure she asks everyone that!"

"Oh, piss off-"

"Fine!" You say defiantly, barging past him. If he wants you to piss off, then you will. He's the one who got you into this mess. Frankly, you don't give a shit at this point - but the door won't budge. Lock won't move. You yank on the door, as if that will help.

For all of Jeongguk's internalised frustration, he smirks, now. Folds his arm. Perches his ass on the counter by the sink.

Trying to prize the latch open, you're stupidly worried about breaking a nail - but you refuse to ask for help. Look to the side for something you can use for leverage. Can only see mops. Half think about throwing one at Jeongguk.

He doesn't interrupt your struggle. Doesn't tell you that there's a second latch towards the top of the door.

"If you don't let me out, then God help me, Jeongguk, I will scream," you threaten. "I will scream so fucking loudly that everyone hears, and then I'll let you explain why you wouldn't let me out."

Jeongguk laughs. "Go on then."

But you don't. You won't. This is somewhere you hope to work, one day. You can't risk embarrassing yourself over something as pathetic as this.

If you do, then it means Seokjin has won.

Jeongguk is many things. He's frustrating, and confusing, and yet simple and straightforward. He's an oxymoron, and on occasion, just a moron. At the crux of his identity though, is a good human. There is one thing he is not, and that is cruel.

So he stands. Sighs. Walks towards you and leans up to the latch you've neglected to touch. Puts a hand on your waist to steady himself, not that he really needs to. Pulls the lock free. Doesn't let go of your waist, but he isn't keeping you trapped. You're free to fly.

And yet you stay put, breath hitched in your throat, time standing still for a moment.

"Go," Jeongguk says quietly, his raspy voice affecting you in ways that it shouldn't be right now.

But to go would be to give him what he wants - and you absolutely do not want to do that.

Most importantly, you don't want to leave. Would gladly fight with him right now, 'cause at least you're actually talking.

"You go," you reply childishly.

"Me?" He laughs. Comes a little closer. Practically whispers in your ear. "B, you're the one who wanted to go. So, go."

"Maybe I've changed my mind."

He scoffs. "Fine."

It's a childish back and forth. One of you needs to grow up, and take control of the situation - and as Jeongguk's hand grips your waist a little tighter and spins you round, it's evident who is taking that role.

There's a dominant assertion to the way he moves you. You've seen this side of him a few times, but it never fails to take your breath away.

Hands pinned above your head all rather suddenly, a single one of his palms can keep both of your wrists suspended. It's always driven you a little wild before - but he's pissing you off. Every little thing he does will annoy you, now. Even the sexy shit.

In fact, especially the sexy shit.

The hand of his that isn't clamped around your wrists comes to the base of your throat, and you can't help but gasp a little in surprise.

His voice is deep and low as he tells you to 'say chess.'

But you shake your head. Won't do a damn thing he tells you. "No."

He grips tighter. "Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Fine then," he husks. Presses his knee between your thighs. Spreads them. Drops the hand from your throat to your hips. Get you positioned just right. Pulls you further up his thigh. Encroaches on your personal space.

"Stop acting like you don't know how to fake things." His voice is dulcet. "Your ex should be pretty used to it."

"Hardly the same thing, is it?" You hiss back, but Jeongguk laughs, and presses a kiss to the side of your ear. Then the lobe. Then beneath your ear. Down your throat. Stops only once he reaches your collarbone. Raises his eyes. Looks directly at you.

"I'm gonna make you cum," he tells you with arrogant certainty. "For real. You're not gonna fake that. Gonna make you cum, and then you're gonna hold my hand in front of your ex-boyfriend and fake that like a good girl."

The energy he's radiating is electric; the right amount of jealousy and desire making you the only thing his brain can focus on for longer than a second at a time.

"Gguk-" you gasp as he pushes your hips down. The leverage is crappy, the angle not quite right, but the intention is there.

Jeongguk glances over his shoulder, to check he wasn't imagining the chair he swore he noticed earlier, and almost thanks the God he doesn't believe in when his eyes land on it.

He turns back to face you. Lets your hands drop from above your head. Cups your jaw. Brushes his lips against yours.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, aren't you, B?" He says, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. Doesn't it let it linger. You don't get a chance to kiss him back, for he's moving you both to the chair. He sits, legs parted, and gets you straddled across his thigh. You're right where he wants you. "You're gonna ride my thigh and cum like a good fuckin' girl."

The satin of your panties rubs against his slacks without him even trying.

Hands beneath your dress, he squeezes at the flesh of your ass, spreading you. Pulls you up his thigh. Lets you build a motion. Encourages it.

He doesn't complain when your hands tangle in his hair. It surprises you at first, just how short it is. You've never experienced it like this. It almost distracts you from what's actually happening.

But then one of his hands comes to toy with your chest as you continue to ride his thigh. The neckline makes it so fucking easy for him. He gets you exposed, but doesn't keep it that way for long. Latches onto your nipple as soon as he fucking can. Groans against you, and then the sensation of his vibrating tongue forces the wetness to seep from your cunt.

Your rhythm against his thigh is well-established, now. Both of his hands are free to tug down on the top of your dress.

It's a pretty dress. Gorgeous, in fact, and you look incredible in it - but all he wants to do is take it off. Wants you naked.

For now, he'll settle with your satin-covered cunt rubbing up against him, and your tits nice and exposed for him to toy with. He's using you for his own gratification, and you're doing just the same.

His tongue flicks against your nipples, hands squeezing your tits firmly together. He sucks. Squeezes. Grazes his teeth. Makes you feel so fucking good. Part of you thinks he'll get you cumming just from the contact of his lips with your hardened nipples - but the way his strong thigh is acting as the perfect ridge? Fuck .

"I'm close," you promise as the pleasure trickles through your bloodstream like warm honey. Sweet, and delicate, there's something about orgasms earned by Jeongguk that always makes you feel like you've ascended. Heaven really is a place on earth. Remarkably, it appears to be in a janitor's closet with all of your closest friends just down the hallway.

Jeongguk nods. Slowly pulls away from your nipples, the suction so pleasurable you can't help but whine. "I won't stop you."

He means it. Keeps your nipples wet with his spit, tongue lapping against them, as your hips buck against him. Your whines get a little deeper. Friction stronger. Breaths needier.

And then, as soon as your body begins to shudder that tell-tale way, he lets his tongue loose.

"That's it, beautiful," he husks. Looks at you with stark adorned eyes. "Come on me like the pretty slut you are. What would they think, huh? If everyone here knew what you were doing? Be louder, baby. Let them know. Let them know how much you like to cum for me."

You whimper his name as your grind begins to ease - but Jeongguk doesn't let it. Uses both of his hands. Grabs your ass. Is intentional with the way he bounces his thigh up against you, forcing the sensation to jolt through you once more. Elbows on his shoulders, head buried in the crook of his neck, you're whining as he overstimulates you.

"God, I'll cum again," you tell him, teeth grazing his neck. He kinda likes the pain. Likes that he'll be waking up with a hickie, no doubt.

"Good," he grits. Is rough with your body. Wants that second orgasm, and he wants it now.

"Gguk-" you whimper, but can't manage to say anything more, the wave of pleasure taking over you so much faster. Chest heaving, you're unable to do anything other than languidly grind until your body stops. Hearts beating in sync, Jeongguk is so overwhelmed by how good it is to feel you come undone for him, he almost doesn't notice the way you begin to palm his incredibly hard crotch.

"Shit," he hisses. This was supposed to be about you. He shouldn't be letting you do this - and yet he's reaching for his belt. Is frantic as he unbuckles. Opens up his pants. Takes over from you. Dips his hands into his underwear. Wraps his hand around his hard, leaky cock. Smears the precum from his tip all over his head. Wants it in your mouth - but has other, more pressing ideas. "Can you stand for me, baby?"

Barely. Shaky on your legs, you do your best. Let him guide you - thankfully, to the door. Back pressed against it, Jeongguk gets you to hold the skirt of your dress up. Pushes your panties down, but only just enough to expose a small amount of your cunt. They're still around the top of your thighs, slick with evidence of your orgasm.

Jeongguk lines himself up. Rests the head of his cock against the edge of your underwear. Tells you, "I'm gonna cum in them. Gonna cum in your panties, and then you're gonna wear them all fuckin' evening."

"Please," is all you pathetically whimper.

It doesn't take long for him to get there. He's been worked up all week. He wanks himself off for you. Whines. Whispers shit about how hot you are. How much he likes doing shit like this.

Jeongguk grips onto your arm as his climax hits. Body doubling, he has no choice but to let his forehead rest on your shoulder.

"I'm cumming. Fuck. Fuck," Jeongguk curses. Tilts his head. Presses a wet kiss to the base of your neck as his body jolts and the first rope of cum spurts into your underwear. "Fuck, baby."

"That's it," you encourage, obsessed with the way he's whimpering, body all weak and feeble as it shakes for you.

He groans now. Grips his cock even tighter. Milks himself for all he's worth. Fucking ruins your underwear. Lets the top of his cock rub up against your clit. Massages your slick and his cum together. "Fuck."

When he finally pulls away, he says nothing. Immediately pulls his pants up as if he can't believe what he's just done, then pulls your panties up, too. Hooks the sides over your hips, pulling the mess he's made tightly to your soaked cunt. Cups his hand over your heat. Presses. Rubs. Teases little circles over your clit. Presses down more firmly. Builds speed.

"Gguk," you whine, grabbing onto his shoulders.

"Again, baby," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Cum again for me."

"I can't," you whine, the overstimulation about to kick in - but he dismisses it. Knows that if you wanted him to stop, you'd say 'chess'.

"You can, baby," he promises. Uses the hand that isn't massaging your clit to angle your jaw. Doesn't even think as he steals a pretty little kiss from your lips. Doesn't realise it begins to send you over the edge. "You're gonna cum like you're mine."

And how can you do anything else but succumb to his demands?

Lips on his, brows furrowed together, he swallows all of your pretty little whines, as your body shudders for him. He keeps you steady. Keeps you supported. Keeps his tongue in your mouth, and his hand rubbing your panties. Doesn't ease up until you pull away from his lips.

"Gguk," you pant. "Please."

Nodding, he eases slowly. Doesn't wanna let go too quickly. Keeps kissing you. Won't stop that. Never wants to stop that. Is still annoyed with you, yes, but knows he has a duty of care, now. Also knows he'd never forgive himself if he didn't take every chance he gets to kiss you.

When he finally pulls away, forehead resting against yours, he's spent. You're both panting, both struggling to formulate any words in the wake of such a devastating orgasm.

Brushing a few strands of hair back from your face, Jeongguk closes his eyes. Nudges his nose against yours. Shows a little restraint. Whispers, "You've got a show to return to."

Nodding, you shake a little from his grip. Say nothing as you adjust your dress. Try your best to ignore the thick pool of his cum that's gathered in your panties. The tops of your thighs will end up smeared in the evidence of him, and, quite disgustingly, it only serves to make you even more turned on.

"I'll follow behind you," he promises as he begins to sort himself out, too.

Nodding, you're a little unsure of exactly what to do. You're scared that someone will know. That you'll leak.

"I'm scared," you admit. Explain your worry. He rolls his eyes, but smiles as he does, so.

He tugs on your hands, and props you up against the counter towards the back of the small room. Spreads your legs. Assesses fuckin' nothing, 'cause it's so dark in the room - but knows your pussy almost as well as he knows his own name. Licks to the left of your lips. To the right. Ends in one thick stripe up the centre. Sucks ever so gently once he reaches your clit. Knows that your cunt - your leaky, needy, hole that he loves to stretch out so much - must be going insane from the lack of attention it's getting.

"You'll be okay," he assures you. Stands, and gives your pussy a playful spank. "C'mon. You've got horny old dudes to schmooze."

"Is that gonna get you off?" you tease slightly, your annoyance with him a little subdued.

"Maybe," he shrugs, already knowing it mostly likely will. "You're gonna walk around that gallery covered in my cum, and no one else but us is gonna know it," he smirks, the gravity of what he's just done finally kicking in. Cups your jaw. Presses a kiss to your lips. Husks, "You're gonna go out there and act like you're mine - 'cause right now, you are."

You don't argue against it.

The pair of you meander down the corridor in near silence. His hand is on your back, but your arms are tentatively folded across your chest. Each step is accompanied by your keen ears checking for audible evidence of your sin.

So caught up in your own worries, you don't notice how quiet the gallery itself is. How few people seem to be milling about. How the main lights are on now, and how it only seems to be those wearing 'staff' lanyards within the main space.

Pursing his lips as he realises, Jeongguk tries not to laugh.

"Oh, shit," you whisper, pulling on his wrist so you can check the time on his watch. 10:13. The show was scheduled to finish at 10, but you're sure most people will have filtered out before then. Have no idea what the time was when Jeongguk had dragged you away from the main room.

"S'fine," he mumbles. Grips a little tighter on your waist. Doesn't let you pull away, like he fears you will now that appearances don't need to be kept up.

You don't. Instead, your arms drop from their position over your chest, and reach for his hand, guiding him the direction of the (now unmanned) cloak room.

There's little chatter as you grab your coats - the only ones left there.

"Need to show you something," you mumble, digging into your pockets, and pulling out half a dozen empty tubes.

Jeongguk looks at you with a sense of frayed confusion - but if he were to thread the strings together, he'd see the bigger picture.

Dusted in fine glitter of different colours, the tubes don't seem out of the ordinary for you. Is totally the kind of thing he'd expect to see in your pockets.

Quietly, you grit your teeth together. Suck in a little air. Are embarrassed to admit what you've done.

But the person in front of you is your best friend. Even with judgement will come acceptance. There always is. Honesty is the least you owe him.

"I know I'm not wearing any glitter," you start slowly. Hold the empty tubes up, then toss them into the bin beside the concierge table. Knock your head to the side and encourage him to start walking with you. He does.

He also reaches into his own pocket, and pulls out his car keys. Passes them over to you. "Might be above the limit. Can you drive?"

Glancing over to him, shocked by the request, you double check. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "You can crash at mine. It's fine."

Despite it all, there's still no one else he wants to end the night with. No girl he'd rather take home. Platonic or romantic.

"Sleep, I mean," he adds. "Not physically crash the car. Please don't crash my car."

You just smile. Nod. After the hideousness of the week spent barely talking to him, there's nothing you want more than to just feel like things are still normal.

"So the tubes?" he asks as you reach the car. He lets you unlock it, but adjusts the seat for you before letting you get in. Also puts his jacket down on the cushion, just in case your underwear gives up on protecting your decency.

"Thanks," you say, stroking the side of his waist tenderly as he makes way for you and waits for him to get in before you start the car up. You get onto the main road, and make sure you've got your bearings before finally explaining yourself. "It was plausible deniability. The lack of glitter, I mean. Was deliberate."

"What do you mean?" He asks, reaching for the gearstick. Doesn't care if your hand is on it. Wants to hold it. You ignore his actions. Just let him intertwine his fingers with yours.

"I mean, the less glitter on me, the less credibility Jin would have when it comes to arguing that I'm the person who's emptied half a dozen tubes of glitter into his incredibly expensive formal winter coat."

Jeongguk says nothing for a moment. Plays out the idea of you stealthily depositing millions of glitter specks into a jacket that costs more than his yearly rent. Is slow to ask, "...which pockets?"

And you're slow to reply, "... All the ones I could find. Outside, inside. Secret pocket in the lining."

And then Jeongguk is laughing. Really fucking laughing. Looks over to you, and your bunched up little face, and is overcome a sense of pride he usually only feels for these gallery shows, or when a bird of yours is completed. The kinda pride that is reserved for you, and for your accomplishments.

"Shut up," you giggle now, too. "I know it's childish but-"

"No," he shakes his head. Can't stop smiling. "It's brilliant. Dunno if you've heard, but apparently glitter is a bitch to get out."

"Yeah," you grin. "I've been told that a few times."

And suddenly the events of the evening seem to feel less burdensome. Warmer. More pleasant.

You don't bother with small talk, and nor does he. Are just happy to exist together, and this state of ease lasts right up until you're in his apartment, shoes off, standing a little awkwardly in his living room.

Jimin is out. Everyone is. There are a million messages in your group chat asking where you are. You'll just reply in the morning. Too busy, now.

"I need to shower," you say, a little timid.

Jeongguk nods. "Same."

"Join me?"

To your surprise, he hesitates.

"You're the reason I need one in the first place," you remind him. "Please."

He looks down. Shakes his head. "I don't trust us."

"Nor do I," you tell him. "But this whole thing has been hell on earth, Gguk. I've hated it."

"Me too."

"I don't think..." you sigh. Don't want to share your conclusion, but know you need to. "I don't think careless fucking around is worth it. It's definitely not worth losing you."

"So what are you saying?"

Gesturing towards yourself, you grimace a little. "I'm saying we sort out the current... mess. Get showered. Whatever. Head to the pharmacy in the morning for the emergency pill, just in case - and then a few days from now, I'll take an actual test. Just wanna make sure my system is settled, first. And then, providing it all goes well, we sort ourselves out. Stop fucking around."

Jeongguk says nothing. Just sort of looks at you as if you've just hung up a new star in the sky, or something absurd like that. Nods. "Alright."

You're well aware that you shouldn't look at Jeongguk in the way that you do; that you shouldn't stand in his living room, and let the dress that you've been hoping would keep him focused on you all night drop to the floor.

He's well aware that he shouldn't look at you in the way that he does; like you're some kind of star to wish upon.

And yet you both do. He wishes. You grant his wishes.

There's a mess to clean up in the morning. Jeongguk can't shake the look on the faces of his friends from his mind. Knows that you need to cover your tracks.

But for now, he doesn't care.

Your dress is on the floor, and his heart is yours.

Though he'll always define you as his best friend, he knows that the way he wants you goes beyond the scope of that. Knows that there's no going back.

"Byeol," he whispers.

"Koo," you whisper right back.

He smiles. Shakes his head. "I love it when you call me that."

You nod. smile, too. "I love the way you smile when I call you that."

He's right not to trust the pair of you together. Right to assume that a shower is a bad decision. Right to think that the second he has you naked, he won't care about the consequences.

Quite frankly, he couldn't give a fuck. Skin on skin, he indulges in you. The way you feel, the way you sound. Pretends like it's normal, holding your waist as he peppers kisses up your neck. Tells himself it's not unusual for friends to let their hands roam. It's all about trust. Mutual adoration. Desire. Want. Careful carelessness.

You don't kiss him, at least. Not in the shower.

No, you don't kiss him... until you're in his sheets.

Neither of you got dressed after the shower. Went to bed naked with the promise of sleep - and yet somehow you're straddled across his lap at two in the morning, hips slowly grinding to get the feeling of fullness you love so much from Jeongguk.

"After this-" you husk into his lips, but he breaks your sentence with yet another kiss. You don't mind. "After this, we've gotta start taking shit carefully."

He nods. "Mhmm. Whatever you say."

"Gguk-"

"Byeol, please," he smiles. "I'm literally inside you. Can you at least wait until we're done to give me ultimatums?"

Laughing, you cup his jaw. Kiss him again, just because you want to. Because you can. "Yeah. My bad."

Sitting back up, Jeongguk watches on in a state of adoration as your body moves for him. So often the one to take the lead, he's letting you have control, now. Letting you ride him. Letting himself succumb to everything you are.

"Shit," he whines, back arching, head pressing into his pillows. Fingers gripping your hips, he thrashes his own upwards. Thrusts up into you like a man possessed. Gets your body all weak and feeble from the overwhelming pleasure he's delivering - and when your hand dips to toy with your clit? Oh, it doubles. Trebles.

"You're so fucking hot," he tells you. "Yeah. Play with yourself for me. That's it, baby."

Panting, you tap on his chest with your spare hand. "Hips. Slow."

He does what he's told even if he absolutely doesn't want to. Let you bounce slowly. Reaches up to hold one of your tits as you do so. Wants them in his mouth. Finds himself grinning when he thinks of how much he's changed since you first started fucking around together.

"God, I fuckin' love this," he whines a little mindlessly. Doesn't bother clarifying what 'this' is.

The hand of yours that's wrapped around his wrist begins to tighten. Nails dig in. Tiny pretty whines of satisfaction escape your lips. Eyes close. Speed of the hand rubbing circles on your clit increases. Sitting on his cock, he's keeping you stretched. Full. Lets you do whatever the fuck you like, 'cause he knows you're working your way up. Loves to watch it more than anything. Gets himself off sometimes thinking about it.

Leaning forward a little, you reach for his phone. Slide it open to his camera.

He narrows his eyes. "Whatcha doing there?"

Whiney as you manage to speak, Jeongguk thinks you must be a direct descendant of Aphrodite. "Giving you permission," you hum, passing his phone back to him, already recording.

He looks to the screen, a little red button in the middle and a time running through on the top. Raises his brow. "Sure?"

You're putting on a show for him, yes, but none of it is faked. This is as real as it gets.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he husks as he can feel your walls tighten. "Like that. Like that. Fuck ." Pulses his hips ever so slightly. Sneaks his hand to join yours. Takes over. "Cum all over my cock, baby. Yeah. Yeah, that's it, babe."

"Gguk, I'm so close."

"I know," he coos. "Let yourself. I'm here."

"You're so big," you tell him, just so he has evidence of it. Know it will do his ego wonders. "Makes me feel so good."

"Show me how good it feels. Cum for me. Please. I need this. Need you ."

And when you finally do?

Oh, it's glorious.

"There she is," Jeongguk praises. Doesn't bother to stop recording. Tosses his phone to the side. Pulls you in for a million kisses. "God, you're so pretty when you cum. So fuckin' pretty."

His hips continue to gently rock, his orgasm far less violent than yours. You only really know it's happening cause he grunts. Gets a little breathless. Hugs around your back as his legs begin to shake, and eventually he manages to shakily whisper, "it's yours. All yours."

You just assume he means his cock, or cum, or something vulgar like that - and while it would be correct, it's not what he means. Not at all.

He holds you as you sleep that night. Has no interest in pretending like he wants to be less than what you are right now.

But come the morning, you're cracking jokes together like you've never nearly made declarations you'd never be able to take back. Hang out, as if he wouldn't rather eat you out. Make a to-do list. Laugh, as it's titled 'Fixing the Star-Fuckers Fuck-Up'.

You make a trip out of the list. Go to a pharmacy a few towns over. Grab a drive-thru Maccies breakfast. Get absolutely slated when you order a Shanghai Snack Wrap instead of a classic egg McMuffin.

"Can't believe we're friends," Jeongguk says, disgusted by the fact you're choosing to have something from the all-day menu. "Can't believe we fuck ."

"Fucked," you remind him, and remember that you've a pill you need to take. Pop it out of the foil, and swallow it down with a chug of Jeongguk's drink. "Past tense."

"Yeah, sorry," Jeongguk grins. It's easier to pretend like the idea of not fucking doesn't phase him. "My bad."

His pretty grin swiftly disappears three days later as he paces around your apartment living room, waiting on the result from a little pink stick that's sitting on top of your toilet. You're in the living room, too. Don't wanna check it. Nor does he.

So you play rock paper scissors.

Jeongguk loses.

And as you nervously await your fate, all you hear from your bathroom is a single word.

"Fuck."

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uncpanda · 1 year ago

Text

The Ties that Bind: Family Tree

AN: I'm baccckkkk Please enjoy this update. It takes place in season six

Master List

Warnings: None I think

“Hello Hotchners!”

“Hi mommy!”

“Hi angel.” They both smile at you from the table. You drop a kiss on the top of Jack’s head and he smiles up at you.

Things had been significantly better since the farmer’s market incident. In the three weeks since, you and Aaron had gone to several sessions with Jack. His therapist was helping the three of you come together as a blended family. Your own therapist and Aaron’s had also been brought in and caught up by Jack’s.

You peck Aaron’s cheek and he catches your arm, and squints at you. “Proper kiss, please.” You barely resist smirking; instead, you roll your eyes and peck his lips. “That wasn’t a proper kiss.”

“Jack is right there.”

This time it’s Aaron who rolls his eyes. He wraps his arm around Jack’s head, so that his hand settles over the boy’s eyes. Jack giggles and you swoop down and kiss your boyfriend properly.

“Happy?”

He releases Jack, “With you? Always.”

You slip your shoes off and notice what’s on the table, “What’s with all the pictures?”

“I have to do a family tree. Here’s daddy and mama and grandpa and grandma and aunt Jess. I still need pictures of you and Uncle Spencer.”

“I’m in the family tree?”

Jack nods.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll get my photo boxes out.” Once Jack is focused on the pictures, you jerk your head towards the bedroom. Aaron follows after telling Jack he’ll be right back.

He cracks the door to your bedroom. You turn on him, “How the hell are they still doing family trees? Families are complicated and . . . is Jack okay with this?”

Aaron smiles, “Yes. He was very excited about the project, and Jess is bringing over more pictures of her brother and sister. He wants to include you and Spencer.”

You let out a breath, “I swear he is the sweetest kid I’ve ever met.”

Aaron smiles, “I’m pretty happy with him.”

You start shirking out of your clothes and you can feel Aaron’s eyes on you. You shoot him a wink as you change out of your work clothes and into lounge pants and a t-shirt. You head to the closet next and pull out one of your picture boxes. It’s really just a decorated shoe box. One of three. It holds a lot of your loose pictures; the ones not in albums.

You carry it out to the kitchen table and set it down in front of Jack and his eyes light up. You roll your eyes when he just dumps it out on the table. You start shifting through the pictures.

“Who’s this?”

“That is Bryan. My high school boyfriend who was extremely delusional.”

Jack’s brow furrows in an uncanny imitation of Aaron, “Delusional?”

“He wanted to get married right after high school. I moved to California instead.”

Jack giggles, and Aaron asks, “What?”

You clarify, “He wanted to get married right after highschool, his parents wanted to finish raising Spencer, and they wanted me to start popping out grandbabies.”

“It sounds like the start of one of my cases.”

Jack holds up a new photo and you wince, “Who’s this?”

Aaron scowls, “That’s the bastard.”

“Aaron! Language.”

“We only use that word in relation to this one man. He hurt mommy’s feelings.”

Jack’s face grows serious, “I don’t like him.”

You pluck the picture out of Jack’s hands and stare at you and Joel. You look at both of your boys and rip it in half. You throw the part that has you back in the box and rip the part with Joel in half.

“Happy?”

Aaron lets out a huff, “Only if I get a punch in one day.” It’s muttered, and you nudge him.

“Look at all of these of you and uncle Spencer.”

“Yeah, it was mostly just the two of us.”

“Here’s one of you and uncle Sean, daddy!”

Your eyes go wide, “You have a brother?”

This is the first time you’re hearing about a brother. Aaron hesitates, and then tells Jack, “Why don’t you take a break, buddy?”

“Okay.” And just like that he’s gone to go play.

There’s a moment of silence, “You have a brother?”

He nods, “Sean. He’s thirteen years younger than me. We’re not close.”

You nudge him with your shoulder, “I figured. Why did you never mention him?”

He takes a breath, “I was ashamed. You and Spencer are so close. You gave up everything to raise him, and I . . . I pretty much abandoned Sean.”

You poke your tongue against the inside of your cheek, “Aaron. You know more about my resentment towards my parents, and about my childhood than anyone. Even Spencer.”

Aaron hesitates, “You know more than anyone else too. Even Haley didn’t know the extent of my dad. She just thought he yelled. Sean was not the subject of his anger, and apparently when I left for boarding school it mostly became verbal. But I still left him there.”

“Your dad sent you away, Aaron. You didn’t have a choice.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, “Still, I should have. . .”

“It’s not the same.” Aaron pauses and you continue, “I’m not saying Sean was safe. Not with your father around, but he was okay. He had food. And Heat. And AC. And from what you say, everything he could wish for. That doesn’t excuse the mental turmoil he or you or your mom went through, but there was nothing you could have done. They wouldn’t have let you take him to college or anything like that. They certainly weren’t going to give you a say in raising him. Every situation is different.”

He rubs his hands together, “I still feel guilty.”

Quietly, you admit, “I still feel mad at my parents. Our parents screwed us, Aaron. We make the best of it. And when it comes to our own kids, we make it right. We stop what they did. We’re already doing it with Jack. He doesn’t have to worry about anything. He’s not scared of you or Haley or me.” You cover his hands with yours and squeeze, “We’re doing great if I do say so.”

He smiles and tugs you towards him. You leave your chair for his lap and you kiss him.

“Ewwww.”

You and Aaron smile and turn to find Jack making a face. The two of you share a look and then you’re chasing after him. You catch him first, and then Aaron catches the two of you. Together the three of you gently fall onto the bed. Your happy little family.

#aaron hotch #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch imagine #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds imagine #jack hotchner

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anothertransauthor · 1 year ago

Note

Can I get a trans Pickles x reader?

Hi, yes, I'm sorry this took so long! I’ve been working constantly this week, and on top of that, I wanted this fic to be its best (a lot of restarting half way through because I couldn’t continue it, and alooooot of proofreading—haha!) That being said, all other writing will be slow because I am a slow writer! Other than this one (it's on the shorter end of the spectrum), expect a thousand and up in word counts! That being said 2.0 please don’t be discouraged from requesting more! I love all of the ideas coming from you when I’m not writing something myself in the meantime! And yes, I will continue the ABC! List both SFW and NSFW! Someone's gonna have to show me how to make a master list.

Trans! Pickles x Reader

Summary: just your state-of-the art Pickles comfort. Pickles has trouble asking for help when he needs it the most. Oh, and the reader also works with the show's production team.

Warnings: depictions of gender dysphoria, implied familial transphobia, description of surgery scars, reader with no specified gender

Word Count: 1,014 words

Pickles had always been open and rather accepting of everyone he'd ever had a conversation with, you included. Always the one to help others relax, always the one to listen, always the one to hold you with open arms. Something in you has always had the inclination in the back of your mind that he was projecting that same protection he craved for himself, but any time he starts to open up, something conveniently happens to interrupt him, or he shuts down completely. Always the reliable one, always putting everyone else first, always the rock.

You and Nathan were the first to notice his spiral when it first started. First, he was unusually snappy over little things when they were recording. He started waking up earlier and earlier, until he seemed to stop sleeping all together. Despite your pleas to take care of himself or talk to him, he kept insisting everything was okay. Always stable, always responsible, always cool.

His mask slipped completely one day during a show; maybe it was the lights, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the fans glaring eyes staring at him like they knew something. The show was cancelled that day, and he locked himself in the broom closet in the makeup room. And now here you were, sitting with your back against the door, listening to the muted sniffles as pickles tried to hold it together. Always collected, always relaxed, always…quiet….

"I’m sorry..." Those were the first words you heard from outside the door; you weren't even sure he knew you were there. You sat up straighter and faced the door now, one hand on the cheap wood that separated you. "Don’t be sorry, dude. Nathan and Skwisgaar have handled the situation with the fans."

"No- no… y/n-- I'm sorry for shutting you and everyone else out... I'm a fuckin hypocrite."His voice cracked and shuddered again; you could hear him shifting uncomfortably before he spoke again.

"The band didn't deserve this... You sure as hell didn't deserve this—hell you made this show happen tonight, and I blew it."

You didn't know how to respond for a second; this was the first time you'd ever heard him so broken before. Lost in your own head, you almost didn't hear him knock on the door the first time to get your attention.

"Are you still there?"

"yeah—! Yeah, I-I’m still here, doodle... Can I join you in there? We can keep the lights off—"

Before you even finished your sentence, the door had opened, and Pickles' strong arm had pulled you inside. Just like you offered, the lights remained off. But you could still make out his outline in the shadows, and that was enough for you as you took his hand in yours.

The two of you stayed that way for what felt like forever, before the redhead took a deep breath and said, "My mom called me some days ago... "I guess I had left a drunk voicemail or somethin’— called me an even bigger disappointment than the day I told her I..." He choked up and pulled his knees to his chest. Your heart broke at the sight as your eyes adjusted and you could see him better. He looked like a kid again, dejected and lost. "I know I can never make her see me that way, but I’ve tried everything else to get her to love me—even just the facade of who she wants me to be."

There was a thunk as Pickle let his head fall back against the door. He pulled his hand away so he could push his palms against his eyes in an attempt to force his thoughts into order.

"I didn't mean to fall this far... Man, I'm fucked, aren't I?"He laughed humorlessly before his eyes met yours in the dark: "I'm supposed to be the one helping anyone else with this... I'm fuckin' famous; I stopped worrying about how I'm perceived. If you told me when I was 16 that I didn't have to live my life in a binder—I'd fuckin laugh at ye…."

A hand took yours and brought it to his chest, and though it was over his shirt, your hand could almost feel the scars on his chest. You'd memorized it well; it didn't define who he was, but it did make him beautiful in your eyes.

"I hear you, loud and clear, Pickles." Your words felt hushed as his heartbeat thrummed against your fingertips, but he understood you well. Fresh tears welled in his green eyes as he pulled you fully into his lap, hiding his face in your shoulder. Moments like these usually require very few words; any string of sentences couldn’t convey what either needed to say exactly what they wanted anyway.

Your hands cupped Pickles’ face, your fingers gently massaging the weak spot behind his ear. He groaned appreciatively as both of you sat like that; the sounds of the show getting cleaned up were hardly muffled through the thin door.

"Oh man… Charles is so gonna have my ass." He groaned weakly when he decided he was done sitting in the rank ass broom closet.

"Don’t be so sure... Nathan will get to you first," you tried to tease, shoulders easing slightly at the sound of his familiar scoff, "he's been worried about you too... Don’t tell him I told you."

You could still sense his unease as his chin moved; he was looking at the wall now.

"Hey, look at me." You pulled him back to you, his face now clear in the shadows, as you skillfully wiped the fresh beads from his eyes.

"You’re not alone any more... You made it," you reassured him lovingly. "We can be strong for you sometimes."

Pickles hugged you tight, taking his first smooth breath since he'd calmed down. You kissed his head and down his cheeks before ghosting your lips over his. He smiled against you; his smile was always contagious. You had to suppress a giggle before giving him exactly what he wanted, holding him as you did.

#metalocalypse #dethklok #x reader #dethklok x reader #pickles the drummer #pickles x reader #pickles the drummer x reader #trans pickles #might write something self indulgent after this #savory or sad it’s yours to decide #what’s next?

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domus-fructus · 2 months ago

Text

Reappearing from the aether to document my Salty Pirate (NaClYoHo = national clean your house) month. Soooooo many house projects making my eye twitch.

Started early reorganizing the craft supplies into an abandoned dresser two weeks ago, but I've been working non-stop the last week and a half, so here is today's lighter To Murderbot list:

Operation Not-Actually-A-Terrible-Plan

Put decomposing flora in the recycler so it won't leak fluids all over the human furniture (throw away dead flowers)

Remove clothes I chose myself from the recycler (get clothes out of the dryer)

Pin one (1) fanart of favorite shows to walls so it looks less like a Company ship in my cubicle (hang wall decor)

File as SaveForLater

- finish hemming last curtain

- hang rest of decor

- organize closet

- run Ethernet to computer

- organize pantry

- organize hall closet

- replace/ fix toilet leak

- wash car

- replace brakes

- change oil

#latin for house of fruits #roommates #naclyoho #murderbot diaries #to murderbot #file as: save for later

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lnfours · 2 years ago

Note

Cutest blurb🥺

How about Tom made a handmade gift to Y/n like a scrapbook or a jar something like that and Y/n is like 🥺🥺🫶💓💖💖💞🥹

anon, this is so cute 🥺 sorry i'm just now getting to writing your request, i hope you like it!

cleaning out my inbox 💌

tom wasn't the crafty type. everyone who attended the failed paint and wine knew this. he was terrible at art, couldn't even draw a stick figure if he tried.

and beings you were the crafty type, ever since then he was determined to make you something special and 'cute'. he wanted to give you a gift that wasn't store-bought, he wanted something special to give you. something that came from the bottom of his heart.

so he thought of a brilliant idea, a scrapbook.

he had asked his mom for a few pointers beings she had made baby books for him and his brothers when they were younger. she had given him all the tips and tricks he could think of.

he even took notes.

when his mom said that it'd be nice to include things from dates the two of you had went on, his mind immediately went to the keepsake box that you had at the top of your side of the closet, the one where you kept all the photo-booth strips, restaurant receipts, movie and event tickets, everything you could possibly ever think of.

and of course he had asked you if it was okay if he went through the box, wanting to get your approval on what to take and what not to take. you were a little confused as to what he was planning.

"just go through the box and pick," you smiled, "but, can i ask why?"

he grabbed the box from the top shelf before humming back at you as you laid on the bed, "mmm, no reason. just wanna look through. maybe it'd be cute if we put together a collage and hung it up in a picture frame or something."

you furrowed your eyebrows, thankful he couldn't see your confused expression, "yeah, sounds good, babe."

and for the next few nights when you'd wander up to bed to read a few chapters of your book before falling asleep, he'd stay downstairs. in the dimly lit dining room, rummaging through the tickets and photos, picking out how he wanted each page to look. he had even made a special trip to the craft store earlier that morning to pick out stickers, fancy markers and pens, the glue dot runner his mom suggested for the photos and tickets, scrapbook paper, and designed washi tape.

he was excited to get to work. he was even more excited to see your reaction to the finished project.

and after a week and a half, and many 'is this good?' texts to his mom, the scrapbook was completed. just in enough time for your anniversary.

he had ran out and got flowers and your favorite candy to give to you along with his handmade gift. the two of you always kept it simple on your anniversary, beings it was in the middle of valentine's day and his birthday.

when you got home, he was eager to give you your gift. you laughed as he basically ran to you as you opened the door when you got home from work.

"hey," you laughed, "eager to see me?"

"always," he smiled, kissing your forehead sweetly, "come on, i've got a surprise for you."

you didn't even have time to kick off your heels before he was dragging you into the kitchen. he smiled as your eyes landed on the scrapbook, flowers, and candy. immediately 'aww'ing at his gesture.

"aww, tom," you cooed, grabbing the scrapbook from the island, "this is adorable."

the smile never left his face as you flipped through the pages, each page being a different date that the two of you went on. he had made special pages for the tickets you saved to each of the marvel movie premiers you two had gone to together. he even had the pictures he had taken on his phone of the two of you printed out so he could stick them on the spider-man scrapbook paper.

yes, he paid $15 for spider-man scrapbook paper.

the last page of the scrapbook paper was white, lace trimming on the top and bottom. you read the letters over and over again, taking in the detail. there was a diamond ring sticker, along with 4 words in white and black block letters:

'will you marry me?'

you turned to see him on one knee, smiling up at you. you laughed softly, closing the book and putting it back on the island. your vision became blurry the longer you looked at him as he sat on one knee.

"will you marry me, darling?"

you smiled, immediately nodding your head, "do you even have to ask?"

he chuckled, standing as he slipped the ring onto your finger, "is that a yes?"

you leaned up and kissed him, cupping his cheeks in your hands. his cheeks were warm as you took in the smell of his cologne and after shave. it smelled like home.

"a million times yes." you smiled, nose rubbing against his before he leaned back down and kissed you again.

"my fiancée sounds a lot better than girlfriend, huh?" he smiled, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from your face.

"couldn't have said it better myself."

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posttexasstressdisorder · 5 months ago

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What I am feeling right now is an odd mix of the leftover anger/bitterness from Joe quitting, and looking at everyone literally instantly rallying behind Kamala, all in chess-move steps, first by the dem machine, and finally en masse with the media, and seeing the complete turnaround of everything in the narrative, and feeling the general elation in the air it has brought.

It's like wanting to be glad, but still being grouchy about it. It's gonna allow me to step back for a few days, I think. I have still got plenty of things that need doin' and projects that need to be finished. I'll not be bored, but I also will NOT be doomscrolling the news.

btw, I actually did bake, after all. Made a textbook specimen of the King Arthur Flour Sour-Cream Coffeecake, but for two things: just doubled the amt of struesel, putting half of it atop the first half of the batter, and dotting it with fresh blueberries before putting the second half of the batter atop and finishing with the remaining cinnamon goodness.

Roomie and I had demolished half of it by the end of the night last night. The rest of it isn't long for this world, either. We talked about it, and possibly the extra moisture from the struesel and blueberries helped make the cake just perfectly moist.

I still have solderin' to do, too. That Source Switch From Hell still awaits installation on the PAS, and I have vowed to hear my tubes again by the end of this week. I've waited way too long.

I have also got to be up at the crack o'dawn tomorrow because they're installing fiber-optic internet into the whole building. Can't afford it, but they do whole building infrastructure for apartments, and offer two free months if you sign up. They need access to my hall closet at 7:30 fuckin' a.m. and I will be grumpy.

But I'll be soldering in the living room while they're doin' their thing, so I will try to post some progress reports.

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hp-lawofattraction-fest · 1 year ago

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Week 1 Masterlist

digital art by @fantalfart, origami art by @crazybutgood

Week 1 is over and we've got six amazing works featuring the complexity of the artistry of creating, believing and being.

Start and End:

Title: Red Wine Supernova Creator: @mono-chromia Subtheme: Start Rating: Explicit Word count: 42,376

Summary:

Harry is vaguely aware that he's once again staring, and there's a voice in the back of his head that sounds like Luna's that's chastising him for it, but between half a joint and some boob-temperature beer he doesn't have the wherewithal to tear his eyes away. And that’s how she finds him when she leans over the balustrade of the deck to smoke her cigarette; starstruck and staring up at her from the grass. "Watcha doin' down there, stud? You're looking awfully lonely." or The multitudes of a whore in gogo boots.

Title: You’re horrible (and I love it) Creator: @vukovich Sub-theme: End Rating: Explicit Word count: 11,775

Summary:

Between you and me, my favourite thing about Harry might be that he ended before we even began. If you catch my drift.

Faith and Doubt:

Title: Closet Space Creator: nocturn Sub-theme: Doubt Rating: T Word count: 3,910

Summary:

Ginny shifts onto one foot and realizes she should probably say something semi-coherent. "So our exes are getting married," she offers. At least it feels like she's offering—it’s not quite a peace offering, but an offering nonetheless. "And I'm getting drunk," Pansy finishes. She flings her handbag over her shoulder, strides across the room, and pulls open the door. Then she glances over her shoulder and says, "Coming, Weasley?"

Title: When two hearts beat as one. Creator: digthewriter Sub-theme: Faith Rating: G Medium: Digital Art

Summary:

It was a long road but through faith in their friendship and surpassing any doubt these two eventually fell in love.

Artist and Artist's Work:

Title: Angel, Can't You See? Creator: @dodgerkedavra Sub-theme: Artist Rating: E Word count: 15,505

Summary:

Harry Potter has been missing for two and a half years when the Wizengamot passes a Marriage Law during an emergency session in the dead of night. When morning comes, Hermione Granger finds herself assigned to none other than Draco Malfoy. It’s hideously unjust, but simple: she must stay at Malfoy Manor for seventy-two hours, after which she and Draco will be married in a Ministry-supervised ceremony. Hermione stays at the Manor for seventy-two hours. As for the rest of the Ministry’s plan…

Title: the muse is fickle Creator: beeprescott Sub-theme: Artist’s Work Rating: Teen & Up Word count: 560

Summary:

It's finals season and Professor McGonagall has decided that group projects are necessary. Pansy, Draco, and Harry are grouped together.

#hplawofattractionfest #loaf #hp fests #lawofattraction #hp fandom #mod post #harry potter fests

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blametheeditor · 8 months ago

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Terms Of Agreement | Chapter 4

First | Previous | Next

Run Down: The monster under your bed, the one in the closet, and your sleep paralysis demon fight for custody.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of sleep paralysis, hallucinations, and sleep deprivation. Mentions of death, murder, and accidental deaths. Mentions of treating others as lesser than, addressing someone as 'it'.

Technical bonding time

_____________________

“F-Fritz!”

Jeremy’s hug is immediately accepted, Fritz clinging to his best friend even though they saw each other only two days ago. To the redhead, it feels like it’s been a lifetime. “Hey, Jer.”

“Are you r-r-ready for school?” the taller asks. “I-If you’re not, I’m sure if you a-asked-”

“I’m ready,” Fritz smiles. Beaks away from the hug to grab Jeremy’s hand to lead him down the street. Not wanting to linger outside his house for too long less three soul hungry beings decide to come outside and demand he better not be late. Or possibly see it as not appreciating such ‘freedom’ and decide to revoke it. “But thanks for asking.”

“How are y-you? You l-l-look better.”

Fritz would’ve thought Jeremy was just trying to be nice if he hadn’t noticed it himself this morning while starring at the mirror. By no means does he look healthy, and there are still large dark spots under his eyes, but he does look better. Which is weird to think about and not something Vincent, David, or James can claim as their doing. At least intentionally. He has a feeling it had to do with getting a full night’s sleep for the first time since he can remember.

No nightmares. No shadows lurking in the corner. No sounds jolting him awake. Just dreamless sleep until his alarm clock announced it was time to get up.

He gives a shrug. “I’m okay.”

“You won’t be wh-when Mrs. Vance g-g-gives o-our Monday quiz,” Jeremy says, upset himself considering they’ll both be taking it.

“Why didn’t you remind me!”

“I f-f-forgot about it until now!”

And Fritz tries to forget about what’s waiting for him when he goes back home at the end of the school day. Focuses on the fact Jeremy is by his side. That he’s able to go to class like nothing has changed. Get in trouble for not finishing his homework without the threat of death looming over his head.

Would they care about me having bad grades?

The thought forces Fritz to pay attention even as his teacher drones on about math. His best subject, but not the most entertaining one.

Do they know about schoolwork and if I have a project coming up?

Even if they don’t, Fritz can still use it as an excuse to spend more time outside of his house. Maybe he can say doing homework at Jeremy’s house is better for him.

Would they be suspicious or know I’m lying if I claim to have extracurricular activities?

In case they would, Fritz decides to finally snag the flyer advertising the robotics club. His mom would’ve wanted him to at least think about it, especially after making excuse after excuse to not even check it out.

It goes by too quickly. Finds himself walking next to Jeremy through the now open gate as they make their way back home. Back to demons who want to eat his sole, and monsters who don’t realize he could die from the simplest of actions, the promise tonight will be far from a restful one.

“What’d you get on the quiz?” Anything to distract him.

“I got h-half o-of them wrong,” Jeremy murmurs with a wince. “My dad’s n-n-not going to be h-happy.”

“We’ll study sometime this week for the next one, deal?”

“D-Deal.”

Frtiz smiles up at his best friend in the hopes he looks supportive rather than terrified. It’s taking everything in him not to start trembling now that they’re standing outside his house, the front door wide open.

Jeremy gives the sight a confused look. “A-A-Are your caretakers w-waiting for you?”

“Care- um, yeah, they are,” the redhead quickly responds to cover up his own confusion. But off course he’s supposed to have actual ‘caretakers’. A sixteen year old can’t live by themself when there’s a mortgage to pay and food needing to be bought.

...now that he thinks about it, how did Vincent get the ingredients needed for everything he’s cooked so far? Fritz recognized the meat from when his mom bought it a week ago, but he can’t remember the last time there were carrots in the house. And why hasn’t anyone come by to check on him?

Questions he’ll be asking, and hopefully these ones won’t make him regret it.

“Are they n-nice?”

Ha.

“They’ve been taking care of me,” is all Fritz can offer. Then he steals another hug. “See you tomorrow, Jer.”

“H-Have a good night!”

Fritz takes a deep breath as he marches up the steps. Prepares himself for threats, the posibility of being grabbed at any moment, his hatred for carrots used against him.

At least he was ready for when the door slammed shut, immediately diving to the right and curling into a ball so the gust of wind didn’t have him gaining any new bruises. Just an overwhelming feeling of terror that he tries to settle before facing whatever is waiting for him.

He has a feeling he’ll never get used to the sight of a giant standing directly overhead. Even though David’s proven he won’t be crushing Fritz beneath the sole of his expensive leather shoe anytime soon, it does nothing to truly ebb away at his fear.

“Welcome home,” the monster rumbles.

“Good- h-hi,” Fritz corrects himself.

David rolls his eyes. “Vincent informed me you would have homework. Where do you normally get it done?”

So they do know about schoolwork. Or, at least Vincent does and told the other two what to expect from him. Whether or not they want him to keep goods grades is another matter. “The table.”

“Then I suggest you make your way over there.”

With a rapid nod of his head Fritz quickly stands up before walking toward the kitchen table, glad there’s no carpet this time to slow him down. He can’t imagine how slow he’d be while being encumbered by his backpack. Thankfully everything he needs is inside it. He’ll make sure to always be prepared, not wanting to find out what David would think about Fritz needing to go to his room to grab something.

It takes a few minutes due to his concentration to keep a fast pace, but Fritz finally realizes it’s quite inside the house. None of the familiar sounds of Vincent cooking or the three arguing. James and his sleep paralysis demon aren’t in the kitchen.

“M-May I ask where the others are?”

“We have better things to do than babysit you all day,” David growls as he steps directly beside Fritz to earn a flinch. “Vincent reassured us you can survive without a warm meal for a night.”

There’s no elaboration on what those ‘better things’ include. And maybe it’s best he doesn’t know. However, his stomach growls at the thought of not having dinner. Not that he won’t survive, but it’s been a hit or miss for when he’s actually hungry, and he’d much prefer being able to eat whenever he can. Especially because Fritz can make his own food as long as it’s possible for him to.

David will never open the door, though. Meaning he’ll just need to get into the habit of packing snacks.

Fritz holds back a sigh as he continues on his journey. Stops when the shadow of the round wooden table falls over him, taking a moment to stare directly up. Feels his stomach twist at the thought of somehow climbing up such a massive height.

“Um, how do I-?”

He should’ve known. David’s only tried to pick him up once, and Vincent taught the monster how to do it safely. Yet he hadn’t expected suddenly being lifted up as the straps to his backpack become the only things keeping him from plummeting to his death as the ground gets further and further away.

Fritz tries to scream as he curls up tightly, pleading his grip doesn’t falter. Somehow being able to recognize it was done slowly enough he didn’t feel like he was going to be ripped from his lifeline, but it still makes his heart stop. Kicks when the table is close enough to safely land. Lets go of the straps willingly in order to roll away and not get injured by his books crashing against him once the fingers released their grip.

Except his backpack isn’t let go, David watching him with amusement. “I have to admit, the theatrics can be entertaining at times.”

At least I didn’t end up with a concussion.

He fully expected needing to do something in order to get his backpack back, but the monster drops into onto the table, apparently already bored with it. The only problem is how far the bag fell, landing with a heavy thump. Thank goodness there wasn’t anything breakable inside, but that’s yet another thing to think about. Who knew having three giants living with him would be so exhausting aside from the part of them making him constantly fear for his life.

Speaking of complicated, because he’s small enough to stand on the table means he can’t use it properly. Which means he’ll have to hunch over and balance a folder on his knee in order to get the worksheet done. It’s either that, or he asks David to see if there’s a way they can compromise.

Before he can even think about actually asking, a stack of papers thick enough it could crush him are suddenly dropped onto the table, eliciting a scream as it causes the entire table to shake.

“Move,” David commands as he nudges Fritz with a finger. “For such a miniscule thing, you certainly know how to constantly get in the way.”

The teenager doesn’t argue as he quickly darts closer to the center of the table. Even though he hadn’t realized he had apparently been in the way. Or this was the first time he truly had been. All that matters is keeping the being who will be visiting him tonight as happy as possible so there’s no reason to cause extra suffering. “S-Sorry.”

Fritz tries not to watch papers capable of causing much more than a simple paper cut. Walks away from the giant already focused on his own work before finally settling down himself. Can’t help but flinch at the sound of a pen being used to write sounding more like a torture device as it berates his ears.

Somehow, this is what makes him feel the most out of place in his own home. His heart clenches when Vincent cooks because that’s something his mother should be doing. But seeing David use the table properly while he’s barely big enough to be a paperweight, it drives in the fact this isn’t his home anymore. And it never will be. Because he’s going to lose his soul, and then it won’t matter.

I need to get my homework done.

Deep breaths. Take things one step at a time. This is his new normal now.

Despite the amplified sounds of motions Fritz himself is doing after beginning to fill in answers to his math problems, he manages to mostly ignore it. Flinches whenever David growls or balls up a paper, terrified that will happen to him, he’s able to concentrate. Finish up math and move onto social- he'll save that one for later. But he’ll try to get through English.

David suddenly stands up from his chair. Leaves the table without a word as Fritz yelps as he falls onto his side from the unexpected earthquake.

A quick look at his phone barely holding on to its battery life leaves him blinking in disbelief about four hours have passed. The longest he’s ever done something without deciding to do something else instead. Good news, all of his homework’s finished and a few paragraphs of the essay due next week written. Bad news, his body is not happy, both from sitting in such a contorted position for so long and the fact he hasn’t eaten since lunch at 11 this morning.

“Here.”

Fritz jolts before staring at...a plate balanced on David’s finger. Too confused at the sight to take it.

“I thought-t-”

“I said warm meal,” David sighs. It’s the clear annoyance that has the teenager quickly grabbing the plate. “You’ll have to deal with cold left overs.”

He recognizes the bacon and eggs from yesterday morning, the plate he left untouched after spotting it in the fridge this morning in favor of making his own hashbrowns and toast knowing there will be almost no other time when he’d get to cook.

True to David’s word, both the plate and food are cold. And Fritz quickly begins eating even after noticing the lack of a fork.

With work done and the howling from his stomach quieting down, Fritz finds himself looking at the documents David still has spread out. Staring at symbols he’s never seen before. Ones that start to move.

“Don’t stare at them too long,” the monster snaps with a glance at the startled teenager. “These aren’t meant for mortal eyes.”

“W-Would it forfeit the custody battle?” Fritz asks. Terrified he almost made even bigger enemies with those who already want him dead.

David suddenly laughs. Dark and sinister. Aims a sneer down at the cowering figure, becoming more like a soulless monster rather than an annoyed business man. “Oh no. You’d simply lose your mind.”

It can be said Vincent terrifies him the most. Out of all three, Fritz is most familiar with his sleep paralysis demon. Is well aware what the demon’s abilities are. And due to James making it blatantly clear he views Fritz as nothing more than an object that’s just out of reach instead of a person with thoughts and feelings, it earned the monster under the bed second place on the terror scale.

David still terrifies him, but it’s not as drastic as the other two. While James may be clueless when it comes to certain things, the monster in the closet tends to come off as incompetent. A genuine threat, just incredibly likely to accidentally kill him before he chooses any of them.

But now? One on one? It’s clear he completely misjudged David.

“James might’ve been right,” the monster muses, watching Fritz tremble. “It seems like you don’t have any manners. Not when your eyes wonder where they shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t see the hand reaching for him until fingers are pinching his chest and back. Fritz doesn’t even kick as he’s lifted up, only attempts to hug the finger as tightly as possible to ensure he doesn’t die when he’s inevitably let go. All but whimpers at the sight of pure black pupils staring at him with indifference.

“I believe a lesson is in order. You clearly wanted to read my documents, so why don’t I just let you?”

No, please, I’m sorry!

Fritz clenches his eyes shut tightly, refusing to open them as vertigo makes his stomach flip, knows he’s been lowered closer to the symbols.

“Come now, Fritz. A bit disrespectful to not appreciate my kind gesture, don’t you think?”

“I-I-I'm sorry!” the redhead pleads as he frantically shakes his head, the motion making him dizzy. “I’ll never-r do it again! Please! I'm s-sorry-!”

Fritz screams as he’s let go, eyes opening to see the unimpressed look right before he slams onto a semi-hard surface. One that leaves him gasping for air after painfully knocking it out of him. Nothing’s broken, though, no internal organs ruptured.

He feels the now familiar footsteps of a giant carrying him somewhere. Coughs in pain as he’s slid off what he finally realizes was a hand.

“I suggest you get some rest,” David says. Makes Fritz flinch as a finger invades his space. Realizes it was to nudge open the door to his room. “You’re going to need it.”

Fritz doesn’t wait for the monster to leave. He dives into his room, shakingly slams the door shut, and barely manages to make it to his bed before going limp. But despite how exhausted he is, his body can’t stop the trembles as he falls into a dreamless sleep.

#woot!#look at me being productive #got this posted before it's dark outside!#definitely did not write this instead of doing homework HAHA #but I hope ya'll enjoy!#FNAF bois #g/t #giant #tiny #BTE writing #Terms Of Agreement #Terms Of AU #cw #content warning

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w24ith · 4 months ago

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Today is July 21st, and starting tomorrow my life is going to get a whole lot more complicated.

Tomorrow, ideally at 5:00 sharp, I will board a plane with my mother and fly to Germany. I will spend several weeks in art courses and awkward conversations with distant relatives (all the while artfully dodging fun topics like my top surgery and whether or not I’m going to hell), and then, when it’s all over and we’ve had enough of all the excitement, we will fly back home.

Normally that’s where the adventure would end, but not this time. No, this time things get a whole lot more complicated because only two days after touching back down on home soil I’ll be back in a car again, this time driving south to my new home for the next four or so years. I’ll run a few loads of laundry, shove everything I think I need (as well as all the things I think I think I’ll need) into several duffel bags, and somehow get it to fit inside the car.

Once it’s all done and shoved into place I’ll be able to look at my room from the doorframe and try really hard not to cry. And since I’m already having a hard time now, four weeks prior to that fateful day, I’m certain I’ll at least cry a little when the opportunity presents itself.

My room is clean for the first time in months now. My desk is empty of everything nonessential, my floor is swept and free of cat litter, and the clothes in my closet are folded for the first time in a year. My posters are still up and so are my guitars, soccer balls, stuffed animals, and all the small trinkets that make this room feel like my own. But soon they’ll either be crammed in a box or collecting dust. Soon I’ll have to decide what items I’ll allow to become relics and which ones I’ll take with me into my cramped dorm room. I’ll have to know that half of my hoodies are still at home, that half of me is still at home, and that the room I have lived in for the last 18 years is now more a museum dedicated to a prior life than proof of the real thing.

I’ve been sorting my clothes into bins since eleven today. Admittedly, that’s not all I’ve done, but sorting has been the word of the day, I fear. I sorted my clothes, my shoes, my school supplies, my art supplies, and even my art itself. All of it is now packed and categorized into three piles: going to Germany, going to college, or staying home.

And I hate it so much - these boxes, the scattered piles of stuff with me in its center, questions of ‘do I want this?’ and ‘do I really want this?’ until it’s all been picked apart like a whale carcass. Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive, (and a touch dramatic to deal with that,) but sorting things like this makes me want to rip out my teeth.

I think this is affecting me so strongly because it’s kind of like proof that all of this is real and happening. I can’t put off the hard parts anymore. I’m a big boy now and have to not only get my shit together, but also figure out which one of the many boxes that shit belongs in.

The last few days have shown me just how much I can despise change. I finished a major art project, and didn’t know what to do with myself once it was done. I cleaned off my school desk of two years and mourned for a spot that was never really mine to begin with. I said goodbye to three friends who will all be going to college far from me, without me, and had no idea how to deal with it on the whole hour long drive back home. Now, packing up the pieces of my room that give it character or make it ‘mine,’ I feel all these crushing emotions and more. As I peel back layer after layer of my possessions, sweep a decade of dust out from under my bed and sort my old schoolwork into piles, my room feels more sterile. I feel like a landlord painting over personality as one would door hinges with white paint, removing the things I love to make way for change. Change that will come, yet I have yet to accept.

God, what a feeling. To know that this thing that I’ve built in my heart and with my hands could be so easily removed. Perhaps when I stand in the doorway, ready to leave on move-in day, I’ll see it as nothing more than a shell of itself. Something that used to be alive that I have bled dry. Maybe I can convince myself that it was never really my room to begin with, and that these four white walls have always been as empty as they are now.

Maybe it will hurt less that way.

July 21st, 2024, 11:11 pm

Edited August 16th, 2024, 1:17 am

#diary #shit poetry #short form writing

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thatmcgwords · 8 months ago

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One of the first steps toward personal success is to examine your reason for being: why are you here on earth? The life purpose exercise can help you discover this.

To find your purpose, identify two of your strongest personality traits; describe the way you interact with others; and then imagine your ideal world. Once you have done this, combine these into a statement of life purpose.

You might come up with: “My purpose is to use my honesty and passion to inspire others to move forward in their chosen profession, to help contribute to a world where people have fulfilling careers.”

The next step is to create a vision – a mental picture of what your perfect future looks like. What would your perfect job be? How much free time would you have? What sort of friends?

Once you have your vision in mind, break it down into smaller goals that are ambitious, specific and tangible. What do you want to achieve, and how much time will you give yourself to achieve it?

For example, being nicer to your employees may be well-meaning, but it’s not a specific, measurable goal. A clearer goal would be, “I will acknowledge six employees for their help with the latest project by the end of this week.” As you can measure your progress, you’ll know when you have achieved your goal.

Defining a goal for every part of your vision will narrow the gap between your current reality and ultimate success.

Affirmation starts when you state your goal as if it has already been realized, in a complete sentence. The most effective affirmations are in the first person, are positive and to the point.

For example, “I love driving down the highway in my new yellow Lamborghini” is far more effective and precise than saying, “I want a new car.” You should specify exactly what your goal will look like once you have reached it.

It is also important to add to your affirmation sentence how you will feel when you have reached your goal. Researchers have found that ideas stick in our memory better when a thought is coupled with a strong emotion.

Thus, “I feel ecstatic when I’m driving down the highway in my new yellow Lamborghini” is a great affirmation!

Once you’ve crafted your affirmations, connect each with a vivid image of your affirmation, called a visualization.

To do this, close your eyes and imagine your affirmation in as much detail as you can. If your affirmation is, “I enjoy relaxing in the sunroom of my villa in Madrid,” visualize the colors of your house, the furniture in the sunroom, and so on.

Add sounds, smells and tastes to your mental picture. What does it physically feel like to sit on the couch in your sunroom? Can you hear the sounds of the busy street, or birds singing?

The more you fill your visualisation with emotions and sensory details, the more intensely you’ll feel it, giving you more power and momentum to reach your goal.

On your road toward your dream life, you need to excel at what you do. An important principle to focus on is to become an over-achiever. Don’t be afraid to keep trying, and work your way toward your goal one step at a time.

Now that we’ve explored the fundamentals of success, let’s focus on some work you need to finish before you can really achieve your dreams.

First, you need to address unfinished business. Do you have any projects you’ve abandoned or left half-done? Do you need to clean your closet,or finish last year’s taxes? These small things can take valuable energy from achieving your larger goals.

One useful method is to schedule a completion weekend, where you take time to clear your slate of all unfinished business. Be clear and decisive: either do it, delegate it, delay it or dump it.

Although choosing to delay a project doesn’t sound productive, it differs from procrastination in that you are consciously deciding to relegate the item.

This “cleaning up” is not only applicable to tangible stuff in your life, but also to your relationships.

One effective technique you can use to help you forgive someone is to write a “total truth letter” to vent your anger. Write down things that have angered you, and you’ll notice that acknowledging your pain and grudges is the first step toward forgiveness.

to succeed, you need to stem, if not eliminate completely, your negative thoughts.

Yet if you look deep enough, self-love is often found underneath self-criticism. You might think, “I’m fat and lazy,” but if you examine this thought, what you’re really saying is, “I’m scared.”

You’re scared that you might get sick by being overweight, and in your self-criticism, you’re asking yourself to take better care of your body. You’re really saying inside: “I care about myself. I want to be healthy and strong and I deserve to feel great about my body!” This is an expression of self-love.

By transitioning from judgment to admitting fear, to a request for action and then acknowledging love, you’ll start changing your limiting beliefs into thoughts that are positive and beneficial.

So stop judging yourself and start talking to yourself like you know your real value!

Having personal resolve is crucial on your path to success, but you can’t walk that path on your own. Highly successful people always have others to inspire or mentor them along the way.

One thing you can do is to create a support group. You can do this by gathering a so-called mastermind group, a supportive circle of people with whom you can share ideas and challenges.

Another powerful way you can find support is to identify a mentor.

Even though it’s tempting to ask advice from friends or coworkers, it’s far more useful to ask people who’ve already achieved what you want to achieve.

You needn’t be shy about approaching successful people, as most will be eager to share their recipe for success with you.

You can get the ball rolling by writing an email to someone you think would make a suitable mentor, and ask if they could spare 15 minutes per month for you to share ideas and ask questions.

How exactly do you do this? It depends on the type of person you are, whether auditory, visual or tactile. The best way to appreciate others is to discover what makes them tick and combine different ways to express appreciation.

For instance, you could invite someone for dinner, give them an encouraging pat on the back, praise them over the phone or write them a thank-you card.

But crucially, be as authentic as possible. You shouldn’t hide the truth when it needs to be told. But also remember to honor and thank the people who support you

Do you agree that “money is the root of all evil?”

If so, you need to redefine what wealth means to you. Most of us think that wealth is only about money, our assets or possessions. However, it’s much more than that: wealth also contains intellectual, human and civic facets.

In terms of financial assets, you may ask: what goals do I have for my property, and what stocks and bonds would I like to own?

Aside from tangible assets, try to also see how your relationships, health, morals and habits connect with how you create wealth. Also consider your education, your reputation and your skills.

Another factor that will add considerably to your personal well-being is to offer your time to a worthy cause. Helping others has a remarkable effect on keeping us content and satisfied in our lives.

Studies on volunteerism have shown that people who help others enjoy longer and healthier lives. Also, those of us who start volunteering and helping others at a young age are more likely to benefit from a successful career later on.

Consider which causes are closest to your heart. For example, if you love to read, you could volunteer to read to the blind. You could even start a business that makes books for blind people.

To get the most out of what life can offer, you need to become “wealthy,” which means so much more than just having financial assets.

Actionable advice:

Cross off a nagging task on your to-do list, today.

It may be as simple as filing some papers or getting your car’s oil checked, but completing a neglected task, even if just one per day, will make a huge difference toward achieving your more ambitious goals.

Ask someone you admire for 15 minutes of their time.

Find someone who has achieved a dream similar to your own and ask for 15 minutes of their time per month to advise and mentor you. The worst they can say is “no,” and in the best case, you might find a person who will be an invaluable resource in helping you live the life you want.

Suggested further reading: The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey

The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People introduces the habits which single out people who deal effectively with the world around them. The author believes that people who lead successful and fulfilling lives do not pursue a state of individual independence as their ultimate goal, but instead align themselves internally with universal principles, such as honesty and integrity.

#blinkist

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sheliesshattered · 11 months ago

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In my last couple of Batuu bounding prep posts, I've referenced my latest sewing project for that upcoming trip (3 weeks from now!!) but I've been buzzing along on it so well that I haven't done more than pause to take a picture now and then while I work. It's getting close to finished, so I figured it was time for a post about it!

Last sewing update, I was working on my blue linen vest, drafting the pattern and fitting the lining. The issue with the bust seam that was driving me crazy turned out to be a mistake with my notch markings, which didn't transfer correctly between patterns, so the two edges were mismatched. Once I figured that out, I was able to correct the error, get that bust seam sewn, and try on the lining for fit.

There are a couple of small things I want to change before I cut out the exterior layer of the linen, but the major thing that fitting revealed was that I needed to decide on which shirt I'm going to wear under it -- or at least, the thickest shirt I'm likely to wear under it. I tried a couple of things in my closet to see what color and texture looked best with the blue linen of the vest and the gray and black herringbone of the hooded wrap. The white shirt was too bright, the black shirt was too dark, the gray shirt too flat, the green waffle knit okay but still not quite right.

And while I was going in and out of my closet looking for options, I kept seeing the Solstice dress I sewed in December, with its pretty blue-gray cotton sweatshirt knit fleece. Since all the shirts I tried on just weren't working, I put on the Solstice dress instead and put the linen vest and the hooded wrap on with it. The color was perfect, just a lovely mid point between the blue of the vest and the gray of the hooded wrap. The dress itself wouldn't work, but maybe a shirt made out of that fabric?

The only problem was, I didn't have very much fabric left over after making the Solstice dress and the wide-legged pants I layer underneath it on especially cold days. I had a couple of pieces that were a yard or yard and a half long, but only one scrap with that sort of length that was 14" wide. Everything else was in the 6" to 12" wide range, and all with curvy uneven edges left over from the princess seams of the dress. I thought about maybe ordering another yard of the same stuff, but that would mean waiting for it to ship, then washing and drying it before I could even start on this shirt. And everything else I'm sewing for this Batuu day are all stash-busters, using fabric I already had on hand, nothing but a zipper and some thread bought new.

So I decided not to order more, and just draft my pattern around the blue-gray sweatshirt knit fabric that I do have on hand -- and thus the 'scrappy sweatshirt' was born. After looking through all the scraps I had, I drafted a pattern based on a fitted rashguard I made in 2021, which had princess seams (because that's the only way to get something actually fitted on me, lol), and a narrow contrast stripe on the body under the arm and a matching one on the underside of the sleeve. I used the neckline from the Batuu vest so those V-neck angles will match, made a couple of adjustments to the bust shaping, then cut out the pattern and started looking for scraps big enough for all the pieces I needed -- 14" wide center front and center back, shaped side front and side back pieces, narrow rectangular side pieces, and six pieces total for the long sleeves.

I decided to do lapped seams throughout the project, for a couple of reasons: First, I know from sewing the Solstice dress that regular old plain seams end up being a bit bulky in this fabric, especially on places like the bust seam where both sides of the seam allowance like to fold to one side, creating an area that's three layers of heavy knit fleece stacked together. Since this shirt will be going under a fitted vest, the less bulk the better. And secondly, since I was working with so little fabric, I knew that I'd get more mileage out of what I do have with lapped seams rather than plain seams. With a plain seam, I lose 1cm on each side of the seam, but with a lapped seam it's only about 1cm total -- and with fabric scraps this narrow, every centimeter counts, lol.

I tried a couple of techniques on some scraps that were too small to be much use in any other way, and decided on a tiny raw edge on the exterior, with one line of stitching, and 1cm of seam allowance on the pieces that go underneath in the lapping process. I had to use chalk to mark out that 1cm from the edge distance on every under piece, and then draw on markings for any notches, but besides that being a bit tedious, the seams went together nice and easily, and I very quickly had a front and back of three pieces each, connected at the shoulders with an under-lapped piece about 2.5" wide.

I cut similar 2.5" wide strips for the side seams and for the tops of the sleeves (since I'd had to split the sleeves down the middle just to be able to find enough fabric to cut them out of). The sides of the body went on easy as can be, exactly the right length -- and then I started in on the sleeves and realized that I had cut four strips to the shorter length of the body, rather than two at that length and two more at the ~5" longer length for the sleeves.

I had one moment of feeling like I'd screwed the whole thing up and wondering if I could possibly find enough fabric to re-cut those long thin on-grain strips. And then I realized, wait, this is the scrappy sweatshirt project, and the unusual piecing of the whole thing is half the point. So rather than even try to find enough fabric to cut out new sleeve stripes, I decided to do some intense (and decorative) piecing on the wrist end of the sleeve. The hooded wrap covers to about my elbows, and the vest will cover the main body of the shirt, so really that lower section of the sleeve is the thing that will be most noticeable, anyway.

I cut out 16 little rectangles at the same 2.5" width, and about 3.2cm tall (literally just the width of my metal ruler I use as a cutting guide, lol) and marked the 1cm overlap so I could start sewing them together. My plan has been to do an edge facing in that same ~3.2cm length at the neckline, hip-level hem, and sleeve hem, so making those all match seemed like a good idea.

I really like the final effect of this funny little shingled detail, especially for something that came out of a mistake in my pattern drafting and the restrictions of my very limited fabric. Once I had the shingles all added to the end of the long strip, I sewed them into the center of the sleeve, what will be the outside of the arm, with that same under-lapped style I'd done at the shoulders and the side panel of the body of the sweatshirt. It's a little bit similar to the pleated panel I'm adding to Jack's jacket, but without the pleating and with more raw edges.

With those panels set in, I then trued up both sleeves so that they match each other and the long seam is the same length on both sides, then added that 3.2cm wide hem treatment, for this final look:

The shingles end just below my elbow, so even with the relatively tight fit of these sleeves and the extra stiffness from all that stitching, I'll still have full comfortable range of movement. The strip at the hem is cut with the grain of the knit running perpendicular to the sleeve, which means it won't curl up or fray as much as the knit going the usual up-and-down direction.

The only place I couldn't do a lapped seam is in turning the sleeve into a tube -- or, I could have, but I would have had to handsew it, and I am so not about that right now, not with three weeks to go and Jack's jacket still needing handsewing too, lol. So I did a regular old plain seam with the raw edges facing inwards, but it's so normal looking that it really just melts into the background of all these other interesting looking lapped seams and raw edges.

So to repeat the first pic in this post, here's the current state of the sweatshirt, with my little leather gloves as an accent:

Tomorrow's tasks will be to attach the sleeves to the shoulders with another lapped seam (after possibly bringing in the edges of the shoulder top under-lap a little bit, so it matches the sleeves perfectly). Once I can try it on with the sleeves attached, I'll mark any changes I want to make to the neckline, then do the same hem facing treatment there as I did on the sleeves, with the narrow on-grain strip. The very last thing will be to even out and level the lower edge of the sweatshirt, and apply a similar hem treatment there, too.

I'm hoping to be able to get through all those steps tomorrow, and officially be able to call this piece of my Batuu outfit done. Then I'll be able to wear it while I do a final fitting of the vest lining, make any changes to the vest pattern based on those changes, and cut out the exterior fabric. After that point, I'm hoping the vest will come together pretty quickly, and we'll see if I have any time for adding little detail bits like functioning pockets or loops for code cylinders.

At the very least I would love to have a pocket specifically for my pilot's license, just so I can keep it both handy and safe from getting scratched up. But that's the sort of thing I can think about once the sweatshirt and the vest and the pleating stripes on Jack's jacket are all done. Three weeks isn't a ton of time, but on the other hand, three weeks ago I hadn't yet started on the pleating for Jack's jacket, much less these two other scratch builds. So if I can keep up a good rate of progress, I think I'll be able to get through all the projects and detail work I want to finish before our Batuu day.

And with that, I should wrap this post up and go get some sleep, lol.

#my sewing #scrappy sweatshirt project #Batuu vest #Batuu Bounding #2024 mood

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redrosesandforgetmenots · 1 year ago

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Through Your Eyes

Pretty Little Liars (Chapter Four)

3,974 words

The storage closet of Art Room B was quiet, the stiff air smelling like oil paint with a lingering under current of pencil shavings and paper. Tweek was tucked away into a corner, working on the project that would make or break his grade this semester- a mixed media project meant to "evoke the image of the written word." He sometimes wanted to know what was going through his teachers head when she assigned this type of shit.

He had chosen to depict a poem from "Crank" by Ellen Hopkins. And was trying to figure out what picture from a magazine evoked the word "coalescing." Tweek gently pulled the magazines out of his bag, the folder Craig had given him earlier falling out as well. Distracted by remembering its existence, he opened it, curious to see what he had dropped.

He was immediately greeted by Craig's face, the half finished portrait of the boy who sat next to him in first period. Tweek quickly closed the folder, flushed. Craig had seen it? It was the first thing in the folder that the other had assembled. Questions flooded his mind. Is that why Craig came out to him? Did he think Tweek had a crush on him? Did him coming out mean he had a crush?

Tweek quickly shoved the folder back in his bag, turning his attention back to the magazines. He stared blankly at the images in question, but his mind was still racing with thoughts about Craig. Soon the bell rang, and he made his way into the actual classroom, quickly zipping past everyone on their way out and running to Wends' locker.

Thankfully, they were actually there, in an animated conversation with Stan. Tweek stood behind the dark haired boy, not saying anything. Luckily he was quickly spotted. "TT?" Wends asked, looking behind Stan.

"Hey, Tweek! We were just talking about this weekend-" Stan noticed Tweek absolutely shaking, his breathing ragged. "... You okay man?"

"I-Im- What if I like Craig?" Wends expression went vacant, eyes empty as they measured their response.

"That … would be okay. But hes… I don't think you know him well enough to like him." Wends pointed out, before mustering up a pitiful smile. "I'm not sure he's exactly boyfriend material, T…"

"Craig's a dick!" Stan exclaimed.

"I know." Tweek replied bluntly. "B-but I could get to know him better!" Wends and Stan shared a glance.

"... Well dude… I know parties aren't your thing, but … my dad's taking my mom to a cannabis convention so I have the farm to myself. I was gonna have a little get together. I could invite Craig, if you want?"

Tweek paused for a moment. He knew Stan meant the best, but he was also inviting Bebe and Eric, so chances were their little get together would become a full on rager, and that was absolutely not his scene. But if Craig went, it'd be a nice neutral place to talk. "I'd be okay with that."

"Cool! Chances are he won't show up unless I invite the other guys he hangs with… I guess this little party isn't going to be that little." Stan said, looking to Wends, who shrugged. With who he was inviting, it didn't seek like it ever would've been in the first place.

"Charge a door fee, see who still shows up," Tweek joked, before the bell started ringing. He quickly scurried to his next class, dodging others in the hallway.

*****

"Its not l-like it's a full on date Bebe, i-its just a party!" Tweek had once again been dragged out shopping. This time it was just the two who were out thrifting, Bebe holding an assortment of women's blouses up to Tweek, attempting to visualize him in them.

"Mmm… this isn't gonna work, you're gonna have to actually try stuff on." Bebe said, putting her choices into the cart. "And besides, Craig dressed up to give you your papers back! You need to like, return the favor?"

Tweek shrugged. "He probably had s-something else to do, or he just ran out of clean laundry-"

"I've seen Craig wear the same exact shirt for a week straight. And there definitely wasn't anything else going on today, I would know!" Bebe pointed out. She went to the sweater section next, pulling out a mint green cardigan. "Cute… but not super you. Yknow?"

"That colour is f-fucking ugly." Bebe gasped in faux shock, horrified by his hatred for pastels.

"Excuse you, it's almost spring! You really need to experiment with florals, or something." She pulled another cardigan off the rack. Brown, with little crochet leaves hanging off it in various shades of green, vines giving it more texture as they ran parallel down the front and sleeves. It looked handmade.. Tweek had to admit he liked it. They put it in the cart.

"OK so like… cargo pants are not going to go with my Spring Awakening forest academia vibe I'm trying to go for.. how do you feel about shorts."

"Abhorrent." Tweek replied, but was dragged over to the rack anyway, this time on the men's section.

Bebe huffed. "You're not being a very good dress up doll!" She joked, pulling a pair of very short corduroy shorts off the rack. They matched the brown of the cardigan, but Tweek shook his head. Who would ever want to see that much of his legs? "Pleeeaaaassseee at least try them on? You'll be so cute!"

"Im n-not supposed to be cute, Bebe." Tweek replied, "I-Im trying to not get peoples attention." He already looked weird enough.

"Okay but, do you wanna look cute for Craig?" She asked, putting the shorts in the cart. Tweek flushed, but didn't push any further. He had to admit, he regretted not putting in any effort today. He literally just picked the same sweater from yesterday off the floor because he knew it was still mostly clean from being washed two days ago. Should he have worn a button down too today? No- he could never get the buttons right. Which was concerning considering how many of them were in the cart right now.

Bebe rifled through them, picking out one that looked pretty sheer, it was white, and had way too many ruffles for Tweek's liking. They lined the collar, down the front, and the ends of the sleeves. "It's not perfect," she said, "But I have an idea!" She handed him the shorts, shirt, and cardigan. "Go try these on right now!" Tweek groaned, but did as asked, entering the dressing room.

There was a slew of hangers already in the dressing room, and the mirror was cracked on one side. Still, it would work. Tweek changed as quickly as possible, avoiding his reflection before stepping back outside for Bebes reaction. He hid in the door frame, pulling down the hem of the shorts. They couldn't even make it past the middle of the middle of his thighs.

"You look so perfect!" Bebe replied, but swooped in to make adjustments. She tucked the top into the pants and thankfully did up the cardigan. It left only about an inch of shorts hanging out the bottom of it, and Tweek glanced down to his bony, bruised knees with a grimace. "Okay, so I'm gonna take this blouse, wash it obvi, and then dye it green. So then for jewelry-"

"No." Tweek stopped her in her tracks. He was already uncomfortable enough, the party was bound to be overstimulating, the last thing he needed was the feeling of accessories. "Th-this isn't girls go games, Bebe. I-I was just gonna wear jeans and a t shirt or something. This is… i-its too much."

Bebe was pouting. "Okay… no jewelry, I can do that but please, please at least come in with this? We can bring you a change of clothes, I promise! But you'd look so good next to me and Wends in our matching sweater dresses!" Tweek sighed, but relented.

"A-as long as I can change … c-can we go now?" The music was loud, and the smell was really starting to get to him, it made his exhaustion feel all the more prominent.

"Totally, thanks for doing this, TT! You're like, the first customer in my new stylist business!" She joked. Tweek quickly went into change back, ignoring the mirror once more. Now he was gonna smell like thrift store all day… hopefully Bebes trip to Ulta wouldn't take that long, he desperately wanted a shower.

Tweeks phone buzzed in one of his pockets, and he pulled it out as he exited the dressing room.

Unknown Number:

Have a good weekend everyone! Enjoy the party, I'm sure it's gonna be killer!

-L

Okay, what the actual shit? Tweek rolled his eyes and blocked the number. How cheesy, who even signed their texts anymore?

The shopping trip wrapped up with relative ease, and Tweek and Bebe made it to Wends house for the pre party sleepover.

*****

"But, are you sure you like like him?" Marjorine asked while Bebe was pushing Tweeks cuticles back. Tweek groaned.

"I-I don't know! He's just- AGH! This is too much pressure!" Tweek pulled his hands away from Bebe to grab at his hair. He wasn't sure how the topic of his liking of Craig came about, but he wanted this conversation to be over.

"Isn't he straight?" Nichole asked, looking up from the TV where she and Heidi were trying to figure out a movie to watch. Tweek simply buried his head in his hands, refusing to answer. He knew Craig wasn't, but that wasn't anyone else's business. He was good at keeping secrets- he'd kept his parents for long enough after all.

"Didn't he have that crush on that kid with tourettes in the fourth grade?" Heidi offered.

"Craig is definitely gay." Red piped up, "at every family reunion it always gets brought up. He's never had a girlfriend, at least."

"Guys! It's uncouth the speculate on someone's sexuality!" Wends said, "... but I remember in fifth grade he held hands with Tweek all the time until Cartman called him… well, you know."

"Fags?" Tweek replied for them, before letting out a sigh. "I-i mean.. he's always been like that though! H-he was a very clingy kid."

"To you," Nichole said, "I don't remember him ever holding hands with Tolkien or Jimmy."

"H-he held hands with Clyde!"

"Yeah, but Clyde was a cry baby. I mean like, I get it after his mom died, but it's like he never stopped." Bebe replied, gently taking Tweeks hand again to finish her task.

"Well, I think Craig's just afraid of what other people will think! And you can't live your life that way!" Marjorine said with a smile. "And I think all the fellas just gave him shit because they're too afraid of themselves."

"Well said," Wends said, handing Marjorine a bag of Cheesy Poofs.

"C-can we just not talk about Craig tonight?" Tweek asked, and all the girls nodded and replied in agreement.

*****

Craig couldn't believe he got dragged to a lame party and Stan's house. He would have absolutely said no, if Stan hadn't promised that Tweek would be there. Now he was in the living room, sitting on the couch with Kenny and Jimmy as they passed a blunt back and forth.

He still hadn't seen Tweek, but honestly he was just trying to zone out the overly loud music and chatter around him. Thankfully the lights were dimmed, but he still could hardly think. ".. I wanna go home." He mumbled, more to himself than anything.

"H-hang on, the girls aren't even-arent even here yet!" Jimmy replied, before taking a hit. That was a lie. There were plenty of girls at this party, but he knew which ones Jimmy meant.

"Yeah dude! And they're bringing the tweeksterrrrr!" Kenny replied, sing songing the nickname for Tweek in a teasing tone. "And I heard from Marj that he's gonna look super hot tonight." Craig rolled his eyes, leaning back. He guess he could at least hold out to see Tweek, then go home…

The door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air. Bebe, Wends, and their friends all entered in, Tweek bringing up the rear, wearing the shortest shorts he'd ever seen. Wasn't he freezing? Still, Craig took a long, appreciative look at his legs. They were pale, and covered in light blonde hair and bruises- they looked like they were sculpted out of marble… at least to Craig. Tweeks internal monologue was far less kind.

"Everyone is looking at me- these shorts are too short, I'm fucking freezing! Are my legs turning blue? Oh god fuck everyone can see my goosebumps they must look so gross-" Tweek's mind rant was cut short when he made eye contact with brown eyes from across the room. The door closed behind him,but he didn't move to get closer inside. He and Craig stared at each other for a moment, before Craig finally made a move to get up.

"...Hey." Craig greeted, feeling much less confident on his feet than he had sitting down. He finally felt the full effects of the weed hitting him, and he was probably staring a little too intensely at the shorter blonde in front of him.

"Hey…" Tweek greeted back, wrapping the cardigan tighter around the sheer green blouse underneath it. Luckily the cardigan covered everything, but it still made Tweek nervous.

"You look cold." Craig said simply. "Do you want a blanket?" He had no fucking clue where the Marshs kept their spare blankets, but he could figure it out.

"Uuuhh… kinda.. kinda wanted to get a drink first? Maybe a snack or something?" Tweek couldn't give a shit about snacks right now. Truth be told he wanted the blunt sitting plainly in Kenny's hand, but he needed to get a scope of the party first. At least make the rounds before bailing.

"Oh… yeah, for sure. I'll come with you." The song changed, playing Speed Drive by Charli XCX, which effectively got most people dancing. Craig absent-mindedly took Tweeks hand to lead him through the surprisingly thick crowd and into the kitchen. Thankfully it was mildly quiet, Stan and Kyle having a conversation by the fridge withstanding. There was a good amount of alcohol on the kitchen counter, mostly stolen from Randy's stash.

"What did you want?" He asked, dropping Tweeks hand, who looked at them briefly, before grabbing a beer off the table. "Gross… that's all?"

Tweek shrugged, "I'm a simple man." Craig cracked a smile, before pouring midori into a mountain dew. "That's disgusting…"

"You have your drinks, I got mine." Craig replied, now secured with his stereotypical red solo cup. "Wanna head back out to Kenny and Jimmy?"

"... Not really? I-i mean… it's kinda loud in here, man." Tweek replied, shifting from foot to foot as he looked around.

"I brought my car. I'm sure we could just sit in it with the heater on and smoke." Craig replied. "Come back in when we're good and stoned."

"... I'd like that. Yeah…" Tweek replied, grabbing another beer. Just in case he finished it in the car. Craig took Tweeks hand again to lead him outside, out to his shitty PT Cruiser.

"So…" Craig started once they were inside with the heater blasting, and he pulled out a joint from his pocket in a plastic baggie. "You look really nice tonight."

"... Thanks man." Tweek replied, and Craig could swear he saw Tweeks cheeks redden in the dim light. "I never dress like this though… i-its um… I-I'm pretty cold?" Craig passed him the joint, and finally noticed the polish on the others fingers.

"Did you paint your nails?" Olive green had been perfectly manicured onto them, with flecks of gold sitting on top.

"Ummmm… B-Bebe did, actually. Said my outfit needed more green tones." Tweek pulled his hand away protectively, before taking a hit off the joint.

"Maybe she can do mine sometime." Craig replied, showing off the manicure he'd done in sharpie. It was mostly faded by now, but the black was still managing to just barely hang on. "I think nail polish is pretty cool."

"Damn, you really are gay." Tweek said without thinking, immediately shutting his mouth and looking towards Craig, who was… laughing? He didn't seem to be upset at all.

"I mean… yeah I guess… I mean I had to think about it and.. I guess everyone else realized before I did, and that sucks ass but, I am pretty damn gay." He locked eyes with Tweek again, his gaze hazy. "And you look really pretty…"

"You are so stoned right now!" Tweek replied, going to take a few more sips of his drink. The way Craig was looking at Tweek made him feel butterflies, but he was so obviously high out of his mind- he couldn't really mean it, right?

"Tweek… I am so serious. You're the prettiest boy in the whole damn school I swear- you-you.. fuck man, I don't know what I'm saying."

"...Clearly." Tweek replied. "I-I'm just going to smoke the rest of this, if you don't mind."

Craig nodded, focusing more on his drink instead. He still stared at Tweek, his eyes drinking in the way moon light looked on him. It highlighted the curve of his nose in pale light, caressing his gaunt cheekbones and long eyelashes. He even looked pretty smoking a joint, his lips wrapping around it in a way that made Craig's recent realizations about his wants prove more than true. "You look like an angel," he said after a while of silence, feeling the warmth of the alcohol fill him.

"D-dont say cheesy shit like that man!" Tweek replied with a laugh, "I'll think y-you have a crush on me or-or something!" The joint was almost done, looking like it was down to the tips of Tweeks long fingers. Piano hands, Craig remembered.

"Do you still play piano?" He asked quietly, now staring at Tweeks hands.

"Uhh… y-yeah. Thankfully my-my parents never cooked anything or brought any-anything to the house so I got to umm… sorry I got to keep my stuff? S-s-sorry I didn't mean to talk about it."

"No its okay… I'm glad you gotta keep your piano." Craig replied. Tweek was still shivering slightly, and Craig took off his hoodie, handing it to Tweek. Tweek graciously took it, immediately putting it on. He'd tolerate the teenage boy stink if it meant that he'd be warm.. and honestly, Craig didn't smell that bad.

"Thank you," Tweek said, zipping the hoodie up.

"Ready to go back inside?" Craig asked, to which Tweek just shrugged, but got out of the car anyway. The hoodie was so long it actually covered his shorts. Something about the sight made Craig feel warm inside- or maybe that was the alcohol. Either way, the warmth kept him going until they got back into the house, where rain started pattering on the windows. It went unheard over the music.

"You do look really nice tonight, that outfit looks good on you." Craig complimented. It looked like Tweek had even made an attempt to tame his wild blonde hair, though any effort was destroyed by the wind outside.

"I feel l-like a ti-tik tok alt kid circa twenty twenty."Tweek replied bitterly. "But thanks man… B-Bebe just wanted t-to dress me up t-to-FUCK. … Tonight. She just wanted to dress me up tonight."

Craig slid a little closer to him, taking his hand again. It was subconscious. It honestly felt natural. He could feel Kenny gleefully staring at them, he looked up to see the bastard flashing him a thumbs up. "Why'd she wanna do that?"

Instead of a reply, Tweek just smiled awkwardly at him, squeezing his hand. "... I think I need another drink."

"Third beer of the night… I'm surprised you're not a lightweight." Tweek just shrugged.

"M-my bodys been through worse."

They made their way back into the kitchen, which had gotten busier in their absence. Tweek quickly grabbed another beer before he was pushed out of the way by a girl with long black hair, and he and Craig retreated to a corner. "T-too loud in here…" Tweek mumbled.

"Hey queers," Came the ever grating voice of Eric Cartman. "You guys need a room or what?"

"Fuck you-w-wait… is that an offer?" Tweek looked at the larger boy in confusion. Eric had the most smug look on his face, but it wasn't evil… it was so odd.

"Figured if you two fags wanted to hook up you should at least have your own room! They've got a spare bedroom now, I could take you to it." Cartman offered. Craig and Tweek looked at each other incredulously.

"I… we.. we're not gonna fuck, dude." Craig replied, incredibly confused.

".... sure, whatever, but isn't it too loud in here, aren't there too many people here for your autistic asses? Don't you guys wanna confess all your gay feelings and shit?" Craig tensed at that, but nodded. There were too many people here for his autistic ass, actually.

They followed Eric up the stairs to a bedroom that looked like it belonged to Stan's older sister once upon a time, and Eric quickly shut the two of them inside alone. Never in his life did Tweek think Eric Cartman would be his saving grace.

Tweek went to sit on the bed, immediately pulling the blanket up over his legs, kicking off his boots. He leaned back against the wall, letting out a sigh of relief as the noise was finally muffled enough for him to relax.

But now the two were alone. In a room. Together.

Sure they'd been in the car together, but being in a bedroom had more expectations. People would certainly talk, especially since Cartman was absolutely running his mouth right now. "Hey so… we aren't gonna be…y-yknow… sleeping together?"

"I'm not interested in sex." Craig said plainly. It sounded almost rehearsed.

"C-cool! Just checking!" Tweek replied, "me neither… a-anyways um… I guess we could talk?" Craig nodded, sitting on the bed next to him, but reached out to hold Tweeks hand again. Tweek didn't protest. Actually, it was kind of nice.

"W-we held hands all the time when we were kids…" Tweek whispered. Staring at the interlaced fingers between them.

"Yeah… why'd we stop?" Craig asked, his words slurring slightly.

"Cartman called you a fag and you stopped."

"Oh…"Craig had a look of concentration on his face. "... sorry." He mumbled finally, his thumb stroking the back of Tweeks hand.

"D-dont worry about it. A-a-after that I came out and we stopped talking as much."

"Wait- I thought we stopped talking because your parents got arrested?"

"A-are you kid-kidding me? Dude, I came out and you never texted me again! Y-y-you wouldn't pick up my calls-"

"My dad took my phone that year. Shit grades."

"What-why didn't you say that then?"

"I didn't know you were texting me!"

Tweek and Craig stared at each other for a moment, mouths agape in mirroring expressions of shock.

"Oh… I… I guess I didn't think to ask… wh-why you weren't picking up."

"And then your parents got arrested and you kind of… you kind of stopped talking to anyone but Wendy and Bebe."

"Yeah…." Tweek bit his lip in thought, before looking back up at Craig. "Everyone thinks you're a complete dick, you know?"

"I know."

"I-i-its kind of funny… y-you have a reputation of being such an ass wipe, b-but you've always been nice to me… I mean-usually."

"I like you." Craig stated bluntly, putting his other hand on top of the one he was holding.

"Man, y-you can't say shit like that-"

"No. Tweek. I like you. I have a crush on you. I have for years."

"I-you-I-WHAT?"

#south park #creek #south park fanfiction #craig tucker #tweek tweak #through your eyes

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maximotts · 2 years ago

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𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎: 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 & 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑

a/n: yes this is a day late, I've had a week from hell and I'm not having a holly jolly holiday season. Hopefully this really long chapter makes up for it! Reminder that we've got a scheduled break for this series for two weeks ask I do holiday things (derogatory) and finish up my Christmas fic

✎— priest’s daughter!Wanda x college student!reader ✎— confessions AU; after Wanda gets some much needed help from a few friends, she prepares for her first date.. at Carol's house party. Ups and downs ensue, but you try your best not to ruin the rare night out ✎— warnings: this is an 18+ series, minors DNI; light sexual content with some?? angsty scenarios? more like tense situations; drinking; talks of sex toys; intimidation, but R comes to the rescue; more shameless groping; first kisses; brief make outs; hard conversations and Soft Tummy Wanda Time

✎— words: 7.5k

series masterlist. || main masterlist.

“I can’t embarrass her, I don’t know what I was thinking… see you Saturday! What an idiot!” Wanda had been laid out on Natasha and Agatha’s couch between the two women for the past half hour, angsting over the earlier exchange through tears she thought she’d finished shedding back in high school. “I’ll stay home, there’s no way I should go.”

Natasha spoke up first, having been the one to open the door to find her best friend’s twin sister fidgeting in the hallway. As soon as Nat opened her mouth, Wanda was crying, falling into the slightly shorter woman with all her weight. She brought her inside quickly, hauled her to the couch while Agatha made her tea; she hadn’t seen Wanda this distraught in years so whatever happened, Nat knew it had to have been bad.

Her first instinct was to ask who did what and give them a piece of her mind, but Wanda never let her, always insisting that reactions just made everything worse. “There’s no way you aren’t going. You have to after all of that, or you’ll look cowardly.”

“But Tasha!” Wanda shot up to her knees, all watery eyes and red-tipped nose, nearly hitting the redhead in the face, “No one wants me there! And Carol was right.. I can’t dress like this.”

She’d never given much thought to what she wore; her dad didn’t let her wear anything too revealing growing up and when none of her mall trips were with friends instead of him, Wanda’s closet wasn’t exactly filled with each year’s trendy clothes. In college, she stayed with the familiar and dressed comfortably— now she feared you’d just been polite every time you paid her a compliment.

“There’s one person that wants you there!” Agatha chimed in, righting Wanda’s skirt where it’d twisted around in her distress. She’d been assigned Natasha’s roommate in their first year of college; in their second, they’d moved into an apartment together off campus and when Wanda took up residence down the hall for their third, Natasha warned her that Wanda had been heavily sheltered and sometimes needed that extra bit of attention and care.

Honestly, Agatha thought her friend was exaggerating, having met Pietro once or twice and not sensing anything off, but Wanda was a special case. Still, the younger girl was one of the kindest people she’d ever met and she enjoyed whenever she popped over for a chat. “And anyways, I think you look adorable.”

She was trying to help, but instead she only proved Carol’s point. Wanda groaned and fell back once more, head buried in the cushions, “I’m twenty years old, adorable isn’t going to cut it.”

The two older girls shared a look, Natasha’s worried while Agatha’s turned mischievous. Nat knew that look from the beginning of Agatha’s schemes and protectiveness kicked in anew. “Agatha.. I don’t think I like that look.”

She brushed her friend off with a scoff, prodding at Wanda’s ragdoll state until she could wrench her upright once more. Unlike Natasha, she hadn’t grown up with them all, but from the day she met Wanda, Agatha saw a project. Now that she finally had an in, she wouldn’t pass it up. Especially not when it was for a good cause, “You wanna be hot, is that it? You want your new crush to see you and not be able to keep her hands off you?”

That shook Wanda to attention, cheeks beet red. Sure she didn’t want to be mocked or subject you to any torment just being seen with her, but she couldn’t imagine you wanting all of.. that from her of all people. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of it, but whenever she did, she tried her hardest to shake that seemingly impossible reality away, “No, I-”

“So when you show up to that party dressed like you belong there, it’s because you want to hold her hand?” Natasha laughed, pinching Wanda on the cheek because she knew how much she hated it. Maybe Agatha was right; a little push might be good for Wanda, at least to give her a chance to try. “Have her push you on the swings?”

This was not the conversation Wanda wanted to have today, not when she couldn’t even take the first step to kiss you. Needing to keep her mind from that spiraling train of thought, she spun around to face Natasha now, pouting hard, “I’m not a baby, be real!”

Agatha tugged at Wanda’s dress gently, pulling at the material and letting the skirt fall back to her thighs. “Admit you want to stop looking like the poster child for an abstinence pamphlet and start dressing for a strip club and we’ll help you.”

“That is not what I want.” Reminders of some of the outfits she’d seen her peers wear flashed in her head with red alarm sirens; they’d be sure to catch your eye, seen you on Instagram with similar girls dancing and laughing without a care in the world. Beautiful as they were, that just wasn’t her. Wanda couldn’t turn into a new person overnight, nor did she want to. If she got new clothes, they had to be things she actually wanted to wear. Things you’d like on her. “I want her not to be embarrassed to be seen with me. I want her to kiss me, to flirt with me even though I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing! I want her to like me.”

Agatha backed off, sighing and taking one of Wanda’s shaking hands in her own. “I’d bet money she already likes you; you’re lovely and it sounds like you two already spend so much time together.” Neither her nor Natasha wanted Wanda to be so down on herself; there was no need to be, considering how, from the picture Wanda painted, you were plenty into her. Telling her outright might scare her though; it was always baby steps with the poor dear. “All you need to do is show her you’re interested and a little wardrobe change never hurt anyone. If you hate it, you still have your old clothes, no harm done.”

Wanda nodded, staring down at her lap until Natasha grabbed her chin and forced her to look up. “Come on, cheer up, you won’t have that much work to do. You’re beautiful already,” Nat cupped Wanda’s cheek, booped her nose before pushing her dress down to reveal bare shoulders. “And I’ve seen you in a bathing suit, you’ve got legs for days and gorgeous tits-”

“Hey!” Wanda jumped as Natasha gave them a squeeze, instantly self-conscious. There was a night a few days ago, one of your lazy nights when you laid your head in her lap while she read an article off her tablet for extra credit, where you did the same thing. Softer than her friend just now, a singular slow touch.

She looked down, naively thinking a stray hair on her shirt was the cause, but when she asked you only grinned and reasoned they looked too soft not to touch and went back to watching your show. Wanda decided to keep how tingly the action made her feel away from her two friends for now; they’d never let her live it down. “Just help me pick what to wear on Saturday.”

As soon as Wanda conceded, Agatha was up and searching for her laptop, “Oh, we can do so much more than one night’s something!”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

The days leading up to the party were filled with Wanda reassuring not only herself, but also you that she was perfectly fine to go. It was sweet how you worried about her, checking in at least once a day to make sure she knew there was no obligation to show up or prove anything to anyone.

Wanda appreciated the sentiment, but she wanted to like parties, to go and have fun with you somewhere other than your living rooms for once. Only on Friday, opening the package of clothes she’d bought under Nat and Agatha’s guidance, that she nearly wavered, but when Maria Hill wandered up to where you were eating lunch and whispered something in your ear scandalous enough to make you blush, Wanda’s jealousy wouldn’t let her back out.

You didn’t mention that you’d caught her pouting, kept that tidbit to yourself for fun. Instead you smiled and flirted right back, ignoring Wanda’s clearly grumpy demeanor. It wasn’t nice, you shouldn’t have done it when the only girl you cared about was the one who’d made the lovely wrap you’d been eating before you got interrupted.

Once she was gone, you tried smoothing it over with a hug and an apology, but Wanda was smart enough to see right through it, shoving you hard back into your chair and calling your behavior gross. She was still huffy when you left her that afternoon, half expecting her to call off your plans, but she only mumbled out a warning not to be late and shut the door in your face. You only parted for a short while, but in that time, Wanda had a lot to do; she’d been nervous enough without having seen Maria’s little display.

As she sat at her desk, willing a steady hand to apply the eyeliner she so rarely wore, her brain fell back on what it did best: overthink. Visions of the two of you arriving as a pair, just for you to leave her as soon as you found someone better to dance with or talk to, or worse, the whole party being a front for some long game joke, poked at her fragile determination. You’re being annoyingly irrational, she scolded herself, recalling instead the times you stood up for her or held her hand when you crossed the street. Sure, Wanda might have issues with the easy way you lead some of the girls in your classes on, but she refused to let her mind turn you into something you’d never hinted at being.

The brunette checked the time on her phone before sliding her outfit over her head and as she popped her head and shoulders through the top, her eye caught the device screen light up on its own, a message from you appearing. Wanda read over your cutely apologetic words with a smile, laughing at the I’m sorry sticker attached and quickly typed a response promising forgiveness if you bought her coffee next week. To which you readily agreed and gave her one last minute reminder that you wouldn’t be mad if she decided in the past hour she wasn’t keen on seeing anyone she didn’t want to. No, you weren’t like Carol or Brock, nowhere close to Vision; Wanda didn’t think you could be if you tried.

You were right on time, wanting to tread lightly in case Wanda’s text was more her being polite than actually over your lunch shenanigans, knocking briskly even though you’d texted her you were coming as you locked your apartment door. You expected she’d maybe do her hair and makeup differently, something to fit the night; what you didn’t expect was a whole new Wanda opening the door. “Woah…”

The black dress hugged Wanda’s curves perfectly, accentuating places you’d only felt briefly before. She’d worn sleeveless dresses around you, but this strapless design wrapped around her arms paired with the long hair she’d tied back into a ponytail revealed her neck and shoulders completely… you realized you’d been staring too long when Wanda waved a shy hand in front of your stunned face. “Do I look okay? I think I have enough time to change-”

“Don’t you dare.” You tugged Wanda out the door before she could continue second guessing. And then, being the reassurance you didn’t know Wanda needed so terribly, you slung your arm around her, mostly in an excuse to touch newly exposed skin, speaking loud enough she was sure the whole floor could hear you, “You look hot and if anyone tells you different, they’re lying through their teeth.”

Hearing that, Wanda already felt like she’d call tonight a win.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

From the moment you stepped through the door, Wanda garnered attention. Not that everyone flew to her side immediately; most didn’t recognize her and if they did, they didn’t know where to even start talking. Most people she went to school with left her alone, a select few people having crafted and weaved stories about the brunette that meant everyone tended to keep their distance. Wanda didn’t mind, really she preferred it; amongst her peers she was completely out of her depths. Small high school gatherings were intimidating enough, and college only added more to the attendance list.

If you minded her clinging to your side you didn’t say it, relaxed and talking to whoever you pleased all while checking in on Wanda every few minutes. To her credit, Wanda did engage in conversation occasionally, commenting or laughing when something was funny enough. Sitting down, Wanda thought she’d get more time to talk to you, not about anything specific but just to keep your attention. You weren’t brushing her off, no, you were actively listening, nodding your head, everything… but she wanted you sitting closer, asking her to dance, anything.

Wanda wondered if maybe she was going about it the wrong way, working up confidence to ask you herself when mid-sentence, Maria plopped herself down in your open lap and wrapped her arms around your neck. “Hey you…”

For the first time tonight, Wanda felt ignored, her presence non-existent to the grinning girl who so easily disrupted the conversation. You didn’t play into her like you did at lunch, having learned your lesson that an angry Wanda wasn’t a Wanda you wanted to focus your way, but you didn’t want to be rude or cause a scene so you let her stay put for now and hoped Wanda didn’t hold it against you later. “A few of us are gonna play a little game upstairs if you want to join in?”

Wanda watched your face light up, seemingly ignorant to how much the other girl already reeked of alcohol. You loved a good party game, nodding your agreement without a second thought. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, we’ll be right up.”

“Oh yeah...” Maria finally glanced over, a pitying pout on her lips that Wanda felt the strangely aggressive urge to slap off. “Wanda, have you played Never Have I Ever?” The answer was a big resounding no and all three of you were well aware, a game she’d seen countless times on television and never sat down to play. You followed Maria’s lead, sizing up Wanda, but out of compassion rather than anything else.

In that split minute of silence, Wanda had two choices: be honest and back out or rely on her limited knowledge, go with you, and hope for the best. Maybe she’d have chosen the former if she could read your thoughts, know for sure you wouldn’t leave Wanda alone down here amidst strangers and wisps of smoke— but she didn’t.

“Of course I know how to play, don’t be silly!” The answer was enough for Maria who stood with a wobble and pulled your hand to follow, but your eyes stayed firmly stuck on Wanda. Her words might’ve been confident, but lacquer-polished fingers played with her new array of metal rings and you instantly knew she was lying. You wouldn’t call her bluff in the present company, but your furrowed brow gave away your worries. Wanda tried smoothing them away with a smile, polite as ever, beaming up at Maria who stood in front of you, annoyed that you hadn’t yet budged. “Like she said, we’ll be right up.”

Maria shrugged, not caring enough to disinvite Wanda upstairs. If she wanted to make a fool of herself, she wouldn’t stop her. “Five minutes or we’re starting without you.”

Left on your own for the time being, Wanda sprung to her feet and fixed her dress, letting out a deep breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It was your turn to take her hand, stopping her in case Wanda decided to sprint up the stairs without you. You did want to play with her, but not if she felt it was an obligation instead of a fun way to pass the time. “Do you really want to? I won’t be mad down here if that’s better.”

“It’s fine!” Heartwarming, really, and Wanda appreciated your sincerity, but you’d never see her as anything other than a friend to be babysat if she didn’t attempt to participate. At least, that’s what Agatha said. Besides, if it was anything like the movies, you could learn things about each other that Wanda was too shy to ask outright. “I want to play! It’ll be fun, please?”

“Wands…” You couldn’t say no to her, not when she looked so excited, swinging your arm back and forth in her hands and adding a pretty please to sway you further. There was a promise you made right then, silently to yourself, to be right next to her and not let things get too out of hand; it couldn’t be that bad under careful supervision.

Supervision you failed to remember would falter as soon as alcohol hit your system.

The game was enjoyable… until Wanda caught on to the point of the game, everyone taking shots and sharing scandalous stories while she was left with nearly all her fingers up. She’d taken exactly one finger down when Carol tried to put her on the spot with “never have I ever bought a vibrator offline” and she prayed the shot she was finally allowed to take dulled her embarrassment quickly. No luck.

“Can I see it some time?” Wanda nearly jumped to her feet when you leaned over, chin resting on her shoulder like you had so many times before. You’d had no problem with the game, only one finger left; a fact Wanda had to keep reminding you of after the double shots you’d taken.

She pushed you off and you frowned, but let her have her space, your dejected expression nearly pitiful enough Wanda almost felt bad for doing so. Then she remembered the question lingering in the air, the small group going quiet and watching your exchange play out, and suddenly the gentle rejection didn’t feel like nearly enough admonishment. “Why would you want to?”

You shrugged lazily, straightening up as you realized you were the only two left in the game. It was rare you lasted this long, to your recollection at least; Wanda’s nine remaining fingers meant she was unbeatable though. Such an innocent thing… you wished she’d be your innocent thing. Alcohol loosened your tongue, spiraling thoughts of Wanda carefully unboxing the toy as she did with all of her packages bubbling to the surface, running it over in her hands with that adorable scrunched up face she made whenever she focused, experimenting with the various settings. “Just to see how you use it.”

If you weren’t so inebriated maybe you’d have the presence of mind to keep your words a whisper, but if everyone’s laughs were anything to go by, the entire room heard. Wanda begged to blink and open them to exist anywhere but here, “You’re disgusting.” Basic flirting was hard enough; the last thing she wanted to do was have your first discussion about sex toys while there were people judging her every move.

“What’s the matter, Wanda? Bought it and couldn’t figure out how to use it?” Carol sneered, taking a swig of the vodka she’d brought up for the game straight from the bottle. Wanda wanted to fight her on it, but she couldn’t without exposing some of her most private times and well, they’re called private for a reason.

The blonde turned to you then, “I thought you wanted to fuck her… shame she hasn’t let you yet.” Wanda whipped around, her worst fears threateningly close to being the truth, but you looked just as shocked.

Maria joined in before you could tell Carol to take it back, leaning across you to really make sure Wanda heard, “You know there’s tons of videos that’ll show you how. All that studying you do, wouldn’t kill you to research something sexy once for a change.” Sober enough to deem that over the line, you pushed Maria away before she could continue her taunts, but words weren’t so easily taken back. Wanda was already mortified beyond belief and you were ashamed it was mostly your fault.

If clinging to you to hide the stinging tears budding at the corners of her eyes wouldn’t cause more attention, Wanda would’ve fallen into your shoulder in an instant. Not that she was particularly happy with you right now, but what other comfort did she have? Your expression screamed an apology Wanda wasn’t ready to immediately accept and she flicked your forehead in warning, “Don’t say a thing.”

You relented with a sigh, still disappointed with yourself, but resolving to do everything in your power to make up for it. But all Wanda wanted was this terrible game over with, anything to get her out of this cramped room full of people who regarded her like a party trick. Her one advantage was being the last to put a finger down, her turn to announce an action and choose one of the many things you’d done that she’d never gotten close to. Whatever she said would scream innocence, but at this point she couldn’t bring herself to care; Wanda needed you out so she could “win” and get far away from here. “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

You weren’t fully drunk, buzzed enough to be careless, but not to ignore what everyone was saying. Stupidly, you’d taken Wanda’s earlier insistence to play as an excuse to do so just as hard, personal promise forgotten little by little with each shot you threw back, but one look at her clear distress was sobering. Wise decision making wasn’t your strong suit though, drunk or not.

She wasn’t that far away, close enough to kiss— so you did, leaning forward until your hands rested on either side of her folded legs. The moment your lips met, the little audience went wild, but you kept it short, only wanting to help, not embarrass her. “Silly girl, you can’t pick something you’ve done. Still won though, not bad for your first time.”

Wanda was stunned, frozen in place even as everyone broke their circle formation to clean up. Instincts screamed to pull you in for another one, but she knew she shouldn’t. You’d done it to make up for the earlier mess you’d started; you wanted to be nice, not spend your night sharing kisses she couldn’t reciprocate. It was only for the sake of everyone else, to temporarily shut them up… a first kiss to placate and entertain.

When you looked at her again, Wanda saw the beginnings of pity and she couldn’t stand it, not from you. Especially not after that. “I’m going to grab a soda, I’ll be downstairs.”

“Did you want me to go with-” She was up and out before you could get a word in and you sighed, standing slowly to save your head some pain. “Great, see you down there…”

Going off by herself was near the very bottom of Wanda’s smart ideas, but she didn’t have it in her to explain, to pretend to be okay when she wanted to shake you and ask why’d you be so stupid at the worst possible time.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Everything happened in a series of threes, good or bad; her father lived by that philosophy. The second Brock wandered into the otherwise empty kitchen, having been seeking her out, Wanda started believing him. First the never have I ever experience from hell, second, you playing said game, and now this way too drunk man stumbling closer; Wanda was more than ready for a good streak any time now.

“Wanda! There you are!” His words were slurred, strung together so messily Wanda wondered if he’d remember in the morning that he’d actually smiled at her. She tried to ignore him, looking at any variety of kitchen accessories she spotted around the room, but Brock was never one to be quiet when given space to speak. “Praying away your first kiss all alone in here?”

“You know that’s not how that works.” Wanda rolled her eyes, taking a step back only to meet the cold kitchen counter. And again, Brock came closer.

In a perfect world he wouldn’t intimidate her, not even a foot away, his obnoxiously loud laughter pushing his alcohol soaked breath her way, but she couldn’t help it, instinct inching her farther even as his big steps closed the distance. “What I do know is how rude it is to leave someone in the dust right after they kiss you. You ran off so quickly!”

Wanda’s hands tightened around her soda can, denting the aluminum as she counted down however long she had left to endure this. “I didn’t kiss you, it’s none of your business.”

“I could have once, remember?” Unnerved as she was, Wanda still hit Brock’s hand away as quickly as his calloused fingertips grazed her cheek, a hard slap that faded his smug grin into a glower. “You’re just too good at running away.”

“Hands off, Rumlow.” Where you’d come from Wanda didn’t know, but she was never more relieved to see you. It took you longer than you wanted to admit navigating the house, asking first if anyone had seen your date and then, where the kitchen was. Finding her just in time is what mattered most, speeding across the kitchen to put space between Wanda and your classmate slowly, but surely crowding her in.

You hadn’t heard their conversation, but it didn’t matter. There were exactly zero scenarios you could imagine Wanda willingly talking to Brock, much less with him as close as he was. Boorishly, he raised his hands in the air, backing away without nearly enough shame as he should’ve. “What, is she your girlfriend now? Like, for real?”

Wanda didn’t speak up to correct him, but neither did you, still unsure what you called someone you’d fantasized about more than acted on those with. This was Brock you were talking about though, and he out of anyone didn’t need to know another bit of information about Wanda than he already did.

Ignoring an answer, you held Wanda similarly to how you had a few days ago, arms about her waist, but this was more possessive, more urgent— another spectacle Wanda longed to hate, but the security your embrace offered left her swooning. She would die happy if she could stay in your arms like this forever; just preferably not in Carol’s kitchen. “Why, jealous?”

Your hand on her ass should’ve made her cringe; if it was anyone else, maybe she would, but this left her knees weak. To your shock, Wanda didn’t move and Brock’s hazy eyes bounced between the two of you, not willing to fight for someone he didn’t deem worth the effort. “Of your newfound celibacy? No thanks.”

“Well fuck off then, find someone else to piss off.” When you kissed her cheek, it was equal parts to drive him away as it was to calm Wanda’s nerves and by some miracle, it worked for both. Once he disappeared from view, you offered her another, two in succession when she didn’t twist away. “Sorry for taking forever, couldn’t find you… you’re really fast, you know.”

“The game was over so I left.” Wanda tossed her empty and squashed can into the pile atop the overfilled trash can nearby, needing her hands free to affectionately pat your arms. She expected you to let her go again, but you only held tighter. “What-”

Turning Wanda around, you leant against the counter, bringing her with you until she had no choice but to settle between your legs. “You have a cute ass,” Two hands cupped her backside now, squeezing covered flesh as if there weren't dozens of people that could walk in at a moment’s notice. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“Because you hardly look at me,” the brunette mumbled, willing herself to relax as you touched her. You only acknowledged her with a low hum, burying your nose in the crook of her neck, sighing as you caught the familiar light floral scent of her perfume. Curious fingers skirted over her hip, following the tight hem of Wanda’s dress along her upper thigh. She shuddered against you, fingers tugging at your shirt, grounding herself as she wiggled against your front. Wanda hadn’t expected to enjoy such shameless groping, but tonight was just full of surprises.

You’d be more than happy to spend the rest of your time here, exploring her at your leisure, all else forgotten, but your dream was over way too soon. The tired girl wormed her way out of your grasp, instantly missing your warmth, but needing to stop before you were discovered. She wanted to be the type not to care who caught you, wanted to let you hold her tight and kiss her hard right here in the kitchen, but her nerves got the better of her. “You’re drunk, don’t do that here.”

You could insist you weren’t that drunk, completely sober enough to know exactly what you’re up to, but you’d already pushed your luck being so bold after embarrassing her earlier. “Here? Sooo.. you’d let me do it somewhere else?”

Wanda ignored her hopes soaring at the prospect of you wanting to try again. Not for show or to shut anyone up, but because you wanted her. You saw it on her face, pupils blown wide and fidgeting hands; the girl wore her emotions on her sleeve, and damn if you didn’t want to convince her to let you drag her upstairs to some unoccupied room and have your way with her, but you tried to make peace with just knowing Wanda didn’t completely shut the idea down.

“I don’t know! Maybe…” This wasn’t the place to discuss how much she craved your touch, much less her feelings on the matter; for Wanda, parties weren’t right for anything she needed right now. Suddenly Wanda felt overwhelmed all over again, brain scrambled and wanting too many unrelated things at once, and the loud bass and equally loud house was too much.

She’d given it a real effort for you and it wasn’t all bad, but trying to fit in with a group of people who thrived on being high school mean girls even into adulthood? Wanda didn’t want to play that game and as much as she wanted to trust you, she couldn’t take anything you did around them seriously, uncertain if this was all just to show off or genuine interest. “I think I’m going to go…”

You couldn’t say it caught you off guard, not with how the night had gone. Hours ago when you’d first seen her, Wanda stood tall, happy and excited for her first real party; taking in her slumped shoulders and turned down gaze broke your heart. You hoped your disappointment didn’t show because none was for her, all towards you instead, feeling like you’d failed at every turn to keep her safe and relaxed. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk across campus alone in the middle of the night.”

“Well I can’t be here anymore, I’m done.” Staying in this house a minute longer made Wanda want to throw up; she wanted the cozy familiarity of her apartment and her bed, to sleep until tonight was a far off memory. She hadn’t come with much thankfully, only her keys you’d kept tucked safe in your jacket, but you tucked the pocket behind you as she went to reach for it.

“I never said you couldn’t leave,” Stepping forward, you took Wanda by the hand, but didn’t tug her closer, trying to let her have her space even when you wanted to give her the hug she looked like she so badly needed. If Wanda was leaving then you would too, having lost your interest in the party as soon as you saw hers vanish upstairs. “I’m walking you home.”

Guilt crept in quickly and Wanda instantly tried reassuring you, but you wouldn’t hear it, determined not to let her walk off this time. She was upset, you’d seen it on her before, a dark cloud dampening her naturally cheery demeanor; you wouldn’t leave her like that again. “You’re the hottest girl here, I’d rather spend time with you anyways.”

“Alright, but I’m going to bed.” Wanda hit your shoulder, turning her back to you before her smile gave her away. ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

It was cold outside with autumn rolling in, but Wanda was grateful for the quiet. The walk back to your building was short in theory, but grew longer with the brunette doing most of the navigation. You were just a bit too distracted to focus on where you were going, but you’d always remember to follow Wanda anywhere. While dragging along behind her, your eyes remained firmly stuck on her bare shoulders, illuminated whenever you passed under a streetlight, and when you caught her shivering, you were quick to rush in.

“Are you cold?” She wasn’t for long between your engulfing hug and the heat bursting through her body as your lips kissed along the expanse of exposed skin. It was impossible to walk like this, your hands splayed over her stomach as you clung to her from behind, preoccupied with the new opportunity to touch her rather than getting inside.

Wanda tried anyways, steps heavy on the sidewalk as she took your weight with her. “I won’t be cold if you let us go home.” She was right of course, often was, but it didn’t stop you from staying attached to her the rest of the way.

You’d run to the bathroom as soon as she unlocked the door and Wanda made a beeline for her bedroom— where she’d forgotten all about the short white nightgown she’d laid out right before she left. An outfit change planned for the version of her that returned from the party confident, a lot more drunk, and ready to fall in bed with you for a whole different reason than she was now.

Frazzled, Wanda grabbed the satin garment and shoved it to the back of her closet until it was hidden from view. Her typical safe pajama set was the new choice, shedding her party dress to pull loose shorts over her hips, buttoning the last button on her top just as you emerged from the bathroom.

Letting you do whatever you needed to do to be ready for bed, Wanda went to the kitchen, pouring glasses of water and picking up her bottle of ibuprofen she knew you’d need in the morning. When she returned, you were already under the covers, head against the headboard and absentmindedly scrolling your phone. “Glad to see you made yourself comfortable.”

You expected her to say more, either talking about the night or give you some random fact as she sometimes did, but after Wanda was firmly in bed, lights off, not even the television on, the typically comfortable silence between you two felt suffocating. “You’re being quiet.”

“I’m quiet a lot.” She said it plainly, not even a hint of emotion behind her words and when that was all, you had to do something about it. Sitting up once more, you scooted over until you were sat in front of her, sizing up the worry rolling off of Wanda in waves.

That nightgown was a painful reminder of how badly she felt she’d failed this whole party thing; there was no lingering high from buzzing events, no giggles or wandering hands like Natasha hinted might happen if she’d done any number of certain things. No, Wanda had run from you, pushed those wandering hands away, played off shoulder kisses as nothing short of an annoyance and now… now you weren’t touching her at all. If you went back to your place, she wouldn’t be surprised, but she dreaded being alone right now, left not only to wallow in self-pity, but properly unkissed. It was all too miserable to say aloud.

You waited until she conquered her visible hesitation, but when Wanda sighed, more interested in fidgeting with her blankets than speaking up, you decided it was time to step in with reassurance. “You did really well tonight. I hope you know you really didn’t have to come with me, but I’m happy you did and you looked beautiful.”

Wanda gave a bitter chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief, “You’re not upset you had to watch me all night and make sure I wasn’t completely falling apart?”

“What? No! I had a good time!” A different time than what you were used to, but not bad. Really you didn’t mind looking out for her, felt honored she even trusted you to do so. You’d gone home with the best person in that place; you’d love to be doing something different with her right about now to round out your night as usual, especially when you could easily remember how soft and warm Wanda felt against you, but you didn’t want to push her. Except… “Hey Wanda?”

She picked at the stray lint she could barely make out amongst her sheets, trying not to dread whatever else came out of your mouth next, “Yeah?”

“I liked kissing you earlier.” It was the truth, simply put between your exhaustion and intoxication, but honest nonetheless. “Was that really your first time?”

“Well…” She thought about it, wondering long and hard if she could count the years old close call that stuck in her head in her worst thoughts. No, Wanda wouldn’t pay that any mind. “Yes, it was.”

“Oh..” Before you could second guess anymore, you inched closer, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. Wanda was tired, that much was clear, but her eyes still stayed wide, gaze locked on your lips as she licked her own. If the desperation was mutual, one of you might as well do something about it. “Would you like a second?”

Wanda paused, not because she didn’t want it, she did so terribly badly, but it scared her. All of this, you, scared her. What if you changed your mind? If you only kissed her before to be nice, what did this count as? Back there, you’d been so quick about it, a peck to end the game in your own mischievous way; this time you were free to carry on and she had no idea how to handle that. Were you about to find out she’s a terrible kisser?

While her thoughts raced, you sat back, giving her space to decide properly. You wanted to kiss her, sure, and with any other girl maybe you would’ve just taken it, but with the careless way you’d taken her first, you couldn’t let Wanda’s second be something she woke up regretting. “You can say no, I won’t be mad-”

In a split second, your world went black, Wanda crashing into you with a strength you didn’t know she had. Her lips were clumsy against yours until you took over, shock dissipating as everything that was Wanda clouded your senses. She’d had enough pushing you away for one night. Here in the privacy of her bedroom, if you really wanted to kiss her, she’d freely admit she needed you to do so.

Wanda’s arms wound loosely around your neck, acclimating herself to the feel of your kiss. You were slow and inviting, skirting the tip of your tongue along her bottom lip so gently Wanda didn’t say a thing about your hands drawing up her bare legs. Eventually, you eased her back until she laid reclined, deft fingers undoing the bottom few delicate buttons of her pajama set.

“It’s not fair how sweet your lips are…” You chased her as she broke for air, shifting your weight to kneel between her legs; Wanda was about to ask you what you meant when you slipped. Still lacking all of your coordination, you leaned too close to the edge of the mattress, falling to the floor with a loud thud. When you regained your senses, Wanda’s laughter hit you before anything, loud and uninhibited, and as much as your head ached, you found yourself laughing right along with her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but…!” Wanda could barely breathe she was laughing so hard, your dramatic pout way too exaggerated to be real. You looked so pitiful curled up on the floor, rubbing the side of your head; she wanted to kiss you all better. “Come on, come up here. You need to go to sleep.”

You might’ve protested harder if the brunette wasn’t holding out her arms, covers pulled back to let you climb right in. It was an uncoordinated scramble from the carpet into her bed, but Wanda pressed a little kiss into your hair, smoothing it over before guiding you down. “At least I don’t have to sleep down there…”

Head laid heavy on her midsection, snuggled into what felt like the warmest blankets of your life in your drunken state, exhaustion hit you like a freight train. At some point Wanda’s hand snuck into your hair, brushing strays away from your face, nails lightly scratching at your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed. “You’re good at this for someone who’s never gone on nights out.”

“Pietro’s to thank for that,” Wanda laughed again and you heard it against your ear, the smooth, happy rumbling you’d missed all night. “Someone had to pull him back together before morning and it certainly wasn’t going to be dad. He always likes to remind me I’m twelve minutes younger, but I feel years older most of the time.”

She was a natural caretaker, always had been, especially after her mother died, but besides her family she’d never heard that type of compliment from anyone and it helped her relax in this otherwise unfamiliar territory. If nothing else, Wanda knew she could show her affection through some tried and true TLC, but looking after her loud and drunk brother was miles different from the clingy drunken behavior of the crush she’d just been making out with. If you weren’t so cute when you got sleepy, Wanda might’ve exiled you to the couch.

After a while of nothing, Wanda unintentionally lulling you to sleep with the gentle stroke of her fingers on your head, her thoughts drifted again. “Was Carol right?”

“Hm?” It was too late to have any discussion past something silly, but from Wanda’s tone, you knew it was anything but and you prayed you could keep it together long enough not to look like a complete asshole.

“Did you only ask to hang out to see if you could have sex with me?” Wanda nearly bit her lip to bleeding in the long silence that followed, wavering between thinking you’d finally fallen asleep and convincing herself you were pretending just to avoid giving an answer. She thought about waiting but if that stupid game taught her one thing it was the way alcohol stripped you of all filters; she needed to know for sure, but she couldn’t look you in the eye to ask. Her dark bedroom was the perfect cover for questions she’d never be able to ask after tonight.

“No, of course not.” Truthfully, you hadn’t drunk enough to be anything past buzzed; you’d been stupid earlier for sure, but nothing extreme. If you wanted to lie, you could easily, but you’d never think of it. Not when you’d already let her down repeatedly. “You’re hot though, I would if you wanted me to.”

“Oh… thank you?” Wanda stiffened and mentally you were kicking yourself, hoping she didn’t kick you out of her bed when you were so warm and cozy right where you were— but then you felt her thighs squirming against your midsection. You wanted to test your hunch so badly, but you knew better. Soon maybe, but not when you were both so painfully tired. Instead you hunkered down, pushed against her until she let you roll onto your stomach between her legs.

Wanda’s sleep shirt made the perfect cover for her soft tummy, a pillow you were scared you’d miss next time you fell asleep on your own. You dotted it with kisses, mostly the area under the buttons you’d undone, a gentle show of gratitude before laying your head back. “Mostly I wanted to see if you’re as cute up close. You are: mission accomplished.”

She wanted to shake you for calling her cute again, but it was too late to revert the conversation and she couldn’t exactly jump for her phone and text Natasha without looking obvious. Wanda sighed and settled for running her hands over your shoulders, hoping desperately her breathing stayed even enough to hide her personal panic. Soft snores finally made their way to her ears and her head fell back against actual pillows, waiting for anything to tell her how to make some kind of move. Talking wasn’t it, parties certainly weren’t it… Agatha’s advice was next up. Plan C, she’d called it— Wanda feared Plan C.

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