#not shoved in the back of the book like in the print edition

[unforth]

I. Hurt.

And I was hurting anyway, I'm pretty down this morning, but this hurt came from an outside source, and affected me in a way I'd honestly not have expected.

See, we bought Nimona last week. After seeing the movie, my kids wanted to read it. And I ended up reading ahead, and I just finished it.

Bonus content at the end, it said, and I was like, oh, an epilogue to the epilogue maybe? That'd be nice. I don't love bittersweet endings, I'd rather...

...no, it's not the conclusion.

It's CHRISTMAS.

In a book that'd had no religion that I noticed up to that point, BOTH bonus extras...were Christmas.

Ya know, usually it doesn't bother me. Usually I just suck it up. I think it helps that I was raised around mostly Jews and people who, if Christian, it didn't matter much to them. I'm from the Upper West Side of Manhattan, the descendent of Lower East Side immigrants, and while the world outside was brutal - my grandfather was a World War 2 veteran and among the soldiers who liberated Dachau, I can't remember a time when I didn't know that most people would look the other way if people like me were slaughtered wholesale - my bubble was safe, we were accepted, we were insiders.

I honestly can't think of another time I've interacted with a piece of media and felt so immediately, instantly knocked across the face by OUTSIDER as I just did when I excitedly turned the page to see what these fun extra bonuses were...and it was fucking Christmas.

I didn't even read them.

I'm honestly. So disappointed.

I don't have a thick armor for this kind of hurt. I'm Jewish, and as an adult living outside my old UWS bubble, that's often meant I've felt like an outlier, but I've hardly ever had this feeling where I was welcome to something only to be suddenly, violently shoved out the door.

And I've heard nothing, n.o.t.h.i.n.g. but praise for this book. And on another day, it might not have bothered me. I've never really felt like I had to fight to be seen, especially since I'm tremendously secular. I mean, I've celebrated Christmas my entire life, for starters.

But why. Why was this fantasy setting suddenly Christian? Why was this the touted extra content? Why is THIS special, when the areligious world established to that point was apparently not special enough?

I can't say yet if this ruined the story for me. It's far too soon. But I'm *intensely*, viscerally let down, and...I hurt.

Christians...maybe stop doing this shit.

[poppletonink]

The Marauders Fandom and How It Has Changed The State of Fandom Culture

The Marauders Fandom defies the natural state of fandom culture. Within the realm of the spiderweb of links, clicks and likes, fandoms have been born, have been nurtured and have been destroyed. Typically these fandoms follow a particular mould: by focusing on canon events, characters, and relationships between said characters, more art, writing and wonder is born. However, the Marauders fandom is unlike any of its predecessors or any fandoms being born today. Though its characters were once residents of the world of Harry Potter, in the eyes of the fans they are no longer bound to the confines of their original character archetypes (and their minimal development) as provided by writer J.K. Rowling. The internet has created a fandom renaissance - a rebirth of the characters who were originally solely there as ancestors and side characters to the so-called Golden Trio.

With this rebirth comes a subversion of what people think they know. James Potter (the father of Harry Potter) and his friends are no longer the distant memories of a forlorn, mistreated young boy. Through headcanons, fanfiction, edits, and fanart, and the "fanon" versions of these characters, they are given substance, personalities and backstories much richer than those that were scrawled into the pages of the Harry Potter series. From All The Young Dudes by MsKingBean89 (the most-read fanfiction on Archive Of Our Own) to Crimson Rivers by bizarrestars, formerly known as zeppazariel, these characters are given new life.

A queer utopia - perhaps that is the best way to describe and define this fandom. As it has settled into its cozy corner of the web, the fandom has become more bold and outlandish in their ideas. Debates have run riot over romantic pairings and sexual orientations projected onto any and all characters clawed into the cast that is beloved by this ever-growing group of people. Is Remus Lupin "as gay as the day is long" (as he was described in the original print of Casey McQuiston's Red White and Royal Blue) or is he a bisexual man (as unfortunately rare as they are in the literary world)? That is just one of the many questions thrown around from tongue to tongue, from text to text, in this fandom. The importance of queer representation has been established again and again in our modern world, but it has existed and prevailed within the world of the Marauders Fandom.

The pairings in this fandom range from canon, sensible and strongly backed up with evidence from the original books (like James Potter and Lily Evans), to wild, wacky and completely obscure (like James Potter and Regulus Black). However, the fandom has decided to take their own route, no longer caring what words the creator Rowling has to say about her characters. On numerous occasions, J.K. Rowling has stated that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin do not have romantic feelings for each other, and yet 'Wolfstar', as they are so-lovingly nicknamed, is one of the biggest ships in fandom history. Alongside this, after the proclamations of Rowling's transphobic views mid-2020, the fandom took a stand declaring many of the characters (especially Regulus Black) to be transgender in their eyes. Through this, the Marauders Fandom has made these characters even more relatable for those who read about them. Even more notably, they have used these characters to take a political stand - to make it clear that we must stand up for those in our society who are shoved aside and discriminated against.

Fandom culture is taking art and making it into something even more beautiful, making it something that people relate to and adore even more than they did before. While the art originally belongs to the person who creates it, once it is put out into the world it becomes open to interpretation. People project onto songs, onto books, onto art and it helps them to escape the trials and tribulations they face within their realities. After all, isn't that what entertainment is truly made as - an escape? As a result of the Marauders Fandom, we can look towards a future where fandom is no longer defined by its canon, where it becomes a group of people who love something and share creative ideas together. As a result of the Marauders Fandom, fans have the ability and the opportunity to have a sense of more artistic expression, which ultimately leads to more media and literature for us to enjoy. The Marauders Fandom is a fundamental and quintessential part of fandom history - it is a story of its own, born and bred of minuscule threads and mere sentences about interweaving characters. It shows just how we as people are powerhouses of creativity and that, as is said in Dead Poet's Society (1989): "poetry, beauty, romance, love - these are what we stay alive for".

[forthegothicheroine]

Best Fragrantica reviews of (some of) my favorite perfumes, Part II

First installment here

Maison Martin Margiela By the Fireplace

Careful not to be worn by this perfume instead of being you the wearer. Not that it is oh so powerful, but it may be too bold of a statement piece for, ahem, some. Wearing BTF when you don't look the part and don't give it sense will have you smelling borderline unhealthy. Like your organs inside have worn off and darkened (and burned out, I guess). Truly as weird as it sounds. The raw thing smells very exciting. I love it ashy. I don't see myself daring any soon, however. And I don't find that it worked for the men I know either, as they have (and I cringe to say) whiter auras and don't fit the "handling cognac by the fire" thing. So I've yet to see it really work, which I'm sure will be great. It's a lovely perfume.

Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab Bewitched

This is the smell of a witch's brew. She made a special tea for you to drink. You pass out. When you awaken you find yourself in her garden full of poisonous berries, patchouli, weeds, clary sage, and flowers whose petals have been plucked. This is an herbal scent, like walking inside a shop selling only herbs. It's medicinal and like a tea. Not always easy to take in...The smell of sage and musk give it a unisex/masculine quality. I would say that it's more of a guy's type of cologne than a woman's. I would wear it for Halloween with a witch costume or as Morticia Addams. It's really a very engaging scent but it's linear and simple. It's a little green tea and berry. It's got a bite but it's witchy and dark, but not a strong cologne either. For a niche indie frag, not bad.

TokyoMilk Gin & Rosewater

I was in a boutique that carries the Tokyo Milk Curiosite & Bon Bon lines, and I was entranced by this. Florals are not usually my thing, by the way, because I get monster headaches from most of them. Suddenly the salesgirl is RIGHT NEXT TO ME leaning in conspiratorially and says in an awed tone that 'Blake Lively LOVES this one'. OMFG, Blake Lively, you say??!? Like for serious, the real Blake Lively?? OMFG, do you have like, more in the back?!? I'm totally going to buy every bottle you can shove in my basket because BLAKE LIVELY would hang out with me if we ran into each other and then my life could end. Um, not. I almost DIDN'T buy it because of the salesgirls then going into a tizzy about how amazing Blake is. I could not care less, although I'm sure Lively is nice enough. But it did smell cool, so home with me it came, along with the matching lotion.

Serge Lutens La Fille de Berlin

It’s an overwhelming fragrance that smells like the bottom of my grandma’s small square leather purse when we went to mass (her old dried up lipstick💄 the powder compact, the newspaper, the pack of strawberry-ish scented kleenex, the peppermints). It’s vintage, it’s a bit suffocating and I have it printed in my memory 4 ever.

Juliette Has a Gun Magnolia Bliss

Anastasia Steele, no longer a virgin. In her Audi A3, the smell of her new car, first edition books and a new life... That's what comes into mind with this perfume. The night Christian took her for the first time on his helicopter. I can imagine this is exactly what she smelled like that night. With Ellie Goulding's Love me like you do playing in the background. 

Maison Francis Kurkdjian Baccarat Rouge 540

I’m too embarrassed and ashamed to wear this in public just in case a fragrantica influencer comes out of a bush and starts pointing & laughing at me in front of everyone

Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille

what all the hot daddies in every lana del rey song smell like

Jo Malone Velvet Rose & Oud

If your family was religious, traditionally Asian, or both, you'll know this scent. This is the scent of a temple. This is the scent of an altar. Personally I can never wear this because smelling this brings back so many memories of burning incenses, visiting funerals, and saying prayers and wishes. My bottle is literally sitting on an altar.

Perfumer's Workshop Tea Rose

Speaking of the devil. This scent is the one with the Prada's shoes.

4160 Tuesdays Doe in the Snow

This is borne on a Christmas Eve, under the moonlight, a baby fawn just out of it's mother's womb. The moon is full light casting blue shadows snow lightly falling delicate flakes each one unique on the nose of the new born... Pure fresh Christmas morning air stillness not a sound blanketed with drifts of snow that is Doe In The Snow... pure white innocence...velvet petals so delicate under the driven snow...I have seen this in a dream... Another love... I get it...

[gaslightgallows]

I regretfully demand 2) If you don't find me, you'll find the things. You'll touch what my hand touches. : Crowley and Muriel, bookshop bay-beeeeeeeeeee

“Those don’t go there,” Crowley snarled, suddenly appearing at the door of the basement with a case of bottles.

Muriel, formerly 37th level Scrivener, jumped, though not as much as they would have only a few days before, which they were rather proud of. As the nice human lady at the record shop put it, ‘Mr. Crowley’s bark is worse than his bite.’ Muriel wasn’t entirely sure what that meant; all the information they’d ever seen about the demon Crowley indicated that he favoured snakes over dogs, and Muriel was reasonably sure that snakes didn’t bark. But they had yet to see either one up close.

“What doesn’t go where?” they asked.

“Those books. They don’t go there.” He jerked his chin at a dusty corner shelf, far away from where Muriel had started to shelve the items. “Over there. That’s where he kept them.”

“But…,” they started, as he set the case of alcohol down on a chair and snatched the books from Muriel’s hands, “wouldn’t it be better to—“

“Better to what?” The slitted yellow eyes glared at her.

“Um.” Muriel twisted their fingers together and debated trying to take the books back. “Well, better to put them where people can find them? Like, putting books by the same author together? Or maybe books that are about the same things should go together?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “People? You think the point of this bookshop is for people to come in and buy books?”

“Well,” Muriel said, with a nervous gush of a giggle, “that’s what a shop is for… right?”

“There are a million other places for people to buy books from, these days,” the demon retorted. “Amazon, for one.” He wouldn’t take credit for Amazon anymore, but online bookselling had significantly cut down on Aziraphale’s foot traffic, and the angel had been so pleased. “This shop doesn’t sell books.”

“So, it’s like… a library? Ooh, or an archive!”

“Yeah, sure, call it whatever you want, just don’t sell anything. And make sure it’s an archive of stuff where only you know where to find things. That’s the important bit. Makes the customers annoyed and less likely to come back.”

Muriel smiled broadly. “Great! I’ll just go, um…” Their eyes lighted on a stack of volumes of poetry that a recent customer had been prevented from purchasing, due to an inconveniently missing wallet and a sudden cold feeling on the back of his neck, as though a large reptile was glaring at him from the shadows. “I’ll just go put these with the cookery books.”

“Sure,” Crowley sighed, “that’ll do.” He looked down at the books in his hands, and for a moment, held them a fraction of an inch closer to his chest.

One by one, he sifted through them. There was the Alanson copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost (originally owned by the grandfather of some pioneer of surgery, printed in 1711, that was still missing its cover), a second American edition of C.S. Lewis’s Perelandra, and a wallpaper-covered copy of Jane Austen’s (Jane! Austen!) Love & Freindship from the 1920s. The Lewis and Austen books, he shoved into the shop’s most uninviting corner shelf, in between a natural history of octopuses and a manual of traditional wood carving. But he hung onto the Alanson.

Crowley fucking hated Paradise Lost. He made a point of making sure every copy that made it into the shop got stored under the lavatory sink with its dripping pipe. But this one had escaped him. Aziraphale had faithfully promised the previous owner in 1956 that he would repair the book and return it to them as soon as they paid, but the years went by and there was no payment, so it remained in the shop, half-denuded of boards and smelling strongly of dust and vanilla, the way old rag paper did as it decayed slowly over time.

He chafed the little book between his hands, feeling the crumbling edges and the imprints of the plump, deft angelic hands that had held it last.

A hand on his chest, reassuring him. Hands on his back, holding him in place when they ought to have pushed him away. Hands that always smelled of old dust and vanilla.

A snarl curled his lips, but it was a silent, half-hearted one.

He slipped the battered book into his back pocket and took it upstairs, along with the case of wine.

Want a Good Omens ficlet for your very own? The list is here, drop a # and a character/pairing in my ask box!

[liselicanis]

Day 4: The Merriest Band of Misfits

@arcvmonth

Edit: So I misread the prompt and like was almost done with the story, and so, uhm, yeah.

Characters: Fuuma Hikage, Timmie Genshin Impact

He's falling.

A most obvious conclusion to come to when one feels the wind rushing all around them and the ground is nowhere to be found beneath their feet. Even so, he can still tell that whatever has happened to him, he's not where he needs to be.

The sky for one, is bright and sunny, opposed to the lava field he had been in, and the landscape is so very different. Rolling green hills and a crystal blue lake surrounding a city state. The ground is coming up fast and it is by some divine miracle that he rights himself in time to land in the water.

The swim to shore isn't far, thankfully, but now he's soaking wet and very much confused of where he is. Looking around, he spots a few sticks he can use to make a fire to dry himself by.

It is when he's removing his shirt when he hears a small voice call out to him.

"Who are you?"

Instinct drives him to reach for his sword, but Hikage pauses when he sees the owner of the voice. A child, probably not yet ten years old, holding a small paper bag. He's looking at him suspiciously, and the Fuuma ninja can't blame him. He's a stranger and his appearance doesn't quite scream 'native to this land'.

There are a few more awkward seconds of silence. One wet ninja and a small boy just staring at each other before Hikage lifts a hand in a small wave, "Uhm...Hikage."

The boy nods to himself as if he understands and comes closer, placing his bag down as he points to Hikage's fire. "You really shouldn't do that so close to Mondstadt. Miss Amber will get mad at you. Come on! I'm sure my mom can give you some dry clothes!"

He grins and holds out his hand as if he wants Hikage to take it, and then gasps as if he's remembered something. And then points to himself. "I'm Timmie, by the way!"

Grabbing his already dry mask, Hikage smiles and stands up, extending his own hand forward. "Nice to meet you." He follows the boy into the city where some of the locals barely give him a glance aside from a young girl who tugs at her mother's skirt and points at him. Hikage doesn't mind though, he's sure he looks strange to these people who are dressed in very Western style clothes.

Timmie leads in front until they stop in front one of the houses and tells him to wait outside for a moment. He nods and takes the opportunity to retie his mask but chooses to not cover his face just yet. No one knows him here, so there is no reason to put it back on just yet.

The door opens and he stands at attention and a kindly looking woman stands at the doorway with Timmie behind her. "Oh you poor dear. How did you manage to fall in the lake?"

"...Carelessness." A plausible answer. Believable.

She tilts her head as if she's thinking it over and then lets out a small chuckle. "Ah yes, it is a curse, isn't it. Now come in, I'm sure to find you something."

He gives a bow in gratitude and follows the small family inside and does his best to not drip too much all over the floor.

Timmie is sitting on an armchair, a book in his lap. watching him with wonder and then grins. "Hikage, Hikage, are you from uhm, Inu...no wait, let me check my book." He looks down at the page the book is open too and tries again. "Inazuma?"

The ninja has no idea where that is but figures its best to play along for the time being. "Yes. I'm just here for..."

"Are you here for the Genius Invocation TCG Tournament?!" the young boy suddenly grows excited, standing up so quickly that the book falls on to the floor with a very loud thud.

"Uhm...the what?" It's like a fire doused. And then rekindled because suddenly Timmie is running out of the room, and then back with a box in his hands, and suddenly Hikage finds cards being shoved into his hands. Surprised, he looks down at them and he studies the small portraits on them. In fine print, he can see each card has a description of what they do and he can't help but let out an amused huff of air.

"So like Duel Monsters but not..." he says quietly, studying a card that has brown haired girl printed on it. The name of the card identifies her as 'Amber' and he now has a pretty good assumption that this is the same Amber that Timmie had mentioned earlier. "How do you play?"

It was as if someone had told Timmie that it was his birthday today. "I'll teach you!"

[heximagines]

eddie x reader/nerd who loves to read and had to tutor eddie and he ropes her into hellfire

I had soooo much fun with this request and hope you like it! Also I love tieflings so we're just going to ignore the fact that they didn't come about until 5th edition. Technically you could argue with me about the Bard class too but it's up to DM's discretion and I think Eddie would let it slide in this case. Let me know if if you like it! Thank you. 🖤🖤🖤

Once again you found your eyes drifting up from your book to the library clock. Eddie Munson was officially an hour late to your tutoring session. Again. Fed up, you slammed your book closed and began to gather your things all while grumbling to yourself, "Fine you don't want to show up? Guess you don't want to graduate." You were well on your way to storming out of the library and the school all together but you paused at the bulletin board by the door. Your eyes locked onto a black flier with a red devil head printed on it, 'Hellfire Dungeons & Dragons Club Rm 138'. If Eddie thought he could waste your only senior year without hearing about it he was dead wrong. You snatched the flier from the board and stomped out into the hall. 

"Suddenly the little girl falls to the ground behind you twisting her body around and writhing in agony. The armed villagers begin to back away, some even drop their pitchforks and run in the opposite direction." Eddie leaned over his barricade and twisted his body at an odd angle for emphasis. "Oh shit!" Dustin curses, running his hands over his face in dismay. Eddie grins before continuing. "Hair grows all along her arms and legs, her nails double in size turning to sharp claws, and her teeth..." The dungeon master snaps playfully at Mike who is having the same terrible realization as Dustin. "Her teeth become large yellow fangs. She rears up and howls at the full moon! AHWOOOOOOO!" Eddie is now standing precariously with one foot on the table and his other on his rolling chair, howling at the ceiling as his adventurers groan. They just spent half their mini campaign defending a werewolf from what they thought was a cult. Eddie allows them to soak it in, a devious grin plastered across his face. However his victory was cut short when the door to the club room slammed open, banging against the wall. Startled, everyone jumped and Eddie's chair rolled out from under him, sending him crashing onto the table. His barrier crumpled under his weight and he sent minifigures and dice flying. You stormed into the room and without a second thought threw the crumpled Hellfire flier at Eddie's head. It beamed right off of his forehead and he could only look up at you stunned. The players all eyed each other nervously, backing away from the table. "I am done!" You shoved a finger in his face as Eddie scrambled to sit himself up and regain some semblance of dignity. "So done trying to help you graduate Eddie! If you want to be stuck here forever then fine! Be stuck here forever! But don't waste my time! I have a life too and I'm not going to spend it waiting around the library for you! I was trying to help you and you can't even be bothered to show up!" You threw your hands up in the air, exasperated and red faced. Eddie tried to cobble together a response but words seemed to fail him at the moment. You almost wanted to laugh at the way his mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air but you were way too pissed off. Without another word you turned on your heels and made your way back to the door, satisfied with the earful you gave him. 

There was a long silence before the members of the club began to gather their things and mumble half assed excuses to get the hell out of there. Eddie, in an attempt to regain control over the room, rushed to cut them off on their way to the door. "No, no, no we're just getting to the good part guys! Don't go yet. Let's just reset the table and pick up where we left off." Nervously they all glance between Eddie and the door, as if waiting for you to come back for more. "Hey man," Gareth said, clapping his friend on the shoulder, "she's got a point. You did ask her to help you graduate this year. And you have been blowing her off." Eddie scoffed and yanked away from Gareth's hold. "I didn't blow her off... I-I just haven't gotten around to the studying part yet." "You did say you were planning to 'blow off' your tutoring for tonight's meeting." Mike inserted some air quotes for good measure. "All I'm saying is, maybe you owe her an apology," Gareth finished before maneuvering around his band mate and heading for the door. The others quickly followed suit. 

"I'm home! Early..." You looked around to find that as usual your mother was long gone. Sighing you grabbed some of the empty beer cans laying around and made your way to the kitchen. You tossed the empties and as a reward helped yourself to a full one. You considered making dinner but decided instead to retreat to your bedroom. Cracking your beer you popped your favorite tape into the player and cranked up the volume. You weren't about to let some ungrateful jerk ruin the rest of your night. You kicked off your jeans before flopping down on your bed and grabbing the nearest book to shove your nose in. To your delight you'd blindly grabbed the newest Brian Lumley book you'd begged the librarian to track down for you. Necroscope promised talking to the dead, murder, cannibalism, vampires, Russian spies, and anything else your heart could desire in a good book. You settled in and cracked it open.

Eddie's van rattled up the long unpaved road that led to your home set back in the woods. After everyone left him to clean up the club room, his ego and body bruised, he couldn't help but dwell on your words. He knew that you didn't have to help him or even offer to help, but you did. Guilt chewed him up and spit him out like a piece of gum. As he finally came to a stop in front of your tiny house he saw that there were no cars or lights on and he began to wonder if you were even home. After all, you did say you had a life. He decided to give it a shot and knock on the door anyway. He waited anxiously, shifting from one foot to the other before pressing his ear to the door to listen for footsteps. Instead he could hear faint music. Eddie took a step back before peeking around the other side of the house. He could now see one window towards the back illuminated with an orangey glow. He looked back at the door before heading around the side. Without really thinking about it he peered into the window only to find you lounging in your bed reading a book. The only thing was you were only wearing a t-shirt and underwear. Red faced Eddie quickly backed away from the window. He already had a reputation for being a freak, among other things, he didn't need to add pervert to the list. But as his luck would have it today he wasn't paying enough attention, eyes admittedly still glued to you though the window, and he tripped over a terracotta pot. He fell back on his ass, pot smashing on the ground and definitely drawing your attention. He looked up in time to see you appear, doe eyed, in the window. All he could do now was give you a shy wave. With an annoyed grunt you opened the window. "That was my mint dude." Eddie looked between you and the smashed pot. "My bad?" "Definitely your bad. Did you just come here to peep through my windows and smash my plants or what?" He cringed at your tone, quickly getting to his feet. "No! No! No! It's not like that!" He moved to wipe his hands on his pants but paused when he realized he'd cut up his palms in the fall. You noticed too and shook your head. "Meet me around front." With that you slammed your window and drew your curtains closed. Looking down you realized that Eddie had absolutely seen you in your cotton panties. Embarrassed, you threw on a pair of comfortable shorts and made your way to the front door. When you opened it you were met with an absolutely downtrodden looking Eddie. 'Good,' you thought 'that's what he gets.' Regardless you grabbed him by the wrist and led him inside. Once he was in you directed him to the bathroom and made him sit on the edge of the tub. You rummaged around in the cabinets until you found some cotton balls, alcohol, and gauze all the while his soft puppy dog gaze bore into your back. "Look," he finally started "I'm really sorry. I do appreciate you offering to help me out y/n. And I'm sorry I wasted your time. But to be fair, helping me probably would have been a waste of time too." You looked at him from the corner of your eye, frowning slightly. "Not that that ma-" "What do you mean?" You cut him off, sitting beside him. Eddie seemed thrown off by your question. "I'm... Apologizing?" You shook your head, "What do you mean helping you would have been a waste of time?" Eddie only shrugged and looked down at his hand now being pulled gently into your own. Suddenly he was feeling very nervous. "Let's be real, I'm probably going to end up dropping out before I manage to graduate." You pressed an alcohol soaked cotton ball into one of his cuts and watched him wince. "Shut up. The only reason you haven't graduated yet is because you don't want to." You started to clean the rest of his cuts more delicately. Eddie looked at you, completely slack jawed. "You think I still want to be in high school?" "Yup." "Are you crazy?" "Nope." With his wounds easily cleaned you began to wrap his hands up nealy. He could only watch as he struggled to process what you'd just said to him. "You're smart, smart enough to pass all of your classes. But all you do is slack off, ditch, and get stoned. And when you're offered help you agree to take it but don't actually show up to get the help. And you know why?" Eddie laughed, "Go on, tell me why." You paused to look him in the eye. "Because you're scared. Because you already know what the real world is like. It's a big scary monster waiting to swallow you whole. So you'd rather live with your uncle, play in your band, get stoned, and play fantasy games with kids who will always look up to you and think you're cool. Because it's easier, and it's predictable, and it's a whole lot less scary." Eddie bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at his hands as you set them in his own lap. "I wouldn't have tried to help you if I thought you were just an idiot you know. That's why I got so mad." There was a long pause where he wasn't sure what to say. So finally he picked the only thing that he thought would make things right. "Will you still tutor me? Please?" 

Eddie sat awkwardly on your bed, looking around your room. Sure he'd been in a couple of girls' rooms but he thought yours was the coolest. He admired your stereo system, your band posters, your tape and vinyl collection. He was surprised to find how much you two actually had in common musically. The only unsurprising thing he found was your massive book collection. Stacks of volumes occupied every precarious corner of your room, he was worried that he'd topple all of the piles in a crazy domino effect with one wrong move. Finally he picked up the book you'd been reading before he interrupted you. Vaguely his mind brought up how you looked stretched across your bed reading it but he batted the thought away. Instead he flopped down on his back and opened up to a random page to scan. He didn't even hear you coming in. "It's really good so far. It's his new one." You offered Eddie a beer, which he gratefully took, and tossed a bag of chips beside him. Sitting back up he cracked his drink and watched as you sipped your own. "I thought you were a nerd." You looked at him and scoffed, "Look who's talking. What makes someone a nerd anyway? Being smart? Liking stuff?" "I just mean like... I didn't think you'd drink. Or you know, listen to Venom." He reached out to grab your At War with Satan LP and put it on without asking. You let it slide and took a seat across from him on your bed, picking anxiously at your flannel sheets, it wasn't often you had boys in your bed. "I have interests other than reading and school ya know. Just like everyone else. Anyway, let's get cracking. You said you're struggling most with Geometry right?" 

A week passed.

Then 2.

Then 3. 

Eddie dutifully showed up to every one of your planned study sessions. Most of which now occurred in your room as opposed to the library where you found he was easily distracted. You stood, leaning against the passenger side of his van, and watched the parking lot entrance. He had a creative writing project today that Mr. Cortez warned would make up a quarter of Eddie's final grade, something that you personally thought was bullshit. But you knew that he was going to do amazing. Creative writing was Eddie's best class, no surprise considering he could basically use it to plan out campaigns. And you'd painstakingly read through it hundreds of times, editing out any errors and helping him fine tune and polish his short story. Finally Eddie came bursting out of the building, hauling ass towards you with a huge grin. Before you could even react he had scooped you up in a huge hug, lifting you entirely off the ground. You could vaguely hear people snickering at the two of you but you paid them no mind. Instead you returned the hug with a laugh. After a few moments he set you back down and tried to catch his breath. "I'm guessing you passed?" "Cortez said if my other 3 stories are this good," he waved the paper "I'll have no problem passing his class at all!" "See! I told you! This class was made for you. There's no way you can fail as long as you do the work." You reached into your bag to dig around. "I was so sure you'd pass I actually got you something." He peeked over you curiously, trying to figure out what you were fishing for. Finally you produced a copy of Necroscope and pressed it into his hands. "I, uh, know you were probably hoping for not a book but I really think you'll like it. It reminds me of your writing." He grinned at you and gave you another hug. "I can't wait to read it. Thanks y/n." 

That night Eddie was laying in bed smoking a joint when he pulled your gift out of his backpack. He flipped open the front cover and realized you'd written him a note inside. 'Eddie, there's not a doubt in my mind that your short story did amazing. And you can tell I mean it because this is written in pen.' He grinned at that. 'I'm really proud of you and all of the work you've been putting in. I hope this book reminds you that even though the world is a monster you're not alone in it. We're all connected somehow and we're all living in it together. And when you do feel alone I hope you come by my place to spin records and drink beers. XOXO, y/n' Eddie read and re-read your note over and over again before letting his eyes scan over the little doodles of bats and skulls you left around the edges of the page. He couldn't help the dopey smile that stretched across his face. Finally he flipped to the first chapter and started to read. 

You slammed your locker closed and nearly jumped out of your skin. Eddie was loitering just behind the door holding up the copy of Necroscope you'd gifted him. "You scared the fuck out of me." You playfully shoved past him and started down the hall towards the library. "This book is amazing." You couldn't help but feel a bit smug about your gift choice. "I know it is. That's why I gave it to you." He quickly moved to stand in front of you and block your path. "I got you something too." You paused and looked up at him in disbelief. "Really?" He nodded eagerly before reaching behind himself. He pulled out a shirt that had been stuffed though his belt loop and presented it to you. "I want you to join Hellfire." Your eyebrows shot up and you couldn't stop the "Huh?" that fell from your lips. Eddie looked maybe a bit abashed but didn't back down he instead pressed the soft shirt into your hands. "If you love my writing as much as you said and this," he held up the book, "you'd love D&D. Please just give it a chance." You hesitated but took the shirt looking down at it. "Besides… If you join, we can hang out more." Finally with a smile and a shrug you agree, "Okay, yeah sure. Why not?" "Great! First session is right now." He grabbed ahold of your hand and dragged you down the hall. "Wait what? Don't I need to like to prepare or something? I don't even know how to play." "Don't worry," he waved dismissively "I'll crash course you before everyone shows up." 

The gaggle of teenage boys eyed you warily as you all sat around the table, you figured they were still nervous around you considering the last time you'd visited their club room. "Guys, knock it off, she's not going to yell at you." You glance over at Eddie, wondering once again if this was a good idea, but he paid you no mind. He seemed to be too busy setting something up behind his barrier. After a while Mike spoke, "Y/n you, uh, you're in band right? So is our friend Robin." You sat up a bit and nodded. "Yeah! I am, I play drums." Eddie paused and looked up at you like a deer in headlights. "I didn't know that." You smirk at him, "There's a lot you don't know about me, Munson." And that was true, you always seemed to surprise him. He smiled as he looked back down at his notebook, rolling a D20 and jotting something down. "Okay let's get started. We're just going to do a dungeon crawl today." 

Hours passed but it felt like no time at all. Eddie's storytelling was absolutely captivating and you were all easily sucked in. You had to fumble your way though in the first half but you were quickly catching on. Thankfully the boys didn't seem at all adverse to helping you out when you were lost. "The door with the emerald! The one with the emerald!" Dustin yelled above the din. You eyed Eddie from your peripherals and watched for any indication that Dustin was wrong. He bit the inside of his cheek and the corner of his lips twitched like he wanted to smirk but didn't. "No," You shake your head "it's got to be the jade door." His eyes flicked from Dustin to you. You hadn't spoken up on any major decisions in direction until now. Only throwing in your two cents when he or Garet spoke up to ask what you thought. Speaking of Garet he quickly nodded in agreement. "I think Chant is right. We should take the jade door." The others nod in agreement and Dustin yields, "Alright Tiefling Bard, you do the honors then." You look at Eddie who's grinning at you like a fool. "I go over and pry the jade from the door on the left." Eddie doesn't need to glance down at his notes, choosing to hold your gaze. "The door slides open and you feel a warm burst of air. The light of the setting sun shines into the dungeon, blinding you temporarily. When you step out you find that you have officially made your way through The Decayed Labrinth!" Everyone jumped up simultaneously, cheering and high fiving. Graciously Dustin bumped fists with you. "I didn't doubt you for a second," he claimed, making you laugh. "Alright settle down settle down. Today you all gained plus 5 experience on top of your in dungeon experience, Dustin your wizard learned a new spell that allows you to make any creature within 3 levels of your own fall asleep after 2 turns, Jeff your fighter got a new sword to replace the one you broke last session, and y/n you pocket the jade and it ups your musical ability by" he rolls "5! Good job." You watch as he writes it all down. 

You wave goodbye to the guys as they file out of the club room, telling you they hope you'll come to the next meeting. "Want me to bring you home?" You look up at Eddie with a smile. "That would be great." He passed you off your bag and you threw it over your shoulder before following him out of the building. He fumbled with the lock on the van, he'd been complaining about the passenger door not opening right for the past week. "You did really good. I knew you would." He finally pried the door open and gestured for you to hop in before closing it for you. Funny enough the door always seemed to close just fine. Reaching over you pop the lock on his side and Eddie nods in appreciation. As he climbed in you could tell he was turning something over in his mind. "What's up?" "How did you know it was the jade door? I tried to trick everyone into taking the Emerald one." You laugh and your hands twist the strap of your bag nervously. "Well the lymeric on the wall indicated that a green gem would be the way out of there. And the emerald is flashy and obvious of course. But that's exactly it. It's way too obvious. You wouldn't make it that easy. Besides," you turn to face him "you did that thing you do when someone is buying a lie you're giving them." Eddie balked, "What thing I do!?" You laughed at him. "Ask your uncle. I bet he'll know exactly what I'm talking about." He could only shake his head in disbelief. "You know me too well." He plays with the keys in his hands, still not making any moves to put them in the ignition. "Do you want to go get pizza before I take you home? I'll pay." "What like a reward?" You chuckle. "I was… I was thinking more like… You know. A date?" For once Eddie Munson has taken you by surprise. Not sure how to respond, your mouth opens and closes. Quickly he jammed the keys in the ignition and started the van a red flush creeping up his neck. "Nevermind. Forget I said anything. I'll just bring you ho-" You cut him off by grabbing his arm. His head turns towards you but his eyes are planted on your hand. You bring your other hand up to his jaw and lift his head. He looks nervous but with a faint edge of hope now. "I would love to go on a date with you." You leaned in and pressed a kiss to Eddie's cheek, feeling how he smiles. You moved to pull away but this time he's the one who stopped you. He pulled you across the bench seat and against his side, keeping one arm firmly around you he shifted into drive and took off in the direction of downtown. 

[wrenqueenisboss]

Her

this was written in about 15 minutes, so it isn't edited. Hopefully you like it!

when you first meet her, you think she’s a jerk. she laughs at you and calls you an idiot, never fails to shove your shoulder with hers, and tries to drag you along to everything she and her friends do.

then one day, she stays behind and waits while you tie your shoe, even though everyone else continues to walk.

your dislike of her starts to fade, until you stumble as you stand up and she laughs. “idiot” she says in between giggles. and despite the embarrassed flush on your face, you can’t help but smile.

days later, both of you are with your friends at a party. everything is loud, loud, loud and it’s starting to give you a headache.

you rub your head before you can stop yourself, hoping it eases some of the pressure. unsurprisingly it doesn’t.

it sounds like the music gets louder and to want to scream. you want to leave, but can’t bring yourself to ruin the fun time everyone else is having.

she looks at home under the colored lights, wild smile, tussled hair, and the slight sheen of sweat on her skin.

she must feel your gaze on her because she looks over. frowns. and you’ve suddenly never felt worse.

self-consciousness be damned. you weasel your way through the crowd, until fresh air tickles your skin and only moonlight assaults your eyes.

in your pocket, your phone buzzes, startling you. Her contact name on your screen surprises you even more.

the night has worn away your resolve, though, so you answer. Loud voices and pulsing music crash over you again and you wince. her voice cuts through the din.

she asks if your okay— sort of yells if, just to make sure you can hear. Shocked, you say you’re okay, even if you wish you had a bottle of tylenol close by. there’s an empty, awkward silence before she asks if you need anything like a water. You say you don’t and that you just needed some fresh air, that you’ll be back in soon.

You didn’t really want to go back, but something about her tugs at you. She says “see you soon” before hanging up. You wonder if it’s the headache making you hear a smile in her voice. You’re left dazed.

A week later and you’re all walking in town. She squeals when she notices a bookstore and drags her friend inside too. You smile despite yourself, watching as she stares at the full shelves with wonder-wide eyes. You and the others wait outside, messing with your phones. Fifteen minutes later, she and her friend walk out again. She’s smiling like someone gifted her the stars.

You wonder, briefly, if you could, just so she’d smile like that always.

She reaches into the brown paper bag and pulls out a familiar book, already opening the pages to read the precious words printed inside. You nudge her shoulder, because that’s something she always does to you— and you’re starting to like it. 

She looks up at you and her face goes red. You ask about the book. Her blush deepens as she stumbles over what she’s trying to say.  You remember talking about the book, how you loved reading it. You hadn’t realized she was listening. But now she’s bought the book, and she’s promising to tell you what she thinks of it when she’s done. Before you stop yourself, you ask if, when she’s finished with the book, you can discuss it over coffee.

She stumbles when you ask, and it’s the first time you’ve truly seen her graceful nature falter. Tentatively, she asks if it’s a date.

You think back to when you first met her: the shoulder nudges that once felt like shoves, the times she called you “idiot” a touch too fondly to be considered mean, how she always makes a point to include you in everything. You think back to the little moments that made you fall even harder: when she waited as you tied your shoe and the day at the party when she called to make sure you were okay.

You look at her, at her beautiful face, and you answer.

“Yes.”

[saturnsummer]

sunbae.

Sol meets into a familiar someone. This time, she’s not letting her chance pass again. 

ao3 link

notes: prompted by @thenerdywriter ! taking place a few years after the gang has graduated and started their jobs. it’s been such a joy writing this! (editing, grammar and other mistakes will be taken responsible by me.) if anyone else has prompts, do ask them in the submission box and i’ll get to you when i can! 

thank you @thenerdywriter​ for this!! i thought of many scenarios, like them being famous prosecutors, or getting married. but i felt that this would be an interesting twist. i hope you like it! thank you for this opportunity! 

words: 2256 words

Sol loves being a lawyer. Like, she really does.

Well, besides having to hustle in notes, write reports, follow her bosses to meetings where she just sits and listens, she loves it. 

After graduating with her grades just skimming the pass, she landed a job at a small law firm. She acts more like a secretary than a lawyer there, to be honest. But money is money. Her mother is getting older, and with Byeol expressing her interest in dancing, she couldn’t say no. 

Thus, she sucks it up and sends out other resumes. She still works part time on weekends at the book shop back in Hankuk University, so she guesses she’s managing well. She still lives in that dangerous alley, but it’s much safer now that she returns home every night. 

She tried to stay in contact with her study group. Jiho landed himself in a big law firm, and SolB (despite her mother’s wishes) is at another giant law firm. BokGi got picked up by a firm mostly doing human rights, and Yebeom is working at the company next to BokGi. (So much for besties.) Yeseul is at a small firm, doing mostly cases on women rights. 

Joon Hwi, on the other hand...

He was picked up by a law firm in the States. Immediately after graduation, he left for the States. Everyone stayed in contact, but with life catching up, weekly drinks slowed to a meeting every other month. Yeseul and Sol still meet fairly regularly, but Sol can’t help but to feel empty when she notices Joon Hwi is missing. 

Everyone feels it, but she feels it the most.

-----

Sol can’t deny her feelings. When she saw him in Professor Yang’s lecture as he picked up her highlighter and gave her a sweet smile, she felt time freeze. Later on, as they became study buddies, she couldn’t help but sneak glances to observe his face when he taught her. She would always hitch her breath whenever he would lean towards her, or tease her with that smirk.

She has always thought that he returned her feelings. The way he would walk her home some nights. How he would always send her a good morning and night text, and place cans of coffees on her table at the library. It didn’t take her long to realise that he stuck post its on her table in their third year every week. (His handwriting was too uniformed, and only he owned circular shaped ones.)

But on the day of Yeseul’s trial, Sol knew that Joon Hwi probably didn’t like her. That he wasn’t protecting her, but her roommate. Of course he would. He was offered to privately tutor her, and they were always top ranking students. She vaguely remembers international events where they both would represent Hankuk in conferences.

Sol didn’t mind it. She was never good enough for him anyways. On graduation, as they took photos and promised to keep in touch, Sol found her mouth dry when it came to Joon Hwi. She had no reason to. (After all, it was just Joon Hwi.) But she felt even more nervous than the time she took her exam.

She planned it out. She wrote a script and memorised it in her head. She wanted to let Joon Hwi know about how she felt, even if he didn’t feel the same. She wanted to thank him for being her friend, for being a support that she will always be grateful for. That wherever he goes, she will always support him in life.

But as they threw their caps in the air and took one last group photo, Joon Hwi slipped away, never to be seen in person again.

-----

Sol found out a week later about his job in the States. They kept in contact by messages and the occasional video calls with the group. But with the time difference, Joon Hwi started texting lesser. Sol was no less busier, managing Byeol and her mom’s age and slowly taking on her responsibilities as the breadwinner of the family.

She used to come home after work and sit outside at the wall, wondering if Joon Hwi could see her in the States at night from the security camera. She would put on her headphones and sit there, watching as people pass late at night. Sometimes, she would speak aloud, as if Joon Hwi could hear her through the camera.

Many days, she would sit outside with a bottle of soju and two cups. She would only drink from one, and the other would just be there as reminder of her good days, when she was a study and drunk regularly with her best confidante. She often ended those nights half-drunk, murmuring her troubles out loud. (As if Joon Hwi was there to listen.)

When Yebeom spilled the beans that Jiho and SolB were dating a year later, she couldn’t believe it. It was a total twist. Does Joon Hwi know? He must be hurt, she thinks. She wanted to text him, call even. But she decided against it. He’s probably too busy for her. 

And so Sol went about her mundane routine. She drank with an extra soju cup alone. Used circular post its. Ate ramyeon like her life depended on it.

And it went on.

-----

“Yah, kid!” Gollum smacks Sol’s arm with a freshly printed set of notes.

“You really had to?!” Sol barks back, soothing her arm and organising the copy room.

“When are you gonna stop working? You’re an adult! You’ve got your degree!” Gollum asks, shoving another stack of papers in the copier machine. Sol sighs.

“Till I get out of this job and move on to a better one. God, I’m still pathetic, aren’t I?” She cries out as she carries a stack of books to the door.

“When were you ever pathetic?” A gentle voice rings as Sol stops dead in her tracks. That voice. The voice that she can’t help but miss. The voice that lectured to her about law and her health every other day. Raising her eyes, she meets his familiar handsome face with his hair pushed back out of the way, different from the bangs he once had in school. His brown eyes crinkle. 

“Joon…?” She asks breathlessly, still taking in his presence.

“Hello, sunbae.” He smirks. The same exact smirk she still remembers. Sol drops her stack of books to the table nearby and without warning, throws her arms around his neck. He stumbles backwards, but his hands rest gently on her waist, hugging the shorter woman closer to him. She inhaled his musky cologne, feeling his warmth wrap her body.

“I… I don’t get how you’re here. Aren’t you in the States?” She says softly, pulling away from the hug.

“Well, I was. I just got back.” He tells her. Peeking his head over, he waved to Gollum.

“Long time no see, Gollum! Mind you dismiss your staff early?” He cheekily asks, earning a swat from Sol. Gollum, to Sol’s surprise, nods and waves them away. Joon Hwi grins and takes her hand into his and grabs her purse in another before leading her out of school. (Gollum, meanwhile only grins. They better get together this time round, he thinks.)

-----

Joon gives her time to catch up with him and they take a stroll to the park nearby. He shares about his adventures in the States and the different cases he’s gotten. Some difficult, some interesting.

“So, what’s been going on?” Joon asks Sol.

Sol begins retelling about how the group has been doing. She retells BokGi’s and Yebeom’s offer and how they have lunch every other day. How Yeseul decided to want to fend for women abuse victims as well. However, she leaves Jiho and SolB dating for the last.

“Oh, um… I’m not sure if SolB has told you, but…” Sol trails off. Joon Hwi only tilts his head in confusion. Her eyes are uncertain and almost awkward.

“…That her and Jiho are dating?” Joon Hwi completes the sentence for her with enthusiasm.

“Wait, how did you know?”

“Jiho told me. Well, I encouraged Jiho.” He says, leaning back on the benches they sat on.

Now Sol was confused. Didn’t he like SolB? Why on earth is he encouraging Jiho? Her face contorts into a stage of loss and confusion. Joon Hwi only lets out a light chuckle.

“I don’t like SolB. I never did.” He answers her, as if he could hear her thoughts.

Sol freezes. So for years… he never had feelings for her? She feels like she’s back in law school, sitting with him in the empty study room when he leans in closer to look at her notes, closing the distance between. Her heart beats fast and she feels a sense of warmth rising to her face.

“Why? You thought I liked her, didn’t you?” Joon Hwi teases. She turns her face away, knowing that he can see her face blushing red.

“Whatever.” She grumbles just loud enough. Laughter fills her ears as she turns back around to pout at him. Soon enough, she’s suppressing a small smile as they lie back and look in the distance to their alma mater.

Sol sits in her thoughts for a few moments. She now knows that Joon Hwi doesn’t like her ex-roommate. He’s right next to her. He’s in Korea. He still remembers her. He still cares. 

But does he feel the same?

“Come, it’s getting late.” He says, taking her hand in his and pulling her up. 

Sol doesn’t notice the way his fingers are intertwined with hers. 

-----

Joon Hwi leads her down a familiar road, before getting three popsicles. Sol knows this road like routine, and can walk it blindfolded. But she lets him lead her. The entire time, she takes in his tall figure. His broad shoulders. How so many years later, she’s still in love with this very man. No matter how many men tried to flirt and confessed to her, she couldn’t return her feelings.

Because Han Joon Hwi had stolen hers to begin with. 

“Is Byeol home?” Joon Hwi asks, as they stop at her front door. As if on cue, a much taller girl emerges from the door, dressed in a simple shirt and shorts, hair pulled back with a large clip. 

“Oppa!” Byeol’s face lights up as Joon Hwi slightly bends to give her a warm hug. Byeol crashes into his arms and Joon Hwi swings her in a circle as Sol just laughs at their childishness. 

“You’ve grown taller, haven’t you, you cookie? And gotten so much prettier, like your sister.” He laughs, ruffling her hair. Handling her a popsicle, she flashes a grateful smile. Sol swats his arm, trying to not burn from embarrassment. 

“Unnie is still the prettiest to you, isn’t she?” Byeol asks as she opens her popsicle. Sol swerves around and is ready to smack Byeol for spouting nonsense, but Joon Hwi only laughs and pats her head. 

“You’re right. Your unnie is still the prettiest and smartest to me.” He says, his eyes locked on Sol, his smile still sweetly there. Sol is transported back in time to when she would catch Joon Hwi stare at her while eating her pickles and only smile at her as she happily eats. The days, that she’s now certain showed that he had feelings for her. Byeol looks at her sister, eyes locked on Joon Hwi and silently retreats back home with her half eaten popsicle.

“Joon, there’s something I need to say.” Sol mutters out loud. She has to do it now. She lost her chance years ago, and she's not losing it again. 

“Me too.” Joon Hwi says, his hands burying into his pockets, the way it does when he’s nervous. 

“No, please. I’ve waited years to tell you this. And I don’t want to screw this up because I know you probably think I’m still hung over old memories. And I don’t know when you are going to return to the States, cause I may never see you again. And then I’m gonna-” Sol is rambling as she feels the same nervousness every time she’s alone with him. 

But Joon Hwi’s lips cut her off. His hands cup her cheeks as he brings her face nearer to him, feeling her soft lips on his. Sol is too shocked to react, but she kisses him back, her hands by her side unclenching from her balled up fists. They pull away, as Joon Hwi leans his forehead against hers. Their noses brush each other and their lips brush one another. 

“I love you, Han Joon Hwi. I have been, for the past years.” Sol whispers breathlessly.

“I know. And I love you too, Kang Sol.” He replies, before crashing against her lips once more. Sol feels the fireworks, as she finally feels her heart open.

Han Joon Hwi is here.

Han Joon Hwi loves her. 

-----

Joon Hwi leaves for the States a week later. A month later, he appears at Sol’s house, announcing that he will be shifting back home. He reconnects with everyone else in the group and the meetings become more frequent. Sol now drinks with another cup, filled by the person she loves. Instead of circular post its, she gets morning love messages. 

And at dinners, when she leans her head against Joon Hwi’s shoulder and looks at her intertwined fingers, she can’t help but feel her heart explode in so many emotions. 

She’s finally whole.

[kaijutegu]

So... your post about giving your mom the striped ice cream book IN a tub of Neopolatin (adorable) said it was "one of the weirdest ways [you’ve] ever wrapped a present". Would you be willing to share other gift wrap adventures for posterity?

Top Five Weirdest Ways I've Gift Wrapped Presents That Didn't Involve Burying A Book In Ice Cream

1. ARG scavenger hunt using a combination of the TV Tropes forums, the My Little Pony subreddit, a wikipedia profile that I'd made about five months in advance so that I could make edits to specific articles to spell out a clue in acrostics in advance, and the VIN of an abandoned car down by a river. The present was a pie recipe. (And a load of stuff to go with it but like, when the recipient got the actual page with his "prize," it was my apple-pear pie recipe.) 2. Half-buried in sand at low tide. This was a mistake, as Dad had to fight off seagulls to get to it.

3. Photoshopped hints into photographs that we printed out- I had to get my brother to help me with this one. We basically printed a TON of my mom's pictures that were on her phone and on some of them we photoshopped in little clues that when she put all of them together it was SUPPOSED to make a message telling her to check the back of her car. Unfortunately we put too much thought into this. Mom did not follow the clues and found the collage canvas on her own.

4. Shoved a pair of earrings into a balloon. Filled balloon with water. Filled up more balloons, holding the first one in reserve. Challenged siblings to a water balloon fight. When we were running out of balloons, yelled "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" and threw balloon with earrings at little sister. Balloon popped, sister was delighted.

5. Wrapped in plastic, attached to end of fishing line, waited a bit, pretended I caught a big one and couldn't get it in, asked grandpa for help, grandpa reeled it in. Surprise! It was his birthday present. (Several pounds of his favorite old-fashioned candies and an outlaw country mix cd I'd made for the boat. This was wrapped in a plastic bag, then sealed in another plastic bag, then in one more plastic bag for good measure. This whole thing was plastic-wrapped around, sealed with duct tape, then another big plastic bag sealed with duct tape, and then I made a tag out of duct tape for the hook to go through.)

[kashacreates]

Leaves, ghost, and candy for the October asks!

🍂 leaves: what does your editing process look like? how does your wip typically change as you work on it?

I like to it print out and read over it with a few different coloured pens and highlighters. I look for worldbuilding, plot, structure, and style issues and mark them out for me to work on.

My wip typically ends up a lot longer as a result of editing. I end up adding a lot of scenes to glue the plot together and slow down the pacing.

👻 ghost: can you tease some wip ideas that have been haunting you/something you want to write in the future?

There is so much, but I was thinking about the fall of Ayla. A mobile herd of cities on a forever twilit planet succumbs to a nightmarish scourge. Think like werewolf rage zombies. Kind of a love story with a bittersweet ending. Kind of want the book to flip between the fall of Ayla and the freezing of Lutskylla (a story of survival and betrayal)

🍬 candy: share a sweet or fluffy scene from your wip!

From Friends, Part 2. Vocatia finds Torque asleep near the Bat and decides to wake him up. Of course, he immediately ruins the moment, but it was cute before he opened his mouth too much.

Once the girls were home, Vocatia came back to the little liquor shop and the sleeping Warlord.  She touched a glittering hoof to his tail and shoved it out of the way.  Approaching him, she had to straighten her legs to pry the bottle from his fingers.  A true Vactyr vintage, a gift from the home world.  And much stronger than one would expect.  She plucked a golden feather from her cape and stuffed it into the neck of the bottle as payment.  Then she set it in the crate. 

Her tail swayed as she turned to her sleeping friend. She stretched up to pat her palm against his chest plate.

A soft yellow glow came from his eyes as they opened.  They flickered as he got his bearings and found her soft smile staring up at him.  A small smirk played at the corner of his tusks.  “Oh, good,” he hummed, lifting his fingers to caress her hand.  “I was meanin’ to chat with you.”

“Oh yeah?” She asked with the soft encouragement of a patient mother.  Vocatia grabbed his hand and started to step back to help him onto his hooves.  “It’s gotta be important, you’ve been out here for hours.”  He staggered once he got upright, the side of his tail smacking against the booth.  Wrapping her arm around his thin waist, Vocatia steadied the drunken, chuckling Warlord.  “Ain’t you supposed to be on the Stryker today?”

He tried to shoo her off him, gently prying her arm from him and dancing around.  “Oh no, this was too important to wait until my next patrol.”  Cupping her generous horns in his palms, he made her stare up at him. 

Vocatia lifted a brow, becoming less amused by his slurred antics the longer he held her in place.  “Somehow I don’t think you’re gonna tell me you’re leavin’ the service.”

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 25

a/n : so sorry it took so long getting this update out !! i had a disgusting amount of work to do and i really was not doing anything else for a few days -- i really hope you like it!! pls lmk what you think about things now that jimin (and we) know everything! its gonna get,,,, i wanna say messy but messys not even enough to cover how messy its gonna get

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________________________________

Jimin can’t remember the last time he’d closed his eyes for more than a few minutes. Time goes by so fast these days that he’s partially convinced he’s been falling asleep and not realizing it. The hours between class and dinner every day are spent in the library, his headphones shoved into his ears haphazardly while he tunnel visions onto what’s been in the back of his mind since the beginning of the year.

Those spare hours had turned into days and days into weeks -- weekends where he doesn’t even glance at his phone, unaware of the growing concern of his friends. It’s almost May now, the chill of early spring having melted away around him without him realizing. His schoolwork stopped being a priority ages ago, and he knows his grades are really taking the hit for it. He vaguely remembers Namjoon confronting him one night some time ago -- a week? Two weeks ago? -- but he can’t for the life of him recall the contents of that conversation. Something about hating to play the ‘prefect card’, but having no choice. He doesn’t even know if he’s still on the quidditch team. It doesn’t matter -- nothing matters when seeing everything with the perspective he’s got now.

Practically buried in scrolls and books, Jimin could care less about the time and the fact that he’s very obviously breaking curfew right now -- the library’s been empty for hours now, and the light outside the window has well past faded into pitch black darkness. He had to hide from Pince around 10pm, barely managing to catch the click of the librarian’s heels through the music blasting in his headphones to keep him concentrated -- it’s a miracle that she hadn't caught him, really. He’d never be able to focus properly back in his room, not when he’s this close to putting the pieces together.

It’s there, right there, everything scattered in his brain. He knows it’s sitting right in front of him, he can feel himself trying to hyperfocus on anything that can blatantly tell him what he needs to know. Flipping through the pages of a book with one hand and shuffling through scrolls with his other, he glances down at a scrap of paper with his own handwriting, chicken-scratch on a ripped up piece of parchment for him to refer back to every few minutes. There, in black ink, the words ‘vampire’ and ‘veela’ are written and then, later, crossed out. There’s one below it -- ‘maledictus’ -- that remains uncrossed and haunts his every thought.

For the better half of the week, he’d spent his nights scouring the bookshelves for any text he could find on blood malediction -- there isn’t much to show for his efforts. Too rare a condition to have any extensive research done, he could barely manage to put together a few measly scrolls and one book with less than a full chapter on the subject. Sighing heavily, Jimin leans back in his chair, rubbing at his temples while he reconsiders the information for what feels like the hundredth time.

It fits the fact that she has a blood condition… but it’s not right. There’s no mention of a potion or even of regularly experiencing sickness. Y/n is in the Hospital Wing like once a month. There wouldn’t be anything Pomfrey or Hoseok could do to help her if she was a maledictus…

He considers that maybe those things are part of blood malediction and that there just isn’t enough documentation for him to verify it. But there’s something nagging at him, telling him this isn’t right. He thinks back over everything he knows, trying to pull up the major details that could help him finally get some sleep. Ignoring the fact that he very well could doze off, even with his loud ass music, he lets his eyes close so he can think. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he’s sitting up in his seat, eyes wide as he recalls something said to him almost months ago, forgotten amidst everything else on his mind.

“What’s the deal with your roommate, Tae?”

“Who, Stephen?”

“No, not fuckin’ Stephen -- Jungkook!”

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know?”

“Because Stephen doesn’t look at me like I’m the bane of his existence.”

“Yeah… I don’t know what you did to make Jeon Jungkook hate you, but it must have be serious--”

“Just tell me what you know about him, Tae.”

“I mean… nothing crazy, really -- an only child, comes from old money. Probably as old as the Malfoys or the Potters. His family’s the purest of purebloods. And always Gryffindors, just like the Malfoys are always Slytherins. It’s kind of nuts, having a family history like that.”

Jimin stumbles out of his chair, already making his way down the aisles of bookshelves, almost crazed with concentration.

Purest of purebloods -- there’s not a single pureblood family that isn’t documented in a registry… registry… regis-- aha!

Turning down an aisle designated for family registries dating back centuries, he scans the shelves at a lightening speed, finally coming to a halt in front of a tome titled Gryffindor Legacies. Hauling it from the shelf, he doesn’t even bother returning to his table, taking a seat right there on the floor.

Flipping straight to the back to search for the family name, he locates it easily and heads to appropriate page. Searching the family tree down generations, it takes him several pages of flipping through Jungkook’s ancestors’ lives to finally get to his parents. They’re the most recent entry -- new editions of the book are printed with each new generation, the original, handwritten copy belonging to the respective families. It’s an inefficient system for sure, but Jimin’s not exactly complaining when he’s the one benefiting directly.

Scanning the page, from the birth of his mother -- Jeon Eunha -- to her school days, from her marriage to his father all the way to Jungkook’s birth. Jimin expects the next part to follow the same structure of his mother’s story, recounting his childhood, but it diverges from that almost immediately with some extra lines that he almost feels don’t exist in the original copy at the Jeon family residence.

Not long after the birth of their first and only child, they were met with circumstances leading to the adoption and care of another, the recently orphaned infant girl, Y/n Y/l/n. In her days at Hogwarts, young Eunha had become friends with a female Ravenclaw student, who had a noticeably sickly pallor about her at all times. She was to become her closest lifelong friend. The same night in which Y/l/n was to give birth to her first child, she and her husband met an untimely fate in the form of a violent animal attack in the backyard of their own home. The Jeon family were the first to arrive at the premises, deciding immediately to take in the infant child and raise her alongside their own son. Not much else is known about the girl, only that she and the Jeon heir were to become inseparable.

Jimin stares down at the page, unblinking. There’s a lot of information to process, but the things that stand out most to him are the fact that Y/n’s mother was also apparently afflicted with the same illness as Y/n, and --

‘Violent animal attack’? I knew the car accident thing was bullshit, but… did her mom not even die in childbirth? Why would she not tell me… there’s nothing suspicious about an animal atta--

Almost like his brain has started to short-circuit after the long nights and lack of sleep, Jimin’s thoughts are gone instantly, replaced by the mental image of a book sitting not a even a few aisles away, on a table littered with all of the information he’d ever needed in the first place. He’s completely incapable of registering anything around him as he races back to his table, his mind flipping incomprehensibly between the information in front of him and all of the pieces of his memories, details that make too much sense in this moment to match anything but this one conclusion.

Most Muggles, however, will die from the extent of their injuries… all known instances of Muggle attacks have been portrayed in the media as ‘animal attacks’ so as to preserve the secrecy of the wizarding world…

Given the extent of the available research and data, collected almost entirely from male subjects afflicted with lycanthropy, not much is known about the hereditary components related to a female werewolf. Therefore, it is unknown if a pregnant female werewolf's transformations would affect the ability to carry the pregnancy to term…

Without any humans nearby to attack, or other animals to occupy it, the werewolf will attack itself out of frustration…

“My mom died in childbirth and my dad… just a… just a freak accident you know, no one’s fault or anything…”

Because werewolves only pose a danger to humans, companionship with animals whilst transformed has been known to make the experience more bearable as the werewolf has no-one to harm and will be less willing to harm themselves…

“You want to talk about forbidden, Jeon? Let’s talk about your illegal animagus status-”

The way one must imbibe it is very unique among potions, in that a goblet full of wolfsbane potion must be taken each day for a week preceding the full moon…

“…you know how long it takes me to make a full set of vials for you. I barely have enough to make it last 3 days…”

The monthly transformation of a werewolf is extremely painful if untreated and is usually preceded and succeeded by a few days of pallor and ill health…

“He was lowkey carrying her down the stairs… she looked kinda sick actually…”

Throwing scrolls behind him without care as he searches for the one with the final detail, he pulls his phone out when he finds it -- a book listing all of the recorded moon cycles for over a century. Jamming his thumb down on the icon that’ll take him to his search engine and typing with blind panic, he finds himself yanking out his headphones by the cord with one sharp tug when the answer flashes back at it him on the screen, and he realizes that almost all of the pieces are in place.

The quidditch match against Slytherin -- it was the night before a full moon.

“No, no… no, no, no, this can’t be right. This isn’t happening, this can’t be right, she can’t be--” Jimin remembers the text he’d sent to her almost 8 hours ago, sitting unanswered, and he moves without thinking. Slamming his hands down on either side of the moon cycle record, he flips frantically to the cycle for this current month, April of 1978. What he sees there has his heart dropping out of his chest.

“Next week? It’s next week? But that means she’d have to be feeling the effects of it this wee--” He’s cut off by the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches for it almost desperately. It’s Y/n, finally responding to his concerned texts with nothing more than a single line. His blood turns to ice when he reads it.

I’m fine, just feeling under the weather.

--

When Jimin bursts through the door of Dumbledore’s office just past 3am, the headmaster’s already seated at his desk, evidently waiting for him. He’s donning a light blue robe with a matching sleeping cap perched delicately on his head, suggesting to Jimin that he’d somehow woken up knowing he was soon to greet a guest. All of the panic invading Jimin’s body is masked just slightly by guilt, only now realizing how late it is and how intrusive he must seem in this moment.

“Mister Park, you certainly are out quite a bit past curfew, no?” Jimin stands in the doorway cradling all of the scrolls and books he’d been hoarding the last few weeks -- he can’t very well have left a huge pile of evidence back in the library. It would have taken no time at all for someone to look through it and see there were connections everywhere to lycanthropy, even if he himself had been blind to it for so long.

“... Park? Mister Park?” Jimin jumps, lifting his tired eyes to meet Dumbledore’s concerned ones. The man continues once he’s got Jimin’s attention. “Surely, you must need something from me, or you wouldn’t appear so…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. Jimin’s aware of the state he’s in -- the dark rings under his eyes, his ruffled clothes and hair, the way he’s holding his books like he needs to protect them with his life. He looks unhinged. He feels unhinged.

Realizing he has absolutely no idea how to approach the subject of a potential werewolf at Hogwarts with the school’s very headmaster, Jimin decides to start by moving toward the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

Maybe I just need to sit down and take a deep breath. That should help--

He doesn’t even make it two steps before one of the many books he’s holding crashes to the floor between them, falling open to the page he’d stuck a pencil in to save his spot. The moon cycle for April of 1978 stares back up at him, and when he flicks his gaze up to peer at Dumbledore, he sees the headmaster’s expression has hardened with caution.

“Professor--”

“Have a seat, Mister Park.” Jimin’s heart lodges in his throat at Dumbledore’s tone, never having heard such a sharp edge to the kind man’s voice. He moves to the chair, setting the obnoxious amount of research haphazardly in his lap. His eyes will only go so far as the top of Dumbledore’s desk, unable to bring himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Sir, I… need to ask you something.” When he isn’t granted a response, he swallows hard, pushing forward. “If there were to be a student at Hogwarts with a… peculiarity of sorts… how would you go about dealing with that?”

“How would I deal with what, Mister Park?”

“That student.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.” Jimin lifts his eyes then, confused, but he’s met with a deliberately ignorant smile.

“Sir?” Dumbledore’s smile, albeit strained, only widens.

“I think you may be suffering from a lack of sleep, Mister Park. There are no students at Hogwarts with any peculiarities, as you call it.” Jimin stares suspiciously up at him, knowing Dumbledore can tell that Jimin doesn’t for a second believe that claim. Breaking eye contact, he glances down at his lap, trying to figure out how to keep this conversation going. Trying to figure out why he’s even here.

Jimin looks down at himself and the pile of incriminating evidence, cursing his idiocy when he realizes just how bad this situation must look. A student out of bed way past curfew, barging into the headmaster’s office holding weeks of research and making outrageous claims about a potentially dangerous student. And he’s a Ravenclaw no less.

Shit. He probably thought I was some nosy little fucker trying to expose her and get her expelled.

Knowing that he’s risking a lot by being straightforward, he takes a single deep breath and meets Dumbledore’s eyes, his own filled with determination.

“Sir, I know about Y/n Y/l/n, and I know you do, too. I need to know how to take care of her. I need to know how to help her. I need you to tell me what to do because, to be honest with you, I’m freaking out.” The way Dumbledore’s examining him as he speaks tells Jimin that he’s right, but more importantly, it tells Jimin that Dumbledore hadn’t been expecting him to want to help.

“That is a very serious accusation you’re making, Mister Park, especially in this political climate. Very serious.” Jimin doesn’t waver when he responds.

“I know, sir. That’s why you’re the only one I’ve made it to. Because I need your help. Because I know you can help.” Dumbledore narrows his eyes, peering at Jimin over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.

“Have you considered the fact that just you knowing this information at all has placed Miss Y/l/n in more danger than she’s already in?” As soon as the words leave Dumbledore’s mouth, Jimin’s heart is stopping in his chest. All the times that Hoseok and Jungkook had told him to mind his business come rushing back, and he feels himself becoming sick to his stomach. Of course it’s more dangerous for her now that he knows -- he’d been too selfish to even think it through, too nosy for his own good. He had done all this to try to understand her, to try to be a better friend who can help when she needs it, but it’s all bullshit. Everything he thought he had done for her sake had actually been for his. For him and his stupid curiosity.

Lifting his head as a thought comes to mind, Jimin doesn’t even think twice before speaking.

“Can you erase my memories?” The headmaster’s eyebrows fly to his hairline, his expression becoming amused as Jimin continues rambling. “Can’t you obliviate me or something? Wouldn’t that be the best way for me to help her? Wait… but do you have to erase everything I know about her -- will I still know her? Can you make sure I still know her? I really like her! I don’t like Hoseok or Jungkook very much -- they kind of scare me -- but I like her! I don’t want to forget her, but also if me knowing that she’s a werewolf is only going to cause her more trouble, then I really think you should make me forget--” Dumbledore lifts his hand calmly, effectively silencing a frantic Jimin.

“Have you always had such a one-track mind, Mister Park?” Jimin smiles weakly, offering a half-joking response.

“It’s my only redeeming Ravenclaw quality…” Dumbledore chuckles before scratching at his forehead with a heavy sigh.

“Unfortunately -- and I do truly mean that -- I cannot erase a student’s memories. So, you and I will need to continue this difficult conversation.” Jimin considers the man’s words, knowing that it really would be better for everyone if he had his mind wiped clean and hating that he’d unknowingly put Y/n even more in harm’s way. He looks up when Dumbledore sighs again.

“Mister Park, you do understand that you are strictly forbidden from informing anyone else of this situation, yes?” When Jimin nods immediately, opening his mouth to assure the man that he wouldn’t say a word, Dumbledore only shakes his head. “No, Mister Park, I’m not sure you really understand. This situation is infinitely more complicated than you could ever imagine, so it is absolutely imperative that you keep this information to yourself.” Jimin blinks, unsure what’s meant by ‘infinitely more complicated’, but he nods again.

“I’ve put her in enough danger just by being here, Sir -- I’m not breathing a word of this to anyone.” Dumbledore examines him a moment longer, essentially staring into Jimin’s soul to gauge his trustworthiness. Eventually he nods, leaning back in his chair.

“What advice would you like me to give you, Mister Park?” Jimin stays silent, thinking hard about any way that he can make Y/n’s life easier, especially after all the trouble he’s caused up to now. His mind flashes back to the conversation he’d overheard in the library. He opens his mouth slowly, choosing his words with care.

“Sir… how does a student that isn’t even taking Potions know how to brew the wolfsbane potion? Isn’t it nearly impossible?” Jimin sees Dumbledore’s eyes flicker with recognition, and the headmaster responds cautiously.

“…If that student isn’t taking any kind of Potions course at all, they’d need to already be an expert from having dedicated all their studies to the art of potionmaking. They would also need an immense amount of private mentoring, even if they are taking Potions. We do not teach the wolfsbane potion in the curriculum. As I’m sure you can imagine, it wouldn’t fare well in these times…” Jimin squints, putting the pieces together quickly in his mind.

“And where would a student like that find this kind of… private mentoring?” The headmaster hums at Jimin’s question, peering down at him with knowing eyes.

“Well, Mister Park, if you wish to receive mentoring on much… safer forms of potionmaking, I’m sure Professor Slughorn would be happy to help you. However, if you are asking me about Mister Jung Hoseok of Slytherin House, and if you are wondering just how he became capable of caring for Miss Y/l/n at the young age of 13, well… you’re looking at his mentor.”

--

When Jimin leaves Dumbledore’s office almost an hour later, he feels like his head is going to explode. The nights of sleeplessness seem to also have come rushing back to him at once, and he’s not sure if he’s going to collapse first from the exhaustion or from the weight of everything he knows now. For a moment, he considers that maybe he really should ask someone to erase his memories -- Jungkook or Hoseok, perhaps.

Yeah, I’m sure they’d absolutely love to do me that favor.

Dragging his feet as he trudges down the corridor in the direction of Ravenclaw tower, Jimin stops short at a window when movement down by the Black Lake catches his eye. Almost as if thinking about them has caused them to materialize before him, Jimin watches the silhouette of Jung Hoseok stroll casually down by the shoreline, followed not long after by Jeon Jungkook racing toward him, a body perched precariously on his back. It’s not hard to see that Y/n’s clinging weakly to him as he runs, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he keeps his hands hooked under her knees. Jimin can see that she’s got a gown on from the Hospital Wing, and it’s obvious that Jungkook and Hoseok have snuck her out from under Madam Pomfrey’s stern supervision.

They head for the Forbidden Forest, Y/n reaching back for Hoseok when Jungkook passes him. She beckons him forward, and Jimin watches as the three of them disappear together into the trees. He sighs deeply when he can no longer see them, muttering to himself under his breath as he makes his way to his room, overcome with extreme guilt at the entire situation.

“You’ve really gone and done it now, you fucking idiot.”

[belethlegwen]

Just refreshing for anyone drifting by this post, and clarifying the unsaid (but I believe fully implied and understood anyway):

The non-brain worm books that seem so generic and bland and everything else are often the fault of publishers [read: just capitalism in general] and not often the fault of the authors themselves. A lot of publishing companies of all varieties, at least as of a few years ago, will only really help give authors that sweet "you can almost probably live on just writing!" money if they sign a contract that lets them explicitly control the genre/focus/tropes/editing of <however many stories> before they'll be given sweet sweet freedom to do whatever[1] they want and actually let the brainworms loose.

When contracts get renewed or hell, just when the money starts to get a bit harder to come by for economic reasons, authors who have been able to let the brainworms run free up until now may wind up strapped back to more generic, 'marketable', 'makes the bigwigs happy' kind of books just to keep the roof over their head. It happens.

So just a friendly little caveat for a few people reading that, hey, for everytime you run across a published book and think "ugh why is this lacking personality? Fun? Uniqueness?", remember there's a dude in a suit in a boardroom going "yeah but Vice ran like, 4 articles about the sex scenes in Game of Thrones, so add in another rape and get rid of the cool shit about the Fall of the Underground Racing League".

[1] - It has become less and less likely, in any contract with a publisher now, that you will be given that "Stephen King" kind of freedom that every paid author dreams of someday having. Hell, even scumbag HOSTING companies like Amazon have written their contracts in such a way that it sure does SOUND like after so many years you'll get the rights to your original published works back because they have an "out of print" clause, but if Amazon lists your stories/books for sale as ebooks? Guess what's literally never out of print. Even if you never sell a single one. It costs them basically nothing to keep your file locked on a harddrive or server to shove out on request.

My take on "why there are many adults that only read YA novels" is pretty simple

The YA book explosion of the mid 2000's-mid 2010's was mostly scifi and fantasy genre, and trying to "get into" adult SFF is a punishment from hell

[forthehpfanboys]

Gold Strings & Red Picks- PT 1

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: The Weasley's invented a band! Having a band, means you need a band manager; someone to help find venues, gigs and sponsors. After finding one, Ron seems to be hopeless drawn toward them.

Warnings: flirting, swearing, bickering, sexual tension??, Punk Pining Ron but also Smug Ron, naming a guitar ‘Cherry Popper’, dm me if I missed any.

Notes: I plan on having some chapters kinda spicy. I made an entire gif for this and yes it is Rupert playing 👀 and god is this self indulgent. Hope you guys like it!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWERE~

-

It was a Friday morning when you quit the Static Dragons and posted the news on every piece of social media you had. It didn’t take long for you to edit your bios to state you were looking for a new band, and it managed to catch someone's eye just as quickly. It was Monday evening when you got a dm on Instagram from a user called ddchrmrs-official. The user basically sent you a paragraph about how he was the lead singer of a band he and his siblings threw together and they were looking for a new manager. You agreed to meet with them and talk about the potential of the band and he agreed, using more than a few explanation marks after his reply. He even sent you a few of their songs once he deemed you worthy enough.

So, you found a dining hall, an equal distance from your house and theirs, and with the lead singer's approval, Fred, you booked it for Tuesday afternoon. Fred even made a post explaining the good news- why he was acting like one of the Weird Sisters followed him back, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help but be excited too. The songs were good- more punk-rock than you assumed from the band's name. Something about the name Daydream Charmers gave off a softer, boyband type.

The day of the band meeting couldn’t have gone much worse. You missed your morning alarm, you couldn’t find your laptop charger and the clothes you picked out the night before ended up covered in stains from breakfast. GPS even gave you the fastest route and you still managed to be 10 minutes late, but you managed to find the right hall. It was a bit different compared to the pristine image shown on the website.

The roof looked like it was caving under an invisible weight and the actual size of the hall looked like a small barn. The walls were made of red and black bricks, most of which seemed to be chipped, broken or bending, like it was being crushed. The door frame was slanting, the door’s white paint was chipping, the sidewalk was splitting at almost every corner. You were desperately hoping the building was enchanted so it was bigger (and nicer looking) on the inside.

You parked your car on the pebble covered asphalt, right next to an equally old and rusty blue car. You had no idea how four people, a sound system, a bass, an electric guitar and a full drum set fit inside of the small wagon, but figured they managed to spell the inside bigger. You weren’t bothered by it- how could you be? You felt your wand hit your laptop inside the bag as you threw it over your shoulder after climbing out of the car. Shutting the door, you hurried up the broken concrete, shoving your keys in your pocket.

You chewed on your lip, adjusting the collar of your shirt as you approached the door. A smile pulled at your lips at the refreshing sound of genuine laughter and bickering. You had an internal battle of whether you should knock or just barge in. It sounded like they were having their fun and you didn’t want to interrupt anything. Soon enough, the laughter was dying down and someone was strumming a bass quietly, practicing a few chords from one of the songs Fred gave you. You raised a fist to knock on the door and the silence that followed was close to defining. Soft footsteps followed the silence and you swore you could hear soft breathing behind the door before it was yanked open.

“Hey! You made it! We were worried you got lost on your way here.”

You weren’t expecting to be face to chest with an individual. Their band's logo was printed across the front, red letters with a gold outline that clashed drastically with the bright orange fabric of the tight shirt. You tilted your head up, meeting cocoa brown eyes and a crisp white smile. His ginger hair was spread across his shoulders, his ear lobes were pierced with two shiny black flat stud earrings and the little white nostril piercing on the left side of his nose was reflecting the sunlight.

“Fred?” You asked, matching his smile. You could tell he had fun, you could sense it. His arm raised, inadvertently showing off his muscles, and rested against the door frame. 

“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly just joking. Before he could say anything else, he was rudely interrupted by a foreign voice behind him. Fred’s smile dropped into a frown like he was suddenly slapped across the face.

“Is it the pizza guy?” The voice asked from somewhere behind him, excitement clearer than crystal. Fred looked over his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ron. That’s not for another twelve minutes.” He rolled his eyes after looking back at you and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry about him. His appetite is larger than Big Ben and it literally never stops. Anyway, I hope you like pizza! I tried to message you about it.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it and scrolling through his messages and swiping right on notifications he didn’t care for.

“I was using my phone for GPS. Must’ve missed the messages.” Your hands slid into your front pockets, your weight shifting between your feet as embarrassment began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best first impression. Before you could think about it too long, a low whistle was resonating from beside Fred.

Without warning, Fred was being nudged aside by a slightly shorter ginger, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours. They didn’t stay there very long though. They slowly dragged down your body, taking in your form, and his head tilted in appreciation.

“Oh.. I’m not gonna complain about the pizza when Merlin delivered us a cutie.” He gave you a dizzying side smile. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Surely, it’s something as handsome as you are.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Fred was pushing him back, faking a gag while driving the unnamed individual back with Fred’s hand against his forehead. 

“Ew! Ron, down! Seriously? Keep your yap shut! He’s our new band manager and I’d actually like to keep this one, thank you.” Fred groaned, a sneer pulling at his lips. He blocked the smaller ginger from the door with his body before turning back to you with a sigh. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not like this. Usually he’s moping about his ex-” You could see Ron jumping behind Fred to get another look at you. The reaction had you snorting into your hands.

“Fred. Fred, move, mate. I wanna see ‘im again!” The ginger whined, tugging at his older brother's t-shirt. He was dodging around Fred’s constant moving hands to get one more peek at you.

Fred let out a groan, his head falling backwards in agony before letting out a loud “George, please help!”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Ron’s voice matched the panicked hand trying to hold onto the door frame before it was hilariously slapped off the wood and was dragged into the mystery hidden behind the lead singer. His begs and pleas began to echo and soften which you thought caused you to giggle a bit. 

“I’m sorry. We’ll put a muzzle on him or something. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Fred shifted out of the door way, allowing you to enter the hall. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, that much had you relieved. Fred shut the door behind you with a satisfying click and let you soak the place in while he sat himself down on a velvet red coach. It was dimly lit, about half the lights were on, and the walls were painted a light tan, which easily could’ve been mistaken for white, if white wasn’t used for the tiling. 

Next to Fred on the couch, was a girl with long, slightly darker, ginger hair. Her hair went well past her shoulders, and a bright orange base sat on top of her crossed legs. She had gone back to laying a few chords once you entered, just relaxing as her two brothers basically wrestled each other.

“Ginny, this is (Y/n).” Fred spoke up, pointing from his sister to you, then back to her. (Y/n), this is the youngest Weasley in the family, Ginevra.” Fred smirked, but it turned into a pained expression when she landed a hard slap to his chest.

“Except if you call me that, I will break your legs. It’s Gin or Ginny, nothing else. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n). Fred hasn’t shut up about you.” She smiled at you, reaching a tattoo covered hand out to shake yours. 

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. You shook her hand proudly, knowing it was probably your reputation that kept the oldest Weasley in the band chatting up a storm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Gin.” You gave her a cheeky grin before turning to the other side of the hall, noting another Fred standing in front of Ron, who was sitting in a chair quiet grumpily. 

The double picked up a deep red guitar covered in stickers and shoved it into Ron’s lap, causing the younger to gasp out a wheeze. It was obvious he had chewed Ron out for his behavior, but nevertheless, he gave his unplugged electric guitar a few strums, which seemed to satisfy Fred 2 because soon enough he was storming back to the couch, shaking his head the entire walk there.

He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, right next to his doppelganger. His arms crossed back over his chest once again. Fred 2 had the same length hair, different piercings though. He only had one set of black earrings, but had an industrial across his left ear. He had a straight line of freckles across his cheek bones and right across his nose. The spots went down his neck and across his forehead. 

“He’s bloody useless.” He grumbled out, his snake bite moving to the right as his tongue ran across it. “Oh, hi!” Fred 2 scooted over to the edge of the arm rest, reaching his hand out to shake yours. “You must be the band manager! I’m George, Fred’s twin bro-”

“Younger twin. I’m the oldest.” Fred interrupted, smirking again as he pointed a thumb to himself. His smirk dropped when he was smacked in the chest again- by both George and Ginny. 

“I’m his twin brother. Ignore him, he has a God complex.” George rolled his eyes, smiling at you while he shook your hand. He pulled his hand away before scooting back to rest his back against the back of the couch. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable, but  he seemed dedicated to the spot. “I’m sorry you had to meet Ron the way you did. Usually he’s tamer than that.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, your gaze turned down to your shoes. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up as his flirting rebounded through your head again.

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t?” Ron’s sudden voice behind you had nearly jumped out of your skin. You spun around, your backpack strings nearly catching on one of Ginny’s bass strings. You swallowed down a squeak. “Georgie was trying to convince me I was being inconsiderate and rude and that mum would smack me if she saw.” He was still holding the guitar by the neck, and that was when you noticed the bright gold strings with a red pick trapped between them.

“Well, it’s not like you were asking about my shoe size… “ Your eyes landed on the hands holding the black neck of the instrument and you couldn’t help but gawk at them. Rings covered his finger knuckles, veins popped out from beneath his skin. “Wow.” You didn’t mean to verbally gawk over the hands, so you had to force your gaze down to the instrument and ignore the urge to stare at the pale, freckle covered skin that was making your mouth dry. 

You shook your head, looking at the shiny strings. You had you stop yourself from reaching out and caressing the polished neck, the textures strings and hidden pick. It was clearly loved and carefully taken care of.

“Beauty, isn't she?” Ron grinned, showing off the red body drowning in decals- most of which were bright orange Quidditch themed or terrible chess puns. You almost forgot to check if they were a muggle band, but this told you enough. “My best friend got it for me, he’s a blessing. Mum didn’t approve, of course, said we all had better purposes, but dad said rock on.” 

“She really is. I’m guessing you named her?” The second the question fell from your lips, the three sharing a spot on the couch groaned in agony, but Ron was grinning in pride.

“Of course I have! Her name is Cherry Popper and she’s the love of my life. Unless,” Ron was taking a step closer to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he continued speaking, “you plan on cha-” His flirting was cut off suddenly.

“And that’s enough of that! Please sit down and, for the love of Merlin’s beard, rename the damn thing!” Ginny cried out, almost knocking her own instrument straight into the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair, her free hand holding the bass hard enough to make her knuckles pure white.

“I mean, come on! Name it something classic like ‘Bertha’ or ‘Jasmine’, or, and here’s my personal favorite, don’t name it at all!” Fred waved his hands while he spoke, counting the names on his fingers before doing jazz hands at ‘don’t name it at all’.

“Fred, that’s hypocritical. You named your mic.” George spoke up, pulling two white marble drumsticks from his jeans pockets and began to spin one between his fingers. 

“That was a joke.” Fred stuck his tongue out at his twin. “At least I don’t do it seriously. And leave Echo out of this.” Fred ripped the non spinning drumstick from George’s hand, holding it out of his twins reach.

“Shut up and give me Crystal back!”

“No, if you wanna talk about terrible names, we can talk about the band's name! Merlin, Fred, were you sky high when you made it?” Ron shot back, his arms crossing over his chest, one still holding the guitar.

Knowing this kind of fight could go for a good while, you slipped past him, patting Ron on the shoulder while you walked past while a pained gasp rented the silence that flooded the hall. You set your backpack on the white table, opening the zipper and pulling out your laptop. You sat down, pulling the laptop onto your lap before opening the notepad application.

“I made the name! And dammit, I think it was clever! It even has a unique backstory! At our school, we had a um- small business and it was quite successful. By ‘we’, I mean George and I and by successful, I mean we run an online joke shop. I thought it fit the shop pretty well.” Fred held a look of pride- a smirk was, once again, drawn across his lips as his eyes twinkled.

“Mate, it’s horrible.” Ginny spoke up, not even bothering to throw the truth as a curve-ball causing two of her older brothers to nod in agreement. She copied Fred’s movement by yanking the drumstick from his hand, but handed it to George, smiling at him. 

“Why couldn’t it have been something cool? You named your shop something cool. Why’d you give the band something’ shitty?” Ron rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the door, the guitar balancing on his sneakers and leaning against his ripped jean covered legs. His attention didn’t stay with his siblings for long. Soon it was shifting over to you, like he was naturally drawn toward you. He grinned at you, sticking his tongue out. The little gold ball stamped into the middle of his tongue had your full attention.

You swallowed thickly. The ball and his guitar strings were the exact same color and reflected the same light. You felt butterflies fill your stomach from the simple action and noticed, almost suddenly, the ginger was actually quite attractive and funny. You sucked on your tongue, hoping the blush across your cheeks didn’t give too much away. Ron looked back at his brothers, his side grin screaming he basically saw your body temperature rise.

“I was led to believe you all loved the name, but no! I’m starting to think you guys are just trying to embarrass me in front of the (Y/n), but since you think it’s so easy, come up with a new one.” Fred cried out, crossing his arms over the printed long sleeve t-shirt, and was pouting like a child now, sinking lower into the couch.

“It makes us sound like a cheesy boy-band going after 12 year olds.” Ginny scoffed, propping her bass up against the couch. She looked over at her slightly older brother, nodding her head in Fred’s direction.

“It does. We could’ve been Fire Wicks.” Ron pointed at Ginny and the teaming up began. “Or like Solar Skips.”

“Or The Red Bloods.” Gin nodded, pointing back at Ron while her other hand pulled out her phone. The game was ‘Who-Cares-If-It’s-Bad-Let’s-Prove-Fred-Wrong’ and you could tell it was for shits and giggles. You were going to pitch in an idea, but someone beat you to it.

“Or FireBolt Bitters.” Spoke up George, who was now gazing up at the ceiling, shaking his head in mock shame, but you could see the edges of his smile growing at the corners.

“Ooh, I love that one!” Ron leaned over, stretching his arm as far as it could to give  George a high five, before turning to look at you. He grinned at your confused expression. “Are you writing these down?” He pointed at your computer before giving you a wink. The butterflies came back, doubled in strength, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head no, laughing louder when he waved his hands in a panicked manner. “Write them down, mate!”

You rolled your eyes, typing random shit down just to please the younger one. Your eyes trailed across the dumplings, noting three quarters of them were smiling. Fred’s crabby expression made it was clear he didn’t get picked on very often.

“Charlie texted saying ‘The Copper Horntails’ would’ve been better.” Ginny said, looking up from her phone. She dropped the phone onto her lap, wincing a tad when the device collided with the instrument on her lap. She quickly forgot the pain and leaned back, enjoying her brother's pain.

“You asked Charlie?!” Fred squealed loudly, his hands holding his head. Right beside Fred, George had begun to tap his sticks together, improvising a beat to go with the arguing.

“You know what? That’s a great idea! Let’s ask Percy next-” yelled Ron over Ginny’s laughter and Fred’s agonizing scream. His smirk only grew when Fred tossed his head back. 

“Ok, damn! I get it! But I already made t-shirts so deal with it.”

“Fred, we have magic. We can always change the print.” George piped up, tapping the white wooden sticks against his thighs in some random pattern, his head nodding to a beat. He shrugged his shoulders, not focusing on his words all that much,

“George!” This time it was Fred’s turn to smack George in his chest. He glared at him before leaning over to whisper in his twin's ear. It was something you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were debating over your status. You rolled your eyes, reaching behind you.

With a clear of your throat, you gained their attention before pulling out your wand from your backpack. While waving it, you locked eyes with Ron, playfully chewing on your lip to try to hide your smile.

“But-” Fred scrambled to grab his phone. You knew he was going to pull up one of your profiles to show none of them mentioned magic or wizarding or anything.

“The quidditch stickers were a dead give away.” You pointed to Ron’s guitar with the tip of your wand before putting it back in your bag. “That, and the tiny blue car that somehow carried four band members, and all of their equipment even though, that should’ve been impossible. I do enjoy Firebolt Bitters, though.”

Your own smile grew when the siblings broke out into loud snorts and sniggers, save for Fred’s. Ron walked over to you, and you were sure his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling. He laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he faced his band members.

“I like this one.”

A smile stretches across your face as your cheeks get warmer. Out of everything to come out of today, this was something even the strongest and most willed seer’s couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t even half past noon and you’d already started to develop a crush on a punk guitarist who shares a band with his siblings. You were clueless on how you were going to do your managing and keep it strictly platonic when he grinned at you like you were everything he wanted.

[jeonqukie]

PLAYING CUPID / 01.

SYNOPSIS / Consistently overshadowed by your older sister, you expect your days in high school to be filled with plastic smiles and apathetic peers with hidden intentions. Everything changes when four of the most popular guys in school join you and your best friend for lunch on the first day of school.

FEATURING / Kim Namjoon; appearances by Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook.

GENRES & TAGS / high school au, freshman reader, senior namjoon, student council president namjoon, best friend jungkook, lots of fluff, and some angst.

WARNINGS / Graphic and mature language, slight age difference/gap (to clarify, oc is 14-15 yrs old and namjoon is 17 - first part is rated pg); list will be updated as fic is updated accordingly.

WORD COUNT / ~10.3k

NOTES / I am a day late in posting this and I want to let you guys know that this is... not edited at all and I will be looking through this every now and then to correct any errors. But I hope you enjoy the first part of this series! I wasn’t expecting this to be relatively long, but it was all to set up the characters dynamics and the history behind the reader and Namjoon’s relationship. Any feedback is appreciated. To repeat, I’m so sorry this was super late. Please expect part 2 to be up in ~2 weeks. (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

All rights reserved © jeonqukie (formerly known as aiscka). All (or portions) of my work may not be reproduced, redistributed, reclaimed, translated, modified, or used in any way whatsoever without my permission.

“You’re Sena’s little sister, right?”

You’d be a damn millionaire if you made a dollar for every person on campus tried to break the ice with you. It was a severe understatement to say that your older sister was known around town. She was vice president of the student council, president of the debate club, and the best player on the varsity volleyball team. All of the teachers and faculty adored her, every girl wanted to be her, and every guy wanted to be with her.

For the longest time, you assumed your sister was a celebrity on campus.

You were so wrong.

It was because you never met him. You’ve heard his name so many times whenever your sister had sleepovers with her friends or when she was on the phone with a friend, whispering so softly into the receiver, afraid that someone would find out about that she had a crush on him. You were perplexed because you thought your sister was a very forward person; she had so much confidence talking to so many guys who desperately wanted her attention yet somehow her palms would sweat over him.

“Hey, you know who Kim Namjoon is?” You would sit at the cafeteria for the first time with your best friend, Jungkook, who had devoured half of his ham and cheese croissant sandwich. He looks at you and he would raise one brow.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who’s obsessed with hyung.” But Jungkook sees the genuine confusion form on your face. You catch a glimpse of your older sister who sat on the other side of the cafeteria, thumbing a reply on her phone while her friend nudges at her when she sees the notorious posse that every girl swoons over.

It was a scene right out of a movie.

At that time, you had the faintest idea who they were, but you were quick to find out why they were so well known around campus. Jung Hoseok was the senior of the group; he was a dancer and was featured in numerous music videos by well-known artists and he had an extensive list of choreographers willing to work with him. Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin were inseparable; they were juniors who ran the school newspaper and the school yearbook – Taehyung being in charge of the photography while Jimin being in charge of the organizing the yearbook staff. Meanwhile, there was Kim Namjoon; student council president, valedictorian of his class, member of the honor society and numerous organizations on campus.

“Wait, you know who Namjoon is?” You were curious whether Jungkook knew of him, not exactly knowing the guy.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s been my next-door neighbor for god knows how long. His folks and mine go out for golfing twice a month.” You just nod to his answer when you are shoving a chocolate moon pie into your mouth.

But your mouth instantly goes dry when the four guys appear right across from you and Jungkook are seated.

“Gukie!” Hoseok exclaimed at the sight of Jungkook still devouring his croissant. “Look at you! Finally, you’re with the hyungs in high school.” The tease made Jungkook’s ears go pink and you feel your own face get hot; not because of second hand embarrassment, but because you can see everyone’s eyes on you – the two freshmen who had no right to be sharing a table with, what you can only assume, the four most popular guys on campus.

There were many times where people would only want to get to know you because of your sister; girls wanted to get close to you because you were had a cool older sister and boys wanted to be with you because they were so eager to come over to your place and obsess over Sena.

Jungkook, on the other hand, had no interest in her. As a matter of fact, you met Jungkook when you were in middle school and took a swimming class and later found out that you two were in the same class and bonded over your competitive nature in swim class.

“Who’s this? You got a girlfriend on your first day already?” You and Jungkook exchange a look of disgust with each other and create a sensible amount of space for each other to establish that you both see each other as friends.

“Oh my god, wait – you’re Sena’s little sister, right?” Hoseok corrected Jimin who had made the assumption you and Jungkook were an item. Jungkook can see the way you scrunch your nose from his periphery, and he decides to answer for you instead.

“This is YN. She’s… literally been my best friend since middle school.” Jungkook introduces you to the four people right across from you. “YN, this is Hoseok – well, I call him Hobi-hyung. This is Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung. I’m pretty sure you know Namjoon-hyung because –”

“ – school council president.” You interrupt because you didn’t want Jungkook to reveal that you had been inquiring about him earlier. “I remember because you made that welcome speech this morning at the assembly.”

Namjoon is rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment and you resume eating your packed lunch, despite losing all appetite because you are surrounded by so many people did not know. They weren’t terrible people, but you weren’t mentally prepared for such strong personalities and dynamics to be introduced all at once. You felt like an intruder – a fly on the wall – because everyone carried on with their normal conversations; Jungkook and Hoseok were talking about plans for the weekend and then Jimin and Taehyung were already drafting out ideas for the yearbook. Meanwhile, you sat in silence as you ate your tuna salad sandwich, reading a new book you were gifted over the summer by your parents.

“Let me know when you’re done.” A voice catches your attention, and you stop all chewing. “The book, I mean.” Namjoon clarifies and he sees that you are already halfway done with it. “I read it a year ago and I’d like to hear what you think of it.” He offers you a heartwarming smile and you nod once, returning the same grin.

“I started it a week ago. I really like it so far.” The conversation is light and drowned out by the loud voices beside you.

You never really pinned him as a reader.

“So, how’s your first day so far?” He inquires and you honestly thought that the conversation was… over. Normally, that’s how all the conversations go when people find out your Sena’s little sister. They feign their interest in you and instantaneously ask about her.

“It’s… nothing special.” You admit, smoothing your fingers on the pages of the book. “Most of the classes I have before lunch, Guk’s with me. Now –”

“Now, her large, wrinkled brain is going to abandon me and get into those advanced program and honors classes.” You are rolling your eyes at your best friend who whines that you decided not to take the same classes as him.

“We literally have homeroom, social studies, and PE together and then we see each other for breaks and lunch. I think you’ll live.” The group laughs which earns quite a bit of stares from outsiders, but they seem to be completely unfazed by it. Everyone turns back to their own conversations and, usually, your social presence isn’t necessarily sought out by people.

It wasn’t until you hear another inquiry fall out of Namjoon’s mouth.

“What do you have right after lunch?”

“Biology.”

“Honors biology, by the way. Can’t you spare just one regular class for me? Or does your GPA really matter that much to you?” Jungkook complains and you are left ignoring his comments.

If there was one thing that your older sister taught you (something you actually agree with) is that colleges love a good GPA and joining as many clubs as possible. You even remembered how she’d phrase it for you; college admissions officers will cream their pants when you score that 4.0 GPA and do something out of the box from the rest of your peers.

“Or just get smarter, Guk.” Hoseok poked fun at Jungkook, earning a shrug from Jungkook. Namjoon, on the other hand, is smiling from ear to ear at the dynamic between the elder and the youngest of the group.

“Let me see your schedule.” Namjoon urges as he spots your clear binder which has your printed schedule on the cover. You push over your binder to Namjoon who is scanning your binder; he reads through your name, your birth date, the list of teachers you had for the semester and the classes assigned to you.

You feel indifferent about the sudden attention on you, especially from Namjoon; a mere stranger who everyone obsessed over was so piqued by you. You observe the way the corner of his slips curve into an impressive smirk as he glances over at Hoseok.

“Guess who we have for calculus at the end of the day?” He slides over your binder where the rest of the group examine the rest of your schedule, only for Hoseok to find a coinciding class with you.

“How the fuck are you in a senior’s class? Are you some math whiz or something?” Taehyung’s eyes widen at the sight of an advanced calculus class on your schedule. It was one of the things you were proud of you; you were good at math – it happened to be Sena’s worst subject and your parents often joke what she lacked; you had gained immensely.

“Yeah, YN’s cracked, hyung. I don’t understand. I remember in middle school they had to make arrangements for her to get into a pre-caclulus class or some shit like that.” Jungkook finishes his fruit cup and gathers all of the trash on site to toss over to the closest garbage bin.

Namjoon is sliding your binder right back at you, brows raised at you with the same grin he had on. He stares at you for what seemed like a long time – to you, it seemed like a long time and he is glancing back down at where your fingers brush against each other and he pulls away, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable.

“I – um, saw that you were taking orchestra too.”

You nod and chew on your cheek, self-conscious all of a sudden about your appearance because you are very much aware that Namjoon is examining every aspect of your face.

“Yeah. I mean, I already know how to play the piano, so I might as well learn how to play another instrument, right?”

“No – yeah, you’re right.” He stammers and he folds his hands together only to be interrupted by Jimin tossing over a bag of pretzels at Namjoon.

“Bell’s about to ring. Pretzels was all they had left. We need to head to physics soon.” Taehyung and Jimin are swinging their bags over their shoulders. Hoseok is too busy on his phone, showing Jungkook a video of his new choreography.

Suddenly, you are receiving a plethora of notifications in the depths of your jean pocket. Your fingers unlock your phone only to reveal a series of text messages from your sister.

Sena [12:29]: Did you just spend your entire lunch with Kim Namjoon?

Sena [12:32]: Earth to YN?

Sena [12:39]: GUK IS FRIENDS WITH ALL 4 OF THEM.

Sena [12:41]: You have officially made a fucking impression to this school. I’m so proud of you. You’re sitting with us at lunch tomorrow.

“Guess I’ll see you later, YN.” The bell doesn’t descend you back to reality. Instead, it was his voice that brings you to pack up your things into your bag. “You might want to sit at the back for Mr. Lu’s biology class; he’s a spitter.” Namjoon swings his backpack over his shoulder. “He reuses the same lesson plan every year. If you need any help with them, you know who to look for.”

As you’re swinging your own bag, Namjoon leaves you with a wink as he is exiting the doors of the cafeteria into the school hallways.

Now, you understand why the entire world was obsessed with Kim Namjoon.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Mrs. Kang, your calculus, is a middle-aged woman who didn’t look like she had aged past thirty. You found it incredibly hard to believe the woman was nearly in her mid-forties who had three kids of her own. She looked like a stern woman but had a good heart from what you remembered; she only wanted what was best for the class even though it meant tormenting them with a shit ton of homework. “I don’t need to go over the syllabus with you bunch. As you can see, this is a much smaller class than a regular class because not a lot of people pass this class.”

Silence fills the room from when you had first arrived. You were one of the last few people to find your seat because your class was all the way on the other side of campus. It seemed like everyone in your class were juniors or seniors. There were so many of them who knew each other from previous classes; they were all huddled in their own designated spots in the class, so you sat at the front of the class because all the seats at the back had been taken and it may help that you’re at the front because it’ll force you to pay attention.

“There’s a lot of material to cover and there’s only so much I can do. Since we’ve implemented the new block schedule, we’ll only be seeing each other for an hour and a half every Wednesdays and Fridays. First thirty minutes will be on new material, next thirty minutes will be spent on practice problems, and then the last thirty minutes will be working with your partner on getting your homework started. I’ve figured getting a head start on the homework for the last thirty minutes will be helpful just in case you or your partner are lost, you have me to ask for assistance.”

Someone’s hand raises up in the air out of your periphery.

Mrs. Kang points to them. “Yes, Namjoon?”

“How do we determine who are partners will be?”

“Please tell me we get to pick our partners.” Mrs. Kang is already turning her back to the class as she searches for a box that had been hidden behind her computer monitor only for her shake the contents of the box.

“The last time I gave the students the opportunity to choose who their partner was, I’ve written a disciplinary notice for academic dishonesty twice a week.” Mrs. Kang prefaced, and the room goes silent. As she continues ruffling through folded papers inside the wooden box, you are already aware of how the partner system is going to work.

Everything was going to be randomly assigned.

“We have 26 of you total which means there will be 13 pairs.” Mrs. Kang announces, and she walks around the class starting from the left where the person is picking a folded paper out of the box. Each person who had unfolded their paper sat patiently until Mrs. Kang had completed distributing the paired assignments around the room. She is fetching a pen and paper as she sits on her desk.

“Alright, our first pair is –” Mrs. Kang looks up to see two people raise their hands; it had been Hoseok and a girl with the prettiest bangs named Mimi. Mrs. Kang continued jotting down the pairs until you scanned the number on your own paper; a large 12 inscribed on your already tattered paper.

You hear Mrs. Kang’s voice as she calls out for the twelfth pair and you raise your hand. You don’t see anyone in your periphery raise their hands, so you turn your body around to search for your partner.

Your body turns cold and still, but you can feel your cheeks get warm at the sight of Namjoon seated down at the back with Hoseok with his hands raised, revealing that he had pulled the same number as you. The thumping in your heart is loud and it beats hard as each moment passes.

Both your hands lower and you are trying to turn your attention back to the front of the class where your teacher stood, but you can feel his eyes on you. You remembered scolding yourself, unaware of why you were so nervous and so shocked to be his partner – he saw you nothing more than another classmate; someone to help him with his assignments.

“Perfect! Since we have our pairs, everyone will be sitting next to their partner from now on; I don’t care where it’ll be. I just need you to sit with them, so we’re not scrambling at the last thirty minutes of class to find them.” Mrs. Kang says sternly, clearly not wanting to waste time in this class. “Shall we begin?”

“How do you already have so much shit to do?” Jungkook laid comfortably on your bed, shoving down salt and vinegar potato chips that your parents had bought from the store last weekend. “Do you like never take a break from reading or what?”

“It’s just a really interesting book.” You say as you flip through the next page and bite into an apple.

You two laid on your bed, basking in the afternoon sun. Normally, you two didn’t have this much down time. Last summer, you two volunteered to be camp counselors to lessen the boredom you two would endure. It was either that or spending every goddamn weekend on the golf course with Jungkook’s parents and yours.

“I was thinking of trying out for the track & field team.” Jungkook informs you and you resume reading. “Namjoon-hyung tells me that the team runs right after school and it sounds fun. Events are early though, and we all know I’m not an early riser.”

The mention of Namjoon urged you to reminisce back to your last period that day. Mrs. Kang mentioned that she wasn’t going to let the class immediately sit right next to their homework partner – thank god. You just wouldn’t know what to talk about with him; you don’t really know what to talk about with people because they always somehow led the conversation back to your older sister.

But, at the end of class, he did manage to keep up with you as you hastily packed all your items into the bag before you darted outside of the classroom. You planned on walking home with Jungkook and you two would meet at the front of the school. Namjoon, somehow, caught up to you in time.

He had grabbed your arm and greeted with you with his million-dollar smile. “Hey,” He breathes, and you stop to offer him a meeker and shier smile.

“Hi, what’s up?”

“You’re meeting with Guk?”

You give him a single nod before he hands you two pieces of paper. You’re curious as to what they are, and you see the words parent’s consent form along with the health forms to give to a doctor – for a physical.

“He’ll know what they’re for.” He reassured you and you hold onto the forms. “Thanks for that. I have to go; I have a meeting in five minutes with the student council.”

“I’ll be sure to give it to him. Was there anything else you wanted to tell him?”

He shakes his head, and he starts reversing his steps, clutching onto the straps of his bags. “I – um, I’m really looking forward for calculus – you know, the whole partner thing. I must be really lucky to be partnered with a cracked, math whiz like you.”

Now, you’re blushing because you weren’t really sure if you were supposed to be flattered or offended.

And he read you so well because he is suddenly panicking but he hid it. He stops his reverses, and he takes one step closer to you.

“I’ll see you and Guk at lunch tomorrow, if that’s alright?” He hums; his voice sounded so soft and clear to you – no one can hear a single thing he had said to you, but you heard him bright as day. Suddenly, you feel a grin creep up to your mouth and you nod once. You had regained some of your confidence back and Namjoon can see it. “Cool, well, I’ll see you ‘round, YN.”

“Earth to YN.” Jungkook snaps at you and you pay attention to your friend who is lying next to you. “Did you hear a single thing I said?”

“Sorry ‘bout that. I dozed for a couple minutes.” You admit and he scrunches his brows, dismissing your moment of silence.

“I was asking how it was like to be in a class of seniors.”

“There’s no difference, honestly.” You begin your thought. “It sucks just because I don’t really know anyone, and everyone knows everyone.”

“Yeah, but you have Namjoon-hyung and Hobi-hyung.” Jungkook reassures you. “They’re basically your friends now because we’ll be hanging around them a lot.”

You weren’t sure if you were looking forward to or nervous to be spending a lot more time with the older guys. They made a good first impression on you though; they’ve probably only mentioned your sister’s name once. Granted, it was only thirty minutes spent together, but it was so much better than most of the conversations you’ve had with everybody else.

“That’s true. I have Namjoon as my homework partner, so I’ll… definitely need to get along with him.” You chuckle under your breath as you read through each line without comprehending a single thing. Your mind had been so clouded with the idea of Namjoon and you weren’t sure why.

Jungkook decided not to stay for dinner that evening even though mom made two pans of lasagna to feed a village. However, he did help you and your mother prepare it. Your mom was pretty insistent on it, so you promise that you’d be giving him some leftovers for lunch the next day. Your dad arrived home next; it was a typical evening – he beelined to your mom, planted a kiss on her cheek and patted your back before he hastily moved to the office to continue working. Sena arrived home from school at a later hour than usual before she was already setting the plates on the dining table.

“Alright, Guk, final offer.” Your mother says as she is pulling out two piping pans of lasagna out of the oven.

“No, thanks, Mrs. LN.” He respectfully declines before he is swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Mom’s expecting me home right about now for dinner. I’ll definitely ask YN to pack me up some leftovers though.”

“Alright.” She waves him a goodbye before you are showing him to the door. “Walk home safely.” She bids him a goodbye softly as she pulls the foils off the pan.

“Pack me an extra serving, please.” Jungkook pleads and you roll your eyes before he already made his way out of the door.

“Honey, dinner’s ready!”

“You did not tell me Jungkook was friends with Namjoon.” Sena settles herself on the dining table and you sit right across from her, waiting for your mom to begin serving everyone a slice of lasagna.

“Quite frankly, I didn’t know Jungkook even knew Namjoon either. I’d say I’m just as surprised as you are, but I really don’t know what the fascination is with Namjoon.” You lied through your teeth as your mom serves herself first (she called dibs on the corner piece) and you decide on getting the smallest piece since you weren’t so hungry that evening.

“Are you talking about Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s son? Is this the same Namjoon we’re talking about right now?” Your mom’s curiosity is evident in her tone, taking small bites out of a side salad she had prepared.

“Yes, and Sena is hopelessly in love with him.” You shove the lettuce into your mouth as you wait for your lasagna serving to cool down momentarily.

“How can you not be in love with him?” She breathes out hastily. Your dad has his brows raised in disbelief; his daughter talking endlessly about her crush.

“He is a nice boy; responsible, kind, gentle, polite, seems to get things done, really cute too.” Your mom lists his never-ending advantages, and you stray away from their eyes because you hate the admit that you find him incredibly cute.

“Can we please talk about something other than this boy?” Your father is already exhausted from listening to you talk about Namjoon and you don’t blame him, really. “How was the first day for you, dear?” He refers to you and you are still chewing on your dinner.

“I have three classes with Guk. I like all of my classes so far; I can already tell calculus is going to be… a lot of work. We have a test every week and we mandatory study sessions after school for the exam to qualify for college credits. Thankfully, I have a partner to work with just in case I don’t understand anything. There’s also –”

“Who’s your partner? Maybe I know them.”

Your silence is defeating, and you look at your dad who is waiting for his answer and you dart your eyes back at Sena who is piecing the puzzle in her head, so she drops her mouth open, gasping at your lack of a response.

“No fucking way!”

“Language, please, Sena.” Your mom scolds.

“I mean, you’ve been in the same classes as him before! I’m sure you’ve been in a group project with him or something. You guys are in the same clubs. I don’t understand why you haven’t asked him out.” You weren’t so sure what motivated you to blurt it all out because your sister was definitely a good catch, but the obsession with him was getting way out of hand.

“That’s ridiculous, YN. I would never ask out a guy. I don’t even know he likes me that way.” Sena is taking small bites out of her dinner and you sigh to yourself, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “If there was only a way for me to find out. It’s not like I have a sister who’s partners with him in a class – oh, she’s also best friends with his next-door neighbor! How convenient.”

She eyes at you where you decide to focus on your meal, but her eyes are pleading and desperate.

“I… am completely eliminating myself from this predicament, Sena. If you want to ask him out for yourself, you should do it. Besides, who wouldn’t like you? You’re amazing.” Your voice is sincere and genuine, and you hope she pushes all of her fears and insecurities to the side to do something about her feelings.

“It would just be so much easier if I knew if he thought I was cute or something.”

“Everyone thinks you’re cute.”

“That’s not the point, YN. Listen, how ‘bout this? You don’t even have to drop my name in there; just ask what his ideal girl is like or something… or let Guk do the work! I’m sure he already knows the answer. Just help a girl out, please, YN.” You sigh defeated because your sister was really good at convincing.

It wasn’t really hard to figure out what type of girl Namjoon was interested in or… if he was interested in girls. All of this was easier said than done and you were going to rely on Jungkook a lot on this.

“I’m not going to prioritize this.” You surrender and she is giddy in her seat.

“YN, you are the best sister anyone could ask for.”

Several weeks have passed since you had last had your conversation with your older sister. You made an emphasis that you weren’t going to prioritize delving into Namjoon’s personal life. You were purely on a calculus homework and best friend’s next door neighbor relationship with him. But you finally get an idea of what Namjoon likes in a girl when he had to leave early for calculus to get pep rally ready for the first football game that Friday.

Unknown [14:34]: It’s Namjoon. Got your number from Guk.

For some reason, you feel your heart leap out of your chest at the text message. You’re still seated in calculus class working on the first few problems of your homework without him. You look up to see that Mrs. Kang is too busy assisting other students confused with the problem. Honestly, you were confused too and were unsure with your methods, but your mind had been too focused on your cellphone the entire time.

Namjoon [14:35]: Should’ve gave you the heads up about this. Sorry about leaving you alone to work. ):

You [14:36]: It’s no big deal. Seems like everyone’s confused, tbh.

Namjoon [14:36]: Fuck, mb. It’s the first game of the night, so I’m kind of required to be here. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

Namjoon [14:37]: I have some down time after setting up. Maybe we can work on it then?

You [14:37]: Just tell me the time and place, I’ll be there. (:

Namjoon says that he had somebody covering his duties for the student council before the game began. You see him rushing inside a computer lab that remained open for students to use. You had reserved a table at a secluded corner because you wanted to be away from prying eyes. He spots you trying to reread your notes and erase the umpteenth method you had tried for a word problem you were stuck on.

He admires the way your brows knit together; lips pursed as you began redoing your method on a separate piece of paper. He keeps standing, not taking his place on the chair right next to you – too afraid that you would interrupt your flow. You feel a presence right next to you and he nearly gives you a fright and you realize just how tall he is.

“You scared me.” You inform and he chuckles softly at how endearing it was. He takes the seat right next to you where he is already pulling out notebook and pencils from his bag.

“I left my book at my locker. Do you mind if I share your book with you?” You look at your open textbook and nod at once pushing the textbook closer for both of you to see. “Thanks.” He scoots much closer than you had intended and when he strips his hoodie off of him, you can smell his cologne and how good it smelled on him.

You ignore your thoughts and scurry back to the problem you’re on.

“What problem did you end on?” He inquires and you point to the exact word problem you had been staring at for the past thirty minutes in class.

“It’s been bugging me. I didn’t want to ask Mrs. Kang because I wanted to figure it out myself.” You were so stubborn, he thought to himself. You had only completed a total of eight problems when there was so much more to do for the weekend. For some reason, you decided to stay stuck on that problem for god knows how long and Namjoon found it adorable – one of the few attributes he liked about you.

He reads the word problem and begins trying to solve the problem on his own. After several tries, he had figure out what you had done wrong and he so desperately wanted to point it out to you. Just when he was about to open his mouth, you turn to him and shake your head, covering your ears with your hands.

“No. I refuse to let you tell me what you did wrong. I can figure this out myself.” You whisper harshly. Namjoon can’t help but respond with silenced laughter because this is exactly how your homework sessions have been going; just the both of you refusing to let the other correct each other until the other figured it out themselves.

“Can I give you one clue?”

“Nope.” You popped your ‘p’ to accentuate just how persistent you were. You stuck out your lower lip as you examined the word problem again and he looked at the glossiness of your mouth and the softness of your cheeks; how he desperately wanted to lay his own petals right on yours as his fingers crawl to your face.

“So, I have a question.” He starts.

“And I can try to give you an answer depending on what it is.”

“Are… you and Guk by any chance – y’know?” His question is vague, but you definitely know what he is asking you because lots of people were never really used to the idea of a boy and a girl ever being best friends; for some reason, people assume they always end up dating and never talking to each other again.

“God, no. I love him, but I don’t love him like… I’d date him.” Your cheeks were fully flamed, and you weren’t so sure why you were so embarrassed to discuss this with Namjoon. All the times you had to clarify people on your relationship with Jungkook, you were almost disgusted and quick to reassure people that you two were nothing more than friends.

“Well, is there anyone you were willing to date?” Namjoon is pushing the boundaries here and he knows it very well. But he feels like he has gotten to know you well enough in the past few weeks to ask such a question.

“Not that… I know of really.” You try to remain composed when you respond to his question, but you feel his eyes burn into your soul, so you’re doing everything you can to avoid his stare. But Namjoon continues to stare right into you. He really can’t take his eyes off of you. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever really experienced what it’s like to be attracted to –” Just when you had mustered the confidence to look at him, he is quite literally staring so deeply into your eyes that it is taking your breath away.

He is making you eat your words right now; you can’t take your eyes off of him.

“You don’t know what it’s like to…?”

“I don’t what it’s like to be attracted to someone.” You sigh softly; your breath fanning him. “On the contrary, I don’t think anyone’s ever really been attracted to me.” A chuckle comes erupting from your mouth, shaking your head. “Fortunately, that’s not really my goal in high school.”

“You don’t know that.” He quips.

“I don’t know what?”

“If someone’s been attracted to you before.” You shake your head in disbelief, chewing on the inside of your cheek knowing fully well that he was doing this because he wanted to seem like a dick for not disagreeing with your self-deprecation.

“Well, what about you?” You pose the question to him. “From what I understand, most girls and guys I pass by swoon every time you pass by.” He is chuckling to himself this time and he is very much aware of his desirability among his classmates. “You have plenty of choices; I’m sure you have the opportunity to date someone you must really like at this very moment.”

“That’s what I’m hoping on. I’m just not quite sure how she feels about me.” You feel like you were unraveling his darkest secrets and you were happy he considered you close enough to reveal who it is or give an inkling to who it is.

“Do I know her by any chance?” You’re hoping that you can narrow down who he is interested in. Because you barely knew anybody, you knew this would be a piece of cake.

“Yes.” He replies simply and he is staring at you. “You know her very well, YN.” He sighs, hoping you would finally understand what he is alluding to.

“Is she in my grade?” You were really hoping that the answer would be no or else you’d be breaking some terrible news to Sena that evening after the football game.

Namjoon nods slowly and he can see how you are not picking up his hints. He sees the slight disappointment in your face for whatever reason. Suddenly, he is perplexed because, in his eyes, he has made it pretty clear who he was interested in from the get-go. Many people should make the assumption, too, considering there was only one person he had his eyes on – only one person he was giving his attention to.

“Is it… that girl in Guk’s class who –”

As you are trying to list out the girls in your class who has interacted with Namjoon, he is in complete disbelief that you have not figured it out at all. How much more clueless could you get? He is sighing now because is frustrated. He admires your persistence when it came to solving difficult word problems in calculus but it’s frustrating when you are unaware of his feelings for you.

Just when is about to confess his feelings for you, you are greeted with another presence calling for both your names.

“So, this is where you two have been.” Jungkook ambles hastily towards your table and you grin from ear to ear when he is taking out his algebra textbook. “YN, one last chance, please. I didn’t pass my last quiz which brought me one letter grade down and my dad’s going to make me quit track & field if I don’t –”

“I told you I’d help you over the weekend, dumbass. I’m busy getting shit done with Namjoon.” You breathe softly before he is hugging you on your side and you grunt at how much stronger he has gotten. “But you’re buying me coffee for a week.”

“Sick.” Jungkook simply replies before he begins unpacking some of his homework. “You excited for the football game, Namjoon-hyung?” Jungkook queries and Namjoon is baffled because the moment is gone. One interruption from his next-door neighbor and the moment’s lost.

“Fuck yeah.” Namjoon replies and he sees that you’ve suddenly lost interest in the subject. You were subconsciously listening on their conversation while you are back to resolving the complicated word problem right in front of you. “Will you two be going to the game?”

“I’ll go, but YN won’t go because she hates crowds and, honestly, she doesn’t know how the game.” You exhale in response to Jungkook’s statements. Namjoon observes that you decide to move onto another problem, wanting to tackle the word problem at a different time. “Everyone you know will practically be there. Why not give it a shot?”

“We usually have half of the bleachers reserved for the student council since we’re in charge of tickets and concessions, so it won’t be that big of a crowd.” Namjoon attempts to entice you with modifications to appease your concerns. “Plus, we’d all get to hang out with each other; no homework, no calculus talk – just… us.”

Jungkook is stunned to see you agree.

The night was a lot more enjoyable than you thought it would be. Namjoon waived off the entrance fee for the game the moment he mentioned that you and Jungkook were volunteers. Taehyung was already on the field taking photographs of the football players and cheerleaders while Jimin took photographs of the students on the bleachers. You even passed by your own sister who was busy with her own group at the entrance entertaining friends, families, and alumni into the bleachers. Meanwhile, Namjoon was overseeing every single aspect of the event; he was mainly at the concessions, not wanting to create so much traffic around it.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You offer your assistance before he notices that you have your hair all tied up. “I’ve washed my hands if that helps.” Namjoon can’t hide his smile and he offer you a pair of food safe gloves.

“I’m usually one to decline help, but we really need it. Let’s see – Yuqi really needs to go use the bathroom, so you can be in charge of the drinks and chips right now.” You take your station at the drinks and chips stations. It was going faster than you had expected; people ordered too fast or too slow – there was no in between. There were people who were very certain with their order which you appreciated. Then, there were the people who were very fickle with their order and you can’t help but stand awkwardly to wait for them to decide.

“I can’t believe you roped me into helping.” Jungkook grumbles under his breath. “Hey, I didn’t rope you into anything.” You take the five-dollar bill from the student and offer them back their change.

“Yeah, but you made me seem like a real asshole sitting there not helping.” You can’t help but laugh at Jungkook’s pout because you knew just how much he wanted to just spend his time on the bleachers, watching the game with his hyungs. But he was stuck here helping out the student council while most of them were on their bathroom breaks.

“Once someone’s back from their bathroom break, you can go back to your game.” You soothe him and the chaos outside the booth is starting to die down. Less and less people were coming because they’ve all satisfied their craving and the game was building up – it was pretty close, so you understand why Jungkook was in there sulking with you. When you turn to look at Namjoon, hoping to convince him to let Jungkook off the hook, you don’t see him there.

You look out the window to hear your sister’s pretentious giggle. She laughed so differently around him – acted so differently around him. He stood right next to her with the rest of the council members, giving them a big pep talk. She looked at him like he was an angel who fell from heaven. Their conversation ends and the rest of the council members disband except Sena and Namjoon. They are having a personal conversation and you can’t read mouths, but you can’t tear your eyes away from their beaming faces.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” You clear your throat, speaking so softly so only Jungkook can hear you.

“I’m all ears.”

“Does – does Namjoon have a type?” You say out of curiosity. Jungkook raises a brow at you, curious as to what motivated you to ask the question.

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve never really heard hyung talk about any girls… or his type, to be honest.” He hums and he is staring at you stare at your sister and Namjoon. “Why’d you ask?”

“It’s… for Sena.” It was the truth, but your own curiosity was definitely a motivating factor. “She’s been obsessed with Namjoon since… as long as I can remember.” You breathe out, hoping no one else can eavesdrop on your conversation. “She’s been talking a lot about him more since she found out I knew him, y’know?”

“Huh,” Jungkook leans on the table and folds his arms. “Why doesn’t she just tell him?”

“Apparently, she needs some sort of confirmation that he thinks of her that way too, so she doesn’t make a fool of herself.”

“Why don’t you just ask him then?” Your silence is clearly something Jungkook wasn’t expecting because you never actually considered it once. “He’s a pretty easy-going guy; just ask him and he’ll be honest.”

“We’re not on that level of friendship yet, I guess.”

“Well, I consider you guys close enough to ask that kind of question.”

“Then, he’d just assume I’m being friends with him because my sister was using me.”

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Your own answer stuns you almost. Just a couple weeks ago, you knew nothing of Namjoon and, suddenly, you are on a level of friendship where you think you can confide him in anything. Perhaps, now, you really understood why everyone obsessed over him; why everyone wanted to be friends with him, why everyone wanted to date him, why everyone just wanted to be noticed by him.

“Then, feel free to ask him yourself.”

You hadn’t really worked up the courage to talk to Namjoon about his dating life. You repeated to yourself that it wasn’t really a priority to delve into what goes on behind the scenes with Namjoon. You were in a consistent state of going to school, doing your homework, reading books, and retraining your body to try out for the swim team next semester. 

But the time came when you got sick for an entire week and missed so much material, especially calculus material.

But you were eternally saved by Namjoon himself.

Namjoon had requested to drop off the homework sheets and printed copies of his notes over to you. Everything was so detailed, and you were impressed with how organized everything seemed to be. You didn’t know what motivated you to reach for your phone on your bed and dial in his number. Maybe you felt like it deserved a personal thanks rather than a typed one.

“YN?” His voice on the other line sounded so surprised and there was so much noise on the other end. “Give me a second.” He excuses before you hear him move to another location, somewhere much quieter.

“How many times do I have to thank you for being an absolute saint?” Your voice sounded so stuffed. The flu was getting to you really bad, but you were recovering well. But he chuckles into the receiver and you are flipping through each page he had printed before you fall onto your bed, sighing blissfully. “I’m serious, Joon. I’ll say it a million times if I have to.”

“You’ve pulled my weight when I was off doing council work so much. I’m sure if I got sick, you’d do the exact same thing. It’s what partners do.” Namjoon is smiling from ear to ear; he was glowing, and no one was there to really witness it. “I – um, did you see my note attached at the back?”

You are now flipping through the pages frantically until you see a handwritten sticky note that read: “We have a quiz on the Monday you come back. I’m free this weekend if you wanted to study with me.” And there was even a little smiley face attached to it and you are experiencing a whirlwind of emotions.

“You have got to be fucking with me.” You can feel the panic starting to bubble in the pits of your belly, but you were trying not to let it show. “You’ve already done so much for me. I can’t rob you of your weekend. It’s just – It’s just too much.”

“I’m happy to do it, Ace. I promise.” The guy deserved everything in the world because he was too generous for the world and you weren’t so sure what you did to deserve such kindness.

“Ace?”

He chuckles embarrassingly into the receiver, chewing on his cheeks. “I – uh, it’s a nickname. I hope you don’t mind.” Suddenly, butterflies erupt from your stomach and there is a glow on your cheeks that you are very much aware of and you are curling into your bed with a shit eating grin on your face.

“I – I like it.” You sigh and Namjoon leans on the wall as he observes the rest of his friends and council members enjoy slices of pizza, taking a well-deserved break from preparing for the pep rally event coming up next week.

“So, is that a yes to a study session this Saturday?”

“Yes.” Your voice is small and hesitant because it feels like you’re doing something wrong when you were just having a quiz session with your calculus partner.

“Great. My place or yours?”

Namjoon insisted on coming over to your place because you were still recovering. Coincidentally, your parents had the weekend trip away with your dad’s work colleague for a wine tasting event. You debated whether you wanted to tell Sena that Namjoon was going to be arriving in an hour, but you soon realize that she was out with her friend’s house for a movie night session.

You had the place all to yourself and you were relieved and frantic all at once.

You busied yourself the entire day to make yourself look decent; brushed hair, brushed teeth, clean face, and fresh clothes. You throw used tissues into trash bins, changed your sheets, and kicked all of your dirty laundry into your hamper that had fallen on the carpeted floors. As you are jogging downstairs, you discover you have no food in the fridge, so you’d probably have to order a pizza or something to share with Namjoon.

Immediately, you question why you are so desperate to make the place and yourself so presentable when this was a mere tutoring session with your calculus partner?

The doorbell ringing prompts you to peek through the peep hole and you see him; he is wearing a regular white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He has his hoodie thrown over his shoulder as he begins texting a message on his phone, waiting for you to open the door for him.

When you unlock the front door and open the door for him, you smile timidly at him.

“Hi,” You greet him nervously.

“Hey, Ace.” He waves before he examines how you look. Despite your red nose and tired eyes, he missed seeing your face for a week; he really did. You stood awkwardly fiddling with your fingers and he can sense just how anxious you are, so he decides to tread lightly. “May I come in?”

His tone is so polite which effectively allows you to open the door wider for him to enter. You are nodding and you close the door shut behind him, ensuring that you have locked them. “I – um, I can’t really offer you anything to eat since my parents are out of town, but we can order pizza, if you want. It’s what my sister and I usually do.”

“I’m more than okay with pizza.” He permits and you nod and begin walking to the living room. “Will we be working here?”

“We can work anywhere.” You announce. The conversation is so light, and you hate how quick yet reluctant you are to your responses. “I – I can get you a glass of water, if you’d like. I’ll just get my things from upstairs and bring them down to the living room.” You inform him and he nods as he is making himself comfortable on the couch.

You are scurrying off upstairs to go get your materials and catching your breath because you think you were holding your breath the entire time. You’re stalling because you’re making a check list of every single thing you need for downstairs to avoid seeing him or talking with him. Just when you are about to exit, you see him at the bottom of the stairs. He is examining each family portrait on the wall.

Your face is hot because you can only imagine how terrible you looked like a child, so you jog downstairs with your study materials to gain his attention. “I never really realized how much Sena looks like your dad.” Namjoon comments and you stop in your tracks, only to examine the portrait he is looking at. “Exact same nose and smile.”

You purse your lips into a thin line because you are reminded once again that he is probably only interested in getting to know Sena – there was always that possibility. You were so familiar with this feeling of discussing your sister with other people because – yes, she is absolutely beautiful and intelligent and there was no denying it.

“But you are like your mother.” He comments as he takes a closer look at your mom who seems to be so much more youthful. “The way she’s smiling here looks so much like the way you smile.” He describes and you allow him to explain more by staying silent. “When you smile, your nose kind of crinkles and the corners of your eyes creases and your dimples are a lot more –”

Your throat seizes because you’re flattered and aware that he has perfectly examined your appearance and all the features in what he sees. He grows silent and he is chuckling nervously, scratching the back of his hand to distract himself.

“Sorry that was… super random.” Namjoon clears his throat, and you are shaking your head before you point towards the living room.

“I – I’m ready now.”

Now, you’re desperately hoping Sena doesn’t come home too early from her friend’s house.

Hours have passed since Namjoon have gotten you caught up with all of the materials and have assisted you through last week’s homework sheets. Namjoon was impressed with how you can keep up despite your recovering condition. One minute, you were sneezing and wiping your nose clean and, the next minute, you have your lips pursed and brows furrowed as you are writing equations down on a separate piece of paper.

“I got a question for you.” Namjoon begins and you are still too busy piecing everything together for a specific word problem you wanted to master.

“Shoot.”

“Are you always this focused?” You are typing things into a calculator before you are erasing things on your paper and you turn to look at him, showing him the calculator.

“Is this the right answer?” You ignore his question for a moment.

He nods and you grin at him before you proceed onto the next word problem.

“If I’m a week’s worth of lessons behind, yes, I’m focused all the time.” Namjoon is shaking his head and he is in awe at how you are so quick at writing all the information; he notices how neat your handwriting is too. Namjoon checks his watch and realizes just how late it has been and he clears his throat as he looks out the window to see the sun has gone completely down.

“Will your sister be coming home tonight?” Namjoon notices that you stop writing – you stop solving the word problem that you are tackling because you, suddenly, realize that he is asking about your sister.

“She’s probably still at a friend’s house or something.” He senses the atmosphere has changed and you shift your mind back to the practice problem right in front of you. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason – well, I honestly thought she should be taking care of her recovering sister.” You snicker at his statement.

“She’s a great sister, but she’s not that great.” You quip, biting your tongue at how ridiculous he sounded. “I think we can all agree that she’s smart, charismatic, and ambitious. I will admit she’s a really considerate sister too, but she thinks caring for her ill sister is a parents’ job – not hers.”

“Okay, okay, I get it she’s amazing but not… amazing.” He raises his hands to surrender and his words coming out of his mouth urged you to inquire about his relationship with her.

“If you think she’s amazing, why don’t you date her?” The words came spilling out of your mouth uncontrollably. Maybe it was the meds, you thought. You see the grin disappear from Namjoon’s face into utter confusion and he tilts his head for further clarification. “What I mean is that… you’ve known her and worked with her for so long and she’s a great girl – I’m obviously really biased considering she’s my sister, but you two would make a… great couple.”

You didn’t believe that you were talking about this to Namjoon. You didn’t think you would have the guts to discuss this with him, but the opportunity came up and you took it. But you are faced with such an unfamiliar emotion. True discomfort arises at the pit of your stomach as Namjoon’s brows furrow together and he is shaking his head with the same boyish grin he always flaunted to the world.

“Ace, she’s great, but I… honestly see her as a friend.” He isn’t so sure how many times he’s reiterated those words before. Because little did you know, so many people have asked the exact same thing. Peers and colleagues in their class were very much aware of Sena’s not so little crush on Namjoon for quite some time.

“Well, I mean, isn’t that how all relationships really start? Becoming friends and then possibly developing feelings for each other? Most people always see each other as friends until one of them is aware of the others’ feelings, right?” Your tone was so quizzical. You were treating this conversation like it required rationale and logical reasoning to tackle the issue at hand.

But this wasn’t a problem the mind can solve.

“That’s the usual circumstance, yes.” He admits and he sees that you resume back to the worksheet. “But I’ve known Sena’s had a thing for me and, quite frankly, I’ve been interested in someone else for a while, remember?”

“Someone far more interesting than Sena?” You are in disbelief. You are trying to eliminate other people in school who is on the same social standing as your older sister. “That’s… not possible.” You breathe.

“You’re wrong.” You stop writing because you are retracing your steps on the word problem you are solving. He finds it so endearing how you can’t seem to understand that he is utterly into you, but you are so lost in numbers.

“No, don’t tell me, Joon. I’ve told you this hundreds of times –” You lift your head to look at him to accentuate your reminder; you didn’t want to know what you wrong, you wanted to solve the problem yourself unless you demanded the assistance yourself.

Normally, Namjoon would comply with your request. It was so rare for him to point out your mistake, but he figured this was the perfect time to do so.

“You’re so stubborn.” He breathes before he dives in.

You don’t complete your sentence. Because when you turn your head to look at him with pleading eyes, you are met with his pillowy petals on yours. Your cheeks heat instantaneously, and you can feel your heart leap from your chest.

His kisses were soft and slow. You don’t realize that he has already cupped your cheeks. You’ve never kissed anyone ever before but, for some reason, it was like you knew how to move your mouth against his. He was gentle but there was a certain control he possessed. You pull away momentarily to breathe and, suddenly, you feel the heat of his tongue swipe on your lower lip. A shuddered whimper leaves your mouth before you are regrettably pulling away from addiction.

“N – no, that’s not possible.” You’re still in denial from the events that occurred. “Sena – she’d be so… betrayed if she –” Your brain is glitching and it didn’t help that you can taste the mint of his lips on yours.

“Listen, Ace, for one moment stop thinking about Sena and answer me honestly.” Namjoon positions his body to look straight onto you. “Do you feel the same way I do or not?”

“I don’t – I don’t know.” You shrug before avoiding his eyes. “I – I shouldn’t like you.” You sigh defeated and you are covering your face. You were ashamed not because you like him, but because you didn’t understand what you were really feeling, and you didn’t understand what you wanted to do. “Why – why do you like me?”

“You’re hardworking and incredibly intelligent.”

“I know plenty of other girls who are… exactly the same.”

“Your tastes in book are impeccable. You’re selfless to a degree that I can’t quite comprehend. You keep to yourself, but when you speak your mind, it leaves a lasting impression. Listen, YN, I can keep going, but you can’t… keep doubting my feelings for you.” Namjoon justifies and it was a tough pill to swallow.

You were too stunned to say anything. Too many emotions flooding your brain and it took too long for it to process, so you remained expressionless. Namjoon found it incredibly difficult for him to read your face.

“Ace, it’s really hard to tell how you’re feeling right now.” He points out and you understand just how awkward you sat there; head spinning with so many things to say but very little coming out of your mouth.

“I – I don’t know what you want me to say.” You admit. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting out of me with a confession like this. If I don’t feel the same way, what would’ve happened? If I do feel the same way, what – what was I supposed to do?”

“Well, for starters, do you actually feel the same way as I do?”

“I – I do.” You croak to respond to his inquiry. “I – I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to myself either, but… I think I like you.”

A wave of relief washed over Namjoon, but there’s a bit of relief for you too. It’s out in the open now, and you know that there’s nothing really you can do about it. There’s a very content grin plastered right across his handsome face, but it slowly transforms into a frown as he realizes that, despite your feelings for each other, nothing will change between the both of you.

“Namjoon, we can’t be anything more than friends.” You realize the unfortunate circumstances the both of you were in. “It’s not fair to my sister. I don’t think it’s very fair to make me choose between you and my sister. I – I don’t think it’s very fair that… you’re in this position.”

Your heart swelled just moments ago, and you can feel it crumble into pieces as the words come spilling out of your lips.

“I understand.” He agrees softly and you perk up at his acquiescence. “I’m not going to force you to be in that position, Ace.” The reassurance softens your tense form, and his fingers cradle your chin, lifting up to be at eye level with you.

“But when you’re ready to reconsider... us, I’ll be waiting.”

↪ Please stay tuned for the next part!

[jemej3m]

Devil wears Prada pt2 where Nicky or Matt or Alison or smth give Neil a makeover and Andrew is Too Gay For This Shit

mmMMmmmMMMmMmM

*

“He hates me,” Neil insisted, leaning his hip against Kevin’s focus board. The man was busy sorting out different approaches to the spring release, of which Nicky had been nagging on about all week. 

Kevin hummed, ignoring Neil completely. 

“I don’t want his validation,” Neil continued. “I just - we all work hard here. Harder than he does! And he gets all the credit?”

“You’re being melodramatic.” 

Neil just huffed. “Well, what do I do?”

Kevin shrugged. “Andrew chooses who he listens to. You need to prove that your ideas are worth his time.” The man glanced up, giving Neil’s outfit a derogatory once-over. “And you’re going to get nowhere, looking like that.”

Neil looked down at himself. “I look fine.”

“You’re the secretary for the forerunner of the most lucrative fashion editorial that’s ever graced the planet, wearing Goodwill jeans and shoes that have superglue seeping out from the soles. Fix it.”

Neil just flipped him off, storming out of Kevin’s office. The man went back to his concept arrangements with little more than a roll of his eyes. 

*

Before Neil could reach his desk the next morning, a hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him sideways. 

A blonde woman stood head and shoulders taller than him, grinning fiendishly. “Hello, Neil.” 

“Hello,” Neil allowed, taking a step back. “Do I know you?”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Kevin gave me full reign over the sample closets with an order to teach you how to look less...like that.”

“You just gestured to all of me?”

“Well, yeah.” She pinched his cheek. “My name’s Allison. Model, entrepreneur, fabulous bitch and your saviour. Now, shall we?”

“Minyard will be arriving soon -” Neli argued as she towed him down the corridor. 

“Kevin excused you for the morning,” she winked. “Appreciate it, I think. Now, where do we start? Underwear, presumably. Wait! Let’s tackle that mop of hair on your head.” 

Neil just gulped. 

*

Andrew was mildly pissed off. Kevin had excused the haggerty brat of a secretary from work for the morning and refused to disclose why: even Nicky had kept his mouth shut, typing away quietly at his desk. It meant  Andrrew’s coffee was late and his scheduling wasn’t printed out in the format that he liked. He hadn’t even realised that Josten had picked up on that detail, which only served to piss him off even more. He was deathly busy: he had no time to be thinking about the likes of Neil Josten, his train-wreck of a secretary. 

“I expect you to catch up on all this,” Andrew heard Kevin say. 

“Do you take me for an amateur? I’ve already sorted out everything on this list,” Neil Josten retorted, shoving the clipboard back into Kevin’s chest. Kevin stayed by Nicky’s desk as Neil waltzed through into Andrew’s office without knocking. 

Andrew couldn’t help but stare.

“I know you would’ve suffered through one of those bitter, watery espresso shots this morning,” his assistant said, placing down Andrew’s favourite coffee order on a coaster than Aaron had bought him. He then dropped down two books. “Here’s the manuscripts that you ordered for your niece and nephew, the most recent copy of the Palmetto edition unedited, and your correspondences. I’ll have you know that a Kengo Moriyama has asked you to an event, so I retorted with a scathingly professional rebuke. I’ve printed out the response for you to peruse, since I know you actually think it’s amusing -”

“Who dressed you?” Andrew demanded. 

Neil looked down at himself. He was wearing black slacks that clung to his legs and glossy Dolce dress shoes. A midnight-blue velvet blazer was kept open over a white blouse that had a lace overlay, tucked into his trousers and extenuating an incredibly slim waist. 

His hair was clipped and artfully curled. Worst of all were the smudges of eyeliner at the corners of his eyes, the blue irises outshining every Cerulean jewel. 

“Allison toyed with me slightly,” he admitted. 

Of course. Allison.

Andrew hummed, ignoring the poignant thrashing of his heart against his ribcage. “Out.” 

Neil, inexplicably, grinned. With a two fingered salute, he left Andrew’s office, shutting the glass doors behind him. 

Andrew tugged his cigarettes out from the bottom drawer of his desk, staring out at the landscape of New York City as the hour chugged by, ignoring every call and knock on his door. 

Fucking dammit. 

[trillian-anders]

3,643 miles

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, smut (& exhibitionism), wee bit of angst

word count: 9.1k

description: established relationship; you’d met in college, both education majors. you really love bucky barnes, and nearing your five year anniversary when he proposes you go on a coast-to-coast road trip on summer vacation. you seem skeptical and unsure, but he assures you it’s worth it. 

New York City, New York – Mile 0

You hadn’t been serious. Not entirely anyway. Months ago, when you said to Bucky, half asleep, “We should go on a road trip, just you and me.” You remember his raspy voice in reply,

“Oh yeah?” His fingers slowly trailing down your bare spine as you slipped off into sleep.

“Yeah.”

It was something you’d almost forgotten all about until he brought it up five months later.

“Hey, do you think we should rent a car or just take mine?” You were chewing on a pen cap, going over the essays you needed to grade by Monday, a glass of wine by your side. He was sitting across from you, laptop open and a notebook full of different scribbles.

“For what?” You ask, taking a sip of your wine.

“Our road trip.” Like you’d forgotten, like it was something you’d already decided on. You shake your head, confused.

“What road trip?” His brow furrows.

“You said you wanted to go on a road trip.”

“When?” He was silent for a moment, staring at you like you had two heads.

“Christmas… when we were going to bed, you said you wanted to go on a road trip.” He explains simply, “Just the two of us.” You shake your head again.

“I was drunk on Christmas.” As if it explains it away, “We don’t really have the funds to take a road trip across the country, how long would that even take?” Typing a few things into your search bar you sigh, “Two to three months?”

“They went like everywhere,” He defends, “We are just going straight across.”

“I don’t know Bucky…” You sat back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“I’ve been doing the math.” He comes to your side of the table squatting down at your side, “We have more than twice of what we would need in savings, we still have enough to put down on a house next summer.” A kiss to your hand and some puppy dog eyes. “And we will be back in time for Steve’s wedding.” A kiss to your wrist, “C’mon baby, we’re still young, and pretty soon we won’t have time to do stuff like this. We never get to do anything this adventurous, come on.” You sigh, he’s right.

For the last five years you two had been together you were both working full-time jobs and in college. When school ended and you both got jobs you stayed in the shitty studio apartment you’d gotten when you first moved in together on the cheap to save every penny you could towards getting a nice house in the suburbs, something you both desperately wanted whenever the subject of marriage and kids rolled about. Which seemed to be more common lately, more so with both of your parents than with each other.

“You’re not getting any younger.” From both your Mom and his. His younger sister was just starting college and nowhere near continuing the Barnes bloodline, so his Mom was especially needy with you as far as wanting grandchildren. Something you and Bucky had briefly talked about but hadn’t made any real serious strides towards having. Your implant was good for another couple years and it wasn’t a real concern.

“Okay,” You agreed, “We should probably take your car to save some money.” A rental for even a month would be way too much. Bucky grinned, kissing you, again and again.

“It’s going to be so fun.” A kiss. “Really is.” Another kiss. His hand slipping to palm at your breast.

“Bucky I have to grade these essays.” He shrugs.

“Grade ‘em tomorrow.” A tweak of your nipple, his mouth sinking down to your neck, a well-practiced weak spot that never failed to make you shiver.

“Bucky.” You whined, fingers coming to grip his shoulders.

“C’mon baby.” You were weak for it. Played right into his hands and he knew it. You were such a sucker.

…

The last day of classes came faster than you thought, the morning after, bright and early you were getting ready to hit the road. Bucky had let you over plan a little if only to satisfy yourself and solidify the fact that you wanted to go on this trip. Almost 4,000 miles. The road ahead of your seemed daunting but he liked to remind you,

“We have all summer; we don’t need to rush.” Which means if you need to stop for the night, then you needed to stop for the night, but the goal was to drive as close to each major destination as you could before looking for a room at a nearby hotel or motel. Whatever seemed more convenient. You’d packed one large suitcase between the two of you and a bag of snacks and drinks for the times where you couldn’t reach a gas station or got uncontrollably snacky and bored.

“Please don’t forget to water our plants.” You begged the blond. Steve seemed a little done with it.

“I won’t forget to water the plants.” He was going to forget, he was beautiful, but endlessly forgetful. You sigh, stepping into his open arms and hugging him. “You guys be careful, if you run into any trouble just give me a call.”

“We’re going to be fine.” Bucky took his friend into a hug after you released him, “We’ll let you know when we get to DC.” The first stop on the trip.

“Have fun! Try not to kill each other!” You roll your eyes, slipping into the passenger seat and plugging your phone in, getting the GPS set up. Bucky slipped into the driver’s seat, grasping your hand and laying a kiss on your palm.

“You ready baby?” You smile excitedly,

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Your little notebook in your lap. A polaroid camera for the aesthetic. A picture developing on your lap that you’d gotten Steve to take of the two of you in front of the car before leaving. The first stretch wasn’t very long. Just about four hours with mild traffic, but you knew with it would be closer to six, but once you were out of the North East the roads would open up at least for a little while.

You hit traffic trying to get out of the city almost immediately which is why you liked Bucky driving. Driving in the city was always stressful and you rarely ever had to do it, you’d never gotten that NYC aggression and seeing as he learned how to drive on these streets you let him take the first leg. You’d switch with him most likely somewhere in New Jersey, probably before you hit Delaware.

“Aren’t you excited?” He asks you. You had to admit, seeing him so giddy and excited about something further enforced the excitement you had been feeling about this trip. You’d never been anywhere further than the North East, once you broke free of DC you’d be in uncharted territory and it did excite you.

“Of course, I am.” You smiled at him, he leaned over the center console to kiss you, a loving sweet kiss interrupted by a loud honk from the man behind you, the light was green.

Washington, DC – Mile 233

“Okay, smile.” Bucky snapped a picture of you standing in front of the National Mall, the Washington Monument tall in the background. The day stayed bright and sunny. With the plan of hitting a museum before dinner, the two of you arrived around lunch time, stopping to grab some food before parking the car and walking around on foot.

You’d snapped a couple pictures of him on your phone while he’d been talking to his Mother during lunch, which you scrolled through while you walked to the next destination. The Smithsonian. The Natural History museum that had currently been doing an exhibit on the late Stan Lee. Something Bucky was excited about.

Copies of old prints. Videos of Stan Lee himself, Jack Kirby, and Steve Ditko. A bunch of first editions in plexiglass containers. His favorite, however, was the character his parents named him after. A life replica of the suit he wears in the comics on display. You took a couple pictures of him with it, sending them onto the group chat you had with him and his family.

His hand was in yours walking through more exhibits, both of you aimlessly walking up to different displays and stopped at the little gift shop for Bucky to look at some exclusive merch they had for the Stan Lee exhibit, including a paperback book about Stan Lee and a large exhibit book with detailed explanations about everything you’d just seen.

“Did you want to drive tonight?” Bucky asked while you were grabbing coffee, “Or do you want to find a room?” You playfully shove him, he playfully shoves you back.

Later your back would find the soft hotel mattress, giggling and a little drunk from the multiple drinks had at dinner. The hum of his lips against yours, fingers plucking on your strings, gentle moans and a hand pressed against the headboard as it smacks against the wall in a steady rhythm.

It was nice. This vacation was nice. And much needed after wrangling teenagers all day.

“I love you so much.” You moan against his mouth, the grind of his hips against yours making your eyes roll in the back of your head. His fingers laced in yours.

You knew that you and Bucky had a good relationship. It’s always been stable and nice and good. You love him and you know he loves you. You’ve never had to question that. Your last relationship, seemed like so long ago now, wasn’t that great. Time never made for each other, a great lack of communication, just being young adults and drinking too much at parties and screaming at each other in the car.

When you met Bucky it was an instant attraction. He was charming, sweet. He’d brought you snacks in the library and helped you study for your history exams. Currently, he was still slowly working towards his Doctorate, wanting to eventually teach at the college you’d both attended. But back then you’d moved in together almost instantly. Not just because the relationship came so easily, but because of finances as well.

Money was a little less tight when someone was sharing the bills with you.

Yeah, you had your arguments. Someone leaves their dishes next to the sink instead of in it. Someone keeps putting off taking out the trash. Someone doesn’t make the bed in the morning. Someone leaves their dirty socks next to the hamper than inside it. But they were small things. Things you could both try to do better. And you have.

Another thing all together was the sex.

You were never someone who said the sex had to be good right away. It takes time to learn someone’s body and really figure out what someone likes and what they don’t like. And while the sex has definitely improved over the years, he knew how to make you cum in less than two minutes and was very proud of that fact, your first sexual experience with each other had his head under your skirt in a dark corner of the school library like you were a Victorian royal canoodling with a servant.

You were red about it for days, thinking about how hard you came on his tongue almost caught by another student looking for records for their thesis. The grin on his face for a week afterward as he enjoyed the hastily decided exhibitionism.

It grew from there.

Bucky loved the fear of getting caught, it was one of his favorite things. You couldn’t even really remember everywhere the two of you had sex of some kind. And when you’d had your second pregnancy scare you decided to get the little implant you still have now.

“I love you so fucking much.” That grind. You loved it and he knew it. He would have your knees hooked over his arms, resting in his elbows, he would be deep, brushing your cervix and grinding his hips against yours, pubic bone grinding on your clit. Your nerve endings on fire. “So fucking wet.” Around him. You could feel his cock throb inside of you and you knew how badly he wanted to move, but he wanted you to beg him for it more.

And you would.

Always.

Your leg was over his thigh at breakfast. Sitting at the bar top of the little diner. “So I think today will just be driving.” Over a piece of toast, “I think it’s like… 10 or 11 hours.” So you’d probably get there just in time to get some sleep. He nods, taking a bite out of his omelet, his thumb brushing your thigh. You were scrolling through your phone. His fingers playing with the hem of your shorts.

“Do you want to drive first?” He asks, “Or do you want me to?”

 Nashville, TN – Mile 890

The road to Nashville cut through the mountains. Music blasting and windows down, you snapped pictures as Bucky traversed the winding roads that were mostly empty aside from shipment trucks and the occasional other car also travelling to some unknown destination. It was gorgeous out there.

“Could you imagine living out here?” You asked him as you spot a cabin mixed in among the trees on the side of the mountain not too far in the distance. He had his sunglasses on, his hair a little grown out and longer than he usually kept it was whipping around his face.

“Absolutely not.” He laughed. The city boy, through and through, you’d really struggled over deciding where you’d like to buy a house when the two of you decided to actually start saving. He wanted to buy an apartment first, but then a debate of what would be more realistic, what would give them enough living space for what they would be paying. There was a period of time where all you looked at were the pretty brownstones you knew you couldn’t afford, but once the two of you reeled it in and really looked you decided to move closer to where Bucky would be working as a professor.

“It’s bad enough you have me moving to New Jersey.” He laughs. But it was all a jest, he wanted to work for Rutgers in New Brunswick. It was where both of you went to college, after all.

“We should go camping.” You take a picture as you cross a bridge, capturing the rippling mountain water.

“You would hate camping.” He shakes his head, “You went to summer camp for a week in fifth grade and told me it was the worst experience of your life.” You sit back in your seat glaring at him.

“Maybe it would be different now that I’m an adult,” You offer, “And the only reason why it was horrible in the first place is because night one the girls said the cabin was haunted and then I just couldn’t sleep for the rest of the week.” Those little bitches. Bucky full belly laughs, the haunting of the girl was also on top of you getting a UTI and seeing a family of bears roam about outside one day so you couldn’t go outside.

“We are not going camping.” You huff but don’t answer because you know he was right; you’d hate camping.

…

“I don’t even remember the last time we had McDonald’s.” You say while dipping three fries into your small dipping cup of sauce.

“After finals.” It wasn’t as good as you remember it being, but you’d also gotten a salad to split as well. Not being able to quite justify eating strictly burgers and fries. Bucky’s memory was a steel trap, unlike his blond best friend. Bucky could easily recall events, almost in striking detail which really sucks when you promised to go do something and wanted to act like you forgot, he could tell you exactly when you said it.

Like drunk on Christmas when you say you should take a road trip, although this wasn’t a half bad idea.

“You got a 20-piece nugget.” He continues, “You ranted for the entire night about how they only gave you three sauces for 20 nuggets.” A history major who had great memory recall. Tests were very easy for him. The bastard. You used to be so jealous.

“Sounds like something I would do.” You laugh.

Nashville was dark when you’d arrived. Downtown thriving with noise and pedestrians as you drove around, tired, while Bucky looked at local hotels. You’d found a decent one for cheap not too far from where you’d been driving and as soon as that hotel room door shut you slipped into bed. Waking slightly when Bucky slipped into bed behind you, pulling you into his chest. The little wet strands of his hair tickling your cheek as he pressed a kiss there, falling back under.

The Parthenon. A life size replica of the one in Greece. A polaroid or two there. Nashville was gorgeous. Aside from the main city were little outlying towns with walkable shopping and a ton of little restaurants and local coffee shops.

You take a sip of your iced coffee, giving Bucky an odd look as he looks at a wall of cowboy boots. “You’re not buying those.” He turns and gives you a playful glare. “Babe, they’re $300, no. You would never wear them.”

“Maybe I’m going to make them a staple of my closet.” He shrugs, “That’s what that girl you watch says right, make something a staple and work your other clothes around it?”

“She doesn’t mean $300 cowboy boots.” You laugh. “You’re never going to wear those.”

“I could though.”

“But you won’t.”

You’d gone and enjoyed the city, hit a couple breweries and had bar food before doing a little tour of the Grand Ole Opry and walked around the Opry Mills Mall before grabbing dinner. The restaurant had line dancing and pretty decent barbecue. But the one drink they had, some sort of peach and whiskey, went down a little too smooth. And poor Bucky who hadn’t drank quite as much, was propping you up on his shoulder as you stumble down the street back to your hotel.

“We should go to an actual bar,” You whine. “I’m not tired.” You stumble, his arm wrapping around your waist a little tighter.

“You are tired,” He laughs, “Your bedtime was two hours ago.” You stick your tongue out at him but try to keep step. You’re sure he slowed down from his usual long strides for you.

“We are on vacation,” Another whine, “We can stay out late.”

“Baby everything is closing,” He tries to reason, “It’s 2 am.” You gaze around the area you’re in. Stragglers, barely anyone around. It was a weeknight after all.

“But I don’t wanna go back to the room.” He gives you a look, stopping in the street and backing you up against the wall, capturing your mouth against his, his hips grinding against yours. “Bucky…” A whine against his mouth.

“You don’t want to go back to the room right?” It was a darker corner, the streetlight not quite reaching. His fingers unbuttoned your shorts, slipping his fingers into your panties to stroke at your clit. A moan muffled into his mouth. You could feel how hard he was on your thigh. Your mind frazzled and swimming in alcohol still, hand gripping his wrist as his fingers prod your opening, thumb continuing to move in tight practiced circles on your clit. Your legs were trembling as his face pulled away from yours. His forehead resting against yours, eyes connected. “You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you baby?”

Fuck. “Yes.” A whine for a different reason this time, his fingers entering you and immediately stroking your g-spot. Your thighs clamping around his hand as you cum, your loud moan muffled by him capturing your mouth. He worked you through your aftershocks before pulling you tightly into his body, massaging the back of your neck, licking your taste off his fingers.

“C’mon baby,” He kisses you again, “Let’s go to bed.”

New Orleans, LA – Mile 1,422

Your head was pounding, eyes closed with a water bottle pressed to your skull. The music soft in the background while Bucky, bless him, offered to take the first leg of the driving. The eight-hour drive that you were sure would take about nine. He was an angel running into the gas station while you pumped the gas to grab you water and medicine for your headache. While not at all laughing about how you fell flat on your ass into the hotel room and begging him to kiss what was now a bruise on your hip and left ass cheek.

“I can’t believe I drank that much.” You groan, taking a sip of your water.

“I can’t believe you drank that much.” Humor in his voice. The asshole. You napped for the first hour or two, before Bucky began to get antsy. Shifting in his seat, trying to stretch his legs out.

“I can drive.” You mumble, coming out of your nap. “I just need my sunglasses.” His hands tightened on the wheel,

“I could probably go another hour or so.” He says. You roll your eyes,

“Next gas station, we’ll switch.” A sip from your water bottle, “You’re obviously uncomfortable.”  He grumbles under his breath, but does it anyway, stepping from the car somewhere in Alabama. He stretches and you swear you could hear a couple pops in his spine. After grabbing a couple snacks and some coffee from the gas station you were back on your way, feeling a little more alive than you had previously.

The music a little louder, Bucky pulled out the book he’d gotten at the Smithsonian, the windows cracked. You made it back on the road and towards your destination still 7 hours long.

When you’d been planning this road trip Bucky decided to make a bunch of playlists on his phone, each supposedly for a different kind of mood, but they all sounded quite the same to you. All but one which was just labeled ‘XXX’ and had such hits as ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine and ‘Sex with Me’ by Rihanna. Which is strange because you’d never had a sex playlist normally, but suddenly he thinks you need one to play on speaker on his phone next to the bed in hotel rooms.

The one he had playing originally was something mellow, without lyrics. Thoughtful to your raging hangover, but you needed something to focus on. Something you could sing, badly to, but sing to keep yourself from going crazy on a stretch of highway you felt like you’d been on forever. Which you kind of were. It was one straight highway for the entire 533 miles it would take to get you from Nashville to New Orleans. That little pitstop just dipping you off the exit and then putting your right back on.

It was brain numbing honestly and you tried to go as long as possible before switching back. Bucky had fallen asleep sometime an hour or so after you started driving, book folded over his thumb and seat tilted back.

You felt bad. You kept him up so late last night and then he’d let you sleep in while he got ready. Bringing you breakfast and coffee and waking you up slowly. You thought back to him in the hotel room, the soft kisses and whispers. He’d gotten you in the shower with the bribe of giving you a massage after, which he did. You glance at him in the rearview, his arm thrown over his eyes. You could go a little longer.

The first thing the two of you did getting into New Orleans was stop for a drive thru daiquiri before finding what hotel you’d be staying in for the night.

Bags down you sip on the strawberry liquor slush, sinking into the sheets of the hotel room. “Take it easy.” Bucky laughs, stealing it from you and taking a sip. “Don’t want a repeat of last night.” You stick your tongue out at him and he leans over and kisses you, your fingers moving to tug on his belt loop, pulling him over to the bed. Sitting up you continue to kiss him, beginning to palm him through his jeans.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” Mumbled against his lips as you begin to work on his belt. “I really appreciate it.” Looking up at him through your lashes as you free him from his briefs. His breath catches as your cool tongue licks the tip, mouth stained red. Wide and flat against his head. Tapping it on your tongue before circling around the tip and sucking it into your mouth, his fingers twisting in your hair, not pushing but just holding.

You drip spit down on his cock, using your hand to spread it down his length before sucking him back in your mouth, beginning to bob your head to meet your stroking hand. Your other hand moving below to fondle his balls.

You watch his head fall back, a gasp as his fingers tighten in your hair. You feel the spongey tip of him brush the back of your throat, holding yourself there for a moment before pulling off and stroking him root to tip. He bent over meeting your mouth, kiss passionate and lusty. When you part you sink your mouth back onto him, moaning.

His hips gently thrust into your face, you know he’s getting close, his breaths coming out in short pants, the barely there thrust of his hips when he’s craving more friction you oblige to, speeding up your movements and you gently tug on his balls.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum baby.” His head tossing back and a groan as he begins to empty himself into your mouth. You work him through his aftershocks, his hips giving one true thrust right at the end before you swallow. His mouth meeting yours in a satisfied hum.

You went to the French Quarter for dinner. A place with a live jazz band and good food. The atmosphere unmatched. The French Quarter was much less of a drunken mess than Bourbon Street itself, that beast to be tackled a different night. You had a little bit of a pregame with those daquiri slushes before dinner. Buzzed and comfortably riding it throughout. You’d sipped on a rum and coke while listening to the jazz. Just enjoying the night. Tired from driving but satiated from the food. Your hand rubbing your belly you were so full.

“I love you.” His fingers twisting in the stray hairs that fell from your clip. You smile at him, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I love you too.”

You stayed mostly sober while he drank on Bourbon Street. You let him sing horrible karaoke at Cat’s Meow and drug him away from his forced politeness with about six other woman and at least five men. And you let him lean on you and babble while you waited for the uber back to your hotel.

“You’re so fuckin—hiccup—pretty.” Wet on your ear, slobbering and you laugh. “Like so fuckin pretty.” His mouth sloppy on your cheek.

“You’re going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.” And it would be your turn to take care of him.

That day had been really nice, a little rainy but you’d gotten beignets and coffee at Café Du Monde and bought a pack of the beignet mix and coffee cup to bring home. You’d seen the Madame LaLaurie house which you were sure you’d be talking to Peggy about later, you’d walked around Jackson Square in the light drizzle and even made your way to walk around Audubon Park. You’d been surprised when Bucky said he wanted to go drink on Bourbon Street seeing as you’d been up for a while, but you obliged and now you were rubbing his back as he told you he was nauseous, his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl.

“I don’t feel good.” He blubbers.

“I know baby.” The tile was cold, hard, and uncomfortable. He gagged. And you sigh, wondering if you should just help him throw up so he would feel better. But he finally vomited. You got him cleaned up, helped him brush his teeth. Fed him some water and helped him out of his clothes. His arms wrapped around your waist as he sat on the edge of the bed. Mumbling words you couldn’t understand as you tried to pull his shirt off. His pants long discarded.

“C’mon baby.” You tug on the shirt stuck in his armpits. His arms weakly lift from your body, letting you lift the shirt off him and laying him under the covers. His fingers twisting in your shirt, “I’ll be right back.” In the bathroom you quickly wipe up the toilet, flushing the extra mess and grabbed the trash can, bringing it out to his side of the bed and resting it on the floor near his head, his arm hanging off the bed and already snoring.

The next day when you were eating breakfast, he drank heartily on a Bloody Mary, trying to get the hair of the dog and feel more alive.

“I can’t believe you let me drink that much.” A groan over fried green tomatoes. You roll your eyes,

“I didn’t… the guys buying you shots when my back was turned did.” It was a laugh really, how Bucky wouldn’t realize someone was flirting with him. So out of touch from being in a relationship, Bucky had been quite the charmer when you first met but had a really hard time noticing when someone else was flirting altogether. A marvel, but it’s true.

“But they were so nice.” He reasoned making you laugh.

“They really were.”

San Antonio, TX – Mile 1,965

Another 543 miles, which 541 were spent on the same road. Honestly it was probably the worst part. Driving in mostly a straight line for hours with long stretches of road in between each stop. But that’s how this part of the country was. It was hotter down here for sure, or maybe just because you were getting deeper into summer.

San Antionio was sweltering, you could feel your shirt sticking to your back as you took in the air conditioning of the hotel lobby you were currently in. The electronic keycard slipped across the counter to Bucky while you waited a step behind before shifting your bag back on and following him to the elevator.

The hotel was a lot like every other hotel, but the only thing you were really worried about now was the shower. Bags dropped and the small toiletry case in hand you slipped into the shower, letting the water run a little cold to cool you off before turning it a little higher to be more comfortable. You can hear Bucky enter the bathroom, the shower curtain being pulled back as he entered behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and dragging you back into his body. Just holding you for a minute.

“Are you okay?” He asked. Pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah, I think I just need some alone time.” You hadn’t talked much during the drive from New Orleans to San Antonio. You were used to getting time apart from each other. Not that you didn’t like spending time with him, but sometimes you just wanted to be alone and right now you were getting that itch. He hums, his arms tightening for a moment more before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“After the shower, why don’t you take a nap before dinner, hmm?” He reached over grabbing the soap, “I’ll go grab us dinner and bring it back,” beginning to wash, “We can eat in the room tonight, sleep in tomorrow?”

“That would be nice.” You’d finished your shower, slipped into comfortable clothes and flipped through the local channels on the tv, finding something for background noise as Bucky left the room.

You would get like this sometimes.

Bucky was always a little more adventurous. Back in college you probably wouldn’t have done half the things you did if it weren’t for him. He was far more outgoing; he had more friends. He was always dragging you out of first your dorm, and then your shared apartment. He didn’t need the alone time like you did and at first he was a little hurt by it.

Like you didn’t want to spend time with him, and it wasn’t that. You just needed a little bit of time to yourself to just be on your own and decompress a little. But he kind of knew when you needed it now. When you got a little quiet. When you needed a little space. And he found himself enjoying the time that you spend apart. You were sure he was enjoying his little walk,

“I get to kind of quiet myself a little bit.” He told you, “I always feel like I’m going all the time.” There were often times where you’d spend time together in the same room just not talking, a comfortable silence as you watched tv and he graded papers or just laying in bed reading next to each other. You felt like you didn’t deserve him sometimes.

He always catered to your social anxiety and your stress and you try to do the most you can for him, but there’s always that fear of it not being enough. Like maybe you’d wake up one day and he’d decide that it just wasn’t a good fit anymore.

What would you even do then?

A quick nap, only thirty minutes or so. Then you lay there a little bit, listening to the tv ramble on some sitcom you didn’t recognize. You hear Bucky come in, a paper bag of food in his arms, your eyes meet his and he smiles.

You didn’t deserve him.

“I found this food truck,” He sets down the two glass bottles of soda on the little table in the room. “The guy who runs it, his family used to own a restaurant here in San Antonio, but they were shoved out of business by this fucking corporate bastard who wanted the space for fucking condominiums, kept raising his fucking rent until he couldn’t afford it anymore.” A kiss to your lips, “How was your nap?”

“That’s terrible.” Your hand on his back as you sit at the table, him across from you. “It was good, I think I needed that.” He starts laying out the food. Tacos, empanadas, a little container of radish and limes. Extra cilantro. Little sauce cups of spicy salsa. A hot container of grilled peppers and cactus. A small container of extra rice. “This looks really good, thank you.”

He brings your hand up to his lips, kissing it. “Are you okay?” He asked, biting into the empanada sprinkled with queso fresco. You nod, massaging his arm before digging into the tacos.

“Yeah baby, I’m okay.”

You had to see the Alamo, obviously. The big limestone building that was pivotal in the Texas Revolution and was now a history museum. But you were more excited for the river walk. Not far from your hotel a bunch of small restaurants and shops, very touristy and brightly lit, but beautiful on the San Antonio River. Tomorrow would be the Japanese Tea Garden and the Natural Bridge Caverns, but you always liked a relatively easy day right after travelling.

You found yourself really looking at him for the first time in a long time. The little wrinkles by his eyes when he smiles that weren’t there five years ago. How often he licked his lips. How often he caught you looking at him. You were sure you looked lovesick. You found yourself resting your head on his shoulder a lot. Your hand in his as you walked around, the steady motion of his thumb moving across your hand a soothing balm for your growing anxiety.

“What’s going on?” He’d ask you later. “You’ve been really affectionate today.” His hands around your waist in the elevator heading up to the hotel room.

“I just love you, that’s all.” His hands moving to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You meet his kiss, humming against his lips. The elevator doors ding and you walk to your room,

“I just want to sleep.” You hear him sigh behind you as you begin to get changed.

“No, what’s wrong?” Sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you as you changed into your sleep shorts and tank top. His hand reaching out to yours and dragging you into his lap, your legs on either side of his, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “C’mon baby talk to me.” You felt silly.

“I just… feel like I don’t deserve you.” A laugh in his chest that made you feel dumb.

“I’m sorry baby,” His arms squeezing you a little tighter, “I didn’t mean to laugh.” His fingers tracing your spine. “I feel like I don’t deserve you sometimes, you’re always so patient with me. You pack my lunch for me every day.” He laughs, “You do cute things like bring me coffee when I’m studying or make me those amazing chocolate peanut butter cookies during finals. You know I love you,” He pulled back, your face coming from resting on his shoulder, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “I think we both like to take care of each other, there’s nothing wrong with that baby, you always take care of me so I try really hard to take care of you.”

“How are you so perfect?” A hum as you meet his lips, soft and sweet.

“How are you so perfect?” He falls back against the bed, dragging you down with him, his hand still rubbing your back. You softly kiss him and close your eyes, finding comfort in laying on his chest. “I think this trip was a really good idea.”

Four Corners Monument – Mile 2,936

“How could you have not checked that we were low on gas?” You were trying to not be angry. You were really trying not to be angry, but when there’s desert on either side of you it’s kind of hard not to be. It was sweltering and no gas also meant no AC.

“I checked our gas at the last stop,” Bucky was in the same boat, hands on his hips, “I think— “he sighs, “Maybe the gas gauge is broken.” You groan in frustration, stepping away from the car and pulling out your phone.

“Can you get a signal?” To call his AAA. A moment or two of him on the phone, before he hung up and turned to you.

“They said about two hours.” You huff, sitting down in the passenger seat, door open and arms crossed. You’d woken up extra early to make this 15-hour drive. You kicked at the hard ground with the sole of your sneaker, trying to calm down while Bucky paced a little.

“I knew we should have rented a car.” You glare at him from your seat.

“If you wanted to rent a car why would you ask me if we should take your car or not?” He didn’t answer. “Don’t blame me for this.” A sigh,

“I’m blaming myself.” A kick to his tire, “I’ve had this car for ten years now, we shouldn’t have taken it.” You worry your bottom lip, checking the time on your phone.

“If you knew we shouldn’t have taken it, why did we?” You didn’t mean for this to turn into an argument. But it somehow turned into a screaming match on the abandoned stretch of road. Not even over important things, things so insignificant like how he’d been taking his shoes off in the car and the stink of that or how you smacked your gum out of boredom. The heat leading the two of you to just explode for no good reason.

Two long strides, that is what was between the two of you. That’s all it took for him to grab you tightly and crush you against his chest, mashing your lips together. You moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair for a harsh tug. Your back hit the side of the car, his fingers fumbling with the button of your shorts, tugging them open and roughly dipping his fingers into the wet heat between your thighs. Two fingers circling your opening before slipping inside and stroking your walls, thumb rapid on your clit.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your legs already shaking as you stroke his length, hot and hard in your hand. He removes his fingers from your now aching sex, “I need you so bad.” Shorts and panties shifted down on your hips, stuck on your knees, he turns you around pressing you to the car, feet kicking your legs open and you could feel his tip prod your entrance.

With one thrust he was home, his hips slapping against yours furiously, your hand drifting own between your thighs to strum on your clit, the pleasure growing. His hand rips yours away, replacing it with his.

“God you’re so fucking good.” Hot on you ear, “So fucking good baby.” That stretch and burn of him, on top of the practiced fingers on your clit brought you over almost immediately. A moan ripping from your lungs, as your clit became overbearingly sensitive. Your hand met his between your legs, trying to stop the steady motions, but he wouldn’t. His other hand left your hip and wrapped around your throat, dragging your back to his chest. “You’re gonna cum for me again.”

You were a mess, whining as two of his fingers slipped into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue, eyes rolling back in your head as you felt yourself gush around his cock. His hips giving a half a dozen sloppy thrusts before he moaned into your neck, emptying himself inside you. You catch your breath against him before your mind unscrambles and you realize that you’ve got cum dripping down your thighs in the middle of the desert.

“I think we needed that.” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before wiping his cum off your thighs with a tissue, bundling it up and tossing it into the plastic bag you’d been using for trash and tying it.

You snort, buttoning your shorts, “Always the romantic.” He grins, taking a sip out of a water bottle before passing it to you.

“It’s warm.” He warns. You scrunch your nose, taking a sip of the warm water, sweat dripping down your back.

“How much longer?” He checks his phone and looks at you with a defeated expression.

“An hour.” You had to change your shorts.

…

“This is it?” Just a pavilion, one on each side of the square and the little circular concrete stepping area and a large plaque on the ground. He’s laughing, the stress of everything that just happened ending in this.

“You can be in four states at once.” You shrug.

Grand Canyon Village, AZ – Mile 3,165

It was busy and a little crowded at the Grand Canyon. Which was kind of to be expected. A lot of people taking pictures with their families and couples taking pictures much like you’d been planning to. But the view.

It took your breath away.

You’d seen different environments on this trip that before you’d never been exposed to. The North East was heavily wooded, and everything was tightly packed together. Having lived in New Jersey and then NYC it was very much the same. You marveled at the mountains on your way to Nashville and when you first hit actual desert you pulled the car over to take a real look. The swamps and muggy weather in New Orleans you hadn’t gotten enough time to explore, but the first time seeing Spanish Moss was unreal.

But this was something else entirely.

Bucky caged you in against the metal gate keeping you from getting to the edge, his chest to your back and rested his head on your shoulder. “This is incredible.” He agreed.

You snapped a picture on your polaroid.

And probably about a dozen pictures of the two of you together. A nice couple from Idaho even took a picture on his phone and one on the polaroid and in return you took their picture and gifted them a polaroid of themselves.

You’d left around dinner time. Ordering in and spending the night in the room after shoving your laundry in the hotel laundry room.

“We’re only eight hours away.” You grin. “Eight more hours until we are at the Pacific.” It feels unreal that you’re almost to the opposite end of the country, but whenever you pulled up the map on your phone that’s where it showed you.

Driving had been getting a little more difficult the closer you got to your destination. You were just itching to just get there already and you were not excited for the drive tomorrow. You hadn’t touched the bed yet, still covered in a thin layer of dust, you could feel it between your toes, but the hunger led you towards eating the sandwich and salad combo from the shop the two of you ordered from before getting into the actual shower.

You sigh, fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair. His mouth attached to your clit in a gentle suck. One hand drifting up to play with your nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Your hips grind against his face. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Almost, almost. His hand was fisting his cock the heat of it making your toes curl, cumming on his tongue. A few more quick tugs had him spilling over the tile. The best thing about hotel bathrooms was the water never went cold. Still hot and steamy as he pressed a kiss to your hip before standing. You bury your face in his neck, wrapping your arms around him as he pulled you close.

A soft rock side to side under the stream.

God you fucking love him.

Driving was honestly a hassle. You couldn’t go more than two hours without wanting to switch or stop, which as you grew closer and closer to California you began to see more houses and more people on the road around you.

His hand on your thigh as you finally crossed the California border, feeling a little more positive about finally getting to the end of the road before having to turn around.

Anaheim, CA – Mile 3,643

You read about California traffic, but it was unreal in person. The car hadn’t moved in a good five minutes you’re sure. How is this even possible? The gridlock because you’d taken an extra hour at lunch and gotten to California around rush hour.

“That was a mistake.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “We should have just hit a drive thru.” He rubbed your thigh affectionately.

“Doesn’t matter now,” He laughs, “We���ll get there.” You know he’s right, but you still feel a little string of irritation with yourself for not just pushing through a little more. “Are you excited?” He’s grinning, a squeeze on your leg.

“I’m very excited.” And you were. There was so much you wanted to see in California. And you both specifically set aside money to spend a day or two at Disneyland having gone to Disney World with both of your families before. Your Mom being a little obsessed, you were going to have to bring her back something for sure.

You had to get In-N-Out. That was a given. You’d almost stopped for it back in Tuscon but reasoned that you had to wait until California. “This is so good.” Bucky picked up some fries you had to order ‘animal-style’ just because it was an option. And it was so good.

“This was worth it.” Over a mouth of burger. Bucky nods,

“So worth it.”

Your toes dipped into the ocean. A hot and beautiful day. Bucky sat back a couple feet laid out on a blanket. You look back on him, propped up on his elbow, smiling at you. The water was warm, and it was unreal that it wasn’t actually green. At the Jersey shore the water is green from all the algae. But not here. It was actually blue.

His arms wrap around your waist, walking you both deeper into the water. The waves rocking gently over your bodies. The sun hot on your skin.

“This was so worth it.” Your legs around his waist in the water, his finger’s toying with your swimsuit bottoms. “Don’t.” Stern. It makes him laugh.

“Don’t what?” Fingers brushing on your labia through your swim bottoms.

“Bucky…” A harder press directly against your clit. Your eyes looking on the shore. “Stop.” Dragging yourself away from him you made him laugh harder, treading water to get back onto the sand, tossing a playful glare over your shoulder. “Pervert.”

A polaroid of the gate, Disneyland.

“The castle is small.” He says. Main Street similar to Disney World itself, but the castle was noticeably smaller than Cinderella’s castle in Orlando. But it was just as magical and just as expensive. You split a hand dipped corn dog and ate dole whip in the afternoon between rides.

It was a fun, but tiring day and left you both a little sunburnt on your nose and cheeks. You’d slept in the next day, barely able to pull yourself out of bed and your legs were sore from walking about ten miles yesterday. You UberEats breakfast to the room, well… lunch. And watched the weather forecast while trying to decide what to do that day, settling down on going to the Santa Monica pier seeing as the day was already half gone.

Bucky began acting a little strange halfway through your stay in California. He seemed anxious and more fidgety than usual. But every time you asked him about it, he shrugged it off as having too much caffeine or just being really excited to be going to go see the Hollywood sign or stopping by the Cecil Hotel, “Just to see it.”

It wasn’t until the night before you were going to start making your way back did you discover the reason why.

Sitting on the trunk of his car, facing the ocean. The food truck where you’d just had fish tacos and chips with guac off to your right, the only real light as you watched the sun set. He offered to go to the other food truck nearby and grab some ice cream. Homemade stuff boasted by the chalkboard sign on the side of the truck.

With his return and the comfortable quiet that came with watching the sun set over the ocean, you feel him shift to your side, fumbling with something before slipping off the trunk, his back to you.

“Bucky?” You watched him take a deep breath and turn, in his hand was a ring box.

…

Bucky had thought about proposing a million times.

Every time you’d bring him coffee at the library. Every time you’d turn down the bed before the two of you went to sleep. He’d almost proposed Christmas, but you’d wanted to drink so he held off.

When you brought up this road trip he started thinking about it, really. And decided that he would do it sometime during this trip.

He kept trying to figure out when he wanted to do it. That night of amazing sex in DC. The night you were babbling and drunk in Nashville. Maybe when he looked at you in that jazz club, your face lit up by the stage lights in New Orleans. He’d almost proposed in San Antonio when you were sweet and needy.  

He thought about it during your argument heading towards the Four Corners Monument but changed his mind. And at the Grand Canyon there were just too many people around. But here it was just the two of you, your car farther away from the crowd gathered by the food trucks. You’d just watched the sun set over the ocean. He knew it was now, he had to do it.

He wanted to do it.

“I had a whole thing… planned out.” He stumbles over his words, “I’ve thought about this every day for years now, I think. And I just… you’re the love of my life. You’re the only person I want to spend it with, and I know we haven’t talked a lot about getting married and I’m ruining this, but… This trip has really confirmed everything I already knew that I felt and I don’t think there’s any better time to ask…

Will you marry me?”

…

The ring felt strange on your finger but was easily ignored as your fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair. The windows in the car were cracked to keep them from steaming up, a practice well versed by both of your exhibitionist tendencies. The goal was to make it back to the hotel, but this abandoned stretch of highway would do just fine.

On his lap in the backseat you grind your hips against his, aching for it. Fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shorts and feeling his hands squeeze your bare ass while you work them down past his knees. A hover to adjust before sinking down.

Wet but not completely prepared, the stretch and burn a little intense. His mouth moving passionately against yours as one hand slipped between you and starting carefully stroking your clit. Your hands meet the head rest, using it as leverage to raise and lower yourself on his dick. His hips slip down on the seat a little to help you, thrusting up to meet your hips.

“I’m not gonna last,” He moans against your mouth. You start to gush around him, whimpering as you grow closer and closer to release. His hand that had been on your waist coming to tangle in your hair and tug, those practiced fingers of his between your legs finally bringing you over. He was quick to follow. Panting as you remain in his lap, feeling him soften, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you in tightly to his chest. Soft and loving,

“This was a really good idea.”