#looks like a loser. does not do anything with his hair. shorts and flip flops in winter kind of guy

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

i have got to draw takezame more

[vampiringg]

I have fic, it's already one ao3 but here ya go anyways

The Ultimate Wingman

Summary: Nico goes to Kayla for help on asking out Will, forming two relationships - platonic or not - within the Apollo cabin

No warnings :D

I wrung my hands as I walked across Camp's grounds. This couldn't go too badly… right? The worst that could happen was that he'd say no - then he'd tell everyone I was gay and they'd all hate me and think I was weird and those that I could actually call friends would abandon me and -!

"Ugh!" I said aloud, kicking the dirt. The girl that I had been looking for, Kayla Knowles, spun around. Her short ginger and green hair whipped her face and the quiver on her back slid to the right.

"Oh, hey Nico," she greeted with a smile once she got over the shock.

"Uh, hi," I mumbled. 

"What is it? You seem… stressed," she commented.

"What? No, I'm not stressed," I lied. Her eyebrows creeped up.

"Oh really? I might not be any Will Solace but -" she stopped. I hoped desperately that the warmness of my cheeks wasn't showing. By the looks of it, however, I was more red than Rachel Dare's hair. She set her bow down and pulled off the quiver. Kayla seemed to be torn between smirking and being as kind as possible.

"I believe you wanted to talk to me?"

Oh, how easy it would be to say 'no' and walk away, my secrets still kept to my chest. But that would accomplish nothing. Besides, it wasn't as bad as telling Will. At least if I talked to Kayla it wasn't completely sure Will would ever find out what a loser I was.

"I - I… yes," I said, staring at the ground.

"Would you call it an… important matter?" She was definitely smirking; I could hear it in her voice. I glared at her red converse. I swear this girl lived in bright colours. "Ooh," She giggled before clearing her throat. "Sorry, I've been spending too much time around Lacy." I didn't know or care who Lacy was, though I assumed she was a daughter of Aphrodite, judging by the behaviour Kayla had leeched off her. I hoped I never had the misfortune to meet Lacy, as even this interaction with Kayla had just about killed me - or maybe it was just the circumstances.

"So," she said, jumping up to sit on the table she had just put her bow on. "What is it that you need me, of all people, for?"

"Well -"

"Sit down first," she interrupted, patting the table space next to her. She moved the bow as if it were made of glass and not a weapon made for killing. I hesitated before climbing up. (And, yes, I had to climb up. Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, was too short to get up on a table that even the smallest kid in the Apollo cabin could effortlessly jump onto.) Her bluebelle eyes held the smile that she was repressing. 

"Now we're all cozy -" I shuffled away from her. "Tell me whatcha problem is." I didn't answer straight away. In fact, I didn't answer at all. I just kinda stared over to Camp, occasionally stealing glances to cabin 7. Discreetly, of course, or Kayla might start taking after Lacy again.

Suddenly, she hit my arm. I looked at her, a mixture of surprised and offended.

"There was a mosquito," she shrugged with an innocent smile.

"I hate you," I muttered so quietly I thought she wouldn't hear. But damn these Apollo kids, with their hearing that was too good, even for a demigod.

"That's kind of you,"

"How did you even -?"

"Hear you? Please, dad's the god of music n' stuff, we can't be tone deaf - well, maybe Will is -" she definitely paused just to see my reaction this time. I was disappointed in my inability to control my own blushing. The smirk reappeared on her face. "And he's also the god of prophecy, so I'd like to say that I have a pretty good idea of what's going on around here." I sighed, staring up at the sky. It was fun to imagine Zeus burning up there but I couldn't sink into childhood daydreams right now.

"I know you know -"

"I know I know, too," she said. I glared at her before looking back up.

"So just say it,"

Her smile widened before it disappeared. Shaking her head, she said something completely unexpected,

"This isn't my place to speak. You need to tell me, if you want to,"

I paused, momentarily confused by this sudden change. She smiled a genuine smile, her freckled cheeks faintly pink.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've had a crush on Lou Ellen for, like, ever,"

"Really?" I asked before I could stop myself. She nodded, the amber to green colouring of her hair made it look like traffic lights, her face was also red, making it even more pronounced.

"Well… I guess…" I groaned. "We're going anonymous, here. I have a - I have a crush on one of your half-siblings, right? And I need your help." She grinned. 

"Well, good thing we're both amateurs -"

"How is that a good thing?"

"Shh, di Angelo," she placed a finger to my lips. "It's rude to interrupt a genius at work."

"You're not a genius and you've interrupted me, like, 4 -"

"3," she corrected, then paused, rolling her eyes at herself. "Now it's 4 times."

"Whatever! I just need to find out if Wi - someone in your cabin likes me back!"

"You could just… ask?" she offered.

"No!" I cried, aghast. She racked her brain for another option.

"What d'you like to do, then?" Kayla asked. I looked at her quizzically.

"Raise the dead,"

"Maybe something more… normal," she said. "No offence but an army of skeletons isn't the way to ask someone out."

"Uhh," 

"You literally never leave your cabin. What do you do in there all day? Stare at the wall?"

"Yeah, basically," I shrugged. She seemed taken aback.

"You have a sword, right? What if you challenge him to a sword fight? You know, then get talking after?"

"That could work… I guess…" I mumbled.

"Then it's settled," she said, grabbing my wrist and jumping off the table.

"What're you - no. No no no no no! You cannot -" my foot caught and I ended up with a face full of grass.

"Good thinking! Will - I mean, my siblings like healing! Did you sprain your ankle?"

"I think so," I replied, tenderly poking the injury. "But the last time I was in the infirmary-"

"Will got really pissed because you left before your three days were up? I know. So now you can make up for it!" she said, dragging me along behind her.

"William!" she screamed through the Apollo cabin door.

"What?" Will opened the door, glowing in the fading sunlight.

"I've got a visitor!" she giggled before practically throwing me inside. "Good chat, Neeks!" Kayla slammed the door, leaving us in the empty cabin.

"Uh, what was all that about?" he asked, still staring at the door as he held his hand out. I hesitated before pulling myself up.

"I sprained my ankle," I replied, my voice an octave higher than usual.

"Oh," Will said and pointed at a bed. I sat on the edge of it, my toes grazing the floor. He walked over, his blond hair bobbing with his bouncy step, which was accompanied with the clapping sound of flip flops. He finished a Red Bull, crushing the can and throwing it over his shoulder, where it flawlessly landed in the bin. How hot can you get? 

He gently pulled off my black sneakers - I hoped my feet didn't smell. He prodded around the ankle and I winced in pain.

"Yeah, sprained, all right," he said. It was too quiet, I could hear his breathing. He pulled out an ice pack and wrapped it around my foot. "So, er, you're free to go, I guess." I nodded and replaced my shoe. I limped to the door before turning around.

"I was wondering if you'd, uh, if you'd like to… meet me in the - what's it called?- in the, um, arena tomorrow?" I stuttered.

"Sure," Will grinned. He couldn't be blushing, it was probably just the light. "What time?"

"Um, you pick," I said, not wanting to feel like a control freak.

"Will 11 do?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied. Truth was, I didn't usually get up until then, so I'd have to remember to set an alarm. Or tell Kayla and she'd come bounding into my room and 3 am for 'preparations'.

"See you there," he said. I nodded and left.

***

"Did it work? It worked, right?" Kayla practically yelled, jumping out from behind a bush.

"Yeah! It actually worked!" I answered just as loudly, unable to contain my enthusiasm. She gasped.

"What time are you gonna have the sword fight?" 

I cursed in Greek.

"I forgot to mention the swords!"

"Never mind, you have a sprained ankle anyway," she said, then hopped up and down excitedly. "See? I'm the ultimate wingman! You're going on a date!"

"It's not a date!" I corrected her, though I secretly hoped it was.

"Whatever you say, Neeks," she shrugged. I was too happy to tell her not to call me that.

"But what should I wear?" I asked. 

"Hmm," she mused. "Not the same as today… I'll need to see your wardrobe." She marched off to cabin 13, me in tow.

"Do you own anything that's not black?" Kayla grumbled, throwing yet another skull t shirt onto the bed. "Anyone'd think you're going to a funeral every day of the year."

"Uh," I squinted at a shirt. "That one's… dark grey," She held it up and raised an eyebrow. "... very, very dark grey."

"It's black," she sighed. "Anyhow, it'll have to do. At least it doesn't have a skull on."

"Who knows, maybe Will likes skulls and skeletons?" I shrugged. Kayla snorted.

"Tbh, he could probably name every bone in your body,"

"What the Hades does tbh mean?" I questioned and she grinned.

"Sometimes I forget that you're from, like, ages ago. Times like now, though…"

"Just tell me what it means," I growled as a skeletal hand broke the black carpet. 

"Um, it means to be honest," she answered, her voice squeaky.

"Oh… thanks," the hand retreated back into the ground. "Sorry, I guess."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Kayla shrugged. "Just lemme watch the date first."

My face went red. I was so close to summoning another skeleton to drag her into the depths of the Underworld.

I lay in bed, too nervous to sleep. What if it didn't work out? What if he hated me? What if - oh, the horrors - he was straight? I mean, I had nothing against straights. Most of my friends were (supposedly) straight. Still, when you're tryna ask a guy out, him being straight is not ideal. At all. I rolled over and punched my pillow. I needed sleep. I already had eye bags, I didn't need yet another sleepless night to look even more trashy. I could hardly breathe on my stomach but it, at least, served as a distraction. I mused over shadow travelling across the room and back, just so I would pass out. It was unnecessary, though, as I did (eventually) get to sleep.

"Nico," I vaguely registered someone whispering in my ear. "Nico. Nico. Wake up," they inhaled. I just managed to brace myself, realising what they were going to do. "NICO!" Still, I stumbled out of bed and fell to the floor.

"What?" I hissed at Kayla. She grinned, having successfully screamed in my ear.

"Date,"

About a hundred thoughts passed through my mind at once. Through the jumble, I managed one question.

"What's the time?"

"8, which gives 3 hours to go over your strategy," she answered.

"Strategy? I don't need a strategy," I said.

"Yes, you do. Besides, I've been talking everything through with Lacy last night,"

"How did you even meet? She's, like, two years younger than you,"

"Maybe if you actually left your cabin -"

"Point taken,"

"Drink it," Kayla instructed, pushing a glass into my hand.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Poison," she said, rolling her eyes. "Water, dumbass. Now, drink." I downed it and wiped my mouth on my wrist. There were a few moments of silence before Kayla stood up, grabbing me by the wrist.

"C'mon, Ghostie, let's take you to the arena to find lover boy,"

"Wh - what? Aren't we early?"

"Will's always early, it'll be a surprise," she replied. I nodded and followed her out, trying to resist the urge to sprint, adopt a new identity and forget this whole not-date.

*** 

I never would have thought I'd end up standing behind a bush with Kayla Knowles whilst Will Solace waited for me, yet here I was.

"Don't mess up the eyeliner," she said. "Or Lacy will kill me." I tried to reply, but no sound came out. She smiled lopsidedly, like she understood anyway.

"You'll do great," she inhaled then patted my head. "Will totally loves you."

"I - I - he -" I stuttered. 

"Trust me," Kayla said, grasping my hand, her bitten nails lightly scratching me. She pulled me into a hug from there. I tensed momentarily before doing the same.

"Thanks," I said into her shoulder. "Maybe I could be the ultimate wingman for your date with Lou Ellen."

"Isn't she with Cecil, though?"

"Eh," I shrugged. "I can… arrange something." She pulled back, laughing.

"Will will be lucky to have you, di Angelo. Now, go get him!" She pushed me out from our hiding space.

Will spin around, a grin forming on his face. His camp tank top exposed his golden shoulders, which glowed in the sunlight. He obviously had had some assistance too, as he was wearing jeans and not beach shorts two sizes too big.

"You're early," he laughed; a short melodic note.

"Then what are you?" I retorted good-naturedly.

"Hmm, fair point. But do you like my shoes?" he pointed at his black crocs. "I thought you'd like the colour."

"Oh, yeah, get me some," I said sarcastically.

"Sure!" Will said, his white teeth shining.

"That was a joke, Solace! A joke! I do not want black crocs!"

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "Now, do you wanna sit down somewhere?"

"Thought you'd never ask,"

[veky1993]

So in news surrounding my writer's life, today I have been accused of plagiarism. This is, of course, total bullshit, but if anyone is looking to accuse me of that again, they are free to reach out to me here, where I will happily disprove their baseless accusations. 

In the meantime, anyone who is simply hoping to read a little something fluffy, silly, and romantic involving our favorite MC couple, is welcome to do so on AO3, or on ffnet, or right here below:

Sore Loser

"I don't know what statistics you've been reading up on, but they stand no chance whatsoever," Sharon said, her tone no nonsense.

"Forget the statistics," Andy disagreed, rather heatedly, "they've got this, you'll see."

"No, honey," Sharon's tone went up to a faux sympathetic one, "you'll see."

This was the conversation Rusty walked in on as he ventured out of his room in search of a bottle of water to take with him before heading out. He found his mother and her husband in what seemed to be a verbal standoff, glaring at each other in challenge from their respective sides of the couch.

He burst whatever weird bubble they were in. "What on earth are you two bickering about now?" He said the last word on a whine, more than justified in his exasperation, seeing as he had lost count of how many times he had found them like this.

Both heads turned in his direction.

Andy instantly muttered, "Football," while Sharon rolled her eyes and said indignantly, "We're not bickering."

Rusty laughed and pointed a finger between them, continuing his stroll toward the kitchen. "You should try getting your stories straight."

He didn't hear his mother's response, but distinctly made out Andy's grumbled, "Smartass."

By the time Rusty had retrieved his water and walked back to the living room, the two had left their opposing ends of the couch and met in the middle, Sharon tucked into Andy's side as he flipped through the TV channels.

"Made up already?" Rusty teased, then made a disgustingly sweet 'aaww' sound.

Sharon lifted her head to grace him with a half-hearted glare, but it was Andy, who without sparing him even a glance, and blowing his annoyance ever so slightly out of proportion by adopting a particularly exasperated tone, grumbled, "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

The question halted Rusty just short of the hallway leading down to his room. "As a matter of fact, I do." When his eyes landed on Andy's final choice on the TV, he pointed his bottle at the screen and grimaced exaggeratedly. "And thank goodness that I do."

"What's wrong with watching football?" Sharon asked, mildly offended, and turned to face Rusty fully.

"Oh, watching football's just fine," Rusty shook his head, "it's watching it with you two that just..." he trailed off on a feigned shudder.

Sharon suddenly turned back to Andy. "You're right. He is a smartass."

Andy let out a throaty chuckle. "Mark the date and time." He made a show of checking and tapping his watch. "Sharon Raydor admits Andrew Flynn is right about something."

Sharon's eyes narrowed, and she leaned back a little to cross her arms, then pursed her lips as she leveled Andy with a stare that quickly dampened his earlier luster. Suppressing a proud grin for being able to mess with him quite so easily, Sharon kept her tone teasing, even as her voice dipped low, and she simply said, "Oh, I cannot wait to see your team get crushed to a pulp."

Making a conscious effort not to roll his eyes at them, Rusty interjected before the situation could escalate, or worse, potentially scar him for life. "His team?" he asked, genuinely curious, as he waved his bottle at the TV again. He might be clueless about the sport in general, but even he could tell neither Sharon nor Andy's favorite team was playing that day. "You know what?" he added quickly, raising a hand in a 'stop' gesture before either one could reply. He shook his head, too, deciding he didn't need any more details. "Nevermind. I'll just, uhm," he hooked a thumb in the direction of his bedroom, already retreating that way with a couple of backwards steps, "head out before you two football freaks make me seriously question ever agreeing to being part of this family." He turned on his heel, and quietly, but still loudly enough for them to hear, corrected himself. "Or well, before Mom does anyway."

Andy burst out laughing, breaking Sharon's concentrated effort of still staring him down. Her eyes went wide at her son's (only too warranted) words and she swallowed an offended gasp, then tilted her head in Rusty's direction to sing-song after him, "It's called being passionate about something!"

When no response came, Andy tugged on her arm until she unfolded them and pulled her into his side again. "Don't worry," he squeezed her gently, "I for one love the football freak in you." When Sharon stiffened, no doubt wanting to pull back and slap him with one more glare, he quickly tightened his hold around her, and plopped a kiss into her hair all the while grinning. Sharon let it go quickly, however, only muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'Surrounded by smartasses,' and by the time they returned their attention to the TV, Rusty finally shuffled back to the front door.

"It's called being ridiculous," he informed her quite matter-of-factly, then without further ado and certainly without expecting either Andy's or Sharon's response, swung open the door and walked out with a, "I'm off, bye!"

Affronted by the young man's audacity, Sharon pushed herself off Andy's chest and watched with wide eyes as the door closed behind him, speechless. On a chuckle, Andy pointed his finger at it. "He gets that from you, you know?"

Sharon frowned, looking back at him in confusion. "Gets what from me?"

"Wanting to always have the last word," Andy quipped.

She smacked him across the chest even as she made herself comfortable against his side again. "Oh, hush you."

Undeterred, Andy kept on chuckling, then, as the commentators started discussing pregame statistics and strategies, randomly asked, "Do we have any snacks?"

Sharon tilted her head up to look at him. "We just ate."

"So what?" Andy shrugged, shaking her a little in the process. "Can't watch football without having something to munch on."

Sharon gave him a serious look of consideration, and Andy could practically hear the wheels of her sense of occasion turning. "You make a good point," she decided, giving his arm a squeeze as she untangled herself from it.

Andy grinned smugly and pumped his fist in victory. "I'm on a roll tonight!"

Sharon shook her head at him, then inclined it to the side, her brow creasing together in seriousness. "Healthy snacks though," she said sternly, getting to her feet to round the couch.

Andy flopped his head down onto the backrest of the couch and groaned. "Like carrot and celery sticks?" he suggested sarcastically, but there was genuine dread in the words as well.

"Why not?" Sharon countered, brushing her fingers through his hair as she walked past his head.

Unable to tell if her tone indicated those were exactly the kind of snacks she had in mind or not, Andy narrowed his eyes, rolling his head to follow the rest of her movement. "Maybe this," he waved a hand at the empty coffee table, "is just fine after all."

She laughed, then disappeared from view.

Andy huffed. He didn't often get these cravings. He'd gotten used to and even learned to enjoy their heart-healthy diet, but today he'd kill for a bucket of greasy chicken wings or a box of even greasier pizza. Even a pack of pretzel sticks or a bag of chips would do. Anything would, but the likes of celery and carrots.

"You sure about that?" Sharon's voice carried to him from the kitchen, pulling Andy out of his self-pity.

Her teasing undertone only confused him, until he heard the ping of numbers being punched into the microwave. He straightened on the spot instantly. "What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

Sharon poked her head out into his field of view, and wiggled an eyebrow at him. "You'll see," she said, cryptically.

Andy didn't dare hold high hopes for confirming his suspicions, but when he heard a pop, soon followed by a number of others, he grinned widely. "You mean I'll hear," he said, loudly enough for her to hear him over both the sound of the microwave and the popping.

Sharon appeared again, walking back toward the couch carrying two tall glasses of water, and smiled at his excited disposition. "Better than carrots and celery?" she asked, handing him the glasses to put on the coffee table. When he did, she turned her back to him and leaned against the back of the couch.

Andy sank into the cushions and looked at her with a dreamy smile on his face. "Much."

She chuckled, then ran a hand affectionately down the side of his face, no doubt to lessen the blow of the words that followed. "There is a catch, however."

"Ugh." Andy grunted. "I knew it was too good to be true," he grumbled petulantly.

Sharon laughed, running her nails down the line of his jaw, then grinned when Andy failed to dip his chin down fast enough to trap her hand before she pulled it back. "It's a low-sodium mix," she explained. "Spicy, but not salty."

Andy's eyebrow quirked skeptically. "Is it any good?"

Just then, the microwave pinged it was finished, and Sharon moved off the couch. "We're about to find out," she said, going to retrieve their popcorn.

"Can't wait," Andy said in a tone that held zero optimism, but Sharon didn't hear him.

When she finally returned, she dropped the bowl of popcorn into his lap as she walked around the couch to find her seat again. When Andy looked at her, his eyebrows went up at the mischievous glint in her eyes. "Oh," he grimaced, looking at the bowl in disgust, "that bad?"

A short burst of giggles bubbled out of her. "No," she grabbed a few popcorns and happily chewed on them. "They're not bad at all actually."

Andy continued to appraise the popcorn with distrust, but asked, "Then what's," he waved a finger at her face, "all that about?"

She swallowed, then bit the inside of her cheek to contain a smile. "I may have another snack for you," she informed him with a playful bob of her eyebrow.

Andy's head snapped up to look at her, his hand pausing halfway on its path to test the popcorn. "Is that so?" he asked suggestively, leaning toward her, his eyes on her lips.

She tilted her head up and quickly acquiesced to his wordless request for a kiss, then laughing a little, said, "Not that kind of snack."

"Oh, God," Andy mumbled and flopped the side of his head against the backrest. "You're stuffing me with carrots and celery after all, aren't you?"

She giggled. "Actually…" She pulled her hand out from behind her back Andy didn't even notice she had been purposefully hiding from him. "Cheat day," she added, wiggling a bag of potato chips in front of him.

"No way," he let out lowly, lifting his head and his eyes going wide.

"Way," Sharon countered, then put two fingers underneath his chin, pushing up his dropped jaw.

"I love you," Andy said on a happy sigh, ducking his head to kiss the two fingers on his chin.

"Ah-ah," Sharon warned, tapping his lips with the digits he just kissed.

"Another catch?" Andy asked, suddenly resigned, stuffing his mouth with a handful of popcorn, for a moment forgetting he didn't even know if it was any good. "Oh," the taste distracted him, "this is nice," he said over his mouthful.

"Told ya," Sharon said proudly.

He ignored her gloating. "So," Andy eyed the bag of chips she had produced, "what's it gonna cost me?"

Sharon looked at the TV, momentarily chewing on her bottom lip. "I was thinking we make this a little more interesting."

Andy shifted on the spot, putting just a bit more distance between them to look at her with curiosity. "Do I like where this is going?"

"If you want this," she waved the bag, the rustling and rattling sounds music to Andy's ears, "then most definitely."

His wheels turning, Andy looked at the TV where the game was just about to start. "Oh," he said when he finally figured it out, "you're thinking bets."

She smiled instantly. "I am."

"My team wins, I get that," he eyed the bag hungrily, "your team wins, you eat it?"

Her smile widened. "Precisely."

Andy turned toward the TV and relaxed fully into the couch, propping his socked feet up on the table and grabbing another handful of popcorn. "You're on."

Caught between shaking her head and laughing at his childish excitement, Sharon put the prize down on the coffee table, then leaned back into Andy's side. "Hold your horses, my dear," she mumbled, snaking her hands around his arm, "those are mine."

"Nope," Andy disagreed confidently. "I told you, I'm on a roll today."

She laughed, grabbing some popcorn out of the bowl in his lap. "Not for long." She dropped just a single corn into her mouth, then repeated, "Not for long."

Halfway into the game, Andy was a huffing, puffing and disappointed mess, most likely a little exaggerated for Sharon's benefit, but she still had an incredibly hard time not to laugh at him. When he suddenly grabbed the remote and turned off the TV in frustration, her self-restraint vanished and she burst out into snorts, failing miserably at hiding them in his arm. "I was watching that," she managed in between her laughs.

He extracted his arm from out of her hold and shuffled nearly all the way to the other side of the couch. He glared at her as he put the bowl of popcorn down on the table, then took the bag of chips that lay next to it. "Take it," he practically threw it into her lap, "you win."

She caught the bag, a tad clumsily. "Teams have recovered from worse, Andy," she offered optimistically, and she might have even been convincing, had her voice not trembled with suppressed laughter.

He continued to glare at her, his tone as begrudging and pessimistic as it possibly could be. "The hand of God can't save that mess of a team." He struck a hand out in the direction of the now black screen as if she hadn't seen exactly how dreadful they were.

Sharon snorted, not disagreeing. "Well," she finally said, preparing to open the bag, "if you're sure…" She eyed the TV, then Andy. "I mean, the game's not over yet."

"I'm sure," he grumbled, slumping back into the couch, now avoiding to look at her. "Knock yourself out," he added, crossing his arms.

Her lips pressing into a tight line in order to stop herself from further laughing at him, Sharon opened the bag. When she reached inside and took a chip out, she watched him intently as she slowly put it in her mouth, but he steadfastly refused to so much as glance her way. Not being one to give up so easily, she bit into it, making it crunch loudly, but when not even that chipped away at his resolve, she let out a low moan and nearly snorted again, when that instantly, and most likely reflexively, had his head turn toward her.

"Delicious," she told him, her tone, in Andy's opinion, far too seductive to be talking about a strip of baked potato.

"There's no need to rub it in, you know," he muttered, his lip curling in displeasure.

Having his attention now, she openly grinned at him, and took another chip out of the bag. She placed it into her mouth just as slowly, then repeated both the crunching sound and her low moan. The way he frowned, even as his eyes flashed with lustful hunger, had her wonder what seemed more alluring to him, the chips or her. Something told her it was the chips and the thought only caused her to laugh a little more.

As if seeking at least some comfort, Andy briefly leaned forward to stick his hand into the popcorn bowl. Chewing furiously around his mouthful, he pushed himself back into the couch, and grumbled, "Now you're just being plain cruel."

"I might," her voice shook with amusement, but she paused deliberately until he looked at her just in time to see her slowly lick the salt off her fingers, and she suppressed a grin when his mouth dropped open and he stared stupidly at her, "be persuaded to share."

He closed his mouth, but only to bite into his bottom lip. "Yeah?" he managed, having to clear his throat when the word came out hoarsely.

She offered an affirmative hum, and the sound drew his eyes up to hers, pulling him out of his temporary stupor. "Persuaded," he was a little wary now, "how?"

His suspiciousness made her chuckle because she had no intention of living up to his idea of torture. "Oh," she reached out the hand holding the bag of chips, wiggling it a little, "just get back here, and help yourself."

He didn't need telling twice, but to her complete and gasp-eliciting surprise, when he reached her, he didn't go for the potato chips, but for her lips, catching them in a hungry kiss. Before she had a chance to respond, he pulled back, then, sounding a little surprised himself, said, "You taste like potato chips."

She barely managed to laugh, when his lips landed on hers again. She responded this time, her hand finding the back of his head to keep him precisely where he was. When his tongue darting out and swiping over her bottom lip drew a strangled groan from him, she smiled, breaking the kiss and resting her forehead against his. "Why do I get the feeling this is about the chips and not us?"

Andy pecked her lips one more time, then pulled away a little to look her in the eye. "Oh, it's definitely about the chips," he finally stole a chip from the bag she was still somehow clutching and plopped it into his mouth, pausing to moan in pleasure as he munched on it, "but also," he leaned in to kiss her once more even though he was still chewing, "very much about you."

Sharon was certain he meant his words, and it drew an affectionate little smile out of her, but when he immediately after stole another couple of chips out of her bag and continued snacking on them happily, she snorted. "Maybe I should leave you two alone." She even started pushing at him to further her point.

"Uh-uh," Andy disagreed, shaking his head. He shifted a little so they were side to side, then dug a chip out of the bag and offered it to her. "I'm in a sharing mood," he added seriously.

"You," the word was laced with incredulity and one of her eyebrows shot up, "are in a sharing mood?" She bit off the chip he held out anyway.

"Mhm," he hummed confidently, then rubbed his fingers together before digging into the bag yet again.

That made her laugh again. She let Andy take over the bag, then helped herself to some chips and said, "I've married a child."

Sharon had to trap her bottom lip between her teeth to prevent herself from laughing when his entire demeanor only corroborated her words; the bland expression on his face, the almost protective way he was clutching the bag in his lap, and last but not least, Andy's chip-loaded hand hanging in the air, midway to his mouth. "You like the child in me," he told her nonchalantly, tilting his head back to drop the pile into his mouth.

He had her there, and because it was simply impossible to deny it, her mouth immediately stretched into a besotted smile. The discovery that he could be silly to the point of ridiculousness had been something she stumbled upon long before a romantic relationship crossed either one of their minds. It endeared him to her, as she would later realize, not just because this side so clashed with the tough, quick to anger Lieutenant, but because like her, there weren't that many people he relaxed around enough to reveal it. Being one of those few chosen ones warmed her heart back when they were just friends, and the feeling only intensified over the years, especially as he slowly, without her even truly noticing, uncovered her own dorky side.

The absence of loud crunching noises slowly drew Sharon out of her musings, and as she returned to reality, she found Andy watching her with interest.

He wiggled some chips in front of her. "Chip for your thoughts?"

She giggled. Yes, she absolutely adored the child in him, and she found no reason not to tell him as much. She stilled his hand, and leaned in to wrap her lips around the proffered chips, then once she chewed and swallowed, said, "I adore the child in you."

His mouth opened and then a corner of it took an upward turn as it formed a lopsided, goofy, and coincidentally, childlike smile. His hand went for her cheek, then slipped into her hair before she could fully pull back. When he pressed his lips to hers this time, chips were most definitely not on his mind.

He released her lips only to trail a path of kisses along the line of her jaw, causing her to grip his shoulders for support. "We have the condo," he mumbled when he reached her ear, "to ourselves," he caught her earlobe gently between his teeth, then released it as he pulled back to grin at her obscenely, "don't we?"

On a sigh, she lifted her head and opened her eyes, her hold on his shoulders slackening. "Mhm," she hummed in a way that had Andy capture her lips one more time.

His attentions were interrupted on a grunt when he squeezed the bag he miraculously still had ahold of a tad too tightly, and in turn, quite loudly, crushed a few of his precious chips. He frowned at it, making Sharon laugh, who quickly helped by extricating it out of his hand and flopping it down on the table. For a second, a look of regret, or was it longing, flashed in Andy's eyes, as if perhaps he wasn't quite ready to part with his beloved snack just yet, but it was quickly forgotten when Sharon huffed impatiently and planted a hand at the back of his neck to press her lips to his again.

He slipped his hands underneath her shirt, then on an insistent squeeze, nudged her into his lap, never once letting go of the kiss. When she straddled him, however, it was Sharon who broke it, moving the hair out of her face with an elegant shake of her head. She dropped her forehead to his and whispered, "You should lose bets like these more often."

"You should feed me potato chips more often," he countered, making his point by bucking his hips into her.

She giggled in that rare, carefree, high-pitched tone of hers, then kissed him again. He grinned when they let up for air and their combined breathing fogged up her glasses. When she put a hand against his chest, getting some distance between them, and unceremoniously tore them off her face, he chuckled.

She folded her glasses, but did not let go of them as she tangled her hands behind his neck. She squinted, for show really, and complained. "You're blurry."

He pulled his hands out from underneath her shirt and clasped her face, his thumbs running over her cheekbones until she stopped squinting. "You're beautiful."

She instantly smiled.

"Especially your eyes," he added, letting go of her cheeks to brush his thumbs affectionately across the crinkles that appeared in their corners.

"Charmer," she muttered, but dipped her head to kiss him quickly again anyway.

Grinning, he dropped his hands and focused on them as he slipped them beneath her shirt again. When he thrummed his fingers lightly against her sides and her posture stiffened, he smirked. "Just speaking my truth."

When his fingers traced the edge of her bra, Sharon clasped his wrists and straightened. He looked up to find her matching his smirk with a coy smile of her own. "Let's save some truths for the bedroom." She ground against his lap just in case he was missing her point.

On a low groan, he dropped his forehead to her shoulder. When she laughed, he recovered and caught her off guard by dipping his hands to her lower back and sliding her closer across his lap. The sudden movement had her throw her head back long enough for Andy's lips to latch onto the revealed skin of her neck. Careful not to leave a mark, he sucked on a spot he knew to be particularly sensitive and distracting, then mumbled, "Let's."

Before Sharon could do so much as moan in pleasure, his hands dipped even lower, to the backs of her thighs, and in one swift motion he was on his feet with her.

Alarmed, she instinctively hooked her legs around him and clutched desperately at his neck, dropping her glasses to the couch. "Andy, put me down!"

He adjusted his hold on her, then kissed her cheek. "Nope."

She relaxed, but only in exasperation. "You're not twenty anymore, you know?"

"I know," he agreed a bit regretfully, making her smile. "Just," he jostled her a little until she was even more securely in his arms, "trust me."

"I trust you," Sharon said indignantly, but did rest her chin against his shoulder, missing the immediate smile the easy constatation drew on Andy's face, "it's your old bones I'm wary of."

"Ouch," he said, then squeezing her thighs in retaliation, added, "I'll show you old in a minute." When she chuckled, instead of heading to the bedroom to make good on his promise, he remembered the discarded bag of chips and with the intention of folding it close so its contents didn't dry out, he bent down a little. In the process, he dipped Sharon and, holding onto him more tightly, she let out a startled "Oh, my God!"

Straightening again and making sure she was safely in his arms, on steady feet Andy finally started walking toward their bedroom. "Started without me?" he teased.

Sharon snorted into his neck.

It wasn't until they were safely ensconced behind the closed door of their bedroom that Andy let her back down to her feet, his arms only loosely looped around her.

She tried to glare away his cocky smirk, but instead, a smile crept upon her face on its own volition and she found purchase on his hips, pulling him closer to her. She still had her wits about her though. "I'm waiting," she challenged, "old bo-"

He cut her off with a bruising kiss.

…

The following morning, Andy woke first. At the feel of an arm resting heavily on his chest, he instantly grinned and looked to his side. Sharon lay sprawled on her stomach, facing away from him. He suppressed a chuckle when he realized she was taking up a good two thirds of their bed, then careful not to wake her, slowly moved her arm. She didn't stir awake, but did tuck her arm under her pillow in response. Andy itched to run a hand down the exposed skin of her upper back, but—he remembered this on a smug smirk—he'd proven what old bones could still do the previous night, and decided she'd appreciate the extra sleep, even if he was certain she wouldn't mind the attentions he'd have in store for her if he did wake her up.

Seeing though that he would not be falling back asleep, but being too lazy to actually get up and start his day, he reached for his phone.

After he turned off the alarm clock, he opened his news app. Same old recycled news from the day, if not week, before, of course, filled his screen, and he was just about to find something else to do, when a headline in the sports section caught his eye. 'Last Night's Spectacular Recovery...' part of the title read, underneath a photo of the banners of the teams that had clashed the previous evening. He clicked the 'read more' link, then instantly sat up as he scanned the article. "They what?!" he exclaimed, then immediately winced at his loud voice, his eyes darting to Sharon's sleeping form.

She woke, of course, a sleepy, disgruntled moan coming out of her. She turned her head his way, then frowned. "What's with the yelling?"

Andy was no longer sorry for waking her up. "They won!" He pointed a finger at his phone screen, then at himself. "I won the bet!"

Sharon closed her eyes, her brow momentarily creasing further, needing a second to remember what bet he was talking about. When she did, her eyes flew open. "You did?"

"Yes!" Andy exclaimed yet again, all but shoving his phone in her face when she pushed herself up on her elbows. "Ugh," he groaned when she took his phone to read through the article, "I could have had those chips all to myself," he mumbled disappointedly.

Sharon flung the phone back in his lap. "You wouldn't have shared?" she asked, her voice thinning, offended.

Andy looked at her blandly, his response matter-of-fact. "You and I both know who the bigger person in this relationship is."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "You're so not getting the rest of them."

"The hell I'm not," Andy disagreed. "I won 'em fair and square."

With that, he flung the covers off himself, draping them over Sharon in the process, and practically jumped out of bed.

With a jerked movement, Sharon freed herself of the offending item just in time to see Andy swinging his bathrobe over him and heading for the door. She was on her feet equally as quickly, grabbing and wrapping her own robe around herself as she hurried after him.

She nearly bumped into his back, however, when she reached the living room.

"They're gone," Andy whispered disbelievingly, standing rooted to the spot and staring at the coffee table.

"What's gone?" Rusty appeared out of the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes landing on his mother, he added on a smile, "Good morning, by the way."

Sharon tied the sash of her robe a bit more securely, then joined Andy at his side. "Good morning," she greeted, matching his smile, then chanced a glance at Andy, a dumbstruck look on his face. When it didn't seem like he would be responding to Rusty's question any time soon, she did so in his stead. "There was a bag of potato chips," she waved a hand at the coffee table, "there."

"Oh," Rusty followed her wave, then scratched the back of his head awkwardly, "I haven't had potato chips in like forever, so," he grimaced, realizing he perhaps shouldn't have done what he was about to admit to doing, "I may have polished it off when I came home last night."

That jump-started Andy's ability to speak. "You what?" he practically screeched.

At the same time, Sharon burst out laughing.

Andy continued incredulously. "But you ignored the half-full bowl of popcorn?" He waved a hand at the bowl that in fact still stood on the table, more than a sizable portion of popcorn in it.

Rusty winced. "I like them crunchy, and these already went stale."

"He likes them cru-" Andy couldn't even finish repeating Rusty's sentence, but looked wildly around the room, unbelieving. "Are you hearing this?" he suddenly asked Sharon.

She hid her mouth behind both of her palms, unable to contain her laughter.

Rusty frowned at this point, absolutely baffled by both their reactions. "What's the big deal?"

As Andy instantly started on a mini rant, describing exactly what the big deal was, Rusty just stared at him. For a while now, a big topic in the household was Sharon and Andy's medically conditioned diets. Sharon found it less difficult to make the transition. For as long as Rusty had known her, she was always watching what she ate, and regularly made sure he, too, ate more than just junk food or take out. Andy, however, who had actually had more time to get used to it, seeing as he was on doctor's order ever since his blood clot ordeal, grumbled about all his restrictions often enough that Rusty, and he suspected his mom, too, simply learned to tune him out, whenever he got particularly prickly about it. Like now.

The healthier diet was never forced on Rusty though. He still indulged in plenty of burgers and fries, but it had kind of become the norm for there not to be all that many unhealthy snacks lying around the house. Still, sometimes he'd go out and stock up on some, sometimes his mom would think of him and get him something, even Andy remembered to get something for him if he went on a grocery run. So when he came home last night, he didn't think twice about enjoying the bag he found on the coffee table. Their reactions now though, confused the hell out of him. Hoping to make up for it, and really to just put an end to this increasingly strange conversation, he interrupted Andy and said, "Look, I'll get you a new one."

Two simultaneous, equally as baffling, responses came at that.

"You sure will," Andy agreed threateningly.

"No need," Sharon said dismissively.

Then the duo turned to glare at each other.

Rusty gave the heavens an exasperated look, part of him truly seeking out divine help. "Not this again," he mumbled, ignoring them and going over to the couch.

"Cheat day was yesterday," Sharon said, and this drew Rusty's attention again and he turned his head to look at them. Things were beginning to make a little more sense.

"Yesterday?" Andy threw his arms out. "What yesterday? You mean those five minutes before—" He suddenly snapped his mouth shut, throwing Rusty a quick look as he obviously remembered they weren't alone.

Sharon smirked, raising an eyebrow and taking half a step back as she folded her arms in nothing if not challenge.

Rusty took a sip of his coffee, and actually sent out a quiet prayer for Andy not to take her up on it. He could already deduce much more than he wanted to, and he'd appreciate being spared any more details. Unfortunately, as Andy still considered his response, Rusty's eyes fell on the glasses Sharon had dropped on the couch the previous evening. Having eaten the chips in his room when he came home, he hadn't noticed them before. Now, however, they only further helped his deductive skills and he regretted not drinking his coffee in his room as well. He picked them up, then interrupted them just as Andy opened his mouth to finally say something. "Really?" he drawled, dangling the glasses between two fingers as if they were too sullied for full skin-on-plastic contact.

Andy rolled his eyes and snatched the glasses out of his hold, handing them unceremoniously over to Sharon. "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter," he muttered. "Nothing happened." He shot Sharon, who put her glasses on, an absolutely filthy look, and added, still in a very much grumbling tone, but quietly, for her ears only, "Not here anyway."

Rusty didn't hear what he said, but did not miss his look, and what was more, the way his mother actually squirmed, blushed and laughed all at once. He dropped his head over the backrest of the couch, squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. "Guys!"

Andy must have decided that mental image was enough punishment for his faux pas, for Rusty felt him walking past his head in the direction of the kitchen, a low chuckle emanating from him. Then a hand he knew belonged to Sharon disturbed his hair. When he opened his eyes to look at her upside down, she was smiling apologetically at him. "Sorry," she rolled her eyes at Andy's grouchy mood, "he was really excited about those potato chips."

Completely misinterpreting her words, Rusty's eyes went wide and he lifted his head, a horrified "Mom!" on his lips.

She glared at the back of his head, unimpressed. Having reached her limit for tolerating his exaggerated disgust of them, she pointed a finger threateningly at Rusty's head. "You know what," she then started following Andy into the kitchen, "just for that, you now owe us two bags." She ignored Andy's ensuing victorious laugh, then knowing Rusty would whirl around to stare at her, turned to meet his look, daring him to disobey.

Rusty instantly retreated, muttering a quick, obedient, "Yes, Mom." He flopped his head back down on the couch, and grumbled loud enough to make Sharon laugh, "I'm never eating potato chips again."

[bitchesofostwick]

boba kisses

i wrote something short and sweet for OC kiss week! this is featuring ellinor and @cullenvhenan​‘s OC caridad <3 ily ellie and happy valentine’s day!

***

“We need to talk,” Ellinor huffs as soon as Avery opens the door to their shared apartment. She crosses her arms—not that she needs to; the tone in her voice alone has him raising his eyebrows and throwing his hands up in feigned defense.

He kicks the door closed behind him and tosses his keys into the dish on the counter. “What did I do this time?”

She narrows her eyes at him, crossing her arms. “Pastry delivery this morning.”

He knows what she means. She can tell. Because he goes from being defensive to being completely and utterly pleased with himself, a shit-eating grin spreading over his face before he even answers.

This was all his fucking plan, she thinks.

Earlier that day, she’d gone in for her shift at the cafe—her one opening shift of the week, because she’d probably die if she did more than that. Clocked in. Started brewing the coffees, grinding the espresso. At 6 a.m. sharp, the back door buzzer sounded—Avery, she’d figured, here to deliver the daily pastry and bagel order from the bakery across the street. The bakery Caridad Lacanilao owned. Caridad’s bakery. The bakery owned by Caridad, who Avery worked for. Caridad, she thought wistfully before shaking her head abruptly. Avery always delivered the pastries in the morning, and he always gave her shit if she didn’t let him in quickly. So she wiped her hands off on the apron loosely tied over her flannel top, flipped off the coffee grinder, and headed out for the back door.

And when she’d opened it, it was not Avery, but Caridad Lacanilao standing there.

“That was not cool!” she huffs to Avery, still crossing her arms. “You were supposed to—I didn’t know—I wasn’t expecting—”

“Calm down!” He smirks at her. It’s infuriating. “I thought you’d be glad to know that it was her idea.”

She sputters. “Her—what?”

“Yeah. I’d already boxed up the pastries and stuff, and I was about to head out when she told me to start getting the baguettes in the oven. Which she usually does herself. So she definitely just wanted to go flirt with you.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

Of course he does. This is all just hilarious to him.

“Well she didn’t,” Ellinor grumbles. “Flirt with me, I mean.”

“Come on, Ell—”

“I’m serious! There was no flirting! I opened the fucking door and she was like ‘hi,’ and I said ‘oh.’” She throws her hands up in the air. “Literally just ‘oh.’ Like an idiot. I couldn’t make this up.”

“It’s not like you guys haven’t had normal conversations before.” Sensing that she’s no longer...hostile...he kicks his shoes off and hangs his jacket on the hook by the door.

Shr shrugs. “I know. But it takes...so long to get to that point. I always say something dumb or awkward. Like ‘oh.’ And she’s probably like, ‘I have so many better things I could be doing than talking to this loser’—”

“She would never think that.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I work with her?” he says. “And she’s always asking how you’re doing or talking about how she might go across the street for a latte if the shop gets slow.”

Ellinor perks up. “Really?”

“Yes!” Avery says, rolling his eyes. “Seriously. You guys are so weird about this whole thing, I don’t know why you can’t just see that the other is interested—”

“She’s not interested!” she insists. “I mean, not like...not like that. I’m sure she’s just like, ‘oh, that’s Ellinor, my employees sister, who I could definitely see as a friend but nothing more than’—”

“Stop putting words in her mouth, Ell.” He sighs, flopping down on the couch. “You’re just speculating because you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid. I saw her this morning.”

“Yeah, and from the little bit that you told me, it seems like that went just great.”

She doesn’t even bother telling him about how she could barely get her words straight when she offered Caridad a coffee, or about how she literally dropped two bagels on the floor by accident stocking the pastry case while said coffee was brewing and Caridad was standing idly waiting for it.

“It was. Fine.”

“Look at me.”

“No,” she mumbles, but he won’t relent.

“Ell. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re really okay with just seeing Caridad a couple times a week at the cafe or bakery or maybe when all three of us hang out.”

She tilts her head back and forth indecisively, and Avery sighs.

“One of you has to make a move eventually.”

“Well it’s not going to be me,” she says decisively, tossing her phone onto the coffee table before heading into the bathroom.

Deep breaths, Ellinor, she thinks, closing the door behind her. It’s not like her to get so flustered about anything, really, but Caridad was another story. She splashes some water on her face and pats a towel over her cheeks, taking one final deep breath before emerging.

“You good?” Avery snorts, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“I’m fine.” She sits down next to him on the sofa, picking up her phone from where she’d left it only to find a text waiting for her on her lock screen.

Caridad

Yeah, that would be cool

She almost drops her phone from how quickly she tries to swipe it open. “What the…” Inside is a text from her that was very obviously not written by her.

Hi Caridad! Avery told me you’re taking the day off tomorrow. I’m off too! Would you want to get boba together?

“Avery,” she breathes.

“Mmhmmmm?”

“What have you done?”

“You said you weren’t going to make a move. So I made a move for you.”

“Avery—”

“I know you’re off tomorrow. And I know you didn’t have any plans. But now you do!”

“I’m going to kill you,” she says, her heart racing. “I’m going to—oh my god, I have to tell her I can’t. This was a mistake.”

“But she already said yes!”

Oh my god. She said yes.

She groans and falls back into the couch cushions. “Fuck. You’re right.”

***

She stands outside the boba shop, shifting her weight from foot to foot. This was a bad idea. Caridad isn’t even here yet. Granted, she made sure to get to the boba shop exactly 15 minutes early. She even woke up early for this. She’d agreed to meet with Caridad at 1, but she woke up at 10, showered, changed into ripped denim shorts with tights and about eight different flannel shirts before deciding on a red one. And she put on makeup for this. And a matching red knit beanie. And all of that only took until 11. Which means she had two extra hours to pace around her apartment anxiously before heading out.

She’d hung out with Caridad alone only two times before this, and both were months ago. The first time was one night when they’d happened to close the cafe and bakery at the same time and ran into each other in the street, and Caridad mentioned that she was going to go get ramen, and Ellinor had stupidly said oh, me too! She was not, in fact, going to go get ramen after work. Or at least, she wasn’t until her brain decided to make up something stupid just to be able to hang out with Caridad. But Caridad had said oh, we could um. Go together. So it worked. In a way. And they got ramen. And it was awkward at first, but after a few glasses of sake it was decidedly less awkward, and they ended up staying and chatting until the restaurant was closing. The other time, they’d planned to go see a movie with Avery only for Avery to bail at the last minute. Ellinor hadn’t thought much of it then (she sure does now), but she and Caridad had gone together anyway. And it was nice. And their fingers had brushed together every time they’d reached for popcorn at the same time, which was...several times. And after the movie, they’d walked the long way home. Neither of them suggested it. But their feet seemed to carry them blocks away from the more direct route to their neighborhood, and they’d chatted together in the quiet street-lit sidewalks until finally it seemed like the only place left to go was home.

But anyway. Both of those times were months ago, and even though Ellinor had been convinced that they could’ve had something then, she’s all but lost hope by now. And yet thanks to Avery, here she was, standing outside the boba shop looking like an idiot waiting for Caridad.

That’s if she doesn’t end up deciding this is a bad idea.

“Ellinor?”

She turns sharply only to find her standing there, and for a second, she doesn’t even know what to say.

These days, if she sees her at all, it’s usually in her standard baker’s jacket and black pants, black hair tied back into a bun or ponytail. Not this time. Today, Caridad is dressed in ripped gray skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder red top, her hair loose and long and flowing past her bare shoulders. Oh good, she wore makeup too, Ellinor thinks, noting Caridad’s cherry red lipstick and smokey eye combination. It would’ve been weird if only I wore… She shakes her head. Stop being stupid. Say something.

“Hey,” she says nervously. “Uh. Our red shirts match.”

Caridad flashes an awkward smile. “Ha. Yeah. They do.”

You fucking idiot, Ellinor, she thinks.

They stare at each other until another customer steps out of the boba shop and walks right between them out onto the sidewalk.

“Oh. Right.” Ellinor opens the door for them. “Uh. After you.”

Caridad steps inside, her heeled boots clicking gently on the floor. “What are you going to get?” she asks her, and Ellinor blushes.

“Oolong.”

“Oh! Yeah. Me too.”

Ellinor’s eyes widen.

“It’s my favorite,” Caridad clarifies.

“Yeah, me too.”

She manages to order her tea without making too much of an embarrassment of herself, and they make their way out of the shop.

“Do you want to go to the park?” Caridad asks quickly. “I mean, unless you wanted to go somewhere else. I don’t care.”

“No! The park is—the park would be nice.”

With her heels on, Caridad is only just taller than Ellinor. She glances at her shyly as they walk together. We’re probably the same height, she figures, because from where she stands, she can see the way her cheeks redden in the early spring cold, and the way her eyelashes flutter when she catches Ellinor looking at her.

Oops.

The park is surprisingly quiet when they arrive. They sip their boba in silence, walking around the gardens and the fountains that had only just thawed from the winter weather.

“Wait…” Ellinor says suddenly, looking around.

Caridad stops. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I mean. This is where...isn’t this where we walked around after the movies, that one time?”

If Caridad’s face was flushed before, it’s really red now. “Oh,” she says hurriedly. “Yeah. I guess so.”

I guess so.

Ellinor’s heart sinks. It probably doesn’t matter as much to her. “Yeah, I only just remembered. That was. Uh. Fun.”

“Yeah,” Caridad mumbles. “It was.”

Despite her discouragement, Avery’s voice rings in her ears. One of you has to make a move eventually.

Ugh. He’s right, even if she wouldn’t admit it to his face. And if she doesn’t say something now, she’ll probably regret it.

Definitely regret it.

“Hey, Caridad.”

Her eyes snap up from where she’d been looking at her boots, meeting Ellinor’s gaze. “Yeah?”

“What...um. What happened, after that night?” She swallows. “I mean, I thought we’d had a really nice time. I’d hoped that maybe we could’ve hung out again sometime, but I—well, maybe it’s me, I was too scared to ask you, but I did think it was fun and I sort of wished we’d hung out again but you never said anything so I sort of assumed you probably did want to but I did want to and...oh fuck, now I’m babbling, and—”

“You did?” Caridad asks in a small voice.

“Did what?” Ellinor squeaks.

“You—you did want to hang out with me again?”

“W-well—yeah! I mean. Yeah, I did. I just didn’t think you were interested because you’re so. Cool. And stuff. But I thought...that we’d really had fun that night. And—”

“So did I.”

“You...oh.” Ellinor says nervously. “You did.”

“Yeah. It was really nice.”

Ellinor takes a deep breath, considering this. “So, did you...suggest coming to the park on purpose?”

Caridad looks back downward. “Yeah.”

Oh.

She looks up. “Caridad.”

“Yes?”

Clutching her boba in her hands, she takes a single step closer to her, tilts her head up, and kisses her cheek.

“Oh,” Caridad whispers, and she looks into Ellinor’s eyes, blushing, surprised, but smiling. Just a little.

But a little is enough.

The next time Ellinor leans in, she meets her lips in a full kiss, soft and careful and tasting like sweetened oolong tea. Ellinor wonders if her red lipstick will rub off on her. She hopes it does.

“That was…” she breathes when Caridad pulls away. “Nice.”

Caridad smiles, bringing the straw from her boba to her mouth. “It was nice.”

[bluesey-182]

We Have To Stop Meeting Like This - Chapter 12 

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / ao3

so this is super fluffy and maybe a little cringey but it’s what i wanted to write lol. hopefully you enjoy! 

--------

Cardan’s bedroom door opened with a flourish and spit out the Ghost looking like he hadn’t changed his clothes in days despite his wet hair suggesting a recent shower. Without pause, Ghost flopped down onto the bed between Jude and Cardan and let out a great huff into the pillows.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Cardan asked sleepily as the disturbance woke him from his late afternoon nap. Jude set her phone down on the nightstand beside her and poked Ghost like he was a dead body.

Dramatically, he flipped himself onto his back and smacked Cardan in the face in the process. “The two of you have been wallowing for two weeks, and I respect that you’re in mourning, but it’s time you got out of this damn apartment and coped like any self-disrespecting person in their twenties would do.”

“What are you talking about?” Cardan asked as he attempted to pry Ghost off of where he was now cuddling Cardan.

“You’re going to drive sweet Jude here back to her apartment where she can change out of your god awful workout clothes and then the three of us,” Ghost paused to throw his other arm around Jude, “are going to a fucking bar.”

“I don’t know if I really--,” Cardan began.

“I don’t care.” With this, Ghost gave Cardan a smooch on the cheek, threw a wink in Jude’s direction, and then left with as much drama as he had entered with.

“I really hate him sometimes,” Cardan grumbled as he wiped away Ghost’s kiss with a grimace. “But honestly it would be nice to get out.”

“Okay,” Jude said simply.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Cardan’s expression suggested he was hoping she’d want to come.

She gave him a real smile and answered honestly, “Yeah, it’d be nice to get out. And to put on some real clothes.”

Cardan laughed and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Then let’s go to a fucking bar, as Ghost so astutely put it.”

Taryn was in the apartment--without her annoying ass boyfriend, thank god--when Jude came home to change her clothes. The twins exchanged a glare but otherwise ignored each other as Jude made her way to her bedroom. She had already showered that morning at Cardan’s so now only needed to throw on some clothes and do something with her mass of curly hair. Digging through her closet, she came out with a pair of black skinny jeans, knee high boots, and a yellow crop top Taryn had given her that was decorated with various fruits. After dressing she ran a comb through her hair and decided to just leave it down for the night. As a last thought, she threw on a bit of mascara before leaving the apartment and running down the outdoor stairs to climb back into Cardan’s BMW. Surprisingly the Ghost had stayed in the backseat this time.

"Whoa," Cardan whispered as he took in Jude's outfit. He didn't seem to notice he had spoken but his eyes scanned her reverently from head to toe before meeting her own gaze. His eyes were alight as she gave him a slow grin.

"I think this is the first time I've seen you at a loss for words," she teased.

"I think you're shorting out my brain," he finally said. "Fucking hell you look beautiful." 

Jude felt herself blushing all the way to her collar bone. The longer Cardan looked at her like that, the hotter she felt.

"So, ummm," Ghost interjected, making Jude and Cardan jump at the sudden reminder that they weren't alone. "Can we go now or do you two need to go upstairs and like… take care of this?" 

Now Jude was blushing for a different reason and she couldn't explain why she was filled with the urge to smack Ghost, but she was also beginning to suspect this was a normal symptom of being around him. With a final grin in Jude's direction--a grin that somehow felt like a promise--Cardan started the car.

They ended up at the same bar as before and had to do a few laps around the parking lot to find a parking space. Finally, Cardan squeezed his shitty car between two trucks that were clearly compensation for some rednecks and piled out of the car as best they could in the narrow space. It was Friday night in a college town so, of course, the place was packed.

Inside they were greeted with someone’s squeaking rendition of an Abba song. Ghost let out a loud groan at the same time Cardan laughed uproariously.

“Fuck, it’s karaoke night!” Ghost shouted over the noise.

“Then I guess we better get very drunk,” Cardan responded through his laughter.

They were indeed very drunk. They had turned karaoke into a drinking game. Every time one of them wanted to stick an ice pick into their ears because of the horrible singing, they took a shot. Everytime someone in the crowd shouted “Yes bitch!” to a friend on stage, they took a shot. With every sip towards being wasted, Jude became more and more transfixed with Cardan’s increasingly disheveled hair. It was like the hair itself was drunk, tumbling all over the place and hanging in his face. They’d take a shot, he’d rake his hands through his hair, and Jude’s heart would do traitorous things in her chest. Who the fuck let this boy be this hot?

He was saying something to her. Shit, Jude was drunk.

“What?” She asked.

“I said,” he purred, leaning into her personal space so that his lips were so, so close. “That you should get up there.” He indicated the stage and Jude’s stomach dropped.

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“I’ll do it after you,” he promised with a smile.

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it,” she returned with a smile of her own. 

Cardan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth. Jude felt like she could drown in his kiss and happily do so. She thought she could happily drown in him. 

“Okay fine,” she relented.

Cardan laughed, “I wasn’t even trying to convince you, I just wanted to kiss my beautiful girlfriend.”

Girlfriend girlfriend girlfriend 

“Let’s make a deal, Greenbriar,” she said, rising from her seat to settle sideways in his lap. “We’ll both sing a stupid karoake song and Ghost here,” at the mention of his name Ghost looked drunkenly over at them and smiled like an idiot, “will decide who sang better and the loser has to pay for all of the winners drinks for the rest of the night.”

Cardan threw his head back and laughed, exposing his throat to her. She couldn’t explain why that action made something come alive inside her. “Oh darling, you couldn’t afford all of my drinks. But alright, you’re on.”

As the current song came to an end, Jude stepped up to the stage to choose a song. A lot of them were old 80’s rock music but there were some more recent releases as well, though most she didn’t recognize. Eventually she came across a song she knew. Her heart was racing. Why was she doing this? Her singing was mediocre at best. She was about to make a fool of herself. And for what? To prove something to Cardan? Her competitive side was going to kill her someday. She looked back at their table and was about to go back and tell Cardan she was kidding when he smiled at her. It wasn’t a mocking smile but a supportive one, one that glowed with curiosity and wonder at her. She felt the energy of it surge through her body and stepped up to the microphone. 

She sang her way through The Love Club as Cardan cheered her on and not-so-subtly checked her out with a smile on his full lips. Jude wanted to kiss him. The microphone easily detached from its stand and Jude carefully stepped off stage to their table nearby it. She continued to sing, but with more laughter in her voice now, as she went to Cardan and sat in his lap again. Some people hooted and hollered but the noise was lost on Jude as she stared into Cardan’s glowing eyes. His smile was soft, meant only for her. His hands were on her side, holding her to him, and he gently placed a kiss to her cheek. He was looking at her, holding her, smiling at her like she was the only one in the world for him. She felt quiet inside as she finished the song to some scattered cheers around the room. 

Jude found she was at a loss for words. A loss for thoughts, more like, and so she wordlessly passed the microphone to Cardan. He smirked, shifted her off his lap, and bounded towards the stage.

"Have you ever heard Cardan sing?" Ghosts asked her over the rumble of the bar crowd. "Like, actually sing? Not that stupid shit he does in the car."

"No," Jude answered truthfully. "Why?"

"You might be in for a surprise." 

Cardan picked his song out far faster than Jude had and already the music was starting. Cardan flashed her his signature smirk before he started singing.

"The simulation just went bad, but you're the best I've ever had."

If Jude's singing was mediocre, Cardan's was anything but. Despite his screaming and dying noises in the car when he sang along with the radio, his voice was actually… good.

Which meant Jude was screwed. She must have made a face at the realization because just then Ghost started cackling.

"Like hand prints in wet cement, she touched me, it's permanent."

There was a group of girls by the stage checking out Cardan and whispering to each other but he kept his eyes and his irritating smile on Jude.

"In my head, in my head…"

"I hate him," she said to no one in particular.

"No you don't," Ghost said, "you're just mad you lost."

"You're a dickbag."

Ghost cackled again, "Damn, Cardan was right, you have an arsenal of names to call someone. I like it." He reached his fist across the table and, despite herself, Jude bumped her knuckles against his. 

Suddenly a hand was grabbing the free hand in her lap and she looked up to see Cardan's face just before he tugged her off her chair and onto the stage with him. The girls standing by the stage gave her some nasty looks, but Cardan just kept singing to her. She tried to pull away to get off the stage but Cardan spun her around and tucked her against him and all her thoughts left her. There was only the feeling of his stomach pressed against her back, his arm looped loosely around her waist, and his voice filling her ear. She found herself smiling. 

And then Cardan pulled away and started dancing like an idiot and Jude laughed so hard she snorted. God, she was drunk. But when Cardan offered his hand again for her to join him, she took it. He looked happier in that moment than he had in weeks and Jude had the sensation of falling. 

"I can't hide," Cardan sang, pulling her in close again so their noses were pressed together, "how I feel about you, inside. I'd give everything up tonight, if I could just have you be mine. Be mine, baby."

Her body stopped moving, her attention completely transfixed with Cardan standing in front of her. Cardan's mouth, Cardan's eyes, Cardan's hands. She wanted to snatch him away and run off somewhere to be alone. She just wanted him. And as he gave her one of his real, goofy smiles, her legs gave out beneath her and Cardan was there pulling her up against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he finished his song before pressing a hot kiss against her lips. The applause for Cardan's performance was louder than it had been after hers and she knew without a doubt that she had lost their bet. But she couldn't bring herself to care when Cardan was still kissing her like that.

Cardan didn't let go of her until they were back at their table, and even then he settled down into his chair with her still in his lap. Her legs were still around him and she buried her face into the crook of his neck to breathe in the scent of him. His various earrings tickled her skin but she only buried herself deeper. His arms were a solid wall around her. She was safe here with him. She always would be.

"So do I have to tell you who won or is it obvious?" Ghost teased. 

Finally, Jude pulled away from Cardan enough to look at their friend. "It's obvious, jackass, but you don't have to rub it in."

As Ghost laughed, Cardan gently tipped Jude's head back towards his. "You were really good though."

"Oh, please, no I wasn't," she said with a blush.

"All I could think about while you were up there was how badly I wanted to kiss you," Cardan whispered, so close she could feel his breath against her lips. 

"Just kiss?" She breathed. 

Cardan smiled a wicked smile and looked at her lips. "Why, Jude? Having dirty thoughts?" 

"Maybe." The word came out in a whisper as Cardan leaned in to kiss her again. The kiss was desperate, one after another after another, and then his tongue slipped into her mouth and his hands slid up her back and--

"You guys are the fucking worst," Ghost said behind them.

Cardan pulled away but immediately buried his head against Jude's chest. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm actually going to kill him."

With a smile, Jude pressed a soft kiss to the top of Cardan's head and rose. She laughed as he shifted in his seat and arranged his legs in a manner that hid what was going on in his lap after that kiss. He stuck his tongue out at her like a little kid as she continued to laugh. 

They took an Uber home. Despite Ghost’s best efforts, he went home without a man or woman for company. They walked into the apartment, arms slung about each other's shoulders, like a three headed monster--still singing a song that had been playing on the Ubers radio. Jude was full of bubbling laughter, Cardan looking at her like she was made of starlight, and Ghost was so drunk that he immediately collapsed facedown on the couch and started to snore. Once in Cardan's bedroom, Jude began trying to take off her boots but her hands didn't seem to know how to be hands anymore. With a soft laugh, Cardan gently sat her on the edge of the bed and pulled her shoes off for her.

"Can I borrow something to sleep in?" She slurred, gripping onto Cardan's shoulder for balance as the world started spinning. 

"Of course, my darling god."

He gave her one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts. She ignored the latter but pulled the shirt over her head after Cardan helped her undress. With a contented sigh, she laid back in his bed.

Cardan used the restroom and changed before climbing in beside her, the motion waking her from her almost sleep. Cardan was humming as he pulled her into him.

"What are you singing?" She asked as she threw her arm over his hip to hold onto him.

"Darling can't you see," he sang softly. It took Jude just a moment to recognize the song as the same one he sang to her in the park. "I'm a broken man with addictive tendencies and I think… I love you."

--------

in case you’re interested, the song cardan sings at the bar is “bloody valentine” by mgk bc im trash. the next chapter is gonna be steamy and nsfw so prepare yourself for that lmao. hope you enjoyed!

@goblinwhoships @hizqueen4life @courtofjurdan @pilesofriles @velarian-trash @standbislytherin @heyheyheylemonade @ireallyshouldsleeprn

[nomoregraydays]

Switched - Grayson Dolan Imagine

Concept: It’s Grayson and Ethan’s day of filming for switching lives. Y/N, Grayson’s gf, has no idea until she gets there that morning. So now she has to hang out with Ethan for the day. Even though she’s shy, Ethan does the best he can to be Gray, as a boyfriend, for the time they spend together.

Word Count: 3023

Warnings: it’s poorly written...? 

A/N: I’m sorry for lack of posts. Here’s the GD Imagine I’ve been talking about that @whatmakesmehappyy brought up. I’m sorry if it seems choppy and what not. I hope you end up enjoying it nonetheless though, this is for my Gray girls<3

****

Y/N unlocks the front door with her key and walks into the twins’ house as she puts it back in her messenger bag. “Gray?.. Gray, where are you?”

There’s a moment of silence before Ethan yells, “Fuck!,” in the background.

Now, he appears in the hallway, holding his GoPro as he’s filming, “I forgot I have a girlfriend and that she was coming over today.”

Her face twists into confusion. “Eth-”

Ethan cuts her off, “I’m not Ethan, I’m Grayson today.”

Y/N thinks for a moment, then realizes what’s going on and plays along. “Right. How’s it going, boyfriend?”

“Just great, the work list has been stupid.”

“You mean the daily life responsibilities that I’m stuck doing?” Gray scoffs, walking into the living room from the kitchen. “The dishes still aren’t done.”

Ethan obnoxiously groans and stomps to the kitchen to finish them. “This...sucks!”

Gray smirks lightly and looks at Y/N lovingly and then his face cringes a little. He’s not jealous, but feels more apologetic towards the situation. “I’m sorry you’re going to be with this loser all day. It’s for a video.”

Y/N laughs with a wink. “You’ll have to make up for it later.”

“Deal.” Gray steps closer for a hug, and he’s about to leave a kiss on her nose when Ethan comes whisking in to tug Y/N away.

“That’s my girlfriend! Come on, Y/N, let’s go do couply stuff.”

Gray only shakes his head and shrugs. “Guess I should get back to playing fortnite cause it’s literally all E does.”

Ethan points a serious finger at Gray. “One more comment about my lifestyle and I swear-”

“I thought you were Gray?” Y/N jokes.

“I am, but-”

“But what? Bro, just take your girl for ice cream.” Gray, sort of awkwardly, winks at Y/N and walks off to go to Ethan’s bedroom.

As Y/N looks back at Ethan, he’s looking at a neatly written to do list to see what was next; ‘Take Y/N for ice cream (she’ll say she doesn’t want ice cream, but she does. She’ll want to pay for it, don’t let her)’. Then he looks at her as he pockets it. “Well, the next thing is to take you for ice cream. Leggo.”

She crosses her arms. “I don’t want ice cream.”

E makes a short, hysterical laugh. “You’re not funny. Let’s go.”

Ethan connects his phone to his car’s bluetooth to put on Spotify; the playlist literally titled ‘Gangsta beats’.

Despite being shy around Ethan sometimes, Y/N snorts, “Gangsta beats, really?”

“Why do you ask that every time I play it? Yes, that’s the title, only thing I could think of when I made it.”

“Mmmhm.”

“Hey! You have a playlist called blah blah blah, so shut up.”

Y/N bites her lip to stop herself from laughing too hard. “Okay, that was a fair shot.”

Ethan scoffs lightly, “Of course, it was. I’m not a savage.”

She only gives him a look. ‘That’s one of the biggest fibs that he’s said to this date’ she thinks.

He swung into Jeni’s Splendid parking lot and made a slightly jerky halt in a spot.

As Ethan reaches the door, slightly ahead of Y/N, he turns back around with an annoyed groan. “Gray is super cuddly, isn’t he?”

A bright pink floods her cheeks and she looks at everything but Ethan. She clears her throat. “Yeah, but don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, I’m Gray for the day. Imma do this right.” Ethan takes her hand in his large one, making hers get lost like Gray’s does, and he opens the door for her to enter the ice cream shop first.

The aroma was captivating; it always brings Y/N back to childhood as she grew up in the Los Angeles area. It was the same shop she met the two Jersey boys. She accidentally spilled a shake all over Gray’s shirt; her flip-flop strap part popped off mid walk and caused her to trip. As upset and embarrassed as she felt about getting him all dirty, it ended out to be for the better.

Now Y/N knew she wants a shake, but figures she could have some fun first.

“Pick out any ice cream.” Ethan states, gesturing at all the options.

“How many scoops can I get?”

“As many as you want.” Ethan got a slight smug look on his face, knowing that he said an exact phrase Gray would say, and runs a hand through is hair.

“And that also means I can get five different flavors if I want five scoops?” Y/N tests.

“Yes.”

Y/N taps her chin as she pretends to observe the flavor choices Jeni has today. “Hmm…” She takes more time to keep looking at them. “I think I’ll get-wait no..I think..”

“Babe, can you just decide? There’s people behind us.” Ethan asks, his tone not changing too much to irritation.

Yet anyways.

“Will you split it with me? What flavors do you want? Pistachio?”

Ethan’s face scrunches up. “Ew! No! Why would you even suggest that?”

Y/N knew he meant both and she laughs. “I’m kidding.” She reaches out for Ethan’s hand, shocking him a bit, and tugs him towards the ice cream sandwiches and other frozen treats instead.

“I might actually get one of these.” He comments, eyeing them, and picks out a Strawberry Cheesecake bar.

Y/N continues to take her sweet ass time, trying to get Ethan to break his “cool” stature.

“I’ll go pay for this while you finally make a decision.”

From the corner of her eye, she watches him and waits until he’s back to turn to him.

“I don’t know what I want.” Y/N fake whines. “Baby, this perio-”

“Sssh!” Ethan waves his hand like maniac and pulls Y/N away from as many people as possible. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

“Yes. And if I was on it, I wouldn’t say it aloud.”

He lets out a deep breath, biting his lip. “Fine. Please just pick something now.”

Y/N stands there in a silence, and now another smirk spreads on Ethan’s lips. He takes a step closer, resting a hand on her divot, and whispers, “Make daddy dolan happy.”

She blushes furiously and busts out a laugh as Ethan cringe laughs.

“Please don’t ever say that again.”

“I swear I won’t.”

She shakes her head and finally walks over to the counter to order an Oreo shake with Ethan directly in tow; all eyes were on them as they left, probably from the outburst scenes.

Worth it.

***

“Take a 15 minute power nap...(Y/N gets sleepy around 2 but she won’t say anything...The power nap is for her more than me).” Ethan reads aloud and looks over at Y/N who’s currently holding the GoPro to film.

Grayson appears now and points to her. “I think it’s someone’s nap time.”

She switches the camera point of view to him. “I’m not that-” She cut short with a small yawn and sends a small glare when the two twins laugh under their breaths.

“Bro, I know you lay with her, do I do that? I don’t want to-”

“It’s fine, E.” Gray looks at Y/N with raised brows. “Right? He’s me today, but it’s up to you.”

She blushes and turns the camera on Ethan, who was also being slightly awkward. But having cuddles for a nap is her favorite part. Y/N finally speaks, “I...like..cuddles.”

Gray makes a small smile and claps his hands together once. “It’s settled. Get cuddles and sleep.”

As Y/N rolls her eyes Ethan reaches out to grab her wrist. “Nap time!”

It wasn’t cuddling as in what Gray would do, but Y/N is fairly content and tired enough with Ethan just lying there next to her she closes her eyes.

Grayson tries to distract himself for fifteen minutes by going out to the pool and blowing up one of the floaties. He decides on the turtle because it’s looking low. He uses the pole net to drag it out and opens the air source to give it more life. With satisfaction, he tosses it back in the pool to let it drift around more then goes back inside.

He carefully picks up Y/N in his arms and carries her to his bed. Ethan has no idea what is coming next as Gray yells, “Power nap! Feel the power!” into his ear. Gray lets Y/N sleep for about an hour as he only sleeps for fifteen minutes for a power nap.

“Grayson!” E groans, covering his ears and tries to cuddle back up with the purple pillow.

Grayson tugs it from him and shoves the GoPro into his face. “It’s called a power nap! Feel the power, yet?”

Ethan looks up at him, annoyed, and reluctantly sits up. “No cause I was up too damn early this morning.”

“It’s a good thing to rise and shine, E!”

He only flips off the camera as he goes to do something else on the to-do list: ‘Do laundry.’

Gray sort of hovers; only to have some fun with annoyance. 

“Make sure to separate darks and lights.”

E gives some side eye before throwing in a load of whites first and pouring some detergent into the pocket above. “I’ve got it, Ethan.”

Gray smirks with a laugh, then walks off to E’s bedroom before he instinctively goes to cuddle with Y/N for when she wakes up.

Ethan came bursting into the room with his GoPro. “Does this mean I win the challenge?”

Still tangled with Y/N, Gray whisper yells, “Not a challenge, E! This doesn’t count, she needs me.” He squeezes his thick ass arms tighter around her until she starts to sleepily laugh.

“Gray, babe, I’m awake.”

“Good! It’s time for us to go get supplies for dinner.”

Y/N rubs her face and pulls herself from her boyfriend’s strong, soft grasp. He pouts for a moment and then gets up to go do something else. The car ride is quiet again, Ethan plays the same playlist but lets it continue onto different songs. When they reach the store entrance, Ethan sighs as he holds up the camera.

“Grayson is super cuddly all the freaking time with Y/N, so I have to be super freaking cuddly with her.” With no warning, he wraps an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and brings her into him and walks in. Throughout the day, Y/N has been warming up more and more to E, they’re friends, but they normally don’t spend time together without Grayson.

If that has not been apparent until now.

Y/N began to get giggly and felt like it was a good time to embarrass Ethan by being obnoxious. She tries on some of the hats and sunglasses as they walk from one end of the Target to the grocery side.

“Do these look good, babe?” She sets the bridge of the white oval sunglasses on the rim of her nose and looks at him over them.

“Yeah...Sure.” He ruffles a hand through his hair.

She smiles and jumps up and down a little. “Can I get them?”

He shakes his head and lets out a small puff of air. “No reason to ask me. Get them if you want.” She tosses them into the cart as he points the GoPro towards the food. “I’m gonna get what’s on the list.”

Y/N follows but quickly deters for the pet section and picks up a bag of dog bones to put in the cart.

“Y/N, Gray and I don’t have a dog.”

“But you could! And if you do, you’ll need treats to train.”

Definitely not for the last time, he shakes his head and puts them back. Y/N crosses her arms and now follows as they go to the sauces section, which also happens to have the spices.

“We don’t need saffron!”

Y/N bites her lip to stop herself from laughing too loud. “You might though! You’re always saying Grayson- I mean Ethan is always telling you need to add more seasoning on food.”

She grab little jars of Paprika and Basil to put in the cart.

***

Gray lays on the bed, thinking of what to do. Then he gets an idea of something to say.

“Ethan is probably trying to deal with Y/N right now. She’s probably putting super unnecessary things in the cart right now… I should’ve warned him.”

He notices his phone light up and sees a text from Ethan.

Ethan: How do I handle her???

He shows the camera his phone, trying to get it to focus on the text a little bit. “I told you.”

Gray: Just have fun with her. She loves when people play along. And she gets kinda nervous if she feels like she’s bugging you. DO NOT let her think she’s bugging you I swear bro!

Ethan: Dude chill you know I wouldn’t

She’s fine I really like her … you picked a good one

Gray: Thanks man

Gonna be home soon?

Ethan: …. Not going to answer that

Gray laughs out loud and looks back into the GoPro. “Ethan is definitely having one hell of a time with Y/N at the store. I can’t wait to see what she convinced him to buy that’s not on the list.”

***

“So what are we supposed to do?” Ethan asks.

Y/N takes the bag of shredded cheese out of his hands. “Get the crust out and then spread pizza sauce on them.”

She watches him carefully do it, yet still leave large random globs of it around. She takes the spatula from him and lightly shoves him out of the way. “I’ll make the pizzas.”

“Don’t put the anchovies on, please.”

“I won’t.” Y/N laughs and finishes up as E does something on his phone. E pretends to be annoyed for the camera as the pizzas cook.

“How much longer, Y/N?”

She gestures at the timer and he squints to read it. “Almost done. Woo!”

Carefully the pizzas are taken out of the oven by the two, Y/N takes the one Ethan is supposed to eat.

Ethan states, “I worked really hard on these. You better eat it.”

Gray glances at the pizza before Y/N. “Did you make sure to put anchovies on the Gray pizza?”

She nods with a small smile.

Ethan’s eyes go wide in realization and betrayal. “Y/N, you said you weren’t going to!”

“Hey, gotta play fair.” She shrugs as Gray laughs under his breath and wraps an arm around her waist.

“She’s my girlfriend.” E snatches Y/N by the wrist to pull her over and he looks at the pizza in disgust. “Do I really have to, bro?”

The doorbell rings and Gray gets up from the chair to answer it. “Yes.” He comes back with a Pizza Hut box and now Y/N drops her jaw.

“Hey, my cooking isn’t that bad! Not as bad as what his would be.” She points to him.

Gray smiles a cheesy smile as he picks up a slice. “Sorry, babe. Only here to ruin Gray’s day. He does this to me all the time.” He takes a big bite and over exaggerates his chewing.

“Come on! Let me have a slice of that pizza.”

Grayson thought about it for a second. “If you...eat half a slice with a large anchovy on it, I will give you a slice.”

Gray and Y/N watch in amusement as Ethan barely eats an anchovy and freaks out enough to run into the kitchen and swash water in his mouth from the sink faucet. He goes back to where the other two are to snatch a piece of pizza.

“Let’s just get on to the next part.”

***

“Since Ethan is Grayson today, that means I get to hold his hand when he gets a tattoo.” Y/N speaks into the camera and walks over to where Ethan is sitting on the seat and takes his hand in hers.

“Bro, this part is unfair.” Gray mumbles.

Ethan laughs. “The tattoo isn’t that bad, bro. Don’t be a baby. You’ll be fine without Y/N holding your hand.”

Grayson slightly narrows his eyes and quickly smacks a hand on E’s arm. “Shut up, I’m not a baby because I want Y/N to hold my hand… It’s comforting, you’ll see.”

All Y/N could do is blush and shakes her head.

***

Y/N decides to stand behind the camera for the recording of their outro; it’s their video afterall. She watches in amusement though as they “switch” back. She should’ve been expecting what happened next, yet she is still surprised.

Gray runs over and tackles her behind the camera. He snuggles his face into her neck and whispers, “You’re staying the night, right?”

She giggles. “You promised a make up for having to hang with the loser all day.”

Ethan picks up the camera off the tripod and points it at them. “Hey! I was a great boyfriend!”

“It’s true, you were great. You’re gonna make somebody very happy one day, Ethan.”

He gets kinda blushy, but super smiley. “Shut up.” He puts the camera back on the tripod and heads to leave the room.

“We gotta finish the outro!” Gray yells.

E sticks his head back in the room to throw up a peace sign. “PEACE!” He gives Gray a look. “Good enough?” Then he leaves for good.

Gray just shakes his head and drags Y/N to sit on the purple couch with him for a more proper outro.

“That’s it for this weeks video. Hope you enjoyed it. I definitely like being me more. What did you think babe?”

She laughs. “I prefer you as you.”

He kisses her cheek and snuggles her again. “Good.”

“PEACE!” Y/N suddenly yells and throws up a peace sign.

“Y/N! We’re supposed to say it together!”

[More DT Imagines]

[notsugarandspice]

get you out my mind

eeeeee, I love my Losers so much, and I love Beverly, and I love cute flirty boys playing nurse just AH ♡

Not Rated, Meet-Cute, Skater! Eddie, Richie is in a private school & is #miserable, pretty Cali life, playing nurse

Read it on AO3.

Eddie hasn’t been able to sleep for a whole week. It all fell on him like a vicious monsoon in the middle of an open field. No hopes for cover.

It was just another sunny day, dreamy and pleasant, like most Cali days. The ocean had a pretty glisten, it wasn’t too crowded at the skatepark because the weather was more chilly than usual, and Bill agreed to go out instead of playing video games, which had recently been his favourite occupation. Eddie couldn’t understand for the life of him why a teenage boy would want to stay indoors. Well, he kind of could.

He used to sit at home a lot in elementary school. That’s all he did, really. His mom was overbearing to the point of insanity, and she refused to admit she had a problem. She and his dad were teetering towards divorce when Sonia’s diabetes finally made itself known, giving her a heart attack she couldn’t recover from. She never went for check-ups but loved taking her son. Eddie was only ten back then, he couldn’t remember a lot, but he never missed his mother as much as he probably should. The only memories of her he had was a lock in his door and a bottle of cold medicine that he didn’t need on the bedside drawer. And their constant fighting. As much as he hated to think it, everything was better now.

He flips over to his side, watching the way the drying laundry flops outside his window, uneasy with the morning wind. The Sun just started peaking over the horizon, Eddie can tell by the slightly dim light in his room devoid of curtains. He’s been tossing in his bed for the last thirty minutes, trying to calm his mind enough to let him get another half an hour of sleep. It obviously wasn’t happening. Nada. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t get the dark-haired guy out of his head.

He could never understand the whole thing with crushes. Eddie doesn’t fall for random people. It just doesn’t happen. Until last Friday, that is. The guy really didn’t try to stand out at all, quite the contrary, he was in his uniform, with a book in hand, occasionally glancing at the beach, all forlorn and beautiful. But something about him exasperated Eddie as if Richie was placed on that beach to personally taunt and distract him, all plans of peacefully skating totally ruined. The moment he saw Bill talking to someone on the bench (Bill’s board always ran away from him because he never listened when Eddie said you need more practice before you go crazy) he couldn’t shake the image out of his head.

Richie’s curls sticking out of the hair tie, blue eyes that seemingly changed contrast mid-conversation, all the freckles on his nose and lips. It’s like the image of Richie’s face was permanently stuck behind his eyelids, and the sounds of his slightly croaky voice, and the way that blue polo shifted around his chest when he shimmied on the bench, embarrassed about every adorable thing he’s said. It’s been a week, and Eddie still can’t get him out of his head. They talked once. This is getting ridiculous.

Eddie sits up tapping his foot on the floor, lost in his head completely. He goes to the bathroom on autopilot, rubs his face with cold water and moves down the stairs. Everything is starting to take shape as sunlight slowly creeps upward, all pretty and golden, and Eddie smiles before turning into the kitchen, an image of that shade on Richie’s skin perfectly clear in his mind. Frank is already there, sipping his herbal tea, wetsuit covering the lower half of his body.

“Aren’t you running late?” asks Eddie kissing his dad’s cheek.

Frank puts down the tea smiling and ruffles Eddie’s hair fondly. “I gotta pick up Marcy from her house so we can go together.”

Eddie opens the fridge door and rolls his eyes. Sometimes, Frank Kaspbrak is a tad too generous. “Dad, she lives in Malibu.”

“So? It’s barely a forty minute drive.”

Eddie takes out orange juice and pours himself a glass. “Yeah, if you go at five in the morning. And it’s not anymore, so you’re already late.” Frank looks at his son for several seconds, and Eddie eventually meets his eyes. “What?”

“You’re fussy, is all. Like your mama.”

Eddie’s eyebrows instantly draw together. “I’m not fussy. And don’t compare me to her.”

Frank cocks his head to the side in that parental manner that indicates that he’s crossing the line. “You don’t need to get like that anytime I bring her up.”

“Then don’t.” Eddie finishes the glass and puts it into the sink.

“I made you avocado toast,” says Frank, pointing at two pieces neatly placed in the frying pan.

Eddie smiles fondly and hugs his dad from the back, burying his face in his back. “You didn’t have to.”

Frank laughs and taps Eddie’s hands around his belly. “Sure, kiddo. You can’t keep eating Clif bars for every meal.”

“They’re good.” Eddie lets go and grabs the plate, headed towards their cozy back porch. He hears Frank say good doesn’t mean healthy and opens the screen door, the scent of the ocean making his stomach flip with excitement. He can just see a sliver of the dark blue water between a couple of houses several streets down. He might be able to go skating early if Bill doesn’t come up with another elaborate plan to stay indoors. Not that Eddie needs the company that much, but it’s always fun to go with someone else. And Beverly usually works every day of the week. Her showing up last weekend was a goddamn miracle.

He’s halfway through the first toast when Frank pushes the door open, a bottle of water in hand. He places it in front of the plate just when Eddie gets the first hiccup. “Right on cue.” He kisses the top of his son’s head and grabs his sunglasses from the table. “I’m out. I’m going to stop by the store later. You need anything?”

Eddie hiccups again and irritably slams the fist on the table. “No, should be-“ hiccup “DAMN IT-  fine.”

Frank puts the fist out, and Eddie bumps him quickly before emptying half the water bottle. His throat calms by the time Frank leaves, but his mind drifts back to Richie and the irrational fear of never seeing him again. Don’t live that close. He might not ever come to that beach again. Eddie wallows in self-pity for ten more agonizing minutes before he decides to check the extent of his weekend homework. He might be able to finish everything before he goes out tonight.

—

Naturally, Eddie didn’t anticipate the amount of work that needs to be done by Monday, and since he has very serious plans for the rest of the weekend, he forces himself to complete most of it, excluding the reading that he could cram in before he goes to bed. By the time he finishes everything, it’s almost 5:00 PM and he picks up the phone to call Bill. He responds right before Eddie hangs up, already on the front porch to head out.

“Hello?”

“Bill? How long does it take to answer the phone?”

Eddie can hear the background music of a video game, and he knows the call is hopeless before he asks. “I’m buh-buh-busy.”

“Busy sitting on your ass? It’s Saturday. You really gonna stay home?”

“Did you call in t-t-to be my mom?”

Eddie drops the board to lock the front door. “Wow, mature. You really not going to show up?”

“Dude, I’m on the graveyard l-luh-level. I’ve been stu-uh-uck all day.”

Yeah, like your ass is stuck to that bean chair. “You really think it’s going to take you five more hours to finish it?” Eddie pushes the board forward and runs up to jump on it, swerving on an empty road.

“Have you ever played a v-v-video game, Eddie? -FUCK!”

“You know I have. Whatever, this is pointless. You know where I’ll be.”

“Sure. Have f-fun.”

“You too, Billy.” Eddie rolls his eyes and puts the phone in the pocket of his overall shorts, speeding up to grab a smoothie on his way to the skatepark.

He gets to the café across the street from the beach and orders the pineapple strawberry smoothie and asks to add kale, thinking that dad would be proud to see him trying. What he doesn’t need to know about is a mint chocolate Clif bar in one of Eddie’s pockets. The less you know…or something.

Eddie waits for the walking light to turn on while he sips on his smoothie, trying to make out the people at the skatepark across the road. He can’t see anyone he’s close with, just a couple of people from school he sees in the hallways. The light changes and Eddie is already halfway done with the drink, silently cursing himself for being a fast eater. There’s a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and by the time he makes it to the other side, he’s battling light waves of nausea. And somehow, he still feels hungry.

He rolls through the skatepark to the sidewalk that leads to the beach, the sun still bright and warm in that particular May-California way. Eddie stops the board right before the sand, throws out the nearly done smoothie, and quickly takes the yellow Vans off. He walks barefoot towards the lifeguard post, his beady ankle bracelet shifting pleasantly as he moves. Eddie remembers the time when he hated the beach when the feeling of the sand between his toes seemed foreign and disgusting. Then Frank took up surfing and took his son with him every day. Now it’s home. Venice is his little getaway, a small paradise a mere mile away.

He gets to the post and drops his shoes on the first step, carrying the board to the top to make sure no one nicks it. Eddie knocks on the door and smiles wide when Mike opens it almost immediately, chewing on an apple. He waves Eddie inside and sits back on the chair. Eddie immediately grabs the large binoculars and looks over to the ocean, noticing a young couple slashing in the waves, happy and drunk judging by the redness on their faces.

“You’re late today.”

“Yeah, I had so much shit to do.” Eddie puts down the binoculars and climbs up to sit on the table, turned sideways to Mike. “Exams are in a week, and they all collectively decided to fail us.”

Mike snorts and takes another bite, looking off at the water longingly. Eddie sees his strong want to just go and surf as soon as he’s off which should be in less than two hours. Eddie takes the Clif bar out of his pocket and bites off almost half of it at once, much to Mike’s delight. He stifles giggles and picks up his phone to take a photo of Eddie with a mouth full of chocolate oats. Eddie pretends to dislike the attention.

Eddie is kind of grateful he doesn’t have Bill with him today - Bill and Mike had a fling last year that ended in their collective inability to hold a serious relationship. As it turns out, neither was ready for it. And Mike was older anyway: if Eddie had zero patience with Bill, the other had even less. Fortunately, they didn’t act hostile towards each other, but there was still a grain of awkwardness anytime they hung out. So Eddie tries to stop by alone.

They talk for almost half an hour, completely lost in conversation since they haven’t seen one other for a solid month. Eddie invites Mike to tomorrow’s bonfire, and he happily agrees, doesn’t even ask if Bill’s going to be there.

Mike sees someone struggling to make it out of the raging waves, and he grabs a lifejacket, sprinting down the steps with alarming stability. Eddie huffs an incredulous laugh and hops down to his shoes, carrying them to that same spot Richie sat yesterday. He cleans off the sand from his feet, puts the shoes back on and smiles at the lowering sunlight, gradually moving towards the horizon. He has about an hour of light, and he intends on using it. Eddie runs with the board and lets it roll just before the bend, sliding down gracefully, feeling free and happy. A couple of guys who usually hang out there whoop him and he shoots them a thumbs up.

Eddie gets to the other end of the park and stands on top, fishing out his headphones. He plugs them in and turns on Feel It Still, tapping his foot on the board with the rhythm of the beat. He quickly shoots Bev a text hoping she’ll have a chance to stop by.

Eddie skates smoothy for about half an hour, warming up, feels his legs move with less effort now, feet gliding on the smooth surface when he pushes. He ollies onto the sidewalk, high and easy, his lower body moving on its own accord. Eddie rolls towards the clearing with the rails and practices his jumps, scaling them as he goes. There’s an especially long rail he’s had his eye on for a while now, taller than others and he has all the intentions to actually go through with it today. He practices on smaller ones for a while, long enough for the Sun to almost touch the horizon.

He takes a deep breath and finally collects the courage to attempt scaling it. He fails three solid times, skating away with zero to none contact before he manages to even go halfway. It takes him some time, but he finally does it right, feeling light and invincible. Eddie continues practicing as sunlight moves to hide behind the water, and more people start showing up at the park.

But he makes a small mistake when he’s on top of the rail for the nth time, thinking he’s confident enough to avoid looking at his feet even for a split second. He lifts his head to look out at the approaching pedestrians, hoping one of them is going to be Beverly jogging with her skateboard towards him. It would take him next to no time to register the red hair and look back down. But what he sees instead is a face he hasn’t been able to push out of his mind, haloed in loose black curls, same perfect black glasses. Eddie knows he’s not nearly confident enough on this rail do to shit like that, and that’s how he loses his balance, the board tipping too much on one side, the wheels catching on the metal, and his body somehow does a full 360 in the air before he smacks hard on his elbows and knees, miraculously holding his neck to avoid grazing the forehead.

Eddie doesn’t fall. Even the idea of it shocks him enough that there are several seconds of numbness and slight deafness before the world seems to resume and he flips over, groaning slightly. He starts feeling the blood pulsing in both of his elbows and one of the knees, on the heel of his hand, and he doesn’t dare open his eyes, still in a state of mild shock.

He’d laugh if this was a regular thing for him. If he fell every day, somehow landing perfectly well on the board, sliding away to other’s cheers. But this simply doesn’t happen to him, he’s too careful. He’s not scared of pain at all, not scared of falling, but rather the implications of open scratches, his blood mixing with the dirt on the sidewalk, the leftover sand from the beach mere feet away, all the ger-

“Fuck, Eddie, are you okay?”

Eddie opens his eyes, somehow only now realizing that he’s been wrapped in himself on the ground for fuck knows how long. Richie is bending down in front of him, eyes wide and black eyebrows drawn together, the pink and orange of the sunrise reflected on his skin. He looks so beautiful that Eddie momentarily forgets what happened mere seconds ago.

“N-no,” he chuckles because his heart is stuttering and his mind is too occupied with this stupidly attractive and caring boy next to him that the pulsing in his elbows is replaced by the nauseating feeling of great, my crush just saw me fall on my ass.

Richie’s face relaxes slightly, and he takes something out of Eddie’s hair. Richie’s wrist comes close to his face, and he smells some sort of cologne. His whole body is buzzing. “Where’s your board?”

It takes Eddie a second to force himself to cooperate with the real world, and he looks behind him, seeing it at the end of the sidewalk, on the very edge of the park. He points at it, his elbow stinging harshly when it bends.

Eddie hisses, and Richie looks panicked for a second. “Wait here.” Nah, I’m not moving until you carry me to the ER in your noodle arms. The only form of transportation I accept. Richie runs towards the end of the park, jumping a little when a girl almost comes crashing into him, swerving at the last second. Eddie chuckles and just notices that Richie isn’t wearing his uniform (obviously) and has on some blue shorts, an open white button down and some nonsensical white boy t-shirt underneath. He looks amazing, clothes fitted well and hugging him all right. Eddie’s heart jumps when he sees the same style Vans on him, but in white, slightly dirty and dusty. Richie stops by the board to tie some of the hair in half-up-half-down, smiling back at Eddie bashfully as he does so. Wow, you’re so far gone, Kaspbrak.

“So, you’re Eddie?” asks a guy standing on the same spot Richie was earlier, arms crossed, a blank expression on his face.

“Huh?” Who the fu-

“Richie hasn’t stopped talking about you for the last eight days. He never stops talking, but it’s been especially annoying this past week.” Eddie looks at him in pure confusion, and the other’s face still doesn’t change. “I’m Stan, Richie’s friend from school.”

Oh. At least he introduced himself as a friend. “Yeah, I’m Eddie.” He tries to get up, starting to realize it might be impolite to talk to people in this position and leans on the heel of his hand, forgetting about the scrape there. He hisses and tries to lean on the other one when he sees an arm extending in front of him, slightly softer expression on the boy’s face. Eddie takes it with a smile, and Stan lifts him up like he weighs nothing, wiping his hands on the khaki shorts after. Eddie represses a snort, and he’s saved from some awkward small talk by Richie, who finally stops in front of them.

“Your board looks alright, no dents or anything.”

Eddie takes it out of Richie’s hands without so much as a glance at its condition. “I mean, it’s a skateboard…it would be weird if it didn’t have some scratches.” Stan snorts and connects eyes with Richie whose cheeks are tinted pink. Eddie feels himself figuratively melting into the ground. “Well, thanks for helping me. I think I’m gonna uber to the ER.”

Eddie gives the two of them an awkward wave, his stomach tumbling from the unwavering gaze of his crush. He chastises himself for ruining possibly the only opportunity to hang out with Richie. But not thirty seconds later there’s a hand on his bare shoulder, and Eddie turns, smiling when he sees black eyebrows drawn together.

“Eds, you don’t need to go to the emergency room.”

Eddie is momentarily offended, and he steps back slightly, feeling judged and mocked. But none of those things are reflected on Richie’s face, nothing but concern, really. He thinks maybe he’s overreacting slightly, but he can’t stop his brain from making a thousand scenarios of how this fall could result in an auto-immune disease or something. Not that that would be Richie’s fault. Eddie’s eyes fall on Stan who’s casually strolling towards them, his eyes searching something in the palm trees.

“Hey, are you okay?” asks Richie, grabbing Eddie by the elbow in the most gentle manner but one that still results in an embarrassing whiny sound. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie can feel the heat on his cheeks, and his heartbeat is rising again, either from the touch or the stupid sounds that seem to escape his mouth around this guy. Either way, he can’t stop looking at the way Richie’s curls hug his ears, or how his blush spreads all the way to his chest, and Eddie forgets the pain for a while.

“Um…my friend works at this café across the street. They have a first aid kit and everything. I could help patch you up,” says Richie with a hand on his neck and the sweetest crooked smile Eddie has ever seen. He’s pretty sure having Richie’s hands on his knees would quite literally give him a heart attack, but he nods nonetheless, too enthralled by the possibility of spending a little more time with the guy.

Stan finally makes it to their awkward little bubble and reaches something out to Eddie in an outstretched hand. It’s Eddie’s phone, seemingly scratched but miraculously void of cracks. I really need to get myself a phone case. “Thank you.” Eddie puts it in the pocket of his overall shorts, and when he lifts his eyes Richie is staring, a dopey grin on his face. “What?”

Richie’s eyes lift, widening a little from being caught. “Nothing, just…love the outfit.” Eddie would think he is being mocked if not for the quiet way Richie said it, and the prompt roll of Stan’s eyes that Eddie wants to think signifies wow, you’re so far gone, man.

“Thanks.” Eddie puts down the board but thinks better of it and grabs it back up. He doesn’t want to tumble in the middle of the crosswalk because of the stinging throbbing in his knee, and embarrassing himself in front of Richie for a second time is definitely not going to make him more appealing in the boy’s eyes. So he silently walks in front of the guys, turning only once to see Stanley smack Richie on the shoulder, much to the other’s chagrin.

Eddie knows this café well but has never been inside before. They have a small to-go window on the side where he always gets his smoothies, mostly reserved for soaking wet surfers who aren’t allowed indoors. Eddie opens the door and holds it with his sneaker, letting Richie and Stan in. Stan nods his head, and Richie salutes him, making Eddie giggle. He then falls behind, following them to the register.

The whole place is full of the cutest pastel colors: pale blue counters, baby pink and white walls, canary yellow tables. The atmosphere is peaceful, and Eddie easily recognizes Alina Baraz coming through the speakers. Everything smells like vanilla and tropical fruit.

Richie beats his fingers on the counter, imitating bongos and Eddie just notices how much more relaxed he looks in the company of his friend. It makes Eddie long to know that side of Richie, carefree and happy. He hopes to see that someday.

A man comes out the backdoor, yellow apron on, and his face instantly lights up upon seeing his two friends. He extends a fist to Richie, but the other leans over the counter to clap the boy on the back. The guy laughs, and his cheeks redden slightly underneath a growing beard. Stan only raises a hand to him and smiles, crossing arms behind him. He catches Eddie staring and cocks an eyebrow. Eddie steps in front of the pastry display case to avoid having a conversation with Mr. Unapproachable.

“Haystack, let me introduce you, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Ben.” Richie gestures between them and they wave at each other awkwardly. “Hey, do you still have that first aid kit in the back?”

Ben furrows his brows, looking at the expanse of Richie’s bare limbs. “What’d you hit this time?”

Richie sends him a finger gun and then gently turns Eddie’s arm to show a nasty scrape on the elbow. “Not me, this time. Eds needs some help.”

“Not my name,” mutters Eddie under his breath, looking at Richie from under his lashes. The other merely smiles wide, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. Carefree and happy, huh?

“Looks bad, Eddie. Here, follow me.” Ben waves a hand and goes to the other side of the coffee bar, lifting the opening for the rest of them to pass through. Only Stan hasn’t moved an inch, curiously studying the menu as if he’s never seen it before.

Ben pushes the backdoor leading to a small kitchen and further down to the freezers. There’s an office table right behind an enormous industrial sink and Ben steps on his chair to retrieve the first aid kit from the shelf. He gives the box to Richie, probably out of habit, and points to Eddie’s skateboard.

“Ah, you skate. That explains the…” Ben walks around Eddie to assess the damage, “three bruises. Damn. Happens a lot?”

“Not really. I don’t fall.” Richie snorts, and Eddie shoots him a glare.

“You need my-“

“No! I’ll help him. You go on, Benny boy, you have customers waiting.” Richie clutches the box to his chest, smiling wide, eyes darting between Eddie and Ben. Weirdo.

Ben lifts his arms in defense and huffs a laugh. “Whatever you say. Holler if you need me.”

He disappears behind the service door, and Richie turns to Eddie, lips twitching a little. “Um…you should probably sit down.” Richie points to the chair, and Eddie puts the board underneath. He tries to get comfortable, folding the hands in front of him but then his elbows bump into the jean fabric and he suppresses a hiss, putting his palms on top of the thighs instead. Richie leans in front of him, his chin on the bony knee, ruffling through the contents of the box somewhere on the floor.

“You get hurt a lot?”

Richie lifts his head with wide ocean eyes as if he’s half-surprised Eddie is sitting in front of him. “More than I probably should.”

“Why, because you don’t skate?”

Richie chuckles and the sound makes Eddie’s heart beat faster. “No, because you’d think I’d be in control of my body by seventeen.” He gets up and walks towards the sink, washing his hands. Eddie watches his face intently, seeing it relax and then go back to a contemplative state, and he wants to ask what the boy is thinking. I wonder if I make him nervous as much as he makes me. Richie bends down to pick up some tissues from the box and goes to wet them, settling back in front of Eddie after.

“Oh, um…you might wanna…they’ll probably get dirty.” Richie points to the Vans, and before Eddie has time to react, Richie takes one off with his left hand and puts it on top of the board. He fidgets on the spot with a clean wet tissue and decides to put it in the box while he runs back to wash his hands. Eddie wonders if he’s this thorough when administering his own cuts but he’s grateful nonetheless. If Richie touched his knee after touching his shoes, he might yell loud enough to scare all the customers.

“You know, you don’t have to do all this for me. I know how.”

“Thought you don’t fall?” He cocks an eyebrow, but his face almost instantly changes to something wounded. “Do you not want me to help?”

“No, I- that’s not what I meant. I just- forget I said anything.”

Richie leans in front of him in the same manner, and their eyes connect, making Eddie’s skin tingle. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

“Yeah.”

Richie smiles in relief and picks the tissue back up. “Okie-dokie.” He gently presses on the knee, then rubs around it cleaning the dirt and the dried up blood. Eddie’s breathing gets slightly ragged when Richie’s face gets closer, his hand on the back of the knee, inspecting for debris. Richie wipes the small dry stripe of blood that trickled down sometime after the fall.

“You’re really good at this.” He is but the main reason Eddie speaks is to distract himself from the hurricane of inappropriate thoughts.

Richie smiles and a blush tints his cheeks as he absentmindedly wipes Eddie’s calf. “I guess. My own fault for falling so much.”

“Right. Like a baby giraffe.” Eddie can’t help but grin. That image hasn’t left his mind since last week.

Richie bashfully pushes his glasses up and folds the tissue in half. He goes to the side of the chair, looking over the wound on Eddie’s elbow. There’s one running down the forearm too, a lot more mild but stinging nonetheless. He wipes there too careful and slow, and Eddie feels his arms cover in goosebumps anytime Richie’s fingers connect with the skin. Richie goes behind the chair to do the other arm, and Eddie tries to listen to the sound of plunking water drops in the sink instead of the boy’s breathing. He can feel his back cramming and ass numbing from sitting in the same position, but he doesn’t want to be rude by moving or doing anything to accidentally deprive himself of Richie’s touch. Eddie patiently waits for his wounds to get cleaned and for Richie to crawl back to the front to finally shift on the chair.  

Richie gently turns Eddie’s hand, wiping the scrape there. Eddie fights a smile when he sees the contrast of their skin and how small his hand looks in Richie’s. He spares a look at the boy’s face and the length of his lashes kind of takes Eddie’s breath away.

“Are you not gonna..?” Eddie points towards the small hydrogen peroxide spray in the corner of the box.

“Nah. I used to do it as a kid but I’ve heard it does nothing but irritates the skin, so…” Richie takes out a couple of bandaids from the box, assembling them on top of Eddie’s thigh. He smiles up and opens the first one, putting it on the upper half of the knee scrape.

“What’s up with Stan?”

Richie is so taken by the question that he loudly laughs, angling his face down to look at Eddie from above his glasses. “Is that a loaded question?”

“No, I just- He’s so…”

“Reserved? All don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-intimidating?”

Eddie cocks his head and huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know. He has strict parents.” Richie opens another band-aid and fits it under the first one. “He’s always been like that.”

“How long have you two known each other?”

Richie moves to the side to put a little cross on the elbow. “Here, keep it bent- Um…probably since sixth grade? I’ve been in that school since elementary but Stan the Man joined in middle.”

Eddie hums, and a question slips out before he can stop it. “Is he a friend?”

There’s a long stretch of silence afterward, and Eddie wants to either swivel the chair and aggressively demand answers, or run until he gets to the ocean. Either way, he’s near a death wish at the moment. He stares forward, avoiding eye contact.

“What are you asking?” Richie’s question is a lot more mature and calculated than Eddie expects, and it throws him off for a second. What does he want?

“I don’t know. Just curious.”

Richie chuckles but doesn’t say anything, moving behind the chair to do the other elbow.

“What?” Eddie is growing exasperated, either with himself or Richie, or Richie’s proximity, or how nice it feels to have Richie’s fingers on his bicep.

“Don’t get defensive.”

“I’m not.”

Richie finishes the work and collects the wrap in the ball, walking to throw it out by the sink. “It’s cute.”

Eddie can feel his eyes widen to a laughable degree. “What’s cute?”

“Not what, but who.” Richie turns and nods towards Eddie who’s just about to explode from the last minute of rollercoaster emotions.

“I’m not.”

Richie sits on the balls of his feet to close down the box. He puts it on the table and stays in the same position to look at Eddie. “Is this a scenario where you expect me to convince you you are?”

Eddie leans forward, their faces now so close together he can feel the spearmint on Richie’s breath. He didn’t notice him chewing so it must be Altoids. He suddenly has the strongest desire deep in his belly to crash their mouths together. “I don’t expect you to do anything.”

“Why did you ask about Stan?”

Eddie’s eyes dart towards Richie’s lips, pink and inviting. “Why did you ask why I asked?”

Richie laughs, and his head falls forward, so close to Eddie’s nose that he can smell the shampoo the boy used. “We’re doing this now, huh?”

“You didn’t answer.”

Richie lifts his head back up and stares at Eddie’s lips for a while before responding. “Stan’s just a friend.”

Eddie grins wider than is probably socially acceptable and slaps both hands on his thighs, making Richie laugh. “I knew it!”

“You seem excited.” Richie grabs the shoe from the board and puts it under Eddie’s foot. He slips it on, and Richie helps him with the heel. He doesn’t miss the ankle bracelet, and he moves it up and down before looking back up at Eddie.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Eddie doesn’t know if it’s their proximity or the knowledge that Richie’s single that does it, but he suddenly feels bold and hopeful.

Richie gets up and rubs the back of his neck, lost in thought. “Uh, nothing but homework, really. Why?”

“There’s a party on the beach tomorrow night. Well…more like a small bonfire.” Eddie gets up from the chair, and he suddenly feels awkward and small, his heart stuck in the middle of his throat. “Will you come? You can bring whoever you want.” Unless it’s a date. Then I’ll throw him into the fire.

Richie’s blush spreads down to the collar of the white shirt, and he smiles so wide it makes Eddie’s chest hurt. “Sure, I’ll be there. Can’t miss an opportunity when a cutie like you asks me out.”

“I wasn’t-“

“Yeah, right.” Richie rolls his eyes and walks towards the back door, basically escaping their awkward conversation. Which Eddie is infinitely grateful for because he might’ve jumped Richie in that sterile backroom.

He walks out after checking that they didn’t leave a mess and notices that the café is mostly deserted now. Most people would be at the bar at this time of night. The group is sitting at the large table closest to the register and Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees a curly redhead standing by it, talking to Ben animatedly. “Bev?” She turns towards him and beams instantly. Her board is abandoned on the floor when her arms wrap around Eddie, slightly lifting him off the ground. “How did you know I was here?”

“Your location, dummy.” Her short hair tickles his ears, and he pulls away with a small squeal. She turns his arms to see the damage and gives him an adorable pout. “My boo got a boo-boo.”

“You wish I was your boo.”

She groans loud, throwing her hands towards the hypothetical sky. “God, I do!”

The boys at the table laugh, the entirety of Ben’s attention on all Beverly’s movements. Richie, on the other hand, doesn’t take his eyes off Eddie and it’s making him restless. He walks towards the table and touches Ben’s shoulder gently. “Hey, thank you for the kit.”

Ben puts a hand on top of his and smiles bashfully. “Don’t worry about it.” He gets up from the chair and moves in the direction of the register. “By the way, do you guys want anything? I’m closing soon.”

Eddie feels something tickling his fingers and looks down, seeing Richie’s hand hovering there, uncertain. “You want something Eddie-Spaghetti?”

“I’m sorry, what did you just call him?” Bev leans on the table and looks at Eddie with raised brows that translate to you better spill ALL the tea, immediately. Her eyes drift down to where their fingers helplessly gravitate towards one another, and she sticks the tongue between rows of white teeth, trying to be all playful and cute. Eddie hates and loves her all at once.

“He has a thing for nicknames, I think,” says Eddie and Stan hums in response, too enthralled in his book to actively participate in the conversation. Where he got it is a mystery to Eddie.

“Are we here to discuss me or your empty stomach?” Richie lifts himself off the seat and grabs Eddie by the hips, stubbornly leading him towards the display case. Eddie’s first instinct is to swat him away but it’s Richie, and his lower body is all tingly where long fingers sneak through the jean fabric, touching the barely covered skin of Eddie’s waist.

Eddie’s brain doesn’t function enough to make a conscious food choice, so he picks the first thing he sees - tomato mozzarella panini and Richie gets the same, ordering himself some kind of a green bubble tea. Eddie asks for a bottle of water, and he almost flips shit when Richie takes out his wallet to pay for both of them. But then Ben shares his employee discount and Eddie doesn’t feel that bad. The whole thing makes his stomach feel all fuzzy as if they’re on a date. Which they’re not. But he wants it to be and daydreams about exactly that when they sit down to eat, surrounded by their friends.

Ben closes the café about half an hour later, and they hang out with him until he leaves. Bev is very enthusiastic to help, volunteering to wrap the plates with pastries and wipe the counters while Eddie and Richie flip all the chairs to go on top of the tables. Stanley locks all doors and documents the expired products and Ben repeats several times that he’s infinitely grateful and they’re all angels. Most of the words are directed towards Beverly though. He’s not fooling anyone.

The night is over quicker than it began and Eddie finds himself stalling, buying time to talk more, participate in some banter, maybe offer to teach someone how to skate. But as they file out the back door, he can see that all of his friends are yawning, and he feels the exhaustion push heavily on his shoulders. Eddie is usually asleep by ten, and he wants to make it back home to do some of the school reading. He knows he’s going to be too lazy to do any of that tomorrow.

Everyone walks towards the parking lot, and Richie falls slightly behind as if expecting Eddie to temporarily stop him. Which he does, grabbing the tall boy by the elbow, making him turn. “So, will you come tomorrow? Around eight?”

Richie grins and tugs on the strap of Eddie’s overall shorts. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at the nickname but doesn’t say anything. This guy is really rubbing off on him. “Thanks for patching me up. You really don’t seem like a kid who’d know stuff like that.”

Richie lifts his shirt and Eddie sees a small Finding Nemo band-aid on his ribs, but it only takes him a second to notice that. He spends the rest of the time studying the outline of the dark trail of hair that leads to the silver button. “This is me successfully making it to my front door on Friday. There was one on my chin, but it wasn’t as bad.” He shrugs and lets the shirt go, smiling at Eddie.

Eddie chuckles and puts the board down, moving it back and forth with his right foot. He wants to say so much and so little at the same time, but nothing comes out. Eventually, Richie quickly bends down and kisses him on the cheek. It’s so soft and swift that Eddie doesn’t have enough time to register what happened until he sees Richie walking backwards towards the rest of the group congregated around the only two cars at the lot. Eddie touches the burning cheek, his abdomen tumbling violently. When Richie finally turns back, Eddie lets his hands drop and laughs stupidly at the ground, dazed with all the events of what he thought would be an average afternoon. He feels a crazy buzz running through him as if someone just kick-started his body. Everything seems bright and pretty, and he feels so happy he could scream. He will scream in his pillow when he gets home.

He pushes off in the opposite direction after waving everyone goodbye, skating fast with no care in the world. The bruises are a dumb reminder to be careful, but he can’t think of anything coherent right now. He got to see Richie again, got to spend time with him. He even got a kiss. He smiles like an idiot and halfway home he hears another board behind him. He stops and turns to see Beverly speeding towards him, all smiley and giddy. She halts to his side and gently punches his arm.

“Okay, that was the most interesting group of people I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”

“Are you gonna tell me about the tall, mysterious guy?” She wiggles her eyebrows and makes a miming move of covering her face with a cape like a vampire.

Eddie giggles and pushes off again, down the empty street. “Are you gonna tell me about the cute coffee man?”

She laughs and goes after him, swerving from side to side. “Awh, dammit! How did you catch on to that?”

“I see everything.” Eddie puts two fingers to his eyes and directs them back to Beverly. “Wanna come over?”

“Duh! Why do you think I’m skating in the opposite direction of my house, dumbass?”

They come back to the Kaspbrak residence and see Frank sleeping on the chair outside, snoring so loud Eddie’s sure they’re going to get a noise complaint. They stifle giggles as they gently wake him, half-leading him down the hall towards his bedroom. They end up talking much longer than Eddie thought they would, running way past midnight. They’re so entranced in it that by the time Bev runs out of the bathroom half-naked, seemingly interrupted by something she remembered, Eddie knows what she’s going to say before he hears it. With all the talk about their crushes, he’s shocked he forgot about it himself.

“Oh my God, you’re a birthday boy! Happy Birthday!” She squeals when she bends down to hug him, and he laughs when the cold drops land on his face and pajamas.

They whisper more in the darkness of the room, the reading forgotten and Eddie falls asleep daydreaming about a birthday kiss, and blue eye lit up by the warm glow of the fire.

Perma Tag: @studpuffin @j0ys @its-stranger-than-you-think @tinyarmedtrex @d-nbroughs @aizeninlefox @constantreaderfool  (I’m removing some people who don’t interact - I’m not here to force my work on anyone, so no hard feelings. Let me know if you want to be removed/added to a perma list or a specific fic ♡)

[psychic-timetraveler]

Finally got around to writing something. Was heavily inspired by RBF’s new single out. Been futzing with this since Friday when the single dropped, but had been super busy this weekend with a Haunted House Saturday and all. Either way. Here’s a cute little oneshot I did with Brad and Rose.

____

“Checkered or Hawaiian?”

Rose sighed, she was never asked normal questions by her best friend. Just the most obscure questions that only she could properly answer. “I don’t know, Brad, what coloured pants are you wearing?”

The other end of the phone was silent and she had to make sure he didn’t hang up on her… again. Finally he answered, “I didn’t get that far…” She heard him trail off on the other end of the phone.

Another sigh. “I hate you. I swear, you take longer to get ready than I do.” To be fair, she was sitting in front of a mirror working on the perfect winged eyeliner to match her ‘fuck me’ red lipstick.

“Okay, like you’re not done your makeup yet.”

“Hey!” She exclaimed before laughing a bit. “Can’t rush perfection. These wings are gonna slit throats.”

From the other end of the phone, she could hear his eye roll. “And you’re calling me bad.”

“At least I can dress myself properly.” She retorted.

“Nah, not sassy enough. No pass, I win.”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“Thank you. Now, I’m going to ask again; Hawaiian or checkered? That decision will determine the pant colour.”

“Why should that determine the colour of your pants? You only wear neutral coloured pants so, what’s the huge deal.”

“There’s a science behind this, Ro.”

She took a deep breath. “Bradley, you could barely pass 7th grade science on your own. That’s not a thing you should compare dressing yourself to.”

“Low blow, fine. Just fucking answer the question.”

“Are you wearing a t-shirt under said Hawaiian shirt?”

The other end of the phone went silent again. This time, Rose held in a laugh as she could hear his brain fizzle out. She finally perfected the eyeliner and they both looked even enough for her liking, now it was time for mascara. As she picked up her tube of mascara and began to apply it, she started talking again.

“Hey, ya still there, doof?”

“I hate you right now.”

She smiled. “I know. God forbid I threw a wrench into your odd system you have going for yourself.”

“Ya know I was having a good day up until that point. I did not think that through at all.”

“It shows.”

“Fuck.”

“Do I need to come over and dress you because you are somehow incapable of doing it yourself?” She laughed and tossed her mascara haphazardly on her makeup tray.

“No, I can do it myself. I’m a big boy.”

“So you insist.” Rose laughed, standing up from her chair and making her way to the closet to find footwear.

They were going to a ska concert on the beach, so converse were not a good choice. Tempting, but not an ideal choice. Sand can get into the grommets on the sides of the shoe too easily and that would not be ideal. Flip flops are always a terrible concert footwear, despite being on the beach.

“Okay maybe I might need help… But you don’t have to come over and do it.”

“Fine. Your Reel Big Fish tank top, short sleeved Hawaiian shirt, uh… khaki chinos. As for which exact shirt, that’s all you buddy. I have enough faith in you to make that decision yourself.”

She heard loud crackling from the other end of his phone as he quickly, and probably haphazardly, began to find all of her suggestions. “Okay what about footwear? Converse or converse?”

“I was trying to avoid Converse, personally. Don't want sand in my shoes.” She finally caught a glimpse of her checkered Vans under a pair of fallen over knee high combat boots. “I’m wearing my checkered Vans.”

“Should I wear my all white ones?” He asked, as a loud thud came from his end of the phone.

The loud noise made her cringe a bit. “Drop your phone?” She plucked out her shoes and slid into those, struggling a bit with the left foot.

“Yes. Whatever though, I’m wearing those. Fuck it, good enough. I’m leaving now, be over in a couple of minutes then.”

“Finally!”

“Shut up, see you soon.”

With that, he hung up on her before she even had a chance to say anything in response. It was probably for the best. He was probably half falling down the stairs on his way out of the house anyway, the less distractions he had the better. Brad Slater was not the most stealthy of lads, tall and awkward and less than graceful. Bless his soul does he try though.

With only a minute and a half to get outside, she quickly grabbed her purse and spritzed herself with the closest perfume she could find. It so happened to be this one that smelled like suntan lotion and coconuts. Not her favorite of the body sprays she had but it worked and was fitting for her outfit. Her checkered vans, matching checkered shorts, and bright red Reel Big Fish tank top that seemingly worked together with a beach and ska theme her and Brad were going for unintentionally.

Content with how she looked for the concert that evening, she ran out of her room and right out the front door. Of course stopping to lock it, that left her just enough time to run to the mail box as Brad’s shitty 1999 Honda Accord pulled up.

He didn’t even lower his sunglasses as he yelled out the already open window, “get in loser, we’re going to a concert.”

Rose was mostly grateful that he actually stopped the car this time. Last time they were running partially behind schedule for a concert, he slowed down enough that she could just jump in the moving vehicle before speeding off down the street. She settled into the seat and they were off. Partially down the street, she slid her sunglasses onto her face.

Once the two were looking cool in their sunglasses, Brad turned up the Less Than Jake CD to blast out the open windows. He stopped at a red light and the two looked over at each other and exchanged smiles.

“This is going to be a good night.” Brad nodded.

“God damn right.”

“Wish it wasn’t a three hour drive.” He then sighed, shaking his head.

“At least your aunt is nice enough to let us stay with her.” Rose then reminded.

“That’s correct, Miss Davis. I have to remember to text her when we get there.” The light changed green and he was off again, probably a bit too over the speed limit than what was posted. “Remind me.”

“I will try.” She nodded, brushing her blowing hair out of her face from the open window. “No promises, dude. Then again, we would’ve gotten an earlier start if someone wasn’t incapable of dressing himself.”

“Okay, I will turn this car around right now if you even so much as think of that whole ordeal.” He threatened.

Rose nodded. “Alright, fine.” She then covered her mouth to hide her grin from him.

“I hate you.”

“Likewise, asshole.” She made sure he saw that smile.

He returned the smile without taking his eyes off the road. “Slut.”

“Dick.”

“Whore.”

“Prick.”

And with that, the two just went into the insult verse of their favorite Reel Big Fish song while the Less Than Jake CD still blasted out the windows. Pity the poor souls who had to put up with them at the concert that evening.

[hiyo-silver]

Africa - Morning 1 - Bill

Summary: Short chapter of Bill getting ready for the day

Chap 1 + Chap 2 + Chap 3 + AO3 + My Masterlist

Pairings: Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @starboystan @rachi0964 @shewasthewind @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose1122 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopbichie @peachywyatt

The sun rises and the warm glow streams through the windows. The light is tinted red from the translucent curtains. He turns under the covers, groaning and putting his hands over his eyes to drown out the light, much too bright for his taste, along with being up so early during a vacation.

The "romantic" room was much too lavish for he and his boys and he'd spent much of the night tearing sexual paraphernalia from his young son's hands. They do not need to be educated on that, he knows, though he already knows that Tyler has introduced himself to that world- and Bill is nowhere near comfortable talking to him about it. Eric however, is much too young to understand and was honest to God snacking on edible lingerie before Bill caught him.

He feels a hand smack him on the bridge of his nose clumsily, causing him to jolt his eyes open to see Tyler snoring next to him, lanky limbs sprawled across the bed lazily, Eric on the floor, obviously having been kicked off by Tyler at some point. How does someone so small take up so much space? he asks himself as he sits up in bed, running his hands over the velvet comforter, which he can admit that he enjoys.

He maneuvers himself out of the bed as smoothly as he can, letting his toes hit the floor cautiously. The cool feeling from the wood flooring absorbs the warmth from the pads of his feet and sends a shiver up his spine, leaving him slipping his feet into the flip flop slippers and grabbing the fluffy deep gray robe.

He looks back at Tyler on the bed, creeping over to his other son, lifting him as if he's a baby and laying him in the spot he once occupied himself, hoping the warmth keeps him comfortable long enough to let him continue his slumber.

Bill creeps off to the bathroom, looking his exhausted face in the mirror with a sigh, he hopes more than anything that this vacation can be some level of rejuvenating despite the presence of his children.

He immediately goes for the spray bottle of dry shampoo, pressing down on the nozzle and practically drowning his ginger locks in the white powdery substance before tousling his hair to rub it it, finally getting his hair looking as nongreasey as it takes to satisfy himself.

He splashes some water on his face to wake himself up and feel fresher. Now he'd consider himself mostly ready. He tiptoes to his suitcase, digging through until he finds an outfit for the day. He pulls on the Jean shorts and tank top.

He slips on his flip flops and calls it a look, though he decidedly looks like he does every other summer day off. Next mission: coffee, he tells himself. He goes to open the door, looking back at his boys one more time, I swear if they get into any trouble while I'm gone, he sighs, hoping they'll just sleep through his journey to breakfast.

[astrofireworks]

house of cards: a night circus binu au (iii)

part i | part ii | part iii

As it turns out, Bin does not get to leave to visit Rocky for another three weeks.

He knows he should be grateful that he’s busy – the Magician just adopted two more students, both boys pulled from an orphanage three towns over, and they need all the help adapting to their new environment as they can get.

They’re curious about everything, as five year olds are, and Bin keeps them entertained with small tricks like turning leaves into hats and back again. When they marvel at him and beg to know his secret, he leans in with a conspiratorial whisper, “You’ll learn, if you behave.”

He creates sounds that dance around them, stoppers smells in bottles to take them to places they’ve never been to before, levitates them until they giggle and ask to be let down. He charms the planet mobile he has shifted into their room to sparkle and to rotate, tucks them into bed, shepherds them around the house when they have lessons.

He tries to recreate the atmosphere the Magician’s old students used to create for him when he was younger; he has had a good childhood in this home, and he wants these boys to have the same.

Sometimes, right after he tucks them into bed and flicks the lights off, he pauses, standing outside their door with his hand unconsciously rubbing his scar. He wonders if they too, will have challenges set upon them.

~

Eunwoo sits cross-legged on the floor of a room that might have once been considered neat.

The top of the carriage has been pushed open and half the room is lit in a pink-orange sunset. What used to be pale blue walls are now covered in symbols, taken from languages around the world – there are phonetic symbols, Chinese and Japanese characters, Egyptian hieroglyphs, alchemy ciphers covering nearly every available surface. Some are the size of plates; some are smaller than the nail on Eunwoo’s pinkie, and they are nearly all linked together by neat, silver lines, a network of ideograms that, in the dying sunlight, seems to shimmer.  

There is a bunk bed, hidden from the main area by a translucent white curtain, pushed against the back wall of the train carriage, once home to Sanha before he moved out of Eunwoo’s carriage into one of the acrobats’. Eunwoo uses it now as storage for some of his books – there are volumes and volumes of leather bound books, carefully labelled along the spine with silver characters.

There are yet more books scattered around Eunwoo, flipped open to reveal tidy notes and diagrams. He sits in the middle of them all, eyes flitting between books and laptop and inert paper animals lined up on the coffee table in front of him.

He’s this close to completing the project – it’s been nearly a month since the tree was sent, and Zuho’s help in troubleshooting his magic has sped up the process tremendously. He has all the symbols for each animal listed out in a spreadsheet; all he has left to do is the actual origami and bring them to life.  

Which proves harder than he thought.

Frustrated, he runs his fingers through his hair. He’s been watching instructional YouTube videos since he woke up, but he still can’t make sense of the last step in the dragon origami video. It’s ridiculous, how all his training has been centred around learning magic and how his challenges have focused on his use of spells and sigils and things; they were all meant to prepare him for this, but somehow, he has never learnt how to fold a stupid piece of paper.

There is a knock on the door. Eunwoo looks up, and waits. If it’s urgent, they’d knock again; if it’s MJ, he’d hammer until Eunwoo let him in.

A series of knocks follows. Eunwoo sighs, and waves a hand over the mess around him to make space. He loops the resulting length of blue silk around his belt and raises his voice.

“Come in, you loser!”

“Who are you calling a loser?” MJ huffs, kicking the door closed behind him. Eunwoo laughs and stretches; he’s been sitting on the floor for too long.

MJ heads straight past Eunwoo for his sofa, and flops face-first into it.

Eunwoo stands up to turn the electric kettle on – an MJ face-down on his sofa requires either tea or patience, and Eunwoo is already reaching for his tea leaves.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so single.”

Eunwoo sighs and knocks a spoonful of leaves into his pot. He waves a hand and a soft ballad starts playing from a speaker buried somewhere on top of his fridge.

“Sanha’s been spending more and more time with that acrobat boy –”

“Yeah, well, he lives with him –”

“And I’ve been left all alone,” MJ continues as if he hasn’t heard Eunwoo. “All I want is someone to spend time with me.”

Eunwoo reaches overhead to pull mugs out of the cupboard. “I’m spending time with you.”

MJ snorts. “I want someone with whom I can listen to soft ballads! I want someone who will sing those soft ballads to me! What song is this – Day6, am I right? – I want someone who would make me, if I lost them, hundred percent relate to lyrics of said soft ballads.”

Eunwoo waits until the kettle beeps before lifting it up and draining the water into the pot. “You saying you wouldn’t miss me if I were gone?”

“I want someone to cuddle me! You know I’m big on physical affection; I need hugs and kisses to survive and you, Cha Eunwoo, would never.”

Eunwoo swirls the tea pot once, twice, thrice, then tips the tea into both mugs. “I would, I’m big on physical affection. It’s only because you’re too short.”

“I want someone my height! Or shorter! Who would hug and kiss me without whining about my height!”

Eunwoo sets the mugs down on the coffee table and takes a seat on the floor. “I know I’m an illusionist, but you do realise a fantasy-boyfriend will disappear the moment I stop –”

“Shut up, I’m not asking for a fantasy boyfriend, I want a real one –”

“Go out and get one then –”

“Sanha says he’s supposed to appear soon –”

“Yeah, but Sanha also said whatever he reads changes depending on whatever we do. You just going to sit here and wait until he walks into your life? What if he comes in only two years later?”

MJ just harrumphs and sits up to grab his mug. He takes a sip and grimaces. Smacking his lips, he waves his hand and Eunwoo’s cupboard flies open. “No sugar?”

“Nobody adds sugar to barley tea, MJ –”

MJ grumbles under his breath, taking another swallow of tea. Then he sits up and, squinting at the door, sweeps his hand in the general direction of the cupboard. Another mug flies out from Eunwoo’s cupboard and just misses MJ’s hand, instead crash-landing into the sofa.

“Oops,” MJ mumbles as Eunwoo shoots him a glare. He shrugs. His area of magic never required fine motor control anyway. He sets the mug down on the coffee table and shifts off the sofa onto the floor, and almost instantly, the door rattles and Sanha barges in and flings himself onto Eunwoo’s sofa.

Eunwoo sighs. So much for working on the challenge when he has to babysit the both of them. He gently floats the tea pot over to the coffee table and tips some tea into Sanha’s mug.

A loud, muffled string of words emit from Sanha.

Eunwoo pats him on the back absently and shifts the mug towards him. MJ squints at where the boy is sprawled out on his sofa.

“You think Rocky what?”

Eunwoo blinks. How MJ heard that, Eunwoo will never know. He turns to Sanha. “What’s up with your roommate?”

“I think he’s magic,” Sanha finally turns face-up, arm flopping off the sofa.

“You think he’s magic,” Eunwoo echoes flatly. Another one.

He stands up and heads to the bottom bunk to pull out a notebook, and flips to the acrobat section.

Park Minhyuk, 1999. Acrobat section, employed two months ago. Eunwoo remembers Jun from the acrobatics tent talking about him – apparently he did some magic routine involving dangling from the ceiling with only a ribbon around his waist. Now Eunwoo wonders if it was actually magic.

“– turned around and saw him, still asleep, levitating a good metre off the bed!”

Eunwoo wanders back to where the two are sat, notebook in hand. That makes a good six of them with magic that Eunwoo knows of. He wonders if Rocky’s magic is learnt or practiced or natural.

“Did you say anything? Or did you just leave?” MJ asks.

“Ran straight here,” Sanha answers, picking at his pyjamas.

“Have you read him?” Eunwoo interrupts. Could Rocky be his opponent? It would have been easy for his opponent to place the tree where he did if he were part of the circus.

Sanha looks up, almost offended. “I wouldn’t, he hasn’t given me his permission. From what he’s told me, though, he grew up in what seemed like a boys’ home. Then whoever he was studying under recommended him into the circus and he moved straight in here.”

“What kind of boys’ home recommends people into the circus?”

“A magic one, apparently,” Eunwoo remarks dryly.

He wonders if there are more boys, magic honed to perfection, from this home. He wonders if they, too, were taught with books and lectures or if they were coached through practice and lessons. He wonders if they were born with magic then cast aside and picked up by a home, like Sanha and MJ, or if they were born into the home, then cast aside and picked up by a magic user who saw their potential to learn magic, like himself.

He wonders how he measures up to them.

~

Bin sits quietly on a chair outside the Magician’s room, short legs swinging and toes nearly brushing the floor. He isn’t sure who the man in the Magician’s room is, but he wants to meet Bin, and so meet him Bin must.

The hallway is dark; the Magician’s floor of the house has always been dark, as far as Bin remembers, even though it’s on the top floor of the house. Bin rubs his toe at a spot on the floor – there is a clear spot where his toe has rubbed it and a layer of dust on his shoe. He frowns and focuses his gaze. Two seconds later, his shoe is clean and slightly shimmering gold and Bin leans back, satisfied.

The door swings open and he hears the Magician’s deep voice call out for him. He swings himself off the chair and walks in.

“This is Moonbin,” the Magician says, placing his hands on Bin’s shoulders.

The man standing across the room is double Bin’s height, and he has his arms crossed. He has an eyebrow raised and is staring at Bin hard enough to make him squirm.

“You can show him what you learnt last week, Binnie.”

Bin blinks, worried. “But you said not to show them to anyone –”

“He’s not just anyone, Binnie. Go on.”

Slowly, Bin raises his hand, palm side up. His eyes squint in concentration; he curls his chubby hand up into a fist, and when he opens it again, a crushed peony sits in his palm. A blink later, it is a rose. Another blink, and it is a wisp of gold smoke, trailing up into the air.

He watches as the man’s eyes widen slightly before he composes himself again. “A gold user? Where did you find him?”

“Bought him.”

Bin fidgets. The Magician always tells him alone, in private, with sad eyes and warm hands, that he never means it when he talks to other people about Bin like that, like he’s a product, and he always reminds Bin that he and Rocky and Jinjin are his sons no matter where they’re from; but it comes as a small uncomfortable reminder every time, like a pebble stuck in the very front of his shoe.

“He’s going to be better than you one day,” the man says, peering at Bin.

The Magician’s hands tighten on Bin’s shoulders, his own shoulders straightening with pride. “I am aware, yes.”

“I have a silver user,” the man says after a pause.

“You want them to compete.” The Magician returns flatly. He is not surprised; at last they have arrived at the purpose of the man’s visit.

“Indeed. So we can finally settle it; if practical lessons or theoretical lessons are better.”

“I believe the scales are already tipped in my favour. Your student lost the last one.”

Bin sees the man’s fingertips glow a deep red as he takes a deep breath to control himself. “One of my favourite students too,” the man says.

“And this silver user, you’re willing to lose him?”

“Oh, I won’t lose him. This little one right here, on the other hand…”

Bin shrinks back into the warmth of the Magician. He isn’t entirely sure what they’re talking about, but there is a barely controlled anger beneath the surface of the man’s eyes, a warning sign that Bin knows almost too well.

The Magician’s hands come up to stroke Bin’s hair, a soft weight. “He’s talented and he will be well prepared for this challenge, don’t you worry.”

The man scowls.

“If you’re so confident,” the man says, “Bind him.” He pulls a charm from his pocket and tosses it to the Magician.

The Magician stares at the charm, two interlocking triangles glinting innocently in the light of his room. Two equal shapes, inseparable and intertwined, inextricable.

Life-binding.

He does not need to accept this challenge; there is no need to bring any more of his students into this fight between himself and the man. Already he has seen a few students lost in his haste to prove that he is right, students that he still sees, smiling and laughing around the dinner table, when he closes his eyes.

Bin looks up at him, where he is still contemplating the charm in his hand. Bin’s eyes are large and questioning, almost like a cat’s, and his gaze is nervous and slightly frightened. The Magician knows he should not bring Bin into this, with his pudgy cheeks and his sweet voice, his bright laugh and fierce loyalty.

Most of the students who return successfully from their bound challenges are living their lives normally, he knows. They are stronger for it, they know what magic there is in the world and they know how to use it to their advantage. But the last student he bound into a challenge came back a shell of who he was, almost as if he lost a part of himself along with his opponent; he does not want to risk any more of his children ending up the same way. Yet…

He looks up, “If Bin wins, we end this.”

The man returns, nearly instantly, “Deal.”

He waves a hand, and the charm flies out of the Magician’s hand. The man catches it, and kneels down in front of Bin.

Bin shrinks away from him slightly, from this strange man and his velvet red eyes, but the weight of the Magician’s hands on his shoulders keep him where he is. They watch as the man threads the charm onto a silver chain and slides it around Bin’s neck.

The charm is cool against his chest, and Bin wonders for a moment what it means, why this necklace is put on him with such seriousness, why the tension in the room is not melting away.

But the man starts muttering under his breath and in the second it takes for Bin to realise that the charm is warming up, it starts glowing white hot, and Bin cries out in pain. His hands come up to tear the chain from his neck, but his fingers grasp at nothing – the chain, charm and all, has disappeared, leaving only two interlocking triangles on Bin’s chest.

Bin turns to the Magician, tears in his eyes, but the Magician is staring at the man, jaw set.

The man starts, “If you would like to bind my student –”

“No.”

The man raises his eyebrow.

“I trust that you will do it sufficiently,” the Magician says, turning away. One of his hands remains on Bin’s shoulders, the other hand is shrouded in white light.

A flash, and the Magician tosses an exact replica of the charm back at the man. It is gold.

Fitting, the man thinks, satisfied. He pockets the charm and turns to leave. “You get first move; I’m feeling generous today. Whenever you’re ready.”

The Magician stands in silence. His eyes watch the man start to dissolve, and he only looks away when he is certain there is no more trace of magic in the room other than his and Bin’s.

He kneels down in front of Bin, and brushes the hair off of Bin’s forehead.

“It hurt,” Bin whines softly.

“I know, and it wasn’t very polite,” the Magician says. His eyes are soft and sad, and Bin feels a pang in his chest, as ice-cold as the charm was burning hot. He places a pudgy palm on the Magician’s cheek, and he sees the Magician’s eyes glint with tears.

Somewhere in the distance a bell rings for dinner, and the Magician straightens up. “You should go for dinner. I won’t be joining you boys tonight.”

Bin blinks, and nods. He knows when he is being dismissed.

He is halfway out the door when the Magician calls out to him again. Bin turns back to see the Magician sitting behind his desk once more, hands folded in a steeple to cover his face. “You’ll start training with me daily instead of four times a week, Binnie. I’ll let you boys know your new schedules.”

Bin nods again. He is out of the room and is near the staircase when he hears the Magician whisper, quiet but loud as day, “I’m sorry, Bin.”

Bin doesn’t register what the Magician says until later that night, laying in his bed with a snoring Rocky sprawled out next to him and Jinjin in a bed across his own. He looks up at the ceiling at the planet mobile one of the Magician’s old students crafted for him, his hand laying across the new scar on his chest, and wonders why the Magician would be sorry.

i swear there will be actual binu soon ajsdlfhaskjdf

[syubits]

velleity

— (n.) a wish or inclination not strong enough to lead to action.

≡ pairing: jungkook x reader

≡ genre: fluff :- ) bestfriends turned lovers au. 

≡ wordcount: 

≡ summary: jungkook strives for perfection in everything and casually asks you to help him with... something. 

Jungkook is quite the perfectionist.

Perhaps not when it came to studying, because the boy would rather kick some ass in video games over reading paragraphs in the textbook until he goes cross-eyed, but other than that, he was perfect in everything— looks (not that you’d admit), skills— from singing to dancing and playing guitar or any instrument he so randomly happens to pick up — anything he learned, he mastered. He wasn’t called Golden Boy on campus for nothing. It was fact that he was the well-known, popular star kid in school for bringing back awards and trophies for the five clubs out of five that he was scouted for, although he doesn't even attend practice sixty percent of the time. 

Which makes him even more impressive but. 

“They’ll kick you out,”  you remind Jungkook with a nudge to his foot dangling off the couch he was dozing on.

“They can’t, they need me,” he counters flatly, voice muffled and getting lost between the cushions, and you press your lips together in a flat line. As cocky as it sounded, it was true and you both knew it, but you didn’t pass the chance to roll your eyes at him. You also knew for a fact that Jungkook doesn't have the heart to turn down any of the clubs that wanted him, although he’d probably deny it and brush the fact away. 

Someone’s phone dings, and Jungkook makes a bolt for it, clambering over the headrest of the couch and falling in a heavy thud to reach for his phone on the kitchen counter, making you pause in the process of folding the laundry to clutch a hand to your heart.

“What the fuck,” you remember to breathe, throwing the boy an incredulous look. He hushes you when you point out that he currently has the creepiest smile plastered to his face, making you scowl at his rude attitude as if he doesn’t behave like an ass on a daily basis, but then again, Jungkook never was enthusiastic about answering his phone, so it must be none other than—

“A girl?” 

The falter in his movements said it all.

“Joy?” 

Jungkook’s eyes snap to you, brows hiked up and disappearing behind his fringe. “How’d you know?”

“Maybe you’re just really easy to read or slash and you couldn’t stop talking about her the past few days?” 

“Oh.” 

“Hurry and send the text, loser.”

He glares at you, and glares even harder when he realises you had your back turned to him, all nice and oblivious. The ballooning sound of a text message being sent fills the momentary but comfortable quiet within the room, a ding! following shortly after.

“Hooo shit, I just scored a date.”

 //

 Jungkook comes home the next night looking incredibly like he hadn’t come back from a date with the girl he has lowkey been crushing on for the past few weeks.

“So?” You prompt him after he had plopped onto the couch, hearing plastic unwrap and seeing the boy stick a lollipop in his mouth. Jungkook twists in his seat to regard you at the countertop with dead eyes. They shift between the cup of hot tea and to your laptop you were probably typing an essay on, the memory of your question and its context getting lost in the short span of time his gaze followed.

“Huh.”

Your shoulders slump in an entirely exasperated and dramatic manner. “The date, how was it?”

“It was okay.” His tone was flat. Jungkook felt flat. The evening with Joy wasn’t particularly bad, she was nice, yes, like the movie, food, it was nice, everything was nice and what would entail as a good date according to the relationship section out of a youth magazine but that was it. He felt his chest flutter whenever she had smiled up from under her lashes, when their hands brushed on the way home from the movies, but other than that, he felt nothing more besides the fact that he wanted to go home already.

He isn’t sure what to make of it when he found himself unlocking the front door to your apartment though. 

You frown in disappointment. “That’s it? No kisses or anything?”

That seemed to elicit a reaction from him.

“I chickened out,” he groans and bodily flops over like a seal on a beach so his face was planted onto the couch where he wished to bury himself in, and the memory, for eternity. He temporary quells the idea though, in favour of sitting upright to scowl at you upon hearing the sound of your snickers that burn at his ears.

“At least I got a date?” He quips defensively, and man, his pride was so stung it was hilarious.

“Okay,” you hide your grin behind the cover of the laptop, sarcasm not gone unnoticed by the boy.

“You suck,” he says, words holding more of a petulant than biting tone.

“Not for free,” you reply offhandedly, and Jungkook chokes on the lollipop in his mouth, pulling it out and coke flavour has never left such a bitter taste in his throat before and—ugh. Word choice, Jeon Jungkook. 

The boy groans. “I was just—like-– what if I was bad at it?” Jungkook gripes hopelessly, letting his head fall back onto the headrest. The cushion dips under your weight when you fall onto it, and Jungkook turns to you looking the most pitiful you had ever seen him in the 19 years you have known him.  

“Hey. What if…” He starts but trails off ambiguously, a faraway look in his eyes as he leaves the end of his sentence out in the open.

“What if…?” came an empty echo of his words as you begin flipping through the channels on the television boredly.

“What if you help me….practice with…kissing?”

You barely manage to grab on to the remote before it slips from your hands as you twist to him. “No?” 

He makes a ruckus while shifting to fold his arms. “Chicken.” Cue clucking noises. 

“I’m not the one who backed out of kissing their crush at the last minute.”

“I wanted to make sure the first kiss was perfect!”

“Not everything is about being perfect! Awkward kisses are cute too.

He pops the lollipop from his mouth loudly. “How would you know? You haven’t even had your first kiss,” he points out, making you huff. 

“I’m just saying,” you reply haughtily. 

“And I’m just saying we could practice on it together,” he persists as you dismiss the nonsensical suggestion with a shake of your head. “It’s just kissing.”

Jungkook blatantly ignores your eyeroll. “Yes, and so. It doesn't have to be so perfect. Especially for a first one.” 

He groans, stretching the noise in a very Taehyung-ish fashion when the other boy needs Jin to cook up some kind of meal he was craving, and you tsk at the boy sprawled on the couch. Pitch perfect, his whine impressively was, but that fact alone wouldn’t stop your neighbours from lodging a complain if he didn’t shut up soon.

The squawk that jumps from Jungkook’s mouth is muffled when you clap a hand over his mouth, face worn out as you say, “If I agree to it will you shut it?” 

Eyes blown wide, the boy nods zealously as you remove the hand clamped over the bottom half of his face, letting it drop limply to your side. He didn’t expect that you actually would agree to this.

“Technically, I won’t be able to speak since we’d be in liplock—“

He takes the sudden gush of air that whistles through your nostrils as a sign to shut up, but Jungkook was not in the least prepared for when you pull at his collar, the movement so sudden he barely recovers in the nick of time before he can topple into you as you lean up to press your lips to his.  

Jungkook tastes like summer all over again, like the first spark of a handheld firework when you light it in the dark of a night, the light fizz of soda pop — although that might just be from the cola flavoured lollipop he was just sucking on previously, the sweet tangy effervescence still fizzling on curve of his lips.

His mouth parts, but only in surprise as doe eyes captured in some sort of  a  daze stare at your closed lids under brows that are tightly furrowed in concentration, determination?— Jungkook didn’t know. He can definitely spot the blush high on your cheeks – you had always blushed so easily, one of the small quirks about you he had always so incessantly teased but suddenly he feels your breath wash over his and a flutter of his name on his lips and he feels a flood of adrelanine spirit through his veins and it’s exicting and innocent all at once, like riding a bike down a steep hill and taking your feet off the pedals and feeling the wind in your hair and warmth seeping into the back of his shirt from the high noon sun as you both come crashing down, surroundings spinning and blurring until everything and nothing mattered except the two of you. 

Jungkook isn’t all too sure if you’re the only one who’s blushing now and, fuck—  he definitely didn't think this through and this might be the best worst decision he ever made. 

It had meant to be nothing more than a light, chaste kiss fitting for a first (or in Jungkook’s case, the second) date, and as much as you hate to admit you would do spend every waking minute doing this, you remind yourself of the prime reason of what, who was the reason you were in this situation in the first place. Head spinning and heart hammering in your chest, you pull back. “That should be enough for— ” 

“No, wait,” was all Jungkook said, lips slanting against yours, hands curling around your forearm to keep you from moving away. He feels a little dizzy, in the best of ways and this is — e v e r y t h i n g is fluttering just from holding you like this, in the warm comfort of home (your home, which is his because it’s where you are) and he’s pretty sure his heart is going to burst.

Somewhere to your right, but sounding so, so much more far away, Jungkook’s phone dings once, the single tinkle of the belll coasting over in your head, a calling to reality, a sound expelling you from some sort of a spell.

“Jungkook,” you breathe between any little space he allows; he is immediately chasing after your lips the moment you pull away, your hands come up to cup around his face and stall any further attempts. “Y-your phone.”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs, blindly peeling your fingers off his face so he can lean in for another kiss. It’s unfair how soft his lips are, and the whimper that leaves your mouth is lost somewhere in his when he hauls you over his lap, tongue darting out to dance across your cupid’s bow and you’re so so shy when you open up and let him in, gasps coalescing, desperate for air and—

“Jungkook, c—can’t breathe,” you plead, fallen whimpers that are immediately trapped between his lips for the last time before he pulls away, chest heaving slightly, eyes glazed over. 

“Sorry,” he pants, lips twitching into a smile he tries and fails to keep tucked under bunny teeth.  

The little shit’s not sorry— not in the least, but your lips are tingling, and you feel like electricity is spun on your lips, the ends of your fingertips and everywhere else because everything is currently buzzing and all you manage to blurt out in reply is an “it’s okay.”

“S’okay if we do it again then?” Hands finding your hips he valiantly ventures to question while cracking a slow smile, all cheek, pink and tone hued with slight hopefulness. 

You feel small flames ablaze and licking at your cheeks as you think up a neutral reply. “Nah— I think you’re good to go.” That was definitely way beyond a kiss for a first date – maybe more fit for a fourth at least in your books. Punctuating your statement with two, big brother-ish sort of pats on his chest, you make to slide off his thighs, praying for a smooth retreat, one that he hopefully doesn’t notice. But fast reflexes on Jungkook’s end locks you in place with the cage of his arms in no time at all and blocking any means of escape, his gaze hard and determined.

Jungkook’s phone chimes again, the sound hardly conjuring so much as a blink from the owner.

Extricating yourself from his hold didn’t seem like a plan that would work in your favour, and waiting it out for a space of heartbeats only made you hyperaware of Jungkook’s presence surrounding all of you as he tries to prove his point of him not moving any time soon, phone ringing or not. So you swallow thickly, going for the next option you can think of off the top of your head. “You should answer that. It’s probably Joy.”

He groans as if that was the last thing he wanted to discuss about, rolling his eyes before he makes himself comfortable by drooping backwards against the couch, still not relinquishing his hold on you.

The response catches you off guard, and you can’t help but remind him, “She’s your crush!” with impatient fervor. His jaw drops, and he gives you the most absurd look. To your utmost surprise, the boy just laughs, clear and loud and mellifluous and and oh how stupid. How very you.

“Excuse me?” 

Jungkook blinks dumbly.

Oh.

He had said that aloud. How very stupid. How very him of him. The grin that smoothly spreads across his face makes your eyelid twitch. 

“Stupid." He repeats, sweet and simple and nothing short of fondness. “It’s always been you.”

“What?“ you frown, chest suddenly feeling too tight at his words that sounded too close too a confession, sounded too good to be true. “Jungkook. What are you talking about?” 

“What the fuck,” he leans forward to grab you by the shoulders, sounding almost exasperated. He slumps back into the couch and you see him avert his eyes and swallow, set his jaw, cheeks red and puffed up with words he’s deliberating whether to reveal before he groans and just spits it out.  “I fucking like you, you dumbass.”

In a series of blinks Jungkook witnesses your underlying emotions breaking on the surface like dawn and eclipsing around your features— the surprise, wishful happiness blooming in a soft scarlet on your cheeks and then… and then— the doubt sinks in.

“No you don’t,” you insist, pushing yourself off of him, but Jungkook is more stubborn and stronger than you are so you’re stuck on his lap whether you like it or not. “You like Joy. You also like Yeri—”

Yoojung. Hana. Dahyun.

Jungkook cuts you off quickly by pressing his forehead to you firmly, shakes his head, noses knocking against each another. “No. Listen— they’re nice, but,” he takes a sharp intake of breath, bracing himself. He traps your hands within one of his, squeezing lightly. “But they’re not you.”

His voice is soft when he speaks again.“_______? I’m not lying, if that’s what you’re about to say.” His gaze softens when it finds your eyes and you almost crumble. Gone was the light, playful atmosphere and something deeper, heavier sets in place and cloaking over the two of you.  

You liked Jungkook, sure, of fucking course, you had fell for him harder than you thought you would and that was fine, because he didn’t have to know or like you back because catching romantic feelings for your best friend were always a bad idea. Not that you would admit your feelings or the fact that you considered him your best friend. He didn’t have to know either of that— because sparks can fly and it would be a wonderful, colourful explosion of fireworks but you’ve seen and realised that the flame always burns out quick, leaving behind nothing but a blank, dark canvas of the sky punctuated by an eerily loud silence like a reminder of how temporary everything truly could be.

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he lowers your hands that are clasped in his and stares at how they fit in the spaces between his fingers just right. “I just wanted you to know.” 

He flushes a more intense shade of crimson, and in an odd moment of courage you reach up and poke his cheeks. “You’re so cute.”

Jungkook goes even more round-eyed at the sudden display of affection, before an offended expression takes over and he looks like you just kicked his Xbox. “I’m not cute.”

Your grin turns almost evil as the poking turns into pinching, much to Jungkook’s chagrin. 

“Stop,” Jungkook pries your hands, finger by finger, off of his face, a glare meant to be deadly painted on his features.“I confess and you bully me like this. You suck.”

“Not for free,” came your reply for the second time that day, shooting him a playful wink that has Jungkook screaming inside because it’s a joke and he shouldn’t let it affect him but here he is, blood rushing to his cheeks (again) and down south straight somewhere that makes him blush even more thinking about it. 

Although—  it was really hard not to think about it (haha, hard, Jungkook coughs out a dry laugh in his mind) especially since you were sitting right on top of... the whole problem. 

This time, it’s Jungkook that willingly shoves you off his lap, eliciting a string of chuckles that bubble right out of your chest because Jungkook looked both flustered and grumpy and downright adorable that you can't help but lean upwards to brush your lips against his cheek. Except he decides to turn at the last second, all red-cheeked with a retort of some sort on the tip of his tongue that dies off the moment your lips meet with his.

“T-that was absolutely accidental,” you splutter, both hands held up to cover your mouth in shock. Jungkook watches as you practically jump away from him, eyes widening, feeling all forms of fluster and awkwardness echoing out of his bones and a smile almost snide sliding to his lips at your increasingly ruffled state.

He leans forward, smirk stretching past bunny teeth and mischief glittering in his eyes as he dips down, giving you one last look before planting a small kiss on the back of your hands still clamped over your mouth, taking some sort of satisfaction in the way you blush up to the tip of your ears. 

“Perfectly accidental, you mean.”

[kate-writes-fluff]

If you're still doing dialogue prompts? 160? For whatever you want?

160.  [text] Who says no to sex and donuts?!

When I saw this, I thought of Jean, so @tiggeryumyumm I decided to work in your Valentine’s day themed jeanmarco in the same prompt.

Sorry for the wait!  I’ve been fighting some real writer’s block.

Jean: Who says no to sex and donuts?!

Eren: just bc i work at a bakery doesn’t mean u can take advantage of it

Jean: I just thought it would sweeten the deal ;)

Eren: obviously it didn’t work

Jean: T-T

Eren: considering how thin the walls are in our apartment, i’m grateful for ur lackluster flirting skills

Jean: …. Rude

Jean locks his phone and sighs as lets himself into their apartment.  It’s only 5 a.m., about a half hour after the Wings of Freedom closes for the night and therefore way too early in the morning to deal with Eren’s teasing.  Jean drags his feet as he makes his way to his cluttered bedroom, exhausted from both his most recent rejection and a long night of wiping down tables at the bar.  He simply throws his uniform–which chronically reeks of alcohol–into a corner of the room as he strips, not even bothering to throw on pajamas before he flops into bed and promptly falls asleep.

Hours later he’s ripped away from a pleasant dream about a handsome stranger with plump kissable lips and warm, welcoming arms by an annoying buzzing noise uncomfortably close to his ear.  Jean groans as he fumbles, finally finding his phone underneath his pillow with the display lit up with a new message.  Part of him wants to ignore it, but he knows that if Eren pities him enough he might offer to bring him food–but only if he replies before he changes his mind.

Turns out, the text is from Eren, but it’s a picture of a flyer with no words attached.  He can’t help but groan as he taps the image to enlarge it and squint at the tiny, pixelated words his brain isn’t awake enough to comprehend yet.

“Valentine’s Meet Up,” it says in a curly romantic font.  “Hang out with other singles and donate your time to brighten someone’s day.  Make friends and meet someone new.”

Before Jean can think of a coherent response, though “what the fuck” would probably be a decent enough answer, Eren texts him again.

Eren:  i signed u up

Jean: whyyyyy?

Eren: bc ur single +whiney + u have a day off on 2/14

         also ur a romantic loser so i know ur gonna be extra whiney on V day

Jean: ….

Eren:  u kno im right. Accept it

Jean:  i only read this text b/c i thought you were offering me food

Eren:  if i bring u a donut will u stop complaining

Jean: its a start

Eren: i hate u

Jean puts his phone on his dresser and sighs happily as he relaxes back into his pillow, looking forward to the treat his roommate will inevitably bring him.

Jean makes good on his promise and doesn’t complain about the singles anonymous meeting Eren has signed him up for.  Though he makes sure to give his roommate the stink eye when he finds out that he has holiday plans of his own.

“If you’re hanging out with Mikasa and Armin, then why couldn’t you just let me tag along?”  Jean whines, turning to give his roommate the most pitiful expression he can muster from beside him on their lumpy clearance-sale couch.

Eren doesn’t bother to look up from his phone as he promptly answers, “Because you would spend the whole day complaining and flirting with my sister.”

“Not true!  I might flirt with Armin too,” Jean flutters his eyelashes as Eren groans, turning away from him to finish texting his sister about their plans.

“Yeah, like I want to make my sister and my best friend uncomfortable all day.”

“But you’ll let your sister crash your date with your crush.”

“It’s not a date!”  Eren exclaims despite his bright pink cheeks.

“But Armin is your crush?”  Jean laughs as he reaches out to playfully ruffle his roommate’s hair, an attempt that costs him an elbow in the side.

“I hate you,” Eren groans.

“Then get your own Netflix,” Jean suggests, switching windows on his computer away from the website in question to check his email.  He makes a point to delete his junk mail as slowly as possible, just to rile up his roommate even more.  After about ten excruciatingly long minutes he’s about to give in and start the episode of Stranger Things when a new email pops up in his inbox.

“It’s for that Valentine’s thing,” Jean remarks, catching Eren’s attention.  He crowds over Jean’s shoulder to watch as he opens the message.

Dear Mr. Kirstein,

Thank you for expressing interest in helping to set up and organize the Valentines Meet Up event.  Would you mind meeting me at the bakery to discuss planning details?

Thanks,

Marco Bodt

There’s a moment of silence as they stare blankly at the polite message before Jean pointedly glares over his shoulder.  “Eren!  I thought you signed me up for the event, not the planning committee!!”

“Whoops,” Eren shrugs and leans back into his own spot on the couch, giving his roommate the space he needs to properly fume.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Jean accuses, narrowing his eyes into an even harsher glare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Eren turns his attention back to his phone, pointedly avoiding further eye-contact as he resumes texting.  Jean puffs his cheeks angrily, unsure whether the avoidance is a sign of guilt or exactly how little Eren cares about the situation.

“… That’s it, we’re watching Hart of Dixie.”

“No!” Eren exclaims, dropping his phone in his lap as he finally returns eye contact.

“If you signed me up to be a romantic sap for the full week until Valentine’s day, well then I’m going to start now.”

Eren groans but shifts in his seat to see the screen better.  “It’s not even romantic, they’re just idiots for the sake of drama.”

Though Jean agrees with him there, he can’t help but roll his eyes at the remark.  “You can complain when you have an actual love-life, Mr. I’m-in-love-with-my-bff-but-I’m-too-scared-to-say-anything.”

“Says the chronic single,” Eren bites back, digging his elbow into a ticklish spot in Jean’s side, making the other man squirm.  “I hope you meet someone at the stupid event so you’re too busy being stupid and in love to bother me anymore.”

“You and me both.  Watching you guys flirt is more excruciating than watching Zoe and Wade go back and forth.”

Eren grumbles profanities under his breath for several minutes before he angrily remarks, “Are you going to start the show or not?”

Jean sighs as his alarm goes off at 11 a.m. the next day.  Working nights means that on a normal day, he tends to sleep through the afternoon.  But thanks to Eren, he has plans to meet the event guy at the bakery that cut his much-needed sleep short.

The night before had been a long, tiring day and even as he wakes up he still feels tired and listless, barely able to keep his eyes open.  Maybe if he was more awake, he would have put the effort into dressing for a first impression.  But the fact is, he’s simply too tired to care.  So he slips into a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt, not even bothering to comb his hair before he shoves his shoes onto his feet and stumbles out the door.

Eren’s wiping down the counter when he arrives at the Braus’ bakery.  As Jean slumps against the customer side of the counter, Eren shoots him a distasteful look.  “Really, not even an effort?”  

Jean finds enough effort to roll his eyes.  “Give me the sugar I need to get through this.”

Eren grunts an affirmative as he reaches into the display case to pull out a raspberry filled donut.  As Jean pulls out his wallet to begrudgingly pay–though this is all his roommate’s fault, he knows better than asking him to pay too often–Eren nods toward one of the front tables.  “Marco’s here already.”

As Jean turns to find the person he’s meeting, he suddenly wishes he had bothered to look in a mirror before he left the apartment.  Dressed in a spotless lilac button-down and steam-pressed gray slacks, the man looks as put together as Jean isn’t.  But by this point, Jean is just too tired to even think about running back to his apartment to scrounge up an outfit that looks half decent.  Though he does quickly finger-comb his hair before he slides into the chair opposite the man.

“Hi!  Are you Jean?”  The man smiles brightly at his approach, making Jean regret his clothing choices all over again.  Because that dimpled smile single-handedly makes his heart clench and his hands start to sweat.  Though the freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose certainly make the expression far more endearing than anything larger than a baby animal should ever be.  In contrast, Jean can almost feel the bags under his eyes and wonders what the stranger thinks about the hot mess he regrettably is.

“Yeah.” Jean does his best to smile politely, though it falls short.  His cheeks feel stiff and his flirting muscles are not quite awake enough to throw out his usual charms.  “Are we waiting for anyone else?”  He takes a moment to look around the shop and though there are few people getting breakfast to go, there aren’t many people milling around.

“No… you’re the only volunteer.”  Marco threads his fingers around his coffee cup and looks crestfallen for a moment before he smiles again.  “Let’s start brainstorming, shall we?” he suggests as he pulls out a small spiral notebook and a pen.

“Um, sure.  What do you have in mind?”

Marco eagerly flips the page in his notebook, revealing rows upon rows of neat handwriting and messy doodles and diagrams.  “I’m so glad you asked.”

The following week is the busiest Jean’s had in years.  Whenever he turns around, he’s making bright colored paper chains or folding squares of paper and cutting out paper shapes, filling his and Eren’s apartment with boxes upon boxes of decorations.  Whenever Jean gets ready for work, he can hear Eren stumbling and cursing over the new boxes that appear while he’s out of the apartment.  It would be funnier if Jean didn’t trip over the damn things himself, too.

The highlight of all the paper toil is that Marco is loathe to make him work alone.  During the week, they meet up at the bakery at noon, where Marco spends his lunch break away from the library decorating the place with him.  (Jean makes a mental note to pay the local library a visit someday soon.)

Even after spending so much time together, Jean doesn’t find himself tiring of Marco.  In fact, with each day he looks forward to every time he leaves to return to work, Jean finds himself actually looking forward to the next day even more.  Marco is just as charming as he was the first day they met, cheerful, creative, and fun.  

Unwilling to repeat the embarrassment of their first meeting, Jean’s careful to pick the best outfits in his closet for their afternoon meetings.  He can’t help but blush the day Marco compliments a shirt ornamented with an iron-on transfer of one of his own art prints.

Jean has always been one to preen over compliments, but the sheer sincerity in Marco’s voice and smile as he gives them is enough to fluster him every time.  Halfway through the week, Jean realizes that his attraction for Marco is slowly growing more than skin-deep.  That day, Marco laughs cheerfully at even the shittiest of his puns–a quip about Eren being the real breadwinner in their roommate relationship because bussing tables doesn’t exactly set the bar high–and Jean softens.

By the weekend, Jean finally finds the guts to invite Marco over, so they can watch movies while they create card supplies.  Marco brings takeout and they eat together on his lumpy couch.  When Jean watches tv with Eren, they have no qualms about personal space, throwing arms and legs into the lap of the other at a whim because they’ve learned not to care about boundaries after years of living together.  Here, with Marco, Jean is fully aware of just how small the sofa is and just the barest brushing of skin against skin is enough to make him jittery.  

Marco doesn’t seem to mind his nervousness, too busy laughing at the antics of the characters of The Grand Budapest Hotel and flashing smiles Jean’s way when a particularly funny line is spoken.  Jean confides that he’s an aspiring artist working at the bar only to make money in the meantime, so Marco makes an effort to point out the parts he finds visually inspiring.  He enjoys the pastel color palettes–strikingly similar to the colors of his dress shirts– and cheerfully taps Jean’s knee to point out the most brightly colorful scenes.  (He likes the pinks of the Mendl’s boxes the most.)

At nine o’ clock, Marco needs to leave and Jean has to get dressed for another night working the bar.  As Jean locks the door behind them, Marco hesitates for a moment, twisting his fingers together.  “I’ve heard that In the Mood for Love is a really visually interesting movie too.  And I’ve been dying to see it,” he remarks off-handedly, looking down the hall at the flickering lights instead of at Jean.

“Sounds cool,” he says, words that seem like the understatement of the century.  

For the first time ever, he smiles through his whole shift at work.

“Do you guys have to come flirt at my workplace every day?”  Eren asks on February 13th.  “It’s sorta gross.”

Jean’s ears warm but he scoffs at the question, “We are not flirting.  He just happens to actually appreciate my jokes.  Unlike some people.”  

Eren snorts.  “The only way he’d find you funny is if he has a crush.”  He leans against the oven door casually, enjoying watching Jean squirm with embarrassment for once.

Jean huffs in retaliation, “Less talking, more baking.  If we’re doing to decorate cookies tomorrow, we need cookies.”

Finally it’s the night of Valentine’s day and Jean’s nervous.  All their hard work is on display, hung up around the bakery, decorating it with reds and pinks from head to toe.  Trays of fresh cookies are ready to decorate and paper pieces are prepared for cards.

The cheerfully colored donation boxes are set up in the front of the room, listing the names of local hospitals and orphanages that are accepting cards.  The slogan “Give a card, give a smile,” hangs on a banner directly behind the boxes.

Sugary sweet pop music starts playing as Marco returns from the sound system, setting up a themed playlist from his phone.  Jean tries not to stare at the pink tie the man has on–the same color as the Mendl’s boxes in the movie they had seen together.

“It’s almost time,” Marco smiles, threading his fingers together restlessly.  “People should start arriving anytime now.”  The air between them seems charged with anxious restlessness.  Suddenly, in their last moments alone together it hits Jean that once the day is over, once they clean up the bakery, they’ll lose their excuses to see each other.

It doesn’t really matter that over the course of the week, Jean has learned that Marco’s favorite color is teal and that Persuasion is his favorite Jane Austen novel.  That Marco didn’t tease him when Jean confided that his favorite childhood movie was The Princess Bride.  It doesn’t matter that Jean showed Marco his art portfolio and the other man enthusiastically admired it, saying that if he ever finished writing his book he’d love to commission him to design the cover.

Once the event is done, they no longer have a reason to spend so much time together.

The shop bell rings and people start arriving, forcing the two men to separate and socialize, doing their best to keep the mingling running as smoothly as possible.  (Honestly, Jean hates this sort of thing, but after all the work they had done, he can’t weasel his way out of chaperoning a bunch of adults for a night.)

Regardless of how busy Jean finds himself throughout the night, his eyes always wander to the other side of the room where Marco is cheerfully chatting with other cute single people.  

He’s busy staring instead of paying attention to the card making tables when a young woman with wavy auburn hair whistles at him.  “Yo loverboy.  This is the wrong place to stand around being lovesick,” she chides, carelessly wiping cookie crumbs off her fingers.  “Sit down, make a card.  You’ll fit in with all the unhappy singles that way.”  She grabs a sheet of cardstock out of the pile and quickly scribbles something on it before handing it over.

It messily reads “Ur hot freckleface” above a hand-drawn heart that looks remarkably like a butt.

“See, it’s half done now.”

Jean sighs but sits down to work on fix the card she started.  He grabs a pink paper heart that’s just barely large enough to cover her unromantic words.  As he glues it down, he can’t help but notice that it’s the same shade as Marco’s tie and that thought convinces him to hazard a glance over at him.  The tall man is busy chatting and working on decorating his own cookies, even as he oversees others.

It wouldn’t hurt to make my own, I guess, he muses, searching through the box of children’s markers to find a color he likes.  It’s been years since he’s made anyone a hand-made valentine.  The only friend that might appreciate one would be Armin–the most sentimental out of the group–, though Eren would definitely change the wifi passwords for that sort of “personal offence.”

After an hour, Jean and Marco switch stations; Jean overseeing the decorations of the last batch of cookies while Marco helps with the cards.  Jean slides his own card into the back pocket of his jeans, unwilling to let his newfound friend even guess toward his intentions yet.

Finally, two hours after it started, people begin to leave, many of them in small groups as they chat and exchange phone numbers.  Even the woman who “helped” Jean with his card is cheekily hanging off the arm of a stern-faced young man.  She whispers something in his ear and his cheeks flare red before she turns back to wink at Jean as they leave the building.

The floor is covered in cookie crumbs, sprinkles, and paper scraps that will be a pain to clean-up, but even so Marco still smiles.  “Looks like a success.  People walked in alone, but they’re leaving with friends.”

Jean’s card feels like a weight in his pocket and he has to concede that yeah, it really seems like a success.  

They take their time cleaning, taking away all the little sugary clues that they’d been there, that they’d prepared for a whole week over it.  Jean’s smile falls as he returns to his earlier train in thought:  that their reason for spending time together is quickly falling away as they sweep up the mess.

“Cheer up, Jean.  The night’s still young,” Marco laughs, taking a moment to turn up the speakers.  Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch” blares, bringing back memories of youtube videos Jean forgot watching.

“Where’d you find this?  What year do you think it is?  2007?”  

The music becomes a palpable presence in the room, especially as Marco begins singing along, dancing with his broom as he sweeps.  Jean cracks a smile as he laughs, leaning into the table he was in the midst of cleaning for support.  He’s laughing so hard that he doesn’t notice Marco’s approach until he leans the broom against his table.

“Mind dancing with me?  That broom is just too stiff and wooden.”  Marco holds his palm upwards, like a prince asking for a dance in the ball of a fairytale, not in an empty bakery that looks like it was ransacked by preschoolers on a sugar-high.

“I can’t dance.”  Jean waves his hands in refusal, but Marco’s grin only widens.

“Neither can I.”

Finally, Jean gives in and reaches out to hold onto Marco’s shoulders as the other man leads him around the room.  They trip and stumble on chairs they hadn’t put away yet, but they only laugh in the face of their own clumsiness, each mistake bringing their bodies even closer together.

The song ends and something slower and mellower replaces it.  Jean can feel his pulse pounding but it’s hard to be embarrassed about it when he can feel the beat of Marco’s own heart from where their chests are touching.  

“I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts.  Some superhero, some fairytale bliss.

Just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss.”

Marco smiles breathlessly, his lips barely inches from Jean’s, and suddenly it feels a little too close and intimate, so Jean takes a step back to pull the card out of his pocket.  It’s more than a little crumpled around the edges from their romp around the shop, but Jean finds himself passing it over anyway.  It just seems… fitting.

The card is brightly colored and framed with paper hearts, but on the front it simply reads “Thanks” in Jean’s best penmanship.  Marco’s face falls a little as he looks at it, so Jean hurries to explain himself as he opens it.  “I wanted to thank you for setting this all up, because it really turned out to be a lot of fun.  And mostly because I got to meet you.  And I hope you don’t mind if I ask, but I’d really like to keep hanging out, even though Valentine’s day is over….”

Marco cuts him off with a gentle hand on his own.  “I’d really like that…  But you know, Valentine’s day isn’t over quite yet….  And there’s no one I’d rather spend it with than you.”

Jean’s cheeks burn brightly as Marco retrieves a small plastic bag from where it’s lying forgotten on the counter:  a cookie decorated with a heart and Jean spelled in pretty cursive.

They have a whole lot of cleanup left to do, but Jean really can’t bring himself to mind.  Even if he had to stay there all night, picking up each and every crumb individually with his bare fingers, he’d willingly do it if Marco would keep looking at him the way he is now, like he’s been the highlight of the night.

But the night’s still young, of course.  And if they want to watch In the Mood for Love and kiss on Jean’s couch, then they need to finish cleaning.

[chelsorz07]

this will be the extent of my hiatus content

2009/2017

Are you happy with your life at the moment? yep. Negative. How does it make you feel looking at pics with your ex and someone else? haha...i just think it's funny how messed up those chicks have to be to get involved with such a loser. He’s not with someone else and hasn’t been for quite some time. Have you taken a picture recently with somebody you really don't like? can't think of any. I don’t recall the last time I took a picture with someone at all. Where do you work? here. Hell. And apparently I’m less of a worthwhile adult because I didn’t want to go in two hours before close on my night off because someone called off. Because it’s totally worth spending an hour and a half getting ready and half an hour getting there for the twelve dollars I’d end up with after taxes. Have you ever seen The Wedding Singer? no. Still no. Do you own a studded belt from Hot Topic? i get my belts at rue21...hot topic is too expensive. I’m a grown ass woman, I’m too old for studded belts. How many pairs of shoes do you own? less than a dozen. 25ish but most of them are dollar flip-flops. What does the last message in your inbox say? "ummm..." “Well...thats one way to do it.” Because not only is he judging and guilt tripping me, he also doesn’t know how to use apostrophes. Would you ever break up with someone through a song? no. I wouldn’t waste a perfectly good song on someone shitty enough to break up with. First text this morning, from who and what time? "not brian lol thats all that matters" from ash at like 9:30. “Mrow.” from Dave at 4:26pm. He can’t even talk to me like a human. Do you have a hard time admitting you're wrong? no. I’m rarely wrong but when I am I admit it. And I still get the blame turned on me for various psychotic reasons. Have you ever liked someone older than you? obviously. Right now I don’t much like anyone. But yes, I do prefer older. What is currently bothering you? i have to get up. i want to take a nap but can't till like 2am. Being made to feel like shit for everything I do and say. Whens the last time you talked with the opposite sex on the phone? a week ago. I called my dad on Thanksgiving. Aside from waking up, what was the first thing you did this morning? uh...either peed or made some toast. Smoked a cigarette. Is the last person you texted a he or she? she. He. How far is it from your house to Wal*mart? like 5mins. I live in an entirely different state but I’m still only five minutes away from Walmart. And I hardly ever go because I hate it there. Does anyone call you babe or baby? no. Nope. Have you ever had pink eye? yeah. Second grade. Do you send over 1,000 texts a month? closer to 4000...i remember my first bill, it was 14000. I only talk to three people, and not every day. So no. Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to? yep. I have a male best friend but I still can’t tell him everything because a lot of my problems are marital and he’s still in love with me so it’d be cruel of me to try to get his advice on the subject. What color is the shirt you are wearing? green. Navy blue. Do you love anyone at all? of course. I do. Not convinced they love me. Did you wake up at all last night? not really. i actually didn't have too bad of a night of sleep. I always only sleep for a couple hours at a time, either because of dreams, pain, itching, or having to pee. But if it’s a day when I don’t work, I take several short depression naps. Are you going to any movies anytime soon? we wanted to see brothers but i don't think it's playing in olean. Probably not. I said I wanted to see The Greatest Showman and since I’m going to be alone for the entire month it’s not likely to happen. Do you use code names for anyone? no need to. Once again, I am an adult. Do you hate rain? i love it. I hate all weather. Closest thing to you that is orange? my underwear. Old Navy fleece. Favorite smell on a guy? i don't know what it is...but it's amazing. I have no freaking clue. Mine always smells like oil and ball sweat. Do you trust many people? one. The only person on this planet that I trust one hundred percent is my father. Was today good or bad? hasn't been terrible but tonight should be better. Bad. Explain what triggered your last kiss? um...dave was going home so he kissed me goodbye. It was a goodbye...it’s always a goodbye. If your single, why is that? i'm not. I’m not. Where do you think the person you like is right now? i believe he's sleeping, the lucky bastard. haha I don’t know where he is because there are so many different locations that he works at I can’t keep track. He’s either somewhere in PA, somewhere in Ohio, or somewhere in West Virginia. What is the last thing you said out loud? idk. I don’t remember. Probably commentary at the tv. I’m watching season 5 of Supernatural. Who was the last person that hugged you? david. Dave I guess. Do you like watching scary movies? yeah. I used to. They’re all stupid now. Do you think someone has feelings for you? i know. Not the person who should have them. Have you ever kissed anyone within an hour of meeting them? haha yeah. My first kiss. Are you wasting your time on someone? definitely not. Evidently he believes he’s wasting his time on me. At least that’s how he makes me feel. Do you have a bad temper? the worst. You betcha. You find out your pregnant; boy or girl? i'd probably just an hero. I’d have to have sex to be pregnant. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve had sex all year. Could you last in a relationship for over a year? sure. Been almost 9. Do you think somebody likes the same person you do? idk but i won't stand for it if they do lol Oh he has several. Claims there’s nothing going on. But is still shady about all of it and wonders why I keep asking. Do you wish you had more money? oh hell yeah. Yeah I’d move the fuck home in a heartbeat, so I can be around people who actually give a shit about me. Who's car were you in last, not counting family? dave. Mine. Did the last person you kiss have piercings? no. No. How was last night? lame. Sucked. We got out of work an hour late and then they killed Carl on TWD. I mean he’s not dead yet but he will be. I bet your going to kiss someone tonight, right? pretty good bet. Wrong. How many tattoos do you have? And how many do you want? one, and at least five more. I have two. I want several. Are relationships ever really worth it? this one is. Good question. Have you ever looked someone straight in the eyes and told them a lie? my parents. Yes. What are some things that make you mad? lots of things. Pretty much everything. Who can make you feel better in a difficult situation? i'd feel a hell of a lot better in ANY situation if i had a CAT.  Amanda.

If you could have anyone you want, who would it be? the one i have. I would feel like the one I have wants me. What color are your eyes? hazel. Green. Who was your crush in 5th grade? fitz. That can’t really change 20 years later. About how many hours of sleep did you get last night? uh...i'm not sure. 6 maybe. Like I said...two hours at a time. But a couple times. Is your hair naturally straight? wavy. No it’s not. Is there something you want to say to someone but can't/won't? yeah. Tons of fucking things. What are you doing right now? procrastinating. This and watching SPN. Who sung the song you last listened to? edwin mccain. Something That We’re Not - Demi Lovato. Who was the last person you were on the phone with? mandi. Sheila when I called off last Saturday because I couldn’t walk. Who was the last person to text you? mandi. Dave. What's the weather like outside? disgusting. Cold. Where was the last place you bought something? beach house. Applebee’s and Sheetz. Who are you thinking about right now? maranda. Demi Lovato because I mentioned her so that song is stuck in my head now. Is there anyone you couldn't go a day without talking to? yeah. No. Sometimes I go several days without talking to anyone. Do you believe exes could really ever be "just friends"? some. I’m friends with my ex. Did you sing at all today? not yet but i will later. At like 5am. How many people have you had feelings for this year? one that i was just getting over at the beginning of the year and one that i've had feelings for for almost two years. One for the past eight and a half years. Could you ever be friends with someone who hurt you badly? i am. Idk I’m married to someone who hurt me badly so probably. But I only have two friends and they’ve never really done anything to me. When was the last time you were told you were cute? idk a few days ago probably. Yesterday. Do you know anybody with the same middle name as you? my middle name is like the most common ever. Like everyone. What are you wearing right now? pj pants, tank top, long sleeved shirt, and a fur lined hoodie because it's freeeeeeeeeeeeeezing. Black yoga pants, blue long sleeved shirt. It’s what I wore to work yesterday. Is there something you're looking forward to? maranda's birthday. Well I was actually kinda looking forward to seeing my family on Christmas but now Dave’s volunteering to work that day so once again I’m stuck here alone.