#never had a bug bite linger for weeks before

[foldingfittedsheets]

When my wife and I first embarked on allergy injections together I very specifically planned for our injection arms to be opposite so that as we switched arms week by week we’d always have a safe side to cuddle on. This worked out pretty well. My shot arm is usually more sore and itchy so it’s safe from getting bumped this way.

But two weeks ago I got this horrible wretched no good very bad spider bite on my arm right near where the injection was supposed to go. I told my beloved to just do my shots anyway. This was very stupid.

My arm did not care to be shot full of allergens while dealing with another local foreign contaminant. The spider bite got infected. I tried using the steroid cream we use for our shots on it cause it itched like a motherfucker but in fact, that made it worse. In desperation I gave up on trying to manage the furious itching and just opted to slather it in antibiotic cream. This finally helped.

The next allergy shot went into the opposite arm as planned and I continued applying cream hoping to actually defeat the evil for good. It was all to no avail. A quick check with the doctor during my beloveds shot confirmed I should keep avoiding the bitten arm.

So today my forward planning is for naught. My beloved and I have injections on matching arms. No matter how we cuddle one of us is in danger.

[ohnonononononono567]

Bit by Bit - Simon "Ghost" Riley x m!reader (mostly angsty)

Continuation of Games btw (Here you go @aliciamorov bro, i gotchu)

"I love you."

"I don't want to love you."

A sentiment he heard from some highschool girlfriend he had for two weeks. Back when love meant skipping your shift at the arcade to buy them Mickey D's. 

Back when love was finding peace from your crap father and the butcher shop wouldn't let you pick up more shifts. 

He had said it stupidly. In her bed, having done nothing more than drink a beer stolen from her father and his lips swollen from her insistent biting while they made out. Her giggling filling the room, always had a sense of humor that one.

Sitting next to her, hands interlaced, his words slipped out. When she hissed out her reply, he felt a chill run up his spine. Never a fan of snakes.

She liked him nonetheless. She wasn't heartless. But she'd leave for a bloke going to the same college as her next week anyways.

After enlisting, he learned why he was wrong to say what he had said.

Love was strong. And he was weak. He was weak for the way you laughed, for the way your face scrunched up in the morning. He was weak when he yelled at you. He was a weak man. It was shitty to let a girl he can't even bother to remember the name of linger in his mind. But it kept at his brain every second of the day.

When he allowed a thing—No, a person—a person like you into the cracked parts of his being, you filled it with gold. Bit, by bit. You didn't "fix" him. You weren't a psychiatrist picking at his brain and trying to poke and understand why his mindset was "toxic" and "self destructive." You just made him see the beauty he always gloated about.

He wasn't ugly, far from it, but he saw that gnawing pit growing inside him as the ugliest part of him. And that was what was disgusting. It was a part of him.

Yet a man like you never saw him as disgusting. You never saw the chill of 300 bugs crawling inside your skin begging to acknowledge you're a piece of shit on this earth. 

You saw a man, in distress.

You didn't tell him to toughen up. You never even touched him if he didn't allow it. 

Simon always told himself he'd never allow another man make him feel weak like his father did. It's why he'd find himself fidgeting at your door, wondering if it's even worth it to walk in with those flowers he'd know you'd die for. 

But when you open that door, staring at him, and that goddamn dog jumps to meet him, those thoughts leave.

He wants to love you. He wants to be the one to carry the privilege of loving you. But he's weak. And you'll learn to seek better. You're a tough man, and life will fall onto you. 

And in his weakness, he'll be unable to carry the burden of hurting you by leaving. So he'll tell himself he's not loving you. 

He'll allow you to give him that squeeze in the airport before he leaves. He'll tell you that you'll always be his man. That all his happiness lies with you. He wants it to be true. He knows you'd never want to love him. So he'll protect himself. Internally he'll tell himself he's not in love with the bubbly man who stands in front of him, with their lips connecting.

You see every part of him. And you know he'll realize it's love. He feels what you feel, maybe even stronger.

Bit by bit, he'll realize it.

I DONT WRITE AND I WROTE THIS WHILE IM SAD PWEASE BE NICE :(( (Edit: nobody told me writing #[blank] wasnt the same as tagging your posts i thought i was shadow banned lol)

[kats-fic-recs]

The Best Haikyuu fics I read in 2022

Iwaoi

Lost in Translation

Because misfortune come in threes, Iwaizumi Hajime starts his Thursday having a screaming fight with Shittykawa, spends his lunch break listening to the UCI women's volleyball team gossiping about how Ushijima Wakatoshi had gone public about his longtime love affair with Oikawa Tooru, and closes out the day by drunkenly dropping his phone into a sewer grate.

just hear me out

To stimulate Japan's low birthrates and take most of the guesswork out of dating, a beeper system was biologically developed in people's wrists, an audible confirmation to show romantic compatibility.

Iwaizumi's beeper has been going off for Oikawa since they've been kids. Oikawa's has only ever been silent.

In Defense of Reptiles (and Other Gross Things)

In their seventh year, Oikawa is chosen to be the Hogwarts champion in the Triwizard Tournament, and Iwaizumi suffers.

to be first, to be best

Hajime is apparently something of a masochist, and as he stares down at the tie-dyed AREA51 T-shirt in his hands, he thinks “I’m totally in love with this asshole, aren't I?”

evergreen

It’s exhausting to realize that he still knows Oikawa. He has no idea what stores Oikawa shops at anymore, which bands he’s been listening to lately, whether he still keeps plants in his apartment and whether they’re dying without Iwaizumi around to remind him to water them. But he knows how rain tastes on Oikawa’s lips in the summer and the drumbeat baseline of Oikawa’s heart under his palm, and there are some people you never really grow out of no matter how many other things change.

“When you left,” Iwaizumi says, swallowing against a scratchy throat, “I tried hard, for a long time, not to need you. You can’t blame me for being angry that it was easier for you to leave than it was for me to let you go.”

Ten years after he rejected Iwaizumi's marriage proposal, Oikawa is back in Sendai.

no love like your love

It happens when Daniel is rushing from the food court to the CS building, juggling his phone and a water bottle and a Panda Express takeout container. His lunch date with the cute girl from French class had gone longer than it should have, and he’s too worried about being late to pay any mind to the incoming call that flashes across his screen. Beyond noting that the number is international, he thinks nothing of it, declines, and moves on.

The person calls again, though, in the middle of the lecture, and he has to scramble to silence his phone before his professor can single him out.

By the time the period is over, he has five more missed calls and a text.

From: +81-XXX-XXX-XXXX

is this daniel? iwa-chan’s roommate? call me back when you’re available!!

Sometimes a love is so bright that those outside it can't help but bear witness.

Or: Iwaizumi and Oikawa from 5 + 1 points of view through the years.

heaven is a place in my head

For Iwaizumi, it’s a relief to be able to linger in the cocoon of this intermediate summer, blanketed from the buffeting winds of adulthood and responsibility and real decisionmaking. He would love nothing more than for it to stretch out and out and out, like a bubblegum bubble that spreads itself thin around the air trapped inside it until it pops.

But Oikawa has never liked having nothing to do. He gets restless if he’s bored for too long, starts feeling like he’s running out of time or something dumb like that. So Iwaizumi is almost expecting it when Oikawa barges into his room the afternoon of a heavy summer shower, overgrown bangs dripping rainwater into his eyes, a waterlogged piece of paper crumpled in his fist and a familiar hopeful gleam in his eyes.

When Oikawa convinces Iwaizumi to spend their last summer in Japan as camp counselors, Iwaizumi is prepared for bug bites, sunburns, and rowdy children.

He’s not prepared to spend two weeks kissing his best friend in what might just be the worst thought-out summer fling in existence.

— with melting wax and loosened strings

"If Oikawa is Hajime’s home — is Japan — then this room is his shrine. And Oikawa stands in the centre of it, eyes wide and mouth agape."

Hajime is a visual artist. He's been in love with Oikawa for such a long time that his hands know every curve and bend to Oikawa's figure. But now, with thousands of kilometres and hours between them, Iwaizumi is starting to forget Oikawa's features. It's enough to send him spiralling.

Or, 'Devotion, (2020, colourised)'.

Look For Him

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

-

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

Cup of sugar

After about a month of his time in Irvine, the first package arrives. It’s standing there, on the table, big and heavy and exuding a familiarity that nearly brings tears to Hajime’s eyes.

“That’s really sweet,” Kevin says, eyeing Hajime’s valiant attempts to cut into the cardboard with a knife, “from your family?”

“My boyfriend,” Hajime clarifies, eyes not even straying to the return address. “That idiot’s the only one who would send me something after one month of being apart.”

Tooru and Hajime go long-distance, and Hajime contemplates whether he's accidentally become a sugar baby.

iwaizumi hajime has a ring

Iwaizumi Hajime has a ring on his finger.

A simple gold band with modest silver trimming resting snuggly on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Hajime is only 23 years old, is only in the midst of the second year of his post-graduate degree, and to Charlie’s apparently outdated knowledge, has been single at the very least since his move to America a little over a year ago.

Imagine his surprise when the dude came waltzing back after a month-long break, with a wedding ring on his finger, legally wed, and not speaking a word about it.

In which Hajime gets married and his friends in California have no idea who the lucky woman is.

KuroKen

And if you leave, will you promise you'll find your way back to me?

“Then it’s settled,” Kuroo says. “I’m going to call you every day, until you get sick of me.”

I could never get sick of you, Kenma thinks but doesn’t say. I think it’s going to be the other way around.

Or: the one where Kuroo goes to university and Kenma tries to deal with missing him, perhaps more than one should miss their best friend.

Show A Little Faith

“Why are you sending me a singing Valentine telegram?" Kenma asks, mouth flattened. "It’s six months until Valentine’s Day.”

“I bought a dwarf over the summer to use as cupid.” Kuroo says. “I figured he could use some practice.”

-

Presenting Kenma as the Boy-Who-Lived, whose living becomes a lot more interesting when Ravenclaw Prince Kuroo Tetsurou starts sending him singing telegrams about defeating the Dark Lord.

you're the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway)

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

the book of love is long and boring

“Since when did you become the all-knowing authority on love,” Kuroo teases as he rests his chin on Kenma’s bed, and Kenma bristles before a frown mars his face.

Because it’s not like Kuroo’s wrong.

-

Kenma's never really thought much about love, until an assignment from class forces him to. And then suddenly, it's the only thing that's on his mind.

teach me the way home

Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

My Nameless World (I’ll Let You In)

It’s a modest two-bedroom in the western suburbs, far enough from the bustling crowds to be affordable but still counting, technically, as Tokyo. They’re noisy before they sleep but quiet when they rise, shuffling mutedly out of the door for joint morning runs before bursting back into the apartment for joint morning showers. Shouyou cooks breakfast while Kageyama packs their lunch and gym bags, and they never share a goodbye kiss because they always leave together.

It’s warm and cozy and disgustingly domestic, and it’s probably everything Shouyou’s ever dreamed of.

Except, Kenma thinks irately, Kageyama doesn’t actually live here.

===

Shouyou moves in with Kenma when he ends up in Tokyo for college. Kenma subsequently realizes that half the things in Shouyou’s boxes are actually Kageyama’s because he should have fucking known.

Kagehina

well, maybe i'm a crook

The thing is-- Hinata is in love with Kageyama and everyone knows it, including Kageyama.

by this time next year

"I got offers from two universities," Kageyama announces, pointing at his chest with his thumb. "I'm going to play volleyball at Keio this spring."

"You still have to pass an exam, even if it's an easy one," Takeda-sensei hurries to add, although he is beaming and bursting with pride at his fluffy little crow chick taking off to play volleyball at a university level.

"I'll pass," Kageyama says with the same kind of confidence he uses when he tells Hinata he'll get the toss to him. He looks straight at Hinata, and Hinata jerks and turns red, wondering if maybe Kageyama knew he was daydreaming about something as stupid as the way Kageyama talks to him during a game. But then Kageyama just points at him and says, "You'd better get in, too."

Hinata, stupid, naive, idiot that he is, grins wide and nods and says, "Yeah!"

He doesn't know what he's in for.

Bokuaka

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you)

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

paper rings

Akaashi Keiji knows his relationship with Bokuto Koutarou has an expiration date. It was inevitable. Even the best things must end. Especially with Bokuto's dreams of volleyball stardom on the line, they don't have any other choice. Akaashi has made his peace with that.

Bokuto has other ideas.

surfacing

Keiji’s boyfriend has been cheating on him. During their public confrontation, he ends up walking out with the other man - Bokuto Koutarou. They strike up an unlikely friendship born from the bond of heartbreak, and, eventually, help one another to heal parts of themselves they perhaps hadn't even known were broken.

Alternatively: Bokuto tries to set Akaashi up with a rebound to make up for being “the other man.” It both does and does not go according to plan.

notice me kouhai

This was definitely, somehow, Bokuto's fault.

the strange music of your heart

"Hey," Konoha says, tone hushed, one day after practice when he and Bokuto end up staying behind together. "Akaashi likes you, you know?"

Bokuto is in the process of putting on a clean shirt. "Of course he does," he says, voice too close to his ears under the fabric. "We're friends!" He pulls the shirt down, freeing his head. "What," he says, suddenly self-conscious, "does someone not like me?"

in which akaashi falls for bokuto first.

Miscellaneous

Experimental Probability

Atsumu stares blankly back at him. "So, let me get this straight. Ya want me to kiss ya so you can tell whether or not yer in love with my brother?"

Rin winces at his word choice. "Not exactly how I would have phrased it, but yeah, pretty much."

Or: Suna Rintarou is not in love with his best friend. Scientific evidence would suggest otherwise.

Close to the Chest

It takes Yahaba thirteen years to realize he's different from the other kids, one to figure out how to hide it, and two more to learn to be happy just the way he is. Yahaba's journey ft. an extremely annoyed Kyoutani, best friend in the world Watari, and loads and loads of good senpai Oikawa.

seam-ripper

Asahi’s life is prone to falling apart at the very seams, something he has been aware of since his unfortunate birth approximately sixteen long, hard years ago. Due to the infallible accuracy of this fact, Asahi begins his second year of high school by getting involved in his very first physical altercation; he is subsequently subjected to what might be considered the most embarrassing social situation of the decade. And to top it all off with the perfect catastrophe cherry on the disaster sundae that is Asahi’s miserable existence, Suga is laughing at him.

Or, the story of Asahi and Nishinoya’s near-disastrous get-together.

hair smell

“Actually,” Takahiro starts, uncharacteristically serious. “You… Your hair smells nice.”

“My hair?” Issei blinks.

Takahiro nods. “Yeah.” He reaches a hand up, but doesn’t run his fingers through the curls—instead, he pushes them in at his scalp and scratches. He’s clearly very careful not to ruin the frizzy tangles on Issei’s head that are only achievable by means of product, air drying, and then sleeping-but-not-really on rough cotton pillowcases. The gesture is personal; it worms its way into Issei’s heart and takes root there, squeezing tight, pulsing in time with each of his heartbeats.

“I don’t know what it is,” Takahiro confesses. His face is still serious, but the line of his brow is definitely easing. “Your product? Conditioner?”

Issei shrugs. He didn’t even know about his hair smell until just now.

“But, anyway,” Takahiro continues, and he maintains steady eye contact, although his voice is suddenly small. “Sometimes I’ll smell it on someone else, and it makes me think of you.”

“Oh,” Issei says.

the inherent romance of classical conditioning (or, the fine art of emotional recognition)

It's stupid. Atsumu isn't a romantic, no matter how many times he's imagined laying Sakusa out and finally really touching him.

So there's no explanation for why Atsumu is constantly stuck thinking about brushing his fingertips against the meat of Sakusa's palms or the prominent tendons in his freaky wrists.

There's no explanation for why doing dishes sets off a warm burn in his ribcage, or why when he smells disinfectant he inhales like he's walking past a bakery.

Yer doin' this to me, he thinks furiously, as Sakusa derails his thoughts with kisses that come more and more frequently now. Yer conditionin' me, and I can't stop it.

Tending to a Wounded Heart

“Now, Iwaizumi-san, while I am flattered by your interest and must admit you’re very attractive, I must inform you my heart belongs to another, and I’m not sure your dear captain Oikaw-“ Satori wasn’t even able to finish his jest, as a fuming Iwaizumi interrupted him. A blush blooming from his hairline down to his neck.

“I’M NOT HITTING ON YOU, DUMBASS!”

...

After being discovered in the midst of breakdown in the bathroom of Seijoh, Tendou Satori strikes up an unusual friendship with Iwaizumi who seems keen on helping Tendou navigate his own unrequited feelings, despite ignoring his own.

All the while Tendou's teammates are becoming more and more concerned with their blocker's new behavior and mysterious texting buddy.

No more time to waste

Tsukishima Kei has a theory: crushes were originally conceived as a cosmic torture device. Now, he doesn’t exactly have a broad sample size to study, being completely unwilling to engage with either Hinata or Kuroo’s pining for their resolutely-stoic best friends, but it’s true from his experience. He has it worse than them, at any rate. His best friend is the furthest thing imaginable from stoic.

Tsukishima suffers through training camp in a heatwave. His infuriatingly attractive best friend does absolutely nothing to help.

my heart beats for contract law

"You had an emotional breakdown in a McDonalds drive-through."

"Mmm."

"And proposed to me."

"Shhh."

"In a McDonalds drive-through, Hiro."

Takahiro huffs out a nervous laugh, keeping his eyes closed. "You love it," he repeats, nuzzling closer.

Mint and Pine

Yahaba yanks at Kyoutani’s uniform in the club room and ties his tie so tight after morning practice that sometimes Kyoutani thinks he’s trying to fucking strangle him.

don't bother checking my work (i've never cared for math anyway)

It isn’t until Shirabu’s back at LOCCENT that it really sinks in. Forty-eight wins? An impressive number, true, and a definite sign of Ushijima’s strength, especially compared to Tendou. But in anyone else, an unbalanced score like that would indicate a depressingly low chance of drift compatibility.

Drifting with Ushijima was simple statistically, but potentially deadly realistically. And drifting with Tendou? A veritable nightmare. If not for Washijou’s insistence, Shirabu would have dropped him long ago.

Still, something is calling to him. Something beyond numbers and data projections.

Because Ushijima may have knocked Tendou down forty-eight times. But that means there were forty-nine times he got back up.

Overflow

He laid his palm flat over Asahi’s jaw, almost shivering when the sparks fluttered up his arm and settled in his chest. His thumb came to rest in the little dip below Asahi’s lower lip, the skin there quivering with the tremble of Asahi’s mouth.

Glancing away from where he’d been intently watching the path of his fingers, Yuu found Asahi’s eyes wide open, with terror or awe it was hard to tell. And it hit him then what he’d just been doing.

Well, not really hit him. It sank into him, slow and staticky and warm and anxious—the realization that he’d never touched anybody like this before.

[heartstringsduet]

Semicompleted Saturday

I hope I'm not the only one who keeps longer scenes that never make it into a story instead of deleting them or starting stories or art that never will be finished? Because I hope one day, maybe they'll fit somewhere or inspire a new thing. Ignore this tag game if I'm the only weirdo lol

Rules: Share one scene or art that never made it into a/the finished piece and probably never will. (And if you want, share what it was supposed to be and why you left it out or never finished it) - Scene for Danger Zone, (tarlos as college roommates who hate-love each other), deleted because the story was already very complicated with the time jumps.

There’s a list of things TK could hate Carlos for. Just yesterday, TK walked into their dormroom and slipped on his towel and hit his elbow on the doorframe and all because Carlos had placed it in the doorway as a sign for TK to stop leaving the wet thing on his side of the room. And each time TK peels off another of Carlos’ sticky notes, at least one of them gets stuck on his fingers like the instruction is refusing to be ignored. His whole trash can is full of them. And Carlos likes to keep the window open at night and it lets bugs in. But what actually digs deep into TK is that he can’t stop thinking about Carlos. He’s tried. He’s tried a little too hard with how his head throbs after each party and how raw he feels seeking out pleasure anywhere but his roommate. He can’t be sure but within the last week, Carlos’ presence has unfolded into all corners of their room. It suffocates him. Their room smells of him, so TK buys two air fresheners and delights a bit that they make Carlos sneeze from time to time. When he’s in the room, TK has to put so much energy starring everywhere but at Carlos, that his eyes start burning from being too dry. But inevitably, TK goes to bed with frustration lapping hotly between his legs. Some of it, TK can blame on himself. In the beginning of the year, Carlos had exclusively worn overly large shirts and pants. But thanks to TK’s help shopping the right fit back when they had been on good terms, and Carlos’ body filling in as teenage awkwardness melts away, it’s impossible not to find him attractive. God, Carlos' shoulders are so wide they might be airplane landing strips. The new pants TK recommended him hug Carlos’ butt just so and he bends over so often, TK nearly bites his lip bloody at how obscenely bubbly it looks. Even worse, it makes TK try to be as much of a distraction. Wearing the UT baseball shirt TK got the week before he quit the club is a deliberate weapon. The way Carlos’ eyes had lingered on him in it made him question whether his roommate is truly straight. He likes to test that theory now, wearing the tiniest shorts he has underneath, so that the shirt hem is barely tracing it as he walks. Not to mention how it slides up when he sits.

Again, sorry if it's only me or maybe you don't want to share things that never made it in because it was for a reason, but still, here is the tag @liminalmemories21 @lightningboltreader @carlos-in-glasses @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @fitzherbertssmolder @thebumblecee @goodways @paperstorm @strandnreyes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @welcometololaland @louis-ii-reyes-strand @rmd-writes @birdclowns @lemonlyman-dotcom @ladytessa74 @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @inflarescent @alrightbuckaroo @ambiguouspenny @freneticfloetry @orchidscript @whatsintheboxmh @paxdracona

[pynkhues]

Touch prompt 17 (after an argument) please and thank you!

Whatever Gets You Through the Night Succession gen fic. Roy sibs! TW: for mentions of domestic violence, drug abuse.

1996 / Connor's 33, Kendall's 18, and Roman and Shiv are twins and 14.

-

“Ow, fuck,” Roman bites, wincing dramatically as Connor rolls his eyes, offers up a half-assed watch it as he presses the balled-up washcloth to his youngest brother’s split lip. It’s mostly stopped bleeding now, the cut leaving the start of a bruise the size of their father’s signet ring just below the swell of his mouth, and the thing is, it wasn’t even hard, not really. An unballed fist, an open fingered backhand. Hell, if dad hadn’t been wearing the ring, there’d probably be nothing to clean up at all. The thought dries in ink, certain in a way that eases that hot, panicked, hollow feeling from ten minutes ago, even as he tilts Roman’s peach-fuzzed chin sideways to double check.

“A day, maybe two,” he decides, letting him go, but not quite moving to stand just yet. “I reckon you won’t even know it was there.”

“Shit, was hoping it’d scar,” Roman replies. He’s sitting cross-legged on the closed toilet seat, his eyes cast downwards to where he’s tugging the sleeves of his sweater down over curled fingers. Like this, he looks younger than fourteen, bug eyed and round faced with hands and feet he hasn’t grown into yet. Scrappy, like Kendall was at his age. Like Connor’s pretty sure he was too. “Start my supervillain era.”

It’s then that Shiv finally makes a noise – that loud sort of scoff she’s been managing since she was eight – and Connor exhales, standing up from his crouch to toss the blood-spotted washcloth into the sink.

“Please, you have Henchman Number 3 written all over you.”

“Yeah, well, you have unidentified murdered body written all over you. Probably headless and like, mangled and shit, with someone’s dick stitched to your face.”

Which - - okay.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Shiv asks at the same time Connor says: “Hey,” giving Roman a sharp look, and Roman just rolls his eyes, slumping back against the toilet’s tank and pulling a face at Shiv, who’s gotta pull an ugly one back, if the faint grin twitching at the corner of Rome’s mouth is anything to go by. It makes it easier somehow, for Connor to glance back at Shiv himself, and at least some of the colour is coming back to her face.

She’d come into the bathroom after them, but only by seconds, closing the door behind her before deciding to glue herself to it, and in the moment of it, it had been too much. To have been on his own this morning at his place in Medina, to tonight, trapped in the crowded kids’ bathroom at their dad’s apartment on the Upper East Side, these three kids suddenly his to deal with, loud and needy and urgent.

Not that that was a straight line exactly.

No, of course, there was plenty between it, from the private jet to dinner, to - - all of that - - but he’s not really sure how productive that would be to think about right now when his fourteen-year-old sister is staring at him like maybe he has a few answers.

And maybe he does, he thinks, hands still damp from the washcloth.

Or maybe not, he thinks, because he finds himself still looking at Shiv to not look at Kendall.

Thing is, he'd only visited her a few weeks ago – flown to Kentucky to see her compete in the US Equestrian Pony Finals, where she’d ignored him the first day before attaching herself to his side the second – but he swears she’s grown since then. Another inch in height at least, plus - - you know. She and Rome might be twins, but they’ve never looked particularly alike, and now, well. Mom always did say girls grew up faster.

“You okay?” he asks her, and Shiv glances up at him, arms crossed behind her back where she leans against the wall, and he sees it. The way her eyes dart towards the bathtub, but she’s careful not to let herself linger. Rolls her shoulders back against the wall, pushes her hips out like she would when she was still a kid, and she sniffs.

“Shouldn’t you be asking him that?”

Which - - yeah, Connor thinks, finally turning his attention to where Kendall’s sprawled in the empty bathtub, skinny as a rake, all of 18 and more blitzed on your average Thursday night than Connor was at last year’s Burning Man. He’s distracted at least for now, entranced by the ceiling light, his hair still damp from where Connor had splashed some water on his face the second he’d pulled them in here, but after a quick search for track marks (there were none that he could find, at least, although the hand-grip shaped bruise on Kendall’s arm had made him catch his breath), and deciding he wasn’t at risk of slipping into unconsciousness just yet, figured he could wait a sec.

“Don’t know how I was the one he was pissed at with the tweaker here,” Roman huffs, but there’s nothing behind it really. Embarrassment if anything, Connor thinks, because they both know Dad wasn’t actually angry at Roman anyway. The evening is like a flip book in his head: Family dinner and Kendall moony eyed and loose limbed and Sally-Anne’s pointed comments and then Kendall’s slurred insult, then their father’s consuming anger, shrinking the room, climbing the walls. A hand on Kendall’s arm, yanking so hard Connor thought he might’ve pulled it from the socket, Roman standing up saying - - something, Connor can’t remember, just remembers he was too close, whatever he said too much, so their father’s hand had gone backwards, like batting away a fly. Remembers Shiv then, staring hard at her plate, white faced and stormy eyed, and if it wasn’t for Sally-Anne suddenly leaving the room, their father quick to make chase, who the hell knows where the night might’ve gone.

“You just don’t know when to stop,” Shiv tells him, and Connor ignores them, crouching at the edge of the bathtub, grabbing the glass of water he’d poured earlier off the floor and holding it out to Kendall again. His gaze slips to the finger shaped bruises on his arm, and sometimes, in his dumber moments, he kinda thinks that’s the nut cracked. That Roman’s smacked out of the way, shoved to the side, and Kenny’s yanked closer, Kenny’s held down, but that’s not - - Dad’s not - -

Connor shakes his head, reaches for Kendall’s hand, helps him grip the glass. They’re kids, just like he was, and they just need to learn to keep quiet and do as they’re told. That’s all.

“You with us?” he asks, and Kendall blinks bleary green eyes back at him, unfocused, but then - - there’s a little something. A vague flicker of recognition, of regrounding, and Connor’s knees ache.

“Con?”

“Yeah, Kenny, I’m here.”

It makes Kendall blink, mumble something Connor can’t quite make out, but there’s a smile at his lips, so Connor takes it for a win. He rests his elbow against the cool porcelain rim of the tub, easing the glass to Kendall’s mouth.

“You gonna drink some of this for me?”

“You always do stuff like this,” Shiv continues, and from the corner of Connor’s eye, he can see her finally push off the door, starting towards Roman “Like you’re away half the year and then you come back, and start inserting yourself into things that you don’t know anything about.”

“Oh, I don’t know anything about this? About fucking - - fucking Trainspotting over here?”

Which - -

Connor frowns, even as Kendall fumbles a hand to his wrist, holds onto him as Connor helps him take a drink.

“Aren’t you a little young to be watching stuff like that?”

“We’ve seen worse,” Shiv counters. “Pretty sure Roman’s been jacking it to Clockwork Orange since last summer.”

“Yeah, but only to the regular violence, not the rapey violence, so the internet says there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t like you guys messing around with that either,” Connor says, and he’d gesture to make a point, but Kendall’s really holding onto him now. Sobering up, maybe, something. Connor glances back, but y’know what? He has a point here. “The internet. You know, I’ve heard it was secretly invented by Al Gore, which means Clinton’s probably using it as a backdoor to Dad.”

“Oh my god, Connor,” Shiv groans, as Roman laughs, which chafes, and Connor half twists back towards them, annoyed because, y’know, they’re half his fuckin’ age, and he knows stuff about this, he does, but Roman and Shiv are just grinning at each other now.

“Ooo, yes, well, they’ll be getting all the super secret intel like his favourite sports ball team’s latest score as reported by literally everywhere, and pictures of like - - tits and buttholes.”

“I’m serious, you guys, it’s - - ”

Before he can finish the thought, Kendall suddenly sits up, thrusting his glass back at Connor, and okay, yeah, alright, Connor thinks, sensing the incoming mess. He drops the glass to the ground to stand and haul Kendall up as best he can. The kid’s green around the gills, is the thing, throat lurching and shoulders curling, and Connor glances sideways to Roman as he tries to move Kendall, who’s got all the grace of a reanimated corpse right now, and at least Rome’s already lurching off the toilet seat, fumbling around to help Connor pull their brother bodily out of the tub. There’s a bit of fumbling then, turning, but somehow they manage to link elbows with Kendall in the middle, their knees hitting the tiles simultaneously, just in time for Kendall to drop his head into the bath and vomit.

Behind them, he can hear Shiv gag, and Jesus, Connor’s pretty close to it himself. The splatter of bile (because apparently Kendall hasn’t eaten anything today) loud against the porcelain, and the smell something thin and acidic, diffusing in the bathroom, weaseling into towels and clothes.

“That’s good, Kenny,” Connor says, soothing in the way he used to use with his mom, which - - okay. Not something to spend too much time thinking on. He swallows, adds: “Bet you’re feeling better already, huh?”

Kendall makes a vague spluttering noise, and Roman’s face twists into something between sympathy and disgust, and Connor’s knees really aren’t what they used to be. He shifts on the tiles, feeling his pants catch in the grout line, leaving him off-balance, and he means to push a hand to Kendall’s back, half in quasi-comfort, and half to steady himself, only to discover that Roman’s hand is already there. They don’t acknowledge it, instead Connor just raises his own hand to the back of Kendall’s neck, squeezing gently at the clammy skin there, and watching as Kendall heaves out one last vomit, before he lowers his head to the rim of the bathtub.

“Here it comes,” Roman says, voice flat and hand still sprawled between Kendall’s shoulder blades. “You seen him crash before, man? It’s like watching a lizard fall off the ceiling into a trash compactor.”

“He’s done this before?”

Which is a stupid question, and they all know it. They’ve all seen him sneak off at parties, all seen him waxy skinned and red eyed in the mornings, and Connor’s more wondering when it started. He must’ve been Rome and Shiv’s age, more or less. Younger maybe, but that’s not really something he wants to think about either. Can’t quite balance that. His kid brother, always playing big.  

Still, stupid question or not, Shiv and Roman play along.

“Just a couple of times,” Shiv replies, and when he glances back at her, she’s flattened her bare foot on to the back of Kendall’s, her toes curled around his heel, and it’s a weird sort of gesture, but then Kendall’s foot seems to arch to hold it there, and he thinks he’s got no leg to stand on, not really. After all, she and Kendall are the only two of the four of them who really live together right now, what with Roman at St. Andrews and Connor in Medina. The thought sticks, and Connor thinks - - next school vacation. He’ll get them out with him. He can - - something.

“By that, she means only Wednesdays through Mondays. He gives himself Tuesdays off.”

Roman’s voice is cloying, mocking, and it apparently inspires a fresh exhale. A proper, annoyed breath.

“Fuck you, bro.”

And okay, yeah, Connor can work with that.

“Oh! He’s awake!” Connor crows at the same time Roman says: “He’s aliiive!” in as disturbing a Dr. Frankenstein voice as he can manage, and between them, Kendall swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, resting on his haunches, and their arms are still linked, so it ends up being a whole thing that - - y’know - - not to belabor the point, but Connor’s really not sure his knees are up for anymore.

“Yeah,” is all Kendall says, and it’s weird – this moment where Connor feels him start to pull his arm in, closer, before seemingly changing his mind and disentangling. Instead, Kendall drops his hands to his thighs, curling there for a second before uncurling, and he glances at Connor without actually looking at him, before suddenly turning to Roman. Like this, Connor can’t see his face, can only see the back of his head and the slope of his narrow shoulders, but he can see Roman just past him, and then Shiv too, as she moves from behind them to sit on the edge of the tub, and that’s - - not weird, it’s not. Him and Kendall looking at Roman and Shiv, Roman and Shiv looking at - -

Well.

Not them.

Kendall.

Always to Kendall first.

It’s out of the corner of his eye that Connor sees Kendall raise an arm, his hand coming up to the corner of Roman’s mouth, just enough to thumb at some of the dried blood beneath the cut, and Connor can’t see Kendall’s face, he can’t, but he can hear his hoarse, wet breath, hear the mumbled ‘m sorry, and it’s all it takes for Roman’s face to crack open and for Shiv to stare at the floor like she’d stared at her plate at dinner, her own look closed and stormy again, and Connor thinks he might not even be there. Connor wonders if this is a dream, if its astral projection, if he’s never really with them, always on the outside, looking in, and there’s something inside him that tells him stupid, that tells him they’re teenagers, and Shiv is staring at the floor like she knows not to look up and Roman’s got their father’s ring stamped on his face, and Kendall’s got their father’s fingers wrapped around his arm, and he thinks he can’t look at them.

These kids.

He’s supposed to take care of them.

He drops his gaze to the floor, a tentative hand falling to Kendall’s shoulder, and he hates that it’s a relief, when Kendall doesn’t flinch.

The moment sits, but then, like everything else, it breaks.

“Whatever,” Roman says suddenly to Kendall, loose and warmer than he has any right to be, especially when he adds: “Will you throw up again if I stick my finger in your eye?”

(Which yeah, for the record, he will).

[justahopelessaromantic]

Close in Comfort

Fandom: Be More Chill Ships: Arson Bros (Richjake) Summary: Then Rich came into his life. And everything went to shit.

Jake didn't know when it started.

Maybe it stemmed from the example his parent’s violent and illegal lifestyle set. Maybe something happened when he was a kid. He vaguely recalled rubbing his eyes and yawning as he crept down the stairs to ask his parents if he could sleep with them that night after a particularly bad dream when he was 3 before ending up with a black eye and a cracked skull from the fight in the living room, resulting in his parents fretting over him for over a week and vowing to never bring work home again (Ironic, seeing that baby Jake didn't mind and, as a matter of fact, thought sporting the scar and bruise look made him hella badass.) Maybe the hit did damage to his brain and that did it. Maybe he was born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline. Maybe it was the overwhelming ache that confronted him every morning and insisted on lingering with him almost every day, telling him that something desperate to his worthwhile survival (though he could never tell what) was missing. Maybe that was a symptom and not the cause.

What he did know what that he’d always been different from the other kids. And, yeah, he knew how incredibly cliché that sounded, but it was true! Sure, stuff like taking in interest in more violent hobbies as a child, such as tackle football, plucking the legs off of bugs whenever he spotted one, and roughhousing with the neighbors’ kids seemed normal enough, but a people person like him found it obvious that most toddlers weren't too thrilled by sneaking into their baba’s room and bingeing gory horror movies until his dad scooped him up and playfully dumped him into his bed, not even bothering to scold the giggling child for staying up so late or his viewing material.

That paled in comparison to the darker stuff he would get up to later though.

Throwing rocks at his neighbor's windows, subconsciously hoping the glass shards would cut them as they walked past it. Swinging his bat at the other team’s members when he lost a game and doing a disturbingly major amount of damage. Biting the kids on his block if they got under his skin. All of it concerned the adults in his life (save for his parents who only insisted it was simply a sign of the phenomenal criminal he would grow up to be) and himself. He developed a base sense that none of it was normal, despite in how right and natural it all felt.

Over time, his peers began avoiding him and his teachers began reprimanding him before his parents had the chance to blackmail them not to, so, to remedy the sting of his loneliness and harsh criticism, he bottled up those impulses deep down and made an effort to behave the best he could, gaining praise and popularity in the process. After the image of resident good boi Jake had been cemented, he figured he could handle it. That he could be a normal kid.

Then Rich came into his life.

And everything went to shit. 

He didn’t pay much mind to Mrs. Mell’s announcement of a new student. At best, he’d have a new friend, which didn’t mean much, considering his surplux of friendships at the time. At worse, there’d be another kid copying off his tests in class. Yet, as he leaned against the playground’s fence pouring water on an ant farm and gossiping with Jenna while a particularly rowdy squabble spilled out of the courtyard and into the sand box, Jake took the time to squint and tilt his head to get a better view of the fight. And their he was. The new kid, drenched in bruises and fat tears spilling down his face, wildly swinging and clawing at his aggressors in a pathetically vain attempt to feign them off.

And yet, somehow, in his chaotic state, he still came off as the most gorgeous person Jake had seen. It was as if, suddenly, everything had clicked into place and the empty hole inside himself was filled instantly as waves of tranquility washing over him the more he stared at him. Like everything was right with the world and nothing else mattered as long as this kid was ok.

Maybe that explains why he felt such an intense, burning desire to protect him.

Tuning out his friend’s cries of confusion and throwing himself into the fray, Jake managed to scar each bully either mentally or physically, sending them running and/or crying. Swiping up the sky blue glasses on the ground, he slowly bent down and gingerly placed them back on the new student’s head, wide brown eyes hiding behind now slightly cracked frames locked with his in a way that made him feel things he couldn’t put into words even if he tried as he offered a soft smile and brushed a few tears away.

“Hi! My name’s Jake. What’s yours?”

“...Richard.” He muttered, shrinking back into himself and picking at a scratch one of the other kids left. Guess he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Oh well, he could work with that.

“You got a really pretty name, Richard. It fits ‘cause you’re a really pretty guy.” He held out his hand and helped the now red-faced kid back up, almost falling down himself from the sheer shock of holding hands before tugging on his sleeve. “C’mon, I’ll show you where the nurse’s office is!” Fiercely shaking his head, Rich stumbled back as he...trembled? What was that about?

“Nuh-uh, can’t!”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause than they’ll see the scars and then they’ll get mad at my Daddy and take him away again and it’ll be all my fault!” He cried as he furiously scrubbed away tear streaks and dug his nails into his arm, unintentionally drawing blood from a fresh cut. Acting on impulse, Jake swept up his new friend in a tight hug and explained that he swore he wouldn’t let that happen, added how they couldn’t do that anyway ‘cause Rich getting hurt “is, like...illegal or something!”

“Promise?” He sniffed.

“Promise.”

And with that, the two were off, running back to their classroom and leaving a pack of jerks and one immensely confused Jenna behind them.

[mixed-kester]

hello ms. esther! sorry for suddenly intruding, but i've seen you a lot on my dash n just wanted to say hi! and, well, to also give this tiny brainrot about u and wanderer in offering haha:

i don't know much about your personal lore, but seeing your art for throwaway-yandere's wood vs salt fic had me Thinking Thoughts. do you remember how in the beginning of wanderer-era, before he got his memories as scaramouche back, wanderer was pretty calm and nice? a little ditzy or, well, easily distracted sometimes, yes, but generally, he seemed like someone safe (or at the very least, like he wouldn't suddenly stab you in the back).

what if he met you while in this state? before the traveler found him and brought him back to the sanctuary of surasthana? what if he saw you and felt some dim, compelling force in the hollow of his chest where his heart should be (the lingering influence of irminsul, the all-encompassing obsessive love that scaramouche had for you you you—) when he sees you, a passing visitor in the grand bazaar, and quietly wonders if he's met you before.

now, this could go in many different ways depending on whether or not you remember him (even with irminsul's deletion of scaramouche's existence) and if he decides to do anything about that. one such timeline, like the wood vs salt-esque au, would be so interesting because, well, he doesn't remember pantalone ever being that close to you before. he doesn't remember you working for alhaitham either.

but you still look the same. still smile the same. still blush, huff, and laugh the same and wanderer can't help but cling to that (can't help but listen to the snake-like whispers just behind his ear to hold onto you, tighter this time, and make sure you'll never leave again).

some things are different. some things are the same. and all these unwanted anomalies are easy enough to correct, with or without his vision.

he's learned from the best, after all.

aaa this is very messy n all but i hope i got the idea across! if this isnt ur cup of tea that is very fine wdyhdbd but if nothing else, i would like to say ur art is very cool n ur ebg lore (at least the little i saw of it bc i had pre-mids that week) is very :eyes:

the object of my thoughts.

tags: wanderer, self-insert, situated inside @throwaway-yandere's Apotheosis on Your First Feast...kind of??? maybe??? an AU of sorts.

a/n: omg brain go brrrrr? welcome to my humble blog ajnsbvkjbhlka don't be shy to interact i don't bite- btw this fic is probably nothing like the ask aaaaaaa words: 1,072

The Grand Bazaar is as bustling as ever. Her nose gets hit with the damp, yet fresh air of the hidden city nestled underneath Sumeru's Great Tree.

At once, Esther hears the quiet, lively atmosphere of the merchants, the lingering tune of a song in Zubayr Theater (Sadly, Nilou will not be dancing today.), and the smell of freshly-made street food, minus the bugs that so happens to linger on the stalls.

This place almost ticks all her checkboxes of a "safe space".

almost.

She found herself sitting beside a food stall, waiting for her order to arrive. In Esther's defense, the food was quite tempting. Scented Meat Balls always have a thing going for her mouth. One moment it's there, the next…an empty platter and greasy hands.

A very pleasant experience, 10/10.

With nothing better to do, she rummaged for her shoulder bag and pulled out a small notepad. Some of the signatures are falling off, the purple yarn barely holding it together, and the handmade cover is dirtied with charcoal stains.

Carefully tightening the seams with a sigh, she then looked around, looking for someone to draw. She wouldn't want to ask someone for permission, no. She has to be discreet; quick, yet accurate.

The last time she got "caught", Esther was quite embarrassed, although her subject at the time was quite flattered and even offered some good critiques at her pose anatomy before being dragged off by Alhaitham, of all people.

Alhaitham, your current boss, and the current Acting Grand Sage of Sumeru. Who assigned you to Varanara, just six hours ago.

Vanarana, the supposed home of the Aranara, the children of the Lord of Verdure.

…the Lord of Verdure, and the successful rescuing of Sumeru's future.

A rescue that I refused to join in.

Esther shook her head in an attempt to dispel the frankly annoying and intrusive thoughts in her head. Quickly putting her notepad, aside, she thanked the waitress and tested the waters on the meat balls, still smoking.

Ow. Too hot.

Her eyes roamed around the bazaar like a camera, looking for interesting people to draw. Interesting poses to draw. A merchant selling fruits, a vendor calling for customers. Quite banal.

I spy, with my eyes…

I spy, with my eyes…

there!

Her hands fly towards the notepad, leaves ruffling as she attempts to find an empty page.

The slight off-colored white invites her in to draw the first line, to fill it up with her lines, to see the figure of a person, the someone she chose to draw.

Reaching out again, she tests if the balls are too hot. Feeling the warm, crumbly texture of the finger food, she eats one whole and quickly focuses on the task at hand.

She looks quickly.

He's not looking at her. Perfect.

She quickly dismissed the hat in her drawing. That thing is a pain to draw quickly, she thinks, instead opting for just an ellipse with shaded points.

She quickly deconstructs his relaxed figure, filling it up with more details as the platter beside her grows more and more empty with each passing hour

He doesn't look like he's from here, Esther figures as she draws the man's robes- kimono, she corrects herself- hanging loosely on his figure, making for quite the focus on his high-collared undershirt-

Esther chokes on a crumb. Coughing, she hides her face on her arm and shakes her head again. Taking a bite out of the meatballs, carefully this time, she erases the quite scandalizing abs on her drawing, scolding herself for the…distraction.

She tries to finish the figure without looking this time. A large gold ornament on his left chest… hair shaped like a weird bowl cut…red eyeliner…

hang on.

She glances again. He did not seem to notice, and was still facing away from her, talking to what she presumes is his boss. how did i know his eyeliner is red?

Her gaze lingers on the drawing, slightly smudging the freshly-drawn face as she traces its jaw. She thinks hard, her eyebrows furrowing, the tapping of her pencil serving as a pendulum for her thoughts.

think, think, think.

She tries to chase the thought, but it slips away from her grasp like a falling leaf amid a strong breeze. Whatever the thought is... she deems it not important.

Esther looks at her drawing again, and her grip makes a dent in the notepad. This drawing, this pathetic croquis of a figure...it's too ugly. It doesn't even shine a light on the guy. This drawing of hers is too disgusting to see the light of day.

The left arm is too long, the face is off, the torso is contorted unnaturally, the fingers are unproportioned, the face is off, the eyes are off, the eyes are off, the eyes are off-

…

She tears off the page, throws it on a random garbage bag, and leaves the bazaar in lower spirits than when she came. so much for relaxation.

If she dared to look back, the subject of her interest has filched the torn paper.

Behind the tree, his errand remained forgotten, the fruits on the forest floor as he traced every uneven line that captured his inhuman self, marvelling at the seemingly glorious art in his hands.

Why did she discard it? he can only wonder as he gingerly holds the paper like it's a treasured possession of his. He does not understand. Why did she throw it away?

Should he find her? He thinks about it, but then considers his chances. An unknown person asks for her, saying something about knowing her vaguely and asking to come with him? He might as well parade around Sumeru City with the biggest hat he could find, yelling loudly.

What name would he give her when she asks for it?

He is a shugenja; a wanderer, as he calls himself. A tree with no roots. Somebody with no home, no kin, no destination. Someone with no name, no identity to hang on with. Trekking across Teyvat to train himself...it's just an excuse.

That's how absurd this is.

So why is he so hung up on this one person who drew him in such a human fashion? What is there to her that piqued him?

Have we met before?

He sighs, and folds the paper, tucking it in his hat. He picks up the sunsettias on the ground, and makes way to the nearby river to wash it.

[idontplaytrack]

Can you do one where Regina is having a bad dad due to back pain and Janis is the only one who understands why she's in such a bad mood.

✧ In My Bed

Janis ‘Imi’ike x Regina George

Warnings: coarse language, fluff, chronic pain

In which Regina couldn’t take anymore of her friends’ comments and decides to ditch school, just like Janis had told her to do.

“Are you sure you want to go to school, Regina?”

“I’ve already missed a day this week. I don’t want to miss another.” Regina sighs, “Our friends are already asking me why I didn’t show up the other day. I don’t want to answer that question and I won’t be.”

“Exactly. Ignore the question— that’s not their business.” Janis huffs.

“They will bug me.” Regina snorted, “Whatever, let’s go. Let’s not be late.”

“Okay, okay.” Janis agreed reluctantly, heading to Regina’s Jeep with her. “Let me drive.”

“You?”

The brunette glares at her, “Come on, I am perfectly capable of driving.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Regina teased.

“Give me the keys.” Janis sighs, holding out her hand. The blonde looked at her, no glared at her directly. “Give me. The keys.” Janis repeated, “Don’t make me snatch them from your hands.”

“Try me.” Regina smirked, having the keys tightly in her palm. Which she quickly raised her arm and dangled from a height. Janis gave up, getting into the front passenger seat without a word.

Regina guffaws, sticking the keys into the ignition and driving off. Janis sulked, her arms crossed on her chest. “Aw, come on. I’ll be having the back pain whether or not I’m driving.” Regina softened up for a moment. Janis ignores her still.

“Fine.” Regina said, brows raised as she got annoyed for a second. Her eyes were now focused on the road, Janis was simply staring into space.

The drive to school wasn’t long, and Janis about halfway through, asks, “Are you okay?”

“I could ask you the same question, Jay.” Regina bites back a laugh. God, this girl was cute. Why are you so cute?

“I’m fine, I was just…kidding around.” Janis exhales, “How’s your back?”

“It’s making me very irritable.” Regina admits, “Gonna blow my top more than usual. Lunch will be greeeat.”

“Just ignore them.” Janis places her hand on Regina’s thigh, her thumb softly caressing her skin over the fabric of her pants.

“When has that ever worked, Janis?”

Woah. Yeah, okay, Regina was irritated, alright.

“Sorry.” Janis mutters, “Just focus on yourself, I’ll shut them the hell up.”

This wasn’t the pair’s first rodeo, per se. Regina had flare ups like this quite regularly which was unfortunate. Sometimes, well most times, Regina would be careful and be able to tell when one was going to creep up on her and start. Other times, she’d be completely fine one minute and start being in excruciating pain the next. One wrong move, and she’d very much be in bed rather than in school or anywhere.

“Wow, you’re in…sneakers?” Damian pointed out the second he saw Janis and Regina walk up to him.

“Shut it.” Regina snapped.

“Very well then.” He said back in his usual tone, which earned him a menacing glare from the blonde. Janis laughs, Damian smacks her on the arm playfully.

“Hey!” Regina and Janis both exclaimed at the same time, but in different tones.

“Don’t smack her.” Regina added on.

“Relax.” Damian teased, “She’s fine. Unlike you. Back acting up again?”

“No shit.” Regina sighs deeply, “I’m going to homeroom, bye baby.” With a kiss pressed to Janis’ cheek, she departs. Janis and Damian head to their homeroom together.

Regina and Janis were separated by classes for awhile, but had the class right before their lunch break, together. So Regina’s mood got a little bit better after a couple hours of not being able to see her girlfriend. It also helped her feel better about the mild but lingering pain in her back. They sat next to each other, and Regina found that extra comforting today— didn’t admit it though. She would never. But then came lunch, where Regina got severally pissed off by just about anything. Someone sneezed, she rolled her eyes. Some stupid squabble between two other students, Regina glares at them. The different cliques laughing amongst themselves…the noise seemed particularly loud today. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Regina’s eyes screwed shut in pain when the random zap of pain that went up from the bottom of her spine.

The sight of everyone being in a good mood was the last straw. She knew life wasn’t fair, but was this torturous chronic pain she had to deal with for the rest of her life the fair punishment for her wrongdoings? Regina certainly didn’t think so. She stabs her fork roughly into the tray of cheese fries, “Fuck!”

It wasn’t a loud exclamation, only her table heard it.

“I can’t do this. You were right, I should’ve just stayed home, in my bed.”

“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Karen asked, she was genuinely curious if not concerned.

Regina knew what way she meant it but the tone alone was enough to frustrate her further today. She appreciated the concern, but she just couldn’t. Not today, she felt like couldn’t do anything right.

“Nope, I can’t. I’m going home. I can’t make it another four hours sitting in a desk.” Regina hid her face in her hands, speaking quietly with the intention of only Janis hearing her.

“Why can’t you just take a Tylenol and get through the day? Doesn’t it help—”

“My God, shut up Aaron.” Regina spat, “Don’t you think I would be fine right now if Tylenol helped? Don’t you think I would’ve taken that? So no, I can’t just take a Tylenol and call it a day. The pain makes me unable to walk, I can’t lie down comfortably, I can’t get enough sleep, my mood is shit, I’m snapping at people who don’t deserve it and the last thing I need is you of all people to ask why I don’t do something. You know how bad it gets, you see it. But do you acknowledge how hard it’s been to even just make it through the day. This is not a fucking joke. I’m sorry I did somethings that I’m not proud of, but sometimes I wish you guys would just stop and learn about how deeply this pain affects me in my daily life. But apparently, it’s too much to ask for because it’s been so long and so it must be all in my head, I’m being dramatic, right?”

Janis had her hand on Regina’s shoulder, “Let’s go.”

“What?” Regina takes in a careful breath, snapping out of her rant.

“Let’s go. I’m taking you home.” Janis answered.

“Okay.” Regina gave in, leaving with Janis before anyone could say anything. Janis drives them this time, Regina just…looked straight ahead trying not to focus on anything but her back.

“I’m gonna just lay in bed. You can go back to school.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Mm, okay.” Regina did not put up a fight at all, which made Janis even more worried.

“Do you want the Aleve or should I run you a bath?”

“Both.” Regina answers, groaning as she sat down on her bed.

“Alright.” Janis retrieves the bottle from the medicine cabinet and a bottle of water from the fridge for her. Then, she proceeds to run a bath, keeping in mind to have the water warmer than usual. While Janis was in the bathroom for a bit, Regina took the pill and laid down on her stomach— something she’d do to try and alleviate the pressure her back had.

After getting Regina into the bath, Janis hung around in the bedroom to wait. And just in case she needed any help. “G? You good in there?”

“…yup. Little sleepy though. Can you come in here?”

“Okay.”

Janis sat down on the floor by the tub, Regina had folded her arms on the side of it, resting her chin there. “What do you need?”

“Nothing.” Regina smiled slightly, “Just wanted you here with me.”

“Oh.” Janis relaxed and smiled back, “Okay.”

“Thanks, baby.” Regina sleepily reached forward to hold onto Janis’ hand, giving it a squeeze, “I appreciate it, really.”

Janis squeezes the blonde’s hand in return, “I hope this flare up goes away soon. But in the meantime, I’ll be right here, G. Whatever you need, I’ll help you with it.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N:

Thanks for your request and for waiting!🫶🏼 Hope you enjoyed this little drabble, anon.

[unknownjpegs]

touch/itch

Can’t do this anymore, is what swipes through his brain as he scrubs diligently at a grass stain on the seat of his jeans. They’re a bit muddy too, because the drink had made them both rowdy and Xavier was like that, he was like that. Messy, getting Benji into situations. Getting into Benji’s head.

Well. Yeah, they’ve known each other, what — two weeks, maybe. Possibly less. And he’s in Benji’s head already.

He starts to realize it has become a genuine problem much sooner than that night at the party. If he really assesses, which he won’t, Benji might find that it begins to creep into him not long after they first meet. That’s — well it’s something, isn’t it? That as wild and loud (there, present, taking up space and so much and so unapologetically) as Xavier registers as anything softer than incredibly fucking annoying. 

But he does. He registers as something so unique and specific that Benji notes a new little line of measurement on the scale for him. He isn’t sure how to label it. Naturally, as if it’s always kinda been there, his brain offers: Xavier. 

And that fucking worries him, and even the fact that it has such an effect bothers too. Because he’s not sure if he’s just latched on. If he’s fixating because Xavier had a pretty face before he had a shared sense of humor, remarkably similar childhood experiences. Before he a personality that Benji found agreeable, he had a face — body, if he’s inclined to go the route of full disclosure. 

He worries that it’s infatuation. Record wise, Benji doesn’t do well with infatuation. Or behave logically about a pretty face. 

Yet most surprisingly, it frustrates. At the end of the day, there isn’t much sense in letting the whole thing worry him in the first place. Xavier is the friend of a friend. Benji doesn’t have to spend as much time at theirs as he does. No necessity in letting Xavier sit next to him, always too close and yet not nearly enough. To be swept up in an easy, flowing conversation that leaves his stomach occasionally aching from laughter. For it to feel like hours only to be minutes, or the opposite. 

But let’s that all happen anyway. The frustration makes more sense, just doesn’t become less aggravating. It needles at him like an itch or a bug bite, something that feels internal. No way to get at it unless he peels himself open. Now he can’t just turn shoulder and go cold; there’s a pair of sad, wet green eyes in his mind at the very idea. 

He isn’t behaving as he usually would — how long had the prickliness lasted until it felt put-on? Minutes. If he’s honest about it. Which, fucking frankly, he doesn’t want to be anymore. Only place it’s gotten him is worried and annoyed.

*

And high. Incredibly, fundamentally high. 

He’s never been high before. That tidbit of information he almost regrets sharing for how Xavier teases him, but the shocked, delighted little laugh at follows the ribbing is worth it entirely. Benji scowls at that thought when it occurs to him. Worried.

“You do that real quick,” he says, cheek squished in his palm. “Lotsa practiced, ‘ey?” 

Xavier pauses mid roll of their second joint, his tongue out near the edge of paper. “I don’t like how you said that.” 

He has to look away from the flash of pink, the curve of his mouth deepened by humor. Benji’s focus is beginning to catch on certain things. Linger in the soupy layer draping itself around his brain. He really can’t explain away an unblinking, hypnotized gaze on a mouth with anything that doesn’t make him sound massively perverted. 

“Said it a way?” The paper rolls smoothly between long fingers. Benji realizes he’s looked to Xavier again, instead of kept his eyes out the window. 

“Lots of practice, heyyyy?” Xavier drawls meanly, lip curled on one side. He’s emphasizing all the sounds funny. By the terrible rolling R, Benji gathers it’s a really poor Scouse.

“That’s shit,” he says, smiling softly. “That’s proper fucking shit, Xavier, that impression. N’you know it.” 

Xavier mocks him again, sounding no better than the first. His head bobs this way and that, lip tucked between his teeth by the end of it. The shrug he offers is nastily innocent, shoulders rounded to inspect the twist at the end with a thumbnail. Glances up between his lashes to coyly tease: 

“What? Just how you sound.” 

It’s not, he wants to argue and can’t — Benji doesn’t sound like anything. Benji suddenly is unable to formulate any thought beside ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck. 

“Naw.” He finally manages, clearing his throat. It feels dry already, like Xavier warned it would. There’s a strange tingle in his fingers and toes, like he’s about to be cold, and his heartbeat has become something noticeable in his chest. He swallows again, but doesn’t argue any further. It feels better to focus in the feeling of the (beer stained, liquid damaged) kitchen table beneath his palm. The woodgrain trails nicely under the pad of his thumb. Feels like little rivers and valleys against the texture, scratches something at the base of his skull. 

“S’crazy,” he mutters dreamily. Xavier glances quickly up at the soft tone, joint bitten between his teeth. He flaps a hand in the air, so Benji takes the lighter out of his pocket and slides it across the table. Xavier misses it, even though it doesn’t move all that fast. They both descend into too-hysterical giggles when it smacks into the wall behind him. 

“Nice pass.”

“Real athletic.” 

They snark at each other the same exact moment, which is enough to have them kicking off in peels of laughter again. Benji holds his abdomen, winces at the ache. When he thinks back on the last few hours, it’s all been laughter. 

“What’s crazy?” Xavier asks once the lighter has been retrieved, their joint started expertly. “Here, just…Benji, look, you’re gonna cough the other lung out if you try it the cigarette way again.”

“But everybody says —”

“Everybody lies,” Xavier interrupts. He stands up, braving himself on the tabletop with one hand while he leans over to pass. Benji’s eyes slip up the nonsense arrangement of tattoos up his arm, images charmingly disjointed and placements chosen at random. Aesthetic without Xavier putting the effort in to make it so. Benji likes that. Respects it, thinking of his own and the silly pleasure behind adding something else on a whim. 

He wonders if Xavier would like something on a whim, if he’d trust Benji’s at-home kit. That makes him smile as he sits up to take the cherry-ended roll between his fingers. Makes him suck in a slight breath when already-damp paper touches to his lips. 

He tries to be normal about what that means. 

*

One giggling, hush-voiced trip to the cornerstone later, they’ve crashed on the couch. A television idle screen flashes blue and red over their faces. There’s a bag of crisps balanced atop Benji’s knee that, when reached for, turns up empty. Benji does not remember emptying it, but there’s a smudge of sensation at the corner of his mouth along with the distant ring in his ears. When his finger comes away from that spot it’s stained the same bright firetruck red as the crisps. 

“Hm.” He says thoughtfully, sticking it into his mouth. “Want to watch something?”

Xavier, knees tucked under his chin, turns to look at him. 

“We just —” he pauses, blinking several times when their eyes meet. Benji looks away from his curling mouth. “Oh, man. Oh shit. You ok?”

His knees are bouncing, hair twisting and untwisting around a finger while his other hand occupies itself with a rhythm on his thigh. It’s separate from the one his feet kick at — fidgeting in three different ways is unlike him. 

“Yeah,” Benji responds. “Why?”

“Because we already did.” Xavier rotates, pulling his legs up until he’s fully on the couch. “Watch something, I mean. We watched two somethings. You talked, like, nonstop through both of them.”

“I did?” He feels a grin threatening. Goes so wide it gets sore, because Xavier has one of his own. “Oh. Maybe — fuckin’ hell. Can’t move my head too fast.” 

“Here, man.” A pillow smacks gently against his face. Benji bats it away with a laughing scowl. “Get yourself comfortable, in that case. You’re about to get hit with the second half and you’ll want to be horizontal.” 

Benji hesitates, pillow clutched between his fingers as he considers the tiny amount of space between them. It isn’t a small couch, but Xavier’s not a small lad. Benji does not look at the splay of his knees or the hem of his shirt he’s been tugging or the loose neckline revealing way too much when he leans forward like that. Xavier tilts his chin, peering into Benji’s eyes assentingly for a moment. Benji watches back heavy-lidded. And then he pulls quickly away, or maybe at regular speed and Benji’s just…there. Going at a different pace of time.

He clears his throat. “Sorry, but…you’re gonna sleep so good, dude.”

“Feels like it.” The laugh bubbles out rough and airy, breath through his teeth. “Can you hand me that?”

Another pillow smacks into his face. 

He tugs it away, tucked beneath his chin. Kicks at Xavier across the couch. It takes a moment to settle. His mum always called it Benji’s gettin’ situated. Worst part of raising him, she would tease. He’s got a distinct memory of being whinging before bed once, giving her the runaround while begging for a story. It must have driven her absolutely up the wall to give in, only to wait for him to set up the pillows and blankets on his bed just right. 

Why can’t you keep it how it is, Benji? She’d asked in amused frustration. You’ll have to move them all when you get to sleep. And he’d responded simply, with sense that seemed only obvious to him: Amma, ‘cuz this is story time pillows. Sleep pillows are different.

Maran’ll go at him about it too, grumbling exaggeratedly under his breath when Benji demands another blanket — or for him to flip it, because one side feels better than the other. Requests they swap shirts, borrow a pair of socks that won’t bother with a seam.

Xavier doesn’t make a single comment while he shifts and shuffles, tucking both pillows and then squirming when the padding doesn’t feel right, when the metal zipper teeth of one brushes the small of his back in a strange way. But Benji has the need to explain.

“Y’know how, in summer, you’ve got the fan on and you want the temperature but the actual — “ he waves his hand at his face, settling back into the miniature pillow fort with a content sigh, “the actual breeze on you doesn’t feel right?”

“No,” Xavier says with a little smile. When he bends forward for the remote, Benji’s gaze feathers over the curve of his spine. “But I guess it’s probably like wool for me.”

Benji tips his chin back and groans extravagantly. “Fuckin’ hate wool, mate. And, makes me sound posh, but polyester? Cheap costume material, y’know. Fuck that.”

“Fuck that.” Xavier agrees, laughing breathily. “Uh. Sometimes eggs weird me out.”

Benji sits up, his eyes widening past their sleep weight. “Piss off.” He says with a burst of giggles. “Oh, you get it. I need to…like I’ve got to,” he smacks a hand to his thigh, gesturing at the side of the couch, “Only wear certain trousers. The—”

“Texture.” Xavier offers sagely when Benji’s brow pulls, brain searching for the word unsuccessfully. “I hate when my hair grows past my ears. It tickles. And I’m picky about blankets.” 

Benji snaps his fingers. “I’ve got this ancient blue shirt with fish on it, don’t remember where it came from, but it’s just about the only thing I’ll wear to sleep right now.” Xavier blinks several times, so Benji shrugs. “Dunno. Good feel to it, I s’pose?” A palm smooths over his chest back and forth, chest hair scratching beneath his shirt. “Doesn’t catch or anything.”

“I think,” the other man says, and his tone is strange enough that Benji glances back over at him from where the televisions’ off flicker drew him. “I think that’s my shirt.” 

Benji looks at him. Xavier looks back. Benji licks his lips, shifts in place.“Not many Boston Aquariums in Liverpool, so that checks.” 

Xavier snorts. The weird tension dispels somewhat, but not all the way. Benji hopes the shirt isn’t sentimental. “Shocking.”

“It’s comfortable. That shirt. Won’t be giving it back.” He says mindlessly, plucking at a stray threat on the blanket tossed over all their legs. Xavier’s lips part, but he doesn’t see it.

Xavier looks like he deflates a bit, but it isn’t in the sad sort of kicked way he curls up with discomfort, hands coming together to wind in circles or flatten to the back of his head in distress. It’s an all-over relaxing. “Yeah. Alright.” 

Benji’s turn to ask now, so he does it cheekily:  “Feeling okay? Bit too much?” 

He nods in response, chin bobbing theatrically; tipped back, the line of his throat looks somehow longer. Benji’s debating on the appropriateness of thinking that way about a friend when it flexes around words. “You can keep it. That shirt. It was big on me anyway.”

And just like that, the image of it on Xavier springs unwanted to the forefront of his imagination. Wearing it. Wearing it too big. Hanging like the shirt he’s wearing now, except — not just a little bit of loose fabric but wearing it big, hanging off a pale, freckled shoulder. Showing the severe cut of a collarbone. Maybe…maybe too long, instead of loose. Maybe when he wears it, the hem drapes over his thighs. And then Benji’s brain spirals thighs and skin and shirt and maybe, maybe nothing else? It offers him the embarrassingly clear mental image of his hand there, shoving it up further. Xavier lifting it himself, maybe. Slow and teasing so Benji can run knuckles under the fabric as it goes, so he can touch —  

Benji falls back against the couch with another sticky gulp, tossing both arms over his face.  

 Xavier yawns. He tucks his long arms behind his back when he does it. Benji gets that flash of worry and frustration. Followed by the unwelcome, unignorable lick of heat. “Yeah, there it is. Don’t know how the fuck you’re conscious. I definitely overdid it, so sorry if you’re…” he giggles, fucking giggles, Benji’s fist clenches. “Uh, out there.”

His focus slides in lazy circles around Xavier’s face. Deep-set, sleepy eyes still somehow flashing playfully aware, freckles, mouth, mouth, mouth.

He pats his thigh. He isn’t sure what exactly possesses him. Except, no, that isn’t true. He is. He knows exactly what comes over him. Face and sense of humor and all the rest of it, of him, because Benji’s fucking awful with infatuation, worse with a face. And because sometimes it’s hard to know when he’s meant to stop drinking because the bubbles burst in his skull, the warmth in his gut soothes. 

I’m not gonna fucking compare you to substances. Benji thinks seriously, holding Xavier’s gaze until his eyes threaten to dry out. He blinks once. I am not gonna compare you to alcohol.

It isn’t awkward. They don’t know each other well enough for this. And it isn’t awkward, somehow. When Xavier adjusts himself forward, bent in half and looming over Benji for one slow-motion beat, he holds his breath. Waits for the kick of annoyance in his gut as he lays a cheek on Benji’s lap. Not directly. There’s a pillow there; his wrist feels stiff in the morning if he sleeps funny.  

“Can I touch your hair?” Benji finds himself asking. His voice sounds funny to his own ears. “Sorry. That’s weird, isn’t it? I just — it’s —” A hand curls around his wrist and tugs it away, pulls it down his stomach and lower. To where Xavier’s head rests in his lap. In my lap, he’s thinking with wide eyes, somehow unable to look away from the contrast of their skin. In my fucking lap. Xavier looks so stark and strange against him. And Benji’s down hand looks — looks — 

He chuckles. “No, no. Go for it. It’s…it’s fine. Sometimes if I know I want to go interstellar, I’ll grab one of those little fidget things.” Xavier’s cheeks redden, but he keeps talking as if it’s impossible to stop. “It’s good to touch something.” 

“Aw,” Benji’s returning laugh is halting. Pushed out on a breath, spindled like yarn on some sharp object that feels lodged in his chest. “Much softer than it looks.” 

“God, right? Matilda gets on me about the ends. I need it cut.”

“Ears.” Benji says solemnly. “Looks good that length. Uh, I can do it, if you want.” He rubs a lock between his fingers thoughtfully. He was right. The texture is good like this, when his head feels porous and light and slow. “Maran’s not too fucked up most of the time.” 

Xavier huffs. He rubs his cheek against the pillow with a sigh. “Most.” He squeaks (actually squeaks, so fucking delightful) when Benji pinches his ear for the cheek. If his fingers move a bit slower than they should over the cuff hugging the cartilage, neither says a word. 

There’s a beat, then: “M’tired.” 

“Yeah.”

“Like, real tired. You were fuckin’ right, you prick.”

They talk in halting monosyllables for several minutes, each sentence hanging on for a second longer. The words becoming meaningless, syntax totally gone. They talk just to do it, just to keep going, eager to hear the other, hungry to be heard and understood. Later down the line, Maran will tease him mercilessly for having a ‘nasty, embarrassing daft little grin’ on sleeping face the next morning.

that’s how Benji discovers he might need to be a bit more careful when it comes to the general consumption of mind-altering substances around Xavier. Because being around Xavier makes him feel mind-altered to begin.

Benji grimaces. 

Aw. There it is. Gone and compared you. The thought plows through his brain. It’s the second to last complete one he has before he knocks out. His hand stills through Xavier’s hair, fingers wound firm but not tight. The last thought is: FUCK.

He pushes his scrunched nose into the pillow beside him, even if he hates the scratch of fabric on his facial hair. It’s not the strong, massive hand tucked around his ankle or the soft red line across Xavier’s cheek from his sleeve that makes him shiver. It’s that scratch of fabric, the unbearable fucking internal itch. It can’t be anything else.

Fuck.

[futzilee]

Guys you'll never believe it I'm indulging in fanfiction culture (it's Chevron and Error time)

Who tf is Chevron? Maybe I'll post ab him once I uh. Learn how to draw 💀

Anyway

“Why do you ALWAYS show up whenever I'm trying to do something?” Chevron snarled as Error, as always, conveniently arrived after Chevron went to great lengths to get rid of Frisk. Error simply closed the portal he came through as Chevron snapped, “Don't you have the ability to destroy an AU without needing me to do the hard part? Oh wait, you can't. ”

Error approached Chevron, his yellow teeth in a wide smile. “You just make my life so much easier… it’s motivating to get to work when the work’s already halfway done, dontcha think?”

The human grasped onto the lingering soul and backed away. Error wouldn’t be destroying the soul this time. This time, Chevron was going to win, and figure out how to get the determination from the soul and put it into his own… somehow. He had practiced since the last time this happened… which was a staggering 3 days ago.

Error shrugged, scraped some monster dust off his teeth, and flicked it back into the dusty atmosphere. Chevron’s chest tightened. “You know, it sure would make my job a lot easier if you just handed the soul over this time. I’m still recovering from the last time you ‘fought’ me.” Error snickered and resumed closing the gap between himself and Chevron.

Chevron wanted to say something but felt Undyne pushing her way to the surface of his soul, leaving him completely unable to act for himself.

“You wanna say that again, PUNK?” Chevron challenged, the cadence of his voice changing slightly to better match that of the Royal Guard’s. He stomped his foot into the ground and grilled it in, leaning forward with his fists pulled up. “I’ll take you out in a fight ANY DAY OF THE WEEK! You’re nothing but a weak-headed, stupid-sighted bully and I, Undyne-Chevron, will strike you down!!”

Error simply waved away the absurdity. “Call me whatever you want. You’re just a freak anomaly that shouldn’t exist. I’ll actually get rid of you this time.”

Chevron huffed out a misshapen spear and clutched it in his hand, summoning more pathetic, crooked spears (half of them resembled unbaked cookie dough) and aimed them all at Error. “Aim” might be too strong a word. It was more like… they flew out in all directions and maybe one or two sort of flew towards Error. The skeleton didn’t even need to move to dodge the attack.

“Nyagh… what the hell?? Why isn’t it working?” Chevron tried summoning another magic attack, sweat quickly forming a puddle on his forehead. Error summoned his magic attack, a gaster blaster, and blasted Chevron.

Chevron forced his way back to the top of his soul, kicking Undyne out of the driver's seat. Though he hated it, Chevron knew this song and dance from way before he met Error. He healed himself with some spider cider he had snagged on his way through the Ruins and cast the magic attack he practiced: a swarm of magic insects.

Error desperately swatted at the bugs while Chevron took a much-needed breath from his inhaler. His attack didn't last long, dispersing mere seconds after swamping Error. The human grabbed at the soul again, Error having the same idea (only his idea of “grabbing” was using magic blue strings).

The skeleton yanked the soul toward him, forcing Chevron to trip and rip a hole in the knee of his black leggings. Error tugged again to get the soul loose from Chevron but he clutched onto it with vigor. Using his free hand, Chevron produced a shovel from his infinitely resourceful sleeve and batted at Error.

The glitchy skeleton threw his arm to the opposite side, slamming both Chevron and the soul into a cavern wall. The shovel went flying into a little pool of water. A cough forced itself out of Chevron's chest, staining the ground in front of him with a splatter of blood. He regained his balance enough to grab onto Error’s strings, going full feral mode and biting at them to try to cut them loose from the precious heart-shaped container of pure determination.

Error’s entire body spazzed out and his already poor eyesight worsened with the addition of a thousand “ERROR” messages. Chevron grabbed onto the strings and forced them off the soul, took another breath from his inhaler, and sent a much smaller wave of insects toward the other.

“UGH… This is so ANNOYING,” Error bemoaned. He took a step back, summoned a dozen more gaster blasters, and fired them willy-nilly. Chevron carefully danced around the Ruins to avoid getting hit and his soul stirred as such a beautiful place was set ablaze. Toriel couldn't stand to watch it, either. She forced herself to the forefront, just as Undyne had.

Wordlessly, effortlessly, Chevron summoned a fire attack and fired it at Error, who finally lost balance and fell into the water. He glitched tf out and fought to get out of the water but found himself slipping. Toriel retreated and allowed Chevron control over his own body once more. Chevron inched towards Error and looked down at him trying to make out what was happening.

“I'll just be taking this. Maybe someone will come and save you. Consider this,” he took another breath, “one victory for me.”

Chevron swung himself around when several red, glitched-out bones flew from Error and impaled Chevron's chest. They ruined the froggit hoodie, too. The human collapsed and coughed out more droplets of blood, clinging to the ground as if it were his lifeline. The ruined world around him blurred and in the corner of his eye, he saw two unfamiliar humans, a man and a woman, hovering over him.

Stay determined.

To ruin the mood, a dark puddle of ink formed just a few feet away from Chevron's dying body. Another skeleton-this one covered in epic paint-splatter tattoos-sprung out. He observed the damage and pulled out his paintbrush to fix the Ruins before returning to Mr. Spazz and Future Tweenage Corpse. He acknowledged the dust and the Frisk corpse and rubbed his eye sockets.

“Dream, I need you in here real fast,” Ink said to the static atmosphere, summoning another skeleton. This one had the coolest outfit of them all—a golden cape-dress-thing, a sleeveless top with bicep-length gloves, a bow (for shooting), and a crown. He was also the guardian of all positive feelings.

“Yeah, Ink?” Dream collected himself and observed his surroundings. “Ah, oh.” He looked down at Chevron. “There's so many feelings coming from them.”

“Cthulu?” Ink questioned.

“Stripe,” Error corrected, still spazzing out in the pool.

Ink was already spaced out from the conversation.

“No… his name was… um…” Dream pressed a thumb to his chin. “Shelly… no…. Shantel…tron? Anyways… it seems so crowded in there… how can so many emotions fit inside such a tiny person…?”

“Uh, yeah, that's cool,” Ink interjected, “but ever since Champaign showed up, they've been having these massive fights with Error and honestly I'd rather hang out in the AUs than protect them all the time, you get what I'm saying?” Ink's left eye looked like it was having a seizure as he tried to wink at Dream.

“You should want to protect the AUs, Ink, but… having Tron around makes it hard for me to find certain people. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Dream glanced at Ink, whose face was still seizing. “Oh, okay. I get the kid and you get Error?”

“Yes-siree!” Ink stopped making his face wig out and body-slammed Error out of the water, allowing him to finally stop glitching out. (”Dont TOUCH ME—!!¡¡!”) Dream carefully unskewered Chevron and helped him stand up. After a few pats on the back and some bs Dream magic, Chevron was back to normal. Health-wise. His hoodie and leggings were still ruined.

“What? There's even more Sanses?” Chevron mumbled.

Ink chimed, “Yup-! I'm Ink, this is Dream, and we're sending you on a deluxe vacation!”

Before Chevron could even think to respond, Dream and Ink shoved Chevron and Error through a portal where they landed smack-dab in the middle of an empty, foggy, miserably flat field.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Second Flush

Part Three of Cold Snap

Cold Snap | Masterlist | Autumn Flush

Pairing: Old Western Retired!Christopher Pike x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only (Minors interacting with the work will be blocked)

Notes: *The term ‘flush’ in the chapter titles has nothing to do with skin tone. It’s in relation to the phrase ‘the first flush of spring’; ‘second flush’; ‘autumn flush’.

This was going to be a three part series but uuuhhhh now it’s four, sorry. Points of view switch between Christopher and Reader. There will be explicit content in the next chapter.

*Callin - An old west term for courting

Length: 6.6K

Warnings: Cursing; fluff; angst; point of view shifts between Christopher and Reader; Yearning™; pining; nakedness

Summary: You’ve been thinking, in your time at Baxter's Crossing, that you’ve wanted to be useful to someone that really needs you, and that wants you around. Oh, the baby’s grandparents were kind to you, of course, and had let you stay with them, but they already had a community. They hadn’t needed you. 

The creak of the stable door makes Christopher go still mid-chew, his heart thudding low in his chest. Casting an eye toward the door, he finds that the June evening is just beginning to dim. The days have grown longer, the light sinking into the sky later, with lingering lightning bugs winking the sun back into the dark. 

Christopher swallows his bite, pushing his chair back and walking slowly toward the back door. He’s reaching for the screen door’s handle when it’s swung open. 

Christopher’s heart stops for just a moment, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. Her eyes are bright with exertion; her dress and boots are spattered with mud (well, they’ve had rain this week—mostly light, intermittent showers, but enough to turn the roads around the house into a sodden mess); there’s a smile on her face the likes of which he hasn’t seen since the two of them were whiskey-warmed just two months ago.

“...What were you doing in my stable?” He finally manages. 

“You always gave Tango sugar cubes. They’re his favorite, right?” She asks, stepping into the cabin without invitation. Christopher just takes a couple of steps back to give her room as she hangs up her coat, sets down her bag, and looks around.

“You’ve kept it tidy,” She notes, and a little flutter of pride takes over him. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks before he can stop himself. She just plants her hands on her hips and turns to face him. 

“I never made you those sweet rolls.” 

Christopher looks at her, incredulous as she walks over to her bag.

“I’m sure I don’t have supplies for…Those,” He says lamely. 

“No? What don’t you have?” She asks, peering up at him from the floor of the cabin.

“Flour, for one.” His brows raise in surprise at the sight of her pulling out a canister of it.

“...Yeast?” A packet is produced. “Sugar.” Another canister. Christopher folds his arms, arching a brow. “Cinnamon.” A vial—and a smile. 

“You ought to know that I come prepared for these things, Mr. Pike,” She says before tucking all of the things back into the bag and carrying them over to his counter. 

“You’ll make them now?” Christopher asks. 

“I’ll make them in the morning if you let me stay tonight,” She says, rounding the counter and beginning to unpack the ingredients. Christopher nods a little bit, lips quirking with a smile. 

“So it’ll be equitable?” 

Her eyes sparkle, a sly smile growing on her lips as she shrugs her shoulder a touch. 

“Something like that,” She agrees. “Unless you have some objections. I’m sure there are rooms down in Enterprise.” She nods in the direction of the town. “Course, I’ll have to make it through the woods teeming with wolves first.” 

“You’ve done it before,” Christopher answers dryly. He’s curious to see if she’ll go, not that he’ll really let her. But when she raises a brow, he knows that she’s got her claws hooked into him…And that she’s never really let go. 

-- 

You’re careful not to be outwardly upset when Christopher offers you the rug again, but you’re relieved that he’s letting you stay at all. You’d gone in and acted with more confidence than you’d felt. You’d wanted—at least, you’d hoped that Christopher would take you in, and he has. 

You’re up at the crack of dawn—eggs collected, horses fed, and sweet rolls on their way to being baked. 

You’ve been thinking, in your time at Baxter's Crossing, that you’ve wanted to be useful to someone that really needs you, and that wants you around. Oh, the baby’s grandparents were kind to you, of course, and had let you stay with them, but they already had a community. They hadn’t needed you. 

You’re certain that Christopher won’t need you, either, and that he’ll tell you as much. So you’ll start by showing Christopher that even if he doesn’t need you, he could use you. That could lead to wanting you, in some mode or another—a maid, maybe; a friend, hopefully. Your eyes sweep across the tidy room, landing and lingering on the wool scarf where it’s hung atop his coat. You’ve made yourself useful to him before.

Of course, there may be opportunities down in Enterprise. You’d seen a sign asking for help at the seamstress’ when you were there last there, but it’s been some time. You’d have to reacquaint yourself with the potential opportunities. If there are none—from Christopher, or in Enterprise—you’ll have to get yourself back home. 

Glancing up, you find Christopher shrugging his suspenders on, fingers slipping over where they dent into his broad shoulders. You let your eyes sweep over him before you turn back down to the bread that you’re kneading. Christopher gets a couple steps deeper into the living room, and then goes still.

“...Have you already gotten the eggs?” 

“Yes,” You answer. “They’re the only thing I didn’t get at the general store.”

“Oh?”

“I figured you’d have some.” 

“...You made coffee?” 

“Mhm.” 

Christopher steps closer to you, dipping into your field of vision as he comes to stand beside you, watching your hands work steadily at the dough. His hand reaches out, grasping one of the things that you brought from the general store.

“Honey?” He asks.

You nod a touch. 

“Can’t have sweet rolls without a little sweet in ‘em,” You tell him, turning to look at him. Where Christopher had had a much larger beard last night, you find it neatly trimmed now. It’s too much of a leap to hope that he’s shaved for you. The weather is growing warmer, after all; you can’t imagine so much facial hair can be comfortable on hot days.

You glance over, spotting Christopher dipping his pinkie into the honey and raising it to his mouth. Your mouth goes dry as you watch him suck it between his lips, humming softly at the taste. Your face goes hot at the sight and the sound, and you turn back to the dough, nudging it aside and sprinkling some more flour onto the countertop.

“What’s that for?” Christopher asks. 

“Keeps the dough from sticking. Makes it easier to form it into rolls.” 

Christopher watches as you portion off some of the dough, sprinkling a little flour onto it before rolling it into your hands. The honey makes this a touch stickier than other doughs, and a little sticks to your palms as you slide it from your hands, tucking it into the dutch oven. You go on like this for a while, with Christopher watching as you fill about half of the dutch oven. Then he straightens up, knocking lightly on the counter. 

“I should go feed the horses,” He says. 

“Oh—I did.” 

“...You did.” 

“I woke up early, figured I may as well make myself useful,” You answer breezily, taking up another portion of dough. Christopher makes no answer, just leans against the counter again, folding his arms across his chest. Once you’ve finished packing the last roll into the dutch oven, Christopher says, “Let me,” As he takes up the lid and covers them. Walking around to the fireplace, he mutters, “May as well do something in my own home.” 

Your stomach churns with embarrassment as you wipe your hands clean on your apron. 

“Thank you,” You mutter, eyeing the clock to time them. 

“How long’ll these take?” 

“Maybe half an hour, forty minutes.” 

“You wanna go for a quick ride?” 

Your brows raise at the question before you give a small, bashful smile. 

“I don’t know how,” You admit.

“You don’t know how to ride a horse?” Christopher asks, stunned.

“No! If I did I wouldn’t have walked nearly as much as I did when I was with the baby. But going around with a little’un seemed like a bad time to learn.” 

Christopher grunts. “Half an hour isn’t long enough for a lesson, but I’ll teach ya sometime, if you like.” 

“That would be nice,” You smile, nodding as you take up a rag to clean the mess made from the sweet buns. 

“How about I make us some eggs,” Christopher offers.

“I can—” 

“I’m well aware, but I think you’ve done enough this morning.” The scolding is offered with raised brows and a mockingly stern smile. 

“Fine,” You mutter, sweeping the remainder of the spread flour into your apron. 

-- 

“How’s the child?” Christopher doesn’t look you in the eye as he asks it, studiously poking at his eggs. “She’s well. Seemed to be taking to life in Baxter’s Crossing well.” 

“They name her?” 

“Mhm. Margaret,” You smile a little bit. “Margaret Ann.” 

Christopher hums softly, eyes sweeping your face.

“You heading back to San Francisco?” He asks, and it’s your turn to look at your eggs. 

“I don’t quite know what I’m doing yet.” 

“No?”

“Nn-nn…I think I saw a sign for a seamstress needed down in Enterprise.” 

“Lookin’ to stay?”

“Maybe. Of all the towns I traveled to with Margaret, this was probably the nicest—in terms of finding help, and milk for the baby…And you weren’t so bad, either.” 

“You’re too kind.”

You glance at Christopher, smiling at him from under your lashes as he pops a bit the sweet roll into his mouth. He doesn’t let out the same groan as he did with your bread, but he starts to. Then he notices you watching him, swallows, and clears his throat. 

“Good?” You ask. 

“S’alright,” he mutters. You fight off a smile. 

“The next batch’ll have to be better if they’re just alright.” 

“Guess it’s worth a shot.” When he does finally meet your eye again, Christopher’s smiling. 

“I’ll give you a ride into town when you finish up,” He nods toward your nearly-empty plate. 

“Thank you.” 

-- 

You expect to take the cart again, but Pike tells you to hold onto your bag, helps you up onto the house, and pulls himself into the saddle behind you. His arms wrap around you as he reaches for the reins, and you pull in a quiet shaky breath as he presses close to you. 

Before your travels with the baby, you’d be a little more concerned with how proper or improper this all looks to others. But in your time with the baby, and with Christopher, your views on what’s proper and what you want have severely shifted in priority. 

The ride into town is leisurely and slow, and you take in the swell of green in the forest, the chattering and tweeting of birds, the rising hush of the wind. 

-- 

Enterprise is just as you remember it. It’s bustling and busy, with people rushing this way and that, in and out of shops and salons. Everyone seems to know Christopher, and the comfort you’d felt being tucked against him on the ride has shifted to nerves. You find yourself sitting up straighter, putting as much space as you can between you as you share a saddle. Christopher stops his horse in front of the seamstress’, swinging himself down before he takes your bag from you. You watch him set it on the ground beside himself before he reaches up, holding his arms out to help you down. You rest your hands on his shoulders, wobbling a little as you slid off of the horse. Your chest brushes his as your shoes clunk lightly on the wooden slabs of the porch.

“Thank you,” You mumble, eyes set on his throat. You take a moment letting go of one another, and you crouch down, grabbing your bag as you peer around him to the door. There’s still a help wanted sign hanging there.

“I can go in with you—” Christopher starts, but you shake your head a little bit, looking up at him. 

“No, it’s alright. I oughta do this myself.” 

Christopher’s eyes sweep your face a touch before he nods. “Will you need the scarf?” He asks. You frown, confused, and Christopher fishes into his saddlebag for the navy blue wool. 

“I brought it…” He holds it in his hands, fingers seeming to flex around it a little, as if he doesn’t want to let it go. “In case you need…I don’t know. Samples?” 

Your stomach twists with flattery and affection. “It’s a sweet thought,” You reassure, resting your hand on his arm. “But I’ve plenty of examples of my work in my bag.” You lean up, hurriedly pecking his cheek before you turn, stepping into the shop. 

–

The terms of your employment are seventy-five cents a day, six days a week, with a room to sleep in above the shop. You have the urge to burst out of the shop and throw your arms around Christopher in your excitement. It’s staunched by the sight of him discussing something with a young man. You wait in the doorway for a few moments, and only step forward when Christopher catches your eye and raises his brows. 

“So?” He asks.

“Looks like I’ll be sticking around for a while,” You admit, and thrill in the sight of Christopher's pleased smile. 

“Well then I oughta introduce myself,” The young man turns to face you with a wide, friendly smile, holding his hand out. “Jim Kirk. I’m the Sheriff here in Enterprise.” 

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance,” You say, holding your hand out for the shake, but Jim takes hold of your hand and dips his head, brushing his lips along your gloved knuckles. Your face heats at the gesture, eyes flickering to Christopher—only to find the elder man rolling his eyes openly. 

“Alright, Kirk,” Christopher slaps the Sheriff’s shoulder as he straightens up and lets go of your hand, “Don’t scare her off before she even settles in.” 

“You always taught me to be welcoming,” Kirk argues, turning to look at Christopher, “Can’t have law and order without a little politeness, that’s what you always told me.” 

“There’s politeness, and then there’s *callin’.” 

“Oh, this ain’t callin’.” 

“No?” 

“No, sir.” Jim turns to you, offering you that smile again, and a wink. “Though it could be, if the lady is interested.” 

“Alright—” Christopher starts, and you could swear there was a hint of warning there, but it’s cut off by the sound of another man piping up: “Sheriff. There’s been a disturbance at the saloon.”

The three of you turn to see a dark-haired young man approaching. 

“This is my Deputy, Mr. Spock. Spock, come say hello,” Jim directs.

“I’m afraid the pleasantries will have to wait. I apologize,” The man adds, tipping his head toward you.

“Not at all,” You shake your head. 

“Ma’am,” Jim smiles at you once more, tipping his head before hurrying off with his deputy. You watch them go, brow furrowed, and then look up at Christopher to find him frowning almost fondly after the two. 

“He’s smart as a whip, but he’s got a lot to learn,” Christopher says quietly. 

“How so?” 

“...Oh,” Christopher leans against a post, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s quick on the draw, but even quicker to shoot off his mouth. He doesn’t always think things through, he’s willin’ to die standin’ up…But he’s a good kid.” 

“What’d he mean, you taught him to be welcoming?” 

Christopher’s eyes flicker to you before he admits, “I used to be the Sheriff.” 

Your brows rise in surprise. “I thought you came to Enterprise for space.” 

“I did…Just didn’t get it right away.” Christopher clears his throat and straightens, tucking his hands into his pockets. “So, you’re all set-up here?” 

“Mhm. I’m gonna stay above the shop. They showed me the room, it’s nice.” 

Christopher nods, eyes darting to the storefront before he meets your eye again.  “I’m glad to hear it,” He says softly.

You nod, eyes drifting to his throat, then his chest.  “Thank you for the ride into town.” 

“Sure.” Christopher hesitates, and you glance up, finding him watching you with an indecipherable expression. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then smiles just a little. “Don’t be a stranger, huh?” 

“You just wait until I get my own horse, Pike.” 

“And do what? You won’t know how to ride it.” 

“Not until you teach me.” 

Pike chuckles, nodding, and agrees, “Not until I teach you.” 

-- 

It doesn’t take long for you to make the little room your own. You spread your quilt out on the bed, and rest the tintype picture of the baby that her grandparents had given you on the mantle. You’ve only enough clothing to fill half of the wardrobe, but that’s more than alright. You can make a few more, if you ever feel like sewing in your free time. The window has a nice view of the road, and you take the minutes before dinner to look at the main street as the sun sinks into the sky. You open the window just enough for you to lean out, and peer down the road toward Christopher’s home. 

You know he’s long since made his way home. You’re almost certain you can make out smoke rising from his chimney in the distance. You sigh softly as you hear your name called for dinner, leaning back inside and sliding the window closed again. 

Maybe he’s forgotten you already. 

Maybe he’s having one of your sweet rolls with dinner. 

--  

Work at the shop is so busy that you hardly get the chance to take a look at Enterprise in the first week. You don’t have a reason to leave the shop most nights—your meals are provided for you, and your room is comfortable. Now and again, you borrow a book from the shop owners. They mostly have sewing manuals and pattern books, but now and again, you find one of the secret stash of your boss’ among them—Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Frankenstein. You sneak down to read them at night, hiding in the backroom and reading over candlelight until you grow drowsy. 

During the day, you stop expecting Christopher to walk in with a rip in a waistcoat or a snag in his suspenders—something. But your day is primarily spent mending dresses and jackets for the townsfolk of Enterprise. Your employers are kind—they make it a point to introduce you to people that come into the shop. Everyone in Enterprise is very polite. 

The sight of Dr. M’Benga and Ms. Chapel makes you grin, and you practically trip over yourself, thanking them again and again for the kindness paid to yourself and the baby when you’d passed through only months before. Both are happy to hear that the baby is well, and are more than delighted to see the little tintype photograph of her. 

The first week makes you so tired that you spend most of your first Sunday off, sleeping. The second, however, sees you setting out in town early. Your employers are shocked that a single woman of your age chooses not to attend church. But you find that others in Enterprise forgo the service. You drift along the main street with them, trading polite nods and smiles as you take in your surroundings. Your eyes to dart toward the church as the bell rings. You can’t help but wonder if Christopher is in there, but choose not to stand by the doors to look around. 

As the sun begins to grow higher over the town, you find yourself walking in the direction of his cabin. Halfway up the path, you shove the sleeves of your shirt up, beginning to grow just a little warmer than you’d anticipated. It occurs to you, at that point, there Christopher may not even be there. You push on regardless. Surely there’ll be at least a horse and a few chickens to visit with. 

The sight of the cabin is a relief. Rather than knock on the door, you walk over to the pump, taking hold of the handle. The water is blessedly cool. You raise the water cupped in your hand and slurp it up before you dip your hand under the nozzle again. You wet your hand just a little more before sliding it up under the high collar of your blouse. 

“What are you plannin’ on leaving for that?” You hear. Your head snaps up to find Christopher leaning in the doorway of his cabin, holding the door open. You can’t help the fluttering in your stomach, or the smile that grows on your lips.

“That depends,” You offer, swiping the remainder of the cool water across your hairline to cool your head a touch. 

“On?” 

“What you want for it.” 

Christopher smiles a bit before he waves his hand closer. “Get in here before you burn up.” 

-- 

“So you like it in town?” 

“Mhm,” You nod. You slouch a touch unattractively in the chair. You can’t bring yourself to care about your posture just now; the walk has really taken it out of you. “Everyone is just so kind.” 

“How kind?” 

You glance at Christopher and find his eyes sparkling with a tease. 

“Incredibly,” You answer. Then, “Sheriff Kirk’s stopped by a time or two.” 

“Is that so?”

“It is. He had a tear in his waistcoat.”

“He tell you how that happened?” 

“No he did not.”

“Mm.” 

“...Christopher, may I ask…” You trail off in your nerves, but the calm, curious look in Christopher’s face spurs you on: “Why did you become Sheriff?” 

Christopher’s expression flickers just a touch, and you panic as he leans back in his seat. His hand rests on the table, fingers flexing a touch. 

“When I arrived at Enterprise, it was a small settlement. A handful’a houses, no proper main street, no general store. Everyone was fending for themselves. Bandits and gangs blew through once, maybe twice a week, just to burn down anything that was built. They killed the last Sheriff, no one was willing to step up.” 

“But you did.” 

Christopher nods a little, eyes set on the table. “There were people here, good people. M’Benga, Spock, Ortegas, Chapel…They wanted to make a life. I knew I could help, so I helped. We organized, kept the roving gangs out.”

“Did you ever regret it?” 

“Not for a minute.” 

You smile, unable to help it. 

“And why’d you stop?” 

“I was tired,” Christopher admits. His smile is a little tight as he says it. “Between the town, and the war…I won’t say I felt like I’d done enough. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I’ve done enough. But I needed a break…And the new crop was ready to help, you know, Kirk and Spock. I felt like I was leaving Enterprise in good hands.” 

“It’s certainly the calmest town I’ve ever been in.” 

“That so?” 

“Mhm. Don’t get me wrong, it’s busy, but I’ve never felt…Unsafe.” 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Christopher smiled. 

“Why’d you settle so far from town?” 

“Aren’t you just full of questions today?” 

Your face went hot with embarrassment, and you lowered your gaze to the table. 

“I told you,” Christopher adds, “I wanted more space.”

“Yes, you mentioned,” You mutter, hand scrubbing across the back of your neck. Christopher chuckles softly, standing. You watch him walk back toward his kitchen. 

“You want something to drink?” He asks, rounding his counter. 

“Sure,” You nod. “Though I should be heading back soon.” 

“I’ll walk with you.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” 

“I’m well aware of that.” 

-- 

It becomes a weekly routine that shocks many of the good, god-fearing people of Enterprise. You forgo worship in favor of a walk up to Christopher’s cabin. You start going earlier and earlier in the morning, trying to avoid walking over in the heat of the day. 

Sometimes when you arrive, he’s not home, but it’s rare. The third or fourth time it happens, you look up at the sound of a twig snapping and hurriedly avert your eyes as you pull in a stunned gasp. It’s a few harrowing, silent moments as you hear him tread closer and closer. You’re tempted to look again, but you know better than to do that. 

“Wasn’t expecting you this early,” He mumbles as he walks up the porch steps past you. Glancing behind yourself, you spy his bare calf, the drops of water slipping down them. You hurriedly face forward again as he seems to twist and look at you. 

“I’ll wait out here,” You offer, studiously eyeing the basket where you left it beside your feet. 

“Alright.” 

The screen door opens and shuts behind you, and then the other door does the same. You release a stunned, nervey little breath. You wouldn’t say that you’re in shock—surprised, maybe. You’ve just never seen a naked man before. Of course you hadn’t gotten a good look; by the time you’d spotted him, he’d only been halfway across the clearing. But you’d managed to take in the sight of his broad, bare chest—and a few areas a bit lower down. 

You glance back hesitantly when you hear the inside door open, the knock of Christopher’s boot, and then the creak of the swing door. 

“...I made bread to bake,” You tell him, “I didn’t want the fire to make the cabin too hot.” 

“You hungry?” 

“A little.” 

“I already got the eggs.” 

“Okay.” 

“C’mon.” 

-- 

The two of you are a little awkward and stilted around one another for most of the morning. It’s strange—like you’ve both walked into unfriendly territory by accident and don't know how to make your way out again. 

Christopher makes the first pass at an olive branch— “This one doesn’t need to sit?” 

“Hm?”

“The bread.” 

You glance up from the book you’ve taken from his shelf. 

“Oh—No. I started making it last night, it sat for as long as it needed to.” 

Christopher grunts. He isn’t pacing, per se; he’s just taking a few steps away from his window, then toward it again. Then he stops, turns, and leans against the sill. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Hm?” 

“I said, I’m sorry.” 

“...For what?” You ask, glancing up at him. “You’re on your own property, you have plenty of right to be…As you like. I’m the one that ought to apologize, turning up as I did.” 

Christopher’s brows raise in amusement at your stilted answer. 

“Still,” He adds. “I seem to have shocked you.” 

“Shocked is hardly the right word.” 

“Surprised?” 

“...A little closer, but I expect I surprised you, too.” 

“You certainly did.” 

You meet Christopher’s eyes and find him smiling slyly. You smile in turn, unable to help yourself. You look down at the book again, resting your chin on your hand. 

“In all your travels, I’d’ve thought you’d seen more,” He teases after a moment. 

You scoff in embarrassment, eyes set stalwartly on the book. 

“Just…Bulls and horses and things,” You mumble.

“Tough act to follow.” 

You reach out on instinct, taking up the pepper shaker and lobbing it in his direction. He catches hold of it without missing a beat and strolls back to the table, setting it down. As he does, he rests his hand on the back of your chair, steadying himself. For a few moments, you feel the brush of his beard-roughened cheek, smell the salt of the lake he surely must’ve gone for a swim in. 

“...Haven’t you read this already?” You mumble.

“Not in some time.” 

There’s a moment before you feel him turn his head. Your eyelids flutter at the brush of his lips against your temple. 

“Read,” He urges.

“I am reading,” You mumble.

“Read to me.”

“Why?” 

“Because I like listening to your voice.” There’s just a moment before Christopher presses a kiss to your temple in earnest before urging again: “Read.” 

Your stomach twists with surprise, heart thudding in your chest at the tender press. It’s a moment before you open your eyes again. He gets a few steps away before you finally begin to do as he asked, though you have to fight to keep your voice steady. 

-- 

As the days grow longer, Christopher starts walking you back to town every Sunday. It’s not uncommon for him to insist that he carry whatever you’ve brought with you, if you’ve brought anything at all. On a particularly calm evening, as the warm breeze slips through the leaves, making them rustle and whisper around you, you take a chance, sliding your arm through his. 

You expect Christopher to maybe grow a bit stilted, or, in a worst case scenario, unwind your arm from his. But he just rests his hand atop yours where it rests in the crook of his elbow, and the two of you carry on walking and talking as if nothing’s changed at all. 

-- 

Jim Kirk makes one attempt to call you in earnest. It’s on a warm evening, when you’re escaped the heat of your room in favor of sitting on the porch. The Sheriff had happened past, but then he’d stopped and stayed, taking up the chair beside yours and chatting as you tried to read. 

Well, he strikes you as a sincere young man, and a sweetheart at that, but —

“Well, it’s not that I dislike you at all, Sheriff, honest—” 

“Thank you—” 

“But I…Well, I’m still new in town, you know, still trying to get my bearings—” 

“Of course—” 

“And…Well, I’m not saying I won’t grow awfully fond of you—”

“I’m sure you will—” 

“But…” The protest dies in your mouth as Jim offers you a dazzling grin. You huff out a nervous laugh before you let your gaze drop to your lap. 

“But?” Kirk presses gently. 

You’re opening your mouth to answer when you hear someone clear their throat. When you catch sight of Christopher, you feel yourself sitting up straighter. 

“Hi,” You greet, smiling.

“Evenin’,” Christopher nods, glancing from you to Jim. “Am I interrupting something?” 

You start to shake your head a little bit before your eyes dart nervously to Jim. You find him smiling still, a knowing smile cast in your direction before he stands from the chair. 

“Not at all,” Jim insists. “I just…I just realized I’m a little late to somethin’. Excuse me.” 

He shoots you a wink and a tip of his hat, and pats Christopher’s arm as he passes him. You watch Jim go with a small smile, relief flitting through your system. 

“What’s he late to?” Christopher asks, sitting in the seat Jim left empty. 

“Oh—I don’t know, couldn’t say. What are you doing in town?” 

“I was visiting with M’Benga. I was about to head back, but I heard your voice. Thought I’d come over and say hello.” 

“Well. Hello.” 

“Hello,” Christopher repeats, chuckling. “Did you have a good time with Jim?” 

“We were just talking, that’s all. Did your visit with the doctor go alright?” 

“Yes. He’s been considering moving a little ways out of town to give his daughter some room to run around.” 

“How old is she?” 

“She’ll be seven next week.” Christopher glances in the direction that the Sheriff left in. “So what were you and Kirk discussing?” 

“Oh—nothing,” You fib. “Just how I like town is all.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm.” 

“And how you like certain of the residents?” 

Even in the flickering of the lamp overhead, Christopher’s eyes twinkle with a tease. You bristle bashfully, feeling caught out. Before you can argue, Christopher adds, “The two tongues’ll be wagging—the sight of Sheriff Kirk and the pretty new girl on a Saturday night.’ 

“And the town tongues won’t wag at my conversing with you?” You bat back. Christopher seems to consider it for a moment before he shrugs and stands.

“Perhaps,” he concedes. 

You find yourself rising out of your seat in turn. Your body is still prickling with shyness as you do, but you suddenly have the urge to follow Pike wherever he goes. 

“Are you heading home?” You ask.

“I ought to. It’s getting late.” 

“Will you walk?” 

“No, Tango is tied up back at M’Benga’s.” 

“You still have to teach me to ride, you know.” 

“I know,” Christopher smiles, “But perhaps not tonight.” 

“Obviously not,” You mumble, cowed by your embarrassment. And then Christopher takes a step forward, lifting your hand to his lips and brushing a kiss to your knuckles. He does it so calmly, so easily, as if it’s something he’s done a hundred times. He holds your gaze as he does so, and you feel your mouth go dry, your lips parting just a touch in surprise. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” He asks. 

“Of course.” 

“Bright and early?” 

“Perhaps not too early.” 

Christopher chuckles, giving your hand a slight squeeze before letting go. 

“Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Christopher.” 

--  

You don’t notice the whispers at first. Enterprise is populated by such lovely people that you don’t think anything of the way whispers start to follow you. You think, maybe, that some people must’ve returned to town and simply don't recognize you. 

And then, as you work on fitting one of little Rukiya M’Benga’s new dresses, you hear, “That’s her,” And then, “Pike’s woman.” 

For all that you’ve enjoyed settling into a new life in Enterprise, it’s reminded you of the prim and proper way that you used to live. You’ve begun to second-guess yourself, to consider what may be right before you consider what you want, most dearly and truly. You allow yourself to go still for a split second before you give the confused child a reassuring smile and return to righting her pleats.

“Do you like the color?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from the conversation still being carried out within earshot. 

“Very much,” Rukiya insists with a nod.

“You chose very nicely.”

“She has her mother’s eye,” M’Benga comments. You glance at him with a smile before you straighten up. 

“I can settle up now,” He adds. 

“Of course. Will we be wearing this home?” You ask, looking between Rukiya and her father. The young girl casts him puppy eyes, pouting with all her might. 

“It looks as though we will be,” He chuckles, gently patting his daughter’s head.

“Can I go look at the ribbons?” Rukiya plies. 

“Of course.” 

You smile, rounding the counter and drawing up the remainder of M’Benga’s bill. He glances in the direction of the gaggle still eyeing you before he smiles at you. 

“The chatter will quiet down one of these days. They just need something to discuss.”

“I don’t understand why they said what they said, is all,” You admit, passing the bill over for M’Benga to sign. M’Benga gives a small shrug and a thoughtful hum, but he does so in a way that feels suspicious. 

“Has he said something to you?” You ply. You simply receive another shrug in turn, a knowing smile, and a bid to have a good day before he turns to urge his daughter home. 

-- 

“You’re awful quiet.” 

You don’t answer right away. You take a moment to draw in the way the wind seems to push the water across the lake, the bobbing family of ducks and ducklings not too far off, and the lap of the calm waves against your feet and ankles as you dangle them over the edge of the dock.

“I’m sorry,” You finally say. 

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” Christopher says. “Just seems like you have something on your mind.” 

You draw your lip between your teeth as you consider that. You have a number of things on your mind. Most of all is the fact that leaving Christopher on Sundays is becoming more and more difficult for you; the comments of M’Benga and the people in the shop follow at a close second; the serenity and beauty of the lake is third. The sun is shining off of the water, and there’s a cool breeze that slices the July heat in two when it brushes over you. 

“Suppose I do,” You admit after a moment.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” 

You glance over toward Christopher and find him watching you with a concerned frown. You flash him a small smile. 

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” 

“Well now I’m even more curious.” 

You hum softly, looking out over the lake again.

“I guess I’m just wondering about a few things.” 

“Such as?” 

“...Well how to ride a horse, for one.” You smile, giving him a sideways glance. Your smile widens as he chuckles. 

“What else?” He presses. You raise your hand, scrubbing over the side of your neck. 

“I’m not sure I want to bother you with it,” You admit. “It seems sort of silly.” 

“Try me.”

You’d love to—and that thought makes your skin go hot with embarrassment. You hesitate before you shake your head a little. 

“Not just now, I don’t think. Are you hungry?” You ask, twisting in the direction of the picnic basket you’ve brought with you. Christopher doesn’t answer right away, but you can feel him eyeing you critically.

-- 

“Will you tell me now what’s troubling you?” 

You fight the urge to pout as Christopher poses the question. Your steps are meandering and slow on your way back into town. You’re glad to take your time; lately you’ve felt exposed in town—watched, noted, spoken about. 

You don’t try to answer cutely, or say ‘tell you what?’, as if you’ve no idea what he’s referencing. 

“I’ve been…Discussed quite a bit these last few days,” You admit. 

“That so?” 

“Mhm. And your name has been linked in kind.” 

“How so?”

“There’s a supposition of a…Romantic entanglement on our part.” 

The admission makes you nervous and warm. You don’t dare look at Christopher, to watch how he takes it in and turns it over in his mind. But he doesn’t draw his arm away from yours, nor do you draw away from him.

“...I see,” Christopher manages. 

“I suppose I’ve been ignoring the potential impropriety of our association in favor of…Of seeing you.” 

“Impropriety?” 

“Christopher,” You sigh softly. “I know that this has all been perfectly chaste and so do you, but they don’t know that.” 

“Is that important to you?” 

You bite your lip, feeling nervous and guilty. 

“It is, some,” You admit. “I adore you and your company, but…But I’m new in town, and people talk. No one here really knows me. I’ve a reputation to protect.”

“...Alright,” Christopher nods a touch. You think that may be the end of it, but he says, “Then perhaps we ought to alter the nature of our association.” Your heart ticks up in your chest, and then cools when Christopher adds, “I’ll come and see you in town instead.” 

“But I like coming up to see you—” 

“And we can sit with Dr. M’Benga, or Spock or Kirk—” 

“I like spending time with you alone—”

“There’s no way for us to do so if you’re so concerned with propriety,” Christopher argues. You sigh, lowering your gaze to the ground. 

“What do you want to do?” He presses. You come to a stop, slipping your arm from his and folding your arms stubbornly across your chest. Christopher stops just a step or two away. 

“Tell me what you want,” He urges softly. 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because—” 

“Because what?” 

You’ve done so many reckless things over the course of the last year—things that you needed to do to survive, and to ensure the baby’s safety. You came back to Enterprise for a new start, and out of pure, ridiculous hope. Now, your eyes flicker up to Christopher nervously. You know that he can’t read your mind. You’re terrified that you’re going to ruin the friendship that you’ve built with him, but you don’t know how to hide yourself from him any longer. 

You close the gap between the two of you, cupping his cheeks and drawing him in. You kiss him clumsily—your lips bump chastely against his; your nose mashes into his uncomfortably; your hands settle shakily over his beard. When Christopher doesn’t lean into you right away, you second guess yourself; you start to draw back. And then you hear the faint clink of dishes in the picnic basket rattling together as it’s dropped to the ground, and feel one of Christopher’s arms wind around your middle. His other hand raises, cupping your cheek. He tilts your head gently, carefully. You cede control to him without a second thought, leaning into his chest. 

Christopher kisses you carefully, as if you’re a wounded, nervous little bunny; as if you’ll draw away and cease to exist. His fingers curl covetously in the fabric of your top. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders, savoring the way he holds you, and the tender brush of his lips against yours, and the way his beard prickles and tickles along your chin and nose. 

The two of you draw away from one another slowly, carefully, as if either of you will scare the other off. Christopher’s breath brushes across your lips, and when you finally find it in yourself to open your eyes, you find him watching you wondrously. You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of the way your heart is pounding roughly in your chest, the heat of Christopher’s chest against your front, and his hand radiating against your back through your blouse. 

Your gaze flickers down to Christopher’s lips, plump from your kisses, and you hesitate before you lean in again, giving him a tender peck. Christopher responds in kind, chasing your lips when you lean away just a little bit. He draws you more tightly against him as your kisses grow deeper and more passionate. The sky is light, the afternoon sun peeks through the leaves over you.

By the time you finally manage to draw apart from one another and walk the rest of the way back to your lodgings, the evening’s gone dark around you. Your lips tingle from the kisses traded; your back aches a touch from where Christopher had backed you against a tree and covered your lips and face and neck with kisses. 

He gives your knuckles a final kiss at your door, and takes the chance of laying a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth once he’s checked that no one is watching you. You watch him go on his way, and can’t help your smile as he turns to meet your eyes until he’s out of sight.

[twinkleimagines]

*Lets go camping*

For yours and Drew’s 2 year anniversary, he takes you on a week vacation of nothing but Camping in a national forest with a huge waterfall. It was hard for you to enjoy it at first because of the heat and bugs and just outside in general, but Drew knew how to quickly change your mind on the trip, especially when the sun was setting .

* this is extra extra long with EXTRA smut. Fair warning. 18 AND OLDER.

“ ughhhh” *smack*-

“ ughhhh” *smack*-

Drew chuckled as he watched you sit in your foldable chair by the fire he had going, smacking your arm as another mosquito landed on you. “ God I hate this shit” you mumbled under your breath as you went swinging at another bug on your thigh.

“ c’mon baby it’s only our first day , give it some time it’ll warm up to ya” he stated as he snapped a twig over his leg, placing the two pieces in his fire wood pile.

“ yeah well you could’ve picked like an RV or something “ you stated halfway joking. He shook his head walking over towards you.

“ that completely defeats the purpose of camping princess “ he replied before leaning down pecking your lips.

“ mmm you’re lucky you’re so hot” you moaned out looking at his shirtless body glistening in the sunlight.

“ cmon put your tennis shoes on baby, I want to show you something but it’s gonna be a walk” he stated as he filled his book bag up with water bottles.

“ you’re just trying to kill me arent you” you scoffed as you slid your tennis shoes on before zipping the tent back up. You were semi familiar with North Carolina from being with Drew for two years but Drew always surprised you with different locations he had managed to scope out throughout his teenage and early college years. You were a good 2 miles deep in the woods where Drew decided was a good spot for camping . You didn’t like it because you were so far away from his truck and the road itself, but he swore he had camped there before and knew the area like the back of his hand.

“ we’ll if we’re on the news in two weeks for a bear attack, I hope you know I WILL haunt you in the afterlife” you said walking over to him as he patiently waited for you, propped up against a tree.

“ oh baby I got stuff for cases like that, but I’ve never seen a bear before out here and I’ve been out here more than I can count “ he stated , plopping one of his baseball caps on your head.

“ hm my own personal Tarzan” you joked running your hand down his toned chest. “ so sexy”

***

“ you hear that?” Drew beamed excitedly while standing on a huge fallen tree. You sighed heavily , leaning over placing your hands on your knees trying to catch your breath.

“ yeah I can hear my own lungs collapsing” you exclaimed leaning up against the tree he was standing on. He chuckled at how dramatic you were before shaking his head.

“ no princess the water” he stated turning his head to the right of him.

“ ooohhh finally” you beamed climbing up the tree , walking down towards where Drew stood.

“ c’mon princess you’ll love it” he exclaimed grabbing your hand, helping you down the tree. Within a few more minutes the water was extremely loud, and you were for sure it was going to be a waterfall that you would be coming up to.

“ there it is” Drew beamed excitedly, reaching his arm out. You gasped at the sight. It was Huge and the view itself was definitely worth the walk it took to get there.

“ come on “ Drew said tugging on your hand pulling you towards the water. You both stood on the edge, standing on big flat rocks that lined the edge of the river . “ let’s swim” Drew said before kicking his shoes off.

“ my bathing suit is at the tent” you said frowning.

“ no one will be anywhere near here just wear your underwear.” He said as he pulled his black shorts down, his tight gray briefs outlining his figure.

“ the thing is” you started as you pulled your Jean shorts down, wiggling your bottom out, your pink cheekers prominently making your bottom really stand out. You smirked as you watched Drew’s face as you pulled your padded tank top over your head, completely flashing Drew as you had no bra on. “ I don’t have a bra “

“ whewww” Drew replied, his eyes staring at your perky nipples. You grinned seductively as you walked backwards into the water.

“ you coming Daddy?” You purred out, running your hands over the water as you continued to walk backwards. Drew went to respond when all of a sudden he heard a squeal come from your lips as you completely sank under water.

“ oh my god it drops off!” You screamed after you popped back out of water swimming your way back to where you could reach. Drew’s face was red from laughing so hard before he walked into the water towards you.

“ come here beautiful “ he said pulling you towards him by your waist. Your breasts were pressed tightly up against his chest as you wrapped your legs around his waste , your arms going around his shoulders.

“ I know I complained a lot today, but it’s really beautiful out here and I’m really enjoying our time together” you stated, the splashes from the waterfall spraying you and Drew slightly.

“ mm me to too baby” he beamed. You giggled as you felt him starting to grow up under you, pressing against your core.

“ oh Drew” you chuckled out, “ we’ve never had sex in the water before” you whispered to him before leaning down for a kiss. Drew’s large hands squeezed your bottom as you nibbled on his bottom lip, feeling his cock jump against you.

“ you so fuckinf sexy y/n” he groaned, lifting your hips up against his shaft, making you moan out to the friction. “ you just don’t know what you do to me.”

“ yeah? Wanna show me baby?” you moaned out rubbing your nose against his. Drew quickly pulled your panties to the side, pulling himself out of his boxers before sliding himself into you at a quick pace. You gasped out loudly, your mouth opening wide as Drew stretched you out. Despite being in the water, Drews huge member had you moaning loudly as you were grinding your hips up and down his cock, his hands gripping your ass to help hold you up.

“ your pussy feels so good on me princess” Drew groaned out, his breath shaky as you both moved at a fast pace. You threw your head back moaning loudly , tugging on the back of his hair as his plump lips landed on your neck, his hands gripping so tight against your hips as he aggressively moved them up and down his body, surely to leave bruises by morning. You looked down, watching his huge biceps flex with each movement, his shoulders tensing each time he lifted you.

“ oh fuck baby” he groaned out, his hips bucking foward as he pulled you down , going deep in you.

“ you’re gonna make me cum Drew” you cried out, squeezing tightly against his body as you felt the tingling feeling in the bottom of of your stomach , needing to release on Drew.

“ cum on daddy’s dick princess” Drew huffed out, his jaw opened wide breathing heavily as he watched you unfold over him.

“ oh god!” You screamed out as you felt your clit pulsing, your walls clenching around Drew. Just the sight itself sent him over. You bit your bottom lip as you heard him moan a low ‘ fuck’ in your ear as he road out his climax.

Once Drew’s movements stopped, his arms slid up to around your back , holding you tightly against him while he placed sloppy kids along your collar bone and neck, eventually making their way to your lips.

“That was nice” you beamed, grinning as he still held you up.

“ it was “ he said pecking your lips before lowering you back down, your feet landing on the mossy rocks below .

“ I’m kind of hungry now “ you chuckled, floating on your back.

“ okay we’ll swim for a few and then go back okay? “ Drew said while fixing himself back into his briefs.

“ mhm” you said closing your eyes, moving your hands gently in the water as you floated around theswimming hole on your back .

“ do you bring all of your girlfriends here?” You joked. You jumped as you felt water splash on your face . “ Drew! “ you yelled out as you lifted your head out of the water looking at him.

“ I’ve only had like 2 before you and I never brought them here “ he stated before rolling his eyes. He hated when you would say stuff like that even though he knew you meant it as a joke.

“ I wouldn’t have cared if you did baby” you said swimming over to him.

“ that so ?” He questioned smirking at you. You grinned before jumping out of the water, leaping onto him causing you both to fall over and land under water.

For the next hour it had become a full blown wrestle match between you and Drew. Most of the time it was you getting tossed in the water but you did manage to get him a few times.

You both got dressed quietly , just enjoying the peaceful sight of nature.

“ you ready princess?” Drew asked as you slipped on your shoe, standing up and brushing your bottom off.

“ yup!” You stated, walking over towards him.

*******

“ that’s so nasty” you replied as you watched Drew eat a burnt marshmallow.

“ it’s so good” he muffled out, sucking some of the marshmallow off his thumb. You raised an eyebrow at him before placing your golden brown marshmallow in your mouth, a string of it falling down your chin.

“ let me get it” Drew suggested before taking his finger, wiping the string of sticky mess off your chin. You bit your bottom lip as you watched him stick his finger in his mouth licking it off, the same way he did back at home when he would lick your juices off his finger after fingering you.

“ stop” you said shaking your head looking over at the fire.

“ what’s the matter baby?” Drew said , his deep voice making you shiver. Drew smirked as he watched you close your eyes . He knew exactly what you were thinking about, and his actions were intentional too.

“ that make you think of something?” He said softly , leaning towards you, The lake water smell lingering off of him. You grinned biting your lip, feeling those oh-so familiar tingles in the pit of your stomach. You looked over at him slightly, your eyes glistening Under your lashes from the fire. You both stared intensely at each other for a second before you looked back at the fire, Drew’s cocky smirk still plastered over his face.

“ if you wanted me to take you into the tent and fuck you , all you had to do was ask” he said, causing you to choke on the marshmallow you had just swallowed, your eyes widen with shock. He laughed slightly at your reaction before standing up, his prominent bulge in line with your eyes.

“ c’mon princess” he spoke, reaching his hand out for yours. Your teeth found their way to your bottom lip once again as you let him pull you up from your chair , excitement rushing through you.

It was dark in the tent, orange lights shining through from the fire. “ take em off princess” he demandedt , tugging on your biker shorts . You laid your bottom on his pillow as you lifted your hips, sliding down your shorts and panties in front of him teasingly, watching him stare profoundly at your now heated core. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling the friction before Drew’s large hands spread them back open.

“ relax” he said softly, before leaning down, placing warm soft kisses on your inner thigh. You sighed heavily, closing your eyes as you felt his lips continue to trail down your thigh until they were placed on your clit, sucking slightly .

The only noises resonating through the tent was the sound of crickets, the fire popping, and your moans as you felt Drew’s tongue running up and down your slit, his thumb rubbing circles against you.

“ you taste so good princess” he spoke out against you, his hot breath blowing against you. You bucked your hips up, needing more. Drew smirked before inserting his middle and ring finger, curving them inwards as he pressed them in and out of you at a fast pace.

“Drew” you moaned out, leaning your head back against the pillows in pure bliss .

“ what princess” he responded looking up at you, his fingers still moving at the same pace. “ tell me what you want”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with your legs wide open.

“ I want you to fuck me Drew” you replied, breathing heavily. Drew immediately hovered himself over you, his lips pressing against yours at a fast and rough pace, his tongue moving against yours. You moaned out against his lips as you felt one of his hands massage around your nipple, cupping them in his large hands. Shortly after he lifted his hips up some to push down his basketball shorts before pumping himself a few times , pressing the tip against your clit. You gasped at the feeling, grinding your hips up needing more.

Drew didn’t hesitate to satisfy you by pushing himself in you, letting out a deep groan as he felt your tight walls around him. He quickly lifted your thigh over his arms, pushing your knees close to your head as he quickened his pace, the sound of slapping skin echoing through the woods.

“ oh fuck Drew” you cried out in pure bliss. Drew pounded in you fast and hard, exactly how you liked it, you watched as his hair moved back and forth against his forehead as he looked down, watching his self move in and out of you.

“ so tight baby” he groaned out. You reached up placing both your hands on the back of his neck, bringing him down to kiss you, His long thick cock stretching you to unfathomable measures.

“ oh god yes baby” you moaned out, feeling yourself getting close. You reached down placing your hands on his lower back , digging your nails in causing him to hiss. “ don’t stop baby I’m close” you said, almost yelling out. Drew leaned up, propping your legs together , placing your feet over his shoulders.

“ fuck princess” he groaned out as he started rocking his hips back and forth at the same previous fast pace again, causing you to throb around him.

“ I’m cumming Drew baby “ you yelled out, leaning your head back. Just the sight of you with your head laid back against his pillows and your back arched, your hands holding your bouncing tits made him come undone, hitting his climax as well. Drew thrusts became rough and irregular before they slowed down eventually coming to a stop.

“ holy fuck” he said out of breath before laying down next to you. You laughed slightly as you felt your clit pulsing from your climax before rolling over laying your head against his chest .

“ you always fuck me so good” you said looking up at him as he brushed his sweaty hair back.

“ oh yeah? “ he responded before kissing your forehead. It didn’t take long before the both of you fell asleep to the sound of the night.

****

It was the last night before you and Drew were going to pack up and go back home . Your whole week had been filled with nothing but laughter, adventures and a lot of sex.

It was late at night, a light rain shower falling over you both. drew was rolled over fast asleep from your hiking trip you had today, while you held the flashlight over one of your books reading it when you heard rustling against the leaves beside your tent. You sat for a second , looking up from your book waiting to hear something. After a few seconds of silence except for rain drops dropping from the tree leaves, you went back to reading your book. It wasn’t long afterwards until you heard it again, this time it was closer and sounded like it was walking towards you. You froze, clicking your flash light off, your heart beginning to race. You started tapping on Drew’s back as you continued to hear moving , fear running through you.

“ hmm?” Drew groaned out but you quickly leaned over him shushing him, placing your hand over his mouth. Drew leaned over trying to look at you but it was pitch black since the rain shower had put your fire out.

“ something out here” you whispered softly. Drew sat up, feeling your body trembling against him. He sat and listened for a second, waiting to hear something.

“ it was probably a raccoon or something” he reassured, only seconds later to be proven wrong as you both heard a growling noise. Your small figure couldn’t scoot any closer to Him than youalready were but your fear made you want to crawl in Drew and hide.

“ fuck” Drew mumbled under his breath , realizing his accusations were wrong. Drew grabbed the flash light from you turning it back on before he reached into his book bag, grabbing the gun his father gave to him for the trip. You knew he had brought it, it was for absolute emergencies- but it really freaked you out that he felt the need to use it at this point.

“ Drew don’t” you pleaded as he leaned up , reaching for the zipper to the door.

“ princess I need to see what it is” he replied looking back at you. You shook your head frantically tugging on his arm.

“ what if it’s a bear?” You replied.

“ we’ll I’d at least want to be prepared and not be stuck in the tent” he stated. You really didn’t want him to go out there but you knew Drew was stubborn to an extent and would probably go anyways.

“ Drew, it’s not safe okay. We’ll just stay awake until whatever it is goes away “ he sat for a second, contemplating. “ please I’m begging you Drew” he sighed before scooting back , wrapping you up in the blanket.

“ fine princess” he said . “ go back to sleep I’ll stay up” . You laid down next to him, while he rubbed his hand over your thigh , quickly putting you to sleep.

***

You woke up to the sound of bird chirping, and the sun shining through the side of the tent . You stretched slightly before leaning over , to see Drew asleep with the flashlight still turned on. You grinned before leaning down and giving him a kiss on the lips.

“Drew wake up” you said pushing slightly on his shoulders .

“ hmm?” He groggily replied , looking over at you.

“ we’ve gotta start loading stuff up in the car “ you relied. It didn’t take him long to get up , helping you grab a few things before getting up out of the tent.

“ oh wow” you exclaimed, noticing the massive bear tracks along side your tent and the fire place. Drew stared at the paw prints for a second before looking at you grinning.

“ Drew you realize you were going to be battling a full from bear if you would’ve went out there last night?” You replied in shock.

“ and you saved me from being that stupid so thank you” he said kissing your lips before going back to the tent, rolling up the sleeping bags.

It was quiet for the next hour as you and him both packed stuff up and walked back for a good mile to his truck, loading things up.

“ so” he said as you strapped yourself in.

“ so “ you responded looking up at him.

“ besides the bear fear last night, did you enjoy your trip” you grinned at him nodding.

“ I really really enjoyed it baby” you said leaning over to kiss him. “ and I enjoyed the sex” you laughed out.

“ oh yeah?” He responded raising an eyebrow. You grinned before sitting back in your chair.

“ want to have one last hoorah before we leave the woods?” He said, leaning towards you.

“ oh Drew” you responded before unbuckling yourself, leaning towards him.

********

As usual, feedback greatly appreciated ❤️

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 6

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: cursing, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

A/N: hehe my mistake, i forgot to queue up this update and by the time i realized it was too late so i'm posting this a day late ^^

Taglist (reply to be tagged!): @planetdemon​ @hvunvely​ @fluffybitch0325​ @fashi0nablee @juststop88 @straykisz @theultimaterad @margaritas-en-la-montania @meowtella @xsam1992x

The man froze in his tracks after entering the room and catching you laying on the couch with Bang Chan on top, practically devouring you. He looked scarred, to be frank, as he quickly snapped back to reality and bolted out the door in less than a second. As he made his grand escape, you forcefully pushed Bang Chan off of you. He swore under his breath before tripping out the door, trying to follow the man who had just caught you.

You sat up, head in your hands. This was exactly what you were scared of. What you worried so much about a few nights back. What Bang Chan reassured you of not happening.

You feel panic set in as you thought of the worst case scenario. Yup. You were going to get fired for sure. And the news will go to the public, resulting in Bang Chan also losing his job. You would then have to move back with your parents, and everybody will have the same look of shame and pity whenever they see you.

This wasn’t good. You stood up to make your own inconspicuous escape, but it seemed like Bang Chan beat you to the door.

“That was Jisung,” Bang Chan said. He entered, making sure to lean against the door just in case anybody else wanted to intrude.

The name and the face clicked in your mind. He was part of Stray Kids as well as Bang Chan’s coworker. You recognized him more commonly as Han, as his name has come up in a lot of the work you’ve been sent.

“What did he say?” you asked skeptically. Worry was setting in.

“Don’t worry, he said he wouldn’t tell anybody. I trust him.”

How were you supposed to believe that? You’ve never even spoken to this man in your life, and now you were supposed to put the future of your career in his hands?

“But I don’t, Chan. I’ve never even met this guy in real life before. How can I trust that he won’t tell one of your other group members?” You heard your voice get louder with every word.

“I had a talk with him just now, Y/n, you can trust him. Out of everybody in this company, he’s the least likely to tell just anybody — even one of our members.” He paused, “don’t you trust me, Y/n?”

You were speechless. Your trust in him was completely different from your trust in Jisung, and you were sure he knew that. Obviously you trusted Bang Chan, but you didn’t know the extent that his group members would go to for a secret. Especially one that could have an effect on their careers as well.

“You can’t just ask me that, and you know it,” you sneered. “You know what? It’s my fault. I was too careless. I’ll leave now.”

“Wait, Y/n-”

You didn’t even let him finish before stomping out the door, making sure to check your surroundings for anybody that could catch you before heading back up to your cubicle. You felt the heat of your cheeks the whole elevator ride.

You were on edge for the rest of the day. When Manager Chen asked to see you in her office, you were so startled that you quite literally jumped from your seat. You were sure somebody had informed her of what happened, but it turned out that she just wanted to rearrange the usual Friday meeting.

Because of the filming tomorrow, the project meeting had to be arranged for next week. Which you were fine with, of course, since you did not want to face all your managers in one place after what had just happened.

Throughout the rest of the day, you started to feel more and more guilty for how you reacted at lunch. As your mind cleared, you realized how rash you were with your decision making and how you only thought about yourself. You also thought about how rude it was to talk about Jisung like that, especially in front of Bang Chan — who cared a lot about the boy.

Logging off your email for the day, the thought of Bang Chan still lingered bitterly in your mind. You wished to apologize for your harsh behaviour, so you started to make your way over to his producing room.

However, you hadn’t even made it on the elevator before you were stopped.

“Hey, uhm — you might not recognize me, but I’m the guy from earlier. Han Jisung.”

He was standing politely behind you, hands folded together behind him.

“Hello, I still remember. You know, from earlier,” you awkwardly breathed out a laugh. You didn’t know what to say or why he was here.

“Hyung told me I could find you here and that I should apologize.” He took his hands out from behind him. “He also said that this might help.”

In his hand was a bottle of mango juice. Your heart warmed at the thought of Bang Chan still caring for you, despite you being such a jerk earlier.

“Anyways,” he continued, “I’m sorry for barging in like that and leaving so suddenly. I should’ve knocked or something before coming in, but Chan-hyung is somebody I’m very close to. I would never jeopardize him in any way.”

Hearing him apologize made you realize how little thinking you had done. Jisung regularly worked with Bang Chan, so of course he would just enter the room without knocking.

“Thanks for your apology, but I should be apologizing. I was the one being reckless. You did nothing wrong, Jisung. I trust that you wouldn’t tell anybody of this.”

“Thanks,” he said as the both of you entered the elevator.

The both of you stood in silence for a bit before he started again.

“So, Chan hyung huh.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, he’s the best looking one out of all of us… after me of course.”

“Oh my god.” You blushed, head in your hands as he kept elbowing you.

“But, Y/n.” He got all serious again. His serious-playful demeanor was giving you whiplash. “You know what you’re doing is dangerous, right? Not only for him, but also for you. I love our fans, but there are some that have taken it too far before. I just want the two of you to be safe.”

“Thanks Jisung,” you started, “for that and for keeping this secret.”

“Of course, any ‘friend’ of Hyung's is a friend of mine.” He winked, causing you to heat up from embarrassment again.

The elevator reached Jisung’s floor, and he got out.

“Oh, also, I think you should call Chan hyung. He’s been pretty down this whole afternoon, and even my natural charisma couldn’t cheer him up.”

You thanked him for the last time before the elevator doors closed, promising him that you would contact Bang Chan.

And you did — as soon as you were alone in the elevator.

One ring. Two rings. A third.

“Hello?” He sounded out of breath.

“Chan?”

“Yes, Y/n?”

Crap, he sounded annoyed.

“Uhm, can we meet up somewhere? I-I wanted to talk to you.”

There was a slight pause.

“I’m at the gym right now. We could meet at the playground by the river in an hour.”

“Ok.” You hung up after that. It was a weird phone call. From his voice alone, you could obviously tell something was bugging him. You knew you were that something.

Grabbing a quick bite at a nearby convenience store, you started your journey to the playground. It wasn’t too far of a walk, but you decided to go earlier since it was already starting to get dark.

You hoped Bang Chan wasn’t in too much of a bad mood, especially after your conversation with Jisung. Honestly, you weren’t too excited to apologize. Not because you didn’t feel bad, but because of his cold and monotone voice through the phone. You didn’t want to admit it — especially because you had just met this man a few weeks ago — but you were scared of his possible rejection. It terrified you.

Breathing into your hands for warmth, you finally saw the playground up ahead. It was near the river, but covered by trees. You now understood why Bang Chan picked this place.

It was empty, as you assumed no child would want to play tag on a cold and dark evening. You sat on a swing, mindlessly swinging up and down whilst staring at the upcoming moon. The sound of crickets chirping combined with the cool autumn breeze almost brought you to serenity, but the thought of confronting Bang Chan grounded you back to earth.

You turned your head at the sound of panting. Bang Chan had jogged here. The ends of his hair were damp with sweat, stuck to his forehead. You wanted to call him crazy, as the only thing he wore was a sleeveless tank top and a pair of shorts on a cold autumn night.

He made his way to the swings.

“Hey,” he said, hopping on to the swing beside you. He was still out of breath from jogging.

“Hey,” you paused for a few seconds to think of what to say. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I wasn’t thinking. I know you care about your job as well, and it was selfish of me to walk out on you. I’m also sorry for talking about Jisung like that. I met him this afternoon and he seemed like a good guy. And if there’s anything else I missed, I’m sorry for that too.”

You looked up at Bang Chan with puppy eyes, hoping that he would understand. He looked back at you.

“I accept your apology, Y/n. And look, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been so reckless, especially at the office. I knew that anybody could have walked in, and I was careless. We were lucky this time, but next time we might not be.”

“Next time?” Your eyes brightened.

“Y/n,” he got up, “I’m scared. I’m scared that I feel this way about you after only a few weeks. I’m terrified of losing my job, my coworkers, and friends. But Y/n, I just want you. I’m laying all my cards out on the table. This is how I feel, what about you?”

That was a lot to take in. Your grip tightened on the swing.

“Chan, everything you just said, I feel the same way. Everything about this scares me, but I just want you. Only you.”

You got up and wrapped your arms around him. You felt the cold sweat of his arms against your skin, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to be near him.

He wrapped his arms around you in return, digging his nose into your neck. You felt his damp hair against your skin.

“Chan, you’re all sweaty,” you teased, pushing his head away.

“I don’t care.” His words came out muffled against your neck as he dug his nose further.

“I feel like a kid being in a playground.” You scanned the empty playground, reminiscing on your childhood.

“Would a kid do this?”

Bang Chan, with his fingers on your chin, turned his head to kiss you so deep you thought you were going faint. You returned the kiss, hands gripping hard on to the sides of his tank. It seemed like the two of you were in your own little world.

“You should go. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day,” Bang Chan said after eventually breaking the kiss.

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, trying to stall for time. You knew that the both of you should get going.

Eventually, after quite a while, you left for home. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. A very cute and dimple-y weight.

That evening, you packed all your necessities for the overnight shoot tomorrow, and fell asleep with high hopes for the next day. You were excited to see all your — along with the production team’s — efforts come to fruition.

The next morning, you woke up early and energized. You double checked that everything was ready before heading out to the JYPE building.

Manager Chen had informed you of which van you would be riding in to the set. Although she wasn’t in the vehicle with you, you had the opportunity to chat amongst some other very interesting members in the production crew.

After a few hours of driving, your van — along with the others — arrived. You helped the production crew set up as much as you could, as you were told the boys already started filming their drive to the set. Whilst waiting for the boys to come, you socialized around with both the production crew and Manager Chen.

Soon, after chatting for a bit, you saw the long awaited van pull up to the set. The boys got out, one by one, each holding their own little video cameras.

Bang Chan got out last. He looked amazing, really. With his hair and makeup done and his outfit styled, he was almost like a different person. You’ve never seen him without black on, but this was a surprisingly refreshing look.

It was chaos. With every boy at their peak energy, there was never a boring moment on set. It was clear that everybody — even the quieter ones — had established nice dynamics within the group. You watched them in awe, with Manager Chen telling you the behind happenings every now and then.

You found it so hard to hold in your laughter as the boys attempted to make mooncakes. It reminded you of your childhood; when you used to do the same with your mother.

As Bang Chan read off the script which you helped with, you felt a certain sense of pride in your heart. You smiled at him as he expressed himself to the camera.

It was dinner time for the boys, so that meant dinner for you and the crew as well. You followed the production team to a noodle restaurant. It was a small and cute, grandma-grandpa owned place. The menu, however, was huge.

“Y/n, this is Manager Jung,” Manager Chen said. She directed your gaze to a guy who looked in his late twenties. You instantly recognized him as the manager that drove you home on your first day of work.

“We’ve met before,” he said.

“You have?” Manager Chen was surprised.

“We have, but it’s nice to meet you under better circumstances,” you blushed. You hoped that you didn’t leave too bad of a first impression with him.

“It’s nice to meet you too, I’ve only heard good things about you from Manager Chen,” he said. “Actually, we were just discussing the sleeping arrangements for tonight.”

“Yes, we’ve managed to book a place that has enough rooms for everybody to sleep alone. They’re not the best of rooms, but this was the best we could do with our budget,” Manager Chen said.

“Sounds good to me,” you nodded. You were fully expecting to share a room with five other women.

You had a happy evening, eating and chatting before getting back to work. You watched as the boys carried out every production order to a tee, all the while keeping up their high energy even late into the night.

You helped the production crew with setting up fireworks for their next segment. Even the act of setting up got you excited as you haven’t seen fireworks in so long. Especially in a new country.

The rest of the filming went smooth, with the end slate following the last firework of the evening. You watched as the boys all lined up in a straight line to thank the production and camera crew. Bang Chan’s eyes landed right on yours. You smiled. He smiled back.

The boys were then ushered by Manager Jung into their own hostel, and you followed the crew to your room. The room was lit by a small incandescent light bulb. It was a small room with nothing but a mat for the floor, a small blanket, and a pillow. Though, to be fair, you weren’t expecting much.

You laid out the mat and blanket, washed up, and was about to call it in when you received a text from Bang Chan.

Bang Chan: You looked cute today.

You blushed, not aware that Bang Chan had even seen you during the day. He looked so busy with filming the whole time that you hadn’t even made eye contact. You smiled and returned the text.

Y/n: You too ^^

And with that, you peacefully fell asleep.

You had a tranquil dream; with only clouds, and sunshine, and… Manager Jung?

“Y/n!” he called.

Your dream clone hopped over to him to say hello.

“Y/n!” He called again. He looked worried. “Y/n!”

You suddenly jolted awake.

“Y/n! Hurry, get out!” He was coughing, holding the hem of his shirt up to his face.

You looked at him. His silhouette was clouded by smoke. You looked up.

The light bulb hanging from was burning and emitting a smoke of some kind. You gasped in shock, instantly regretting it as you breathed in a large amount of the smoke.

Manager Jung was already running outside at this point, and you quickly ran after him. Along the way you tried to hold your breath, but with every inhale you took in, a cloud of smoke followed. You coughed and kept running.

It seemed as if you were the last person out, as everybody staying at the hostel had already evacuated. Manager Chen was standing outside, a look of worry on her face.

“Y/n, are you okay?” She ran over to you.

“Yes,” you coughed. You still felt the smoke in your throat. “What happened?”

“The light bulb in your room caught on fire,” Manager Jung intervened. “Manager Chen was still awake when she smelled the smoke, and she evacuated everybody inside. Everybody woke up except you, Y/n.”

“Is everybody else okay?” you asked. You could hear how hoarse your voice sounded.

“Everybody else is alright. For some reason, the fuse shortage was only isolated to your room,” Manager Chen replied.

It was unfortunate that, out of all the rooms, the broken light bulb was in yours. However, you were glad that everybody else was safe. You were also thankful that Manager Jung woke you up in time, leaving you with only a sore throat.

“Hyung!”

You whipped your head to the direction of the voice. Bang Chan was sprinting across the dirt path in your direction. His hair was disheveled and his t-shirt wrinkled. Behind him was Jisung, dashing over so fast that he somehow managed to match Bang Chan’s pace. Jisung threw his hand, catching the back of Bang Chan’s shirt, pulling him back. Jisung then said some incoherent words to Bang Chan, which seemed to have slowed him down. Bang Chan took a couple deep breaths before waiting for his other members and walking over to you and the crew.

“What happened? Is everybody okay?” Bang Chan asked, concerned. He glanced at you before facing Manager Jung again.

“Everybody is fine,” Manager Jung reassured him. “There was a problem with the light bulb in a crew member’s room, but everybody has evacuated now. You and the boys don’t need to worry. Just go back to your rooms as you have a long day tomorrow.”

“Whose room was it?” Bang Chan asked, ignoring everything Manager Jung had just told him.

Manager Jung hesitated before pointing at you. Upon realization, Bang Chan jerked forward, only to be stopped by Jisung again. He gave Bang Chan a look.

“I’m okay,” you coughed out. It was hard to not sound so hoarse when you had just been breathing in smoke for god knows how long.

Bang Chan gave a deadpan look to Manager Jung.

“We have extra rooms where we’re staying, maybe Y/n can stay with us?” he asked.

“That is unnecessary, I will let Y/n use my room and I will stay with you. I’m sure Y/n would be on board,” Manager Jung said. He looked over to you, and you nodded in agreement.

“I guess that would work,” Bang Chan hesitantly said, “but what if this happens again with another room?”

“I’m sure that won’t-”

“Manager Jung!” Manager Chen interrupted, waving her hands whilst running over. “A member of our production crew took a look at the fuse box connected to Y/n’s room, and it seems like somebody tampered with the wires on purpose.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

I always think of like, the reversal of what happened with the dimitrescu family in the game, like all three daughters die, lady D goes absolutely insane trying to kill ethan. But what if by some miracle or smth ethan had managed to kill lady d first? I think all three of the daughters would go absolutely apeshit hunting ethan down and ripping him to shreds because 'you killed our mama'

And I dunno I was thinking about this last night and decided someone else should suffer with me

I’ve thought of this, too!!

After they kill Ethan they stand around their mother’s broken body in silence, unsure on what to do or say anymore. What was there to do without their mother to guide them?

Ethan’s body is burned. The flames devour his flesh in their stead. None of them can bring themselves to feast upon him for what he’s done. It hurts too much.

They bury Alcina in the garden, bundling up in several layers so they can give her a proper funeral service, despite the harsh Romanian winter. They kneel in the snow-covered dirt, drinking from her veins one last time. Her blood had never tasted so stale before.

Ashes. It’s all ashes.

They hang her hat on the tree her grave sat beneath. Nobody says a word. Tears freeze to their faces. One-by-one, they leave.

There is nobody to greet them inside.

Mother Miranda, Moreau, Donna and Angie, even Heisenberg come to pay their respects. They all say the same thing, over and over again: I’m so sorry for your loss. She was a great mother. She loved you all dearly. None of it matters. Not any more. Who cares if she loved them or not if she is no longer there to give them that affection?

Time passes. Alcina’s death is hard on everyone. Daniela spends a lot of her days locked in Alcina’s bedroom, curled up in the blankets, crying. Cassandra vents her despair and anger on the maidens, practically living down in the dungeon, torturing and slaughtering. Bela, as the oldest, takes up the family business, but it’s so hard, so fucking hard because she doesn’t know how to do anything and it reminds her so much of her mom and she fears failure severely.

The sisters begin to grow distance, as they’re rarely around each other anymore, all too busy with their unhealthy coping mechanisms. They can’t depend on each other for comfort because they can’t even comfort themselves.

One day, six lonely months later, Bela goes out and visits her mother’s grave.

“Hi, Mama,” she says. “I brought you some things.”

She brandishes a bouquet of flowers to the grave, as if Alcina were actually standing there and looking grateful over the gift.

“They’re roses,” Bela tells the tomb. She swallowed thickly, biting back the lump welling up in her throat. “They reminded me of you.”

She tentatively sets the flowers down on the dirt.

“I—” The words catch in her throat. She scratches at her neck with one claw, trying to muster up the will to speak. “I was thinking about maybe trying different mixtures for the wine.” She pauses, took a breath, then goes on, forcing out a giggle alongside her sentence, “It’s probably gonna turn out surprise gross, though.” And then, much quieter, wringing her hands together, “I wish you were here to do it with me.”

Silence falls upon the girl and the grave. Bela’s hands are clasped tight and she brings them to her stomach, imagining what it would be like to find absolution in her claws. She would plunge and drag and drag and drag until there was nothing left of her but shredded flesh and blood, but that would not be enough, not for her. It would not give her her mother back. It would not give her the shouts and the laughs and the boisterous cries at all hours of the morning and night. That was not what Alcina would have done if it had been Bela that was murdered on that fateful day.

But she wasn’t as strong as Alcina.

Bela doesn’t really realize exactly how loud she is crying until her shaking breath hitches so high it sounds like a squeak. She blinks through the haze of tears and scrubs her eyes with her sleeve, but the merciless flow does not stop.

A little brown bird lands on a grave nearby and fluffs out its wet wings. A grazing deer is munching contently on some wild flowers. Some type of bug is buzzing in the grass somewhere from behind.

Looking around at this all, Bela is shocked by how the world keeps running and running while hers had stopped its run not so long ago.

The summer leaves are dancing around her, whisked from the towering oak trees by foggy gales and sent into a whirling axis in the sky. A humidly warm, but also bone-chillingly cold breeze is trying to offer a comfort that seems to be invisible and impalpable. There can’t be comfort. There can’t be reassurance. The pain is still too loud, the wound is still too raw: her heart and her soul aren’t ready to accept that there is a reason for what has happened; her mind is still trying to distinguish between reality and fantasy, between the soothing effect of a false illusion and the harsh truth of a world deprived by its most beautiful voice.

“Why?” She wonders this so often, but there is only pattering raindrops and whisking nature replying to her, and that lack of words is an absence that stings more than she can accept.

“Why?”

She has wondered for too long but still nothing has come up and maybe it will never be answered because sometimes life is like that, a storm in the middle of a summer day and its lingering residue following her for weeks and months. Maybe one day she’ll stop asking herself that but, for now, it’s just all she can think about, over and over again.

It doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense and it has been like that since she saw the sight, just a few flashes of images in a room, blood and gunfire and a collapsing body, that had stumbled down her life and shattered it. She can still see them behind her eyes, can still feel the way her own heart had stopped beating as a black void started to envelop her. She still feels like she’s down there, trapped in a nightmare that no one knows how to stop or break.

It doesn’t make sense.

There is regret in her body language. There is a baggage full of words that should have been said and things that she should have done. Maybe, if she had done them, nothing would have ever happened.

Bela wishes she could go back in time. She wishes there was a way for her to erase all those tiny mistakes she’s made, all those times she wanted to reach out but, instead, turned her head away because it still hurt. Her mother was—is still—the most important thing in her life and, yet, she let her slip away in fear of what she would say if she showed any signs of weakness. Her image is everything and yet, what is left now? There’s no image to defend, there’s nothing left because Alcina’s death has destroyed everything.

So she wishes. She wonders and wishes that there is a way for her to save just a few lives.

Her life.

There are still tears in her eyes. She wants to believe it’s because of the weather and the wind but it’s just a useless alibi. She lets them fall, not ashamed anymore because there is no one around to watch her. But she feels like a hypocrite, she feels like she doesn’t have the right to cry that loss because she could have done so much to prevent her mother’s absence.

To prevent her death.

She knows it’s the truth, no matter how many times people keep telling her that she’s done nothing to cause the incident. She knows it’s the truth, no matter how many people try to explain how, sometimes, she can’t save everyone. That bad things just happen to good people.

“I’m sorry.”

She knows it’s too late.

She knows that it’s useless because Alcina’s not there to hear those words.

Regrets don’t leave Bela, not even now that she’s standing in front of the consequences of her own ignorance.

It’s her fault.

She keeps telling herself it as if this admission of truth can absolve her sin. It’s her fault because she said she would protect her family but it was always so easy to forget about it: there isn’t ever the need to- she had always been the one that needed help the most in the family it seemed. She had always been the one fate had chosen to deal bad cards: her mental health, her perfectionism, those idiotic statements and those stupid decisions.

But then there was her mother. Her mother’s comforting words, gentle touches, light hearted jokes to make her smile—the way she would just…be there and make things better in ways that were difficult to explain to the world that had never seen her in private.

Why didn’t Bela do the same for her? Or for any of her family members?

“I’m sorry.”

Bela is sorry. She could have done more. She could have told her more.

She should have known better.

Bela should have known better, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to realize that her superhero might have been needing a hero herself and she was too oblivious or too busy or too afraid to be up to the task.

She depended on her mother and now she’s lost.

Alone.

[aetheternity]

Sight, smell, touch, taste, sound and which one I believe would draw the Aot girls to you. Kinda Modern Au 🤷‍♀️ idk you be the judge.

(Pov: none of you asked for this but I got bored and decided to give it to you anyway.)

Mikasa

~Touch

The first time you touched her it was to pat her shoulder and tell her, "good luck" on a mission and she's been riding that high til the day she finally had you.

She was already so infatuated by you to the point that every bit of your touch became a daily necessity.

Locking you into her tight hugs late at night.

Pulling your lips back into hers whenever you try to escape.

She'll give you tiny kisses spread all over your face as soon as you wake up. And she's a huge fan of eskimo kisses. You might even trigger a little giggle from her when you initiate them.

She wants to rest her head on your chest and fall asleep to your heartbeat.

She's got your fingers perfectly knotted with hers in every situation.

Tangles your legs when the two of you are resting on the couch.

"I have to get up sometime Mikasa." Not today you don't.

Her favorite spot to scratch is your lower back. She softly circles her nails over that bit of skin after hiking your shirt up.

Please let her spend the day with you in her lap it's the perfect amount of intimate for her.

Annie

~Touch/Sound

One day you came to her with concern filling your eyes and hugged her even though you never had before. You simply told her, "I feel like something's wrong but I won't pry. Just know I'll be waiting for you to come back to me." So softly in her ear and despite her push back at first her feelings for you grew stronger everyday.

She grew to adore the smallest things about you.

The sounds of your low morning yawns before you kiss her face.

The warmth of your knee resting between her thighs

Loves when you whine her name. It sends heat flowing through her entire body. "What do you want?" (She'll pretend she hates it tho.)

Whenever you two are alone she has her head firmly placed on your chest, falling asleep to your heartbeat. Just like Mikasa (No you do not have to pee lay back down)

Loves when you card your fingers through her untied hair. (Sometimes you make her hum when you scratch the back of her head just right.)

She's gotta have your hands when you two are cuddling. Holding you like she's scared you're not really there.

Whisper in her ear and she just might shiver for you.

Laugh when she's sarcastic and watch the pretty pink color dust over her cheeks.

Tells you she loves you under her breath and melts when you say it back after kissing her cheek or neck.

Sasha

~(Sweet angel 🥺) Touch/taste

She held your hand like she'd always done with you and asked what you'd want your last meal in the world to be. Fucking around you said, "You." And the girl practically burst into flame. Meanwhile Connie at the opposite end of the table is mocking y'all talking about some, "Get a room already!" And then you did 😏

Oh, you just had some candy? She's biting your lips and sucking on your tongue.

Oh, your shampoo/body wash smells like banana, coconut, strawberries etc? She's got her face in your neck giving you little kisses. (Sometimes she'll give you a little kitten lick but it's fine cause you love it 😃).

She likes mutual feeding (ik that sounds weird idk how else to put it.) Like if you guys are eating popcorn together while watching a movie, she likes when you place the popcorn in her mouth and she does the same for you.

Licks the butter off your fingers when the popcorns gone.

When you stretch your arms next to her and then proceed to wrap them around her neck or waist she's in heaven.

Adores the feeling of your fingers splayed over her stomach right after she finished eating and the way you tease her by stroking her inner thigh.

Randomly jumps in the shower with you so that she can run her hands up and down every inch of your skin.

Sometimes she wakes you with a bunch of forehead kisses.

"Five more minutes please.." You beg

If you wake up before her though she'd love to be wrapped in your arms as she eats breakfast.

Hitch

~Sight (y'all already know my baby's a lil shallow)

It was like a movie scene. She saw you across the room during a small party for the anniversary of the military police first debut and she just had to have you. And bug you.. she stayed by your side as often as possible after that.

She'll laugh so that her compliments on your body sound less genuine but she means it every time.

And when you're not looking she's got her lip between her teeth, eyes working up and down your body.

"I wanna see you in this honestly." She'll say late at night handing you a picture and covering her face as you look at it.

"Reminds me of your pink dress?"

"Yeah! Yes.. that's the point we'll match."

Doesn't matter how long you've been dating. She'll always build a little tension before every kiss by looking directly at your lips then back into your eyes with a little smirk.

Whistles when you wear an outfit she recommended.

She never straight up says it but her favorite part of your body is the part you like the least.

Backwards ass compliments.

"You know orange isn't normally your color but today you made it work." And "You seem really confident despite wearing those pants."

Don't worry it's how she shows affection.

Makes you blush as often as possible because she just can't get enough of how gorgeous you are when you do.

Pieck

~Sight/taste

From the second she saw you she knew she had to get you out of your little bubble. You'd both done the warrior training as kids and you always kept to yourself. She thought a person like you looked like you had a lot of secrets. And she was gonna learn as many as possible. The older you guys got the more attractive you became to each other and you kinda fell back into the nervousness she thought she'd driven out of you. Eventually she got you to accidentally blurt a confession. Next thing you knew her tongue was pulling all conscious thought out of you.

Idk Pieck gives me the vibes that she'd always be looking for a way to stick her tongue down your throat?? (Just me?? Alright..)

She'll twirl you around with a hand around your waist. Unabashedly checking you out.

Loves long sweet kisses while she rests between your legs.

Will never stop smiling at you when you exit the shower in only a towel.

Brushes her lips over your stomach to wake you.

She's so enamored by the twinkle in your eye when you talk with the younger generation of warriors.

Playfully suggests you just walk around the house completely naked so she can really appreciate your body.

Her heart one hundred percent drops when she sees you sad for even a second.

Let her kiss you wherever she wants! It's a lot easier than arguing with her!

And she will try in some weird places. (She gives me body worshipper vibes.)

Yelena

~Sound

She heard about you due to rumors about your incredible fighting style. But what made her seek you out was the knowledge that you were next in line to become a titan shifter. It was hard to tell if her affection was due to interest in you as a person or your incredible fighting style but one day she asked you to live with her in the new world. Of course you said yes.

She loves the sound of you singing. (If you can sing) Sometimes she actively seeks you out and asks for you to sing to her.

Your war cries make her back arch (shh I didn't say that).

The second you guys started dating she developed a sixth sense of some sort where she just shows up if you're crying or if your day has been going terrible.

She just adores the sound of your voice and she can't get enough of it.

I could see her dragging you off some place where the two of you can just talk.

Within less than a week of dating you she's already got ways to get any noise she wants out of you.

Graze their neck with the tip of your nose for giggles and kiss the tips of their ears for I love you's.

That sort of thing.

Whenever you make a noise she hasn't heard before she's dying to force you to make it again.

Idk what it's called but I feel like Yelena has that thing where noises are attributed to colors in her brain. And at some point she explains all the colors she sees whenever you make certain noises.

Hange

~Sight/touch

Moblit had to take a.. short vacation after one of Hange's lab disasters nearly crippled him.. so Erwin had asked you to fill in and you said yes. It was only for a couple weeks and during that time Hange stuck to you like glue. Throwing an arm over your shoulder, stealing little glances and laughing loudly when you'd catch her. It felt like normal Hange stuff. But on the last night before Moblit's return, Hange was weirdly not.. Hange.. being quiet, filling in data and barely making eye contact. You asked if you'd done something wrong but Hange barely said anything back. Before you left she was nose deep in paperwork. You said your goodbyes and you were about to leave when Hange asked if you'd be willing to go on a date. When you looked back she hadn't even looked up but you smiled and nodded with a little yes and the rest was history.

It's a no brainer that you spent all your free time in Hange's lab to be Hange's other support system other than Moblit.

And when Moblit died, Hange's entire support system.

Her touch lingering on your lower back as you lean over to check her notes.

Completely enamored with the glint in your eye whenever the two of you come up with a sort of breakthrough.

Deadass pulls you into her lap at the most random times.

Oh hey the meeting finally finished? Yanks your frame right into her lap and laughs at the eye rolling of fellow colleagues.

Hange will say sorry but that blush on your face was so worth it and she's so glad she did it.

Rubs your back as you sleep on the work piled on your side of the desk.

Probably accidentally wakes you up a couple minutes after you fell asleep though.

Hange once sat you on her lap after a meeting right before Erwin tried to hand her some papers over the table. Without thinking she stood up to grab them and your face slammed into the table while her hips were pressed against your ass. Immediately getting everyone's attention. Safe to say you no longer sit next to Hange at meetings. (I had to add this even though it's a little off topic and random.)

Historia

~Smell (First one here.)

She had to share a room with you until she became queen. And almost every night she'd have some kind of nightmare about Ymir. You didn't mean to make a move but one night she crawled into your bed like she always had and you wrapped your arms around her shivering form like you always did. She had her nose trapped in your nape and you pressed a kiss to her forehead hoping it would stop her harsh breathing. And it did. She froze, the world froze, everything froze. You had leaned back to apologize for overstepping her boundaries and she kissed you back.

She'd gotten so comfortable with your scent that not only did it constantly lull her to sleep but always gave her a sense of security.

You're her security blanket. I don't make the rules.

Speaking of blankets. You gave her yours when she moved into the castle.

Whenever she gets even an hour alone she's trying to get you in the castle so she can sit in your lap and bury her nose in your nape like she always has.

She also steals your shirts and hoodies as often as possible until they smell like her then you have to take them back and cover them with your stink again.

Spending early mornings in the castle after washing your hair and her telling you over and over that she missed your smell.

It's legit like having a long distance relationship while being in the same place.

And she doesn't let you go until the last second before you both have to go back to work.

If you guys have time and you shop together she'll keep the candles that you believed smelled the best in her room.

All in all give Historia your shirts to wear cause she loves them/they look great on her.

Ymir

~Sight/touch

You're probably either super sweet like Krista or really sarcastic like her and that's what draws her to look more in depth into you. When she finally gets a chance to actually look at you fully without the odm gear she finds herself fixated, tracing your figure with her eyes. You guys finally become friends, who mutually enjoy bullying Reiner. But she finds that she hates it. Thinks you're teasing her every time you brush her fingertips without actually holding her dammed hand. One day she just reaches out and grabs you properly and doesn't let go. Yeah, you're dating now.

What can I say except, she likes running a finger over the lines on your palm.

She's always grabbing you out of nowhere but you don't mind. You just let her hold you.

"You look extra beautiful today, bet you'll look even better when I put a ring on your finger."

Puts her hands under your shirt with no fucking shame.

Stares at you and yells at the first person that mocks her. Reiner/Connie

Can and will find a way to smack your ass the second she gets you alone.

Trails little butterfly kisses over your shoulders when you're trying to get dressed in the morning.

Literally everything you do is weirdly skillful to her.

Like you're peeling a potato and she's like, "You're so amazing at that.."

Let her lean on you for absolutely no reason she loves it. 🤷‍♀️

(I realized after writing this that Annie and Armin have the same one even tho I don't ship them at all 😕)

[moonbeamsung]

You’re Just a Boy in a Blueberry Field

No fruit is sweeter than a summer love.

member: haechan

au: blueberry farmer!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 5.0k

genre: fluff, very light angst

warnings: mentions of food

author’s note: It’s here! I actually wrote most of this last summer, but only recently did I find the time to edit and get it ready to be posted. I added some parts and changed a few things, and now I like it quite a lot, so I hope you do as well! Thank you @astroboy-lele​ for beta-reading :) As always I would love to hear any feedback on this, and I hope that you enjoy the fic!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @leejunini @chicksung @mrkcore @radiorenjun @moon-jun @jisungiest @stayctday @byutafy @jujubean23 @treasurehobi​ @bluejaem​ @lyshoonn​ @vera-liscious​ @allegxdly​ @cupfullofjeno​ @thats-a-jen-no-no​ @yo-ddream​

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet 

Thank you lovely Ana @rvse-hvvck for this additional header!

Donghyuck knows everything there is to know about those blueberries.

Without even pausing for the briefest of moments to think, to instinctively recall the information instilled in him throughout his childhood spent on the farm, he can answer any question that’s thrown at him. He can point out just the right color of berry to pick so that they’ll be ripe when you eat them later. Likewise, he can also tell you which ones are best to eat now, as you pick them, pretending not to notice when you pop one or two into your mouth and grinning when your eyes light up from the sweetness.

A day comes where he, filled with mischief as usual, places a not-so-ripe blueberry into your hand, and you, being so wrapped up in the peacefulness of the morning that surrounds you, fail to notice its red color and don’t think twice about lifting it to your lips, biting into it with your teeth. When the tart taste meets your tongue, your face contorts into an expression that elicits a raucous fit of laughter from him. You’re the first one in the fields that day. When the sun had risen on the horizon, the fleeting touch of color in the sky that dawn left behind still lingering above, he had been there, sitting on the front porch as always to greet customers.

Donghyuck knows every bug that loves to rest on the branches of the blueberry bushes. After spending so much time next to you as you scan them for the pops of vivid blues and purples that are hidden behind jade green leaves, he begins to learn that you are not fond of any bug, no matter how harmless. It’s cute, he thinks, how you inspect every berry that you drop into your basket, fearing that some small creature is lurking on it. If you do find something, he hears a small noise of both surprise and disgust before you fling the perfectly good berry away from you. It also hurts a little, knowing that it’s one less for you to take home.

When more people arrive at the farm after you, he’s forced to leave your side and get them started on their own search for the delicious fruit that’s nestled among the branches of nearly every bush. And if they ask where the best ones are, he specifically points them in the direction of the fields where you aren’t. It isn’t a lie, really, because they’ve had a good harvest everywhere this year.

...Okay, so maybe it’s a little selfish on his part, but who can blame him for wanting you to have some of the most plentiful bushes all to yourself?

Wednesdays are his favorite because it’s always the least crowded of all the mornings they’re open for business, and he can spend more time following you as you make your way down the rows, admiring the focus on your face and the way that you sometimes pause mid-reach, closing your eyes and standing still as the sun peeks through the clouds and casts its warm glow down onto the farm. A gentle sigh tumbles from your lips, darkened by the violet nectar that remains from the countless blueberries that have crossed their usually pink-tinted threshold. You resume your search after a few seconds, catching his eye and returning a smile he didn’t even know was there.

He makes the berries taste a little sweeter when he’s next to you. The purple juice that stains your fingers is a little darker. The sun feels brighter and warmer than ever, its heat shining down onto your skin.

One particular morning, after you finish picking all the blueberries you can carry, you decide to accompany Donghyuck on the porch, sitting beside each other in matching rocking chairs that first belonged to his great-grandparents, the farm’s founders. The familiar sounds of birds chirping and the low mumbling amongst customers meet your ears. You both gaze fondly at the horizon while immersed in casual chatter, all the while tending to several families as they come and go.

Whenever a car turns off of the two-lane, paved road and onto the noisy gravel path leading into a small grassy area that functions as a parking lot, Donghyuck excuses himself from the lively conversation both of you always find yourselves sharing. He stands, brushing his hands off on his faded denim overalls that are only slightly too large for his frame. His hand lifts up the baseball cap he always wears while the other runs through his hair, and your gaze falls on the back of his neck where it rests in longer strands. You always wonder why he keeps it like that since he complains about how hot it makes him feel. The humid summer air is stifling enough as it is, after all. The thought vanishes only moments after it arrives, though, and he flashes a brilliant grin at you over his shoulder as he descends the wooden stairs leading down to the patio.

Today, a happy looking family gets out of a shiny silver minivan. The mother and father with two kids, a boy and a girl, make their way toward the covered patio and Donghyuck bounds down the steps like always, grabbing 4 stacked pails in his calloused hands. You lean forward a little in the creaky old rocking chair, your weight in your toes, ears just barely picking up his conversation with them. He greets the parents warmly, shaking their hands and then he kneels down to be eye-level with the small children. The little boy seems shy as he clasps his fingers in front of him, thumbs twiddling back and forth, while his sister is clearly the opposite. She skips over to the much taller boy, saying hello.

“Do you two like blueberries?” He asks them, one arm resting on his knee and the other extending a pail out in front of him. The young girl nods enthusiastically before she takes the container from his hand and turns around, passing it to her brother as he nods, making eye contact with Donghyuck for the first time. A small smile grows on his face when he’s met with the wider one of the unfamiliar but still welcoming stranger. His sister speaks up again, “Every Friday we get to help Mom make her famous blueberry pie!”

“Is that right?”

“Yep! In the morning we always go to the supermarket and get fresh blueberries,” she explains. Her mother leans down, softly telling her that this week they’re here to pick blueberries instead, fresh from the farm they were grown on.

“Really? So that means we’re not buying them at the store anymore?”

“Well, honey, today we can pick enough blueberries to last us for a whole month’s worth of blueberry pies.”

“And besides,” Donghyuck starts, still kneeling on the ground next to her, his boot leaving an imprint in the dirt underneath it, “it’ll taste even better since you picked them yourselves, don’t you think?” The boy punctuates his question with a wink.

The young boy steps up for the first time, grin stretching even wider as he finds the courage to happily agree with the wise words. Exclaiming eagerly and in a way that only a child can, he takes his sister by the hand that’s not holding his small bucket before scurrying off, their parents close behind after grabbing pails for each other as well as a third that their daughter had forgotten in the midst of the excitement.

As Donghyuck joins you on the porch once again, you can’t help but smile as you remember how he interacts with each and every customer that passes through the weathered fence surrounding the property. When he talks to kids in particular, his eyes seem to light up, and you see just how much of a kid he still is deep down. His playfulness never fails to make an appearance whenever you spend time with him.

You’re thankful for the moo of a cow in the distance that interrupts his question of why you’re smiling like an idiot and hopefully drowns out the steady sound of your pounding heart.

The next week he tells you that the rest of his family is out of town, and he’s been left with the responsibility of running the farm all on his own. He usually does most of the work himself these days anyway since he’s getting older and more mature, although some of his jokes say otherwise. You miss the way his mom would poke her head out of the upstairs window of the main house, calling out a greeting to you both from across the property, overjoyed at the sight of her son spending time with the particular customer he’s mentioned so many times before. Whether he would share an amusing anecdote of yours with his siblings at the dinner table or point out something that reminded him of you, it was far too easy for her to figure out how he feels about you.

In an effort to spend more time with him, keep him company and just help out in general, you offer to stay at the house with him for a little while. Or at least until his family gets back from their trip, and to your delight, he agrees. You arrive in the late evening, on a day when the fields are closed, just in time to catch the setting sun as it disappears behind the trees and power lines that seem to stretch for miles in the distance. Tugging an overnight bag of belongings with you, you knock twice on the wood of his front door.

It opens swiftly and Donghyuck welcomes you inside, wearing an apron that he must have outgrown 10 years ago, at least. You snicker at the snug choice of attire and he shoves your shoulder, though not with enough force to make you stumble. He whines a little in that saccharine-sweet voice of his that makes your heart clench, but you don’t give in. Not this time.

When the farm is closed for the day, the family has a chance to pick from some of the bushes that are planted in a more secluded area, all to ensure that they also have a big enough supply of the fruit to last them for the season. So Donghyuck had woken up at the crack of dawn, although you aren’t sure why. He had made his way downstairs and out into the dewy air of the morning, gathering just enough blueberries to bake a cobbler that night when you came over, since he’d learned it was your favorite treat after hours of conversation about anything and everything. The recipe comes straight from his great-grandfather, he informs you, and it’s written on a yellowing piece of paper in handwriting that you couldn’t read even if you tried. He, however, can somehow decode the seemingly nonsensical swirls and lines on the page. You suppose it’s part of the magic of the family recipe that gets passed down with it.

Donning an apron yourself, you join him at the sink as you begin washing the berries, gently grabbing a handful at a time as you let the tap water clean them. When you both reach into the large container at the same time, your hands brush and you almost scoff at the swell of your heart that you feel inside your chest.

As you’re working together to make the batter that you will soon pour into his mother’s finest glass baking pan, Donghyuck briskly swipes his fingertip on the side of the bowl where the mixer had splattered the combined ingredients, extending it in your direction. You raise an eyebrow at the boy and said fingertip before turning your head away.

“If you really think that I would lick that off your finger, then you’re terribly mistaken.”

Coyly, the mischief-maker in question retorts back as you glance at his impishly delighted expression. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive,” you state rather firmly, but matching the mirth in his eyes with a glimmer of amusement in your own. “I’ll settle for the spatula, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, your answer completely expected. At least he tried. 

You won’t deny that you enjoy sampling a bit of the batter of a dessert as much as anyone. But not that much.

Left with no choice, he takes himself up on his own offer and sticks his finger into his mouth with an audible ‘pop,’ exaggerating the action just to get a rise out of you, feeling the upward curl of his lips when you react ever so slightly with a silent chuckle.

You’re adding the last bit of flour to the mixture when you accidentally get some of the powdery substance on your hand in the process. Turning the automatic mixer off, you momentarily forget about your stained skin and you make the mistake of wiping your face with the back of your wrist, smearing the white stuff on your cheek. Donghyuck notices, of course, and an innocent attempt to help clean up the mess only ends with the two of you blushing like crazy.

“Let me help you,” he speaks up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the pan’s not that heavy, and even if it was, I’m strong enough anyway—”

You’re about to pick up the glassware but his sudden strides over to you from across the large kitchen cause everything you were saying, doing, and thinking to come to a complete stop. You’ve never really had a problem with personal space before, but right now he’s leaning down and his face is so close that you’re afraid to even breathe for fear that the action might just throw you off balance and towards him. For fear that you might not push his chest away with your hands if that happens.

He’s bending his knees to match your eye level and his hand lifts from its place at his side, hovering in midair not far from where the flour still lingers on your skin. His eyes had been so focused on the stain but the shrinking proximity between you and him pulls his gaze from your cheek to your eyes, blown wide and confused because you still have no idea that there’s something on your face.

The undoubtedly palpable tension in the room almost reaches down his throat and pulls the words from his vocal chords in an effort to dispel the heavy air circulating around the both of you.

“There’s… uh… you have flour…”

Donghyuck still hasn’t broken the less than comfortable eye contact, but he’s unable to look away for reasons unknown to him. After an agonizing amount of seconds your brain switches on again, albeit slowly, and you’re able to properly process the position you’re currently in. Your own hand starts to lift and though the movement is slight, it’s enough to draw his eyes down to it and he finds the strength to complete his goal at last.

His thumb swipes across your cheek and without even thinking he pops it into his mouth once again, forgetting about the unpleasant taste of flour. The way that the boy’s face scrunches up when the bitter powder meets his tongue doesn’t eliminate the awkwardness completely, but it’s a start. You hastily make an effort to avert your gaze as you frantically wonder if he caught your face that’s surely as warm as a blazing fireplace, all because he did the unthinkable with that stupid finger of his.

You won’t let yourself dwell on how his hand is just the right size to cradle the side of your head, or how much nicer his lips look up close, or how they must taste like the blueberries that he snuck into his mouth as you made the cobbler, or how you wished he had used his lips on your cheek instead of his thumb.

How you wish he had closed the almost nonexistent distance between your flushed faces.

These thoughts do nothing to ease the steadily growing heat that’s currently taking over your skin. Your eyes land on the glass pan and you take the opportunity to grab it, acting as a sort of distraction for your mind and also as something to snap you both out of your embarrassed hazes.

You get the finished dessert into the oven with no trouble after that, and now you have a little over half an hour of time to kill before it’s ready, so Donghyuck leads you into the nicely furnished family room and plops down onto the plush couch. When you don’t immediately follow he glances up at you, sensing that you’re still hesitant after the awkward moment. He smiles softly and almost apologetically, as if he’s sending a silent signal that you’ll both move past it soon enough, an invitation to put the incident behind the two of you. And you accept it.

You take a deep breath before you sit down next to him, sinking into the cushions underneath and behind you. The material dips slightly under the weight of both your bodies and gravity itself seems to be in control as it pushes you together, shoulders bumping and the sides of your legs being pressed up against each other. Thankfully, the television roars to life with the laughter of a live audience on one of your favorite shows, and you exhale a puff of air you didn’t even know you were holding in. With every scene that lights up the large display, you curl up further and further into his side, his arm migrating across the back of the sofa and winding around your shoulder only a few centimeters at a time.

This feels like home. Donghyuck feels like home.

The buzzer of the oven interrupts when you’re halfway through another episode, prompting you to jump to your feet just as abruptly as the alarm-like noise had started blaring. Consequently his arm flops down by his side as he mentally curses the loud intrusion into what had become a comfortable atmosphere, an atmosphere that was finally surrounding you again after what felt like an eternity but had really only been an hour.

In no time, you’re returning from the kitchen, the warm blueberry contents of the cobbler oozing out onto the flowery pair of plates you had grabbed from the cupboard. Handing one to him and setting the other aside for yourself, you quickly go back around the corner to grab two tall cups of cold milk. Your second time joining him on the couch comes more easily, almost all of the earlier tension having dispersed into the room, wafting out the windows along with the delicious scent of the fruit baked into the sweet, flaky crust. In fact, you’re fairly sure that it’s strong enough for even his neighbors down the road to smell. Which reminds you: you need to package some up to deliver to them tomorrow, per Donghyuck’s suggestion.

You’re most definitely sure that he smells the aroma, of course, because it’s hard to ignore the eagerness with which he takes a large bite of the dessert. “We make better bakers that I thought we would,” the boy comments, taking a sip of milk. The white mustache that it creates above his top lip when he lifts the glass to his mouth is enough to make you giggle, and you’re unaware that this predictable reaction was his objective all along. He grins, rather satisfied.

With your stomach now full, a head-plaguing drowsiness begins to set in. It slowly fills your senses enough for you to drift off, fork nearly falling out of your hand and onto the floor before he catches it, along with your weight when you slump down against his shoulder. Donghyuck is barely able to reach one of the end tables, and he sets the dishes and silverware down next to the now empty cups. Your body unconsciously clings to his like a koala to a branch, with both hands clutching one of his arms and a leg hooked over his thighs.

He takes one look at you and wishes he could pause time, to stay here forever. It’s not every day that he meets someone who can easily match the amount of snark he possesses. Simultaneously, you also balance out the friendship you share with your compassion and sense of wonder about the world, always evident in your morning routine when you come to the fields. Donghyuck has noticed that you bring out those same qualities in him, perhaps more than anyone else ever has. And just like you’re holding him right now, he vows to hold on to you.

As much as he doesn’t want to get up and for the evening to progress, he knows he should, that it has to. So he manages to detach from the hold of your limbs, gently pushing himself up and off of the couch so he doesn’t disturb you.

Glancing at the large antique clock above the doorway that leads out into the hall, Donghyuck realizes it’s much later than he thought. He decides to turn in for the night, but on a regular day he usually finds himself still awake well past midnight, despite the need to wake up early the next morning and run the farm from the crack of dawn.

Since you’re tired and he doesn’t want to risk you waking up alone in an unfamiliar bed and place, he comes to the conclusion that he’ll join you. Only leaving your side for a moment, he puts the cobbler into the refrigerator and turns off the kitchen lights behind him as he goes. Softly padding halfway up the stairwell, Donghyuck makes sure there’s enough light for him to see where he’s going before making his way back into the living room one last time. He tucks one arm underneath both of your bent knees as tenderly as he can, and places the other behind the middle of your back, hand gently curling against your waist. He carries you with probably the most delicacy he’s shown in his entire life.

Going upstairs is generally an easy task, but doing so while carrying another person is a different story. He would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you in any way. If even your foot happened to bump the wall next to you, a burst of frustration at himself and his own carelessness would surface regardless of the impact’s intensity

Your position in his arms gives him yet another opportunity to gaze upon your peaceful expression, and he begins to think more deeply about what you are to him. Looking forward to your visits makes his work so much more enjoyable and worth it. You’re someone who truly appreciates what he and his family do for a living and you faithfully support them with your business as a customer whenever you can, which is a rare thing to find in most people that come. Most are just bored and in need of something to occupy themselves or their kids. Sometimes they don’t even pick that many berries. But you always make sure to bring your own basket, which holds just as many as if not more than the ones the farm provides, and fill it to the brim. In his eyes, you’re special.

Amidst the mostly-asleep state that you’re in, your eyes just barely open far enough to see a blurry picture of Donghyuck’s face as he carries you through the house and up into the bedroom he had suggested you share. He sets you down onto the soft mattress before pulling the covers up to your stomach, retreating into the attached bathroom to quickly change into a thin t-shirt and his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants.

The memory of that conversation floods back to you. Initially, you refused the offer, saying that he would rest better if he had more space to move around. But being the clingy person he is, he had pouted desperately as you struggled to stand your ground in the discussion. “Fine,” you had huffed, only half-frustrated with those doe eyes he always uses to get his way, and your lips had great difficulty holding back a smile.

The hum of electricity that can be heard emanating from the next room snaps you out of these thoughts, and is enough to wake you up a bit more. Your gaze scans the surroundings for a minute or two before he opens the door again, his eyes now looking as heavy as your own.

Donghyuck joins you under the blanket and shifts to lay on his side, facing you. It’s funny that you’re both able to adjust to a situation so intimate and new almost instantly. Still on your back, your head turns and you’re conscious enough to raise an eyebrow at the boy. There’s that pout again.

“Please?” He mumbles, his bottom lip jutting out in an action he’s perfected. You know exactly what he’s after: cuddles.

You don’t even try to hide the playful roll of your eyes as you scoot a little closer, but it’s not close enough for him. He gets impatient, meeting you halfway, and this time it’s him that flings a leg over yours. An endearing, small noise of contentment from him fills your ears as you take notice of his arms, now interlocked behind your neck and around your shoulders. You melt into the snug position, a hand landing on his forearm that’s laying across your chest. Turning ever so slightly to the side, your other hand winds around his middle and eventually rests just above his hip, pulling him into you even more. Donghyuck nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, a few strands of your hair tickling his skin as he sighs in complete and utter bliss.

Determined to savor the moment until the irresistible inevitability of slumber starts to overtake you once more, you fight to stay awake with all of your might. But in what you thought was only the blink of an eye, the glittering stars visible through the bay window’s sheer drapes morph into the pale golden rays of first light. There’s a soft murmur of your name along with an unintentional, almost imperceptible peck to the place where his lips meet your skin, and you’re wide awake. Not to mention a little shocked.

He’s utterly unfazed, though, slowly waking up now that the sun has gotten brighter, its beams filtering into the room and hitting his already glowing face that becomes a gorgeous honey-colored hue.

Donghyuck reluctantly withdraws his arms from your form after one last embrace, effortlessly rising from the wrinkled bed sheets and offering his hand to you when you start to do the same. A sleepy smile makes a home on his features and he reminds you of your task to deliver a portion of the dessert you made to his next-door neighbors.

That’s exactly what you do, first making yourselves presentable in the bathroom by smoothing down wild bed hair and freshening up your faces with cool water. Being around to see each other’s natural morning states is a major act of trust, and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to poke fun at you for it.

“How long does it normally take for you to do your hair every day before you come here?” His tone is dripping with feigned innocence, but the sly grin on his lips says otherwise.

“Shut up, Hyuck.”

Tupperware container in hand, your shoes step in rhythm with his as you amble along the grassy shoulder of the street together. Somehow you end up hand-in-hand by the time you reach his neighbors’ front patio.

“Donghyuck!” The elderly woman at the door greets him with a twinkling voice, her husband coming into view soon after. “Look who it is, honey,” she motions fondly to the boy who they both once knew to be much shorter and younger, but now is all grown up before their eyes. “You’re getting so tall. It seems like only yesterday you were scurrying through the blueberry fields and waving to us through the gaps in the fence.”

“Yes ma’am, it does,” he responds politely. The couple has been living there for as far back as he can remember, and quite honestly they feel as if they’ve become part of his family, too.

Her warm brown eyes light up. “Is this the customer your mother was telling me about last week? She mentioned how close you’ve become, and now I’m finally seeing it for myself. You make a lovely pair.”

“Oh—” Donghyuck startles. Not much can get him flustered, but he hadn’t exactly been anticipating for his mom to recount all the things he’s said about you to the sweetest and most innocent of elderly couples. Of course they would assume that there’s something going on.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, with you. He wouldn’t mind at all, really. He’ll just need to have a word about a little thing called privacy with his mother later.

You see the glint of panic in his eyes and speak up. It’s not often he makes such an easy target for teasing. “Thank you,” you state graciously, the smugness in the statement only noticeable to him. “We’re very happy together.” He feels you lean into him, fingers unwrapping from his and gripping the other side of his waist. You know exactly what you’re doing, and so does he.

Almost forgetting to hand over the slices of cobbler you’d cut earlier, Donghyuck nudges you to do so, and the four of you exchange thanks and farewells before you’re on your way back to the farm.

“Happy together, huh?”

“Shut up, Hyuck.” You mumble something else afterwards that he doesn’t quite catch.

“What’s that? Didn’t hear you,” he sings, stopping in his tracks. You do the same. “Shut up and what?”

“...And kiss me.”

After many days and many nights spent wondering, you can confirm that his lips do, indeed, taste as sweet as the blueberries in those fields.