#make sense considering that i spent almost the entire weekend outside and that it kept raining once i was going home so

[catastrxblues]

great i think i’ve finally caught a hint of a cold. my question is, where the fuck were you a month ago, when i could actually afford to take a day off?????

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

"Why would you trust me?" Pairing : Hwang Hyunjin x F!Reader TW : Hyunjin is a fuckboy ; mentions of sex but never actual smut ; is this actually angsty or just anger inducing? ; happy ending-ish ; Word Count : 2.6k

Hyunjin wasn’t your boyfriend, not in the labeled term of the word. In the literal sense though… He was your boyfriend, he was your friend, and he was a boy. He was a friend that came with a couple benefits, a… Friend with Benefits, as the youth of today might put it. You didn’t like when it was said like that though, it insinuated other things, and while those things did happen, they didn’t happen as often as others might think. 

To the outside world, you and Hyunjin were in a relationship, and that was mainly due to the fact that he and you had come to some strange agreement that while the two of you were seeing each other in the friendly type way, that you wouldn’t see anyone else. There was a sense of loyalty that came with being friends like that, and it mainly stemmed from the fact that you both didn’t like the idea of touching each other if someone else had touched the other. You and Hyunjin were in a strictly physical, no strings attached, friendly type of monogamous relationship… If that makes any sense. 

“It’s so obvious that you have feelings for him… Why won’t you just tell him tonight when you go out?” Your roommate stated as she walked into your bedroom while you were getting ready. Your bag was already packed to spend the weekend with him and it was sitting up against the wall right beside the door. You saw him every weekend almost, unless his schedule wouldn’t allow it, but he found that spending the weekend with you not only let him destress from the entire week before, but it also rejuvenated him for the week ahead. “I mean, if it were strictly sexual, you wouldn’t be getting so done up right now, would you?” 

You rolled your eyes at her through the mirror, sneering in her direction, knowing that she could see you. “I don’t have feelings for him. Sometimes I just like to look good, is that so bad?” You lied. Truth is, you had started to grow feelings for him, and you thought that it was only normal considering you spent so much time with him. How could you not grow feelings for someone that kissed you and made love to you so passionately, it almost felt like he had grown feelings for you as well. The only problem is, you weren’t sure if your feeling was right about him, so you kept your own feelings to yourself. As long as the arrangement was still going, you really had nothing to worry about. 

“Oh, my god… You actually suck at lying. You’re gonna slip up at some point anyway, and you’re either going to profess your undying love to him… Or things are going to end right then and there.” She shrugged nonchalantly and as much as you tried, she made it impossible to ignore her. “I told you when you first came to me about this that it wasn’t a good idea. You’re being a dumb dumb, and that’s totally on you. Guys like that aren’t even worth crying over, so don’t ask to borrow my tissues if he does make you cry.” 

You flipped her off as she walked out of your room, her laughter only irritating you more as you stared at yourself in the reflection of the vanity mirror. She doubted him so much, but you trusted him not to make you cry, you trusted him to be honest with you about everything. The two of you had that type of relationship, and it was strange that things weren’t ever made official considering the amount of loyalty and trust there was. Even though things weren’t official now, you had this feeling, a warm feeling that made your stomach feel fuzzy and excited, things would change soon, you felt it coming. You’d prove your roommate wrong. 

With your bag packed and slung over your shoulder, you hovered next to the front door, looking at your roommate who stared back at you, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. “I just don’t know why you can’t meet a nice guy, someone that’ll actually want to be with you. You’re wasting your time.” She explained, and while you had been waiting for her to say something, you thought that it would be along the lines of a sorry for what she said in your room earlier. Instead, you got a little more of the same. 

“He is a nice guy… You’ll see.” You mumbled, adjusting the strap of your bookbag on your shoulder as you looked down at your phone screen, watching the Uber driver get closer and closer until they were right out front. “I’ll see you Sunday night, okay?” You reminded her, but she simply motioned with her hand for you to leave as she muttered out a quick goodbye. 

The bitter feelings that filled the air of your apartment were left behind as you rushed down the stairs and climbed into your Uber, your face practically buried in your phone as you gave the driver a quick greeting, your fingers tapping along your screen to let Hyunjin know you were on your way. His response was quick, a simple “Can’t wait to see you” followed with a couple kissy emojis that always managed to make your heart soar. Your roommate said the emojis were meaningless, that you were just reading into everything, but it was the kiss emoji with the heart, and hearts are the universal sign of love… Obviously he was trying to tell you something. 

“Oh!” The driver exclaimed, causing your eyes to glance up and watch the man tap his phone screen. “How convenient, someone is getting picked up from the exact address you’re being dropped off at. Isn’t that a coincidence?” He looked back at you through the mirror, and you simply nodded, smiling warmly to the man who wasn’t aware that the sudden info drop had your mind reeling. 

Maybe he just had one of the guys over and they were leaving now that Hyunjin knew you were on your way. You had only managed to meet them once by pure accident, but they had all taken kindly to you. Hyunjin preferred that you not be included in his personal life though, just another one of the stipulations that came along with the arrangement. That would change soon, you felt it in your heart, in your bones, in the deepest part of you. Things would get better, and you’d be able to be with him the way you wanted to be, the way you were sure he wanted to be with you. 

As the Uber driver pulled up outside of Hyunjins apartment building, you watched as a beautiful girl walked out beside him, not only did she walk out beside him, but he leaned in to give her a kiss before letting her walk towards the Uber. You felt your stomach sink, and that feeling that you had in your heart all but died the moment his lips connected with hers. “We’re here now.” Your Uber driver said kindly, unaware that he had pulled up on one of the most heart crushing things you could have ever seen. 

The girl walked over to the Uber, opening the door and giggling softly when she saw you were still in the car. “Oops, sorry… Do you want me to wait?” She whispered, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss that she had shared with the man that you thought you could trust, the man that you thought had been loyal to you. Even in the arrangement, this was one of the biggest rules that he had broken, and you felt betrayed, you felt disgusted. But above all else, you felt like a fool, a complete idiot for believing that there could ever have been something more with him. 

“No… It’s alright…” You responded as kindly as you could, it’s not like it was her fault that you had seen that, it’s not like she was probably even aware that you were coming to see him. How long had she even been in the picture? Was she his girlfriend, or was it just another arrangement that he had made? How many other girls were there? “Have a good night.” You whispered to the driver as you stepped out of the car, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking over to the front doors of the apartment complex. 

There was some humor in all of it going down this way, the fact that Hyunjin was waiting in the lobby, he himself unaware that you and his other girl would be leaving and arriving in the same Uber had his eyes growing wide when he watched you walk over to the door. He knew that you had seen what had happened, he knew that there was no way to excuse it, so you were intrigued to hear what he had to say when he opened the door for you to walk in. 

He said nothing though, simply staring at you as you stood in front of him. Was he waiting for you to say something? You had a lot to say, but you didn’t even know how to begin. It’s not like you could go about this like you would with a cheating boyfriend, he wasn’t your boyfriend, and he hadn’t cheated, he had just broken the trust and loyalty rule. “You should have just kept her over for the weekend.” You started, letting out a quiet sigh as you pursed your lips. “I thought you said that we’d tell each other… If something like this happened… I trusted you… It’s a pretty simple rule.” 

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he ruffled his hair with his fingers, something that he was well aware that you found attractive, and maybe he was doing it to try to deter your mind, but right now you only found the action repulsive, and he knew that as well when he watched your nose scrunch up in disgust. “Why would you trust me? Why would you trust anyone that forms this kind of agreement with you? It’s quite obvious that all I want is easy sex, and you were okay with that. So what does that say about you?” 

The smirk that formed on his lips had your hand twitching, wanting to smack the look off his face, but you were better than that, you had to be better than that, better than him. “Don’t even… I was solely with you… I didn’t have multiple other guys that I was going to see. We agreed to that. You said that it was disgusting to have multiple other friends… So what the fuck?” 

His shoulders shrugged as he shoved his hands into his pockets, he still looked so smug it was absolutely sickening to think that you were going to actually ask him to be your boyfriend. “We did agree to that… And I do think it’s absolutely disgusting to have multiple other friends. I wasn’t speaking in regards to myself though, I was talking about you. I’m not going to stick my dick into a hole that’s been fucked by other guys.” Your mouth fell open as it dawned on you that there had never been an elaboration on that rule, you had just blindly agreed to it, and to him, that was the most comical part. “You didn’t just trust me though… You were starting to fall in love with me… I could sense it, and I pitied you, I felt bad… Not bad enough to stop things but… But enough to give you just a little more hope. It was pretty dumb of you to start feeling that way though, you knew I never wanted that. This all falls back on you.” 

Did it really? Was it all your fault? Your thoughts were jumbled and clustered and there was no straight thought process that you could follow to lead to anywhere logical. Your head was a mess, your emotions were going haywire, and all you wanted to do was run back to your own apartment and sleep it all off. “Whatever, Hyunjin. I’m going home.” Was all you could say, you didn’t want to be around him anymore because the longer you stayed, the more cocky and arrogant he became. 

He was the typical fuckboy, one that had played on the emotions that you hadn’t even spoken, taken advantage of them just to get what he wanted, and you had trusted him. You were the idiot in the scenario, but you were taking yourself out of it, you wouldn’t let yourself be played by him or anyone else for that matter. Your roommate was right, you should find a nice guy to be with, someone who would actually love you and want to be with you for everything that you had to offer, not just what was between your legs. 

You walked out of the apartment complex, taking a deep breath and letting the fresh air fill your lungs, the absence of his presence allowing your mind to clear up. You didn’t love him, you loved the idea of him… There was nothing there to actually love about him on a deeper level. The way he was in the lobby was the way he always was, you were just blinded by the way he treated you. You thought it was love, it was simply manipulation. He was perfect at it, and he had the looks that made it easy for everyone to fall for it too. Not you though, not anymore. You saw who he really was, how he really was, and you were now free of him and the hold that he had on you. 

“Oh! Shoot, sorry!” The voice proclaimed as the person bumped into you. “Stupid phone service… Just trying to text my friend, I left my charger at… Are you okay?” You were staring at the man with raised eyebrows, your head cocked to the side as you took him in, trying to see him clearly in the dark. “Oh! I know you! You’re Hyunjins friend! It’s me, Changbin!” 

That’s where you had seen him, and you quickly nodded your head, letting out a sheepish giggle. “I was actually just about to go get something to eat and then go home. I accidentally left my bag here last week and… Yeah…” You sheepishly explained, hoping he couldn’t read through your lies, but his eyes lit up as he held his hand up, motioning for you to wait. 

“Let me go get my charger and then I can maybe join you for dinner? We can take my car, you shouldn’t be walking alone this late anyway. Just wait out here, I’ll be right back.” His words were rushed as he ran over to the front doors, disappearing into the stairwell. 

Maybe Changbin wasn’t the nice guy that your friend had been speaking of, or maybe he was… It would be ironic for him to be the one you actually ended up with, but right now, you didn’t have to think of that, you didn’t have to worry about that. For now, you were going to have dinner with a friend, an actual friend, and the dark cloud that Hyunjin had caused to cloud your mind was immediately gone, chased away by the sunshine that was Changbin. It was a start, everyone had to start somewhere, whether it was their first time through or whether they were starting over completely, but you… You were starting again… And this time, you were starting with a friend. 

[lostinthewiind]

Sorry for already requesting again, I’m just slightly obsessed with your writing. Could I request another Poly!Matchablossom where they take care of the reader when they are on their period and in pain? If you want to keep the reader more neutral, I totally understand and would change the request to the reader just generally not feeling well. Thank you in advance!

Polyamorous Relationship w/ Joe & Cherry: Period Pains

A/N: okay so I love this request because I'm single AF and every time I get horrendous cramps during my period I wish I had someone to take care of me, but alas, I just have to curl up in my heated blanket alone :( Anyway, I shall now live vicariously through this fic. If anyone would like a gender neutral fic with the reader just being sick or something, let me know!

Rating: PG13

Warnings: mentions menstrual cramps and general period problems that some of us unfortunate souls have to endure once a goddamn month, mentions nudity, tiny bit spicy 

All things considered, it was shaping up to be a good day. The sun was shining bright, the warm rays peeking through the curtains of the apartment you shared with your boyfriends. Birds were chirping happily outside, waking the city with their beautiful song, and it was the weekend, so you didn’t have to go to work. 

It was going to be a great day . . . well, it would have been a great day if you weren’t currently experiencing some of the worst period cramps of your life. Because of this painful monthly inconvenience, all the things that would normally make you smile were thoroughly pissing you off. 

The sun shining through the crack in the curtains and the chirping birds acted as a taunting reminder that it was morning and that you hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep that night thanks to your uncomfortable cramps and aching body. Sometime during the night, you had been forced to sneak your way out of the bedroom and set up camp on the couch for fear of waking your boyfriends with your constant tossing and turning.

This, however, wasn’t nearly enough to sooth you to sleep. If anything, it only made things worse because you never slept well without Joe and Cherry by your side. So, after popping a couple painkillers and downing a glass of cold water, you resigned yourself to lying awake on the couch for almost the entire night, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to break out into sobs due to pain, frustration, and exhaustion. 

Hearing the bedroom door open, you tilted your head slightly and watched as your boyfriends emerged from the bedroom dawning housecoats on their bodies and happy, sleepy smiles on their faces. At least they were enjoying everything this wonderful Saturday had to offer.

“Good morning,” Cherry greeted you with a quick peck on the forehead as he passed you on the way to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. “You’re up early.”

You winced and squinted as Joe threw the curtains open, flooding the room with blinding light. “That assumes I went to sleep at all,” you scoffed, your eyes slowly adjusting to the sun rays shining directly in your eyes. 

“You haven’t slept?” Joe walked over to the couch, squatted down in front of you, and placed the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

You grimaced and swatted his hand away, knowing deep down that he was only trying to be nice but being bothered nonetheless. “No, my body is trying to rip me apart from the inside out!” You grabbed a throw pillow from the couch, pressed it firmly over your face, and groaned loudly. “I’m in pain!”

Joe and Cherry, who were familiar with how intense your periods could be by now, shared a knowing look from across the apartment. As much as you tried not to, you tended to lash out a little when the cramping kept you from sleeping or doing any of the daily activities you were used to. 

“Cramps?” Joe inquired despite already knowing the answer. When you nodded from underneath the pillow, moving the pillow along with your head movements, Joe placed his large hand on your lower abdomen and pressed down firmly. Then, without hesitation, he began to massage the internal muscles that were causing you such distress. “How’s this?” he checked to see if his actions were helping or hurting.

You sighed, your entire body relaxing into his touch as he massaged away some of the discomfort. “Feels good,” you mumbled, finally lifting the pillow from your face and setting it to the side. “I took medication but it didn’t help at all. It’s really bad this month.”

“Do you want any coffee?” Cherry called softly from the kitchen, pausing after he opened the cabinet until he knew if he needed two or three mugs. 

At the thought of drinking anything that wasn’t water, your stomach turned. “No, thank you.” You shook your head. 

After setting the mugs atop the counter, Cherry shuffled over to the back of the couch and leaned over it to caress your cheek lovingly. “Nauseous?” he asked.

You nodded. “And I have a headache,” you added, “but that could be from lack of sleep or because I haven’t eaten anything in a while . . . or simply because the universe hates me.”

“The universe doesn’t hate you,” Joe assured you as he moved your legs a little so he could sit on the couch with you before laying your legs across his lap and continuing his massaging. “But even if it does, we love you so it doesn’t matter.”

You chuckled slightly as Cherry returned to the kitchen. “Thanks.” You tried your best to sound sincere but due to your exhaustion-induced monotone voice, you sounded more annoyed than anything. 

“So you spent most of the night out here?” Joe questioned, his rough hands shooing the pain away one skilled movement after another. 

“Yeah,” you answered. “I couldn’t get comfortable and didn’t want to wake you guys. No sense in all three of us not getting any sleep just because I was born with an organ that is infused with the wrath of Satan himself.”

Joe laughed under his breath. “You really do reach new levels of anger during this time of the month,” he commented. “Good thing you don’t take it out on us . . . most of the time.”

“I’m sorry,” you shot him a sheepish look, apologizing for all the times you had treated him and Cherry rudely because of your mood swings and pain. “I don’t mean it.”

Joe noticed the guilty look on your face and immediately felt bad. “I was just kidding, love.” He pulled your close to his body and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “We know you don’t mean it.”

“Good.” You tucked your face into the crook of his neck. 

Removing his hands from your stomach, Joe ran his fingers through your hair and kissed you again. “Do you feel any better?”

“A little,” you forced a small smile. “Thank you.”

Just then, Cherry appeared before the two of you with two mugs of coffee in his hands. After handing one to Joe, he looked down at you with a sympathetic look on his face. “You should eat something, darling,” he told you. 

“I know,” you agreed. “I’m just not hungry.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Cherry lost himself in thought for a few moments while he tried to brainstorm a way to get you feeling good enough to be able to put some food in your body. Then, without saying anything, he turned on his heel, walked away, and disappeared inside the bathroom.

Seconds later, you could hear water running and could smell the faint scent of your favourite bubble bath wafting into the living room. “A warm bath sounds wonderful,” Joe whispered in your ear, catching onto what Cherry’s plan was. “Take a relaxing bath with Kaoru to ease your muscles and by the time you’re done I’ll have breakfast ready. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” The thought of soaking in hot water was nearly enough to put you to sleep right then and there. “The only way it could be better was if we had a bathtub big enough for the three of us.”

“I agree.” Joe kissed the shell of your ear. “I’ll join you next time.”

“Okay.”

Minutes later, the sound of running water ceased and Cherry emerged from the bathroom. “Come now, beautiful.” He lifted you out of Joe’s arms and into his own, years of skating at S gifting him with muscles that hid beneath his slender frame. “Better get to cooking, Kojiro.” He eyed the other man.

“Okay, damn.” Joe held up his hands in defense as you and Cherry headed for the bathroom. “Let a man take a few sips of coffee first.”

You chuckled lightly, seeing through Cherry’s remark and knowing he did it just to coax a laugh out of you like you did whenever the two bickered about nonsense, which he had achieved. 

“There’s that beautiful laugh,” Cherry commented, smiling at the sight of your amusement. “I wish I could do more to ease your pain but I hope this helps even a little.”

“Of course it will help,” you told him as he set you down and closed the bathroom door behind the two of you to keep the heat inside the room. 

After stripping and setting your clothes to the side, you stepped into the warm bath and let out a relieved sigh like you had when Joe had massaged you. As you sank down into the water and the beautifully scented bubbles surrounded your body, you felt your muscles begin to relax. Letting your eyes flutter shut, you basked in the euphoric feeling of being comfortable for the first time in hours.

“You look content.” Cherry’s voice was soft and quiet, careful not to startle you out of your happy daze. “Can I do anything else?”

“You can join me.” You extended your hand toward him. “Will you? Please?”

Cherry smiled as he too began undressing. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he assured you, and as you slid forward to make room for him, he sank down behind you and the water sloshed against the sides of the tub as the two of you maneuvered into a comfortable position. 

As Cherry wrapped his arms around you from behind, you leaned back into his chest and smiled happily when he rested his chin on top of your head. The two of you stayed like that in complete silence for a while, just enjoying the time you had to spend with each other.

 “We should do this more often.” Cherry spoke after a while, sounding like he was enjoying the bath even more than you were. “I could almost fall asleep like this.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you warned. “I’m so tired.”

“You just close your eyes and relax.” He held you tighter. “I wont let you drown.”

“Promise?” you joked.

Cherry scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. “Yes, I promise.” He dipped his head down and began peppering your cheek, jaw, and neck with kisses, nips, and kitten licks. “I’m here for you. Whatever you want . . . I just want you to feel good.”

“That definitely feels good.” A small moan escaped your lips as you tilted your head to the side to allow your boyfriend easier access to your neck. “Very good.”

Once Cherry’s mouth reached your shoulder, he slid his tongue along your skin as he moved back up to your ear so he could work his way down again. “You know what else would feel good?” You felt him smirk against your flesh, but before he could elaborate, the bathroom door opened and Joe strode in with a spoon of something in his hand. 

Stopping halfway between the door and the tub, Joe narrowed his eyes at the two of you. “You know, I’m feeling very left out right now.”

“It’s not always about you.” Cherry scowled, clearly upset about being interrupted. “Ever heard of knocking?“

“I’ve seen you both naked before. Many times. I don’t need to knock.” Joe brushed off Cherry’s concern and approached with the spoon held out toward you. “Does this taste good?”

Now that your nausea had subsided and you were actually beginning to feel hungry, you happily opened your mouth and tasted whatever it was that Joe had created in the kitchen. You didn’t know what it was, but it was some sort of sauce and it was sweet. 

“It’s very good,” you assured him. “But everything you make is good.”

Joe’s face lit up at the compliment. “Not too sweet?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Ahem,” Cherry cleared his throat. “I’m here too, you know. Do I get a taste?”

“It’s not always about you.” Joe threw his own words back at him before smiling sweetly at you. “Breakfast will be ready soon. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t help but return the smile, feeling much better than you had earlier. 

Before Joe left, he pressed a kiss to your lips and a peck to Cherry’s head as a peace offering to make up for the two’s nattering at one another before. Then, he was gone and the sound of him working in the kitchen filled the apartment.

“What did he feed you?” Cherry questioned, running the tips of his slender fingers up your arm and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You shrugged. “I have no idea, but it was delicious.”

“Mmm,” Cherry hummed, his mouth quickly finding its way back to your skin and sucking on your shoulder. “You know what else is delicious?”

You giggled when he grazed his teeth across a ticklish spot on your neck. “Breakfast is soon. You aren’t allowed to eat me.”

“But you taste so good, I just want to-”

“Kaoru, could you come help me?” Joe called from the kitchen, almost as if he knew what the two of you were up to and was interrupting again on purpose. 

Cherry’s head fell back and he huffed. “Oh, my God. Is five minutes alone too much to ask?”

Dropping your head back onto Cherry’s shoulder, you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of his neck. “Don’t go. Pretend you didn’t hear him.”

Cherry squinted down at you quizzically. “What’s gotten into you? You’re usually the one encouraging me to be nicer to him.”

“I know . . . but just this once, please?” You batted your eyelashes at him. “If he thinks we didn’t hear him, he’ll come to get you and then we can convince him to let us stay in the bath a little longer. It’s just so warm . . . I don’t want to get out yet.”

“But the food will get cold.”

Your eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at your sudden idea. “Do you think we can eat breakfast in the bath?”

Cherry laughed heartily at that. “Well if you ask Kojiro with the same wondrous expression you just gave me, I don’t think there is any way he could say no. He might even feed you if you say please and kiss that spot behind his ear that he really likes.”

“I hope so.” You felt like you were in heaven with the thought of being fed delicious food in a warm bubble bath. “It’s worth a try, at least.”

“Indeed it is.” Cherry kissed the top of your head, truly happy with how much your mood had lifted in such a short amount of time and proud of himself that he had helped make that happen. 

With your eyes glued to the door, waiting for your other boyfriend to walk back into the bathroom, you exhaled contently. Maybe today was shaping up to be a good day after all. 

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

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[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (16)

     jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst

words: 6.6k

     chapter sixteen

Despite deciding not to make your already uncomfortable situation even more awkward by discussing your kiss, Jungkook could not stop thinking about it the entire drive back to your dormitory. Actually, he’d been thinking about the kiss nearly every moment since it happened, but with you in the car next to him, his thoughts became clearer. More defined. More vibrant.

If he’d have closed his eyes – not a good idea for someone who was behind the wheel of a car; but it wasn’t like Jungkook was above entertaining bad ideas – he swore he could return to that moment when he had you underneath him on his bed, your mouth against his, right before his mother knocked on the door and interrupted you.

What would have happened if she hadn’t knocked?

“You okay?” you asked suddenly, the question startling him.

“Hmm?” he nearly swerved off the road, answering you in a high-pitched voice, “yeah. Why?”

“You just inhaled really—nevermind,” you changed your mind – it was better to stay quiet all the way home. But, aware how weird your question seemed without any explanations, you mumbled under your breath, “thought you were suffocating or something.”

Jungkook hadn’t realized his breath got caught in his throat every time he remembered kissing you, but it made sense; his body needed to give up every other activity—no matter how crucial for his survival it was—in order to make enough space in his mind to fully immerse itself into the memory.

The memory was so important to him because, based on the way you shifted closer to the door and further away from him in his car, he could tell that even the lingering possibility of bringing the kiss up made you close off. So the chance of it happening again – him, getting you to lower your guards down enough to allow another kiss – was so slim, it was incredible he hadn’t given up yet.

“So, I take it you won’t make it to my gig this Friday, then,” Jungkook said when he entered the campus, nodding at the barrier guard through his window before turning to look at you to show you that, no, he wasn’t going to try to get you to talk about last weekend, but also, no, he wasn’t going to completely let this go, either.

“No,” you said with a quick glance his way, the barbecue at his father’s company written in red letters in your mental itinerary. “Not this Friday. Sorry.”

He thought this over – “this” Friday meant that next Friday still had an opening. He liked these odds.

“Text me if my dad gets too crazy, yeah?” Jungkook asked as he pulled into the parking lot of your dormitory. “I’ll make sure to reply with tips on how to get him to leave you alone.”

“No, you’ll be in the middle of your performance,” you said – expressing your appreciation for his concern by giving him a warm smile – and then dismissed him with a wave of your hand, “I’ll find a way to handle it.”

Stopping the car right in front of the entrance – but not shutting the engine off which was, both, terrible for the environment and also not a very smart idea socially, considering that people were already watching your every step, and they were absolutely going to hear Jungkook’s car – he turned to look at you with a very determined expression on his face.

“If you don’t think I can find a way to include answering texts in my set list, I have news for you,” he said and you thought he was joking – just being reassuring – but the look in his eyes told a different story.

Your smile widened despite your protests. “Alright, noted. But don’t worry about me. Just let me know when you’re done with your gig.”

Jungkook – who’d never had to report his whereabouts to anyone before – found himself nodding eagerly.

“You too,” he said. “I mean, text me when that whole social gathering is over. I can drive over there to take you home.”

“No,” you protested again, “you have an after-party to get to. I’ll make my own way home. Don’t worry—”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he countered, using your own argument against you, “I will come get you out of there early if you’ll need me to. No matter what I’m doing.”

The look on his face was resolute and, for a moment, you considered that perhaps this was his way of showing you that he didn’t want you to go to the company barbecue at all – especially not when he couldn’t be there to supervise and make sure the real story of your relationship remained well hidden behind the tale you’d created for his parents – but then, Jungkook looked down and refuted these thoughts.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said. “My dad already had that look on his face – the scowl he saved for me only – because he’d been expecting me to refuse to come all along, but then you… well, you softened the blow.”

“I didn’t soften it much if he still looked at you like that,” you said, lowering your eyes just as Jungkook raised his.

“No, you did. I’d have gone home, thinking—no, knowing—that I’d let him down yet again,” he said, “and that often has interesting consequences—”

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Right. But now I get to go home and worry about you being there alone with my family and their colleagues, so that gives me something else to occupy myself with.”

You could have insisted that you weren’t a damsel in distress and could figure out your own way out of a tricky situation if you had to, but you chose to let him have this one. If thinking about this kept him out of trouble while you were out of campus and, possibly, unable to reach him in time, then so be it.

“That’s hardly a better way to spend your time, but if that’s what you’re into these days…” you replied with humor and Jungkook – who could tell that you were only saying this so you’d stop going back and forth with him – forced himself to smile.

“You’re rubbing off on me,” he said. “I’m starting to develop this need to constantly be in control of everything.”

Your mouth opened in genuine surprise and then – almost comically – opened wider still, when you decided to add a more dramatic effect to your reaction, so you could conceal the fact that the portrayal of you, as a control freak, had honestly upset you. 

But you couldn’t express your feelings out loud because, admittedly, he was right, you did like to be in control of your surroundings. Shamelessly so, too, because you didn’t think it was wrong to know about everything that involved you.

“That’s not good,” you said. “We can’t both be in control. We’ll clash.”

“If we do, I hope it will be as epic as Harry versus Voldemort.”

You snickered at this, the tension in your shoulders lightening. “I take it you’re Voldemort?”

Jungkook looked positively outraged by this assumption. “Of course not! I’m The Chosen One.”

Now you were full-on laughing. And The Chosen One – who, technically, could have actually been called The Boy Who Lived after all the life-threatening stunts he’d pulled since starting puberty – smiled, beyond proud of himself.

Smiling at each other for several seconds – that could have been minutes or even hours for all you cared; it only felt like one blink of an eye to you anyway – you felt your chest fill with affection. That tended to happen sometimes, especially when you’d been dreading a situation – The Talk About the Sunday Night Kiss – and then managed to successfully make it out alive – by using a method, commonly referred to as, Staying Quiet and Changing the Topic.

“I meant what I said, though,” you spoke and the relief that you didn’t have to endure the awkward ‘so… what do we do now?’ question washed over you with a warm wave. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

You had leaned closer him as you said this – it was a natural instinct: reaching out to touch someone’s hand (or, uh-oh, cheek!) for more effect – but you froze mid-way, hanging awkwardly over the console of his car and regretting your very existence because you’d noticed how Jungkook stopped breathing when you moved closer, and how quickly his breathing returned to him – in the form of a disappointed huff – when you suddenly stopped.

“Thank you for taking me to the meeting today,” you ended up blurting as you pulled back, your eyes now firmly locked on the handle of the door.

“Yeah. It’s nothing,” he replied and, somehow, that was it.

The eternity you always spent in his car when he dropped you off in front of your dormitory had suddenly come to an end and, because of how weird it was to leave without saying goodbye – but, then again, were you supposed to hug? Kiss? – your hand lingered on the handle numbly, only pushing the door open a minute later.

Paradoxically, relief and concern both flooded your brain as soon as you stepped one foot outside but then, before you could exit his car, you felt him take hold of your wrist – not pulling you back per se, but holding onto you firmly enough to stop you from moving.

“Hey,” Jungkook said. You were mid-step, so you had to fully exit the car and lean down to look at him.

“Hmm?” you asked, your wrist still in his grip even though he had successfully captured your attention.

“D-don’t…” he tried to say, mumbling the rest of the words under his breath. You frowned, not hearing him, and were about to lean forward to ask what he’d said, when he cleared his throat and tried again, “let’s not be weird around each other, okay? We know each other far too long for that.”

Your plan to keep your mouth shut and divert his attention to different topics had, clearly, only succeeded in part, because Jungkook was addressing last Sunday night, after all, but he didn’t dare to bring the kiss up directly. And his acknowledgement of the fact that you were too stuck in your own head to let him talk to you about the kiss specifically, made it all worse.

“Yeah,” you said then. “I wouldn’t want things to suddenly be weird between us.”

“So, let’s not make it weird,” he said, nodding and reluctantly letting go of your hand. “Don’t forget to text me tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you pulled your hand back and, with one last smile – that looked forced, uncomfortable and weird; all the things you didn’t want it to look like – you walked away from his car and back to your dorm, ready for Inna’s tirade of questions. Questions that you had no answers to.

What surprised you about the company barbecue on Friday afternoon wasn’t the fact that Inna hadn’t demanded to know all the details of the event when you told her where you’d be going, or the fact that all of the people you’d seen at the bi-yearly meeting on Thursday, were now dressed in red aprons like your friendly neighborhood dads.

It was the fact that Namjoon, of all people, was dressed like one of those dads, too.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, evidently shocked to run into him here. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, hi!” Namjoon seemed just as surprised but he shook your hand – which was his go-to way of saying hello to people, as you’ve learned – and smiled, explaining, “I’m interning here, actually. What about you?”

You were thrown off balance by your surprise – the two of you had talked about your plans for the future before, sharing your ambitions with each other, and yet you didn’t know that he was an intern here – but recovered a moment later to explain yourself.

“Oh, I’m—the CEO is an old family friend, so I’m here as a courtesy of sorts,” you said, feeling self-conscious when you saw Namjoon raise his eyebrows after he learned about this connection. “I was supposed to come earlier to help you set up but my roommate was leaving for the weekend, and she—well, anyway. I’m only here to get acquainted with the company, really.”

Contrary to what you’d expected him to ask you next, Namjoon wondered, “do you see yourself here in the future?”

Even though he didn’t inquire about your biography outright – “were your parents powerful and influential businessmen as well?” – his question did seem to insinuate that you may start working here purely because of your relationship to the head of the company.

“Maybe,” you replied, realizing how privileged you were to be here when you weren’t even a part of the company yet. “What has it been like, interning here?”

“Oh, it’s been okay. It’s the only company that took me in,” he spoke and you felt yourself exhale in relief after you lost the spotlight. “The others weren’t looking for interns. Or they needed interns with a job experience that spanned more than my college career.”

You scoffed, understanding what he meant very well because you’d been there, too. “How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Namjoon said with a sigh. “And that’s why I’m here.”

“So, this wasn’t your first choice?” you asked.

“No, but I don’t regret coming here,” he replied. “It’s a nice work environment. The people are very welcoming and helpful, which isn’t something you see a lot of in corporate businesses.”

Sadly, some of the people here weren’t very welcoming in their personal lives, you thought bitterly, remembering Jungkook and his father’s tense relationship. You chose not to mention that, however, because it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

“I hope you’re not here for work, though,” you said instead, smiling as you watched Namjoon laugh awkwardly and nod at the beef patties on a plate next to the grill.

“No,” he said. “But they did put me on grilling duty – which wasn’t very smart of them, considering how terrible I am around things that can burst into flames – so I do have some hefty responsibilities today.”

You chuckled. “I could help you. I’ve done my fair share of barbecuing when I was growing up. Let me just leave my handbag somewhere—”

“The gazebo over there,” Namjoon pointed at the far end of the camping grounds, “they’ve turned it into a coat room. You could leave it there,” he looked at you and, catching his own eagerness, explained, “I would really appreciate your help. I don’t want my internship to end prematurely because I’d poisoned everyone with my poor cooking.”

Giving him a sympathetic grin, you assured him, “that won’t happen. At least, not on my watch. I’ll be right back!”

As you’d learned once you got back to the grill and started to assist Namjoon – or, allowed him to assist you – Jungkook’s father hadn’t even arrived yet. Him and his wife – according to a very chatty woman who was Namjoon’s supervisor – were supposed to come a little while later and then, following tradition, they would take a picture with the rest of the employees, sit down for a meal, and leave within an hour.

This barbecue may have been a nice social gathering for the employees of his company, but it was strictly a formality for Jungkook’s father.

“Still, it’s nice,” Namjoon said once the woman left you two to finish grilling the sausages and the patties alone, “not many CEOs bother to interact with the lower-rank employees at company events. At least, not in my experience. My dad didn’t even know what his boss looked like and he’d worked for the same company for twenty years.”

“It sounds impossible in today’s day and age, though, with everyone being on social media,” you pointed out.

“Of course. But you don’t always recognize people from social media in real life. So, it’s nice that even I, an intern, have a chance to see the CEO of the company with my own eyes. And maybe even meet him.”

“Hmm, sure,” you nodded with an unconcerned shrug. “It is nice of him, I suppose.”

Namjoon noticed your nonchalance and he knew that the reason why you couldn’t relate to him in this particular situation was because you had nothing to get excited about – you had already met the CEO.

“You said he was a family friend?” Namjoon asked you. “So, you know him quite well, then?”

You paused grilling for a second to look at him but he was watching the food to make sure it didn’t burn. And that was even better, since it gave you more time to come up with an abridged version of your relationship with Jungkook’s father.

“Yeah, uh… my mom and his wife had been best friends growing up,” you said, “and they’re still very close to this day. Now that they’re both married, their families got involved in the friendship, too. He’s always been kind to me but my knowledge of him comes from Jungkook’s point of view, so I’m probably—”

Namjoon finally looked away from the sizzling grill to get you to back up. “Wait, Jungkook?”

“Yeah, we—” you paused, realizing that he wasn’t confused about your friendship with Jungkook but, rather, about Jungkook, being the son – and the heir apparent – of the CEO. “The company—i-it belongs to Jungkook’s father.”

“Oh,” Namjoon mumbled, looking away as this revelation rendered him speechless for a quick minute. “Oh.”

You didn’t know what to make of this “oh”, so you tried to clear the air with a chuckle.

“I, uh—I had thought that was common knowledge on campus,” you said.

“I—maybe it is, I don’t really keep up w-with that,” he admitted. “I just assumed he was popular because of Parental Advisory.”

“He is,” you nodded, “but coming from a rich family probably didn’t hinder his way to the top very much.”

“No,” he snickered, “it probably didn’t. So, uh, is he coming here, too?”

You had picked up a pair of tongs from the folding table nearby and used them to flip the patties before you answered. That was why you didn’t notice how much Namjoon struggled to process this new information. You couldn’t ask him what was it about Jungkook that caused Namjoon to have such a hard time dealing with this news.

“No,” you said, still not looking at him as you focused on the grill. “He’s got a show tonight.”

“Ah, so his band comes first,” Namjoon said in a voice that would have been humorous—in a sarcastic way—if it wasn’t so acidic.

You stopped what you were doing to give the boy next to you a surprised look.

“Well—not necessarily,” you said and then tried to find a way to explain why Jungkook was the way he was without getting into too many unnecessary and overly-complicated details, “he cares about both, but he’s not—he’s got, uh, some issues with—”

“With being civil in front of his father’s employees?” Namjoon interjected sharply.

You blinked. “He—”

“God, sorry,” he blurted suddenly, putting the metal spatula down on the grill before realizing that this wasn’t a good idea and picking it back up again. He sounded exasperated as he tried to take his previous question back, “I don’t know why I’m coming off so angry about this. I was just surprised. I did hear that the CEO had a son who was presumably going to take over the company one day, but I didn’t think it was… you know.”

You didn’t know, but you could guess that Jungkook’s bad reputation preceded him and even people, who claimed not to judge others without getting to know them first, couldn’t help but judge first.

Namjoon sounded disappointed when he talked about him. Worse, he sounded displeased and even choked as he spoke, trying to cover up his own frustration so he could remain impeccably respectful like he always was – or tried to be.

He tried to avoid stereotypes but you’d gotten glimpses of his real attitude at the library when he’d revealed his assumptions about the members of Parental Advisory, guessing – and getting it right – that the members were a “troubled bunch”.

You’d admired his restraint from any further assumptions that could have shown his prejudice. But now his respectfulness irked you because it hid his real feelings and made it almost impossible for you to defend Jungkook without sounding like you were overreacting.

“There’s still a long way before Jungkook can take over,” you said, focusing on the tongs in your hands and the way they clapped with a metallic yelp each time you clicked them together. “He’s working on it and his father definitely isn’t cutting him any slack just because he’s his son.”

“Right, I wasn’t—”

“But you probably know that if you work here,” you continued, yours words coming out in a batch of agitation that Namjoon could not interrupt, “there aren’t any exclusive employees here. Everyone is being treated the same, regardless of their connection to the staff higher up.”

“No, of course!” he exclaimed before you could continue. “I didn’t mean to imply—although, I guess I did imply that he had certain guarantees that other people didn’t, which is true, of course, with him being the son of the CEO. But I didn’t mean to make it sound like he wouldn’t deserve the chief executive position. I’m sure his father wouldn’t give it to him if he didn’t think Jungkook was worth it.”

“Yeah,” you said, swallowing hard. “He wouldn’t.”

Namjoon wasn’t going to say anything else about this – he’d already said too much – but the way you went straight for his throat when he misspoke about Jungkook, shed a new light on your relationship with him. It intrigued Namjoon even if he wasn’t fascinated by you in a romantic sense.

His interest in your relationship with Jungkook was mostly understandable, though – the two of you were so different on the surface, one could only wonder what was it that attracted you to each other.

Well, apparently, there were depths to the reckless lead vocalist of the campus band that Namjoon didn’t know about.

“I’ve heard he treats everyone here like family,” Namjoon said, trying to make his voice sound light as he shifted the topic from the son to the father.

“I’ve heard that, too,” you agreed, your voice still on edge. “The man has a great reputation around here.”

“He’s sort of living up to it, too,” Namjoon said and you saw him nod in the direction of the road that ran along the north side of the camping grounds.

You turned your head to see Jungkook’s father step out of his car, with his wife following after, from the other side. He shook hands with the few people who came to greet him. 

He had a wide smile on his face – a smile that you couldn’t remember seeing in a very long time, but now that you did, you realized how similar him and Jungkook were: both of them seemed to lose ten years of their age when they smiled.

“He kind of looks like he’s running a presidential campaign,” you said, observing the scene as Jungkook’s father greeted his employees – some with a good-natured hug, others with a wave.

Namjoon glanced at you and, relieved to see that your mind was no longer lingering on your previous conversation, laughed. “Maybe a bit, yeah.”

Within moments of Jungkook’s father’s arrival, the campgrounds were in an uproar: everyone was busy grilling their last bits of food and arranging it in a way that would look the most appetizing.

The plate of food you and Namjoon had grilled definitely wasn’t the easiest on the eyes, but none of the food seemed under-cooked or burned, so both of you were content with that. 

Then, just as you were about to pick the food up and carry it over to the structure tent in the center of the grounds, you were reminded that time for dinner hadn’t arrived yet.

The traditional picture had to come first.

You felt a lot like you did on picture day back at school – with one of the employees ordering everyone around, demanding they squat, scooch closer, smile wider, turn their heads, and move to the back because their clothing is too flashy – and that was what you told Namjoon when the two of you found yourselves standing side-by-side in front of the camera, very close to Jungkook’s father himself.

“I think it’s worse than it was at school,” Namjoon whispered back, glancing at the other employees and their wide smiles, “but, at least, we don’t have to wear uniforms.”

You scoffed. “Yes. Wearing dark red aprons is better.”

“This awful color makes us all more united,” he said, looking over your shoulder and accidentally meeting the eye of his CEO, who was making sure you weren’t standing too far from him, because he considered you to be his guest and, therefore, he had to make sure you received the best treatment. Namjoon figured as much, as he cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

Finally, the photographer – or, actually, the Head of Human Resources with his new Samsung – took the picture, making sure the flash blinded each and every single person posing for him. And then he took another picture. And then another one. And then a few more for good measure.

You thought you’d blinked in all of them but you hoped to never see those pictures anyway. They probably hung them up in the lobby to remind everyone who went into the building that this was a very friendly environment to work in, but the actual employees never really looked at the pictures.

It was almost funny how wrong you were about that.

“Such a pleasure to see you here,” Jungkook’s father said, approaching you as soon as the people broke apart from their designated positions and pretended to mingle while, really, they waited for the director to finish talking and lead them to the main tent for dinner.

“Thank you very much for inviting me,” you said, aware of everyone’s eyes on you as you exchanged a polite and obligatory hug. “It’s a very nice place here.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” he nodded and then, much to your relief, pointed at the tent. “Let’s go have some food, shall we? I’d been saving up my stomach the whole day for this.”

You chuckled and walked next to him towards the plastic table, filled to the brim with various plates of food. There was far too much grilled meat here – it was impossible for everyone to eat it all, no matter how many people were here – but that only seemed to please the CEO.

“Would you like to take a look at the pictures, sir?” the Head of HR approached Jungkook’s father after he noticed that your conversation had ceased.

Based on how carefully he held the treasured Samsung in his hands, you figured that, either the phone had cost several million dollars, or the man was genuinely terrified of Jungkook’s father – which wasn’t unlikely, as you very well knew.

“Oh, of course, of course,” Jungkook’s father said, always so pleasant, and then stopped to take a look at the phone. You weren’t sure if you should have kept walking or stopped as well. And then he solved the dilemma for you by addressing you, “I’m going to forward the picture to Jungkook so he knows what he’s missing.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea,” you said, smiling, even though you knew Jungkook probably wasn’t even going to open the picture.

Funnily enough, you were wrong about that, too.

While you and Jungkook’s father joined the rest of his employees for the barbecue, Jungkook was finishing soundcheck with his bandmates. He checked his phone – like he did after each song – and rolled his eyes when he saw a text from his father instead of from you.

He opened it, though.

He didn’t care much for what his father said – but he had to admit, he’d never seen his father use the winky face emoji before, so that threw him off – but his eyes caught the picture he’d attached and Jungkook pressed on it without a moment’s hesitation.

Skimming over the bright smiles of his father’s employees, he scanned the picture, looking for you.

And he found you.

But not before he found Namjoon standing right next to you.

Much to your surprise, talking to the other employees – even despite the age gap – proved to be a lot of fun. Some of the older ones actually remembered you from when you were little; they recalled you and Jungkook holding onto Jungkook’s mother’s dress as she brought you two along when she came to visit her husband at the company. And the younger employees curiously absorbed everything you told them about your experience at university, sharing their own life stories with you in return.

Because you found yourself having a good time here, you only remembered that you’d left your phone in your handbag – which was across the camping grounds, tucked away in the lonely wooden gazebo – when Jungkook’s father – who was still here, much to everyone’s surprise – decided it was time to pop the champagne.

You excused yourself from the table, promising to return soon because you only meant to retrieve your phone so you could check the time and maybe check in with Jungkook in case his show was over by now.

That was not what ended up happening when you located your handbag under the various expensive jackets that were haphazardly thrown on the bench in the gazebo.

You pulled your phone out to see several missed calls.

None of those missed calls were from Jungkook. In fact, the majority of them came from Inna, which was already weird enough since she’d left campus again this weekend and she never called you. You always texted.

But what truly confused you were the last two missed calls because they were from Yoongi, Jungkook’s bandmate. You’d only talked to Yoongi on the phone once, when you were attempting to get in touch with Jungkook after he missed dinner at his parents’ place, but Yoongi was high back then so you didn’t think he even remembered.

But he did remember, apparently, because, while you stood there, puzzled and a little alarmed, his number lit up on your screen again.

Clearing your throat, you picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, fuck, thank God, you’re here,” Yoongi spoke and, judging from the relief in his voice, he knew very well whom he was talking to. “Is Jungkook with you?”

“Jungkook?” you repeated stupidly. “W-why would he be with me? Don’t you have a show?”

Yoongi laughed, loudly and completely humorlessly. “We do have a show. He was wasted for the most of it.”

A painful bolt of electricity shot through you. “He performed drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. At least, he performed,” Yoongi said, “that’s before the encore, though. We couldn’t find him. The fucking asshole completely missed the three final songs. We thought he went to see you.”

You felt a pang of guilt even though you had nothing to feel guilty about because Jungkook was most definitely not with you, and he didn’t have a single reason to come see you before he finished the show anyway.

“I-I’m not on campus right now,” you said, running your hand through your hair as you considered what could have happened in the span of the few hours since you left your dorm this morning, after having talked to Jungkook on the phone. “Did you try calling him?”

“Obviously. He’s not picking up. I’m pretty sure he tossed his phone into a fucking lake,” Yoongi said and then, even though he didn’t mean it, he added angrily, “he better be in the lake, too, or else I’ll kill him myself.”

Knowing that the scenario of Jungkook accidentally driving into a lake wasn’t one to be dismissed, you felt your skin shiver.

“I’ll look for him,” you promised, looking back at the celebration in the tent across the field.

“You said you weren’t on campus,” Yoongi said. “Your roommate said she was out, too.”

You weren’t aware that Yoongi had talked to Inna tonight, but that explained the avalanche of missed calls from her. You made a mental note to send her a quick explanatory text message on your way to your dorm.

“I’m coming back,” you told Yoongi, grabbing your bag and making your way back to the rest of the company. “Let me know if he gets in touch with you, though, okay?”

The boy on the other end scoffed. “He won’t. Chances are, he won’t talk to the rest of us for a week after he eventually shows up back home. As if it’s us who fucked up, and not him.”

“Did anything happen?” you asked, still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. That wasn’t easy when each piece looked drastically different from the next and you had no idea what the full picture was supposed to look like. “Did someone say something to him? Did he get into a fight? Did he—”

“No. Nothing happened. We were—ah, shit, wait, his dad texted him, didn’t he?” Yoongi said but it didn’t sound like he was addressing you. He wasn’t; a moment later, a muffled, “yeah” sounded in the background of the call. Then, Yoongi continued, “yeah, we were finishing up with the soundcheck when he got a text from his dad. He read it and just fucking dipped. When he came back to do the show, he was already struggling on his feet.”

You cursed under your breath before thinking aloud, “his dad is here. I did see him text Jungkook but he was just sending him a picture—could it have been the picture that triggered him?”

“A picture of what?”

“There’s this barbecue that the company organized. His dad invited us both but he stayed back to do the show, so I came alone. We took a picture, everyone who’s here. And his dad sent it to him. Could that be the reason why he—”

“No,” Yoongi said right away, “company dinners—or barbecues, or whatever—doesn’t sound like Jungkook’s thing. He wouldn’t give a fuck about the picture. Unless you took someone there as your plus one?”

“Of course I didn’t. I was supposed to come with him but—oh, fuck.”

You stopped walking, the realization hitting you first, and the absurdity of it following right after.

Namjoon was in the picture next to you. He was just standing there, not even touching you, but was it possible that his appearance in the picture was enough for Jungkook to lose touch with reality?

“Fuck, of course, that’s possible,” you said out loud, almost stomping your feet in frustration like a kid, throwing a tantrum. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll text you if I find him.”

You didn’t hear Yoongi’s response because you were already pulling the phone away from your ear as you returned to the tent. You needed to find a way to leave without raising any suspicions with Jungkook’s father – whom you ran past in a wide semicircle like he was the plague itself – and you figured that the best way to do that would be faking a health emergency.

But for that, you needed to spend another few inconspicuous minutes by the table, looking colorless and uncomfortable. That wasn’t going to be difficult since you did feel light-headed already.

As you waited for the right amount of time to pass before you could leave, you tried texting Jungkook. You even tried calling – thinking you’d have enough time to walk far enough from the table so that’d no one would hear you – but the beeping signal never ceased and you didn’t get to hear Jungkook’s voice.

Right when you bit your lip, trying his number for the fifth time in a row as if the previous four times were just glitches in the system, someone noticed your distress.

“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice sounded by your ear, startling you because he was across the table from you just a second ago. “You okay? You came back to the table, looking very out of it.”

“Namjoon,” you said, your voice so grave, he thought you were about to tell him that the entire campus had burned down while the two of you weren’t there and you were the only suspects. “I need to leave.”

“Did something happen?” he asked, the concern in his voice genuine.

You nodded. “Jungkook got in trouble. I have to go back, b-but I can’t tell his father about any of this.”

You spoke without thinking about your last conversation with Namjoon or how this news could have confirmed Jungkook as a useless waste of space in his eyes. Frankly, in that moment, you couldn’t have cared less about Namjoon’s opinion of Jungkook. 

You could have used his help, even if he was going to judge you for it.

“I’m going to call myself a cab,” you said, “but could you please do me a favor, and tell his dad that I’d left because I wasn’t feeling well?”

Namjoon pulled back from your chair and looked across the table to his own seat – his leather jacket resting on the back of the chair – before giving you a nod.

“Let’s go,” he said. You were already standing up but then paused and sat back down, confused.

“What?”

“I’ll drive you back to campus,” he said, “we can leave without saying anything – no one will even notice. And then, when I’m back, I can tell everyone that you weren’t feeling well and that’s why I took you home early.”

“T-that’s very kind, but I can really just—”

“No, let me take you home,” Namjoon insisted as gently as he could, afraid that his forceful tone might remind you of his previous slip-up when you were talking about Jungkook. “It’ll be my way of apologizing for stepping over the line earlier today.”

You considered telling him that he had nothing to apologize for – he didn’t know Jungkook personally and everyone was entitled to their own opinion; you’d just gotten annoyed that he was so quick to hide this opinion under the curtain of fake politeness – but, eventually, the realization that you really didn’t have the time to debate if he should have felt apologetic or not won over, and you nodded.

You needed to get back to campus quickly, even if there was a risk of Jungkook seeing you and Namjoon together again – if that really was the reason why he got drunk and missed the encore of his own show.

“Okay. Let’s go,” you said, finally standing up. “Thank you.”

keep reading | masterlist

[popculturebuffet]

Goof Week: Goof Troop: Forever Goof Review (Everything’s Coming Up Goofy, Good Neighbor Goof, Gotta Be Gettin Goofy) (Commission for WeirdKev27)

Yahhahhooooeeeey all you happy people!  WELCOME TO GOOF WEEK! Now normally when a character who got their start in theatrical shorts has a birthday, I do a marathon of them. I have since last year with Donald and it’s one of my favorite things: it allows me to explore Disney’s rich history of them I was largely unaware of till Disney+, and allows me to revisit the shorts I grew up with in the case of The Looney Tunes or Tom and Jerry while discovering new favorites. SO naturally with Goofy’s birthday in two days I intended to do the same for him, especially since I’d covered Donald and Mickey the same way.

But fate had other ideas. Not thinking about this tradition, Kev, my patreon, friend and the guy who commissions a LOT of reviews from me ($5 an episode if your curious and I WILL make room on the schedule so your commission gets done as soon as possible), suggested reviewing the Goof Troop pilot movie Forever Goofy, later split into the episode Everything’s Coming Up Goofy and Good Neighbor. I loved the idea since I genuinely loved Goof Troop, and decided to do both that week.

It’s then I got a great idea.. why limit myself to JUST doing two things? I hit my 15 dollar patreon stretch goal, so a review of the Goofy Movie was on the Horizon anyway, and for it’s anniversary year Kev has been commissioning House of Mouse Episodes, so it wouldn’t be THAT much of an ask (and it wasn’t) to simply randomly select from a pool of Goofy-Centric episodes instead of all the episodes. 

Thus GOOF WEEK was born, and Kev once again proved vital to all this by suggesting the special Sports Goof from the 80′s. I’d like to give him special thanks as outside of the Shorts Special, which as a patreon he still got to pick one and if you’d like to pick one for Donald’s special, sign on up even one dollar patreons get the honor. , this week is either entirely paid for by him or in the case of A Goofy Movie, is partly thanks to him. I wouldn’t be able to do NEARLY as many reviews nor make money off this without you bud, so thank you. 

So naturally given the idea to do this two parter gave me the idea for this week and that Goofy Movie makes a logical finale for said week, it only made sense to start the week with Goof Troop. Bop-dop-da-da-do-bop, YEAH. 

Goof Troop is the first Disney Afternoon show I ever watched and the only one I watched when I was younger, as Disney Channel used to play it ocasinally when I was younger and Toon Disney would do the same and I even got to Marthoon it when Disney XD did a weekend marathon. Given it starred my faviorite Disney Character, Donald hadn’t worked his way up to tying with him quite yet, I loved what I could grab of it. And as an adult.. it still holds up. It has problems i’ll get into, but it is a real good time so I was exastic to get an excuse to watch some of it and much like with Darkwing wish I had sooner. 

Before I can h-h-h-hit it though, I have to talk about the series history. I ALMOST didn’t find anything: much like the other Disney Afternoon shows there really wasn’t much on the Disney wiki nor wikipedia, google turned up nothing... it wasn’t till I went to the Tv Tropes Trivia Page for the series, where i’d remembered reading about some early versions of the show, that I hit gold: A two part behind the scenes blog post by series co-creator Michael Peraza. You can find part one HERE and part two HERE. It’s a short but fascinating read. 

Speaking of fascenating Peraza himself is someone i’d never heard of till reading this article but damn if he isn’t a legend. Seriously the guy’s career is as an unsung hero, starting work under the Legendary Nine Old Men, and working on some of disney’s greatest films: The Great Mouse Detective, Aladdin, The LIttle Mermaid, and Beauty and the Beast, along with live action cult classics Tron and Return to Oz via concept art. And concept art is where he’d hit his stride: he did conceptual work for all the big Disney Afternoon shows apart from Gargoyles, being one of the key guys in the early days of Disney Television animation. He didn’t stop at just designing things either as he worked as Art Director for Ducktales, The Proud Family and of course given how vital he was to it’s creation, Goof Troop, and to this days gives lectures with his wife to aspiring animators. He even did some guest work for the 2017 Ducktales Episode “Treasure of the Found Lamp!”. So yeah dude’s awesome

So how did he come to be a key part of this show’s creation? Well he’d just finished up some concept work on some other Disney Afternoon shows, and being a company man was glad to report to the Goof Troop..ers to help as the show was having trouble getting off the ground. The reason for this was the creative exec, who Peraza didn’t name out of kindness as the guy wasn’t a BAD person.. just a clueless one, this being his first job in film and tv.  As such rather than work hard to develop around goofy or focus on his strengths the kid threw out one concept after another: The series got it’s name from a pitch that had Goofy as a scoutmaster, something I was glad to finally know. To quote Peraza

“ Although while I was doodling versions of the show that were destined to never see the light of the TV screen,  the pitch date remained etched in stone and kept creeping closer. Various versions would find their way to the surface only to sink again into the wasteland known as the roundfile (trashcan). One moment Goofy was the Captain of the Fire Department, the next day a detective out of the Maltese Falcon mold, or a swash buckling hero fighting The Flying Dutchman. 

The supporting cast he came up with really wasn't very supportive when you consider they sometimes included alien dragon babies with wings along with a large gorilla. Somebody at Walt Disney Television Animation must have really had a thing for giant gorillas around this time as they were plugged into almost every concept we  assembled.”

It was clear that while Goofy COULD fit into just about anything, this exec was just throwing everything at the wall, nothing was sticking, and rather than try to refine his supporting cast, they kept having to throw them out and start over. And dont’ get me wrong, cartoons go through a lot of development and changes as they go.. but it’s usually born from a concept and usually by this point, they at least have what the show will be ABOUT in stone. While i’ve had the same creative changes and what not when coming up with projects that ultimately never saw the light of day, and currentlly some I hope to but might not, I’m not being paid by a studio to do this nor had a hard deadline. I was just spitballing trying to get something anything off the ground before reviewing gave me a steady outlet for my creativity and thus ballanced me to take my time with stuff. Peraza WAS turning out amazing art, like this concept art for the fireman pitch that honeslty makes me want to see it as a series. Who DOSEN’T want to see 9-11 with Goofy as the main character? Throw in Donald and grown up versions of Max, PJ and PIstol (And even not THAT much for the former two, as they did go off to college and all), don’t forget Roxanne this time out and you have a worthy goofy movie sequel. 

So yeah this wasn’t working and the latest pitch was not great: Putting Goofy in ToonTown as a cabbie driving the Cab from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. As Peraza TRIED to point out to the exec, putting Goofy in a naturally goofy setting didn’t really play to the characters strength, his whole shtick being a goofus in a normal world. Enough of an every man to root for but also a slapstick joly weirdo. 

The executive’s INCREDIBLY douchey response, especially since Peraza was a Disney Vetran at this point and had spent quite a lot of time on Ducktales, so he knew what he was talking about was “Do it anyway and leave the “Visionary” part to me”

As you can tell by MR. OOC there, this might be one of the most punchable sentences i’ve ever read. 

So Peraza wasn’t in a great place and was naturally terrified when he got a call from Gary Krisel, president of Disney TVA, asking about the show and to see him about it. 

Turns out though Krisel was a nice guy who already had a great working relatinship with Peraza, and genuinely wanted to know what was going on there and wanted his honest opinion. It’s why i’m not AGAINST executives in animation as sometimes they can come in when somethings clearly not working or allow a smooth transition of power if a propelmatic creator has to be booted off their own show so the show and i’ts crew don’t suffer as a result. It’s just more often than not they cause headaches or cancel shows for entirley stupid or self motivated reasons. But I will give credit where it’s do and point out times where there NOT stupid or homophobic or what have you and this is indeed one of those times. 

Peraza was indeed straight with him: pointing out all the concepts they’d gone through, and like with the other guy honestly gave his opinon the ToonTown Pitch wasn’t working.. and he not only agreed but asked Peraza himself, actually respecting his experince instead of yelling at him that he has a vision that wouldn’t last the end of the day probably. 

Peraza was HOPING this was where this was going and gladly gave him a far less high concept pitch and one truer to the character, quoted in full bellow:

“ My spiel went as follows, "Goofy is a recognized star of Disney animation, so why re-invent the wheel? His son is an average kid dealing with many of the usual issues they face: peer pressure, young love, grades, school bullies, and so on. On top of all that, he has the zaniest, wackiest GOOFIEST dad to live down. No matter how insane the situations get though, they will always love each other. They're a family." Gary asked how I would pitch it and I replied, "It's ONE day in  the life of Goofy and son. From getting up in the morning to fixing breakfast, we see their difference side by side as his son tries to distance himself. No matter what though he knows deep inside that his father will always be there for him, whether he likes it or not."

If your wondering if Peraza noticed that that original pitch line is basically the peremise and emotioinal core of The Goofy Movie down pat.. your extremley correct and he notes that the film was based on said pitch even if he had no involvment with it that I could tell. The series would still use this but the whole embarasment aspect was toned down, and honestly fit a teenager better than an 11 year old.. 

So the exec loved it and Peraza shaped the core of the series: the idea of having Pete as his nemisis, pete having a nuclear family including a gorgeous wife, and the show being more slice of life and what not. He made some great sketches, got roaring approval and then pitched it to rousing success and the rest is history. Goof Troop was a moderate success and The Goofy Movie after it is a classic beloved by all. We have this wonderful man to thank for all that and I also thank him , on the offchance he ever sees this, for bringing Goofy into modern times in a way that did the man-dog justice.  It’s thank to you we got this fun series, two great movies, and a goofy the way he is today: the best of everything about him rolled into one. Thanks man, free review.. not htat you NEED It since you’ve worked on things i’ve covered and what not, but I feel like I should offer.  Outside of Peraza, I found one last bit of making of stuff before I get to the premiere proper. These two early concept shots:

The first has Max who both looks older and has red hair like he did in the shorts. Honestly I see a lot of his Goofy Movie self in thiis design, the only diffrence obviously being the red hair which was wisely changed to make the boy look more like goofy, something kept for the movie. 

The more intresting one is this shot of the Pete’s. Starting with Pete he’s more athletic and has a perfectly tacky outfit. While changing him to be a bit more slovenly honestly fit this version of the character better, I do wish they’d kept hte outfit as the tacky gold and green jacket, the gold chain, the open ollar.. it all fits this version of pete so well, as well as his illusion of being a big shot when he is in fact a medium one. Peg is both slightly younger looking and far more doting and is so different I swear this picture looks like Pete remarried after the divorce and got some lipo. Pistol has about the same design but with a vastly different, more Isabella-ish outfit. Finally we have PJ who looks the same, but has a diffrent outfit and a far more sour demeanor, probably meant to be a bully. My best guess is sthis stuff comes from the pitch, and was likely made to simply get the basic premise across before fine tuning the characters for series

So with all of that out of the way i’m calling eveyrone to join in the fun under the cut and report to the Goof Troop. 

Everything’s Coming Up Goofy:

Our first episode opens in a small but cozy trailer, where Goofy’s cooking up lunch as only goofy could: by making osme meatballs then serving them to his son over a game of table tennis, with Max doing the same. It’s really freaking adorable, and a dynamic i’m not used to since i’m more familiar with Teen Max. Seeing Max genuinely get into his dad’s hyjinks and enjoy them.. it just warms the heart and adds weight to The Goofy Movie by knowing there was a time the two really were thick is thieves before the stygian hole that is high school drained all that out of him. 

So the two are like buddies and pals until the Mailman arrives, not even phased at this point. Turns out it’s a Diploma, and with this Goofy can get a job he’s been up for in Spoonerville and plans to move immediately. Max is devisated he’ll loose his friends and runs away to use a magical mystery box to keep them together only to end up in a land full of frogs with an old man who sounds like his dad minus the drawl and two other tinier frogs and ... I may have the wrong show. In fairness you try dislodging a finale where Keith David runs a 13 year old through with laser sword and then talk to me. 

Goofy is sympathetic though: While he seems a tad oblivous to Max’s worries, it’s very clear he’s jumping on this job and this move so far to give his son a better life. Sure he runs through all the cartoon moving away talking points that don’t work in real life or most other cartoons such as there being a nice lake and that max can make new friends, and Max accepts it weirdly fast because this episode is only 22 minutes and they don’t have time for that subplot... but it’s clear the idea of a better paying job, a secure home not in an alleyway, and some stablility for his son is the real reason Goofy’s doing this, and he probably wants to simply give the boy the childhood he had growing up. 

Meanwhile in Spoonerville, we meet Pete. To my shock this is where Jim Cummings took over the roll he was born for and has played since and with good reasons as Cummings is just amazing with Pete no matter the incarnation and excels here  his penchant for playing jerks, hams and gravely voiced guys all coalesicing. Pete is planning on building what modern toxicly masculine weirdos such as himself would call a Man Cave on his lawn, because Pete is a very SPECIAL kind of douchebag. He also plans to stretch it into the neighboring property, tear down the house there and set it up. 

This is news to his wife Peg, played by fellow voice acting Legend whose stillg ot it, April Winchell in her star making role. Peg is Pete’s strong willed wife who dosen’t put up with her husbands crap.. you know that trope that infected sitcoms for kids and adults of the doofy husband whose either a manchild , a skeevy self serving quipy asshole or some horrible combination of the two. The kind that has still been so prevealant the wife from one of said sitcoms helped produce a show about the wife finally doing the logical thing and plotting to kill the bastard. No really.. that’s an actual thing that’s happening. It’s even got a Little Bit of Alexis as Anne Murphy plays the poor, poor wife. 

And why yes the series is called Kevin Can Fuck Himself. And why yes said former sitcom wife was the same one on a sitcom called Kevin Can Wait who was fired because they wanted to retool the show with the wife from Kevin James other sitcom. That also is very really a thing that happened. Payback is a bitch aint it? Fun too. 

But yeah from minute one Pete is a terrible husband: Peg is a realtor and thus is trying to sell the house because it’s her fucking job instead of letting her husband throw their family deep in debt to very likely illegally demolish a house so he has a giant yard to play in. I mean even if this is all played for jokes i’ts just not funny enough to not make him an utter bastard. The fact his response to her VERY valid criticism and subtextual worry he doesn’t’t take her career seriously is to fake a panic attack, from a very REAL tendency he turns out to have giant breakdowns under stress, to try and guilt her into letting him have his giant public man cave just backs this up.. as does the fact she simply glares at the camera as he’s clearly DONE this before. 

Since I have to put up with this version of him for the rest of this episode, the next, AND a portion of the movie, i’m proudly introducing the Pete Sucks Counter. This will carry over to any other appearances of the guy from here on out. So that’s one for his insane plan, one for disrespecting his wife’s career and one for faking a panic attack to try and win an argument Pete Sucks Counter: 3

So because this episode ran short Peg caves and compromises: He can have the property if it isn’t sold by 9. So Pete does what ANY husband would do: uses his spy camera and booby traps he’s set up in the other house to try and scare away prospective buyers. 

Yeah.. while the show TRIES to have Pete not as his old-timey villian self.. they traded in for him being fucking MODOK. I mean he is a grotesque monstrosity who has a nuclear family and spends all his time in a chair thing and can barely function as a Husband or Father. Though at least I can belivie MODOK LOVES his family which not so much with Pete. 

To prove this Pete tries using a fake spider to scare some buyers then CALLS THEM TELLING THEM PEG IS A CON ARITST. I.e. something that if they mention to her bosses could get her FIRED. He respects his wife’s autonomy, what she wants and what she’s asked him for, which is a fair shot to sell the place before he tries to wreck the place, as well as likely what his neighbors want. I mean I can accept breaks from reality for comedy, snakebird is my boy. 

So I can accept pete has this stuff.. I just can’t find it funny when these shenanignas very transparently show that while he surface level loves his wife he dosen’t respect her or actually listen to her except when she gets angry. He IS the villian so he’s still a slight step among monst sitcom dads but i’ts not great. I can find it funny that his den also functions as a super villian lair though. That shit will never not be great. Also Pete Sucks Counter: 6 For the record: one for the spider itself, one for having traps set up in a property hat both isn’t his and his wife is trying to sell and another for threatening her job and her self esteem as she is baffled at what she possibly did wrong. 

So Goofy and Max get on the road, leaving moving the rest of their stuff to an old coot whose a friend of theres. So it’s goodbye Duckburg, Hello Spoonerville! And yes I headcanon this as Duckburg. Goof Troop is one of two shows that very clearly happened in SOME form, the other being Tailspin, the only difference being the time period (Goof Troop taking place in the 90′s and Tailspin in the 30′s or 40′s) and any adjustments for clashes with the 2017 verse. So going off that, we also know Donald and the boys KNOW goofy and didn’t remotely question his presence, as did the rest of the cast. 

So figuring out the timeline, Goofy likely met Donald in college, even if he never finished college as per an Extremley Goofy Movie, which may not happen the same exact way given Goofy still has his old job and may not loose it in this timeline, though i’d like to think he still meets Sylvia. But point is he drops out, possibly to marry Max’s mom, they end up moving to Duckburg for her work, she sadly dies, and Goofy is left raising Max alone. Donald and Goofy likely bonded as single parents struggling in low paying 9-5 jobs. Goofy left here, likely said goodbye to Donald and the 5 or so year old boys offscreen , and left. As for how anyone else knows him that’s simple: he probably visits whenever he can.  He’s a good friend, genuinely loves Donald like a brother in all continuities, and of course would show up with a progressively more then less grumpy Max every time. As for what I think the rest of the cast would think of him: Scrooge would hate him for his disaster area ways, but at least respect him as a hard worker, he just wouldn’t personally hire him which is.. it’s fair. Beakley would be aggravated by him. Webby would of course like him because she’s essentially him but competent and gay, and Launchpad and him .. god that’d be a joy to see. And drive up Scrooge’s insurance. Della would also like him obviously. I”m really disappointed we didn’t get a season 4 if for nothing else the fact we probably would’ve got another Goofy episode. It also feels weird he’s not in the finale in any way shape or form you know? Why have such a big guest spot for him and then just not bring him or Max back? GIVE ME MORE MAX DISNEY DAMN YOUUUUU So they move right along with Goofy excited to get back to where he once belonged, and to call Pete with the good news on his 90′s cell phone. Pete is utterly TERRIFIED finding out Goofy Comin and tries to send him off course to prevent it. Naturally despite nearly running into a truck, Goofy makes it to Spoonerville by evening anyway and we get a delightful bit that shows off BilL Farmer’s comedy skills as he rapidly lists off all the things in town while driving Max through town. It’s so damn smooth. This also is notable since before this farmer had just played the character in some DTV music videos, which stands for Disney not Denton but god I now want Shock Treatment with the Disney Crew. I mean who wouldn’t want Donald as Brad, Daisy as Janet, and Gladstone as Farley Flavors I ask you. Not sure who every one else would be i’m sorting that out. And if you don’t know what Shock Treatment is, here have this trailer with a nightmarish opening. 

Dammit now I want to watch Shock Treatment again... so I am. Found it in full on YouTube, and I feel no shame in sharing that as it’s not on VOD, nor any streaming service, the DVD, which I own, is out of print, and the Blu Ray is a UK exclusive. This film both needs to be seen more and needs another proper US release damn it!

So naturally Goofy somehow finds Pete’s house.. I dunno maybe Peg’s been sending him letters. Can’t blame her for having a wondering eye long as she dosen’t act on it. She’s married to a walking lump of ego, selfishness and cholesterol and likely only held on as long as she did for the kids. Which for the record Peg as a child of divorce whose parents got divorced rather than keep up a sham marriage or anything.. it’s not worth it. I was MUCH happier that way in the long term. 

Anyways Peg and Goofy happily reunited while they awkardly try to get the kids to meet, with Goofy and PJ not warming up to each other at first, likely because Max just lost all his friends, and PJ clearly had none going into the series from context we’ll get later in the pilot. We also get a hilarious bit where Peg alternates between warmly greeting the goof’s and hilaroiusly shouting at Pistol to not play with worms.. in what honestly sounds like a protype for Miss Finster’s voice. 

Meanwhile the kids try to hide a small crack in Pete’s boat.. which he notices as he’s just about to steamroll the house despite NOT having asked Peg if she sold it yet and just assuming, possibly opening himself and her to a lawsuit

Pete Sucks Counter: 7

Discovering his boat is trashed, he has a comical panic attack, which I can forgive since this was 1992 and they weren’t as well known as a serious problem. Seriously while pete is a bastard man.. the animation on him is GORGEOUS as it is HILARIOUS, while Jim Cummings brings the hell out of it. He’s kept the roll for three decades as of next year for a reason. Goofy ends up accidently destroying his boat in the process of trying to help him as you’d expect. 

So Pete reluctantly lets the goofs sup with them.... and by reluctantly I mean he don’t wanna but Peg’s forcing him, which is pretty much the other half of their relationship in a nutshell: When pete isn’t lying and betraying her, Peg is forcing him to do stuff. As you can probably guess by how harsh i’ve been this aspect has aged INCREDIBLY poorly for me. This is your standard sitcom setup: asshole or dumbass or both dad, put upon wife who has to keep him in line.. but it’s just not how a GOOD marriage works and got so damn draining over time. Again and again we got things saying marriage is awful, comitting sucks unless your young, again and again. It’s why i’m REALLY happy we’ve been getting far better sitcom dad’s and marraiges lately. Bob’s Burgers is naturally the example, with the wife being the less sane one but both having their quriks and neither being so entirely dysfunctional you ever question the marriage. The Louds are another good example: Lynn Sr. And Rita NEVER right with each other that i’ve seen, have a perfectly happy relationship despite 11 kids, and wholly support each other, with Rita happily giving her husband the go ahead to quit his soul draining desk job so he could pursue his deream as a chef, and later letting him take a massive fincial gamble and open up a restraunt, purely because she belivied in him. Finally we have the Williams from Craig of the Creek who are easily one of the best married couples i’ve seen in western animation and one of them’s played by Terry Crews so that shoudln’t be a shock. I could prabobly find more but my points made: this trope REALLY ages the show poorly, more than any of hte 90′s specific tech or swinging theme song I just realized I forgot to talk about. Eh i’ll save it for the next episode. 

I have NEVER liked this trope anyway: only simpsons has really made it work for me and Family Guy did until they just stretched it too far, and with Simpsons at least they freqeuently have episodes pointing out how unehalthy it is. It dosen’t help this trope somehow STILL isn’t dead, as evidenced by the fact Rick and Morty has it in spades and for SOME damn reason got them back together.. I mean they don’t fight anymore but it dose’nt fix the problem. So yeah while I’m not holding against the show TERRRIBLY as this trope wasn’t as widespread at the time, it still dosen’t make it GOOD even at it’s core. 

Things get worse for Pete though as while Goofy praises him (And the Pete Kids rightfly wonder if Goofy is from space given the logic of ANYONE being that fond of pete. ) Pete finds out GOOFY bought the house he was going to demolish and will be staying with them till they move in. I have only one response to his misery....

Max also futzes with the tv which you THINK would lead to Peg finding out her husband is the antagonist of a Blumhouse movie but instead just does nothing. 

So then we have Dinner where we find out SUPRISINGLY, Pete actually has a somewhat valid reason for resenting Goofy: Goofy cost him the big game in high school as Goofy and Peg were on the cheerleading squad together and Goofy accidently kicked pete in the face at a crucial moment, which Pete got the blame for. Granted I did say SOMEWHAT: Goofy is genuinely apologetic and says Pete shouldn’t of been blamed and Pete’s apparently been hiding the truth from his kids this whole time. I do call bullshit on that as while admittedly i don’t get into local football or any sportsball, Pete works at a dealership. At least one asshole would bring it up to either rile him up or out of genuine rage at something that happened at the very least a decade and a half ago. Pete hasn’t let go of this footbullshit DESPITE owning a successful dealership, having two wonderful children, an even more wonderful wife, and a friggin nice boat.  But really.. it speaks to Pete’s character in any version: His ultimate undoing is his greed, his tendency to keep going and never settle. It’s something he oddly shares with Donald but Pete lacks Donald’s’s heart or redeeming moments. Pete just wants and wants and wants no matter who gets hurt because he’s inehently selfish and will simply TAKE It if he can’t get it. But it’s why he’s miserable, and ultimately ends up divorced: He can’t be satisfised so he often looses what he has. 

So with Pete on the rampage Peg sends the boys upstairs. It’s here we get PJ’s first Woobie Moment: He has a room FULL of cool toys, comics and what not but his dad is such a greedy asshole he refuses to let the kid actually use them. He even knows this isn’t normal but is just resigned to it. Rob Paulsen is phenomenal as PJ, being funny and energetic, snarky and off to the side or depressed and fearful all with grace and ease and all making this all feel like the same sweet kid. 

I mention this because Paulsen’s action is so good it highlights an issue with PJ: the writers lean way too hard into how much a hardass Pete is, to the point the series, likely intentionally, HEAVILY implies he physically abuses pete and the stuff on screen isn’t over the top enough, at least for tehse episodes, to get away with how he emotionally abuses him either. He talks down to him, doesn’t let him play toys and as seen by various episode synopsis and the next episode, uses mind games to keep him in line. THIS is why I can’t stand this version of Pete. He’s an abusive monster to this poor boy and I won’t stands for it, nor it being played off as a joke, especially since they try to ping pong between using it for comedy and using it seriously which just.. doesn’t work. 

So Max earns his future best pals’ friendship by trying to help him.. and succeeding by pointing out that while he said not to use the Tank anywhere on the ground.. he didn’t mention the celling or walls and has the tank going up the walls. And clearly by the fact PJ is seen sleeping with it later, despite Petes’ss anger at this, Peg presumably ripped him a new one once she found out about the toys thing. 

So that night Pete can’t sleep with Goofy tromping around the house and tries to whack him with a Golf Club. I’d give him another sucks count.. 

But given my brother lives in the basement and I sometimes accidently wake him by tromping overhead without meaning too, I DO get getting a bit fed up with someone clomping around and waking you up, and it is a slapstick cartoon so trying to physically assault someone is less of a crime here and more a setup for a punchline. 

So get an UTTERLY hilarious scene as teh combination fo tripping on golf balls and Goofy singing his family lullabye, camptown races with lyrics

So Pete proceeds to have another freak out this time RUNNING ALL THE WAY TO DUCKBURG, THROWING THE OLD MAN OUT OF THE CAR AND THEN BRINGING IN THE GOOF’S BEDS AND BOXES BEFORE TOSSING THEM IN THE HOUSE. It is truly an amazing combination of Jim’s utter talent as he babbles hialriously and the animators as they just make it sing. It’s a great climax to part one. So with that the goofs are home and Pete semeingly gets to go to sleep.. until they start working on unpacking. 

Final Thoughts On Good Neighbor Goof:

This is an excellent start to the series. The jokes are really well paced, the characters well introduced and the humor top notch> I had my complaints obviously.. but i’ts more systemic issues with the series, and stuff that honestly it dosen’t hamper my viewing experience for the most part. The PJ stuff does, but it’s not as big a deal this episode as he barely interacts with his Dad, but otherwise it’s stuff that just hasn’t aged well and they can’t be faulted for not seeing a deluge of terrible sitcoms a comin. The cast is top notch: I didn’t get to them in the proper review so Dana HIll deserves praise as Max, giving just the right amount of 90′s TV Kid mixed with real honest emotion and i’ts a tragedy she’s gone. She would’ve been right up there with the rest of this amazing cast in history. Though at least she got a worthy succesor.. but that’s not for now. For now we’re taking an interlude to look at the wonderfully 90′s music video that was aired along with this special:

Gotta Be Gettin Goofy:

This was my raw reaction to this video. Now is it bad? No the song has great flow it somehow manages to scratch Bill Farmer’s goofy vocals with the beat, the rapper makes the cheesy lyrics work, and the chorus of “gotta be getting goofy” backs a great bit. It’s not a bad SONG.. but the video is a hilariously insane mess. We have two of the poor dancers forced to wear just.. HORRIFYING looking Goofy costumes that look like the Dog based sequel to cats that thankfully only exists in my nightmares

I pityt hose poor dancers. Meanwhile the rest of the dancers are wearing Goofy Baseball uniforms and letterman jackets for some reason. is it beause Goofy likes sportsball. I thoguth they just had them lying around but now I see the g’s on the uniform. They CHOOSE to do this. Max also does a shredding guitar solo, not the max up there the animated max. Combine that with LOTS OF random clips from the show and you get this thing.. and i’ts worth a watch> it’s just hilarously what the shit.. not the most hilariously what the shit thing i’ve seen.. not even this week... that would be this thing from the Eurovision Song contest...

Your welcome. So moving on because this is already badly behind. 

Good Neighbor Goof:

So our second episode opens with the Goof’s trying to move in and pete being upset their being loud. Now being upset your neighbors are being loud is one thing: Mine set off fireworks all week around fourth of July. Granted Pete would probably be the one doing such nonsense but still, I get it.. but it’s fair to have a lot of noise when your moving in and in Goofy’s case also trying to patch up a massive hole in the place. 

So he does what any reasonable man would do and activates the earthquake machine he hid in the basement. 

I wasn’t kidding about the MODOK comparisons. Granted the thing uses a belt to somehow do this.. but it’s designed to SIMULATE AN EARTHQUAKE AN DDOES SO WELL. The only reason Goofy’s not dead is that pete uses a low setting that instead ends up unpacking everything. IT’s a neat gag but again... PETE HAS AN EARTHQUAKE MACHINE.

Which Goofy accidently destroys his boat with. Meanwhile the boys try to talk over tin can phones only for Pete to notice and try to stop it because he’s a dick and doesn’t want his son to be happy because he hates Goofy. So Pete’s idea of a punishment is for PJ to wear the family shoes to go crush cans while wearing a helmet and given Pete mutters to himself about this keeping PJ away from Max i’ts likely something that he made up to torture his son soooo..

Pete Sucks Counter: 8 Max being a good pal agrees to help his friend crush the cans down to recycle for money and comes up with a zany scheme to do so

Meanwhile we get a few scenes of Pete trying to eff with Goofy’s day: Peg is making food for Goofy like a good neighbor/someone planning for their eventual divorce, so Pete makes him some too with tons of hot sauce. By the laws of classic cartoons, naturally Goofy loves it and wonders if Pete has hot sauce, while Pete trying it explodes his head Scanner’s style. 

He then tries giving Goofy a chainsaw loaded with some kind of explosive or something... so yes he’s esclated to MURDER over.. Goofy annoying him a bunch as he’s apparently given up on the whole taking over that lot thing. 

Pete Sucks Counter: 9 But it is hilariously petty and naturally backfires again by cartoon law as Pete ends up starting it for Goofy who can’t get it going. 

Meanwhile PJ and Max inact the plan which is to drop a bolder with a rope on the cans, but end up having to ride the cans down when PJ lets it go too early and it ends up sweeping both boys on top of the box. They have fun though, with PJ actually getting to enjoy life for once and loving having a new friend.

So as his lot in life Pete has to ruin it by yelling at PJ for getting diryt, then for hanging out with max as he can SMELL the goof on him.. which means he’s either exaggerating or he knows what goofy smells like. 

So he forbids PJ to see him insluting max.. while Max is hanging out the window and ends up crying. Oh and Peg never gets involved in any of this across both parts, likely because she dosen’t know.. which makes it even MORE horrifying as it gives off the implication Pete gets away with his abuse of his son because he hides it, like a real world abuser. But even then some things like trying to break up his and Max’s friendship or the toys thing you’d THINK she’d notice. 

So we get more untetionally telling stuff as PJ says he’ll treasure this day and the only time he was happy.

Pete Sucks Count: 14 2 for the last scene, 3 for ALLL this one implies. But Max won’t give up the ghost no he won’t give it up. They haven’t the strength to hold on for long but if they both hold on together they can make each other strong. So he has a plan: have Goofy throw a Luau and invite the petes.

Peg naturally forces him to attend and Pete is a dick about it at first, but eventually enjoys himself when they do a conga line. The pets, Waffles and Chainsaw get into some antics. I do love Waffles because I love a kitty. Chainsaw is okay even though I love me a good doggo. Especially this one.

You are a Good Boy, Good Boy. But eventually while playing a party game about passing coconuts, Pete considers the coconut and considers the trees but dosen’t consider Goofy kicking him in the face AGAIN

So Pete is naturally a dick about this despite it being you know, an accident. But he takes it a step further by insulting Max Pete Sucks Count: 15 So Goofy gets mad. But here’s where a rather sizeable flaw shows up in the episode as Goofy.. acts exactly like Pete does about the insuing feud. He forbids Max to see PJ makes up rules and is generally petty and vindictive. And look Goofy could be in the shorts. He’s endlessly adaptable.. but here nothing about his character has shown he’d sink to this and it feels forced to bring abotu the climax. 

Thankfully said finale salvages thing: That night Max pulls PJ into his room via the cans, and comes up with a plan.. weirdly asking PJ to hit him with a muffin to save their friendship... but it’s not random it turns out. His plan.. is brilliant. While I really don’t like these types of feud between neighbors make our kids suffer by making them not be able to be friends because we’re being petty children plots, this one has a REALLY clever solution to that: Max and PJ FAKE an oversclated fued similar to their parents, starting with insutls and throwing mulch and escalting to taking down each others fences and then throwing food at each other, before injuring their dads with planks and stuff, nothing serious just slapstick stuff, all to get both to settle down and try and get the boys to stop fighting.. it works like a charm, it’s full of great bits like Peg offering the boys pie only for Max to use it as amuination and i’ts just a great way to end one of these episodes. Not that I WANT more of these episodes but if your going to do this stock plot you might as well be creative with it.

So we end on the Petes and Goofs having a BBQ, all friends again, with Pete having his marina and Goofy nearly burning Pete’s house down and us getting a photo to end the episode.

Final Thoughts:

This one was a step down. Pete’s abuse is REALLY highlighted here and the plot is very paint by numbers and forces Goofy to be out of character for the last act for it to work at all. He just strikes me as too genuine and noble to hold onto a grudge this easily. Peg is also reduced from her usual feisty self to being oddly useless, not stepping in at ANY point to stop any of this depsite it being grossly otu of character. There’s a few great gags and a great climax, but the whole product is just okay

Later Today: Goof Week and Goofy’s birthday continue as I complete the trilogy of Shortstaculars with one about my boy! Featuring Goofy’s first apperance, his first short and the first apperance of what would eventually become Max! 

If you liked this review, follow me for more and consider joining my Patreon which you can find RIGHT HERE. Even a buck a month helps me keep doing these and more gets me to my stretch goals, the next one up being the two remaining ducktales mini series, a darkwing duck episode a month and a reivew of the danny phantom film the ultimate enemy. And even a buck a month gets you access to exclusvie reviews, my patreon exclusive discord and to pick a short any time I do one of my shortstaculars. My next one is for Donald’s birthday next montha nd there’s only 6 days left to get on that pay cycle so if that sounds good to you get on in NOW while you still can and i’ll see you at the next rainbow. 

[someguynamedstevewrites]

My Roommate is an Apparition: WHAT A HORRIBLE NIGHT TO HAVE A DAD - Part 2

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

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Oh man, am I late on posting this.  So many things going on.  Not to mention figuring out how to follow up the first part.

It seems people really like the first-person narration from “A-Pink-Ciation of Culture”, so I went with that again with this piece.

Almost DAILY, I get likes or re-blogs and the occasional follower despite not having posted anything since March.  I’m very curious and would like to hear from you readers about what you like about my writing and what appeals to you.  Eventually, I want to make a living off of writing, but until that time, I definitely could use any and all feedback.

Anyway, now that that’s out of the way, on with the story!

 From the Diary of Lily, March 1st, 2020:

Okay, diary, I’m coming to you because I honestly have no idea where else to go to try and sort through the evening I just had with my Dad and Tulpa.   I can’t put my finger on it, but something about tonight just... bothers me!  It’s like I’m on pins and needles and can’t stop thinking about, well, a LOT of stuff.  Just... hear me out and maybe it’ll make sense if I put this all down on paper (I.E. You).  I just spent the last twenty minutes trying to talk things through out loud, but that got me nowhere so here goes nothing:

First off, my Dad came to visit a week earlier than what I had planned, and immediately sets up shop in my living room with his NES and copy of Castlevania III.  Only problem was I hadn’t talked with Tulpa about his visit since I was expecting him until NEXT weekend.  I kept thinking that the last thing I wanted was for anything weird to happen during his visit.

Which, looking back on it, was a really stupid thing to worry about.

I mean, Dad’s a pretty open-minded guy and he’s quite weird himself.  He’s actually quite proud of his weirdness (embarrassing as it is sometimes).  He tends to under-react to all kinds of things like it’s no big deal.  I’ve even asked him why he doesn’t freak out about some of the stuff he comes across in real life or on TV, and he just tells me, “I’ve seen weirder.”   (If some of the stories he’s told me are true, then he has.  He really, REALLY has!)

For example: if Tulpa had come into the room holding a... I dunno, a plate or something, like would that really freak my Dad out?  Pfft, No!  He (maybe?) wouldn’t see her, all he’d see was a “flying saucer” (he deliberately would make that lame pun too), and then get back to his game.  Then later, he’d try and tell me about the real flying saucers he saw years ago, or something.

Since I had assumed that Dad wouldn’t have been able to see her, it eventually clicked in my head that what I was actually worrying about was, “what would Tulpa think of my Dad?”  He’s a huge Goofus that likes to make bad jokes, tell tall tales, and play video games!  And even if he did weird her out, it’s not like she could go anywhere... right?  I mean, she might avoid interacting with me because of him, but...

Oh...

Oh wow...

I just read what I just wrote and I can not believe I was being THAT irrational!  ( Man, people are stupid sometimes; me included!)

Avoid me because of my DAD!?   That’s gotta be the dumbest thing I’ve ever thought!   It’s not like he LIVES here or anything!   He’s not the one paying the rent; I am!  And... I’ve gotten to know Tulpa pretty well these past few months, but... I guess I still have a lot more to learn about her.  Case in point:

————————————-

So Tulpa tells me that she wants to meet my Dad, and after coming to my senses somewhat, I say she can sit in so long as she doesn’t touch anything (see flying saucer explanation above).  A few minutes later, she walks in looking like the tall girl from Keep Your Hands off Eizouken (I had to look the name up; I couldn’t remember it for the life of me).  By that I mean, she’s coming in as a tall, lanky, skinny, somewhat pale skinned girl looking to be about my age.  She’s wearing some modest clothes and, if I’m being honest with myself, they looked kind of cute in that outfit they had on.  It was a nice ensemble.

Then Dad says “Hi” to her.

...

Let me repeat that in case it hasn’t clicked with you yet.

My Dad GREETED her!

He! SAW! Her!

When I asked her about it later, she said to me that she thought that since he’s my Dad, then whatever it is that allows me to see her could be something my Dad has too.  So far, her theory has been proven right, but... I’m not one-hundred percent sure, because Tulpa... well... she changed.

And I’m being literal here, too!  She no longer had that transparency to her like usual.  She had a nose!  She had ears!  She had five fingers!  And she looked...

...well...

...good.

Tulpa said she had never tried doing this before, but figured that in the off-chance that her hunch was correct, she wanted to make a good impression on my Dad.  (Why do I keep thinking about that old joke in movies and TV shows about the overprotective Dad that threatens the boy about to go on a date with their daughter?)  She even went so far as to create her own “clothes”, saying she knew they’d be important.  Considering that she doesn’t wear (or need) clothes any other time, I ask her how she came to that conclusion.  I still have no idea what she meant when she suddenly bellowed out, “GOOD...!  GRIEF...!  HE’S...!  NAKED!”

[Edit:  It’s from Spongebob, because of course it was.]

So I’m not sure if Dad could see her because she purposely made herself opaque, or if he would have been able to see her if she wasn’t in her human “disguise” (and yes, I’m calling it a disguise and I’ll explain why a bit later, okay?).  But either way, she walks in and my Dad just starts chatting away like so:

————————————-

“Hi there! You must be Lily’s roommate!” says Dad.

At this point, I’m kind of frozen solid on the couch, just watching and listening as everything unfolds in front of me like it’s being burned into my retinas.  You know that saying about slow-motion train wrecks? Y’know, about how you can’t look away from them? This is probably why I remember the conversation so well.

“Heh...Hello,” she responds back nervously.

“I’m Lily’s Dad,” he says as if it wasn’t obvious, “Hope you don’t mind if we play some games out here.”

Tulpa shakes her head and stutters out, “No...N-not at all.”

“Great!” Dad responded with a smile that said, “Even if it was bothering you, I’m still going to take up the TV and play video games.  So nyeh!”  I’ve lived with him long enough to know that he’s not someone who would give up the TV without a fight.

(...gee... that kind of reminds me of someone now that I think about it...)

Tulpa then asks, “M-mind if... I watch?”

Dad gives her this big, goofy smile and responds with a, “Sure thing!” since despite him never admitting to it, he always liked having an audience around when he played games (or almost anything really) in hopes of “schooling” them. (Why he didn’t go into teaching, I will never understand.)

As soon as Dad turns back to his game and un-pauses it, Tulpa smiled, sat back, and looked content (Although it was a little weird seeing her smile with a nose to go along with it.) This snaps me out of my stupor long enough to scootch over to Tulpa and chat with her.

“You actually want to watch him play?” I ask her once more because the mere thought that she’d be interested in something outside of cartoons still hadn’t registered in my head, yet.

“Yeah...” she says as she starts to stare at the screen like she usually does during her cartoon time. “...sounded... familiar,” she said before looking up slightly while lost in thought, “...Simon... Belmont... Mega... Man... Kid... Icarus...” she said again as though that meant something. To me it just sounded almost like some kind of madness mantra, but...

“Oh! You mean Captain N: The Game Master!” my Dad chimed in out of seemingly nowhere.

“YES!” Tulpa said with excitement (worth noting that she doesn’t look excited very often, but when she does, she practically glows). “I remember...” she said before pausing to collect her thoughts and form the words she wanted to say. If I could have, I would have warned her about my Dad’s tendency to pounce on any hesitation in a conversation to take it over.

“Man, I haven’t seen Captain N in decades,” he said wistfully, “Surprised someone young as you remembers it.   I was in High School when that show came on!   When did you see it?”

“Ummm...” she hesitated, “...reruns... when I was... a kid.”

(As I’m writing this down now, I realize she was trying to hide her actual age from Dad. She looked to be in her early twenty’s like I was, but if she said she saw it when it came on the air originally, that’d make her over thirty years old at least.)

“Ahhhh! I see you have good taste in reruns!” Dad complimented.

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered back. As I listened to the awkward conversation of father-roommate bonding, I found my eyes constantly turning towards Tulpa. Not out of adoration or anything, but more like... studying her.

————————————-

On the one hand, she looked like the Tulpa that I had known ever since she became my roommate months ago.  But on the other hand, they somehow weren’t.   It’s kind of like when someone changes their looks a bit for maybe, I dunno, a night on the town, a job interview, a wedding, or something else along those lines.  Only in her case, “dressing up” meant adding additional body parts she didn’t normally have.

(To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure what to think about that...)

I’ve always been a firm believer of people being themselves, and being allowed to be themselves.  I can’t stand situations where people are unable to truly express themselves or feel comfortable.  Way I see it, life is too short to be spent worrying over stupid stuff that makes people miserable just so they can come off as normal.

Sometimes it’s because of social norms and expectations; those unspoken rules of life that people are supposed to just magically “know”.  Like if someone was going to a church or temple service, social norms say they need to wear their “Sunday Best” with stiff, itchy clothes that are dry clean only.  If I was able to go to a sermon wearing a baggy college sweatshirt, sweatpants, and slippers, and NOT be judged like I’m some kind of crazy hobo, it would have definitely made something like that more appealing to me.

Now I have nothing against anyone that likes to dress up in fancy clothes and wear them out and about; I mean, everyone likes different things, right? The point is that if I’m going to do something that makes me uncomfortable, it should be because I wanted to do it for myself.   I don’t think I should bend over backwards making myself feel bad (physically or mentally) for someone else’s sake.  Sure, call me selfish if you must, but I just can’t advocate for doing something that makes you feel bad because you wanted someone else to feel good.

I’m just thankful no one in my family has ever tried to push anything on me.  Sure, they’ve suggested things to me before, and of course made sure I didn’t do something stupid that would injure me or worse when I was too young to know better.  But overall, my family has given me a lot of freedom to do what I want, dress how I want, and be who I want to be.  Now that I think about it, I’m kind of lucky that way.

(I hope I’m making sense on this. Re-reading this, I’m not entirely sure if I do.)

————————————-

Anyway, I’m looking at Tulpa and watching them carefully, trying to figure out if they were comfortable looking like that or not.  She’s just sitting there watching my Dad play Castlevania III, and he was now on the haunted pirate ship with Trevor and Sypha.  He was breezing through at a pretty good pace and sharing an anecdote about how Warren Ellis figuratively gave him the “Turd Cape of Shame” on this old message board back when the Castlevania series on Netflix was just an idea back in 2007.  (I still am not entirely sure if that story is true or not.)

“Hey Lily,” Dad asks suddenly out of the blue, “got anything to drink?”  I offer him some lemonade, he accepts, and I go to the kitchen to pour him a glass.  As I’m doing this, I hear Dad ask Tulpa, “By the way, I don’t think I caught your name.  What was it again?”

“...Tulpa...” she says back to him.

My body freezes up for a moment as I realized that “Tulpa” is not an ordinary name.  I mean the first time she told me her name, it sounded like some kind of Pokémon.  Once again, that irrational fear of my Dad being weirded out or something enters my head, but is dispelled almost immediately.

“Tulpa?” my Dad says aloud to himself, “That’s a very interesting name.”

“T-Thank you...” she says back.

I walk in with a glass of pink lemonade and set it down on a little, folding TV dinner stand that was given to me when I first moved out for college.  I slowly sit back down again as I keep an eye on Dad.  His facial expression is the same as usual: relaxed.  You could call it a poker face, but I’ve seen him play poker and he is BAD at poker.

“Anyone in your family Buddhist?” my Dad asks casually.

I step in, “Dad!  What kind of a question is that!?”  And I meant what I said too. Who even asks something like that!?

“I was just wondering,” he says before once again shutting up and focusing on his game.

This is one of the things about my Dad that bugs me to no end: he likes to be cagey sometimes.  He’ll say something vague with the sole purpose of making the other person curious, confused, or both.  It leaves, like, questions in the back of your head that just start gnawing at your brain and won’t stop chewing away at your gray matter until you finally ask him to explain what the heck he was talking about.    He does this on purpose to “bait” people into asking him questions or to continue with what he’s saying.  So annoying!

I sigh, “Why’s that, Dad?”

He gives a little smile and continues, “Oh it’s just that this isn’t the first time I’ve heard the name “Tulpa” before, that’s all.”

NOW he has my total undivided attention and Tulpa’s too as we both unconsciously lean forward.  Practically in sync, we both say, “It’s not!?”

He’s still smiling as he says, “Nope.  First time I heard that name was when I was doing some monster research for a Castlevania Wiki I had been working on a while back.”

Tulpa practically gulps, “M-M-Monster...?”

“Well not really a monster,” he says back, “more like... a supernaturally, artificially created person.” 

(There are some times when my Dad can be down right spooky and creepy.  This was one of those times.)

Full Metal Alchemist immediately pops into my head, and without even hesitating, I ask, “Like a Homunculus?”

“Nah, more like...” he says before pausing his game and turning to Tulpa and I, “...an imaginary friend.”  Tulpa and I both tilt our heads in confusion.  Dad picks up on this and by now, he is practically glowing at this opportunity to share some weird thing he just happens to know something about.

He explains, “So there’s this word in Tibetan called “Sprul-Pa” which means “Manifestation”, okay?  And in early Buddhism, this is used as the explanation for how Gautama Buddha could travel to heavenly realms and come back again.  You could say he created a clone of himself in the other realm and then transmitted his consciousness to it from his body on Earth.  Kind of like a-”

By now, Tulpa and I were clearly on the same wavelength as she asks, “a Shadow Clone!?” at the exact same time I was thinking of it. Believe it!

Dad’s silent for a moment as he thinks to himself before finally going, “...uhhh... I guess... you could say that. I was thinking “Dream Body” but I suppose a shadow clone could work too.”  My Dad used to watch Naruto with me on Toonami years ago, so he knew full well what a shadow clone was.

He turns to face us as he continues talking, “The thing with a Tulpa is that it’s something made from nothing. A Homunculus, using your example, Lily, requires having the materials necessary to make an artificial being on hand before you can create them. But a Tulpa is willed into existence out of nothingness. It is created from the thoughts of the creator; known as a “Thoughtform” in some cases.”

(WHEN did my Dad even learn this stuff!?)

“The difference between a Tulpa and an imaginary friend,” my Dad continued to say, “is that while an imaginary friend is just that, someone that exists in your imagination, a Tulpa is made when someone’s thoughts are so strong that they will their imaginary friend into existence.”

I look over at Tulpa, and she is totally absorbed in what my Dad’s saying.

“Now from what I’ve read...” Oh my God, Dad! What have you even been reading!? “...it’s very difficult for one person alone to have enough psychic power to will a sentient being into creation. But if you had enough people thinking the same thing, and thinking about it hard enough, then, hypothetically, a Tulpa could be created.”

“So what you’re saying is if enough people think Bigfoot is real, then they can actually make it real just by believing in them?” I snark.

“Yeah, pretty much,” my Dad replies without detecting my snark at all.

“Or like...” Tulpa chimes in, “...how Tinkerbell is saved... by believing in fairies and... clapping hands?” I was a bit surprised Tulpa knew that since I couldn’t recall Disney’s Peter Pan having that scene in it.

Dad thinks about it for a moment, and then goes, “Hmmmmm... yeah! That too, I suppose.”

Right about then, Dad gets a notification on his phone. He pulls it out, looks at it, gets a somewhat serious look on his face, and then stands up and says, “Hey, I gotta make a phone call real quick. Mind if I...” he trails off.

“Yeah, sure thing, Dad,” I say back. He heads down the hallway to the guest bedroom and closes the door as he makes his call. It’s now just Tulpa and me in the living room, and we were both feeling super awkward. I turn to Tulpa and say, “So... did you know anything about all that?”

Tulpa shook her head, “N-n-no. First time I... I ever heard of... of it.” I could tell she was feeling nervous. She had started stuttering pretty badly.

All this time, I knew Tulpa was an apparition, but I never thought about what kind of apparition she was. It never really dawned on me that an apparition could have an origin story. With Tulpa, she was just... kind of there for me, and I never really questioned it. Her being her somehow felt, I dunno... “natural”, I guess.

I never thought I really needed to learn more about Tulpa, anyway. I mean, outside of the occasional mischief, Tulpa was perfectly harmless. Worst thing she ever did was the Pinkening (still don’t know how she did that), but that was partly on me because I was being a big dummy. Overall, she’s always been friendly, kind, and fun to be around, and that‘s always been good enough for me.

“You, uh...” I start to say, “...want to talk about it later?” Tulpa looks ahead of her kind of blankly, and I immediately add, “It’s okay if you don’t want to, Tulpa, I just-“

“Talk about what?” She asks, now looking at me kind of confused.

“About...” I trail off as I try to find the right words, “...about what my Dad just said and about... I dunno... where you came from?”

Tulpa clearly hadn’t thought about it before. She leaned back against the couch and audibly sighed (I think that was the first time I ever heard them sigh!), before saying, “I... don’t know... Lily...”

“Don’t know where you came from, or don’t know if you want to talk about it?” I asked her.

She thought for a moment before saying, “Both...”

I wanted to say something more to her, maybe give them some kind of reassurance, but I just couldn’t as long as my Dad was here! The frustration of wanting to talk about something with someone, but not being able to because of other people being around, is just AGONIZING!  If only Dad would hurry up and leave, but when he says he’s going to beat a video game, he’s going to beat a video game.  Problem was he hadn’t even made it to Dracula’s Castle yet, so who knew how much longer it would be?

Then Dad comes back in and says, “Hey, sorry about this, but I need to get going.”

HAAAAAALLEJUAH!!!

“Oh sweet merciful powers that be, THANK YOU! “  I thought to myself.  I was worried things were going to get all cringy like a bad self-insert fanfic.   “Aww, that’s too bad,” I fibbed out of politeness.  I mean, he’s my Dad and I love him and all, but... y’know...

“Yeah, I got a call from work and they need me to help out with something. ‘Fraid I have to cut my visit short, Lily.” My Dad powered off the Nintendo system and began packing it up. But then he suddenly stopped, looked up, then looked back at me and said, “Hey, you want to borrow my NES for a bit!?”

Dad suddenly leaving to take care of something for work happens every now and then, so that was no big surprise. But Dad suddenly saying he has to leave to take care of something and leave his NES in MY care!? THAT scared the pants off me!

“Oh my God, Dad... you’re not dying are you!?” I ask with a half-serious tone.

“What!? No! What gave you that idea!?” He shoots back.

“Because that’s the NES you’ve had ever since you were a kid! You have NEVER let anyone else look after it! EVER!” I remind him because it is one-hundred percent true.

His lame-sauce excuse was: “Hey, both of your uncles used to look after it!”

And then I remind him, “That’s because you all lived in the same house with grandma and grandpa!  Y’know, because you were all kids and everything!”

“They still took care of it,” he pouts.

“Only after they sneaked into your room, de-hooked it, and snuck it over to their room!  You know I’ve heard the stories at the family gatherings!, right?” This is all completely true.

————————————-

My Dad is the oldest of three, and at family gatherings, like around Thanksgiving, he and my uncles used to tell as many embarrassing stories about each other as possible like they were trying to one-up each other. Like, “Hey, remember that time you stuck a LEGO tire up your nose and had to go to the Emergency Room?”

And my uncle’s all like, “I WAS FOUR!”

Good times....

...now where was I?

Oh right!  Why leaving the Nintendo was a big deal!

————————————-

“C’mon, Dad,” I plead, “The only way I can see you willingly giving away your Nintendo, even if just for a little while, would be if you were on your death bed and filling out your last will and testament. So go on, spill it, what’s up with that?”

My Dad just had this look of offense on his face like I had seriously wounded him with my words. “I am NOT that overprotective of it!”

“Yes you are.”

“Okay, I am,” he admits way too quickly, “but I just thought that you having it might be a good idea in case you finally get some free time coming up. Best way to enjoy it is to play it, after all.”

I chuckle, “Dad, the only way work is going to give me enough time off to sit on my butt and play video games is if some horrible catastrophe caused the art store to shut down. Like, I dunno, a deadly virus or something.”

[EDIT, APRIL 12th, 2020: ME AND MY BIG FAT MOUTH!

AAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!]

Dad chuckles and say, “Yeah... you got a point there. Still, I think between you and your roommate, you’re both responsible adults now who can get some enjoyment out of it. I’m sure I can trust you two to take good care of it,” he says before raising an eyebrow, “or is there some reason I shouldn’t leave it here!?”

“Relax! We can look after it, Dad. Nothing’s going to happen to it,” I say as I whip my head back so fast it could have made a sonic boom. Just as I suspected, there was Tulpa sitting down in front of the Nintendo about ready to poke it with her finger. “Isn’t that right, Tulpa?” I say while looking straight at her.

“Y-yes...” she mutters.

Dad smiles at the two of us and then suddenly, out of the blue, he gives me this big ole bear hug and pats me on the back!  It’s the same kind of hug he gave me on my first day at school, when I was leaving for summer camp, and when I moved into my freshman dorm for college.  It was the kind of reassuring hug that says everything is going to be fine.  “Ohhhhhhh, look at you growing up and being all responsible! I’m so proud of you, Lily!”

“Dad!  Can’t breath, Dad!” I say before he finally lets go.

“Oh yeah, tomorrow, when you get a chance, make sure to pick up a couple packages of toilet paper,” he says casually, “your bathroom’s running low and now would be a good time to stock up.”

[EDIT April 12th, 2020: HE FREAKING KNEW! 

HOW!?!?!?]

“Thanks for the tip, Dad,” I respond before saying the thing that led to my Dad saying the other thing that would make my brain do somersaults for the next few hours and ultimately come to you, dear diary, “What brought up that little nugget of wisdom? Dad-ly Intuition?”  (Yes, that pun was intentional.)

“Well I’ve always considered myself to be a little psychic here and there,” he says about twenty-three seconds before the door closes and forty-five seconds before my face faults, “and you’ve always been a little psychic too, haven’t yah?”

“Sure Dad, I’ll catch you later,” I say waving goodbye.

“Take care, Lily!  Keep in touch!  Love you, sweetie!” he calls back as he’s walking into the hallway heading out,

“Love you too, Dad” I say as I close the door and lock the deadbolt. With that family obligation out of the way, I was feeling much better not having to worry about next weekend, not having to worry about Tulpa and Dad, and could just chill and relax and-

It was right about then that my eyes shot wide open as I stared ahead of me at nothing in particular.  The gears in my head started turning faster and faster as the past few months living here started to tie together.  Tulpa looks at me, slightly concerned.  She’s still in her “disguise”, but looks genuinely concerned.  She waves her hand it front of me and my mind is working at warp speed, so it doesn’t even register.

“Are you... okay... Lily?” she asks.

I slowly turn to look her in the eye, and then ask her flat out:

“Am I Psychic!?”

[softowlhours]

paperclip chains

akaashi keiji (officeAU!)

a collection of scenarios following you and akaashi as you try and finesse the art of navigating life as working adults.

genre: a bit sad at times, but hopefully fluffier in the future.

a/n: my first piece of writing and this is pure self indulgent because work is hard and nothing makes sense sometimes. hope you all enjoy and find some comfort in it. 

word count: 3500~

pt. one 🦋 blank like a sheet of paper. 🦋

[friday. 3:00 p.m.]

someone had cracked open the window. the air inside the office had been much too oppressive, stale with the smell of the murky, insipid coffee you could get from the cafeteria. for free. staff privileges, they call it. late afternoon sun pours in through the large square windows. it ignites the office, dying it in the shades of an inferno. however, the warmth of it does not reach akaashi’s heart. the way the rays set everything aglow was in contrast to the chill crisp autumn air. akaashi could hear the leaves rustle, clinging to the branches waiting for that particular gust of wind, strong enough to blow them off. the leaves would then twirl and twirl until they’d softly land on the damp earth becoming one with it again. he wishes he were a leaf.

He tries to focus on nature’s gentle melody, but the hubbub of the office is overbearing. the incessant clicking of alphabets on the keyboards, the murmur of pages being turned, someone sneezes loudly and it is immediately followed by lazy ‘bless you’s’. his ears are attuned to the low electric groan of the printer, and he hopes someone would get up and unclog the jam of papers before the white noise drives him insane. he ends up doing it himself, almost losing a finger in the process as he tries to pull out a badly stuck paper from the printers’ rollers. today had been one of those days where nothing had gone right, a domino of disasters triggered the moment he’d opened his eyes. these days had been coming by way too often lately for his taste. he felt tired.

none of these turmoils showed on his exterior though, he wore a calm, unbothered mask. despite his depressing inner monologue, he diligently read through the manuscript highlighting bits he’d like to go over with the author at their next meeting.

it wasn’t like akaashi hated his job, infact, this was his dream job. he loved what he did but sometimes his love for his work was eclipsed by the politics the workplace was entrenched in. the naivety from when he had first joined almost a year ago had worn off quickly. it took him a mere week in the workforce to understand that a job demanded more than the list of skills and tasks specified in the job description. in any office, beneath the veneer of civility, there always remains an undercurrent of competition, jealousy, idle minds looking for entertainment at the expense of each other. there were people who did not love their job, the free loaders who somehow never did their share but managed to take home their bag of coins. they would slack and slack some more until the burden of their neglect would be shifted upon the shoulders of the new comers. too timid to resist. he pulls out his leather bound planner, a gift from his friend to celebrate him landing the role of an assistant editor all those months ago. it is almost filled from start to finish with his scribbles and the leather is soft with constant handling. his eyes scan past all the work he had wrapped up for the day, until one of his seniors had dumped an endless stack of files containing short stories that had been sent in for the monthly writing contests. they’re not short anymore when you have a hundred of them to read at once. apparently, the senior had a date he’d forgotten about and had to leave early. akaashi couldn’t report this to the boss, he knew how offices worked. its venomous hierarchies slithered like snakes ready to diss whoever defied them. rookies must act like rookies. akaashi quickly jots down in his planner a list of things he must get done over the weekend and the bulleted list slowly fills up two entire pages.

when he wasn’t picking up after someone’s mess akaashi did enjoy what he did. he enjoyed being on top of his work, found an euphoric satisfaction in duties well done. while his colleagues took it easy during the day and whined as they worked overtime in the evenings to meet deadlines, akaashi was most probably done for the day by then and already at home; fresh out of the shower and lighting his favourite candles that made his bedroom smell like cinnamon. he’d curl up under his soft comforter letting the tension of a busy day dissipate from his body. he kept his favorite books on the nightstand and would read them as he waited for sleep to come.  

“akaashi-chan,” he hears the soothing voice of his supervisor, an old well natured man in his sixties who had worked here for almost thirty years. he walks upto akaashi’s desk, his eyes crinkling with a gentle smile as he takes in the mess that was his desk.  “its difficult being a rookie, huh?” hatori-san says. “i would’ve just let you gone home, but the design and printing departments are an anxious bunch. they’re breathing down our necks for the final draft of the magazine two weeks before the release date.”

“please don’t apologise, hatori-san. It’s always like this towards the end of the month.” you aren’t the one who should be apologising.

“hmm...” the elderly muses, “maybe you should dilly dally like your colleagues, afterall, who is to blame you? the youth are meant to be reckless. ”

“but hatori-san if i did that not even a quarter of our magazine will be ready by the end of this month!” akaashi’s voice is filled with amusement, and mild terror.

hatori-san chuckles. “yes, yes i’m aware. i’ll rely on you then akaashi-chan. i do have a bit of good news for you though.” a bonus-

“we’re getting another assistant editor on monday, hopefully your workload can be halved from then on and a be little more manageable. i’m worried you’re starting to look older than me akaashi-chan.” he jokes. “i’ll leave her in your care.”

❀ ✿  ✿ ❀

[friday. 8:20 p.m.]

he stays in the office until late that night, finishing as much of his work he can before the words on the screen begin to blur and he can feel his brain churn in his head. he packs the documents he needed to read over the weekend, putting them neatly in his black briefcase. the temperatures have dropped quite low and with his tan coat on and a scarf wrapped around his neck, he steps out into the world. outside, tokyo is buzzing with life, the lights twinkle and a bubbly atmosphere engulfs even this usually grim and dull part of the city; where most companies found their home. salary men and women chatter excitedly as they pour into the office district from the high rise buildings of concrete and glass. groups of people stand on the sidewalk chatting amicably, smoke rises from cigarettes, plans to go hangout at karaokes, bars and restaurants float in the air.

it wasn’t that akaashi did not have friends, or ever had trouble making any. he was easy going, attentive and though not the loudest in the room, he was enigmatic. people were drawn to him. especially the weird and loud ones. not that he minded. not that he ever judged. which is what made people open up their hearts to him so easily. they knew he’d take them for who they were. but, like earlier today he couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that clawed at him. he had his dream job but the hours he spent on his desk day after day, the endless exchange of apathetic emails, the unlimited cups of coffee, had all amalgamated into a kind of hollowness. he felt empty instead of fulfilled. he idly wonders if bokuto-san ever felt this way, or knowing him, did he charge straight ahead without any inhibitions? if you asked bokuto whether he could see himself playing volleyball for the next twenty or fifty years, bokuto would say ‘yes, ofcourse!!!’ in a heartbeat. and akaashi knew bokuto would mean it.

he wonders how hatori-san had spent his entire life in that office. could i do the same?

akaashi considers hanging out with some of his friends from university, maybe take hatori-san’s advice and just let go and forget everything for a while. he could be your typical 20 something, going to the bars with his 20 something friends where they’d shit talk their rude colleagues. He could console that one friend who wouldn’t stop crying over his ex-girlfriend who left him 3 years ago, every time he’s drunk. he could go home with that girl at the opposite end of the bar who wouldn’t stop looking his way, and who in his drunken haze, he thinks to be pretty. but eventually akaashi decides he is too tired to do any of that.

much later, when he settles into bed, he mindlessly picks up a book from his nightstand. he starts reading from where he had left off the night before but his eyes don’t really register a single word. for all he knew, he could’ve been staring at a blank sheet of paper. after a few more minutes of seeing nothing, he puts the book away and buries himself deep underneath the covers.

he feels the tears fall.

❀ ✿  ✿ ❀

[monday, 9:45 a.m.]

its odd. akaashi feels well rested. very very well rested.

his eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees is the blue sky peeking from the gap between his curtains. he’s afraid to look at the time.

9:45 A.M. well, shit.

akaashi feels winded by the time he makes it to the floor where his office was.from the door he sees hatori-san standing next to akaashi’s chair, his back towards him. akaashi’s heart is in his throat, an apology that sounds fake dances on his tongue. he then hears hatori-san chuckle. a soft female voice says something he cannot catch. ah, the new assistant editor.

“good morning” he calls hoarsely, as he approaches them.

“Ah, hello akaashi-san,” his supervisor beams, “meet y/n. hopefully, your new partner in crime.”

“i was told i’m supposed to help slow down your aging process.” her voice is soft, and despite the shyness there is a mischievous lilt to her tone.  “i’ll do my best. please do guide me.”

hatori-san excuses himself. she’s practically buzzing with excitement, akaashi notices. before he can say anything, she pulls out a brand-new notepad from her bag, pen clicking open. she looks ready to take on the world.

he has to bite back a smile. she’s cute, cheeks flush and lips in a pout as she  jots down something on it. he genuinely wonders what it is she writes, considering he hasn’t even spoken yet. her hair is neatly tied away from her face but a few stray tendrils fall and delicately frame her face.

he wonders if this is how he had looked on his first day at work. face pink and eyes bright. probably not as cute though, oh no, definitely not cute. he internally cringes at the memory of his awkwardness.

but you miss it. that excitement.

“it’s fine.” he says, “please just sit down and relax, i’ll guide you as we go through our daily routine.” he gives her a small smile.

they spend the morning, going through the basics of the trade, she's a fast learner, he notes. and later during the lunch hour he divulges to her the little ‘how to survive in this office 101s’. he tells her how how she mustn’t drink the free coffee they hand out at the cafeteria (even though he’s come to accept it himself, for he welcomes caffeine in any state and form). he suspects they reuse the coffee grounds more times than considered acceptable. how if you ever jammed the printer, try and leave before anyone realises it was you if you don’t want to be the recipient of death glares from colleagues all day long. He tells her which restrooms are the best and which elevators reach their destinations the fastest. the grimmer and more ruthless bits of working here can wait, he thinks.

passion was something he lost some time ago and hasn’t been able to find ever since.

“make sure to take it easy.” he mumbles to her as they are putting away their trays, “if work gets too much, you can always place the manuscripts and drafts  on my desk when i’m not looking.”

she looks at him incredulously. laughter bubbles from her lips as she tells him with mock indignance that she’s better than that. she asks the cafeteria lady for two cups of the infamous coffee, offering him one.

“lets toast!” y/n proposes .

“to what?”

“to all the times we’ll be the the last two brain cells holding up this company. together.” she jokes, touching her paper cup to his. 

he likes the sound of ‘together’.

❀ ✿ ✿ ❀

[jason-the-mommas-boy]

hello darling Narrator!! okay idc if this is a request or something for the book but,,, Jason helping his s/o with their hair/makeup,,, he’s so precious and would be so gentle when working with hair?? he might not be the best at it but he’s number one in my heart

aa!! anon, im so sorry that this took so long but I just really loved this idea and I also mixed it with one of the february prompts I had planned so that’s the main reason it took this long aaa…I hope you enjoy it though!! also bonus points for anyone who knows what the book I reference is at the end)

Jason Voorhees braids his S/O’s hair (and more)

Prompt / Summary - Sleepover!!! /  nails prompt from the 2020 February prompt list made by @ / hiddendreamer67 (yes ill be doing all of them eventually!!) 

Word Count: 6.7k

Jason can’t remember much about his childhood after all these years.

Yes, of course, he remembers his mommy, the bullies that tortured him at the camp, and the overwhelming feeling of water running down into his lungs. But the small details have completely dropped from his memory as his decaying body grew older. Though, as soon as you entered into his life and he accepted that fact, the small stuff you did would irk the forgotten things. 

You taking his measurements for example. You were going to get him a new shirt as a surprise once you learned that he absolutely adored turtlenecks, but you needed to make sure it would fit on the giant man! Jason didn’t question it, if he had to be honest, you had done weirder things. Much to his surprise, this little action had reminded him back to when he was just a kid, his mommy doing the same exact thing! She’d take his measurements, and leave a kiss on his forehead for behaving so well afterwards.

These memories often left him feeling happier. It was something positive that he could take away from when he was a child as most things were very negative. But it also meant that you just kept putting a positive impact on his life! You were such an angel in his eyes. 

A few days ago, he had another one of these moments. It was late in the evening when you arrived at Jason’s cabin, a little bit of (messy) makeup adorning your face. You had a big meeting at your job that day and felt like it was important to look better than usual so you wouldn’t leave an okay or worse impression. 

You’re a little dumbfounded when your boyfriend opens the door to let you in, he freezes up, and goes blank. He’s never seen you in makeup before! And??? If he didn’t already have a dead heart, it would have stopped beating at that very moment! You were so pretty already and now you’re even more pretty??? Oh, RIP this poor man. It seems like every other day you were giving him an entirely new reason to love you. 

But it also reminded him of when he was younger. His mommy would let him put makeup on her face if he wished to do so after a particularly long day at camp. He’d grab a washcloth and clean her face before placing a lot of makeup on her. He thought his mommy looked just lovely with it and it would always destress him or calm him down. 

“Jason?” Your voice called out, pulling him away from the trance you had put him in.

Right, you were still outside the cabin, waiting for him. He let you inside, taking a step to the side. A warm fire was already ready when you stepped in, the warmth inviting you to sit and relax. But even before you even thought about taking a seat on that couch, Jason stopped you and made sure you were paying attention to him for the minute. He made the heart shape with his hands and then he gestured towards your face.

It took a moment before you realized what he was trying to say. With a smile, you looked up to him. “Aww! Do you like my makeup?” 

He nodded, happy that his message came across. 

He made another notion quickly afterwards, pointing to your lips. He wasn’t sure how else to express what he wanted to do! Being mute could be extremely difficult sometimes. 

You tilted your head, giving him a confused look. “Err, wha?” 

Uh, okay. This time he tried to hold an imaginary brush up to your face and made a few strokes, as if he were painting on a canvas. Was that any better? He wasn’t exactly sure. 

Silence. Then you blink a few times, having stared at his fingers with a skeptical face. 

“You would like to do my makeup?” 

Jason nodded again, this time much more excited. He’s already shown that he just loved brushing your hair, which made sense. He didn’t have any hair of his own and probably found the action itself soothing. So it’s really no surprise to you that he’d like to do your makeup as well! Honestly, your boyfriend just loved doing stuff for you. 

You pat his arm as an idea popped into your head! “Jason! Why don’t we just have a sleepover? You can do my makeup and hair and I’ll do your nails! How’s that sound to my special boy?” 

Oh! Sure! 

You didn’t have any of your makeup with you, though. You were more than sure that Jason didn’t either. Yeah, he took everything he could find from the dead campers, but it was pretty unlikely the people here would pack lipstick in their supplies.

It seemed like Jason was having the same thoughts as you. He was also a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to do your makeup tonight, but he was still just as happy to have you here, in his home, and hopefully, be in his arms soon. 

You bite your lip. “Don’t worry I’ll bring everything we need, okay?” You got an understanding nod in response. Okay, cool! 

Oh, but a sleepover??? The masked killer can’t remember if he ever had a sleepover before. Probably not. He never recalled having any friends back at camp besides his mommy, but she was always busy with her job as the cook most of the time. 

You’ve also never stayed the night before! There were so many new experiences you were providing him! 

“Is this weekend okay with you? That way I can come by early perrrhaps? I don’t want you to put makeup on me just to take it off before we sleep.” 

He shook his head as if to say, Oh, absolutely not, there could be campers out there to hurt you-

You bit your lip and tugged at his sleeve. “Pleeease? Take a few hours off that routine for me? I’m sure there’ll be no teenagers running about.” 

Oh, what was he thinking? He couldn’t say no to you. As long as you were spending all that time with him, it was okay. More time spent with you, the better, he guessed. With a nod, he pressed his mask against your forehead, mocking a kiss.

With the plan made, all there was needed to do was wait on Jason’s part. Which he already continuously struggled with on a daily basis. Yes, he had patience for the kill, but he did not have patience to wait for you! 

Well, Jason assumed that if you were going to stay the night, you would most likely want a warm place to sleep. While he had his own bedroom, it was extremely cold, no thanks to the giant hole in the roof. He also found that the tunnels underneath were also unfit, as they were cramped and filled with rats. He didn’t know your opinion on the rodents but he didn’t want to give you a scare. He considered moving the fireplace for a moment, but then realized it would be chilly in the main room instead! Were you fine with sleeping on the couch (with himself by your side)? 

The next few days would pass by, agonizingly slow in Jason’s opinion, but he wouldn’t complain. You still visited at night to hang out with him! To cuddle on the couch and let you talk about your day. He just loved having you in his arms (or be in your arms!) and just being able to enjoy your company as much as you enjoyed his. He was just too excited for his own good sometimes. 

As much as time mocked the poor boy, it also went by terrifyingly fast. The weekend was already here! The sun found itself sitting at the horizon just as Jason was making his way around the woods, reminiscing on the events of the past few nights with you. He needed to make sure there were definitely no campers at or around the camp. He just wants to enjoy his first sleepover with you and not have any disruptions! Only when he was sure that the area was free of intruders, he made his way back to his home. 

A step in and he’s already on his way to get stuff out for the sleepover. He places a stack of firewood near the fireplace, enough to last the whole night to keep you all nice and warm. Well, he thinks it’s enough, but knowing Jason, he probably overstocked.. He doesn’t have the best sense of time unfortunately. To play it safe, he also had a couple of blankets sitting on the couch so that you would not freeze to death in the middle of the night, especially since he didn’t provide any body heat. Oh, and pillows, of course. Your comfort was his top priority. 

Did you need food? You never really ate when you visited before…maybe you would at least need something to eat in the morning. But if you were to even mention being hungry before then, he would leap at the opportunity to do something for you. His chest always seemed to get fuzzy when you praised him and he genuinely liked that feeling. It was a drive to do more things for you, though he would have done anything for you even if he didn’t. Your happiness was the goal that he set to achieve every time you step foot on his grounds. 

Just as he sets extra pillows down on the couch, he hears the ring of the bells chime in a familiar pattern from down below. Loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough for no one else to pick up on it unless they were paying attention. It was your way of communicating that you were almost to the cabin for a visit. 

Oh, he was excited. There was no use in hiding that. He just loved it whenever you came by, no matter if it was almost a nightly basis. It was the idea that you were sleeping over that really excited him. There was the aspect of being able to do your makeup and hair as well. The detail that you wanted to take care of his nails didn’t slip by him either, but he wasn’t sure on what that really meant. 

He lifts his hands up so they’re in his eye view, turning them so he could look at his fingernails. Was there something wrong with his nails? He didn’t think so, maybe they were just too long? Jason wasn’t really that caught up in how much self-care was deemed acceptable in society, he just didn’t care, but maybe he should be taking care of himself better. He did have a significant other to impress now. 

He shrugs the thought off, leaning down on one knee to toss some logs into the fireplace. The lack of self cleanliness didn’t seem to bother you from what he could tell. Yeah, he had the decency to let you wash his clothes every now and then or stand out in the rain in attempt to wash off the dirt and blood on his jacket and jeans (much to your dismay), but he didn’t do much other than that. 

With newspaper and wood in the fireplace, it was set for a fire, to which he eagerly started. He has no need to stay warm, he didn’t get sick or anything alike, and didn’t even mind the cold, but the heat that the fire provided was a reminder of you. Not just because he only set the fire just for you when you were about to arrive, but also because it reminded him of your warmth, the body heat that you radiated. You were just so warm compared to him, which was no surprise as he was a walking corpse and you were a living human being. 

The fire itself finally roars to life, flames intertwining with one another as he stands back up. A smile found itself on his lips, it was genuinely a funny thought that you were perfectly okay with dating someone that was like a zombie, even as going far as cuddling and kissing him. He was a murderer too but you seemed to be okay with this fact too after a while. It was understood that he wanted to be left alone on his land and wanted no guests, with you as the odd exception to this rule. You weren’t afraid of who he was, not even slightly disgusted, and with this fact, his undead heart overflowed with emotion in his chest. 

Jason was unknowingly poking at the fire with a stick, struck with this sense of boredom while still being excited for your arrival. He didn’t know how to explain it, maybe it was just a side effect of impatience when something he was waiting for was so close. He runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to understand this new emotion to the best of his abilities. This wasn’t the first time that you, whether you meant it or not, caused him to feel something entirely new. 

It seems like all you did was provide new. New emotions, experiences, memories, desires, and a lot of many other things he couldn’t put his finger on. It was all new to him, as most of his years were spent feeling anger and remorse, killing anyone who dared to step on the campgrounds. He wasn’t the way he was now though, only shaped by the world, your kindness and childhood memories he would find along the way. He’d been a blank slate with a few morals already set in place, a curious young boy eager to learn given the opportunity. 

A gentle knock kicks him out from his thinking, dragging his attention away from the fire to the door. 

You were here!

Dropping his poking stick, he scrambles to the door to open it. With a motion, the door was opened and boom, you were there! The ever-so adorable you was standing at his doorstep, a backpack scooped up in your arms, and a smile on your face. You were practically a beam of sunshine in his dark little corner of the world at this very moment. 

“Hey!” You greet, moving the bag in your arms so you could wave at the masked killer of Camp Blood. 

He waves back before plucking the backpack from you with ease and moving aside so you could enter. You were a guest in his home and Jason was not going to allow you to do any physical labor, even if it wasn’t a big deal for you. The bag itself wasn’t even that heavy, and probably felt like a feather in Jason’s hand, but your boyfriend didn’t care.

You roll your eyes playfully and walk inside, making sure to close the door behind you as well. “Why, thank you, Jason.” 

The way he perks up at your praise does not go unnoticed, the smile behind his hockey mask completely evident. He nods in response, shrugging in the process as to say that it wasn’t a big deal.

A gentle hand sets on your shoulder as he leads you to the couch, to where the warm fire and blankets were. He was no stranger to the cold outside, even if it was early enough for the sun to be out. You oblige (there was no use in fighting with your boyfriend on this, was there?) and set yourself on the old cushions. 

You take a folded blanket off the stack of squares and smile, more to yourself. Jason didn’t need to go out of his way to find his stash of blankets, as experience reminds you that he had to go searching for one for a little bit the first time you complained that you were cold. Maybe it really did get that chilly at night here. 

Unfolding the blanket as the gentle giant beside you took his own seat, you sit up and place a kiss on the lower part of Jason’s hockey mask. “Mmm, thank you.” And, to make sure he understood, you rest the blanket on both of your laps. 

It seems that no matter how many times you show him physical affection, he’ll never really get used to it. It’s alien to him no matter what, as it always got him to freeze up and take a few moments to unwind the growing flustered feelings. Even if the kiss wasn’t directly skin-to-skin contact, the act itself always made the poor boy feel overwhelmed if he wasn’t prepared for it or the one initiating the affection first. 

With a slow nod, Jason leans down to return the favor with a mock kiss on the forehead. His mask wasn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to feel, the fiberglass was always cold to the touch. This was more than likely due to the body heat your boyfriend seems to never produce. It was also a bit rough, with all the cuts from the use over the years. 

The masked killer sitting by your side gently taps your shoulder with two fingers to gain your attention before it could drift away, lifting your backpack into his lap and tilting his head as if to say What is this for? 

You giggle, finding his curiosity cute. “It’s my things for the sleepover.” 

He tilts his head the other way. Surely you did not have that much makeup just lying around. 

“It isn’t just the stuff I said I would bring silly.” 

Oh?

Taking the bag from his grasp, you pull the longest zipper open to reveal clothes and a few toiletries. You grab a shirt as an example to show him. “I brought things like pajamas to wear tonight and clothes to change into tomorrow. My toothbrush, toothpaste, lotion, and all that stuff.” 

Ah. So there was more to taking care of yourself than just keeping your clothes clean. Jason nods, understanding. Of course you would bring other things to make sure you kept clean. 

You place the piece of clothing back into the backpack and reach further in to locate and pull out a hairbrush. You eye the object for a moment before looking back up to your expectant boyfriend. “You wanted to brush my hair, right?” 

He nods again with a child-like glee in his eyes, he just adored brushing your hair. 

Instead of simply handing the brush over, you point to his hands. “You know the drill, Silly. Your hands must be clean before you can touch my hair.” 

With a glance towards where you had pointed, Jason realizes that his hands are grimey and covered in dirt. While it was true that his hands weren’t dirty enough to leave marks on anything, it still would be the best route to clean his hands before touching your hair. He didn’t want to ruin your pretty hair! 

The cabin he resided in no longer had running water as the years passed by, and while Jason could do many things, he didn’t know how to make the sink work again. To make up for that, he keeps water bottles he’s stolen from campers and the few you got him in his (no longer working) fridge. He really didn’t need water, his body didn’t require it to function properly, and only really kept the water to wash his hands and other things if he needed to. 

So, he was stuck washing his hands awkwardly in the sink that didn’t work with some soap bar he found most of the time. And that’s what he’s planning to do as he pushed the blanket off his lap to the side and stood up. Well, before you tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. 

When he looks down to you, you smile and tilt your head, an action Jason would have done if he had a question. “Can I wash your hands? I need to scrub those nails.” You pause, seeing the confusion in his eyes. “For the nail polish and stuff.” Another awkward pause, was he waiting for something? “Just uh, fill a bowl with water and bring it over here with the soap, okay?” 

The masked killer stood there for a moment before nodding, agreeing to your request. He leans down to pat your head and continues to make his way toward the decaying kitchen to grab what he needed. He could practically feel his heart flutter in his chest, almost questioning if it would leap out and start running all over the place. One of his favorite things in the world was having your tiny hands in his. It didn’t matter if your hands were actually tiny compared to another normal human’s, they were tiny in his hands! It genuinely made him feel like his heart was melting. 

Wait. Did he have any bowls in the cabin? He should, right? It seems like such a silly question to ask himself, but he never really looked into the kitchen. He didn’t need food or water and he was perfectly okay with using his mother’s machete as a murder weapon, so there was no use in searching the kitchen for stuff he simply didn’t need. And when did he ever recall the use of a bowl? 

He takes a step into the kitchen, somewhat hesitant and suddenly feeling lost in his own home. The bowls would be in the cabinet if his memory served him right. With one swift movement, he finds himself standing at multiple cabinets connected to the wall. Pulling at the tiny knob, there’s a relief flooding through him when he does find the bowls sitting there right in front of him. 

They were a little dusty and a little cracked from age, but that’s okay. He eyes them and picks out one that looks like it was the least likely to spill anything. They weren’t very big, probably couldn’t even fit one of his hands in it, but it was better than having to head down into the tunnels and go scavenge for some doggy dish.

Satisfied, he closes the cabinet and grabs the other two items he needs to be able to complete his little quest and sit back down with you. 

His little feet stomps were enough to tell you that Jason was walking back and by the time you were going to turn your head around to greet him again, he was sitting back down on the couch. Ah, right. Mister long legs. 

You lend your hand out, a way of asking for the bowl that he had in his grasp, to which he complied. “Thank you again.” You smile at him, gently squeezing his hand before taking the bowl, which was holding the water bottle and an unopened bar of soap. 

You move the objects out of the dish, quickly filling it with the water instead with the help of Jason steadying the bowl in his hands so it wouldn’t spill over. You balance it in a safe spot between the two of you, getting the man before you to wet his hands as you take the bar of soap out of the box. 

Wetting the soap just after Jason moves himself out of your way, you gesture for him to give you one of his hands and set to gently scrubbing at his palm. He was perfectly capable of washing his own hands, but it was going to be easier if it was you picking at the dirt in his nails. Also, his hands were nice, there was no denying that. 

You look up, making an attempt to keep the silence sitting in the air at bay. “Have you ever had your nails painted before?” 

He shakes his head. An obvious answer to you now when you consider that the poor boy didn’t have any friends when he was younger. 

Feeling a bit of guilt boil in your gut, you bite your lip and try to keep the conversation positive in case any unwanted memories found their way to Jason. “Well, I don’t have many colors to choose from, but you’re free to choose what you want. We can do different colors if you’d like.” 

Jason nods to this, the proposal more than agreeable. Honestly, he was just happy to have an excuse to feel your fingers on his. It left the tips of his ears feeling tingly, a very pleasant buzz that probably would have left a blush on his cheeks. 

“Just, uh, don’t touch anything after I paint your nails! They’re gonna need to dry off.” It was a reminder that needed to be set. If someone hadn’t told you to not go touch crazy when you were younger, nail polish would have gotten on everything. But Jason gives another nod, understanding.

Okay, next hand. You pat his other arm as you let go of the one you just finished scrubbing the dirt and grime off of. And with that, you start your work. 

“How would you like to put my hair up this time? Braids? Ponytail? Bun?” You grab his attention with a smile and wait for his answer. 

It takes him a moment before he raises his recently cleaned hand up with one index finger up, indicating the first option you listed. “Braids, huh?” 

He nods, confirming his answer to you. 

“Okay!” You squeeze his hand, giggling somewhat. The first time he tried to put your hair up in braids was a little more than just messy, but it was fun for you both in the process and in the end result. 

The water in the bowl was a little more than dirty by the time you give back Jason’s hand, leaving both of them cleaner than before. You drop the bar of soap back into its box and set it and the dish on the floor to move it out of the way. 

Jason is wondering if he should wipe his hands off on his dirty pants or not, and settles for very carefully drying them off on his shirt. He didn’t want to erase the effort you put into scrubbing his palms but he also didn’t want to make your hair wet. You offer him your hairbrush for him to take, and with nothing in the way between you two, you scoot in closer to his lap and turn around. 

It only takes a few moments until you feel a very light trace of fingers running around your hairline. At this point, it feels like you are never going to get used to how gentle your boyfriend is around you when you know how much strength he can put out at will. It draws a shudder out of you as he drags his fingers through your hair and you easily relax into his touch. 

It didn’t matter if your hair was a mess, greasy, tangled up, or just plain gross, Jason loved it. For someone to trust him enough to be able to be this close and touch something such as their hair without a care in the world reminds him of what he so dearly needed. Human contact, bonding, something he very much lacked in his childhood with others around his age. Sure, there were other activities, but brushing your hair was his favorite. There was something so satisfying about it to him. Was it the brushing out the tangles, playing with something so soft with his fingers as he styles it to his liking, or just having you so close to him that he could straddle you in his grasp and smell you? It was a mix of all of them, he guesses. 

And with a silent breath, Jason runs the brush through your hair. 

There weren’t many tangles, he finds out. Which, in his book, was good. He didn’t know if you had a sensitive scalp or not, and the last thing he wanted was to see you in tears because he pulled at a tangle too harshly. You always seemed to be fine when he brushed your hair, but he could never be too sure. 

Otherwise, he was enjoying himself, especially when he finally brushes out all the little tangles, leaving him to brush your hair mindlessly. You didn’t complain about this, it felt nice to feel the brush move gently around your scalp with no real intention. This was nice.

Jason sets the brush down on his thigh and moves his fingers back through your hair, relishing in how nice it was. He separates it into three parts, trying to make them all equal as best as he could. If he had to be honest with himself, he wasn’t the best at braiding. His hands were awkwardly too large in some instances and the braid itself was always too loose to hold for very long. He liked doing it though, practice makes perfect after all. 

He starts the braiding process, feeling a little lost as he did so. It felt a little confusing just because he’d forget which part to move, even if it was making itself clear as day to him. 

He leans down to rest his chin on your head once he gets close to finishing the braid. It was a little out of nowhere for you, but it was enjoyable nevertheless. He moves a free hand to run down to your arm from your shoulder, patting at your skin along the way with two fingers. Was he trying to grab your attention? 

Just in case, you turn your head to the best of your abilities without disrupting his little resting spot on your scalp. “Hm?” 

He tugs at the bottom of your braid with care, inferring something, to which he hopes that you’ll get what he was trying to say. 

Oh, oh! 

“You need a scrunchie, don’t you?” You ask, and feel Jason tap his fingers again in response. 

That was a yes by your standards, so you stretch out your leg to fetch your backpack by the straps with your foot. There was no necessary reason to get up and leave your boyfriend’s gentle grasp when he was getting himself comfortable. You lean forward just a tiny bit to grab the bag once you could reach for it and pull it into your chest. It wasn’t long before you found your tiny bag of scrunchies sitting amongst your clothes, and you take one out for the gentle giant behind you to take. 

The object leaves your hand pretty quickly, and you feel Jason sit back up to wrap it at the end of your braid to finish the look. The braid itself feels like it would fall apart at any moment, but gosh, did it feel nice to have such big hands playing around in your hair. 

You flip yourself around so you are facing Jason again, placing the bag in your lap as you opened up another zipper. You reveal its contents to him, showing him the makeup supplies that you brought. “You wanted to do my makeup, right?” 

He nods, a huff coming out from him as he brings a hand up to fix a few stray hairs near your face. With that, you can’t hide the faint blush on your cheeks. It was so unfair that this monster of a man didn’t even have to try that hard to make you a little flustered, and it was even more unfair that he usually never meant to do so!

“I already cleaned my face before I got here so…you can do whatever with what I have!” You take out a small tube of lipstick. “I don’t have many colors or a lot of anything, is that alright?” 

Of course it was! He gives another nod and digs his fingers into the pouch, peering into what items he could see. 

“Okay! Just don’t poke my eye out.” You joke, dropping the lipstick back to where you had grabbed it. A smile pulls at your lips as you hear a noise erupt from him while his shoulders give a light shake, a voiceless laugh sounding from him. 

It was only really funny to him because he would never hurt you, he knows that he has to be very gentle with humans, or, well, you. Any other human he doesn’t care if he hurts or not as long as their injury or death was justified, but if you got hurt, he doesn’t know what he would do with himself. He nods to what you say anyways, shrugging his shoulders to convey that he won’t, he doesn’t have a reason to. 

Jason pulls out a cylinder tube from your backpack, something comically small in his grasp. He uncaps it to better recognize what it was. It produced a wand with some black fuzz at the end. He was familiar with the use of it, but the name was escaping his tongue. 

You, on the other hand, knew that what he was holding was a tiny bottle of mascara. If you remember correctly, it was a sample size you had gotten from a store not even a month ago. 

He makes a tilting motion of his head and then points to you with his index finger, he wants you to do the same thing. You comprehend this and do so and close. your eyes. 

His hands are shaky and unsure, the mascara wand shaking a little bit as he applied it to your eyelashes. He had to be careful! Jason definitely did not want to accidentally rub mascara onto your skin and if he knew any better, makeup was not easy to take off. He made a few strokes before pulling away, the absence of his presence near your face told you he was finished and sitting back. 

You flutter your eyes a bit, giving your boyfriend a playful look. “Am I looking good so far?” 

Jason nods, his chest a little warmer. You always looked nice in his opinion. Even if you were trying to push against him in the rain for him to get back inside, you still somehow managed to be the most beautiful thing he’s laid his eyes on. It was just very frustrating that he didn’t know how to express that without a voice. 

“Why thank you.” 

He shrugs and puts the tiny tube of makeup back into the pouch. Amongst his search for something else to use, he found a few lipsticks, all which were varying in color and shades. He could easily name what these were, as it was his favorite thing to play around with when he was younger. 

Jason takes his time in putting up each one near your face, testing to see which one best complimented your skin color. After a moment, he seems to be happy with his second option and continues to place the rest of the cosmetics back to where they previously sat. He gestures for you to sit up and he cups your chin with his expected gentleness. 

He’s careful and considerably more steady when he applies the lipstick, obviously more confident with this item of makeup. He tries to not put on too much and not smudge any of it, but the key word is tries. His big hands are the cause of his mistake, accidentally smudging some of the color off your lips when he was pulling back and has to fight the urge to try to wipe it away

A giggle escapes you, essentially grabbing his attention away from the accident to you. It was a sign to convey that it was alright, things happen. 

The item is put back where it belongs in your bag, packing the hairbrush too, and he was a little unsure of what else to do. He didn’t have much experience in the makeup department, and within the awkwardness of his confusion, you speak up. “Are you done?” 

He’s contemplating on how to answer, still unsure himself. Jason takes a quick glance at you, a little flutter in his stomach making itself known, and nods. He almost captured the way you had looked a few days ago and he enjoys that. 

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, giving him a smile. 

Despite his mistake still prominent, you still look really pretty! He forms a little heart with his hands to tell you his thoughts, his lips forming a smile behind the mask. 

You reach up to squeeze his wrist and give a half-suppressed laugh. “Awwe, always the gentleman.” Pride fills his chest and he pats your arm before pushing the backpack back towards you. 

You scavenge through the bag’s pouch and pull out a few bottles of nail polish, one that is filled with a clear liquid while the others are of different colors. You present the ones with color to Jason in your palms, offering them to him. “Pick a color!” 

Your masked boyfriend hesitates, viewing his options before plucking one of the bottles from your grasp. 

“Yellow? Okay.” You nod, putting the rest of the colors back in their little pouch and moving your backpack to the floor. You pause, tapping the yellow nail polish. “Yellow’s your favorite color, huh?”

It was obvious, kind of. He had shown you a lot of attention in thanks when you had given him a yellow turtleneck sweater not too long ago. His bedroom had a lot of yellow knickknacks and his tiny garden he started with you were mostly filled with yellow flowers.

With no surprise, Jason nods. He made it no secret, he very much enjoys the color. If anything, it was a reminder of you to have when you’re gone. Yellow is a very vibrant color that he associates with happiness and he considers you his little patch of sunshine! You definitely made his life way better the moment you walked into it and stood your ground. It only made sense, right?

You give a dip of your head and gesture for him to give you his hands. “Before we can paint your nails, we have to put on this clear coat so it lasts longer. Is that okay?”

He confirms his consent and you hunch over, starting to administer the clear coat onto his nails with the small brush. Nail polish is colder than what the masked killer assumed and shudders out of surprise. You take the yellow nail polish and start applying it to every other fingernail, cleaning up any mistakes you make with your sleeve. Jason was staying very still as you worked, not even flexing his fingers like you would have in an impatient hurry. It’s appreciated that’s for sure. 

The varnish is quick to dry just as you finish applying the pink, though still wet enough to be easily ruined. You put the color off to the side and sit up, giving Jason a better view at the nails you had painted so far. “Do you like?” 

Yellow looks nice on him, Jason thinks. He likes it and he has to bite back on the desire to hug you to better show you his appreciation, but finds an alternative. Jason leans down and presses his hockey mask against your forehead. This was nice. 

You sit up and plant a kiss against his cheek in return, leaving a lipstick kiss mark in the spot. You can’t tell if Jason acknowledges this fact, but it just makes him look so much softer and cuter. Now, if he were wearing his sweater you got him, he’d be the definition of adorable.

You speak up and tug at your backpack, “I, uh, have a book in my backpack if you want me to read it to you…? You told me that your mom used to read stories to you so I thought you’d like me to read to you?” 

He was this close to hugging you right now, oh gosh. You were so attentive to what he was always trying to say in actions. He nods his head excitedly, watching you peak through your bag one last time for the evening to pull out a black book. 

“Get comfy.” You tease, adjusting your position to turn around and sit in his lap. He follows your instructions, hunching down to rest his head on your shoulders to not only see the cover better, but to nuzzle into your cheek. 

You lick your lips and open the book. “The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do…“ 

[nekojitachan]

Falling

This is one of my owed fics from the aftgremix ‘guess which fic is mine’ challenge - @filteredred asked for a story based on the prompt by  @veronicabuncherites 10.  you’ve been breaking into my car to sleep at night and I’ve let it slide because it’s been cold out but I have a date and I need you to find somewhere else (fine, go in my house/garage, I don’t care, you’re not messing this date up for me)   (found here), for andreil.

I hope I did it justice, of course the mind went in one direction and blew the 1k minimum out of the water. *sighs*

Ah... guess ‘T’ rating - lots of references to Andrew’s childhood in the foster system (nothing graphic, just the whole ‘NOT GOOD’ thing), and dating references. Also, mention of a character being homophobic. This is an AU PSU fic, too.

*******

Andrew internally sighed when he got out to his car and realized that Josten had crashed in it yet again. Normally he tried to overlook it (even though it was his car) because it was cold out, Josten was a fellow former foster kid and the idiot would just sleep outside on a bench or something rather than put up with his asshole roommate – it had absolutely nothing to do with big blue eyes and dark auburn curls which fell into them when not pulled back by atrociously orange bandanas and an impossibly perfect ass.

Absolutely nothing.

Josten was mouthy, temperamental rookie who enjoyed Exy way too much and had been damaged by the same fucked-up system which had spit out Andrew, to the point that Foxes’ favorite bet on the kid (other than him starting fights) was if he was gay or straight. It was almost through the end of the fall semester and Josten showed no sign of helping his teammates settle the bet anytime soon, as he ignored anyone not on the team and even then his relationship with the rest of the Foxes could only be considered ‘platonic’ at best.

Such as him sleeping in someone’s car to avoid dealing with his homophobic, envious, asshole roommate.

Andrew banged on the roof of the GS a couple of times to wake the idiot and avoid a repeat of Neil pulling a knife on him upon being woken up without warning; he’d much rather save the ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ for his date later that night.

As expected, there was the sound of muted cursing when Neil jolted awake, followed by movement as Neil scrambled to grab his meager things (and brandish the ever-present weapon) until he realized it was Andrew standing outside. Then he gave Andrew a tentative wave before he put away the knife and opened the nearest back door. “Hi.”

Andrew gave him a cool look until the freshman exited his car. “Again?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” Josten dumped his ratty backpack on the ground and huddled inside his overlarge second-hand coat, the hood of the sweatshirt worn beneath it pulled over his head; he looked ridiculously young at the moment, looked ridiculously attractive with those blue eyes and sharp cheekbones and full bottom lip, which made something inside of Andrew clench hard when he thought about the kid in the foster system. “It was Seth and Allison last night, seems they’re back on this week.”

Huh, usually Renee gave Andrew some sort of warning when her bitch roommate hung out with the loser so he was prepared to find Josten camping out in the GS. “Well, if they’re back at it tonight, find somewhere else.” At Josten’s curious look, Andrew motioned to his car. “I’ve a date.”

“Oh.” Josten hunched his shoulders at the news then gave a lopsided smile. “That’s fine, it’s not supposed to rain or anything so I’ll be fine.”

The idiot was going to camp outside, Andrew thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The temps were barely above freezing as an unexpected cold front covered the South, and Josten just shrugged at the thought of ‘roughing it’, even if he was supposed to be from Maryland or some other Northern state.

Josten didn’t say much about himself, other than his parents were dead and he’d ended up in the foster system afterwards at a young age, and Wymack was unusually tight-lipped about the kid, too. All the man had told the team was that Josten was damn good at Exy and had ‘anger and trust issues’, and so was a prime candidate for the Foxes. He’d been Wymack’s and Kevin’s first pick for the team, and those ‘issues’ had basically ensured that not many other teams had wanted him.

Andrew found it suspicious that there’d been precious little in the kid’s file when he’d broken into Wymack’s office to check him out.

Upon meeting him, Andrew had taken in the attitude, the spewed insults, the almost desperate ‘don’t fuck with me’ air and the hidden knives, and gone off to his session with Bee to inform her with some satisfaction that she’d definitely be earning her pathetic paycheck that year.

After she met the idiot, she remarked about how nice it was, for the Foxes to have a new player so devoted to the sport – and an attractive player at that, and when Andrew gave her a blank look in return, produced the low hum she always did when she knew she’d scored a point.

So by all rights, Andrew should just walk away… but for some stupid reason he thought about Nicky taking in him and Aaron, about Wymack offering his brother a scholarship as well as him, about Renee and her knives and offer to teach him how to fight with them.

About a stubborn, mouthy redhead sleeping out in the cold.

“Look, Aaron’s going to be off with his girlfriend,” Andrew managed to get the words out without clenching his jaw too much, “and Kevin’s spending the weekend at Coach’s shitty place, so the room will be empty tonight. You can crash in Kevin’s bed, I’m sure he won’t mind.” The Exy addict would probably be pleased that his mini-me was getting a proper night’s sleep for once.

Josten gave him a wary look as he picked up his backpack. “What about you?”

“Hot date, remember? I shouldn’t be back tonight.” If all went well, at least; Andrew and Roland had been circling around each other for a while, and finally were to go out after Roland’s shift at Eden’s ended that night.

Josten gazed at him for a couple of seconds as if debating what to do or if it was a trap of sorts, but for the most part, the two of them got along – Andrew did let the kid crash in his car, after all, and Josten treated him with respect (or what Josten considered ‘respect’ – a bare minimum of antagonism and insults). “Okay, thanks.” He shivered a little as he shoved his bare hands into the pockets of his thrift-store coat. “I mean, it wouldn’t have been too bad, sleeping on the roof….”

“Come to my dorm room at seven-thirty,” Andrew said, feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

“Okay,” Josten repeated before flashing him a wide grin and taking off, in the direction of the stadium, of all places. Andrew figured he was headed there to bother Wymack and get some practice in (and avoid his roommate as much as possible); he pushed all thoughts of the rookie striker out of his head (or tried to) as he got into his car and headed out for coffee and donuts.

Aaron was up when he returned to the dorm, eyes bleary and hair still flattened from bed. “Coffee?” he grunted out as soon as he saw Andrew; he’d spent the entire ride back from their game at Madison studying for an exam on Monday, and would head over to the cheerleader’s to resume in a little bit.

“With extra shots of espresso,” Andrew said as he set the drink carrier on the counter, along with the box of donuts. “And the cherry jelly donuts you like.”

His brother made a pleased noise as he shuffled forward to grab at the large cup of coffee. Andrew waited until he had several sips and a donut before he spoke again. “Josten’s going to crash here tonight.”

“Eh? Neil?” Aaron frowned as if trying to make sense out of the words and grabbed another donut. “What, he fighting with the asshole again?”

When wasn’t Josten fighting with Gordon? The upperclassman was an asshole to everyone, and Josten being a better striker than him meant that he was constantly goading the temperamental rookie on, much to most of the Foxes’ annoyance. “Seems that the asshole got back together with Reynolds.”

“Ah. Well, fine with me, I’ll be at Katelyn’s because of the Physio exam.” Aaron gazed at Andrew as if daring him to object.

“And I’ll be staying with Roland after going to Eden’s,” he shot back; they stared at each other before Aaron looked away first so he could have some more coffee.

It wasn’t perfect, their ‘acceptance’ of each other’s ‘dating’ preferences, but Nicky had forced the two of them to sit down and hash out their differences before he’d returned to Germany. Andrew didn’t step in with Aaron’s girlfriends unless there was proof they were using his brother for something (which unfortunately wasn’t the case with Katelyn – at least yet), and Aaron kept his shitty, homophobic comments to himself. To be fair, Aaron did seem to be working on getting better in not being such a bastard in that regard after finding out that Andrew was gay.

“Whose bed is he using?” Aaron asked once he finished another donut.

“Kevin’s.”

Aaron gave him an odd look like that before sipping his coffee, which made Andrew narrow his eyes. “What?”

“Just… the guy’s not bad looking, considering how half the Vixens flirt with him all the time, and you actually let him live after breaking into your car. Would have thought you might have wanted the excuse to get him into your bed.”

Andrew had the last bite of his cream-filled donut then brushed the powdered sugar from his hands as he gave his brother a cold look. “I didn’t kill him because it would have gotten blood all over the car.”

“A car which you still let him sleep in,” Aaron argued. “All the time.”

“Because he doesn’t fuck with it, he just sleeps there.” Why did he have to defend himself like this?

“You don’t let anyone drive that thing, and you nearly took off Kevin’s arm when you thought he scratched it the one time.”

Andrew gave him a look which clearly asked ‘your point’?

“And don’t think that I haven’t noticed the way you stare at his ass during practice,” Aaron added with evident relish. “You like him. You let him sleep in your car without stabbing him and now you’re letting him crash in our room because you like him, the walking disaster he is.” Aaron wrinkled his nose as if mildly disgusted. “So why are you going out with Roland, who’ll sleep with anyone, instead of Neil?”

“Because Roland will sleep with anyone,” Andrew quipped, just to annoy his brother. “And I don’t like Josten.”

“Ew, didn’t need to know that.” Aaron rubbed at his eyes as if trying to erase some awful image from his head. “And I think you’re just too afraid of being turned down. Don’t know why, you’re the only one he doesn’t give shit to all the time.” He seemed to think of something. “You and Renee.”

Yeah, because Josten knew that Renee wasn’t the goody two-shoes she appeared to be, had somehow caught a glimpse of ‘Natalie’ carefully hidden beneath the cross necklace and friendly smiles. Oh, Andrew was so curious about the rookie’s past, about what really had happened to his parents, about the old, faded scars on that runner’s body he thought about much too much….

“Your brains are scrambled from too much caffeine, it’s not looking good for your grades,” Andrew taunted as he grabbed another donut, which earned him a rude gesture from his ‘beloved’ twin. At least Aaron dropped the topic after that, in favor of brewing a pot of coffee then getting ready so he could leave for Katelyn’s.

Kevin finally stumbled out of bed an hour or so later, and perked up when Andrew told him he had to change the sheets of his bed since Josten would be using it later that night. “He’s sleeping here? Good.” He scowled at the coffee pot as if offended that it was only half-full then grabbed it to pour himself a cup. “Dad tried to give him and Seth some time to work things out, but he’s about to give him a key to the stadium so he can crash there rather than keep sleeping in your car or somewhere worse, especially with winter approaching.”

There was that damn clenching feeling inside of Andrew at the thought of not going out to his car on the weekends or even before practice during the week on rare occasions to find Josten asleep in the back, curled up in a small ball with his ridiculous hair a mess and pale blue eyes hooded with sleep, a sheepish smile on his face at being caught out there again.

Dammit, Andrew needed his date with Roland.

Kevin checked his phone while drinking his coffee, and must have gotten a text from Wymack about helping out with a certain Exy-addicted rookie hanging out at court because he cursed beneath his breath and whipped up one of his disgusting smoothies which he gulped down before he jumped in the shower, then asked Andrew for a ride to the stadium. For a moment, Andrew almost said ‘no’, but he figured he could always pick up a few things while out.

“After you change your sheets.”

“Right.” Kevin nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran back to the shared bedroom.

And there he was, the ‘great’ Kevin Day, Exy’s best collegiate striker (well, unless you were a Ravens’ fan), a complete airhead off the court (and outside of a history class).

Andrew couldn’t wait until he got to Eden’s.

He dropped off his roommate and ran a few errands, went back to Fox Tower to take a nap then went up to the roof to have a smoke. While he was there, Renee stopped by to chat.

“Gordon and Reynolds,” Andrew started as she handed him a mug of hot chocolate.

“Yes.” She frowned a little as if thinking of what to say, bundled in an old coat and a long, orange knitted scarf with matching mittens on her hands. “I was tired from the game and went straight to bed last night, and didn’t realize that Allison left at some point to go to Seth’s room – I thought she just got up for an icepack because of her elbow.” She appeared chagrined about that, since Renee usually paid better attention to things, but it had been an exhausting game and she’d taken a rough hit herself from an asshole backliner who’d crossed the goal line which had allowed Kevin to score a penalty point. “I guess it was so bad that Matt and Kelly heard them in the next room, so it’s no wonder that Neil went out to your car. Dan’s not happy with her.”

Andrew scoffed to show what he thought about that, and the effect it would have on either Reynolds or Gordon.

“Yes, I know,” Renee sighed before she had some hot chocolate. “At the least, Neil should have a reprieve in another couple of weeks when the two start fighting again.”

Ah, someone was showing her claws, how rare. “Or Gordon’s grades finally slip enough to get him kicked off the team.” Andrew pulled on a mock innocent expression when Renee gave him a hurt look. “What? One can dream, can’t they?” At the least, he only had to deal with the homophobic loser for another semester.

“I won’t even bother,” Renee said as she shook her head. “Matt feels really bad for Neil, he’s debating offering to switch rooms with him even though Wymack had wanted to give the two a chance to ‘bond’ as strikers.” A sad smile curled her lips when Andrew scoffed again. “It’s a shame that Neil’s too wary to make any friends, even though most of the team is trying with him, and some people in his classes from what I hear.” For some reason she gazed at him with an inscrutable expression while she spoke.

There were two main types of foster kids, in Andrew’s experience – the ones who tried so hard to be liked, who were friendly and outgoing and did their best to please, to make friends wherever they ended up, to fit in, to not be picked on (to be hurt and torn apart and outcast). Sometimes it worked out for them, and sometimes… sometimes it eventually became too much, the system (the abuse). Then there were the ones like Andrew, the ones who kept a low profile, who didn’t try because what good did it ever do them? All it ever did was make them stand out, make them more of a target, made unwanted eyes and unwanted attention (unwanted hands and unwanted touches) be drawn their way, made things worse.

Neil Josten? The boy with the striking (ha) pale blue eyes and tousled dark red hair just begging to be touched (to be grabbed) and too-pretty face? He clearly had learned that it was best to not be friendly, to keep everyone at arm’s length with a sharp tongue at the very least, and sharper objects if possible.

No, Neil Josten didn’t do ‘friends’. Yet he still seemed to trust Andrew enough to sleep in his car, and accept his offer of a safe place to spend the night.

Andrew found himself leaning forward to let the rush of fear as he gazed at the ground four stories below overwhelm that damn clenching sensation in his chest.

Renee remained a little longer while they finished the hot chocolate then left with the empty mugs, and Andrew went back down after another cigarette. He read some before he gave in to the urge to clean, which he put down to the fact that neither Kevin nor Aaron were around to bitch about him throwing out things or moving around their stuff.

It wasn’t that he wanted the place to look good for Josten, not at all.

Once that was done, he got ready for the night, taking the time to shave and style his hair. It wasn’t often he went out on ‘dates’, all things considered. He didn’t often find guys who weren’t interested in anything more than getting off who could follow his rules, who stopped when he said ‘no’ and didn’t cross clearly defined boundaries. Since Geoff had moved to Atlanta, Andrew needed a new fuckbuddy, and Roland appeared more than eager to be it.

It was a couple minutes before seven-thirty when there was a knock on the door, but Andrew didn’t mind since he was bored and had nothing to do. He opened it to find Josten on the other side, a wary expression on his face (one of his defaults, that or the sharp grin he wore when about to verbally tear into someone or step out on a court, or an otherwise blank expression) as he clutched the strap of his orange and white backpack in his hands, dressed in the usual worn jeans and oversized, light grey cotton hooded t-shirt. “Uhm, are you still sure….”

Andrew motioned him inside as he stepped away from the door. “You’re sleeping in Kevin’s bed and there’s a towel for you in the bathroom. Don’t touch anything else.” He thought about that for a moment. “You can have Kevin’s energy bars and drinks.”

“It’s fine, I brought stuff.” Josten tugged on the strap of the backpack. “A couple of Seth’s friends came over, they’re planning on hanging out all night so… thanks.” He gazed at Andrew, seemed to take in his appearance then glanced away quickly.

Andrew told himself that he was imagining the slight flush to those sharp cheekbones.

He left after making sure that Josten knew which bed was Kevin’s (as if the PSU bedspread wasn’t a giveaway) and swore to not leave unless he locked the door behind him, then went on his way.

It was quiet in the car without Aaron in the passenger seat and Kevin in the back, arguing over what music to listen to on the drive or how the Foxes had played that week (more like Kevin bitch about how the Foxes had played). Andrew hated to admit that he’d grown used to their presence, to watching over Kevin almost as much as his brother, to no longer being so alone. He didn’t need anyone near him, was fine eating by himself at Sweeties’ (and picking up some cracker dust to enjoy later that night and to take back to PSU for Aaron, for after his exam), and sitting at the bar at Eden’s instead of the usual table.

Roland smiled at him once the bartender noticed his arrival, and spent a couple of minutes flirting while setting him up with a bottle of water and a couple of shots which Andrew nursed over time, along with a couple of packets of the cracker dust. He enjoyed the slight buzz of the drugs and alcohol while watching the people around him, the looks he garnered for the tight fit of his black t-shirt and armbands, and the occasional remark from Roland or the other staff who knew him from him and Aaron working as barbacks during the summers.

Andrew would check his phone from time to time (message from Kevin about an ‘amazing’ practice and getting on him to join in on the evening sessions next week - which wasn’t going to happen, Aaron asking to be put out of his misery, a couple from Nicky which were the usual rambling updates, a note from Renee that Gordon and his idiot friends were being especially rowdy that night so it was good that Neil had someplace quiet and warm to sleep).

“Oh, it looks serious, whatever it is,” Roland remarked as he set another shot of whiskey on the counter in front of Andrew. “Hot sext? Nice and steamy?”

Andrew gave the bartender a bland look for a couple of seconds before he clicked his tongue. “No.”

The curt answer seemed to affect Roland, since he gave a nervous laugh and took a step back. “Ah, okay. Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine.” Andrew internally winced as he thought about how often Josten said something similar, that the rookie insisted that he was all right even if he’d been knocked on his ass and was barely conscious. He stared at a man who’d been hit on so many times in the last couple hours, who was attractive and outgoing and more than willing to get him off that night and….

Nothing.

Well, not quite nothing. He thought about how Roland’s eyes weren’t an enticing pale blue, how his hair was too dark to be auburn, the short dreadlocks weren’t messy loose curls, the bone structure of his handsome face too strong and broad, just like his build, and… and….

Dammit, he wasn’t Neil Josten. Somewhere along the line, Andrew’s fucked up brain (and hormones) had become fixated on a half-feral, mouthy redheaded Exy-addict who treated him with cautious respect.

He was so screwed.

(Not that night, though.)

Numb with unwelcome realization, he grabbed the shot to down it in one go, set the glass back on the bar then reached for his wallet to pay his tab. “I’m done for the night,” he declared as he stood up and set the cash on the bar.

“Wait, what? But I still have to work ‘til close,” Roland shouted as he gawked at Andrew. “What about later?”

Andrew gave him a two fingered salute and walked away without any true regrets.

It was after midnight when he returned to Fox Tower; he could hear noise from the suite where Josten was supposed to room with Gordon, but it was quiet when he approached his own. Considering yesterday’s away game, sleeping in a car and then practicing all day, Andrew imagined that Josten had to be exhausted and probably was asleep, if he hadn’t left to crash someplace else.

He was quiet as he entered the suite, which was dark with the lights turned off and nothing obvious out of place. Andrew left his keys on his desk and his coat draped over the chair, then headed to the bedroom. He’d stepped into the short hallway which led to that room, along with the bathroom and kitchen, when a shadowy figure appeared in the bedroom doorway.

It was Josten, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, hair even more of a tousled mess than usual, with a knife in his hand. “Oh, it’s you.” He sounded tired and confused.

Andrew clicked his tongue as he leaned against the wall. “Really? I let you stay here and you repay me with blood on the carpet? How rude.”

Josten’s face grew flushed as he glanced at the knife then hid the hand holding it behind his back. “Uhm, I… what are you doing back?”

That wasn’t a denial that he hadn’t planned on stabbing someone, how interesting. “Change of plans.”

“Oh.” Something like disappointment flashed across Josten’s face for a moment and then he summoned up a weak smile. “Give me a minute to get my stuff and I’ll be out of your way,” he said before he turned around to go into the bedroom.

As if acting on its own, Andrew reached out to grab onto the loose sleeve of Josten’s t-shirt; he didn’t know who was more surprised, him for not being stabbed or Josten by the action. “You don’t have to leave,” Andrew said, his voice rough for some reason.

Josten frowned for a moment but didn’t pull away – in fact he remained still but didn’t seem tense or upset about Andrew’s nearness. “But you let me stay here because you’d be elsewhere. Now that you’re here, I’ll go.” That damn lopsided smile appeared as Josten nodded toward the front door. “There’s always your car, right?”

“Stay,” Andrew ordered as he let go. “Kevin changed his sheets, don’t let such a monumental effort be for nothing.”

Josten gave him an intent look as he sheathed the switchblade. “It won’t bother you, me being here?”

Oh, now that was a loaded question. “You snore?”

“No.”

“Then get back to bed.” He met Josten’s searching gaze with a blank one of his own until the rookie finally did as he’d been told.

Feeling drained all of a sudden, Andrew went into the bathroom to get ready for the night, and was pleased to notice that Josten hadn’t left a mess when he’d used it; the towel he’d left out for him had been refolded and placed on the sink, the only sign that someone had been in there. Andrew didn’t waste any time before he went into the bedroom.

Josten was in Kevin’s bed, the duvet pulled up to his nose and his eyes closed, but somehow Andrew doubted that the kid was asleep. He took his time changing into cotton pants and a clean t-shirt for bed, and noticed that the duvet was tugged up even higher when he went to climb into his bed.

Interesting.

It should bother him, having a stranger in the room, but from all appearances, Josten had obeyed the ‘don’t touch anything’ rule since nothing but the towel had been out of place, and had been willing to give up his warm bed for Andrew’s comfort. As much as he hated to admit that Aaron may be the slightest bit right….

Fuck.

Tomorrow, he told himself as he contemplated smothering himself with the pillow. Tomorrow he’d deal with this… whatever with Josten. Neil. With the improbable pipedream faking sleep a couple yards away.

At least his fucked-up hormones knew enough to fall for a pipedream who had good tastes when it came to picking cars to break into, he consoled himself right before falling asleep.

*******

I have WAY TOO MUCH of a backstory built for this, obviously. Nicky never worked at Eden’s, just Aaron and Andrew during summer breaks, so he never got beat up and Andrew put on drugs. That meant he could leave to go back to Germany, but not before he put some extra effort into making the twins get along better (a LITTLE easier to do since Andrew wasn’t on meds). Kevin went to Wymack, not the Nest, when his mother died. There’s still some Moriyama drama going on - Riko gave him grief for not going to E.A. for university, and for recruiting Andrew, which is why Andrew is watching out for Kevin (Riko tried to pull a stunt when Andrew turned down E.A, but Kevin had warned him beforehand that something might happen, so Andrew feels something is owed and refuses to let Riko win).

And of course, Neil ended up in the foster system - Mary and Nathan killed each other one night instead of her running away, and the Feds gave him a new name and put him in the system. While not the horror that Andrew endured... it wasn’t good, especially w/ the Feds shuffling him around all the time.

Uhm, think that’s the main stuff.

Anyway, @filteredred, I hope you liked it!

Three more to go, since this week is probably going to be really busy, I’m going to try to work on them and not Ghost in You (I FINALLY finished ch14), and then get back to that story.

[winchester-with-wings]

Your Dark Secret

Sam Winchester x Reader / Patron Benefit Fanfic!

Author’s Notes: This fic took an interesting turn when I made it a Sam fic. It seems like it has a little of everything, fluff, comfort, a lil angst... This is for @abbessolute

Summary/Request:     Anything for insomnia? I didn't fall asleep this morning til 8 am because my mind was telling me to be afraid of the dark

Word Count: 1800ish

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The new semester at Stanford brought with it a chill to the air and the crisp smell of autumn and falling leaves. Sam Winchester comes to class in a sweater and scarf, looking like something out of a hallmark movie or an episode of Gilmore Girls. His thick brown hair sits on his head like a mop, swept to the side by the wind and a nervous tick. You love it when he tucks his hair behind his ear. It’s not long enough for that, yet.

Sam has taken to a routine of meeting you outside of your last class of the day on Fridays. He walks with you to your car--a long walk...you know how bad parking at college is.

“So get this,” he says, “My roommate is gonna be gone for the weekend and, um, I thought maybe if you want, we could study at my place tonight?” Study, on a Friday night? Surely this was Sam’s attempt at asking you out. Finally. “And maybe after, we could watch some movies.”

“Sure! I’ll bring the beer,” you respond.

“Great! I’ll make you dinner,” he said with that sweet smile. There was a hint of promise hanging in the air, suspending the falling leaves for only a moment.

It was going to be the first time you stayed the night at Sam’s apartment. You didn’t know that yet. If you did, you might not have gone.

You’d spent many nights together, watching movies, studying and staying up until the crack of dawn, but tonight was the night that Sam had insisted on making you dinner. It wasn’t a total deviation from your routine with your *sigh* friend. It’s just that instead of ordering Chinese or picking up burgers, this time Sam did as promised, cooking dinner in that rinky dink kitchen of his. You didn’t have the heart to tell him how particular you were with your food, but somehow he made something with all the right ingredients and you’d actually enjoyed the meal.

There was no studying to be done on a Friday night. Sam kept up that ruse for maybe five minutes. After dinner, you watched a movie: a rom-com that he had finally relented to watch. What’s crazy is that he’d seemed more interested in it than you! You nearly dozed off once or twice.

“Is there a sequel?” he asked when it was over, getting up to get more popcorn and grab two more beers.

“Yeah, it’s called My Big Fat Greek Wedding...2.”

He found it online and hit play.

Apparently it was a double-feature night.

The romance of the film was endearing, no doubt, but it seemed like the part Sam enjoyed the most was the depiction of the crazy family. How involved they were, how much they cared for each other, and how much of their life revolves around the family. He couldn’t exactly relate the characters to his own family, from what little he’d mentioned of them. Though he did say they played the ‘We’re family, family is the most important thing’ card hard and often. You’d only heard him mention his brother Dean, that his mom had passed when he was a baby, and that his relationship with his dad had been tense when he went to college. It was a brief family history and maybe you wondered if there was more to it, but then sometimes it seemed like that was all there was. You didn’t press him on that. You were friends but you didn’t want to ask too many questions.

Everyone was entitled to their secrets.

“My family isn’t exactly like this...but it has its own brand of crazy.”

“Don’t we all,” Sam chuckled. He let you steal the bowl of popcorn, plopping it in your lap and readjusting the blanket you were sharing. Then, oh-so-casually...he stretched out until one of his arms rested on the back of the couch, around your shoulders.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. Sending a cheeky smile in his direction, Sam pretended not to notice your attention on him, but the corner of that perfect mouth was tilted up just slightly.

“Sam...middle name...Winchester,” you said teasingly in a whisper. He snorted at your omission of the name you didn’t know. “Are...are you making a move? On me?” He turned to look down at you; even sitting down he was a head taller than you, the perfect height for you to snuggle into his side. His hand on your shoulder pulled you in for exactly that.

“And if I was?” he asked in a hushed tone. His hazel eyes seemed to turn dark in an instant, the sudden change sent a thrill through your entire being.

“I’d say it was about time,” you smiled as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. He responded instantly, pulling you into his lap so that he could wrap his arms around you and deepen the kiss.

The movie was forgotten, cast aside for your own little moment of romance.

You didn’t go any farther than kissing and maybe a little groping. A few words between kisses established that your friendship was too important to risk right away.

“I could kiss you all night,” Sam hummed and you indicate your agreement by holding onto his shirt. You’d been lusting after the man ever since he’d walking into your sociology class. The man took notes and contributed to the lectures like a pro. He was almost as smart as you. Almost.

Sam tried to lay back on the couch but his body is far too long for it to be comfortable.

“Wanna go to my bedroom? I won’t go any further if you don’t want to,” he reassures you, slightly breathless between kisses.

“O-okay,” you say with nervous energy, the good kind.

Once on his bed--which still didn’t seem big enough for his frame--he made no other moves to do more than touch your body and explore your mouth. When the kisses turned to slow, lazy, and sweet, the two of you snuggled deeper into the bed.

“Stay the night?” he asked, his arms around your waist and his lips pressed to your hair.

“Okay,” you said, without much thought. Until a few minutes later…

When the movie was turned off and the lights went out.

He’d offered you one of his soft cotton t-shirts and there may have been a shy moment as you’d exited his bathroom and crawled into bed. But as Sam drifted off to sleep...you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You couldn’t sleep. And you couldn’t figure out how to tell Sam.

You were in an unfamiliar room, with no sound other than the soft snores of the man beside you. There wasn’t a single light on in the whole apartment, not even the dim glow of an alarm clock.

The longer you lay there, awake, the more you start to hear things. The floor creaking like someone was walking in the kitchen. The moments when you thought you could no longer hear Sam breathing, so maybe he wasn’t? The door to the bedroom was left open to the living room. Did you see something in the shadows? You imagined whispers and silhouettes.

You were right back in your childhood room. Scared and afraid of the dark. And alone.

With a man like Sam sleeping by your side, you still felt alone. How could he sleep through this? Could he not hear the footsteps outside his window? Didn’t he feel the sudden drafts passing between rooms?

You rolled over and buried your face in Sam’s chest, trying to drown out all of your senses, overwhelm them with the sound of Sam’s heart, the feel of his chest rising and falling with every breath, the way he smelled and the soft fabric of his own shirt.

The shirt soon became wet with a few of your escaped tears. You were shaking, but maybe it was the damp fabric that woke Sam up.

“Hey,” he whispered, groggily. “Y/N, you okay?” You didn’t answer, only burrowed deeper into his embrace. He stretched out one arm to turn on his bedside lamp and the change was almost immediate. You looked around the room, clocking all the things that could’ve tricked your senses. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” Sam asked once more.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I’m so sorry.”

“About what? What’s wrong?” He kissed the top of your head and propped himself up on one arm to see you better.

“It’s just...I can’t...I don’t usually tell people. You’ll think I’m stupid.” Your tears fell easily but you were actually proud that your voice wasn’t shaking.

“Y/N, I could never think that. Tell me what’s going on? What can I do to make you feel better?”

He didn’t even know what the problem was and he was willing to help.

You looked at the clock on his nightstand. In the light, you could see that it was 4 am. You’d been lying awake for over three hours.

“It’s never been a problem before. We were pulling all-nighters, staying up late, sleeping in our own beds.”

“Did I move to fast? Do you want me to take you home?”

“No, no it’s not that. It’s just…” You closed your eyes, wincing. “I’m afraid of the dark,” you said rapidly, “so sometimes I don’t sleep at night or I sleep with all the lights on. And I know it’s silly and maybe a little childish but when I was a kid, I swore I saw something in my room and no one believed me but...” You were working yourself up, breathing quickly and lips trembling. Sam pulled you into his arms.

“Hey, shhh-shhh. It’s gonna be okay. It’s okay. I understand. You don’t have to say anymore if you don’t want to. I’m here for you. Okay, I’ll keep you safe. We can stay up for now and sleep in the morning or I can leave the light on. Whatever you need. I want you to feel safe. And I want you to sleep.” He kissed the top of your head, speaking words of reassurance. “I’m here. I’m here for you. No one can hurt you,” he muttered as you started to calm down, focusing once more on the heart pounding in his chest until it, too, slowed down to a steady beat.

You didn’t get a chance to tell him which solution you preferred. A few minutes later, in the warm glow of his bedside lamp, you’d fallen asleep with your cheek pressed against his chest.

Sam settled down as well, ready to drift off and consciously reminding himself to leave the light on. If that’s all you needed to feel safe, it was the least he could do. He reassured himself even further by recalling the placement of a knife in the drawer next to him.

Because of course, how could he possibly tell you the truth? How could he tell you that the dark was something worth fearing? That the ghosts and monsters were real?

He couldn’t. He hoped he’d never have to tell you. And if the day ever came, he knew that he would do everything in his power to protect you.

—————————

Tagging: @abbessolute @autoblocked @book-loving--anime-chick @karazoiel @overlyobsethed  @therealcap  @whoopxd  @bookworm4ever99 @geeksareunique @pottxrwolff @barry-writes @ravenhaviland @clockblobber @softdudebro @melaninspice11 @parkerschurros @woaahkelsey @montytheravenclaw @sanya-gryff @smutfornerds @fabinapercabeth4179 @faithtrustandpixiedust95 @thinkwritexpress-official @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @percyjackson886 @mrswhozeewhatsis @saxxxology

[mimzy-writing-online]

I'm incredibly sorry for this ask , but I'd like the opinion of different writers. I have this story I have finished. It's has been re-read, edited, polished. It's technically done. The story is consistent, the pacing is okay. But what I don't like is how the characters are portrayed. They lack life, and I think it may be because during the years I improved my writing, and now I'm sure I'd be able to do better. What would you do? Would you rewrite the story from scratch? Thanks in advance.

First, no worries about asking for advice. That’s legit what I’m here for. And having been in the same position you are now, (twice) I know how impossible it feels.

Off the bat, advice I would recommend: 

Beta Reading: Get some fresh eyes to look at it, ideally someone who 1) reads books in that genre and that age range, and 2) has no obligation to worry about your feelings.

Thoroughly consider why you want to rewrite it: make an actual pros and cons list. It sounds silly, but it helps because you realize what decision you’re arguing for, what your instinct says.

Give yourself a shot at attempting a rewrite. Give yourself a set time limit to try it out. Your current book isn’t going anywhere and publishing takes forever anyway, so what’s another month or another three months?

At the end of this trial run you can ask yourself: Did a rewrite make it better? Do the characters and their world feel more alive? Even if it looks like a mess, given more time to finish and edit, would it look better than the original?

If you find you like the characters better, if you feel like you know them better, then you can consider going through the book and highlighting where they feel out of character compared to your new understanding of the characters

Watch Whispers of the Heart. I mean it! It’s a Studio Ghibli movie, and I swear to god it will inspire you and make this decision a little easier. The whole movie is about developing your creative craft. Its overall analogy is that of a geode. Your craft looks rough and sloppy on the outside, but with time, practice, and love you’ll find the beauty hidden underneath and make it shine. Amazing movie, it will change how you think about writing.

Now, finally, ask yourself: Is this the story I want to debut with? Is this the story I want to begin my writing career with?

This will be when you make your decision.

That’s the most objective advice I can give you. Since you’re asking a lot of writers for their stance, you’ll probably have a few different opinions, but I think running through this troubleshoot method will give you a chance to see for yourself.

My biased opinion?

It comes from my own experience with A Witch’s Memory. 

This is about to be a very long story, fair warning, but it’s my entire thought process over 7-8 years of working on and off with the same project. A big part of the reason why I’m going in depth about the experience is because I keep going back to what you said:

“I think it may be because during the years I improved my writing, and now I'm sure I'd be able to do better. What would you do?”

The same thing happened to be. I started the series when I was much younger, but in the 7.5 years since then I’ve changed a lot as both a person (not adult/not teenager) and as a writer (who’s had several projects since then). I’m gonna walk you through 7.5 years of personal development and how it affected the project.

I joke that A Witch’s Memory has three universes, and those universes are all different rewrites. I first started the series I was seventeen. I finished the rough drafts of three books in the series and got down to full on editing the first book after I graduated high school. Within a year I had a finished novel that wasn’t necessarily polished (not by my standards today) but at the time I was ready to move forward and publish. I sent query letters out to lit agents but didn’t get any bites back. I didn’t get to work at it for long due to health issues, my whole body kind of just crashed so for six months I was too sick to do much of anything, let alone stress myself out over query letters. I started community college the next semester and got more involved in school than in writing.

17 when I started, 18 when I started editing, 19 when I queried and got sick, almost turning 20 when I started college.

I put the book on hold for another year and focused on school. During that time I had a lot of personal development as a person. I got more experience being myself, being an adult who can make decisions for themself.

And I realized that at age 19 I’d developed a lot of insecurities about my book.

In my case, it was the world building. I love my characters, and at their heart they’re still the same, albeit a bit more realistic. I re-examined what about the world building I didn’t like.

It felt too much like Twilight to start, with the way vampires and werewolves were supposed to hate each other, and witches and fairies hated each other, because that just made sense to a 17 year old who had never read paranormal before Twilight changed the direction of the genre.

I didn’t like magic being a secret that no human could know about, so I changed that. I didn’t like my character’s backstories too much, so I tweaked that too. For the best.

At age 20/21 (it was right around my birthday) I rewrote the entire first book. After finishing the rough draft I looked at editing it, looked at starting the rough draft of the second book, and I realized I didn’t like this version either.

So I put it on hold for anther two years. I worked on two different projects, experimented with writing style, got to know myself as a person better.

At 23 I reexamined what I didn’t like about “Universe 2″ and I realized-

I wasn’t comfortable with the way the book was written now. Too many main characters meant to many pov changes and too many personal plot lines to plan. I could see from the beginning how much I favored Anna and Ulric and Felix over my other main characters, so I cut my cast of six main characters down to three, focusing on my favorites. I also saw that the setting wasn’t working for me and it would be a lot less stress for me to chance the setting to somewhere I was more familiar with, setting it mostly in America instead of the U.K.

And I decided to stop worrying about what my past beta readers would think if the book didn’t look the same in “Universe 3″ and to just run with my heart.

(For any wondering, the beta reader in question is my mum, who has been the biggest supporter of my writing since I was 14 and believed I would be published even when I was ready to give up writing and work at a different career. She’s very attached to “Universe 1″ but it’s not where I want to go, and I know she’ll love this new direction when she reads it)

I started the rough draft for Universe 3 in January of 2019 (almost a year ago to the day I’m writing this). I did it on a whim. I had a dream of Anna and Ulric flying to safety from a villain on a broomstick and I asked myself why witches never had broomsticks in my old world, and I was like “why not, let’s add it”

And I just messed with world building. I aimed it for a more whimsical feel than my older angsty versions. I’m gonna blame all the Studio Ghibli movies I saw that year. Some of my local theatres have been doing special weekends where they show the movies, and I’ve gone to see four in the last year or so. I saw Kiki’s Delivery Service a few months earlier with my best friend (A) and then a month after starting the new draft I saw Howls Moving Castle and Spirited Away (same week, I think, all in theatre) and then as I was finishing the rough draft I saw Whispers of the Heart for the first time.

(this was the moment I realized that specific movie would help A LOT on this decision making process, so I included it above)

Anyway, I just gave myself permission to go in a completely different direction with my book.

I should note, that at 23 I had been visually impaired/blind for some 3 years, although it wasn’t medically official until I was 22. I’d also fallen in love for the first time and broken my own heart. I’d also spent the last two years struggling with gender and sexual identity and really starting to understand that part of myself. 

So in general, the whole experience with those last two years of my life really changed the direction I took the book. 

I focused more on internal struggle as well as the outside “main bad guy” I’d always been planning to work with. It 

I kept the heart of my characters the same. Anna is still the kindest person you’ll ever meet, as well as sarcastic and brilliant and studious. Ulric is an anxious mess who is crazy loyal to his friends and who wants to gain his own independence. Felix is still a brat, but a loving one with the dryest sarcasm and a penchant for mischief.

Anna’s more cautious than her original incarnation. Ulric wasn’t disabled in previous versions (but at 23 I was disabled and I wanted to write a blind character, but I didn’t want blindness to be their only trait, so I took my most developed character and made him blind). Some of the characters are POC instead of white, I let myself have multiple LGBTQ characters (because 17 year old me thought the token queer was the norm because I only had one queer friend before that and we weren’t that close) and I changed some origin stories. It’s much better for that.

Growing up taught me how to put more life in my books, how to write more realistically less melodramatically, and what it feels like to have friends. Seventeen year old me didn’t have many friends in life, but 24 year old me has some wonderful friends.

Summary in Short?? (can I even do that?)

This advice post is getting long and I’m feeling bad, so okay, here I am: I’m almost 25 (in March). 17 and 23 year old me were very different people with different priorities and different levels of experience. And if I had to choose which book I would go with? 

I’d stay with Universe 3 (and Universe 1 will just be a thing my mum and I know and keep to ourselves, mostly)

I’m nearly done with the 1st edit. I still have days of self doubt, but they’re nothing like what I had years ago. I’m closer to publishing than I was before, mostly because I have a solid plan now and I’ll be self-publishing, allowing me to publish on my own.

In my case, rewriting was the best decision I could have made. I’m not everyone else though, nor am I you. You know yourself and your story better than anyone, and I know you are the most qualified person to make that decision. I have confidence in your ability.

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter One

A 2019 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

This day managed to sneak up on me a bit but it is finally time for me to start posting my 2019 @cssns story!  After having so much fun taking a few creative challenges with last year’s event, I decided to take a huge chance by creating a bit of an AU universe here.  Our setting will still be Storybrooke but I’ve twisted up some of the familial relationships to develop a different world where Emma is a young deputy who has just recently discovered a whole lot about herself - family she didn’t know she had and powers she didn’t know she had.

I want to extend huge thanks to the organizers of this event which has already spawned some amazing stories (many of which I need to get caught up on!)  I also am so grateful for the assistance of my beta reader, @lassluna for helping me smooth out a few things and for the amazing art created by @cocohook38! (Edited to add this stellar piece of artwork to my post to complete the package!)

I am going to try to get new chapters posted every Monday, job permitting.  I accepted a new position at work last month that curtailed my writing time a bit, but I’m working to make sure updates are as prompt as can be.  Patience will be greatly appreciated and I do hope that everyone will enjoy reading this tale as much as I’m enjoying writing it!

Edited to add links: AO3 and FF.net and also added a cut that didn’t save yesterday.

If there was one thing that Emma Swan had learned during her brief residency in Storybrooke, it was that she had a lot to learn.

A whole lot to learn.

Perhaps it was finding the right teacher that had made adjusting more of a challenge than she’d anticipated but there was no doubt that she’d struggled during those early days.  She’d battled with her self-confidence and fought against a sometimes crippling loneliness, but she’d needed to find those with like abilities - because in a town blessed (or cursed) with magic, proper instruction in the ways of the supernatural was an absolute necessity.

Eight months ago, she would never have even dreamed that a place like Storybrooke existed, let alone discover that this unusual little town had been her birthplace.  Little details about her mysterious past emerged every day, but none more startling - and completely life changing - than the fact that she possessed a natural ability to utilize magic.  It was becoming both equally fascinating and terrifying to learn new details about her past and the family that she and her late mother, Ava, had left behind.  

Since she was a little girl growing up in one of the poorer sections of Boston, Emma had possessed an intense curiosity about her family.  Maybe part of that stemmed from growing up in a city so steeped in history. She’d yearned to know more about her own ancestry, but her mother had never been particularly forthcoming about anything.  It was always as though their past was some deep, dark secret - especially any mention of Emma’s absent father who her mother scarcely even spoke of. 

After her mother passed away, Emma found that her desire to find the family she was missing couldn’t be tempered. She began actively utilizing resources available to her through her position as a bail bonds person to try to find any remaining family she might have and eventually, her tireless research led her to a half-brother, David Nolan, who resided in the small town of Storybrooke, Maine and served as the town Sheriff. She’d taken a step out of her comfort zone to reach out and after a few weeks of telephone conversations, David and his wife, Mary Margaret, convinced Emma to come visit them.

Initially, Emma had planned for just a brief weekend trip but as soon as she arrived in the quirky little seaside town, she found her insatiable curiosity piqued.  By the end of the second day, she’d felt so comfortable and so at home here that she made the decision to relocate to Storybrooke - and that was when the fun began. David had hired her on as a deputy, giving her plenty of access to the town records to continue her research, understanding her need to fill in the gaps of her heritage. Absolutely nothing had prepared her for the shock of discovering the town’s biggest secret until she’d barged in on a drunk and disorderly call down at the Rabbit Hole and stumbled upon a man levitating above the bar, cheerfully showering the bartender and a few fellow patrons with what smelled like bourbon.

Stranger yet, Emma had sensed an odd energy even before stepping into the tavern.  There was some sort of a connection she’d experienced with the levitating drunkard and he’d instantly dropped to the floor in a heavily-sauced heap the moment she’d raised her hand toward him.  She hadn’t known what it was back then, but it had been the moment she discovered her first hint that she was a witch.  And not just any witch - she’d been born with potential not seen before in Storybrooke - only she didn’t know it yet.  

She hadn’t even known how to address the incident with David until he’d burst out in a fit of laughter. Having spent a lifetime in Storybrooke, he’d already figured out what his younger sister was skirting around.  He confirmed for her that while neither he nor his wife possessed any otherworldly abilities (aside from his charming personality), the town was indeed was ripe with magic.  Magic had been that unusual energy she’d sensed enveloping her and he was certain that if she could feel it, she could wield it, and if that was indeed the case, she needed to find a tutor quickly.  He’d seen far too many citizens here who’d been driven mad by powers they couldn’t fully harness or control.

And oh boy, did she ever have a lot to learn!

She had a flurry of thoughts crossing her mind as she eased her battered old Volkswagen Beetle to the curb outside of the Sheriff station.  It had just now dawned on her that today marked exactly eight months since she’d first communicated with her long-lost brother and found her life turned entirely upside down, although certainly for the better.  She’d given up a lonely life of chasing bail jumpers in Boston in favor of this small town’s laid back lifestyle - well, mostly laid back.

She recalled arriving here expecting to deal with minor little crimes like tractor tipping, petty larceny and the occasional pickpocket fleecing the tourists visiting their picturesque seaside haven, but it certainly wasn’t what she’d found.  Even though David hadn’t been particularly forthcoming about the town’s supernatural side, Emma had gotten used to arresting people for placing evil spells on their neighbors to make their crops fail or hexing their dog for growling at them.  It was now just part of her day to day routine and she kept trying to immerse herself into magical education to hone the skills she’d recently discovered.

David had encouraged her to talk to Storybrooke’s Mayor, Regina Mills, who was well-known to be a practitioner of Wiccan arts.  Her sister, Zelena, was also a seasoned witch and the two of them had developed a powerful coven that at one time had included several members Emma hadn’t even realized practiced witchcraft like the town’s pawn shop owner, a local waitress, and one of the elementary school teachers.  Regina had initially been reluctant to bring Emma into their fold due to her inexperience, but upon learning she was David’s sister, she’d caved and agreed to help Emma.  Emma had been studying under Regina and Zelena’s tutelage for nearly six months now which almost seemed unbelievable.  Her brain was filled with Latin words and phrases that formed the simple spells she’d practiced and she’d helped brew a few potions, almost grateful that she didn’t know what some of the unsavory ingredients actually were.

She smiled to herself as she clambered out of her car, pinning her deputy badge to the waistband of her jet black twill pants.  She felt she was adapting fairly well to her new reality and certainly believed that she was more confident today than she’d been eight months ago, and now it was time to start a new workday. She raised the rear hem of her crimson leather jacket to tuck her service weapon into the holster she wore at the small of her back, hearing the echo of David’s repeated complaints and suggestions that she switch to a shoulder or hip holster.  She just found this style more comfortable as it allowed her to easily conceal her weapon beneath her nearly ever-present leather jacket, the garment she wore as though it were some sort of magical armor even long before she’d set foot in Storybrooke.

She unconsciously wrapped a stray tendril of blonde hair around her index finger, slipping the wayward strands behind her ear as she pushed open the front door of the station and strolled inside.  Unsurprisingly, early bird David was already present, chatting with his other deputy, Graham Humbert.  From what she could garner walking in on the conversation, they were discussing one of the town’s most bewitching potions - the virtually irresistible brew that Granny served at her namesake diner.  By the level of chipper she was encountering in the squad room, and from the aroma wafting from the takeout cups in hand, she knew they’d both already partaken of Granny’s intoxicating elixir, which made her a little jealous that she’d have to settle for the inferior substance found in the station’s break room that passed for coffee.

“Good morning, Emma,” David greeted her.  “I was wondering if you were going to make it in on time this morning.  You got home pretty late last night…”  She knew David wanted to ask if she’d had a date, but he held his tongue.  It was no surprise that he and Mary Margaret had been encouraging her to go on a few dates, but considering that the other person present had been the other half of a disastrous evening a few weeks back, she was glad he didn’t ask.  That single dinner date with Graham had not gone well, but they’d chosen to put it behind them so they could remain amicably working together.

As much as she’d appreciated David and Mary Margaret’s offer to rent out the upstairs bedroom of their loft, the longer she stayed, the more she thought it might be time to start searching for a place of her own. She’d inevitably wear out her welcome and there was definitely a privacy issue should she ever want to bring a date home.  It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing you wanted your brother knowing - or especially hearing…

“I’m sorry if I woke you up when I came in last night,” she replied as she made her way across the squad room to her desk against the far wall.  She took a precursory glance at the stack of files awaiting her before shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on the back of her chair. “Had a late night lesson with the Evil Queen and I stuck around the vault to read up on spell casting.”

“You know, you really should stop calling Regina, the Evil Queen,” David chided her, trying to keep a straight face until he was betrayed by a chuckle he couldn’t hold back. Emma certainly wasn’t the only person in town who used the nickname in reference to the town’s mayor, but Emma was one of the more vocal - probably the only one who’d ever said it to Regina’s face and lived to talk about it. “I know she’s a bossy pain in the ass, but she’s still trying to help you develop your magic.”

“I know, I know,” she assured her brother as she dropped onto her chair.  “Some days, I could do without her condescending attitude though. I know she’s trying to help, David, but there are times when she treats me as though I’m beneath her and it really irks me.  Same goes for the Wicked Witch…”

“The Mills family has been running this town for decades,” Graham chimed in.  “They’ve been practicing magic since childhood, so it’s probably best to just give them a break.  They wouldn’t have agreed to accept you into the coven if they didn’t believe you had potential.”

“Eh, I’m not worried about them throwing me out over nicknames.  They call each other far worse and you should hear some of the things they call me,” Emma said, dismissing any worry the two men had. “Usually it’s The Prodigal or sometimes just Lucky Bitch. It’s all in good fun.”

“Yeah, well anyway, it’s time for the two of you to get to work,” David stated as he held up two slips of paper in his right hand. “Which of you wants to take the disorderly conduct call and which of you wants to take the vandalism call from the middle school?”

“Such excitement,” Emma groaned. “I’ll flip you for it, Humbert…”

“Oh yeah, when they’re equally bad, does it really matter?” Graham complained. 

“You two decide quickly or I delegate,” David insisted. “I’m going to be in my office going over last week’s reports. Anything either of you would like to amend before I review them?”  Emma and Graham each shook their head and began to debate which investigation would be the lesser one while David rolled his eyes at his deputies.  He left them to their argument as he headed for the relative peace and quiet of his office.

———-

In the end, Emma wound up following up on the disorderly conduct call from the town harbormaster.  David had insisted that she take the Sheriff cruiser instead of her own beat up Bug so that her arrival would look as official as possible since the complaint involved a ship full of merchant sailors from out of town. She hadn’t bothered with the lights or siren as the reported incident wasn’t currently in progress, having occurred earlier that morning.  The harbormaster had encountered a drunken sailor tossing barrels and something described in the complaint as floatation devices into the bay. She wasn’t quite sure what these floatation devices might be, but she was certainly curious.

Her earlier phone call to the harbormaster’s shack had gone unanswered so she decided to head down to the marina and pay a visit to the vessel the unruly sailor had arrived on - an ancient-looking wooden merchant ship moored at the marina.  She parked the cruiser at the harbor entrance, a few hundred yards from the gangplank and as she climbed out of the vehicle, she couldn’t shake the thought that the boat looked suspiciously akin to a pirate ship straight off of a Hollywood film set.  While it might not have been uncommon for Storybrooke to attract some eclectic tourists, she wasn’t entirely convinced that the crew milling around the marina were actually merchants.

The vessel’s soaring masts towered above everything else in the harbor, maybe even over most of the buildings in town. It was also buzzing with activity this morning as crew members were busy loading and unloading cargo, some hoisting crates and barrels from pier to deck with a system of ropes and pulleys while others hefted merchandise up and down the gangplank.  Emma made certain that her badge was prominently visible as she strolled furtively towards the gangplank and asked the first person she encountered in her path who was in charge.  The uninterested and seemingly annoyed man stabbed a filthy finger at the top of the gangplank and replied that she needed to ask for the captain.

Emma nodded and thanked him before forging her way up to the ship’s deck while the man she’d so rudely interrupted resumed his tasks.  She took a tentative step onto the plank decking and spied a mousy little man clad in a corduroy overcoat that had definitely seen better days and who sported a shapeless red knit cap atop his head.  The man didn’t appear to have noticed her arrival so Emma called out in attempt to garner his attention.  

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the captain. Could you tell me where to find him?”  When it didn’t appear that he’d heard her query, Emma repeated her request a smidge louder. “Pardon me - where might I find the captain?”

“Oh, sorry, sorry,”  the man apologized profusely as he spun around to face the unexpected guest. “Cap’n doesn’t like when we fall behind schedule.”

“So he’s here?”

“Who’s here?” the befuddled man asked her, his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“Your captain,” she clarified, shaking her head in disbelief. “Is he here?”

“Oh, yes.  Yes.  He’s in his quarters.”

“Alright then, how might I find the captain’s quarters?” she pressed, growing rapidly frustrated with the lack of cooperation she was getting.

“Oh, the captain wouldn’t like a stranger poking about his ship.  I’ll go fetch him.  Please - wait here, miss…”

“Deputy,” Emma corrected him as he scurried across the deck, uncertain of whether he’d even heard her.  She didn’t have much experience with ships, especially not with relics like this one but she had to admit that there was a certain beauty to the expanse of soaring masts and billowing sails.  Well, sails that would have been billowing were they not lashed down while in port.  She’d become so entranced that she failed to notice the figure wordlessly approaching her until he spoke.

“Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, Love,” a velvety, deep voice with a hint of a British accent greeted her, rendering her momentarily speechless as she turned in the direction the voice had originated and caught her first glimpse of the captain. The timbre of his voice should have served as warning but instead, did nothing to prepare her for the appearance of the man who stood before her. He was probably a hair shy of six foot tall but it wasn’t his height that gave off an imposing impression, rather his all-black attire.  Slim, black denim trousers. Polished black leather boots with a hint of a silver cap at the toe. A jet black oxford style shirt topped with a three button black leather vest. And over the entire ensemble, he sported a black leather jacket that glistened with a hint of salt spray and fell just past his hips.

Her gaze darted upward to get captured by a pair of sparking, sapphire blue eyes beneath a fringe of wind-tossed dark, chestnut brown hair.  A broad smile stretched across his lips and one eyebrow inched upward in amusement as he soaked in her perusal of him.

“See something you like, Love?” he teased, lip curling into a lopsided smirk as he relished the attention. “My first mate, Mr. Smee, advised me that there was a lovely lass asking for the captain, and as I’ve never been one to keep a beautiful woman waiting, you now have my full and prompt audience.  How may I be of assistance, M’lady?”

The words rolled off his tongue so smoothly that Emma nearly forgot why she was here, but after a few stunned seconds, her sensible self clawed her way to the surface and reminded her that now wasn’t the time to get lost in a handsome face.  She had work to do.  “It’s Deputy,” she corrected him. “Deputy Emma Swan of the Storybrooke Sheriff department. You’re the captain of this boat?”

“The proper term would be ship,” he countered, visibly cringing at the injustice done to his vessel. “And aye, I am Captain Killian Jones.” He extended his right hand in greeting to shake hers.  She scarcely noticed that he kept his left arm tucked behind his back as he switched seamlessly to a business-like tone. “Since I don’t have reason to believe this is a social call, Deputy - as much as I might like it to be - how may I assist you today?”  It was also his turn to surmise who he was dealing with in this pretty blonde package.  She was certainly quite guarded.  He’d noticed that the moment she realized he’d caught on to her visual assessment of him.  She’d instantly faded into an embarrassed defensive before coming back with the steely law enforcement facade. But he’d also spied an intensity and curiosity lurking behind the warm emerald of her eyes.  What a challenge it would be to find her softer side, he thought as she responded.

“Well, Captain,” she began in a fully, professional composed voice, “my office received a complaint this morning from the harbormaster that someone from this ship got a little too rowdy.”

“My apologies, lass,” he said with an over exaggerated sigh. “One member of my crew, Mr. Parsons, imbibed himself a smidge too much of your town’s finest libations.  He returned to the ship too inebriated to locate the gangplank and when confronted by your harbormaster, he became perhaps a tad too belligerent and began hefting things about.”

“That much I’m aware of,” she reminded him with a note of sarcasm in her response. “The harbormaster reported several barrels and other assorted items being thrown into the bay.  He hasn’t yet formally reported any damages…”

“It isn’t likely that he shall,” Captain Jones replied with a flat dismissal of her concerns. “I’ve paid him a tidy sum already to cover the damages and the offender, Mr. Parsons, has been confined to the brig as punishment.”

“May I speak to Mr. Parsons?” Emma queried, a tad miffed that the matter appeared to have been resolved long before she’d arrived. She was supposed to be representing the law here, not this cocky visiting ship’s captain. “I would like to speak to both him and the harbormaster before I declare this matter closed or decide that additional charges might still apply.”

“You are more than welcome to speak to him once he sobers up,” the captain assured her. 

“Good.  You aren’t planning on leaving port any time soon, are you?”

“No, Deputy.  We’ll be here for the remainder of this week as we’re awaiting supplies yet to arrive from out of town.”

“Good,” she repeated. “I’ll be back later this afternoon.”

“I shall eagerly await your return,” he responded with a salacious grin. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Deputy Swan.” Emma rolled her eyes as he made his exit by giving her a sweeping mock bow.  Was this guy actually for real? At this point, she wasn’t even certain what to put in her report aside from the fact that the matter appeared to be closed - at least until she spoke to the harbormaster.

But there was something else nagging at her subconscious as she descended the gangplank to the dock and Emma wasn’t sure how she should feel about it.  The encounter with Captain Jones had her rethinking her actions from last night and silently wondering if perhaps she might have gone a bit too far… She had to push that out of her mind immediately though because there was no chance the two could be connected…

No chance at all…

[gloss-glass-ash]

Sunday's

Request: no

Summary: the farmer!ashton Au that nobody asked for 

Tags: @cal-pal-cuddles 

Sunday's were spent at Ashton's after the various services let out. His friends and brothers with their kids would roll up the drive, stirring up dust from the dirt road. The dogs would yip with excitement alerting him of his visitors. He'd turn off the stove top and step outside with a dish rag in his hands.

The kids would happily shout at him, crawling and climbing all around him. They'd tell him about Sunday school and regular school, Luna Hemmings would proudly show off her latest lost tooth while Charlie Clifford acted too cool for the whole ordeal. Eventually, everyone made their way inside and settled in for an early dinner.

Ashton loved Sunday's. On Sunday's he had company more than just his animals and the nosy old bat of a neighbor. He wasn't alone on Sunday's.

"I'm thinking of renting the apartment over the garage." He didn't really know why he said that. He figured it was the only interesting thing he could respond with to the "what's been up with you this week?"

"Yeah?" Calum leaned the chair back, rubbing his stomach through his shirt. "What if I move back in?"

"Cal, I love you, but I ain't cleaning your shit up again."

So, he left that alone and published his want ad in the newspaper. He didn't anticipate getting a response so soon, especially not from a teacher. Ashton arranged to meet with the applicant on Saturday after the farmer's market for coffee at the only coffee shop in town.

Ashton settled into a booth by the window, removed his cap, and unzipped his jacket. He ordered a cup of tea and waited. Teachers, by nature, were punctual and Y/N was no different. She arrived promptly dressed like a Pinterest board with a folder in hand and bag on her shoulder. Ashton threw up a hand.

"Mr. Irwin?" Polite, perhaps southern. Ashton smiled and nodded.

"Miss Y/L/N?" He teased showing his teeth. "Came prepared I see."

"There's a reference from my last land lord, my resume and schedule, and two bank statements." Y/N settled into the booth, ordered a chai, and folded her hands on the table.

Ashton glanced over the papers with pseudo intelligence. He didn't know shit about what all that stuff meant; his roommate interest was entirely about someone to use the apartment on the farm and maybe offer human interaction on day's other than Sunday's.

"Why are you leaving your old lease? Those are swanky apartments downtown."  Ashton took a sip of his tea, deciding being nosy was his best bet.

There was a blush of embarrassment to her cheeks. "You can look at my bank statements teachers we don't get paid shi-nothing, we don't get paid anything."

He remembers Liz mentioning stuff before about teachers having to protest for pay and pensions. At the time, he didn't care. Today, sitting before this gentle creature soft with curves and gentle eyes, he decided he did care...a lot.

The two got on nicely so he agreed for her to come visit the following Monday evening and move in the next weekend. Monday evening arrived quickly which left Ashton little time to fix any repairs in the apartment while tending to the farm.

Calum left a lot of his shit there that Ashton placed in a box to give him later. He moved the bed frame toward the window and added some plants,interior designers be damned. Y/N arrived in a hatchback, hair falling from a ponytail. She held a coffee mug in her hand.

"Rough day?" Ashton led her up the stairs to the apartment, his hand hovering over her back close enough for protection without being invasive.

Y/N laughed a joyful sound. "Shakespeare for Seniors was today." Sometimes she was so in the education bubble that she forgot there were people who didn't live and breathe school. Ashton's confusion was apparent as he opened the door. "The language arts and social studies departments team up to study Shakespeare and perform for residents of local nursing homes."

"Woah that's so" good, adorable, amazing, "awesome." Ashton entered the apartment. "It's got a living room, bedroom, full bath, basically an open floor plan." He settled onto the bench by the front door, letting her look around. "I'll do maintenance. Heating and air is pretty stable. However, if we get a winter like last years, you'll have to come in the farmhouse it'll be too cold."

"Can I repaint? And can my car go in the garage below?"

She signed papers right away, paying him first months rent with the promise of last months soon. Ashton waved a hand dismissively and assured her he'd help move her in. Slowly throughout the week he would move her belongings over in his old pickup and trailer.

Y/N was all settled by Saturday night, just in time to snuggle up in bed and watch SNL. She was exhausted from her work week and all the stress of moving. Perhaps she should have considered farm life a bit more, but the idea of not sleeping in on Sunday's hadn't crossed her mind.

A rooster crowed at sunrise, perched on top of the fence just outside her window. Dogs barked consistently. Ashton whistled quite loudly as he went about his daily chores. Y/N managed to lay in until 8. Dressing, she headed out to the barn barn where Ashton was happily feeding his pigs.

"Morning sunshine, I didn't wake you did I?" The worry in his eyes was so sincere she couldn't say yes.

"No, I'm used to getting up early." She peeked behind Ashton to the pig pen. "Not to judge or be ungrateful, but you don't, you know" she slid her thumb across her throat.

"I sell them. I eat bacon. I don't eat my own pigs though, wouldn't feel right."

"They're awfully cute."

Without hesitation, Ashton scooped up a squealing piglet and passed it to her. "You get attached then I can't sell her. Do with that what you will."

Poppy got a little red ribbon tied around her neck by that afternoon. Ashton was quite pleased that the little piglet was staying because it meant Y/N was staying. He waved her in from the barn to his back porch. "My family is stopping by for dinner, you're welcome to join us unless you're busy."

Y/N was not, in fact busy. She had finished posting grades, she was caught up on laundry, and she was painfully single. "Are you sure?"

The sunlight hit his smile in the way only movies could, in the way that made him look like James Dean or maybe even Harry Styles. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it, honey." A certain smugness tightened in his chest at the way her eyes widened at his quip. "They'll be over soon."

It had been several years-10 maybe- since she'd been to Sunday dinner but she reasoned her teacher wardrobe would suffice. She searched what food she had brought to move in with, grabbed a bottle of wine, and headed to the farm house. Better to show up with a cheap bottle of wine from CVS than empty handed.

Ashton had changed into sinfully tight black jeans with a crisp white shirt that made him glow. "You wash up nice." Y/N teased handing him the wine. "Not exactly Sunday dinner material but it's something."

Without paused, Ashton took her under his arm and into his chest. A musky yet clean scent filled her senses as he gave her a quick squeeze. "You're the one who needs the housewarming gift, my dear."

Calum arrived before Y/N could worry about making a fool of herself. Ashton kept his arm secured around her while ushering her to the kitchen with Calum. The rest trickled in until they were settled around a table that didn't set level with floor and chairs that creaked.

"Mrs. Y/L/N, why are you living with Uncle Ash?" Charlie Clifford asked, fondly setting next to his favorite teacher. "I mean, I'm not complaining if it gets me an A , but I have a responsibility to report the facts."

"Charlie, you were the school news reported one day and almost got suspended, leave your teacher alone." Y/N quite liked Michael and Crystal. She liked his entire family for that matter. It had been a long time since she sat at a table and felt she belonged there.

"It's okay, Charlie. I'm not living with your Uncle. I'm renting the apartment over the garage."

"And domesticating my pigs." Ashton teased before taking her hand and Cal's to bless dinner and wow she was fond.

During the week, they adopted a routine that switched dinner from each of their places. Wednesdays were interesting, as Y/N watched from her bedroom window while Ashton did yoga with his goats ("I'm telling you they make it better"). Friday's were a little odd, watching Y/N assault his blender making cocktails while watching cable news ("I've had a long week and our country's going to hell in a hand basket I deserve this").

Somewhere between Sunday dinners and Charlie's play or maybe it was after Luna's dance recital, Ashton wasn't sure. Regardless, at some point he forgot what life was like without her. That was scary in the beautiful way. He wanted more than what they had. So, he changed into his best flannel shirt and slicked his hair back. He cut flowers from his rose garden and put a little glitter on.

Marching right up the stairs to her apartment, he knocked upon entering. Poppy squealed from her pet bed zooming right for his legs. Y/N had taken off her heels by the door and was in the process of starting dinner when he touched her shoulder.

"I'd sure like to take you out tonight" Ashton paused, hazel eyes filled with affection, "and maybe kiss you. I'll walk you home after." He winked with a sparkly smile.

True to his word, Ashton took her out, asked and then kissed her, and walked her home the morning after. Things changed for the best. It wouldn't be long before Ashton would move her stuff in into the house with the intention of forever.

[drrockbell]

I’m Back + New Fanfic!

Hello! I am back from my hiatus and I wanted to create something special for all of my friends and EdWin shippers to thank them for their support, especially @kittykatz009, who stuck with me through it all.

I really needed to take some time off of tumblr and clear my mind from problematic events that transpired and I apologize for logging off abruptly for so long. I decided that leaving something I love because of some toxicity of a few individuals I don’t even know is pointless and I will always be better than any lie a stranger makes up because it was entertaining to them.

That said, I am still happy I took some time off, because even if nothing is happening, it is healthy to stay away from social media and just focus on yourself for a while and I encourage everyone to do that for themselves if they ever feel flooded by it.

Now, I would want to say that I consider this to be my first real ‘fanfic’ because even though I have written some work in the past, I actually wrote them for my Creative Writing courses and then I based my characters off of FMA and just changed the names.

I didn’t do this for a grade or anything, it was all on my own, so I am happy to say that this is my first fan-fiction.

I have had this concept in my mind for years now and I have never seen many writers indulge in it that much, so I’m excited to write this.

Once again, thank you all so much for your love and support and I want all of you to know how much I appreciate you all. You couldn’t possibly no how much that means to me

______________________________________________________________

Attraction

Rating: T

Pairings: EdWin

______________________________________________________________

Edward watched as Alphonse pushed his hair around, angling his head in different positions to get a better view of himself in the mirror.

Edward was lying on his bed, arms folded behind his head with an unamused expression on his face. Alphonse was about to set off on a weekend trip with that Xingese Princess and he had spent the last two hours picking out his outfit and fixing his hair, growing more and more irritated when a strand from his bangs kept falling out of place.

“You know she will still glomp all over you no matter how neat your hair looks, right?”

“Hey, I’ve just gotten my hair back and I intend to give it as much care as I can,” Alphonse replied, glancing at Edward with a small smirk on his face.

“Heh, well you’ll start losing it if you keep spraying it with that alcoholic mess,” Edward said, now sitting up, feet flat on the floor with a snarky grin.

Alphonse ignored him, standing up, giving himself one last look in the mirror and walked to the closet to grab his coat.

Edward’s eyes followed him, sighing, “I really don’t see why you’re all decked out. How much did that fancy suit cost you anyway? And that cologne is so stro- are you wearing lip-gloss?!”

Alphonse slapped a hand over his mouth.

“It’s just chapstick! And… I like the little bit of color it gives me, alright?”

“Oh okay,” Edward teased, laying back on the bed. “Just wanna make sure that lip locking with Mei is perfect, right?”

Alphonse’s face grew beet red at that statement.

“W-well, just because you don’t care about your appearance doesn’t mean I don’t have to!” Alphonse exclaimed.

“Hey! I make sure I am clean and well kept! And that’s all anybody needs. Who the Hell cares about your clothes and hair styles? Attractiveness doesn’t even exist. It’s all in peoples’ heads, made up by a society who wanted to profit from others’ own insecurities,” Edward said.

Now it was Alphonse’s turn to tease him. “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t think Winry is pretty. I see the way you look at her.”

Edward nearly fell over at that remark and suddenly shot up. “No! I don’t- I never- just shut up! Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“Come on Ed. You say that physical attractiveness is completely made up, and that’s fair, but you can’t honestly expect me to believe you never think about her. You’re way too obvious about it.” Alphonse replied back, now being serious.

Edward had a huge, childlike frown plastered on his blushing face, but refused to say anything.

Alphonse checked his watched, then walked to his own bed to gather his suitcase.

“Well I should be going now. You two kitties have fun!” And with that Alphonse stepped out the room and Edward could hear each of his steps down the stairs and him walking out the front door, leaving him and Winry alone for the entire weekend.

Edward was still sitting on the bed, unmoving. He couldn’t keep his brother’s words out of his head. He wasn’t lying when he said that physical attractiveness was made up. He had meant that.

He just couldn’t understand why certain nose shapes, hair colors, and body types were preferred. Sure, he had spent his entire life insecure about his height, he thought with a grimace, but that had nothing to do with wanting to look a certain a way; he just wanted to be taken seriously and be as strong as he could be. The same thing applied to his sense of style. He never once expected it to attract anyone to him, he just thought red, black, and skulls were badass and reflected his own personality and temperament.

Watching his brother spend an ungodly amount of time worrying about the curve of his bangs drove him crazy. It was just hair! As long as it was clean and neat, did it really matter how ‘done up’ it was?

Edward got up and walked to the vanity mirror Alphonse had previously sat at and took a seat and for the first time in so long, he just stared at himself, taking in every detail of his face.

He thought about the color of his eyes; some kind of golden and amber combination. Was this feature considered attractive to others? The only people he knew who had this same iris was his late father and younger brother. He had heard time and time again that rare looks were adored by people.

His hair was like his eyes, almost exactly the same hue. He liked his hair long, but never did anything special with it and always chose to keep it out of the way in a braid or ponytail. He reached behind his head to undo the tie and let it fall around his shoulders. It had been a while since he had it cut. He would do it himself, by just gathering all of it in his hand and getting rid of what he didn’t want in one quick cut with his scissors. It was usually a bit… choppy, but he kept it up all the time anyway, so did that really matter?

He had to admit that Winry was far better at cutting it than he was. She’d give him layers and did something called, ‘point cutting,’ he believed it was. At least then, her hair cuts made him comfortable enough to leave it down so no one would see the choppy mess that he’d make.

Edward stared back into the mirror, noticing more and more how much he resembled his father.

His nose was longer and it stuck out a lot more and his chin and jaw was becoming squarer.

Was this appearance considered attractive? Mustang used to go on about male handsomeness and how important it was to appear manly. Edward didn’t know what was worse; hearing those monologues from the Colonel or suffering Major Armstrongs’ poetic nonsense about the same thing.

He shuddered at those memories from Central. Those times were definitely more torturous and frightening than any homunculus he had ever encountered.

No woman was really into the stuff that those two were spouting about, right?

His thoughts went back to Winry and the words his brother had left him with.

Edward had admitted to himself a year after they had returned home that there was no way he saw his mechanic as just a friend. He had suffered many sleepless nights, teasings from his brother, and anxiety every time he brushed past Winry to ignore the creeping realization any longer.

He couldn’t admit it out loud, but he had been screaming in his mind about it for so long, and he knew in just a few weeks, he and Alphonse would set off on two separate adventures once again. It felt like he was running out of time and it was killing him.

He buried his face in his hands and ran them through his hair, frustrated with the world. He knew he needed to say something soon.

Looking back up to see his exhausted expression, he thought about himself and his childhood friend.

Edward knew he didn’t care what anyone thought about his appearance; whether they found him attractive or not. As far as he was concerned, his body was serving each of their respective functions properly and he had a clean bill of health. His scars, missing leg, hair, nose, whatever, was not of anyone’s concern if they ever decided to ‘validate’ his physical attractiveness.

Still… he couldn’t help but think what Winry thought of him in regards to his appearance. Did she care about his eye shape or body type? Did she... like it? The only thing he knew for sure about her, was that she liked men taller than her and he would thank Truth every day that he finally achieved that goal.

His childhood friend was so hard to read at times. She wasn’t afraid to show her concern or love for himself and his brother, but if she ever had any feelings beyond friendship for him, then she was damn good at not showing it. Or maybe he was just too stupid to notice that. Edward chuckled at that thought. He could recite the Periodic Table, name all the solubility rules, and name every compound increasing in acidity, but he would never be able to read any thought that crossed her mind by just looking in her eyes.

Her eyes…

They were blue. Some kind of mixture between the color of the sky and the berries they would pick outside. They contrasted from her sandy blonde hair that would glow when the sun hit every individual strand.

That’s what she reminded him of. Spring and Summer. The bright yellow sun in the blue sky.

He may never know what she thought of his appearance, but God, he had memorized every color, scar, curve, blemish, and callous that made up his mechanic.

The older he got, the more aware he became of her physically.

There was something satisfying about the gentle slope of her nose, the curve of her cheeks, and the length of her eyelashes. The top of her head reached his collarbone, and this fact made him feel much more… protective of her. He had always been overbearing in regards to her safety, but since the Promised Day, he became much more aware of her fragility compared to him. She had muscular arms and strong, calloused hands due to her work, but that would never stop him from treating her like glass. He could never imagine doing anything to mare her smooth, ivory skin.

He took a breath in and closed his eyes as he thought of her more feminine features. Her heavy chest and thick hips and thighs had done more than just keep him up at night, agonizing over her body.

He had never once thought of or gave any second glance to other women when it came to this thing. He wasn’t stupid. He was very much aware of the differences between the male and female anatomy and what he was apparently supposed to be attracted to, but he felt nothing when it came to them.

Even as an eighteen year old man, he still never looked at women, no matter what clothing they wore or what their body type was. The longer this went on, the more he realized that he only ever had any kind of physical attraction to Winry.

It frustrated him a bit, that he didn’t understand this kind of thing as well as his younger brother, because he felt like he could never truly know what Winry would want or what he could do to appeal to her, as stupid as that sounded.

He didn’t know if she saw him as attractive, if she didn’t even care, or if she, to his horror, thought he was ugly.

The only thing he knew for sure, was how much he noticed her, how much he thought of her, and how he knew that there was no possible way that his feelings were only of friendship.

He was truly afraid of what would happen to them once he departed for his trip. It would only be for a few months and then he’d be home for good, but that didn’t stop his paranoia. Edward knew for a fact that if someone like himself had these thoughts for Winry, then there would definitely be men who noticed her too, and probably held much less innocent thoughts.

That thought alone mortified him, because he couldn’t stand the idea of losing the one thing he never even had to someone else, all because he couldn’t express himself the way he wanted to.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Winry open the basement door and make her way to the kitchen, opening and shutting cabinets.

He looked out the window and was shocked to see the sun setting.

Edward slowly got up from the vanity chair to make his way to the kitchen to help her with dinner where he stopped at the doorway and gave one last look into the mirror to see his solemn expression, before shutting the door.

[hobistagram]

Ice and Honey

A/N: a fic not titled after a song? what a shocker! lol anyway this is FINALLY done! i hope y’all enjoy and get ready for the tattoo artist!namjoon that’ll be coming up next.

genre: fluff, touch of angst starring performing arts student!yoongi featuring best friend!jungkook

wc: ~5.6K

Jungkook was taking too long. You knew he had good reason to. His last piece had gotten roasted by the class during critique and he’d spent hours on your couch bemoaning his lack of talent with a bottle of wine in his hand. It had taken you the whole night to convince him he was amazing and his classmates were human garbage.

Even still, he decided this piece was going to give them nothing to complain about. Which meant that it was Friday night, you were dressed to go out, and Jungkook was still hunched over his easel putting the finishing touches on a piece that wasn’t even due until Monday.

“Dude,” you said, your voice playful but exhausted.

“Dude,” he mimicked.

“Babe.”

“Babe.”

“Sweetheart.”

He laughed, his concentration finally cracking and his torso turning to give you a quick glance before returning to his painting. “What?”

You leaned forward on the stool you were sitting on and let your body tip off. Once you righted yourself, you walked over to him, hovering just close enough to see the detailing on his self-portrait. “We said we were gonna get dinner and get a little buzzed but it is ten p.m. and I’m starving and way too sober.”

“Just give me ten more minutes.”

You sighed. “Fine. I’m gonna go find an empty comfy chair in the library.”

He gave you a small wave without looking up from his work. You drifted out of the studio and walked toward the fine arts library. It was a colossal building in the middle of the campus, joining together the performing arts and the visual arts sides of the campuses. It had an extensive music selection for the music majors, a whole catalog of play scripts for the theater kids, and a whole array of art books for the visual arts. The space was modern and open and it was usually packed during the day but at night it became this eerie hub for those that were in the studio so late they couldn’t catch a bus home. You found the whole thing oddly comforting and the soft comfy chairs wedged in between the stacks were your favorite places to hide out and catch a quick nap on nights like these when Jungkook was being stubborn.

The library was nearly empty that night since it was Friday and you headed straight to the stacks for the chairs. Where you immediately found someone in your favorite chair.

He startled at the sound of you and his eyes widened for a moment before his expression settled into a soft smile. “Hello.”

You gave him a tentative smile back. “Hi.”

Something about the set of his lips and the gentle slope of his shoulders was familiar. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it felt like you knew him somehow—

“Y/N?” He said, his grin growing.

You scrunched your nose. “How do you—”

He placed a hand on his chest and shut his book. “It’s Seokjin.”

Your memory came back all at once. Seokjin, the sweet, beautiful boy who had everyone in the school tailing him for attention. He’d formed a bond with you in math class over a mutual love of puns. But when you graduated you lost touch. It’d been years since you’d last seen Seokjin and his hair had changed—as well as his sense of style—but you could recognize his smile still. “Seokjin!” You exclaimed and quickly hushed yourself as you realized where you were.

“It’s been so long,” he whispered and approached you.

“I had no idea you went to school here.”

He was taller than you remembered and he towered over you as he spoke. “I’m in the performing arts school. Theater major.”

You nodded. “Suits you.”

He beamed then his smile faded as his eyes shifted to something behind you. You felt a presence behind you and a moment later Jungkook’s voice hit you. “You ready?”

You turned. “Yeah, hold on.” You gave Seokjin a small apologetic smile. “We should catch up.”

His beam returned. “Absolutely. Give me your number, we’ll figure out lunch.”

You recited back your number and waved goodbye, following Jungkook out of the library. He spoke again when you were outside, the bracing wind of the night making you draw in your jacket close to your chest. “Don’t tell me you’re replacing me.”

You punched his arm gently and he pretended to be hurt by the force. “Please. Where else am I gonna find someone who doesn’t sleep enough and appreciates shitty memes?”

He laughed, high and giggly. “It’s true. I’m one of a kind.”

You scheduled lunch with Seokjin for the following Wednesday. The whole weekend was too packed for you to consider allotting a whole isolated period of time for food. When you weren’t watching over Jungkook and giving him advice on how to “fix” his actually perfect self-portrait, you had to play catch up on the projects you’d been putting off for days. It was entirely your fault. You’d been working on commissions and those had taken you far longer than you’d expected.

You’d managed to catch up on sleep Monday night and by Wednesday you were almost normal. So when you showed up to the café with Seokjin, you were the best version of yourself for your old friend.

“You look nice,” he said, a smile haunting the edge of his lips. His words sounded genuine and kind and you loved him for his gentility. You’d forgotten how comfortable you felt around him.

You gave him a grin back, easy and soft. “Thanks. You do too.”

And he did. He was effortlessly handsome with his oversized sweater and his rounded glasses. He looked approachable and kind and you felt obviously aware of his handsomeness without feeling threatened.

Seokjin’s eyes widened and he raised a hand in a wave to something behind you. You turned and laid eyes on a boy.

The boy’s name was Yoongi. That’s what Seokjin called him. It was a soft name, a sweet name. Too bad he was neither. He looked at you with the cold, blank stare of someone watching animals in a zoo. You wondered what you could’ve done to him to make him radiate such coldness toward you.

He was beautiful, that much was true. There was something seductive about the set of his lips and the slow, unhurried way he spoke. Even his demeanor, the way he slouched as he spoke to Seokjin, was weirdly sexy.

You mentally slapped yourself. This Yoongi was not about to make you forget yourself. He didn’t even seem to like you so what was the point of even looking at him in that way.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding at Seokjin’s proposal. You’d missed his words in your contemplation of Yoongi but you got the general gist. Seokjin needed a piano player. He was telling Yoongi about the piece. Yoongi didn’t seem to mind. It was stilted, but the fault was Yoongi’s. He kept glancing at you, giving you that same cold look.

Finally, he raised one hand in what you supposed was meant to be a wave, and walked away. You immediately looked at Seokjin. “So what’s his deal?”

Seokjin gave you a soft, vaguely embarrassed smile. “He’s just like that. Really serious. Really into his music.”

You mouthed an “Ah,” and pursed your lips. Whatever Seokjin said, you’d seen his expression. Maybe Yoongi didn’t need a reason to not like you, but he definitely did anyway.

Still, you refused to let it ruin your lunch and you set aside thoughts of the bizarre boy to focus on catching up with your old friend. He was attentive but eager and he had a million stories to tell you. You listened without any real vested interest but enjoying the sweet lilt of his voice anyhow.

When the two of you had finally eaten and the remainder of your food had gone cold, Seokjin smiled a small, mildly apologetic smile and began the awkward proceedings of his goodbye. You tried to make things easy, insisting you had places to be—though all you really had to do was go keep an eye on Jungkook while he overworked himself in the studio—and left him with the promise of another lunch.

“Oh,” he said, just as you were finally exiting the café, “the theater kids are holding a party for Halloween. It’s going to be all costumes and everyone’s going. Wanna come?”

You furrowed your brow. The performance arts kids didn’t mix well with the visual arts kids. You weren’t sure why, but the school social circles never seemed to overlap. You weren’t sure you would even know anyone. But you couldn’t disappoint Seokjin, not with the expectant expression on his face. “Sure,” you told him.

The party was louder than you’d expected. All of the affairs with the visual arts kids were always somehow calm. Even when music was blasting and people were talking there was still a bizarre relaxed air to the whole thing. This was something else entirely.

It felt like the air was vibrating. Everyone in the crowded house was constantly on the move, shifting about on the living room floor without real purpose but to take up space. And they were so loud. You felt like a cacophony was going off in your ears and you wondered how you’d even hear yourself think.

For a moment you thought about bailing. You would text Seokjin that you’d gotten sick and couldn’t make it. Or that your roommate had gone through a breakup and she needed you. Whatever it took. But then Seokjin spotted you.

He came over to you from his spot near the drinks table and greeted you with a loose hug. He smelled like cologne, not the stink of alcohol of the table near him, and you took that as a comforting sign amid the chaos. “Let me introduce you to some people,” he said.

You followed him through the crowd to some people that looked far too enthusiastic to greet you. You imagined they must’ve also been actors. They asked you questions about the visual arts school and you realized they were treating you as some kind of foreign exchange student as if the campuses didn’t reside right next to each other. After a while you got bored and you excused yourself long enough to get a drink from the table near the corner.

You weren’t sure how you realized that someone was watching you. But it was something about the rippling of your hair on the back of your neck or the waft in the air and you realized it all at once. You turned and there he was.

Yoongi looked much less annoyed with the world then than he had at the café and he walked over to you with much more gusto than you were expecting from a boy that radiated nonchalance. He nodded at you in greeting, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Nice to see you again,” you mustered with as much kindness as you could.

He took one hand out and you observed that it glittered with rings. He pointed at the table behind you. “Pour me a drink?”

You agreed and poured him a cup of the same liquor you were serving yourself, handing him the cup before your hands could get shaky with the suddenness of the interaction.

Yoongi sipped on his drink, looking into the cup as if he found it interesting. You waited for him to speak again, for him to say something sarcastic or cruel. He shifted his weight instead.

And then you realized. He was nervous.

The awkwardness in his approach, the way he refused to speak, the way he avoided your eyes. All of it should have told you what you knew then. He was nervous.

You refused to believe it was because of you. There was no way that he had gone from seemingly hating you to loving you all in the course of two meetings, but there must have been something about the party that was making him feel outside of his element.

It made you feel confident, somehow. You had the power now because however awful you felt in this strange crowd, he felt just the same. And these were supposed to be his people.

The revelation made you sad. How was it that he could be so nervous around his classmates? They were supposed to be bonded. Sure, you didn’t know everyone in the visual arts school but you felt indebted to them in a way. Like they were your family. You would never feel uncomfortable in a party full of visual arts kids.

And yet here he was standing in a room full of people he should have known. And he was nervous.

You gave him a look. “You don’t come to these often, right?”

He avoided your gaze and nodded.

“So what made you come to this one?”

He shrugged and you read the tension in the set of his shoulders.

“What? Was it for me?” You bit your lip, all overdone seduction, and batted your eyes at him.

He flushed. Really flushed. Deep, bright red. It looked like his skin was being plucked. You’d only meant to tease him but this blush was telling. Perhaps you’d been wrong about his awkwardness earlier. Maybe he really was nervous about you.

You needed to understand him better. He was too intangible, too shifting. You couldn’t get a good read on him and it was throwing you off. Like when you had a piece fleshed out in your mind but couldn’t make it happen on the canvas. You gestured behind you. “Wanna go sit outside? It’s too loud in here.”

You had no idea how you ended up with your hands up the back of Yoongi’s shirt. No idea how his fingers had wound themselves around your hips. No idea why his lips were chasing yours back to the wall behind you. You remembered hitting on him, you remembered the way his expression shifted as he realized what you were doing, but this. This had been out of your hands.

You clawed at him like a desperate woman and he groaned into your mouth. His body was warm but it was nothing compared to yours. You felt like a human furnace, all fire.

The back of the house was nearly empty and the two of you had found a bench behind some bushes that was just out of sight. Yoongi had you nearly horizontal and you could feel the cool iron of the bench beneath you through the thin material of your shirt. You were vaguely aware that the bench was probably filthy—it was certainly uncomfortable—but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

Yoongi pulled away and his lips were pink with the force of your kissing. He held his lips parted as he took deep breaths, his eyes searching you over as if he were just becoming familiar with the scene.

“Yoongi, you out here?” A deep male voice called out and Yoongi snapped toward the sound. He gave you room to right yourself and you did, straightening out your shirt and checking your hair for messiness.

Yoongi cleared his throat. “Here!”

A boy neared, his gait long and relaxed. It reminded you of Yoongi’s if Yoongi were also a high fashion model. The boy himself was stunning and you recognized him distantly from the printmaking department. He waved at you. “Y/N, I didn’t know you knew Yoongi.”

“Hey, Taehyung,” you forced a smile. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Taehyung—it was impossible not to with the way he treated people—but you had been certain you had read something primal in Yoongi’s eyes. If Taehyung hadn’t interrupted…your mind churned over the possibilities. “How do you know him?”

Taehyung shrugged. “I know everyone.”

From anyone else it would have seemed cocky and obnoxious, but from Taehyung it was just fact. “Right,” you said, for lack of having anything else to say.

Taehyung faced Yoongi. “Seokjin’s looking for you. Something about playing the piano so he can sing.”

Yoongi scowled and looked away, his eyes momentarily darting to you. “Tell Seokjin I’m busy.”

Taehyung gave you a look then another at Yoongi and his lips curled up. “I’ll let him know.” He gave the both of you one final wave and turned back to the house.

You sighed out all of your relief and realized the moment had been shot in the head and left for dead the moment Taehyung called Yoongi’s name. You toyed with the edge of your shirt and forced yourself to stop, sinking your hands into the cold iron instead. “I should get going.”

Yoongi stood and his face was not upset, simply resigned, as he held out a hand. “I’ll walk you back.”

He was surprisingly not quiet on the walk back to your apartment building. It was a short walk from the house where the party took place back to your home but Yoongi made good use of the time. He spoke about his major, how the performing arts school was, the people who overused the practice rooms. He laughed as he told the story of the time he almost got locked in overnight in the bathrooms of a lecture hall because he was the last one out of a study group.

You were pleased to find his smile had a gummy quality, his top lip pulling up and exposing the pink of his mouth. His voice had a secretive lilt to it when he spoke, his words low enough to sound like a whisper but his tone deep and reverberating. You remembered the sound of his moan as it left his lips directly to yours.

By the time you reached your apartment, you wondered how you could’ve ever found him cold. The Yoongi that you’d seen in that café with Seokjin felt like a totally different person from a different life. This Yoongi was more than kind, he was eager. Eager to speak to you, eager to hear your laugh, eager to be in your presence.

He stopped at the same moment you did, following your movement in a way that felt natural. You smiled. “When can I see you again?”

He beamed and it was disarmingly unexpected. “Whenever you want.”

It was such a line you wanted to scoff but his face was too genuine, too soft. He was all honey in the sweetest way.

“It was hot, dude. Like,” you brought a fry up to your mouth and tapped your lip with it, “I never thought I’d get sloppy at a party and make out with someone and not regret it, but it was that hot.”

Jungkook gave you a look and set down his burger. “I don’t need the details.”

You scowled at him. “Just be happy for me, jerk.”

He swiped a fry from your plate. “Fine, I’m happy you made out with some serious, angry dude at a party.”

“Nah, he’s different. I was wrong about him.” You flushed as you remembered Yoongi and your conversation.

He made a motion like he was gagging. “You’re such a girl.”

“Your face is a girl.” You tossed a fry at him and he caught it easily, his face only surprising momentarily before popping the fry in his mouth. “And don’t be sexist.”

The diner on campus was the worst place for burgers and fries ever. They were far too expensive and had super limited options, but it was yours and Jungkook’s place. Given the population of your school, almost everyone was obsessed with healthy food or high-end cuisine, but the burger joint was a staple for yours and Jungkook’s late night dinners after leaving the studio.

The bell dinged as the door opened and you ducked your head for another bite of your burger. Jungkook was still cackling over your comeback and the sound of his laughter made you giggly. You set down your food and tried to fight back the impending laugh but it was too much. It erupted out of you and soon the two of you were loud, loud enough to draw attention. You finally calmed yourself enough to stop and Jungkook reached over the booth to wipe at your mouth.

“You eat like an animal,” he chastised, wiping off the thumb he’d used to clean the corner of your lip on a napkin.

You growled and did your best effort to be comically sexy.

Jungkook grimaced. “Don’t.”

You kicked his leg under the table. “You love me.”

Jungkook’s phone buzzed on the table and, as if in response to your words, you saw a text message pop up with no name under the sender, but rather just a simple red heart.

Jungkook tried to swipe the phone out of sight before you could read the text but you had seen enough. You gaped. “Jeon Jungkook, are you dating?”

He turned beet red, the tips of his ears looking dipped in paint. “Shut up.”

“Oh my god, who is it?” Your hand darted out for his phone but he moved it out of your grasp. You threw your body over the sticky linoleum tabletop toward him but he swiped out of your range, keeping his hand just out of your reach. “Don’t be a dick! You don’t keep secrets.”

“It’s not serious yet,” he said, stashing the phone is his pants.

“Then what the fuck is that red heart emoji?” You raised your brows in disbelief.

“It’s so you can’t tell who it is!” He laughed out. There was annoyance in his tone but it wasn’t harsh and you knew he wasn’t actually upset with you. “You’d stalk them on social media and it would get weird.”

You sank into the booth guiltily. “That’s not true,” you muttered.

“Right,” he mocked.

“Give me a hint,” you begged.

He swiped another fry from your forgotten plate. “Fine. You know them.”

Your eyes narrowed as you sorted through your options. You knew almost everyone. He knew that. It was impossible not to in such a small school. Still, you thought…lately Jungkook had been working on speed sketches, these faint figures that had a softness to them. They were all love, you’d thought. But you never imagined that they were of someone he was in love with. You’d just imagined it was a family member. Maybe his older brother. You tried to match the figures up with people in the school Jungkook was close with. There was an ease in the set of the shoulders, a beauty in the angles of the face. All at once it came to you. “Oh my god, I know who it is.”

He deadpanned. “How?”

You popped the last fry on your plate. “Not telling.”

The first snowfall of the season was a stunning one. Blankets of snow dulled the world and brushed the landscape in a pallid white that comforted you and made you want to skip class.

Thankfully, your professors were on the same page as you. Just as your alarm went off you received the text from Jungkook stating that classes were cancelled and you tossed your phone back where it’d been. The college student in you was begging you to fall back asleep but there was a niggling part of you that wanted to go out into the wintery storm and find Yoongi.

He hadn’t spoken to you in weeks. You remembered texting him after the party and he’d replied not long after. Then you’d gone to lunch with Jungkook and texted him to meet up with you after that but you hadn’t heard from him since.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. Guys said all kinds of things if they knew it would get them laid so you shouldn’t have expected something different from Yoongi, but he had seemed so sincere. He’d made you believe he would be different.

You wanted to mope, but your stomach was beginning to awaken and you realized you would not be able to laze around properly unless you had food in your body.

You decided to brave the cold, walking the couple of blocks from your house to the supermarket. You could stock up for the rest of the day and not have to get out of bed again except to use the bathroom.

The walk to the grocery store was short but treacherous and you fought to stay upright on the slippery sidewalks. You drew your scarf up to cover your nose and mouth and pulled down your beanie to cover your ears. When you entered the warmth of the store, you were all but sighing with relief.

It was short-lived.

“Yoongi?” You called.

The pale-haired boy looked up and his expression was as cold as it was the first time you’d met him. He gave you an indifferent nod and turned back to walk down an aisle away from you.

You balked. Before you could stop yourself, you followed after him. It was anger. Anger at letting yourself trust him, anger at him for being an asshole. Anger at Seokjin for letting you meet him. It was anger and it was all you needed to push forward like a steam engine to force him to explain himself.

You rounded on him, stopping yourself in front of him and making your body take up as much space as it could by situating your hands on your hips. “What the hell?”

He looked at you and you could tell his eyes were hiding surprise despite how little his expression changed. “What?”

“You haven’t spoken to me in weeks. I thought you said we could hang out whenever I wanted.” Your voice was more petulant than fear-inducing but you found you couldn’t quite control it as well as you wanted to. “So you were just lying or what?”

He raised his eyebrows and he looked insufferably calm. “I just didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Your face twisted. “What? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I saw you two together at the diner on campus.” He made a gesture like he would wipe your mouth though his hand never made it close enough to your face to even feel the warmth off his skin. “He was wiping your mouth off and making you laugh. You seemed pretty happy. I don’t want to stand in the way of that.”

Your shoulders sunk and you huffed out a quiet laugh. “That’s Jungkook. He’s just my friend. We’ve just known each other a long time.”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his coat and huffed out a laugh. “Whatever.”

“You know what,” you turned your face to hide the redness blotching your neck. It wasn’t embarrassment. It was your anger made manifest. You felt like lava would spill out of you and melt the snow still clinging to your boots, “if that’s the kind of person you think I am, this isn’t worth it.”

You spun on your heel. You still had to buy food but you would rather rip out your hair than run into Yoongi again.

A small part of you hoped he would still call out to you, try to apologize. But there was only the overhead speakers blasting out smooth jazz as you trudged out of the store.

The last thing you wanted was to be at Seokjin’s performance. You knew Yoongi was playing piano and you hated to think that you would have to sit through twenty minutes of staring at him passionately play an instrument, but you told yourself you would only look at Seokjin.

Except you couldn’t.

Yoongi was radiant. You never thought you’d ever see someone who wore so much black casual wear wearing a blazer and dress trousers but he looked beautiful. You traced the lines of his figure with your eyes and melted into the sound of his music. His fingers looked lithe as they flitted across the keys and you were suddenly fascinated by the fluidity of his movement. You were aware of the sound of Seokjin’s voice singing his monologue in the background but it was faded and distant.

It was a sudden urge, the way your fingers twitched. It was the itch to draw. When it took you, your fingers curled and ached for your pencil. At first, it’d seemed crazy to always have a pencil and pad in your bag but it’d come in handy more times than you could count. You pulled it out as quietly as you could and sketched blindly, keeping your eyes trained on Yoongi as he played. You knew it would be messy but it would be enough to help you recall the beauty of his movement later.

When the piece was over you walked the short route to the visual arts campus and made your way to the familiar building you and Jungkook inhabited. You settled into your usual spot near Jungkook’s easel and found his hoodie strewn over his stool.

You set to fishing the fresh memory of Yoongi playing out of your mind and onto the canvas. Shutting your eyes, you let the image of him wash over you and your hand followed the lines of his body, the slope of his piano.

You felt hands drop onto your shoulders and a chin dig into the top of your head. “Get off, Jungkook.”

He laughed and lifted himself off you, taking his seat in the stool beside yours. “What are you working on?”

“Min Yoongi.”

“The guy who blew you off after you made out?” His brow furrowed. “Why?”

You shook your head at his concern. “Just an artistic interest, don’t worry.”

He nodded slowly like he didn’t quite believe you but he gave you your space. You worked on the piece for hours, long enough where the light outside the window began to fade into darkness. Jungkook kept an eye on you, you could feel it from the corner of your gaze, and near the time where your stomach started rumbling he disappeared. He came back twenty minutes later with a crinkly paper bag that smelled like grease and salt and plopped it on your cart beside your pastels.

Your eyes blinked out their exhaustion and you looked up at him. “Thanks.”

He ruffled your hair before you could slap his hand away and went back to his stool quietly. You tore through the food he brought you and returned to your canvas. Late into the night you felt your body sway in the stool and you fumbled over to the couch in the corner of the studio. The last thing you saw before you passed out was Jungkook’s frustrated expression.

Three days later you were wavering in front of the practice rooms. You’d been out there for half an hour holding onto the painting you’d done of Yoongi. He was inside the room, his body hunched over the piano. He looked as beautiful as he had the day of the performance and it brought the itch back to your fingers. You wanted to do a series of him just existing.

Your phone buzzed and you struggled to dig it out of your pocket. “Taehyung? Why are you calling me?”

“Jungkook can’t find his phone and he told me to call you.” His voice sounded groggy and quiet.

You rolled your eyes. “Tell Jungkook he probably left it in the studio and I’ll pick it up later. Are you at his place?”

Taehyung made a soft, assenting noise.

“Tell him he’s an idiot.”

Taehyung giggled and hung up.

“What’s that?” Yoongi appeared at the door of the practice room and you froze. He jutted his chin at the canvas in your hands and you nearly dropped your phone in an attempt to put it away. You walked over to him and showed him the piece. He cocked his head at it. “That’s me?”

You nodded. “I saw you and Seokjin and I was inspired. I just wanted you to see it.” You sighed. “You’re still an asshole for thinking I would make out with you if I had a boyfriend. But I loved this piece.”

He was serious and his expression was unchanging. “I deserve that.” A finger reached out to touch the canvas and you flinched back instinctively. He leaned forward instead, his face drawing near the vision of himself at the piano. “I talked to Seokjin. He told me you didn’t have a boyfriend. Then I talked to Taehyung,” he flushed. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry.”

You bit your lip. Your instinct was to forgive him so you could see him play again. So you could kiss him. Though you told yourself that was the secondary reason.

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Are you busy? Do you want to grab something to eat?”

You fought back a smile. He made it to easy to fall back into him. “I have to drop by the studio first.”

You walked back down the hall and he fell into step with you easily, his pace matching yours. “What for?”

“My idiot best friend left his phone there last night.” You smirked, daring him to react.

He smiled and you took in the warmth of it, the ease of him beside you. You wanted to swallow it whole and fill yourself with it.