#okay but it’s New Year’s Eve in a few days…I can say I’m just practicing for it lol

[aceofstars16]

My brain, late at night, when I need to go to bed but instead it’s coming up with story ideas:

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Ring my bell, part 4

Part 3

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, mdni 🔞

Steve and Eddie spend the late fall and early winter meeting up as often as they can to fool around. Eddie’s got his club and his band and his dealing at high school parties, while Steve has his job and Robin and the special weekly Scoops Troop hang. They still find plenty of time for each other, Eddie sneaking into Steve’s bedroom on nights when the elder Harringtons are in town, Steve arriving at Forest Hills minutes after Wayne leaves for the late shift.

Most days Eddie is too impatient to wait for Steve to wash off his blockers, so he usually greets Steve with a kiss, then drops to his knees so he can scent him properly. Which quickly becomes him peeling Steve out of his jeans and putting his tongue to good use. He’s so pussy-drunk by the time he’s made Steve come that it only takes a few strokes to have him shooting off in Steve’s hand.

After, Steve will shower, toss Eddie a washcloth for his own mess, and they’ll spend whatever time they have left cuddled up close, talking about anything and everything.

Steve tells Eddie about the weird things customers say and the games he and Robin make up to pass the time. How much his dad keeps pushing for him to apply for a mailroom job at his firm, and how he would literally rather eat glass.

Eddie will talk through the puzzles and traps he has planned for the upcoming Hellfire session, trying them out on Steve to check the difficulty—Steve even helps him build a puzzle around basketball, telling him, “Lucas will get it, don’t worry about them getting stuck.” He’ll do his reading for English aloud so it sticks better in his head, Steve curled up against his chest, struggling to stay awake. Or, on nights he’s feeling particularly brave, Eddie will pull out his songwriting notebook, and show Steve the song he’s working on about him.

They’re spending New Year’s Eve alone at Steve’s house—his parents are in Paris for the holidays—all of their friends thankfully busy so they don’t need an excuse to blow them off.

“Wayne working tonight?” Steve asks as he opens the door on Eddie’s smiling face, his cheeks pink from the cold.

“Nah, he’s out drinking with his buddies. Told me not to wait up. Told him I was spending the evening elsewhere, and with how much of your scent is in my room… He’s figured out I’m seeing someone…” Eddie looks at him with worry in his big, dark eyes. “Is that okay?”

They had both decided to be quiet about all of it: the whole scentmates-hanging out-fooling around-thing until Eddie’s done with school. But Wayne is important to Eddie. The warmth in Steve’s chest is back at the thought of someone else knowing, at it being someone who cares about his alpha. Having someone who will support them without making it a big deal.

Steve doesn’t say all that, just murmurs, “Yeah, you can tell Wayne as much as you want.”

“Thanks, Puppy.” Eddie practically tackles him in a hug, purring as he realizes Steve is already blocker-free for the night, and tucks in tight to his neck. “You should stop wearing them,” he mumbles, not even kissing his neck, but licking it, tongue stroking his mating gland over and over.

“How about you let me close the door so we don’t heat the whole neighborhood.”

Eddie giggles, but complies, allowing Steve to close the door and lead him to the living room where Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve is already playing on the tv, volume turned down low. “I wanna be able to scent you all the time,” Eddie pleads, tossing his leather jacket on a chair and plopping onto the couch.

“Then everyone else could, too. Pretty hard to keep things low-key if everyone can tell I’m the source of all the new scents on you.” And it’s not like Steve is the one pushing for their quiet arrangement; Eddie wants it too.

“Just want people to know you’re taken,” Eddie says softly, whining as Steve straddles his lap and pulls him into a kiss. “Don’t have to know you’re mine yet, just… Taken.”

Steve remembers then, the alpha who had seen his necklace at work a few weeks back and asked him on a date. Eddie had been back in the Horror section, and he’d heard it all. He made Steve come on his tongue three times that night, and Steve had honestly forgotten all about it.

“I could say the same thing,” Steve says, just as soft. He takes Eddie’s left hand in his, taps over his rings, and comes up short. The pig head ring is gone. Eddie doesn’t have any more sniffing to do. In its place is a bird with a forked tail, wings and tail wrapped around Eddie’s middle finger. “Eddie?”

Eddie looks down, smiles to himself when he sees Steve has noticed the new ring. “It’s a swallow. They mate for life, and they migrate really far, but they always come home. I don’t plan on going far, but I promise I’ll always come home to you, Stevie.”

Lifting Eddie’s hand, Steve places a reverent kiss to his knuckles, then he pins him back against the couch and melds their mouths together in a greedy kiss.

It’s easy to stay there, making out, grinding down against Eddie’s rapidly hardening cock, so Steve does, lets his body do his talking for the moment. His scent blossoms and mixes with Eddie’s, making the living room smell like a proper den, and he wishes with all his heart that they could simply have this all the time.

But when Eddie leaves in the morning, Steve will have to spray air freshener to cover over their mixed scents. His parents can’t come home to the house smelling like an alpha they don’t know, and he isn’t ready to have anyone—even Robin—commenting on his scent at work.

Steve pulls back with tears in his eyes, ready to whisper apologies in Eddie’s ear, but his alpha is smiling up at him. “It’s okay, Puppy. I understand, I promise I do!” Awkwardly, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. “I thought this might help.”

Eddie opens the box and reveals a tiny key charm, claw clasp at the top so Steve can easily clip it on or take it off his necklace. So his parents won’t ask questions. But he can have it any other time. Robin will give him shit about it, but maybe he’s ready for Robin to give him shit about it.

“I love you,” Steve blurts, snapping the jewelry box closed so his gift doesn’t get lost, and taking Eddie by the sides of his face. “I love you.”

Eddie grins, and guides Steve’s face down to his, foreheads touching as they breathe one another in. “Love you, too.”

part 5

[magicshopaholic]

A Night of Firsts

Summary: Yoongi spends the night in the studio with the last person he wants to be with. Seokjin prepares for an important dinner.

Pairing: Seokjin x OC, Yoongi x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Best friends, coworkers; mild humour, banter, awkwardness, tension, angst

Word count: 12.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, smoking, mentions of pregnancy and sex

A/N: Tried something here (read: this isn't regular angst; it's cool angst). Takes place a couple of months after New Year’s Eve Eve. Banner by the lovely @hobeemin - thank you, Beezy <3

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive @faearchives @margopinkerton @dreaming-with-happiness @confessionsofamarshlily @purpleseoul7

Listen to: "black sun" by death cab for cutie

seokjin masterlist | yoongi masterlist | main masterlist

“That was good.”

Yoongi’s voice takes on an encouraging lilt that sounds rather unfamiliar - to Miso at least. She turns and gives him a blank look, just enough to convey her acknowledgement of his tone.  

The young idol in the recording booth stutters a thank you, while Yoongi returns Miso’s glance with a slight raise of the eyebrows.

Miso struggles not to roll her eyes and speaks into the mic, pausing the track. “Yeah - but try it again, a little calmer and relaxed this time?”

The idol - his name escapes her - nods and repeats the line, his clear soprano ringing through the speakers. “How was that?” he asks expectantly.

She forces a smile onto her face with remarkable ease. “So good.” Keeping the expression frozen on her face, she turns off the mic and tilts her head towards Yoongi. “You see that was exactly the same as before, right?” she mutters.

Yoongi purses his lips to suppress a smile; once in a while, when Miso’s snark and sarcasm isn’t directed at him, she can actually be funny.

“He just needs some time,” he replies and turns on the mic again. “That was better, Jungwon,” he says to the idol, whose eyes seem to mist over at the compliment. “Let’s do one more take for comparison. This time, can you go a little higher at the end? It’ll sound more playful, natural. Yeah? Okay, let’s go.”

Jungwon sings the same line again, and even Miso can’t help but raise her eyebrows at the improvement. 

“Damn,” she mutters, giving him a thumbs up from behind the plexiglass. “What superpower is that?”

“Practical feedback,” supplies Yoongi, giving Jungwon a rare smile of approval. “You tell them what to do instead of what you want. Makes a world of difference.”

“Huh.” Miso nods, apparently impressed. “Guess it’s a good thing I got assigned to you. You may have a lot to teach me.”

“I don’t think this assignment is going to last that long,” he quips, giving her an innocent shrug as she smiles widely in response to his sarcasm.

“Um, hyung,” stutters Jungwon from inside. “I’m - I’m getting a call from my manager, so can I - can I -”

“Yeah, of course.” Yoongi shakes his head slightly as the door to the studio swings shut. “He needs to relax,” he mutters.

“That was the feedback I gave him. Wasn’t applicable enough, apparently,” adds Miso, swinging slightly in her chair. “Shall we listen to what we have so far?”

Yoongi motions for her to play it and leans back in his swivelling chair, crossing his fingers on his stomach and closing his eyes. The audio plays, nearly three hours worth of Jungwon’s hard work and almost a day’s of their own in production. Miso is equally silent until the track ends and for a few moments after, until Yoongi winces slightly.

“It’s not our best work,” he admits, sighing. “Maybe it’ll be better once we get that bridge arrangement from Donghyuk. He should send it over in a bit.”

“Can’t we just ask him how long it’ll take?” she asks, already reaching for her phone. “If it’s going to take all night, the least we can do is get some sleep before working on it in the morning.” She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “God, I hope it takes all night.”

“You would think,” he says, stretching and rolling his chair closer to the controls, “but we need to mix the whole thing tonight. Marketing wants a sample in the morning so they can decide whether or not it can go in the soundtrack package of the group’s video game.”

Miso is quiet for a moment. “In that case, it can’t get done fast enough. I’m going to go next door and follow up with Donghyuk.” 

“Be my guest,” he mutters, putting on a pair of headphones.

She’s about to leave when she stops and turns, the door half open. “Maybe we can sweet talk Marketing into giving us an extension. What was that manager’s name again? Seulgi?”

—

“Wait, what’s his girlfriend’s name again? Seulgi?”

Nari shrugs noncommittally as the elevator pings and opens up on Seokjin’s floor. They step out into the dim lighting, Nari’s heart jerking uncomfortably with every beat. The closer she gets to this dinner, the more it feels like a terrible idea. 

But Seokjin proposed it - a double date - and she had no choice, especially when he offered it at a high school reunion, surrounded by their hometown and their old friends. It was Seokjin’s way of extending an olive branch. That far away from their everyday lives, it felt easier to talk to each other again, even forget for a moment how messed up everything was between them. It was a glimpse of their old friendship and Nari did what was necessary to hold on to it, which included saying yes to dinner with Seokjin and his new girlfriend.

A few feet away from his apartment, she halts. “Jason,” she begins, turning to him. Tall and freshly showered, in a black button-down with the sleeves folded halfway up his forearms, it occurs to her suddenly just how much she owes him for accompanying her tonight.

He tilts his head slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just… thank you for this. I know it’s probably a little awkward because it’s technically a double date and you and I aren’t…” She trails off and is relieved to see him shrug easily. “But I’m glad you’re here. I owe you.” She doesn’t know how to word the fact that she’s glad there will be one person in her corner tonight, but from the knowing nod he gives her, he might just know.

Jason squints for a moment and pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It’s no big deal. Honestly, from what you’re telling me, I may be the only person for whom this night won’t be awkward,” he points out. “And besides, anything to get out of the hospital tonight. If I have to listen to Heejin brag one more time about the cool bone graft surgery she stole from me, I might throw a shoe at her head.”

Nari pauses. “So… you’re saying I’m doing you a favour as much as you’re doing me one?”

“Probably not as big, but, yeah.”

“Works for me.” Exhaling and forcing a smile, she begins walking again, this time not stopping until she’s actually in front of Seokjin’s door. She rings the doorbell, when Jason suddenly swears under his breath. “What?”

“Damn it, I forgot my inhaler in the car.” He pats his pockets. “I’ll be back in one minute, okay?” Patting her shoulder and ignoring her frantic shaking of the head, he jogs down the corridor and presses the elevator button, stepping in just as the front door opens.

“Hey.” Seokjin gives her a small smile and steps aside, motioning for her to enter. Nari steps inside, the familiarity of the hall making her nervous. “Where’s Jason?”

“Um, he forgot something in the car. He should be up in a minute.”

“Oh. Okay.” Seokjin shuts the door, their shoulders brushing momentarily. He’s in black, too, the collar of his shirt open and the hollow of his neck exposed. He’s in slacks, though, and barefoot, something oddly and heartbreakingly domestic about it.

Nari slips off her shoes and follows him inside, somewhat regretting her decision to wear make-up tonight and trying to remember the last time she was in this house. It looks exactly the same, except for minor differences. She sets her bag inside by one of the chairs and is about to sit on the sofa out of habit, but stops herself at the last minute.

“This is for you,” she says, suddenly remembering. Retrieving a bottle of red wine from her tote bag, she hands it to him.

“Wow, thank you.” Seokjin nods and briefly skims the label. “That’s really nice.” He walks over to the open kitchen and places the bottle on the island where plates, cutlery and napkins are neatly stacked, ready for use. Pausing, he turns to her again.

“Do you want a drink?”

“I’m on call.”

Seokjin falls silent and nods. It occurs to Nari that he may have wanted a drink, but was trying to be polite. She considers asking for a glass of wine anyway when he speaks.

“Is Jason alright?”

“What? Yeah, I guess.” She shrugs. “We parked a little way down the street. Where’s, uh…”

Seokjin’s eyes shutter over slightly. “Seulgi.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Stuck in traffic. She should be here any minute.”

Silence again. Nari half-wishes she’d declined this dinner - or accepted the drink. Neither of those options would even come close to fixing anything, but they might have made this particular moment less unpleasant or completely non-existent.

“Thanks for coming.” Seokjin tries again. “I was a little afraid you might decide not to.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

There’s a moment where they hold each other’s gaze and she thinks he’s about to retort. She almost wants him to, not wanting to be the only one making this night uncomfortable. But then he simply nods once and looks away, slipping his hands in his pocket.

Nari swallows, already feeling a trickle of shame creeping up her throat at that jab. “The food smells great,” she ventures, and the smell wafting from the kitchen instantly seems stronger.

Seokjin cracks a smile. “Thanks. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, definitely. Kind of skipped lunch, so…”

He looks like he’s about to ask, but visibly changes tacks. “It’s bulgogi and japchae,” he states.

“Sounds good.” The awkward silence this time feels like a physical attack so she continues with reckless abandon. “By the way, you didn’t - you didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” she stammers, gesturing to the kitchen. “We could’ve just ordered in.”

“Oh, it was no problem,” he says immediately, shaking his head. “Unless… do you want to order in? We - we can, if you want -”

“No, no, of course not -”

“It’s really okay -”

Mercifully, the doorbell rings just then and both Seokjin and Nari break off abruptly. Exchanging a gaze of pure panic and a mutual relief, Seokjin moves past her to get to the door.

—

Meanwhile, Yoongi is hanging on to his last vestiges of patience. 

“Jungwon,” he says deliberately into the mic, “it’s not a contest. Okay? It’s a song about freedom. You’re not a trainee anymore and you’re not going to get cut at the end of the night.” Giving him an encouraging nod, he takes his finger off the button and sits back in the chair. 

“Trainwreck,” mutters Miso, sounding as annoyed as he feels. 

“Don’t,” he warns her quietly. “We can’t have him getting discouraged right now. He needs to finish recording this tonight.”

“Discouraged?” She frowns at him, looking slightly incredulous. “I think we passed discouraged a while ago. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears. You have maybe… twenty minutes before that bomb goes off.”

She’s right, Yoongi realises with some dread. “Jungwon!” he calls into the mic. “You’re doing great!”

Next to him, Miso snorts. “Dude, that convinced no one.”

“Not helping,” he hisses. “You know what, Jungwon? Take five. Go get a coffee and come back, and we’ll take it from the top.”

The young idol lowers his head, looking crestfallen, and slowly trudges out of the studio. 

Yoongi watches him leave before turning to Miso. “You know, you could try and help him through this.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And what is this exactly?”

“The - the process. Encourage him a little bit, make him feel like he belongs here. He’s just a kid.”

“A - he’s twenty-two,” she corrects him, looking unimpressed. “And I’m sorry, okay? I’m not his therapist - it’s not my job to hold his hand. My job was to mix the instrumentals and come up with a complete arrangement, which is what I spent all day doing,” she reminds him. “I gave you six options and at least one of them is decent.”

Unfortunately, Yoongi cannot argue with this, for she did provide him with a range of choices for the final mixing session. They’re better than decent; in fact, he’s having trouble choosing between two of them. She’s not a prodigy, but she’s talented - and is coming alarmingly close to churning out the kind of music he genuinely approves of.

But he isn’t about to admit any of this to her. Compliments with Miso are like navigating a field of landmines: take one wrong step and the dynamic between them is instantly changed.

“Working with the singer is also part of this job,” he tells her instead. “So is encouraging them and getting the best out of them. Or they’ll do a subpar job of it and your precious arrangements won’t matter because the finished song will suck.”

Miso sighs. “Fine. Let him come back and I’ll try to coddle him through the process. Just… stop pretending he’s a child.”

“You have no idea what he’s had to go through to get here,” he argues. “He was a trainee for four years. It’s absolute hell. The ones who are lucky enough to debut come out with more armour than you’ll know.”

“Seriously? Armour?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond, his cheeks heating up slightly. It’s something he never realised he did, saying things that sounded more dramatic than he intended. But Miso noticed, and picked up on it. It was one of many quirks in each other that they noted and leveraged, and this one annoyed him just as much as the others.

“Yes, armour,” he repeats, opening up one of Miso’s arrangement files from earlier today.

“Is it armour that’s keeping him here -” She checks her phone, “- three hours longer than he was meant to be?”

“It is, actually. It’s called hard work and sacrifice.”

The insult in his tone doesn’t escape her. “And obviously, I have no concept of either of those things,” she says sarcastically.

“Your words, not mine.”

“So that is what you’re saying.”

Yoongi finally turns to her, giving her a look. “Wasn’t that a limited edition Range Rover I saw dropping you off this morning?”

It’s Miso’s turn to flush, but she doesn’t look away. “I fail to see what business that is of yours,” she says coldly.

“People who get dropped off to work in their father’s fancy cars aren’t known for things like sacrifice, is all.” He adjusts a few settings and plays the track again but at low volume. It’s the third option Miso sent him earlier today; he overlays the audio on it and they listen to Jungwon’s latest attempt.

They’re silent for a minute and a half while the music plays, possibly the longest ninety seconds of Yoongi’s life.

“Well,” says Miso finally, when the track ends abruptly, “I think that’s enough sacrifice for one night. I think I need a smoke. You know, to let all of that armoured talent wash over my privileged self,” she adds dryly, getting up. “If you can take a break from Jungwon’s masterpiece for a minute, you’re welcome to join me.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer her, staring sullenly at the rubbish recording they have so far. It’s going to be a long night, and his options right now are attempting to salvage a second-rate audio sample or hanging out one on one with Kang Miso.

The answer comes surprisingly simply to him.

“Hey, wait up,” he says a moment later, pushing his chair back and standing up, feeling his knees stretch. “I could use a smoke, too.”

—

It’s only been an hour and yet, it feels like one of the longest nights of Seokjin’s life. He can’t tell exactly what’s wrong, though - other than everything. 

Seulgi and Jason arrived together, giving him and Nari some respite from the painful awkwardness that seems to have replaced two decades of friendship. After the initial ten minutes which consisted of introductions, typical small talk and serving of drinks, he was forced to acknowledge the lack of talking points in common between two doctors and two people in entertainment.

Jason, for his part, seems to be the only person keeping the conversation going with ease. Seokjin suspects Nari would have filled him in somewhat on the situation, but he can’t imagine what she would have said exactly. My best friend that you met that I slept with and told my mom was a no-go from the dating angle but still asked if he had feelings for me and got upset when he lied and then had a pregnancy scare with followed by months of tense conversation is inviting us to dinner with the girlfriend he met when he was supposed to meet me at a party?

It seems far too wordy, even for Nari. She seems to be cordial enough to Seulgi, though, whom Seokjin can’t thank enough for being so graceful even after a long day of arguing with producers, only to end the day having dinner with her boyfriend and the best friend he hooked up with.

“Oh, Jason,” she says, after a brief recalling of the discussion she had earlier today with Yoongi and his abrasive assistant producer, “your glass is empty. Do you want a refill?”

“Sure, thanks,” he replies, smiling and moving to stand up from his place on the sofa. But Seulgi motions for him to stay, already gliding towards the kitchen island where the opened bottle of wine is placed and bringing it back. “Thank you,” he repeats when she pours him a generous serving.

“You’re welcome. Nari?” She looks over at Nari, who’s said about eight words in the last hour. “Are you sure I can’t get you a drink? Even a small one?”

Nari pauses for a moment before answering, her facial muscles moving in what could be the beginning of a forced smile, but doesn’t reach all the way. “Like I said, I’m on call,” she says. Then, in a slightly lower voice, she adds, “Just like I was twenty minutes ago.”

Seulgi pokes her tongue into her cheek and her gaze falls slightly. She looks like she’s about to say something but finally decides not to, straightening up and placing the bottle on a coaster on the coffee table. 

Seokjin stares at Nari. “It can be non-alcoholic. Ginger ale or… lemonade or something?”

She gives him the briefest of glances. “I’m really okay.”

There’s another terse silence during which Seokjin resists the urge to close his eyes and sigh. He stares into his own glass of wine, the same one he’d started the night with. Much as he’d like to drown his annoyance in alcohol, he’s honestly a little afraid of what he might say if he drinks too much, and the last thing he needs is for this night to become any more uncomfortable.

“Uh, Seokjin,” begins Jason, making him look up. “Nari tells me you cook. The food smells great, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” he responds, nodding a little too hard. “In fact - shall we eat? If everyone’s hungry?”

There’s an awkward chorus of yeses and of courses as everyone gets to their feet and shuffles towards the dining table, a simple and elegant eight-seater adjacent to the kitchen. Seokjin stops at the kitchen and begins gathering the various serving dishes when someone approaches him.

“Need a hand?” Jason offers good-naturedly.

“Uh… yeah, sure. Thanks.”

They begin assembling cutlery and Seokjin turns on the stove for a few seconds to heat the food. It occurs to him that Nari and Seulgi are alone at the table; it makes him vaguely anxious.

Almost as if Jason is reading his mind, he speaks, forcing Seokjin out of his reverie.

“By the way, thanks for having us over.” He waits until Seokjin looks at him. “Obviously, the food looks amazing and… Seulgi seems great.”

“Thanks.” Seokjin nods, feeling an unexpected gratitude towards him. “She is. And… glad you guys could make it. I know you work a lot.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Nari’s best friend, right?” He half-chuckles, sounding a bit uncomfortable now. “Also, she’s not… she - she’s been working really long hours lately. Lost a patient yesterday… I’m guessing she hasn’t got a lot of sleep.”

It takes Seokjin a moment to realise this information is meant to be an explanation for Nari’s behaviour tonight, meaning he isn’t imagining it. He turns off the stove but doesn’t move, wondering how he’s supposed to respond to this. He gives Jason a sideways glance.

When he’d invited Nari to dinner, he hadn’t quite known what the status of her relationship with Jason was. In an effort to not pry, he’d simply said you can bring Jason, too, if you want. Evidently, she did, and while Seokjin can’t help but be glad about it, it still gives him no indication as to whether they’re actually together, although it seems fairly likely.

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to ask Nari about it, before remembering it’s none of his business.

Seokjin clears his throat. “It’s… it’s okay. I get it.”

Jason nods, looking rather like he wants to ask something but apparently thinks the better of it. “Nice shirt,” he remarks, a joking lilt to his tone.

Seokjin looks down to look at his black shirt before noticing Jason wearing the exact same thing. He cracks a smile, a real smile, and his face feels slightly better.

“You, too.”

When they arrive at the table, it’s to see Nari and Seulgi on opposite seats at the table, the head left conspicuously vacant. Nari is on her phone, while Seulgi seems to be nursing what’s left of her drink, gulping down the last sip when she sees him and Jason.

“Oh, thank God! I mean… looks great.”

Seokjin catches her eye and they share a look of amusement at her slip of tongue. He and Jason set the food on the table and take their seats next to their respective dates. 

“I think we can serve ourselves,” says Seulgi, picking up the bowl of beef and offering it to Jason. “Nari, do you want to start with the meat?”

“I’ll start with the noodles,” she says instead, barely looking at Seulgi and reaching straight for the bowl filled to the brim with noodles.

“I’ll have the meat,” murmurs Seokjin, taking the bowl from his girlfriend. He touches her hand meaningfully as she passes it to him and ladles some into her bowl before moving to his own.

Everyone serves themselves in relative silence, with only mutters about passing dishes around. 

“Oh, wow!” Jason exclaims and everyone jumps slightly. He points enthusiastically to the food with his chopsticks and nods at Seokjin appreciatively. “This is excellent.”

Seokjin smiles back and nods. “Thanks, I’m glad you like it. Are the scallions chopped appropriately this time?” he asks Seulgi, a little teasingly, referring to an inside joke.

She laughs and pats his shoulder. “They’re perfect.”

He grins and looks diagonally across at Nari, who’s sweeping a mouthful of japchae into her mouth. “Nari?” he prompts after a moment.

Nari waits to swallow before looking up at him, her face slowly relaxing into the first genuine smile of the night. “It’s really good,” she agrees softly.

His chest suddenly feeling lighter, Seokjin smiles back and nods. Maybe Jason was right - maybe she was actually just tired and hungry, for now that she’s eating, she seems to be marginally more participative. It’s still Seulgi and Jason carrying the conversation like champions, with Seokjin joining in occasionally, but Nari is at least listening and chuckling on cue, which is a decided improvement from where they began.

Maybe it’s his imagination, but the entire mood of the night improves after that. Jason seems relieved as well; he responds to Nari encouragingly and - Seokjin notes with a twinge of envy he didn’t expect - with an indulgence that can only come with extensive familiarity.

In theory, it increases the likelihood of them being a couple. However - and Seokjin has absolutely no way to back this up except that he knows Nari - he doesn’t think they actually are together. There’s smiling, quiet laughing, shared looks and amused nodding, all of which could indicate a relationship but could also be signs of a really good friendship, for weren’t all of these things that he and Nari did as well, for years?

“Hey.” Seulgi nudges him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says immediately, squeezing her knee. He tries not to read too much into the lingering look she gives him before turning away, and resolves to focus on more appropriate topics.

It works for a while; Jason tells them all about a fellow resident who irritates the life out of him, complete with a mimicry of her which, if Nari’s reaction is anything to go by, is completely accurate.

“She sounds like a nightmare,” comments Seulgi, shaking her head sympathetically.

“She’s actually not that bad,” disagrees Nari, slapping Jason’s shoulder lightly. “You made her look bad in the skills lab last week when she was just trying to ask a question.”

“And I apologised,” he reminds her. “I let her get a full night’s sleep, even when the ER was flooded with all those pesky, cool surgeries,” he adds with a straight face.

Nari snorts while Seokjin lets out a low whistle. “Wow. You guys are cutthroat.”

Jason shrugs. “Part of the job. I’m sure your jobs are, too, no? Dealing with fame can’t be easy - I would presume,” he adds quickly.

“Not as much as you’d think. Seulgi actually deals with artists and producers,” he tells them, gesturing to her. “That’s cutthroat.”

Seulgi chuckles. “I wouldn’t say cutthroat, but some of them can be a pain for sure.”

“Oh, hey, how did your meeting with Yoongi and his team go?”

“Oh, that.” She sighs and shakes her head. “They managed to talk themselves into a day’s extension for one of the demos.”

“Yoongi asked for an extension?”

“No, his assistant producer did. Kang Chanel,” she states with another sigh. “It’s literally impossible to win a negotiation with her. The last time we tried, that meeting got extended by hours - and we still couldn’t come to a compromise.”

“Damn,” remarks Jason, nodding. “Can’t imagine that. Negotiation is my worst fear - well, Nari’s worst fear for sure,” he adds with a grin at her.

“Yeah, that wasn’t a great night. But it looked up a little after that,” adds Seulgi, smiling at Seokjin. “Remember? It was raining and traffic was backed up fully on the route to my apartment so I came over here? He made me homemade jajjangmyeon,” she tells them. “It was the first thing I’d eaten in - what, twelve hours? And it actually felt like coming home. I mean, you know now that he’s pretty good in the kitchen,” she adds, gesturing to the food on the table.

It takes Seokjin a second to realise that Nari’s gaze is on him; when he looks up and meets her eyes, it’s like being hit by a bus. There’s more meaning in that one look than she’s acknowledged all night and even though she looks away after a moment, her gaze falling to her lap, Seokjin can hear the word echoing between them like a chant. Jajjangmyeon.

Jason laughs at Seulgi’s anecdote, and Seokjin is too preoccupied to realise that Seulgi doesn’t quite respond to it. He’s still looking at Nari, who seems to be done with dinner.

“Um,” she murmurs, taking the napkin off her lap and placing it on her table. “Do you mind if I use the ladies’ room?” Barely waiting for his nod from the corner of her eye, she stands up and walks away. There’s a moment when she’s about to enter his bedroom, presumably out of habit, before abruptly changing directions and going down the hall.

“Actually, I really need to check on this patient, too,” says Jason apologetically. “Do you mind if I -” He picks up his phone.

“No, not at all.” Seokjin watches him leave the dining area and head into the balcony, sliding the door shut behind him.

“Okay, what is going on?” Seulgi asks immediately, her voice low and level.

“What?”

“Something is happening,” she elaborates, twisting in her chair slightly to face him. “There’s a vibe, from… everyone,” she explains, and Seokjin suspects she’s diplomatically avoided using Nari’s name. “It’s like something has happened or is happening… and everybody is in on it but me.”

Seokjin shakes his head slowly. “I - no. I mean, yeah, it was awkward in the beginning -” He looks back surreptitiously in the direction of the guest bathroom to make sure there’s no one there. “But it’s getting better, right?”

Seulgi observes him, a slight frown on her forehead. “What happened between you and Nari?” she asks plainly.

He shrugs. “Nothing. I mean - apart from what I told you.”

“You hooked up.”

“Yeah.”

She continues looking at him, but he can’t detect any suspicion in her tone. “That’s it? You didn’t date?”

“God, no,” he answers immediately. “Never even came close. We - we hooked up a couple of times but… we never really ventured down the dating territory,” he clarifies, realising a moment later that he’s not even lying.

She sighs, biting her lip. “Then what is it? Did I say something? Does she have a problem with me?” she asks, dropping all attempts at keeping her concerns general. “I don’t - I can’t tell. Or is it Jason?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, although he does have an inkling. But it’s too conceited a possibility for him to entertain. “You haven’t done anything,” he assures her.

Seulgi nods slowly. “You’re absolutely sure nothing else happened between you two? Are you guys fighting?”

“We -” Seokjin sighs, for it’s the question of the hour. “I have no idea. It’s a bit awkward right now, I know. It’s complicated.” He pauses, wondering where to begin. “We hooked up, it was fine for a while, then that party happened where you lent me the wrist brace… oh, then I snapped at her at my brother’s wedding - but we resolved that…” He’s just thinking out loud at this point, frowning and pressing a finger to his mouth. “Then we had that pregnancy scare and then I was supposed to meet her at this fundraiser - I guess she’s still mad about that… but we were fine at the reunion last month, too, so I don’t -”

“Wait. Back up.” Seulgi interrupts him. “You guys had a pregnancy scare?”

“Um, yeah,” he answers, a little uneasily. “It was… we were stupid - but I swear, it’s the only time I’ve ever not used a condom, if that’s what you’re -”

“And it was after your brother’s wedding? Didn’t your brother get married, like… six months ago?”

Seokjin hesitates. “Uh… something like that.” When she doesn’t say anything, just frowns deeper as though just realising something, he feels his heart start to race uncomfortably. “Seulgi, what -”

“You thought she was pregnant?”

“But she wasn’t,” he clarifies, still sure he’s missing something. “It was genuinely just a scare.” 

“Pregnancy scares aren’t just scares,” she disagrees, looking a bit incredulous now. “They’re - they’re terrifying. And you two -” She touches her fingers to her temples. “Oh, my God,” she whispers. “You thought she was pregnant…”

“Seulgi -”

But before Seokjin can continue, the balcony door slides open with a sound and Jason returns. A second later, the bathroom door unlocks and Nari appears, running a hand through her hair.

Seokjin chances a glance at Seulgi, who’s staring at her plate, still looking troubled. With his heart sinking slightly, he looks around the table and forces a smile.

“Dessert, anyone?”

—

“Wow.” Yoongi sits back and raises his eyebrows.  

“I know.” Miso nods, albeit sounding less surprised. “That was actually good. Tonight may not be a complete waste after all.”

“Was that better?” Minji, the featured artist, asks from inside the recording booth. Next to her, Jungwon looks daringly hopeful.

“Much better,” says Yoongi into the mic, giving them a thumbs up. 

“Great.” Minji gives them a satisfied smile and hooks her headphones on the mic. Next to her Jungwon follows suit. “Does that mean we can take five?”

“Sure,” says Yoongi, too relieved to deny them anything right now. “Come back quick, though. I want to listen to the last version together and make any changes, if needed.”

Both the artists nod and duck out, leaving him alone with Miso.

“Thank God,” he sighs, stretching in his chair and running his hands over his face. “I think I could cry,” he adds dryly.

Miso frowns, looking amused. “It wasn’t that good. But a definite improvement. We can work with it now, at least.”

Yoongi nods as she rolls her chair closer to the controls and starts layering the recording over the instrumentals. “Try starting it half a second after the beat,” he advises, watching as she nods and obliges. They listen to it in silence and she turns briefly to give him an appreciative nod.

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks.” He checks his watch. “Jesus, it’s eleven pm. Can you think how much sooner we could’ve had this track if we’d scheduled Minji to come in earlier?”

“Wouldn’t matter because Donghyuk is still going to take all night,” she reminds him, her eyes focused on the laptop screen.

“Yeah, but we could’ve had more time to experiment with the track.” He shakes his head. “Anyway. Lesson learnt. Minji is our secret weapon to get the talent out of Jungwon.”

To his surprise, Miso chuckles. “Is she ever.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“What?” When he doesn’t answer, Miso twists her shoulders to look at him. “Wait, are you serious?”

Yoongi starts to feel a familiar annoyance brewing at her superior tone but tries to keep it at bay, at least until they’re done with their work. He frowns mildly back at her, as though he doesn’t quite care what she’s getting at.

“Serious about what?”

“Minji, Min Suga. You think she inspired some hidden talent out of Jungwon? In the recording booth?” She chuckles again and turns back to the laptop. “Dude, they’re totally screwing.”

Yoongi stays frozen in his chair for a few moments while Miso continues mixing the track, with disjointed sounds emanating from the speakers every few seconds.

“Okay,” she says, sitting back slightly. “I think we have a rudimentary version at least for Donghyuk.”

“What do you mean they’re screwing?”

Miso turns around blankly, as though already having forgotten what they were talking about.

“They’re… having relations?” she ventures, before shrugging and going back to the laptop. “I don’t know, what do you think screwing means?”

“They’re - no.” Yoongi scoffs but it comes out more like a choke. “You have no way of knowing that.”

“Really? You think Minji tutored Jungwon out of the goodness of her heart?”

“Yes,” he says forcefully. “She debuted five years before him. And we all mentor our juniors.”

“And sometimes, some of you sleep with them, too.” Miso shakes her head, still adjusting the track. “What’s the big deal, anyway? It wouldn’t be the first time someone hooked up with a coworker.”

“Yeah, but -“ Yoongi breaks off, for she’s right, but he’d sooner dunk his laptop into a fountain than admit that to her. “I still don’t think so. They were singing a love song; they were meant to sound like they were in love.”

Miso snickers. “I didn’t say anything about love,” she reminds him wryly, before tilting her head at the screen. “Can we try adding a synth kind of sound in this segment here?”

“Uh, sure, go for it,” he says distractedly. “I think you’re wrong, though. I don’t think they’re hooking up.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t look at him. “I’m pretty sure they are. I could tell by the way they were looking at each other.”

Yoongi squints at her. “You could tell by a look?” he asks incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am. That’s how I figured out my mother was sleeping with my twenty-two year old maths tutor.” When he doesn’t respond, she turns to him. “What?”

“You know, a lot of your stories would be more impactful with fewer details,” he informs her, just as the door to the studio opens and Jungwon and Minji enter, holding cups of coffee and looking fresh and energetic.

Yoongi chalks it down to caffeine. “Okay,” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Are we ready to work on the track?” Without waiting for a response, he pulls the laptop to him and clicks on Miso’s completed version. “Listen carefully and tell me what you think,” he tells them.

“Sure,” says Minji, scooching a bit on the sofa so Jungwon can join her. “Hit it.”

Pointedly ignoring Miso’s knowing look, Yoongi plays the track. Both their voices flow out of the speakers, filling the recording booth for everyone to listen and provide their feedback. As the session goes on and Minji stops him here and there to give her inputs, Jungwon adds on to it, Yoongi discusses it and Miso silently observes and speaks only when spoken to, Yoongi feels his mood start to sour slightly.

An hour and forty minutes later, after several rounds of inputs and rough editing, Minji and Jungwon take their leave. With much more work in front of them, Yoongi watches them pack up a little sullenly, sighing deeply when the door closes.

“I hate this,” he mutters, before dropping his head back and groaning.

“Why?” Miso frowns. “That was actually productive. Minji had some good thoughts.”

“No, I hate that - that you’re right,” he says tightly, before sighing again. “They’re definitely hooking up.”

It takes her a moment to realise what he’s said and she laughs quietly. “What convinced you?”

“Just… the way they were around each other. He’s hanging on to her every word,” he adds, disgruntled. 

“Yeah, it’s nauseating to watch. But she’s making him more of a collaborator than just a puppet who sings,” she points out fairly.

Yoongi glances sideways at Miso, the irony of this statement not lost on him. 

“What?”

“You weren’t much of a collaborator right now, if we’re really going there.”

Miso stares at him, her face betraying nothing. “What are you talking about?”

“Please,” he mutters, turning back to his laptop but not really looking at anything. “You said maybe five words that whole session.”

“I was taking notes. And I’ll be translating every single one of them into edits. The good ones anyway,” she adds wryly.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, more patiently than he feels, for not only is this his job, it might just be the hardest part of his job. 

She swivels her chair around to face him. “What do you mean, Min Suga?”

He doesn’t take the bait. “There’s more to being a producer than just mixing good tracks. You’re the creator of the song - you’re literally producing it. Collaborating with the artists is part of that process.”

Miso’s eyes flicker and she looks down at her lap, her jaw hardening slightly. “Is it so hard for you to pay me a compliment without tacking on a bunch of things I’m doing wrong?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “What?”

“You can just say my track was good. It won’t kill you.”

It might, he thinks. “Fine. Your track was good,” he admits honestly. “It was like something I would’ve made a few years into my role as a producer. You have an experimental mindset.”

She looks a little taken aback, as though she hadn’t quite expected him to be so blunt about it. The corner of her mouth twitches and she looks at her lap again before looking up. 

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Jesus. No.”

She pauses before nodding stiffly. “Thank you,” she says nonchalantly, turning her chair back around to face the laptop.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, staring at her side profile. Her skin, already pale, looks translucent under the white light from the recording booth. He sees her glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“And… point taken on the other thing.”

It’s as good as it’s going to get, he decides. He shifts in his chair to get into a more comfortable position as she starts editing the music. 

“We’re going to have to bring in Jungwon to redo this whole section,” states Yoongi a little while later, shaking his head at the same fifteen second segment they’ve been playing over and over again. “He sounds like he’s drugged.”

Miso chortles. “You may have to bring in his girlfriend, too, if you want anything useful to come out of him.”

He clicks his tongue in disgust. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, lighten up. They’re young, they’re working all the time,” she reasons. “It’s natural.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“Really? You’ve never hooked up with a coworker?” she asks sceptically.

“Not that it’s any of your business but no, I haven’t. Not as a senior and definitely not as a rookie,” he adds, shaking his head. “He needs to focus on his work.”

Miso frowns. “Weren’t you the one that was on my case a little while ago about being too hard on him? And now you’re doing a one-eighty over something that, honestly, is none of your business.”

“How is it not my business?” he argues. “He’s underperforming unless she’s around, they took two very unnecessary breaks in the middle of our editing session, and they left before actually listening to the finished version,” he lists, holding up his fingers. “This is Jungwon’s first solo, in his first year of debut. It’s ridiculous.”

Yoongi can sense her curiosity at his outburst and he wishes he’d kept his mouth shut. But it’s late, the food they’ve ordered is still on its way, and Donghyuk doesn’t seem to be any closer to finishing his arrangement so they can call it a night.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little uptight?”

He bristles. “No. I don’t. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, of course not, because I have no concept of professionalism,” she says sarcastically. “Let me just add that to the list of things I lack.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Way to make this about you.”

“Aren’t you making Jungwon’s personal life about you?”

He flushes again but rallies, giving her an extremely unimpressed look. “Everybody’s entitled to a personal life. Just don’t mix it with a professional one.”

“Interesting,” she says, finally leaning away from the laptop and he feels an instant sense of foreboding. “That lady from Marketing that we had a meeting with today, Seulgi - isn’t she dating an idol? I’m pretty sure I know his name,” she says, frowning deeply and snapping her fingers, pretending to remember before her forehead clears. “But I definitely know what group he’s in.”

A faint smirk flashes across her face, and Yoongi finds it insufferable. “Seokjin and Seulgi don’t actually work together. And his dating life is none of my business.”

“But wouldn’t that make you a hypocrite? What?” she asks when he groans loudly. “Afraid you’re losing an argument?”

“No,” he states forcefully, glaring at her. “I’m just pissed that it becomes an argument! Why can’t a conversation with you ever be easy? Why can’t it just be a conversation instead of turning into a fucking argument every time?”

“It takes two to turn something into an argument,” she points out, her eyes narrowed.

“Sure. But all due respect,” he caveats, “and no offence - I still have friends and allies in this company who are capable of small talk without constantly exerting their brains and superiority, which leads me to believe that you might be the problem here. And you know what?” he continues, cutting her off. “If I’m that argumentative, why don’t you just switch to another producer?”

“Because I got assigned to you, Min Suga,” she retorts. “That’s how it works. And as long as we’re talking about friends and allies - has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want friends who can’t make small talk without exerting their brains?” She huffs and turns back to the laptop. “It might explain why you’re the only person here I actually talk to.”

“Oh, that’s by choice?”

“Shocking, isn’t it?” When Yoongi doesn’t respond, she lets out a half-chuckle without humour. “What? Nothing to say to that?”

“No,” he answers, a little uncomfortable at this sudden change in direction. “Except… well, this might be the first compliment you’ve ever paid me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go throwing any parades about it.”

A terse silence follows, broken only by the sound of the laptop keys and the random clips from the song. Yoongi glances at her with a mixture of confusion, inadequacy and frustration, her lips pursed and her eyes darting around the screen. The navy blue sleeves of her long-sleeved t-shirt almost reach her knuckles, her wrists thin and fragile against the table. 

Yoongi wonders how she’s surviving wearing it despite the heat in the studio, especially with a grey t-shirt over it, unless it’s her way of winning one over the heat.

He decides to chalk down this awkward end to their conversation to hunger. Still, it feels odd not to reciprocate it. He clears his throat, noting how the sound doesn’t make her flinch at all.

“You are not… unintelligent,” he ventures cautiously.

“I know that,” she replies casually, and Yoongi gives up. They continue working in silence for a few minutes, the silence still awkward but less tense. Something continues to bother him, though, their dialogue having come to a rather abrupt and unsatisfying end.

“I don’t actually care if they’re hooking up,” he says after a moment, in a low voice. “You’re right; it’s none of my business.”

Miso doesn’t respond, but spares him the briefest of glances, which tells him she’s listening.

“I was living paycheck to paycheck,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “I was delivering food and battling privileged rappers wearing designer crap at night to make money. Then I started training and the company I was training with had no money. Me and the guys, including Seulgi’s boyfriend, worked our arses off to debut and grow the company…” 

Yoongi trails off when the silence suddenly feels a little louder, and he realises he can no longer hear the keyboard of the laptop.

“Anyway,” he says flatly. “Call me conceited but I’m attached to this company. I feel I was part of building it and I feel like I’m a part of growing it. I don’t like people getting in the way of that,” he finishes in a murmur, a little embarrassed at his confession.

Miso doesn’t respond immediately, eventually exhaling softly. “You could’ve just told me that. You wouldn’t have had to exert your brain at all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

—

“Nari, hang on a minute.”

For a moment, Seokjin thinks she’s going to ignore him, but at the last moment she slowly halts just outside his front door. Jason, a few paces ahead of her, also stops, but something on Seokjin’s face seems to tip him off about what’s coming and he clears his throat.

“I’ll go bring the car around,” he tells Nari, before turning to him. “Thanks for having us over. Dinner was great.”

“Thanks. Glad you could make it.” They shake hands and Jason leaves. Seokjin waits until the elevator door closes before turning to Nari, but she beats him to it.

“Are you?” she asks wryly. “Glad he could make it?”

“Yes,” he answers honestly, not elaborating, for Jason remained the least stressful person all night, himself included. But he doesn’t feel the need to explain this to her. She raises her eyebrows expectantly, arms folded across her chest, and Seokjin pauses. There is a lot he wants to say but he needs to play this just right, or it can go down an unnecessary rabbit hole he’s not sure he has the energy for right now.

“Nari,” he begins, then pauses again. “Do you… do you have something you want to say to me?” 

He tries his best to make it sound as less confrontational as he can, keeping his voice calm, hearing the genuine underlying desperation that he didn’t even need to consciously add. By the way Nari’s eyes flicker slightly, he can tell she’s caught it, too.

She hitches her handbag higher on her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Anything you want to say. Anything you want to ask. Anything you want to talk about, or - or clear up…” He purses his lip. “I can still tell when you’re upset. And I don’t want you to be.”

“I’m not upset,” she says automatically. “And it isn’t your problem, even if I am.”

Seokjin bites his lip and nods slowly. “You’re not upset,” he repeats for confirmation.

“No. Do I have any reason to be?”

“I don’t know. But if you’re not, then I don’t understand why you’ve been so annoyed all night,” he points out. “You barely spoke, you barely ate, you didn’t even touch the dessert that Seulgi brought -”

“I’m sorry if I hurt her feelings by not eating the store-bought dessert she picked up on her way back from work.”

Something jolts in Seokjin’s heart; for a moment, the woman in front of him is unrecognisable as Nari. “She was trying to be nice,” he says softly but firmly. “She’s been nice to you all night but you haven’t returned any of it.”

Nari scoffs. “She wasn’t being nice. She was reminding me - very subtly, I might add - where she stands and where I stand.”

He blinks. “I’m sorry - what? What does any of that mean?”

“She’s your girlfriend,” she explains slowly, like she’s doing so to a child, “and I’m not. I am a girl, though. But she’s your girlfriend. And she was reminding me of that. Not at first,” she admits. “But during dinner? And especially after dessert? That’s what she  was doing.”

Seokjin finds himself lost for words. The fact that the tension hit an all-time high after dessert is beyond dispute; everyone apart from Jason seemed to have given up any semblance of remaining diplomacy, with sentences becoming shorter and words getting more clipped, until a stretch of three-minute silence passed and Jason suggested he and Nari make a move.

Seulgi had definitely run out of patience by this point, choosing to speak much more sparingly. There were uncomfortable silences and lingering looks and sideways glances, all in response to statements that seemed completely innocuous. But he can’t imagine he would’ve missed something this blatant.

Suddenly feeling terribly tired, he shakes his head. “She wasn’t - I mean, why would she do that?”

Nari observes him for a moment, as though trying to work out whether he’s faking ignorance. Finally, she shrugs. “I don’t know. But I know women better than you do.”

Seokjin senses this discussion is getting away from him. “I - okay. Honestly, I have no idea what to say to that. I thought she was just being nice - and you admitted it, too, that she was being nice in the beginning.”

“I guess.”

“But you weren’t being nice to her at all,” he points out. “Can you blame her for giving up eventually? She was being welcoming because she knows you’re my best friend,” he says, noting the shadow that crosses her face at those words. “But you gave her nothing. Why? What did she ever do to you?”

Nari looks at the ground again and taps the toe of her shoe on the ground, and for a moment Seokjin wonders if he’s made a breakthrough. “Nothing, I suppose,” she admits in a small voice. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be taking it out on her.”

Seokjin almost sighs in relief; now they’re getting somewhere. “Taking what out on her? Nari, are you angry with me? If you are, just tell me. We’ll talk about it, fight about it -” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry about the night of the fundraiser. I really am - I should’ve called or - or -”

She’s looking up at him now and it’s impossible to decipher what she’s thinking. Seokjin is faced with the sudden urge to hold her by the shoulders and make her continue meeting his gaze. He slips his hands into his pockets for good measure.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “But… come on, if you’re angry about something, is this really the way to go about it? Passive-aggressive digs at dinner?”

Nari shakes her head, a bit disbelieving. “Did you really think a dinner would solve all our problems?”

“I’m not even sure what our problems are!” he exclaims in frustration. “That’s why I wanted to talk about them! And for the record, I didn’t think a single dinner would solve anything, but I thought it would be a good start. I thought we could make it through one night - or at very least, fake it like grown ups,” he mutters, disappointed in everything, including himself.

She swallows and takes a step back, and it feels like a chasm. “Guess I’m not grown up enough for that yet,” she says finally, meeting his gaze with seeming difficulty. “But I’m glad you found someone who is.”

“Don’t make this about her.” He tries to firm but it sounds more pleading than anything. “If you have a problem with me, tell me. Or there’s no point to any of this.”

“That’s the thing, though,” she says, and there’s an air of finality to it. “There’s no point talking about the problem because it’s not going to change anything.”

Seokjin has nothing to say to that. Instead, he watches Nari turn around and leave, his heart sinking.

Nari doesn’t stop until she’s out of the building and inside Jason’s car. He’s parked across the street, tactfully keeping his distance, no doubt due to the heart-to-heart he thinks she’s having with her best friend.

Best friend. The words feel like rote; she doesn’t know if they’re quite true right now, but she knows for sure that they’re not untrue. It’s both sad and comforting.

“Everything okay?” Jason asks lightly as she straps herself in.

“Totally,” she mutters, busying herself with the buckle, her hair covering most of her face. “Are you going back to the hospital?”

“Well, no one’s called me. I was thinking about taking advantage of it,” he tells her. “Stay in. Catch up on some sleep.” He starts the car. “Do you want to head back or pick some ice cream on the way? You didn’t eat dessert,” he reminds her, his tone still light.

Nari nods absently. It’s starting to drizzle slightly; just a light spray, not even enough to warrant the wipers. She glances up at Seokjin’s building, at the lights in the apartments on the top floor. 

She’s not sure if one of them is his, or if his apartment even faces this side of the street. But she pictures him anyway, silent and annoyed at her, cleaning up his kitchen along with Seulgi. 

Her throat burns a little and she recognises the onset of her emotions finally creeping up on her - starting with shame.

She can’t afford it, though. There’s only one thing she does when this happens, when she’s overwhelmed, when it’s all just too much. There’s only one place she goes, one place she’s ever gone. But that place is no longer available to her.

Swallowing everything before it has a chance to hit the surface, she turns to Jason.

“Actually,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear, “can we go back to your place?”

—

Seokjin trudges back into his apartment once it’s clear Nari isn’t coming back. He’s not sure what he was hoping for; perhaps a change of heart, or her annoyance getting the better of her - anything to move this painful stalemate along.

He rubs his eyes and heads to the dining area to help Seulgi, who’s putting the wine away.

“That went well,” he says tiredly, leaning backwards against the table. He needs sleep.

“Didn’t it?” Seulgi mutters in reply.

Seokjin frowns a little belatedly, wondering if he’s imagining the bite in her response. He tries again. “Do you need some help?”

“I got it.”

“Okay, hang on,” he says, unable to believe it. “Are you angry with me, too?”

She starts folding the placemats, not meeting his gaze. “Why would you say that?”

He scoffs loudly. “Seriously? How did I manage to piss both of you off tonight?”

Seulgi chucks an unfolded placemat on the table and finally looks up at him, glaring with a hand on her hip. “Not that I don’t love being lumped together with your… ex… sex friend, but I was doing my best.”

“I know! That’s what I was -”

“But you ambushed me!” she interrupts, looking upset. “With your - with all your history together. You told me about it in the middle of dinner with her - God, Seokjin, what the hell was that?”

“What are you talking about?” he exclaims. “I told you we hooked up, before I ever invited her to dinner.”

“Yeah, and the way you said it made it sound like you made out once when you were twenty,” she snaps. “Not that it was happening recently enough for it to still be awkward. Not to mention a pregnancy scare that happened less than a year ago?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Seulgi opens her mouth but then closes it, as though unable to decide what to say. Eventually she closes her eyes and turns away slightly.

“I’m sorry if you felt ambushed,” he ventures uneasily. “But that wasn’t my intention. I just didn’t want to get into something that wasn’t relevant to this -“

“But how is it not relevant?” she interrupts him again. “She’s your lifelong best friend, but not a completely platonic one. And then you invite her over, she’s totally weird with me the whole time, and that’s when you choose to tell me you guys slept together? Of course I felt ambushed, Seokjin! And then I got defensive and - God, I was such a bitch,” she mutters, dropping her face into her hands.

This is unexpected. “Wait, what? No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was. Towards the end, I totally was,” she insists. “I was taken off guard, I was on edge and I went into fight or flight mode. Or… girlfriend-faced-with-boyfriend’s-ex-fling mode,” she finishes, shaking her head and looking embarrassed.

Seokjin wracks his brain, wondering if two glasses of wine were possibly enough for him to not notice something both Nari and Seulgi seemed to have observed and reacted to.

“She was never a fling,” he says weakly, but Seulgi doesn’t even seem to hear him.

“And then you tell me there was a pregnancy scare,” she continues after a moment. “In the middle of dinner, just when we’re -“

“What is it with you and the pregnancy scare?” he exclaims in frustration. “It was eighteen hours of tension and that’s it! It lasted less time than a flu!”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “What did you do when you thought she was pregnant?”

“I freaked out,” he says immediately. “A lot.”

“That’s not - okay, what did you say to her when you thought she was pregnant?” Seulgi amends, sounding as though it’s taking everything in her to remain patient.

“I…” Seokjin hesitates; this isn’t a situation he wants to relive. “I told her I’d be there for her. Of course I did, Seulgi,” he says quickly when she doesn’t respond. “It was the decent thing to do - you can’t be mad at me for trying to be a good guy.”

But Seulgi shakes her head slightly, and it’s clear that this isn’t her problem. She isn’t meeting his eyes; her gaze is somewhere near his elbow. 

“You can’t… intend honestly to be there for her for the rest of her life,” she begins slowly, as though choosing every word carefully, “and then the next day, just… not feel that anymore.”

There’s a few moments of silence while Seokjin processes this. He can’t fathom how this evening got so far away from him, and he has absolutely no idea where it can possibly end.

“Look, that situation was… it was very stressful, okay? For both of us,” he explains, taking a step closer. “I don’t - I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done. I did mean what I said to her then. But it doesn’t have a bearing on how I feel now, for you.”

Seulgi gives him a small nod, still not looking at him.

“I know it’s awkward between Nari and me now and - and I need to figure that out. But if you’re worried that there’s something going on with us - there isn’t.”

She exhales and after what feels like many, many moment, she drags her gaze to meet his. “She’s your best friend,” she states softly.

“Yeah. And you’re my girlfriend.”

“That… doesn’t matter,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head and looking at the floor again. He’s sure he wasn’t meant to hear that but he did, and his heart sinks. “Not in the way that you think,” she adds, slightly louder now.

Seokjin has no response to this. He feels exhausted, cornered and frustrated all at once and he sighs, rubbing his eyes and leaning backwards against a chair.

“I can’t change the past, Seulgi,” he says tiredly. “I don’t know what you want me to do right now.”

“Nothing,” she answers, sounding slightly surprised at this question. “I know you can’t change anything. I just wish you’d told me,” she says after a moment. “Before I sat down to dinner with her.”

He nods, but words of apology don’t come to him at the moment. “Can we just head to - where are you going?” He follows her to the living room where she picks up her handbag, the designer logo glinting dimly. 

“I’m going back to my apartment,” she murmurs, shuffling past him to get to her shoes: sleek high heels. Even after a whole day, she looks perfectly presentable, as though ready for a meeting. 

“I thought -“ But Seokjin doesn’t finish the sentence.

“I know,” she murmurs, sounding a bit apologetic for the first time. “But I just need to… I need to go home. Take a shower, go to bed.”

He nods silently, placing his hands on his hips and looking at the ground. He’s suddenly aware of how huge his apartment is for one person only.

“The bulgogi was great,” she says after a moment. She waits until he glances at her, nodding once more. When he doesn’t say anything, she turns around and opens the door, stepping out and leaving him alone.

—

When the elevator pings and the doors open, there’s a moment when neither of them make a move to enter first. Yoongi opens his mouth but Miso beats him to it.

“Don’t say ‘ladies first’,” she warns him.

He freezes before rolling his eyes. “I was going to say ‘elders first’,” he says, a little smug. He expects her to take offence but she chuckles instead, sounding a bit surprised.

“You don’t care a jot that I’m older than you,” she says dryly, stepping in with him right behind her, and pressing the button.

“On the contrary.” Yoongi leans against the back of the elevator as the doors close. “You’re the one who told me on your first day that under no circumstances was I to call you noona.”

“I also didn’t ask you to call me Miso.”

“No, you asked me to call you Chanel,” he remembers, a little wondrously. It feels a little strange to believe that was less than a year ago; it feels like forever that she’s been in his orbit, the frequent and regular dose of unexpected conflict he never asked for.

“That’s right, Min Suga.”

“You still want to be credited as Kang Chanel?”

“Just Chanel. No Kang.”

Yoongi nods as the elevator begins moving smoothly. They don’t say anything for a few seconds, standing a couple of feet away from each other. Miso isn’t leaning, though; she’s slouching slightly, and her bony shoulders are visible through her t-shirt. A jacket hangs on the strap of her bag, the Burberry tag visibly at the back of the neck.

“Will I -” She stops abruptly. She turns slightly to look at him, a bit nervously before looking back ahead. “Are you sure I’ll be credited?”

Yoongi frowns. “Why wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, but her slender fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. “You know. In case there’s a conflict of interest or something?”

“Right.” His eyes flicker to the designer tag on her hoodie again. It was on the sofa in the studio, he remembers, discarded casually with her bag placed on top of it. He watches her run a hand through her shoulder-length hair, not even seeming like she cares about the answer.

“Your dad’s a shareholder,” he says. She doesn’t turn, but he notices her stiffen, her dark eyes darting in his direction. “And you’re an employee of the same company. There’s no conflict of interest. It doesn’t matter how you got the job,” he adds after a moment.

Miso simply nods and says nothing. Yoongi tries to look away, but he can’t. There’s something different in the way she asked him that question, something almost doubtful, or hesitant. It makes him uncomfortable, the feeling of his resentment and annoyance with her wavering. It feels as though she’s disturbed the dynamic, and this is not a side of her he wanted revealed ever.

All of a sudden, the elevator jerks and the lights flicker before turning off, leaving them in pitch darkness.

“What the hell -”

“Don’t panic.” Yoongi hears himself say the words without realising it. He feels a movement next to him and immediately reaches out and grabs something, hearing her gasp just as the lights flicker back on. He notices his fingers grasping her forearm and lets go at once, feeling his face heat up.

Just as abruptly as the elevator had stopped, it begins descending again, quiet and smooth. Yoongi can hear his heartbeat in his teeth but he isn’t sure why; darkness has never been something that scared him. 

“Oh, the button -” Miso points at the pane, where all the buttons seem to have reset when the power went out. Both of them reach for it together and when Yoongi retrieves his hand, he feels a tug and realises the edge of her sleeve has caught on his watch.

“Sorry, I’ll just -”

“No, it’s okay -”

She tugs her hand back the same moment that he slips his watch out of the loose thread it’s stuck on and in the split second that her sleeve gets pulled back, Yoongi catches a glimpse of something on her wrist before she pushes it back down.

It’s only a flash but it stands out against her pale skin, a discoloured mark of some kind. For a moment he thinks it could be a bracelet, but there’s no indent visible through her sleeve.

“Donghyuk really came through, huh?” Miso says, but it sounds slightly forced.

Yoongi hesitates but then clears his throat. “Yeah. This way we get the entire morning off. We don’t need to be in by… two, at least.”

“Are you sure? I can come earlier, too, if you want. Maybe Donghyuk could use the help.”

“He’ll manage. Take the time,” he suggests, stretching his neck. “Rejuvenate.”

She waves a hand. “Overrated. I really don’t mind, though.”

“Noted. But Donghyuk will be fine.”

“I’m just saying -”

“My God, I have literally never had to convince anybody this hard to take a day off,” he interrupts, the tiredness of the day finally catching up to him. “Can’t you just…?”

“Fine. Just offering.”

The elevator doors open and Yoongi waits a moment for her to step out before following her. They head out outside the building into the chilly air; he exhales and wonders if he can risk a cigarette right now.

“Don’t.” Miso’s voice almost blends in with the wind. She’s giving him a knowing look while pulling on her hoodie, her bag placed on the ground by her feet. “You almost got caught smoking outside once.”

He really hates it when she’s right. “It’s one-thirty in the morning,” he argues instead.

She shrugs. “Your call. But if you smoke, you’ll have to share.”

“I don’t mind sharing.” As if to prove it, he slips his pack out of his pocket and offers one to her along with the lighter. They light their cigarettes one by one and smoke in silence, in a rare moment of peace together.

He notices the cigarette in between her long, pale fingers. The sleeves of her t-shirt and hoodie cover her knuckles, making the remaining part of her hand look white against the dark hoodie. 

“Good work today,” he says after a minute, when he’s almost done with his cigarette. 

The muscles in Miso’s face seem to relax a bit, but she still doesn’t smile.

“You’re giving me a compliment?”

“Only if you take it without a fuss.”

“Such a low opinion of me,” she laments, dropping the butt of her cigarette on the ground and crushing it. She looks up to see Yoongi raising his eyebrows and holds his gaze for a moment before picking up the stub and throwing it in a bin behind her.

“By the way,” she begins, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “that thing I told you about my mom earlier? I was - I was joking. You know that right?”

Yoongi struggles for a moment to remember what she’s talking about, rewinding the night back to their argument about Jungwon and Minji. His gaze locks on her slowly once he remembers, but he makes no other motion.

“I mean… I made that up. To make a point.” She bites her lip before shrugging. “It’s just… she’s a socialite and the last thing I need is for some false rumour about her to start spreading.” She crosses her arms across her chest.

He doesn’t respond for a few moments but eventually nods. “M-hm.” He waits until she looks away before putting out his stub and throwing it in the same bin.

They step out of the courtyard after that and out of the Big Hit gates, the air cold and the streets deserted. Yoongi shivers slightly and spots his car in the building parking lot next door. 

“Well… goodnight, then.” Miso loosens her fingers from the strap of her bag in a gesture of farewell and turns around when Yoongi remembers something.

“Do you need a ride home?”

She turns around, looking far more surprised than he thinks is necessary. “Um… no. Why?”

He shrugs, thinking privately that he’s never quite had to justify this question to a girl before. “It’s the middle of the night? And I know where you live.”

“Oh.” She pauses but then shakes her head. “That’s okay, though. Thanks.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him to ask again. “Are you sure? My car isn’t a limited edition Range Rover; it’s just a regular Range Rover, but it’s not bad.”

Miso cracks a smile and it takes him a bit by surprise. “Thanks, but… my car is here.” She points with her hand in a pocket of her hoodie to the handful of cars parked at the end of the street. To be sure, he spots a sleek black hood, rather similar to his own, at the beginning of the row.

“You called your driver at one-thirty?” He tries to keep the judgement out of his voice. “Wait, when did you even call him?”

“I didn’t. He’s been here since nine pm.” She looks away awkwardly, presumably guessing where his mind is at. 

“He’s been here almost five hours?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes flicker up to meet his. “My dad… prefers to know my whereabouts,” she confesses slowly. “So the car waits for as long as I need.”

The wind seems louder somehow. Yoongi brings up Kang Jaesung’s face in his mind from months ago, in the midst of suited men in a lounge in his sprawling mansion, scotch in hand and a sharp, chiselled face. He glances at the limited edition Range Rover again, noting the tinted windows this time.

“Anyway.” Miso breaks the silence. “Goodnight, Min Suga.”

“Yeah,” he mutters as she walks away. He waits until her driver opens the door for her, she steps in and the car drives away, before turning around and heading to the parking lot.

—

Yoongi reaches the dorm at five minutes past two. There’s silence when he opens the front door, which he appreciates, but when he enters the living room he sees he’s not alone.

“Darkness, please.” Seokjin groans, muffled by a cushion on his face, lying along the length of the sofa with one leg dangling off.

“Jesus,” mutters Yoongi, a bit startled. “Hyung, what - what are you doing?”

Seokjin groans again and slowly sits up, wincing like an old man before slouching again and closing his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious, Yoongi?” He gestures vaguely at his surroundings, including an almost empty bottle of wine on the centre table. When Yoongi simply shrugs, he clicks his tongue impatiently. “I’m wallowing.”

Yoongi nods after a moment, dropping his bag on a chair and joining him on the sofa. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.” Seokjin pauses. “You look happy.”

He stares. “I do?”

“Well, satisfied,” amends Seokjin. “Like you do when you’ve made some significant progress.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. What about you?” He changes the subject. “I thought you had some big night planned at your place.”

Seokjin scoffs but it comes out more like a choke. “Oh, yeah. My best friend and my girlfriend are both mad at me for opposite reasons. And also sort of the same reason,” he adds, frowning. “Who knows right now. Anyway, it was too depressing staying there tonight. And the kids and I have a shoot tomorrow morning anyway, so…” He shakes his head and falls silent.

Yoongi nods, knowing he’s not required to say anything. 

A few moments later, Seokjin speaks again. “I brought some bulgogi and japchae. It’s in the kitchen.”

Not needing to be told twice, Yoongi immediately makes a beeline for the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a microwaved plate of food and two sets of chopsticks. “I’m good,” mutters Seokjin, waving a hand when Yoongi offers him some.

They don’t speak again until after he’s done eating, wolfing down the food with scarcely a breath in between.

“Wow,” comments Seokjin. “It wasn’t that good.”

“Guess I was hungrier than I thought,” he replies, placing the plate on the coffee table and leaning back on the sofa, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. “Thanks, hyung.”

“You’re welcome.” 

There’s a few more moments of comfortable silence. Yoongi considers asking Seokjin if he wants to talk but stops himself, knowing he will if he wants to. 

“Did you finish the track then?”

Eyes still closed, he raises his eyebrows. “No, not yet. Donghyuk’s going to mix the final version and we’ll check it out tomorrow.”

“You haven’t finished it?” Seokjin sounds confused. “I thought you said you’d made progress.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to realise what he’s talking about. “Oh… I did. It got a lot farther than I anticipated. It’s been a while since I’ve worked with a rookie,” he says, and Seokjin nods knowingly. “But I think Miso and I got most of it done.”

“Kang Miso.” Seokjin half-chuckles. “I heard she gave Seulgi a bit of a hard time today.”

“Sorry about that,” he says automatically, wondering a moment later why he’s apologising on her behalf but then remembering she is his assistant producer. “She can be a bit of a pill. But I think we’re coming to a middle ground of sorts, hopefully.”

“Sounds like progress to me. Quite the opposite of my night.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond, his thoughts drifting. Miso’s face right before she’d left swims to the forefront of his mind. Thin and pale, with the thick open hoodie engulfing her, there was something that had changed in her body language. He’d thought about it the whole drive, unable to put his finger on it. 

He thinks about the flash of colour he’d seen on her wrist, her strangely uncomfortable way of asking if she would be credited on the song she’d worked on with him every step of the way.

Something clicks but he isn’t sure what it is. Maybe it’s progress, but he doesn’t overthink it. Reaching for his phone automatically, he opens their chat and types on instinct.

Min Yoongi [02:25] Just remembered. Need to create a demo for the remixes. Should start ASAP - studio, 10 am tomorrow.

Her response comes a short while later, just as Yoongi is getting ready for bed.

Kang Chanel [02:40] As you command, Min Suga. See you then.

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

[gretavangroupie]

Vigilance (Chapter 3)

Word count: 9.1k+

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ as always, drinking, language, fluff, angst, violence.

This story is a very special collaboration with my best pal @gretavanmoon. We have been scheming on this one for a while... If you haven't read her stuff, definitely go check it out. If you have, even better! We are taking this one all the way back to the early days, but we will be going into the present, so hold on tight it will be a bumpy ride. Without further ado...

SAM POV

New Year’s Eve 2017

Chasing your drunk girlfriend around a party where she knows practically everyone proved to be a daunting task. As soon as you would find her she would pop out of sight and find someone new to strike up a conversation with. Elle was like magic, she could instantly transform any situation into a reason to have fun. However, at parties she was slippery. Hard to grasp and keep in one place, you knew that she had never been tied down a day in her life. You liked her that way. 

So tonight as you watch her flit around the room transferring her happiness to everyone she met, you decided to sit back and watch. After securing your New Year’s kiss at midnight, you watched as people began to slowly file out. The crowd began to grow thin, and you took an empty seat on your old family sofa, chatting casually with whoever passed by.

Even through the crowd of people you could hear the crashing of the back door against the frame. Maybe it's because you lived here and recognized the sound, but no one else seemed to notice. You snapped your head in its direction and you saw her. Her new boyfriend had her by her arm, fingers digging into her bicep as she tried to push him off of her. Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of the situation. Squinting your eyes, you watch him drag her across the backside of your living room. He bends to whisper something in her ear as she turns her head away from him. Something is not right.

As he throws open the front door, he escorts her out first looking behind himself as he shuts the door. Instinctively you stand, your legs carrying you over to the window to check on them. You see him slamming the door after her, before getting into the driver's side. Wheels spinning in the yard as he pulls out onto the street. Your heart is racing. Is she okay? It’s not like her to leave without saying goodbye. Should I tell someone?

Seeing Elle deep in conversation, you make your way to the patio, Jake’s favorite hiding spot for situations like these. He was never much of a partier, choosing to have a few drinks and spend time in his own head. As you step outside you see him leaning against the railing on the side of the house where the light burned out years ago. It never got changed because Jake ‘liked it that way’.

As you approach him you can see the look of fury on his face. Something has him pissed off, and you think you may have a clue. You lean against the railing next to him, just silent for a few minutes before you finally break.

“Did you see her?” you ask.

His head turns to you, “Yeah, I saw her… And him.” he answers, a darkness pooling in his eyes.

“He seems like a real piece of work. I just watched him drag her by the arm across the living room. She looked upset. I am kind of worried…” you trail off. 

“He did that shit out here too. She was out here talking to me and he lost it and told her they were leaving. Yanked her right out of the chair, cussing, the whole nine. I thought I might kill him, but not all of us can con our way out of jail with our good looks…” he says smirking at you.

“It was one time…” you laugh. Your tone returns to worry, “You think she is okay though?” 

“She’s a tough one. She can hold her own. We have all been drinking…I’m sure she is fine.” he says. You nod your head in response, as you hear Elle pop through the back door calling your name.

JAKE POV

The truth is that you don’t know if she’s okay. You have a bad feeling about Andy. Call it a hunch. But you can’t let Sammy know that. He will be worried sick over her. His best friend. She’s been gone for 5 minutes and you already have a nagging feeling in your chest. You know something isn’t right. 

Hours pass as you think about her and what happened tonight. Maybe you should have tried harder, stood your ground. Taken her behind you, protected her. But you couldn’t. You know that in just a few days she will be back in Ann Arbor with him, with no one to protect her from the repercussions of what you might have done to save her tonight. It was better to let her go. Safer even. You hated every second of it. 

But, she said it. Those words you have been dying to hear fall from her lips. She loves you. Still. She never stopped. Dread washes over your body as you remember the other things she said. The hurtful things, the ugly truths you didn’t want to hear. ‘He wasn't gone…’, ‘He didn’t leave me’. The sentiments swirl through your head. She was right. You did leave her. You had no choice. You left her and hated every waking second spent away from her. Your mind has been plagued by her day in and day out. Always and only her. 

When Sam met Elle you were happy for him. Finally he could take his mind off of not being with the girl he always dreamed he would be with. You felt his pain. Wallowed with him in secret. What are the odds that the two of you both spent your nights sleeplessly tossing and turning in turmoil over the same girl? The girl who was off in someone else's arms just to dull the pain of not having you. 

Sam stopped mentioning her after a while. It almost made you sad. Was he forgetting her? How could he? Why couldn’t you? 

But you knew why. You didn’t want to. Every girl at gigs vying for your attention, the ones that would inevitably make it backstage, the ones draped around Danny and Josh, the ones you would see sneaking out of hotel rooms early in the morning… they could never hold a candle to her. They would never be her.

HER POV 

“Andy stop, let go of me.” you say, pulling your arm away from him as he forces you through the house.

He bends down to growl into your ear, “We will talk about this in the car. Let’s go.” You turn your face away from him, not even able to look at him in the moment. Crossing the living room you are glad to not recognize any faces, embarrassed of what they might think. As he pushes you through the front door, he closes it swiftly behind himself, unlocking his car at the same time. He pulls open the passenger door and instructs you to get in before slamming the door behind you. He is in the driver's seat in seconds, wheels spinning as he pulls out of the grass and onto the pavement. 

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, you’ve never seen him like this before. He is really mad, and to be honest you don’t blame him. What he walked in on was nothing short of shocking. “Andy I–” 

“Shut up.” he seethes, cutting you off before you even have a chance to explain. His knuckles were white with his hard grip on the steering wheel. “Do you love that guy?”

You sit nervously in the passenger seat, not fully processing his question. 

Suddenly he punches the steering wheel, “Answer me! Do you love him?!” he screams.

Panic stricken you lie, “NO!” afraid of what would happen if you told the truth. “Of course I don’t! I was drunk I didn’t mean it!” 

His car abruptly comes to a halt outside your parents house, “Get out,” he says, his eyes glossed over and glued to the street ahead of him. 

Taking the opportunity to get as far away from him as possible, you throw the door open and shut it behind you as he speeds off. 

You are shaking with nerves and feel sick to your stomach. What just happened?

You quickly make your way inside and to your room. You close the door quietly behind you so as to not wake your parents as you struggle to keep yourself from having a panic attack.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you pull your phone from your purse and see a text from Sam.

Sam: You okay? 

There was a time in your life where you would tell him everything. Every secret, every thought you had. But things aren't like that anymore. You want to tell him everything, but you can’t. You gave that up when you ghosted him for months on end, and for what? For a guy who yells at you in front of your friends? A guy who lays his hands on you and tells you to shut up? 

You: Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for inviting me to the party, I had a good time.

Sam: You sure about that…

You: Yes…

Sam: You would tell me if you didn’t have a good time… right?

You: Yes. I think we all just had a little too much to drink.

Sam: Okay. 

You hated lying to him, but you had to. What were you supposed to say? Sorry my boyfriend lost his cool and made us leave? It was better to leave things this way. Your mind shoots back to Jake and what he said tonight. What you said.

I told him I love him. I do. That part was true.

‘You disappeared! I waited for you! I thought you felt the same! You told me you felt the same!’

Those words shattered you. He waited for you, but you didn’t wait for him. You couldn’t. It hurt too bad. 

‘But even from halfway across the country I wanted you. I always wanted you. Only you!’

The worst part of all of this is that you still wanted him too. You’ve only ever wanted him. But there was Andy. You wanted Andy, but in a different way you wanted Jake. He would never be to you, what Jake was. You would never want Andy in the same way that you longed for Jake. It was a different, ancient kind of longing. Forbidden, making it all the more painful. You meant what you said tonight. You do love Jake. You never stopped loving him. You know that you always will love him, but you don’t know if the time will ever come for the two of you.

–

A few days after returning to school for the start of the new semester you heard from Andy. He wanted to talk, and you were willing. You wanted to fix things, you knew you screwed up but he wasn’t exactly innocent either. When he called and asked you to come over you agreed, nervously counting the minutes until class ended. You knew what you were going to say, you had it all planned out. You hoped he would forgive you.

As you knocked on the door to his apartment, he greeted you with a smile. You stepped in as he pulled you into a hug. You weren’t sure what to expect but this definitely wasn’t it. He stepped back from you, pulling your arm to examine the four tiny faded purple marks. “These are from me?” he asks, brow furrowed in sadness.

“Yeah…” you say shyly.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I was just blinded with rage. Hearing you say that to him… I don’t know. I snapped. I really am sorry. I just… love you so much. You make me crazy…” he implores.

He loves you?

Andy sullenly made his way over to the couch and plopped down, his head falling into his hands. You could tell he really was torn up.

“I’ve never felt like this about someone. I need you. Please say you forgive me.” he begs. 

Taking in his words the best you can, you search his face for any sign of insincerity. It really does feel like he means it. He seems to be being genuine and his piercing eyes are begging you to take him back. His hand gently glides down your arm, stopping when it meets your hand. He pulls your hand to his lips placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know you aren’t usually like that, and if you really are sorry, I can forgive you. But you embarrassed me in front of my friends. You can't do that, ever again.” you say. 

“I swear. Never again.” he says, the corners of his mouth turning into a smile.

“Okay…” you reply hesitantly. “Do you mean it though?” you ask.

“Mean what?” he asks.

“You said you love me…” you say.

“Yeah, I do. I do mean it. I’m crazy about you. I can’t lose you.” he replies.

You feel a flutter spread through your chest as his eyes meet yours. You press your lips to his, forgiving him for his actions and praying it would never happen again.

---

April 2018

It had been three months since the New Years Party and things had been so much better. You had spent almost every day together. He had gone above and beyond taking you on dates, starting each morning with a text and ending each night on the phone. Of course, some nights you were together into the morning, but even then it was good. He had even made it a point to take you back home to meet his family, who you instantly felt very welcome and comfortable with. Things had never been better between the two of you. But there would always be that one thing you could and would never tell him. Something you'd carry with you for life.

As you walked to class you reveled in the warmth of the sun. It had been cold and cloudy, but today the sun warmed the air and everyone was taking advantage of it. Ascending the steps to the building you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket.

Danny: Hey! I am throwing a surprise party for Sam’s birthday in a few days, can you come?

Sam’s birthday?

You check the date on your phone and see it’s in two days. Crap you almost missed it. 

You: Absolutely. I will be there, just text me the details.

Danny: Awesome, I will.

This was your chance to make things right with Sam. Show him that you are still his best friend and that you are still there for him. Truthfully you do miss him and find yourself often wishing you could just call him up like you used to. Maybe after this party you would be able to do that again.

After classes that day you made your way to the bookstore near campus. You knew exactly what you wanted to get Sam for his birthday. Skimming the spines of books on the shelf you spot it. The exact book you checked out from the library that day so many years ago, ‘The Birth of Loud’. The book the two of you poured over for weeks working on your History project. There were a few times you caught Sam reading it for fun. You knew he would love it, so as you handed the cashier your money she put the red book in the paper bag and you were on your way. As soon as you got back to your dorm you took the extra time to write a special message on the inside cover. Your ‘I’m Sorry’ statement.

‘I promise I won’t be a ghost anymore. Proud of you Rockstar. Happy Birthday.’

—

As you and Andy make the drive up to Frankenmuth, you fidget anxiously in the passenger seat. He has insisted on coming with you, in fact demanded, hoping to make a better impression on your friends. You reluctantly agreed. Your mind is racing, knowing that more than likely Jake would be there. You haven’t spoken since that night. The wounds still too fresh. Would you talk tonight? What would you say? Sensing your anxiety, Andy places his hand on your leg, instantly calming you. 

A while later you are pulling up in front of that same house you know so well. A few cars line the streets, but not as many as you expected. It looked to be a small get together rather than a party. You swallow the lump in your throat when you spot Jake’s car in the driveway and open your car door. Andy greets you on the other side, offering his arm to you as you walk up to the porch.

You peek into the front door to make sure it's ok to walk in, and you see people standing around talking quietly near the couch. Danny spots you and rushes over to you, ushering you in, and telling you that Sam will be there any minute. You make your way into the kitchen with the rest of the crew and wait nervously. No sign of Jake just yet, thankfully. 

Andy quickly makes you both drinks and returns to your side, as Danny shushes the small crowd of people. Seconds later you all hear the front door open and smile nervously at each other. As he steps foot into the kitchen the whole group shouts ‘surprise’ and Sam’s signature smile crosses his face. He is happy, and you missed his happy smile. His eyes lock with yours and there is an unspoken conversation had. He is glad you’re here, and you knew you wouldn’t miss it for the world. Maybe things will be okay between the two of you after all. 

This party was different from the last, you knew most everyone here. It made conversing and mingling fun and less daunting. You caught up with old highschool friends and reminisced over the good old days. You missed those days. Days spent in this very house. From across the room you see him. He glides down the stairs and into the living room, taking a look for familiar faces. As your eyes meet, his brow furrows. He looks to Andy, who isn’t paying attention, and turns his head walking away into the kitchen. 

It’s only been three months since you’ve seen him but he looks different now. More…mature. His hair is longer, hanging down past his shoulders. His jaw more pronounced. He has a glow about him that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you find that you positively cannot take your eyes off of him, and even worse, you don’t want to.

The doorbell rings snapping you from your daydreams, and you see Daniel accepting a stack of pizza from the young delivery driver. Thank god, you were starving. You broke away from Andy to help Daniel carry the pizzas to the kitchen. You remembered where the paper plates were so you pulled them from the pantry and set them on the counter. 

Danny looked over to you as he spread the boxes across the empty counters, “Thanks for coming. I know it means a lot to Sam.” he said with a soft smile.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have missed it. I miss you guys.” you reply.

“We miss you too.” he says.

“Where are Karen and Kelly, I’d love to see them?” you ask.

“Oh, they went to see Kelly’s parents for the weekend. Left Jake in charge…” he smirks walking into the living room.

Sam walks into the kitchen, seeing you and pulling you into a bear hug. “I can’t believe you came!”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Of course I came! You’re my best friend!” you laugh.

“Am I? Still?” he asks, with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, Sammy… you’ll always be my best friend. That hurts!” you joke.

“Well, good. Don’t tell Danny but you’re still my best friend too.” he whispers. 

You give him another hug, just as Jake comes around the corner. “Thank god, the food is here.” he says.

He nods his head at you as a silent hello. He bites his lip and turns his attention to the boxes on the counter. Grabbing a paper plate he puts two slices on top and hands it to you. “Hmm…just like old times, huh?” he smirks.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right… seems we have been in this situation before.” you smile.

“Ahh, yes except this time you’re not blushing like a school girl because I handed you a plate.” he says with a wink, causing you to, of course, blush.

“Oh, wait, there it is.” he laughs. 

You roll your eyes and walk to the other side of the kitchen. Andy steps in and sees you, motioning to his cup that he was going to get another drink.

Sam grabs his pizza and joins you as you catch up and laugh over the last few months. Surprisingly Jake sticks around too, joining you and Sam. You can feel the air change as he steps into your orbit. The electricity between you pulsing through the space air. 

Andy approaches with his fresh drink and you feel your body tense up. The last time you were with Jake he lashed out, but he promised it wouldn’t happen again. You took a deep breath as he joined your small circle. 

He reached his hand out to shake with Sam, “Hey man, good to see you again, Happy Birthday!” he says politely. This is the Andy you knew, friendly and charismatic. Sam thanks him and turns his attention back to your conversation, but you are distracted by the other two men in front of you that have done nothing but occupy your mind for the past several months. 

Andy reaches his hand out to shake with Jake. He wipes his hand on his dark jeans and returns the handshake. “Hey I’m Andy, nice to meet you.” he says with a smile.

“Jake. Nice to meet you too, thanks for coming out.” he replies.

Okay, all good so far. 

Sam starts a new conversation about when they would resume the tour, and what was coming up this summer. He asked about your summer plans and if you would be around and truthfully you didn’t know. You hadn’t even thought about it yet, but you were pretty sure you would be home for the summer, and secretly hoped they would be too. 

“I guess, it depends, what are you guys going to be doing this summer?” you ask playfully. 

“Actually, we have a long break from May to the end of July, so we will probably be here and in the studio if I had to guess.” Jake interjects. 

“Maybe we can all go to the lake one day, like old times.” you smile.

“Yeah! Let’s do it! Yeah that’s what I want for my birthday! You come to the lake with us again!” Sam begs.

“Okay, okay! I think I can swing it, but I guess I will have to take your real gift back.” you joke. 

“Well I guess you better put that pizza down then.” Andy chides.

You all turn to look at him as he stands there with a smug look. “What?” you ask.

“You need to start working on your summer body, and that…” he says pointing to your plate, “is going to make it worse.” he says, grabbing your arm and pulling you harshly into his side. 

Pulling away from him you look at your plate. You are taken aback. “What do you mean my ‘summer body’, Andy?” you ask confrontationally.

“I think you could slim down before parading around in bikinis all summer, don’t you think?” he replies.

At this point, Sam and Jake’s jaws hang slack, also stunned by Andy’s words. You don’t respond to him, and wait for the topic to change as you step away, tossing your plate into the trash and heading to the upstairs bathroom.

Your cheeks are flushed red, tears threatening to spill as you ascending up the old wooden stairs. You feel sick to your stomach. Do I really look that bad? Is he right?

You step into the bathroom and lock the door behind you. You examine yourself in the mirror, really taking a look at yourself. You don’t feel like you look that bad, but could it just be distorted perception? Maybe you don't look as good as you thought? Tears roll down your cheeks as you replay the conversation in your head. Why did he have to say that in front of them? Was this his way of marking his territory? You thought he loved you how you were? Why do you need to change your body?

Your cheeks are red and splotchy as you wipe away the wetness on your face. You clear your throat and fix your hair as you turn to unlock the bathroom door and rejoin the party, hoping no one notices your red eyes. 

As you step into the hallway a hand grabs your arm, pulling you into the bedroom next door. You would know that touch anywhere. The door shuts behind you as you see his face. 

You stand there silently, trying not to make eye contact with him. You don’t want him to see your tears. 

“Don’t hide from me. I know you were crying. I heard you.” he whispers.

“I wasn’t. I’m fine.” you lie, turning your face away from him.

“You’re a bad liar, you know.” he says, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

He moves his hand to turn your chin to look at him, and he sees the glossiness coating your red rimmed eyes, causing his brows to furrow. “Don’t listen to him. He’s wrong. There is nothing wrong with you. You are beautiful. Perfect even. He’s a fool if he doesn’t see what he has right in front of him.” he says, a look of seriousness on his face.

You cast your eyes down, focusing on the necklace that hangs underneath his shirt. 

“Look at me.” he demands, and you flick your eyes upwards. His hand moves to rest at your neck. The heat from his hand burns into your skin. 

“Why do you let him treat you like this?” he asks.

“Like what?” you ask, feigning ignorance. 

“You know what. Putting his hands on you, talking down to you…” he replies. 

“He isn’t usually like that.” you say, pleading with him.

“Really, because both times I have been around him, he has been like that and you’ve been upset.” he says.

You don’t answer, biting your cheek at the realization of his observations. 

“Are you happy?” he asks. “If you are, I won’t bring it up again. I’m as good as gone. But I know you, and I don’t think you are.” he says, sliding his hand from your neck down your arm.

You pull your arms across your chest and look down at the floor. “Jake…I–”

Your eyes flash up to his and are met with sadness. There is a long pause of silence between you before he finally speaks, “Okay…” he says, as he steps around you, twisting the handle and walking out of the bedroom. 

You back yourself against the closed door and let the tears fall again. Your heart aches in your chest. Had you just told him it’s over? Really over? You are immediately left feeling like there is a hole in your chest. Panic washes over you. What did you do?

You pull yourself together, looking at yourself in the small mirror on the wall in Jake’s bedroom. You make your way down stairs and notice that the party has moved into the basement. Descending the second set of stairs you see Andy playing beer pong with some guys and notice that he has clearly had more to drink since you left him. His words are slurring and his balance off kilter. 

You walk over to him and tell him that you are back, and he moves you to the side as he ignores your hug, lining himself up for his next shot. Feeling slightly rejected you wander off for a bit talking to Elle, and your friend Sarah from highschool. Jake is on the opposite side of the room, and occasionally your eyes meet his, hoping he could hear what you were screaming in your brain. ‘No, I’m not happy. He’s not you!’  You’re sure that if he could hear you he would run to you, no questions asked. His eyes are sad, and his demeanor has changed. You can tell that he is hurting just as much as you are.

The guys at the beer pong table erupt into loud cheers as the final ball is sunk into the red plastic cup. Of course Andy won, you haven’t seen him lose yet. You smile and shake your head as he approaches you with a huge smug grin.

“Successful as always I see…” you say.

“You know I never lose…had to show these idiots who’s in charge here…” he slurs. He tosses back the rest of the drink in his cup, before disappearing upstairs to inevitably get another. 

“These idiots? These are my friends Andy…” you snap back.

“Ahhh whatever…” he replies haphazardly.

As the night progresses the crowd gets more and more rowdy, losing sight of their inside voices and resulting in full on yelling conversations. Andy is no exception. He has kept his arm around you all night, never letting you stray too far from his side. When you asked to go to the bathroom he told you to ‘come straight back’ to which you replied with an eye roll. When his fist tightened on your shoulder you flinched in pain and pulled away, wincing.

“Andy, stop.” you say.

“No, I’m tired of you running off all the time. You’re my girlfriend. Act like it.” he says gripping your arm as you struggle to pull it away.

“Oh stoppp, you’re fine…” he slurs. 

Sam steps over noticing the interaction, “Hey, what’s up guys?” he says, trying to break the obvious tension.

“Nothing, she is just drunk and being dramatic as usual.” Andy chides.

Sam bites his tongue as you finally break free and begin to walk away, practically sprinting up the stairs. You rub the spot on your arm, sure to leave fresh bruises.

Why is he like this? 

Maybe Jake is right…

You make your way to the bathroom to relieve yourself, before finding yourself hesitating to go back to the basement. Instead you make your way to the kitchen, making yourself a drink. You fill the cup with mostly vodka, and a splash of cranberry, hoping the vodka will numb the feeling in your chest. 

Your legs carry you outside onto the deck, taking comfort in the familiar old wicker chair. Relaxing into it you sip your drink. The sound of the music inside reduced to a dull buzz. Your head falls back staring up at the dark sky. You miss this about Frankenmuth. In fact, there is a lot you miss about Frankenmuth. It’s home. They are home. 

You continue to sip your drink, letting the cool wind carry away your cares, and letting the vibration of the music lull you to sleep. You hear voices and your eyes pop open. How long was I sleep? Oh god, where is Andy?

You pull yourself up from the chair, dashing inside and seeing that 30 minutes has passed, but the house is mostly cleared out. Rushing down to the basement you see Josh in the corner talking to someone he has roped into one of his long winded discussions. But more to your surprise you see Andy, passed out on the couch. You walk over to him and shake him to wake him up, but he doesn’t budge. His phone lights up on his stomach, showing a few missed texts from a name you don’t recognize. You pick it up to put it on the coffee table as another comes through.

Rebecca: Miss you too. When do you get back? I can come over that night. ;)

What?

You click on the text and see that they have been talking all night, and actually for much much longer than that. A sick feeling washes over you. How long has this been going on? Pushing the thought from your head you drag yourself upstairs to find one more drink, desperate to forget this entire night. 

Your hand shakily pours the vodka into the plastic cup, as your eyes scan the counter for any type of mixer. When you find that mostly everything is empty you sigh and let your head hang in defeat. You just can't win.

JAKE POV

As you stumble into the kitchen, you see her. Standing at the counter attempting to pour herself a drink. As she picks up empty bottles of mixers you see her hang her head and a sigh leave her chest. You’ve never seen her drink this much, and you know that she is still upset about earlier. You find yourself in a similar predicament. How are you supposed to feel when the girl you love chooses to be with someone else? Someone that treats her the way he does.  

You’ve watched him all night. Observed him, really. You know guys like him. Puts on a cool guy front around people but acts differently behind closed doors, or in this case when he has a little too much to drink. You don’t like him, and you certainly don’t trust him. Especially with her.

You quietly open the pantry door, pulling out a warm can of Lime LaCroix, “Will this work?” you call across the kitchen. 

Her head snaps over to you, as you lift the can in her direction and her gaze softens, “Yes… Thank you.” 

You make your way over to her, pulling the tab on the can and pouring it over the ice and vodka. You watch it fizz in the cup as she leans against the counter to face you.

“I’m guessing he is driving?” you ask. 

She grabs the drink and looks at you, “Well, since he is passed out in your basement, I don’t have high hopes.” she says with a soft smile.

I knew it was too quiet around here…

She walks into the living room and you follow close behind. She sits on the old couch, sinking into its plush cushions. You take a seat in the chair next to her, propping your favorite dirty boots up on the coffee table. Just as you go to speak, Sam walks into the room to see both of you.

“Well, Elle is down for the count…” he laughs.

“Yeah, we were just discussing my drunk date passed out in your basement.” she says, shaking her head.

“He was supposed to drive…” you say to Sam, rolling your eyes. Both of you nodding in unspoken agreement that the guy is a prick.

“I am not sure how I am supposed to get him back to the AirBnB…” she jokes.

In unison you and Sam both reply, “Stay here.”

She laughs thinking you are joking, before she realizes you’re serious. 

“Really, you have been drinking. Stay here, please. I will worry if you don’t.” Sam says, flashing his big brown puppy dog eyes at her, that you know she can’t say no to.

“He’s right…” you say, tipping your head towards her.

Please stay. Let me talk to you for a while…

You can tell she’s thinking about it. The tiny crease between her eyebrows has always been her dead giveaway, and this was no exception. Her brow relaxes and she looks at both of you.

“Alright, but only if one of you gets drunk with me.” she smiles.

“Oh, not me. I already have to take care of Elle who thinks I came down here for water.” he laughs.

“Guess that leaves me…” you reply. “I’m halfway there anyways…”

She tips her cup to her lips, drinking down the alcohol, shuddering at the hefty pour of vodka. You watch as it travels down her throat, and you feel a tingle flash through your chest. 

“Goodnight, see you two in the morning!” Sam says, cheerfully walking off.

She watches him walk away before turning her attention to you, your eyes already fixed on her.

The house is quiet, the soft snores from upstairs are the tell tale sign that Josh is sleeping soundly.

“I’ll be right back…” you say, standing up and walking towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“Shhhhh… give me a second.” you smile before quietly walking up the stairs. You step into your room and open your wooden cigar box pulling out the joint you rolled this afternoon. You close the box and walk back down the stairs, happy to find her sitting in the same spot you left her.

You walk over to her and stand in front of her, pulling the joint from your shirt pocket. You wiggle it between your fingers as you extend your hand to help her up. She takes it and joins you as you make your way to the back door. 

You open the door letting her out as you follow behind her. The air has grown colder since sunset and you know she will be cold soon. This probably won't last long. As she sits in her favorite chair, you take the seat next to her. It feels good to be here with her. Somehow things are different out here. In this spot both of you can be open with each other. Talk. Tell the truth.

You light the joint, and pass it to her, letting her hit it first. You take turns passing it back and forth in the silence as you typically do until you’ve both had your fill. You tap the end between your fingers, extinguishing the smoldering end. 

“You know, I was out here earlier…” she says, staring off into the dark field. “I was just staring at the sky. I miss it here. It’s the only place I can see the stars.”

“When we were gone I missed it too. There is something different about this place.” you say. Theres a beat of silence between the two of you.

She tilts her head back staring up again, “Did you miss me when you were gone?” she asks. 

“Everyday. I told you that.” you reply.

“I think I thought about you every single day. I knew I shouldn’t, but I did.” she says. You know she is faded when she starts to tell her own secrets and you usually stop her, but this time you let her.

“Why?” you ask.

“You are just always there. In my mind, taking a walk through every memory.” she answers. You know exactly what she means. Every memory you replay in your head is somehow about her.

“Just tell me if you’re happy…Does he really make you happy?” you ask.

“I think so…” she answers, but you can tell by the inflection of her voice that she is lying. You’ve always been able to tell. 

“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.” you say, turning your head to her. 

She turns to look at you, eyes glossy and heavy, “We have happy moments, but it’s not always like that. I don’t think he will ever truly make me happy. No one could. But that’s only because they’ll never be you…” and as the words leave her lips she turns her face back to the sky. Her sentiments are like a dagger to the heart.

You sip your drink in silence until it’s empty, letting her words roll around in your head until they find a soft place to land. 

“He is texting some other girl…” she says, barely a whisper from her lips. A drunken confession.

“What?” you shoot back.

“His phone. I saw it. When I went back down to the basement earlier. I saw him passed out on the couch, his phone laying there. I saw the texts. That’s when you found me in the kitchen.” she slurs.

Your face heats with anger. “You’re kidding, right?” 

“I wish. The joke of it all is that he tells me how lucky I am to be with someone like him… I don’t feel very lucky right now.” she says finishing her drink.

“God, you don’t deserve this! Why don’t you see it! We all see it!” you say, raising your voice.

“He’s not usually like this!” she replies.

“How many times does he have to do it before it becomes the usual!? Let me guess, he tells you that ‘you’ll never find someone better than him?’ ‘No one that loves you like he does?’” you ask.

“Jake… please.” she says, clearly flustered. She knows you’re right. 

“I’m sorry. I just… can’t stand to see you being treated like this.” you say.

“I wish things were different.” she whispers.

“Me too.” you reply.

You sit in silence for a little while longer, before you notice her shivering from the cold. The alcohol and weed have made her numb to it, but you know she is cold and her body is showing it. You remove your blue corduroy overshirt and toss it to her, “Here, you’re shivering.”

She gratefully accepts it and you watch as she slides her arms through, seeing the dark purple mark on the inside of her arm. She pulls it tight across her chest accepting the warmth it's holding in its fibers. A fire burns through your chest seeing her in your clothes. You’re positive she’s never looked more beautiful.

“You have bruises…” you question.

“I think sometimes he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.” She offers.

Lie. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Marking her, manipulating her.

“Do you want to go in? I think the fire is still going in the fireplace…” you ask.

“Yeah, but I will probably fall asleep.” she smiles.

“Well I can let you go to sleep? You take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” you say.

“Nooo, Jake I can’t take your bed. This is your house!” she replies.

“But I want you to.” you reply honestly, knowing that the scent of her on your pillow will linger for days.

“Just come talk to me on the couch for a little while longer.” she asks, and you know you’d do anything she asked when she looked at you like that.

“Lead the way…” you smile back at her. 

You spend the next hour talking about her school, your tour and anything else you can come up with, but you see the light in her eyes fading. She has progressively sunken further and further into you on the couch as the minutes have passed. As her head finally dips to rest on your shoulder, you know she’s dozing off. Feeling her soft breath on your shoulder, you let her sleep for a while. You scroll through your phone until the fire completely dies and the clock reads 1:00.

As you go to slide from underneath her, you position yourself in front of her, tapping her shoulder. “Hey, you want to go sleep in my bed?” You whisper.

“No, I’ll sleep here. You go.” she replies, voice groggy, and laced with alcohol.

Knowing that she isn’t going to go of her own free will, you decide for her, scooping her into your arms. Her eyes open wide as she realizes what’s happening, and instinctively wraps her arms around your neck.

“What are you doing! Put me down!” she whispers.

“Shhhh.” You whisper into her hair. You reach the top of the steps and open your bedroom door, stepping inside and laying her on top of the quilt. You untie her shoes, placing them at the foot of the bed. 

She opens her eyes and sits up, looking around the room. She slides your shirt off of her arms and lays it next to her. “Got anything a little more… comfy?” she asks.

You can’t help the smile that pulls across your lips, as you open your dresser drawer and pull out a tee shirt. You open it up to see which one it is, and nod, throwing it over to her. 

She catches it and looks at it, flashing you a knowing grin. “Oh I bet you’re loving this aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.” you answer. 

You grab yourself some clothes and an extra blanket, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

“Wait!” she says, stopping you in your tracks. You turn to look at her.

“Um… can you stay in here for a little while?” she asks, practically melting your heart. She doesn’t want you to leave her yet.

“If you want me to?” you say, throwing the blanket over your desk chair.

“Okay.” she replies, nodding her head. 

You make your way to the door, and you see her brow furrow. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back, I promise.” you laugh. You can see her cheeks blush pink. Your favorite color in the world.

You flash her a smile and close the bedroom door. You make your way to the bathroom, changing out of your clothes and pulling on a pair of shorts. You brush your teeth and try not to seem too eager about returning to the girl in your room. 

As you quietly pad down the hallway your mind jumps back to Andy passed out in your basement. You can't believe he would ever dream of talking to another girl. The perfect woman was right in front of him. Why couldn't he see that?

As you gently turn the door knob, you enter the room, seeing her curled up on your pillow. ‘Greta Van Fleet’ displayed across her chest. Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of her in your bed, with your band on her shirt. A dream realized, in the wrong circumstances. 

“Just sit with me for a little while?” she asks. “Or, unless you don’t want to. You’re probably tired too, I don’t–” you cut her off.

“I want to. Promise.” you say, pulling the desk chair to the side of the bed, sitting and extending your legs up onto the side of the bed. It’s quiet for a few minutes as you stare at each other. Her eyes start to grow heavy, as she whispers your name. “Jake?” 

Your eyes meet hers, and you nod. 

“Will you play me a song…” she asks. You’re fairly confident you’ve waited your whole life for her to ask this question, but now that the moment is here you don’t know what to play.

“I have to be quiet, but I will show you something I have been working on?” you ask.

“Okay…” she whispers, eyes closed, face pushed into the pillow.

You grab your new twelve string from the corner, a gift from the label after your first tour, and begin softly strumming the strings. The notes float around the room like twinkling stars in the sky, lulling her to sleep, not even knowing the song is about her. 

When her eyes fully shut, you quietly place the guitar back on the stand, and turn off the lamp. You pull the quilt up over her shoulders and brush the hair from her face. You look at her, even in the darkness of the room, and wonder how one person could be so beautiful.

As you step away, you grab the door knob and you hear her. “Jake?”

“Yeah?” you answer.

“Stay with me.” she says.

“What?” you ask.

“Come back. Come here.” she whispers. 

You walk back over to the bed and feel her hand searching for yours in the dark. Her fingers glide over the top of your hand, feeling the warm skin. “Will you stay here? Stay with me?” she asks nervously.

“Are you sure…” you ask. 

“It’s the only thing I’m sure about.” she says. 

You pull your shirt over your head, and toss it on the chair, climbing into the bed to lay behind her. You will admit you weren’t looking forward to sleeping on the couch, but never did you imagine you’d end your night this way. 

Pulling yourself under the quilt you can feel the heat of her legs radiating onto yours. You turn over to your side to face her back, and move the pillow under your head, a sigh releasing from your chest.

You feel her moving as her body rolls to face you. A tiny bit of moonlight peeks through the blinds at the foot of the bed, allowing you to see her face.

Her hand reaches out and tucks your long hair behind your ear, before resting it in front of her chest. You can feel the tension between the two of you. This is as close as you have ever been to her. Your body calling out to kiss her since that night at the graduation party. You needed her, and here she was. But she wasn't yours to kiss.  

You grab her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her finger tips, “Go to sleep, love.” you whisper.

Her fingers work to intertwine with yours but you release her from your grip knowing if you touch her for too long you won't be able to stop. Instead she pulls herself closer to you, snaking her arm around your waist and holding you. You know right then, that she wants you just as bad as you want her. You know it's probably just the alcohol in her system making her brave, but you revel in it, and enjoy the closeness of her, the smell of her hair against your nose and the feel of her bare legs against yours. You wrap your arm around her waist, clad in just your tshirt and her underwear, pulling her into you further, groaning as her face nuzzles into your neck. She fits with you perfectly, and you wish you could freeze this moment. You aren’t sure if you imagined it, but you think you felt her lips flutter across your neck ever so slightly sending a shiver through your body. Minutes later, you hear her breathing even out, feel the soft rise and fall of her chest, and you know she's out. 

You lay there for a while, taking in every second of this moment. A moment that shouldn’t be happening, but by some miracle was. Your eyes grow tired but you fight it, knowing in the morning this will have to end. When you can't fight it any longer you place a soft kiss on her forehead, letting your eyes close with her wrapped in your arms. 

Sometime around 6AM you heard the bathroom door shut a little too hard, waking you from your sleep. You know this is Josh sending your twin signal for something impending, but you ignore it.  You feel her next to you, on top of you, all over you in fact. Her head is laying on your arm, while her right arm and leg are slung across your body. She is cuddled into your side in ways you have only dreamt of, causing you to grow hard beneath her. Not wanting this moment to end you roll to your side, pulling her close once more, before drifting back to sleep.

When you awoke the second time, it was far less pleasant. Your bedroom door is being thrown open, and your eyes spring wide at the sound. Your vision is blurry still as your eyes adjust to the daylight coming in through the window. She untangles herself from you as she sits up in the bed, pulling the quilt up to cover her.

“Oh, fucking of course. Should have fucking known.” Andy yells, seeing her laying next to you. 

“Andy, stop it’s not what it looks like.” she replies, jumping up out of the bed and walking over to him.

“Oh fuck you, I don’t believe that for a second!” he yells in her face. 

“Hey man, calm down. She’s telling the truth. She was drunk, and not feeling good, and asked me to stay with her since you were passed out in my basement. Nothing happened.” you say, trying to ease the tension.

“Andy, really, I swear it’s–” she starts before he cuts her off.

“You’re a slut, you know that?” he says barreling through the door, and down the stairs.

“Hey!” you yell, throwing the quilt off of you and pulling on your shirt. How dare he talk to her like that.

“I knew you’d sleep with him eventually....you’re such a whore. Embarrassing really…” he yells.

You are flying down the stairs as fast as your feet can take you, You grab her hand and pull her behind you. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that. Get the fuck out of my house! Don’t ever come back here again.” you yell to him, pointing to the door. 

He charges at you, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her to his side, “She’s leaving here with me. She is mine and you’d do well to remember that. If you ever touch her again I will make sure it's the last thing those precious hands ever touch.” he threatens.

It takes everything in you to not bash his face in right there and she can see it written all over your face. “She isn’t going any fucking where with you, ever again!” you reply reaching for her. 

She looks at you and shakes her head ‘no’. She’s scared of how he will react. Her eyes well with tears as she struggles to pull away from his grip on her own.

“Let me go Andy!” she yells, his grip tightening on her arm.

Hearing the commotion, Sam comes tearing down the stairs. As he reaches the base of the steps he shouts, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Let her go!” 

“Andy, please you are overreacting!” she pleads, desperately struggling to get away from him.

Fed up with her he screams into her face, “Shut up! Quit fucking speaking!” raising his hand to strike her across the face. As she flinches away from him, you and Sam both spring into action before he makes contact. 

Andy releases his grip on her, and sets his sights on Sam charging towards him in order to deliver a swift punch to his jaw. Sam works valiantly to defend himself from Andy’s relentless onslaught, and defend her honor as he fights him through the front door, slamming it behind him and twisting the lock.  

As it all went down she ran to you. She knew you would never stop if you laid a finger on him. She clung to you to protect her. She stood half clothed and clinging to your chest, sobbing in your arms as she listened to the man who told her he loved her, call her vile names and attack her best friend. She shook in your arms as you held her tightly to you, until it finally went silent.

Sam returned to you both, hands bloody from holding his dripping mouth, riddled with shock as he tries to process what happened. As he watches her cling to you, his eyes meet yours in silent question. With a gentle nod of your head you answer, and it was at that moment Sam finally knew. 

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Chapter 4

Taglist: @gretavansara @jordierama @starshine-wagner @gretavanfvckface @gretavanmoon @gvfjess @misshunnybeebee @fretaganvleet @gvfpal @joshkiszkas @ascendingtostardust @raviolilegs @sammysprincess @gvfpal @objectsinspvce

[silviaeaber]

Just finished writing this, didn’t edit it. I suck at descriptions and it’s probably OOC. Also it’s a shameless self-insert. Fuck it we ball fuck it we ball fuck it we ball

A crowbar slunged over his shoulder, the Devil’s Butcher stalks towards his prey.

He’s done with work for the day, his mechanic uniform stained with oil. One murder a day keeps the doctor away, is what he said many months ago, on new year’s eve, to his fellow serials in the server - a resolution, a wish. He ended up failing, having to miss a few days for various reasons, but he still does it most days. Today was supposed to be a skip, but he found a prime target. And he’s aching to do it. Fuck, the kills aren’t as satisfying as they could be if his darling was his pretty little victim, but she’s more entertaining alive anyway. Cute, too. And it’s not like he’s gonna kill her out of nowhere, anyway… not after everything. He does think about what her heart would look like held in his fingers, though. Squeezed and bled. The ultimate act of love - though his darling disagrees, loves to pout about it and call it ‘the equivalent of a one-night-stand’. Eh, guess they just love differently, she and him. Relationships are all about accepting the other’s differences, yadda yadda. He doesn’t mind, he loves her, and she’s corrupted enough anyway - all nice and obsessed with him.

Point is, today at work, Ronin had a very interesting client. Guy in his 30s, with his younger girlfriend. The guy insisted they stayed and watched the repairs. Poor girl clearly wasn’t into cars, but she tried so hard to get into her bastard boyfriend’s interests. Bastard, yes, ‘cause the fucker kept making comments that were eyebrow raising to say the least. The usual, casual misogyny found in oh so many couples. The classics, a bit of shut up, some fondling when she was clearly uncomfortable, putting down her hobbies, the very fact that she was clearly much younger than him - barely 18, Ronin guessed.

That’s how he chose today’s victim. His preferred victims are assholes and abusers, especially if they’re Christians - which the guy is, judging from his cross necklace. Sure, those are more guidelines than rules, but Christ, is killing those type of fuckers satisfying.

And so, right now Ronin is following the bastard - now alone, his girlfriend having uncomfortably left at some point - towards, funnily enough, Purgatory. Didn’t even need to sneakily lead him there.

With his free hand, Ronin takes his phone and dials Silvia’s number. She picks up before the first ring is even over and Ronin has to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“Ronin,” she says, her tone pleasantly surprised. He just knows she’s anticipating hearing his voice. “What’s up? Are you still coming over?”

“‘Course I am, darlin’,” he answers, and he can practically see her smile. “Jus’ wanted to tell you I’ll be late. Met some fucker at work.”

“Ohh, okay.” Silvia pauses. “Well then, have a nice murder and, uh, come back soon? I miss you.”

“Miss you too, baby. See you soon.” Ronin chuckles when Silvia blows him a phone kiss, and then puts down the phone and focuses on his to-be victim again.

They’re alone now. ‘Poor’ bastard walked far enough that no one’s around, and they’re right in Purgatory. Ronin can’t help the grin slowly forming on his face. No matter how many times he does this, the thrill never fades.

“Y’know, cars and people have a few things in common,” he speaks, and the guy jolts and turns around. His annoyed gaze turns to alarm when he sees the crowbar. “For example, I know what the insides of both look like. Ain’t that a fun fact?”

“H-Hey, man, you’re the- I know you from today, yeah? The mechanic?” The guy tries to look tough, but the realization is already dawning in his eyes. He’s in Purgatory, being approached by someone with a crowbar. “I, listen man, I’m just passin’ by, my home is that way, don’t want to cause trouble—”

Ronin laughs out loud. “Oh, there’s no trouble. Well, maybe one. My crowbar, see, it’s hungry. And so am I.”

The guy starts to run, but Ronin is faster and stronger. He slams the guy against the wall, and crack, something is broken and the bastard wails. Ronin cackles.

“Why why why me…” The man coughs and sputters as Ronin slams the crowbar against his knees, and he screams louder and slumps. “Please please please I’ll do anything, I’ll— I’ll help you find another victim, a better one!” he pleads.

Ronin is amused. “Yeah? Who’re you gonna find for me?”

“A… a girl! I’ll find you a girl. One of my girl’s friends?” suggests the guy, panting in pain. “It’s gotta be more satisfying killing a girl, y-yeah? You like them, right? I’ll find you one that’s nice and soft and— just let me live please and I’ll find you your most satisfying kill!”

Nice and soft. That description reminds him of Silvia and he chuckles. “Sorry to say, but it’s your unlucky day! There’s no one nicer and softer than my girl.” He kneels in front of the sobbing man, whose trembling hands are holding his broken kneecaps. “You know what I find really fuckin’ funny? I’m a damn serial killer - I am all that’s filthy and grotesque in this world - and yet, I still treat my girl better than you do yours. Christ, not that it takes much.”

“I-Is that what it’s about?!” wails the guy, tears streaming down his cheeks, “Are you- are you some kind of vigilante protecting women, or—“

“Vigilante?!” interrupts him Ronin, and he cackles. Loud, not holding back. “Jesus, no, I’m not V. Nah, don’t get me wrong.” Ronin stands back up, crowbar in hand. “Yeah, fuckers like you make my blood boil. But that’s not the only reason why I do it.” He readies the swing, ignoring the man going no no no no no no… “I just love hearin’ the crack of skulls.” Crack. “The squelch of blood and meat.” Squelch. “I like to swing this baby again and again and again and again…” And he does. Again and again and again and again. Ronin laughs madly, blood spraying on his face. “Because I’m fuckin’ depraved!” he tells the maimed corpse, “I’m the devil!”

And then he dips his crowbar in the man’s blood. And he draws on the walls and on the ground. Pentagrams, horned devilish figures. And he feels so fucking good and in control and he’s having so much fun. He adjusts then man’s necklace so that the cross is right where his forehead used to be.

And he cackles and takes pics and he takes out a small vial, he found it in Silvia’s home and she let him take it because she’s just that nice, and he fills it with that fucker’s sickly sweet, red liquid. Freedom in a bottle.

He’s about to send the pics in the server, his bloodied finger hovering over the send button, but he hesitates. Nah, he kinda wants Silvia to see them first. See what she thinks.

It doesn’t take long for him to take care of what he needs to not get found by the cops, and then he’s off to Silvia’s house. She’s home alone tonight, no one to bother them except the cat - but he’s not really a bother, Ronin likes that silly creature - and he knows she’s waiting in her room like he told her to.

It’s easy to climb the sides of the house to reach the balcony in front of Silvia’s room, it’s not that high. He can see her inside, on her computer, frantically typing something on what looks like a word document. Aw, that’s his writer darlin’. And then Ronin knocks, grinning. “Hey, darlin’.”

Silvia jolts. “Aaaaah oh my god, hey!” She laughs, embarrassed, as she goes to open the window to let him in. There’s that usual cute, shy smile on her face. That dreamy expression she makes every time she sees him.

“Scared you, darlin’?” Ronin wraps his arms around her and she hums happily, not even minding the blood still on him.

“Mmh, I was just absorbed in writing.” She gestures at the computer. “Still practicing my descriptions. It’s uh, not working. Always feels like I’m putting someone else’s words in my mouth.”

“Eh, ‘s fine, as long as you keep writing. Don’t stop. You have to do something with the inspiration I give you.” He pats her head, almost condescendingly, and she melts. He snorts. She’s funny.

After a moment, she says, “So, the guy.”

“The guy,” he repeats, grinning.

“The, you know, the victim. The ‘fucker’ you told me about. How did it… go?”

“Mmh, glad you asked, baby. Because I took some nice pics that are definitely worth a look.” He shows her the pics on his phone, and she looks at them with an unreadable expression on her face. “You’re the first one who gets to see them. Say thank you, Ronin.”

“Thank you, Ronin,” she chirps, cuddling up to him as her eyes scan the gory spectacle. “What did the guy to do deserve this?”

“Was horrible to his girl. She’s better off without him,” he says.

“Mmh, nice.” Silvia closes her eyes, the slightest satisfaction visible in her features. “I’m getting used to your pics. Don’t know what to think about it.”

“I know what to think about it,” he grins, “It’s really fuckin’ funny. Sweet girl, wouldn’t hurt a fly unless provoked, yet so eager to see gory pics of her boyfriend’s murder victims.”

She blushes, a shaky, awkward smile on her face. “Glad you find it entertaining, at least.”

“Yeah, baby. Really fucking satisfying to see hints of grotesqueness in you,” he drawls. “Grotesqueness I’ve corrupted out of you.”

She pouts. “You can’t just say that, it’s hot.”

He laughs. “You’re kinda easy, huh? Oh, by the way—” He takes out the blood vial and throws it at her, who barely catches it, clumsy girl she is. “That fucker’s blood. You’re welcome.”

“Ew, no.” She frowns and gives it back to him. “I don’t want an abuser’s blood, ew, gross.”

“So you like the pics but not the real thing? Tsk tsk, darlin’.”

She crosses her arms. “No, listen, it makes sense. Blood is super intimate and it’d just be weird to keep the blood of someone I hate.”

“Then kill me, baby,” he coos, “Kill me and take my blood, and more.”

“Well… no, that’s not okay either because…” She looks troubled. “Because then you’d be gone and I’d be sad!”

He chuckles. Yep, that’s a classic Silvia opinion. “Yeah, yeah. Such a bleedin’ heart you are, darlin’.” He cups her cheek with his hand. She feels soft. “Tell you what, we’ll get a couple more vials, one for me and one for you. Then we can cut each other juuust a little, just enough to fill ‘em. So we can both have each other’s blood and keep our lives. How’s that sound, darling?”

She blushes. She actually blushes. Yeah, despite her gentleness, she is a little bit of a freak sometimes. “Will you cut me gently?” she asks in a whisper.

He presses his lips at the top of her head. “I’ll cut you so gently and nicely that you’ll love the pain, baby, I promise.”

He feels some kind of warmth when she squeals and clings to him, embarrassed. Yeah, it’d be lovely too see her chest cut open. To hold and kiss her heart as she fades away.

…But this is nice, too. He might be the devil, but he doesn’t mind just spending a cozy night in with his darling.

[muserepeats]

29 or 36 for fexi? Maybe the first time they call each other baby or another pet name???

Or 36 would kill me

Your writing is so incredible. And you write them so in love with each other, I am melting and get all emotional 😩🥹. and also hot and bothered because the smut is top tier too! We are blessed 💖

Thank you for the kind words! It really means a lot to read them. (And again, apologies for not responding sooner. Soft prompt post here in case anyone is curious.) Here is #29, from a new crossover fic (promised long ago) that I've started and hope to share next year. 🏈 😉✨

Lexi hears the buzz of her cell phone on the bedside table. It’s not a surprise to be interrupted by a phone call at this hour, but the excitement never fades. She knows as soon as she drops her book, reaches for the device beside her, and turns the screen towards her, Lexi will see his name. Every night it’s the same.

The flutter in her chest was unfamiliar that first time he called her, after the New Year’s Eve party and her brave trip to the convenience store and a few days of texting. Now, nearly 8 months later, the feeling is reliable, his calls are expected, but her heart races just the same. It’s enough to make her pause before answering, to remind herself that this is the feeling she’s been dreaming of her entire life. 

“Hey, Fezco,” she says through a blush and an uncontrollable smile. 

“Hey, Lex. How you doin?” His familiar drawl in her ear is a balm for every bad memory, every moment of self doubt. Finally, she has someone to count on.

“I’m good, even better now.” Lexi steals a glance over at her sister, who responds with an annoyed glare.  The sight of Cassie pushing herself off the bed with a huff is something she enjoys a little more than she should. Lexi tries to ignore the distraction and focus on the voice on the other end of the line.

These days, Cass has mastered the mix of a disgusted scowl and frustrated sigh, complemented by an almost imperceptible eye roll. Just a year ago, the tables were completely turned. It was Lexi sitting across the room, trying to concentrate on her Algebra 2 problem set as her sister cooed some saccharine nonsense into the phone. 

"How was your day?" she continues with a grin. Cassie stalks over to the door, her feet landed loudly the carpet in a dramatic display of revulsion.

"Alright," he says through a sigh. "Like you said, s'even better now. Kinda spent most of it missin' you, baby."

The door snaps shut and, despite her sister’s obvious jealousy over someone, anyone, making Lexi the center of their world, there’s only one thought rushing through her mind. He called me baby.

Her teeth gnawing at the center of her cheek are just one challenge to finding a response. There's also the rush of adrenaline in her belly, and the flush of heat on her cheeks, and an undeniable tingling sensation between her legs. She has to remember to breath.

“Sorry, ion’ mean to be derogatory,” Fez blurts, a quicker cadence than his typical slow pace. “I guess we talked about a lotta things, but we ain’t talk about me callin’ you that…”

He was right — they had talked about a lot of things, especially since school started and he had fully settled into life at the Taylor’s house. They talked about what happened that night, right before the play. They talked about the feelings that Lexi felt, ad nauseum, through each act of said play as that saved seat meant for him sat empty. They talked about Ash, and they talked about the hospital. They talked, more frequently, about what happened at school or practice or rehearsal that day. And, just last weekend, they talked about their relationship status. A relationship status that definitely made it appropriate for him to call her baby.

“It’s okay,” she mumbles softly, responding just as he trails off. “I like it. You can say it again.” 

The soft grumble of his voice continues, "Baby, baby, baby." There's a hint of teasing in the word, but she knows he savors speaking it as much as she loves hearing it. Lexi chuckles and flops herself onto her back and stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on her ceiling. "Like that?" he goads, his voice turning more suggestive.

"Yeah, like that," she says, her cheeks pained from a wide smile. There's a very good chance that his expression matches hers on the other side of town. She thinks to return the gesture, call him baby, too. But it doesn't feel quite right. Maybe they don't need pet names, but she's waited long enough for this relationship to blossom into something real, something more tactile than the bounds of her imagination. Lexi wants all the silly little clichés of a high school romance, and she wants Fez to have them too.

He clears his throat to break the long beat of silence, and a rush of bravery allows Lexi to ask the question on her mind. "And what should I call you?"

[birdhaslostit]

Okay,

top Ghost songs in no particular order: a review

New fan here, and I’m trying to learn everything i can about these guys. I first heard them on TikTok, but it actually wasn’t Mary On a Cross. Most people seem to have found them through that. (There’s no shame in it though, that song kicks ass.) I don’t remember the first Ghost song I ever heard, but I do remember hearing about them every once in a while.

Cirice (Ceremony and Devotion ver.)

If it isn't the live version, I don't want it. You can feel the electricity of the crowd. The chanting and yelling, you can practically see people reaching out, clawing to touch the stage. The guitars are especially ominous and twangy in this version. Papa's little additions of "can you?" and "I wanna know" make me want to scream back like I'm actually there. The way he ends it on a HOWL of a note, with the added reverb of it being played live? I've left my body, I am no longer alive. My ex-catholic ass has never felt closer to god than I have while listening to the lyrics "can't you see that you're lost? Can't you see that you're lost without me?" Also, Terzo specifically playing this live? I've seen the videos. Absolute filth. Incredible. I would shit my pants if I saw it in person. Can I hear the rumble that's calling? Absolutely I can. It's shaking my floorboards from all the bass.

Jesus He Knows Me

I just need to start by saying that this music video is the filthiest thing I've ever seen. And. I. Love. It. I didn't even catch the Defroque pun until a few days later. This song and this video absolutely gut scummy televangelists, and it's the greatest thing I've seen in years. It was one of the first Ghost music videos I ever watched, if not the first. All over TikTok, I saw video after video of people going "don't watch this, it's terrible, it's insane, it's so disrespectful, it's so gross." And of course, I had to see it after seeing so many people tell me how gnarly it was. I knew I'd definitely seen worse, and I had to see it for myself. It was, in the biblical sense, Eve grasping for the fruit of the tree. I logged into Youtube, and my jaw was on the ground. I could talk about it for days. It ran through my head on loop afterwards, and just would not go away. I was absolutely shocked and amazed at the balls on these people to put it all out in the open like that, and to not only get away with it, but to make a poignant statement while doing it. They didn't just do this for the shock value, they did it because it's the truth. This thing fucking rules.

Rats

Oh my god, it's spooky Def Leppard! I love spooky Def Leppard! That guitar solo! Just listen to those layered harmonies on each "oh woah-oh." The music video? Exceptional in every way. It's like I'm watching an 80s MTV spectacle. The choreography is burned into my brain like I've stared at the sun for too long. It is extravagant in every way, and I love it.

Con Clavi Con Dio (Ceremony and Devotion ver.)

Again, if it isn't the live version, I don't want it. It hits infinitely different than it does in the studio version. Hearing the reverb of the vocals bouncing around the stadium, and everyone staying silent to listen to it like it's gospel... Outrageous. Hearing that first "Lucifer?" The Italian sections? I'm getting flashbacks of going to church, but instead I'm actually having a good time.

He Is

Now, as an ex-catholic, I wasn't really raised on the typical evangelical/protestant 'youth group Jesus rock.' My church was all old people, so it was mostly the traditional stuff. But I definitely have heard the genre enough to know it when I hear it, and this is it— but not shitty, and not about Jesus. If I heard this at a church during a vulnerable time in my life as a teen, I would've totally been on board. And the inherent layers to that fact cannot be understated. It's a perfect critique/parody, no notes.

Life Eternal

This hits me like a half-and-half blend between Cirice and He Is. It's got that yearning, reaching, almost loving feel to it that Cirice has, but the sugar-sweet churchy vibe of He Is that makes you forget the fact that it's being sung by the devil's favorite band. It also gives me almost Journey vibes? Like, listen to Open Arms, and then listen to this. I can't be the only one.

I Believe

I genuinely did not know this was a cover until like 5 minutes ago. This shit is so ethereal. Like, almost Enya-esque? There are so many layers to it, so many different parts you could focus on, so many different sounds blending into one gorgeous whole. How is it so heavenly even though it's being sung by a satanic pope? I'm levitating. I'm contemplating my existence in this universe. The original is not bad by any means, but I love this version 100 times more. This isn't just a cover, honestly. The song has been totally transformed. The atmospheres of the two versions are so vastly different that calling it 'just a cover' is doing it a disservice.

Darkness At The Heart Of My Love

The little guitar bit at the very start really surprised me, honestly. At first it sounded like... Renaissance fair-y? And then the vocals started. Ghost really keeps you on your toes. This is truly a pseudo-love ballad I can get into. If I was driving a car while this was playing, I would accidentally start speeding during the chorus. Again, strong 80s rock band vibes with this one. I keep thinking Keep on Loving You by REO Speedwagon. And the whispered parts that I had to google because I couldn't understand what they were saying? Once I found out, I was sold.

Square Hammer (Ceremony and Devotion ver.)

The reversed vocals at the start? That Scooby Doo-ass intro with the 60s-style organ? Again, I'm telling you, spooky Def Leppard! I love it! The live version of this is just incomparable to the studio version. The booming power behind this recording is nuts. It's like thunder and lightning, I've got chills. Am I on the square? Am I on the level? Fuck yes I am. Am I ready to swear right here, right now, before the devil? Give me a knife and point me to the nearest sacrificial goat.

Dance Macabre

Spooky stripper music. It's got a late 60s/early 70s vibe to it in a way that I can't fully explain. It might be the organ, it might be the vocal style, it might be the hook. The hook for sure sounds like something a boy band might pull, in a good way. Nothing occult enough to make the parents throw away all of their records, but enough to make your religious dad turn his nose up at it.

Kiss the Go-Goat

Jim Morrison, is that you? "You've been daddied by all the dudes that wanna dad / And all those dads never gave you the things you should've had" is the most insane line in this whole thing. He had no right. That's like a quadruple entendre. The balls on this man. And you already know I love a good blasphemous Latin section. With the smooches at the end? Be still, my heart. I just know people in 1969 were screaming and throwing panties onstage. It's just a fact.

Bonus list of songs I would shit my pants if they covered:

Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode

Specifically the Holier Than Thou Approach with Francois Kevorkian. Like what the fuck else would they do? It's like asking a fish to breathe water. It would be stupid if they didn't. Do it, cowards.

The Hairstyle of the Devil by Momus

I love New Wave. I just do. And I think that Ghost could really transform it into something spectacular in their own style. The lyrics are fascinating: "And when you meet me finally your horns will lock with mine / For the beast rules with rivalry / As the clock rules with time / Pleased to meet you, hope you've guessed my name." They could do so much with this.

Bloody Mary by Lady Gaga

A pretty obvious pick, I know, but you have to admit it would be incredible.

Talking In Your Sleep by The Romantics

They could make this so slutty and so spooky, y'all. Listen to the lyrics and tell me they wouldn't.

Pet Sematary by The Ramones

Again, on-brand.

The Stroke by Billy Squier

I mean, come on.

Fortune and Fame by Naked Eyes

I can't tell you why, but in my mind, it really fits.

[usertoxicyaoi]

I can’t sleep so naturally I rewatched ShogunMaitoh’s scenes to pass the time (your enthusiastic screaming about them got me to watch the show in the first place and I’m glad I did, it’s a precious little show) and the language nerd in me started to wonder about something.

Maitoh uses phi to refer to Shogun and it got me thinking if he would ever switch to hia? I could see it happening with Maitoh either using it as a joke at first and both of them realising that they actually really like it, or Maitoh using it as a way of flirting, being affectionate and/or teasing. I also feel like it would only happen in private at first and if Maitoh ever started to use hia in public as well it would happen gradually, unlike with Team who ran with Hia Win and never looked back. 😂 Any thoughts?

(And happy last day of this year! 🎆)

hi hi hiiiiiiiiiii!!!!

FHFNSIFID ANY THOUGHTS?! FOR SHOGUNMAITOH? THERE'S ALWAYS THOUGHTS!!!! and i'm soooo glad you like it!!! it really is SUCH a lovely warm little show!!!!

yeah no i literally think maitoh would probably call him hia a few months down the line into their relationship, especially when he starts hanging out / sleeping over at shogun's place more and more frequently, and he sees the exact way namwah says "hiiiiiaaaaaaaa" when she wants something from shogun or is tryna make up with him, and he sees how SOFT shogun is and how EASILY he just .... gives in to his little sister .....

so he keeps that in mind and then one time maitoh wants shogun to finish work early in the studio but shogun's all "listen Babe i NEED to finish this" and maitoh just literally WHINES "hiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaa", and that Literally has shogun PAUSE and turn slowly to face maitoh who has the BIGGEST doe eyed look on his face, and he says it again, and again, and he's now Literally just smirking at shogun and then says "oh? does hiiiaaa not have work to finish now?" before walking out of the studio and heading Straight to shogun's bedroom.

SO YES. and they keep it between themselves for a bit and shogun ADOOOORES it when maitoh calls him hia (for the Very Same Reasons that win has when team calls him hia)

until one day they're with everyone and they're having band practice and shogun wants them to run through it again but maitoh knows that this is just shogun wanting it to be Perfect Perfect when its already good enough anyway. so he just whines "ohhh hiiiiaaaaa i'm tired!! .... " and EVERYONE's just like.

O.O .... WHAT did you just say?

and maitoh does That Thing he does when he gets shy, looks down and purses his lips together and has that little smile, before he looks up to see shogun who's just. Looking At Him. and his ears are literally RED like they were when they first kissed. and he somehow manages to say "uh yeah okay thats enough for today." and everyone just sorta Gets The Hint and leaves.

and maitoh just shrugs his shoulders with sooo much casual confidence when shogun looks at him again, and then teases him and asks "what's wrong, hiiiia?". bc yeah, what is there to hide now anyway? everyone knows. everyone knoooows.

uhhhh and what can shogun do anyway! like he's sooooo FOND OF and ENDEARED BY maitoh he GIVES in to him EVERYTIME. he is Literally his BABY the APPLE OF HIS EYE.

SO YEAH. shogun just ends up shaking his head with the biggest grin on his face, walks up to maitoh who's sat behind his drums, takes his face in his hands, and replies,

"nothing. nothing's wrong. besides, i like it when you call me hia. but you already know that."

(happy new years eve to you tooooo!!!! 🧡🧡🧡)

[evedreamsof]

the eyes never lie // c. oftana

entry #66

calvin shows her how it works

eve watched as calvin trained. she, and a few other wives and partners, were watching the smb team go against each other to practice for their next game. eve was one of the youngest among the partners, they all welcomed her with warm and open arms. they were just a few years older than her but she still felt like a child. they were all so sophisticated and made-up, she was just your average girl.

“eve, loosen up with us, won’t you?” sienna said with a smile on her face. “calvin’s the latest addition to this great team. and, he’s a really good player. we can’t let a catch like him go, and we especially can’t a catch like you go.”

eve giggled. “thank you. i’m just…you guys are all so cool and glamorous! i’m not afraid to admit that i look so plain and boring compared to you guys.”

mosh laughed. “oh, eve. it’s all about confidence.”

eve smiled as she continued hanging out with the players’ counterparts.

finally, everyone else had left but calvin, wanting to prove himself some more, stayed to shoot some more. they all bid eve and calvin goodbye, promising to see each other again next time. eve couldn’t help but feel like she finally belonged.

calvin had on his earbuds as he practiced. eve was scrolling through her phone and came across an article that featured calvin as the latest beermen. it had been a few weeks since the trade but every news about him is new and worth the read.

“my penguin.” she had heard him call out and she looked up to see him smiling at her. “you okay there?”

“all good!” she called back. he nodded and returned to dribble the ball. eve didn’t mean to but the sight of his arms distracted her. she licked her lips and sighed. how she loved to hold them during intimate moments. “fuck…” she murmured.

she did not go back to scrolling through her phone. rather, she watched him move around and try to score. his legs were so long. he was a foot and a half taller than her and she loved it.

the way he would wrap his arms around her in bed. the way he hugged her from behind. the way he had to bend down to kiss even just the top of her head. the way he held her hand. the way he placed his arm around her. the way he kissed her.

“my penguin. eve.”

she snapped out of her thoughts and blinked quickly a few times before realizing that calvin had crouched down for his eyes to look directly at her. “yes?”

“are you okay?” he asked. “you looked as if you spaced out. which, i’m guessing, you did. is there anything you want to let out?”

“no,” she said, shaking her head and blushing. “i was just thinking about some of our moments…” she looked away. “are you done?”

“yeah. i’m just gonna hit the showers and then we can go. you wanna wait for me out here?”

“i wanna shower with you,” she muttered.

“what was that?” calvin asked although he had a smirk on his face meaning he heard her clearly. “what did you say?”

“nothing,” she said. “i’ll wait for you outside. i might buy us a smoothie.”

he nodded. “okay.” then, he leaned in and whispered, “you can shower with me later.”

she blushed and pushed him away playfully. “go.”

later that day. eve was watching highlights of calvin’s games. she then noticed that kelly williams’ eyes were focused not on jmf’s hands but on his face. she never noticed that.

“calvin!” she called.

he appeared wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts. “yeah?”

she stared at his chest and arms. ‘fuck,’ she thought, ‘always the yummiest thing i’ve ever seen.’

“eve?”

she inhaled. “i always thought you guys focus on the hands and ball movement. kelly seems to be focused on the face.”

he smiled and sat beside her. “well, it’s not always the face. yes, we look at hands and ball movement but if we focus on their eyes, we can try to see what they’re thinking, to read what their plans are. it’s not always reliable but it works.”

“oh, okay.”

“want me to teach you how?”

“what do you mean?”

calvin smiled innocently and looked at eve right in the eye. “don’t look away.”

she had the huge urge to look away, she was always so conscious about looking at people in the eye, even if she was a close family or friend. although she has been told that she does look at people in the eye when she’s not thinking about it.

“don’t make me look away,” she challenged.

calvin’s smiled even wider. he leaned forward and trapped eve in the middle of his arms, his hands clutching the back of the chair she was seated on and the table.

“you’ve been thinking naughty things about me, haven’t you?”

“i have not.” her eyes searched for something else to look at.

“i told you not to look away,” he said. he held her chin and made her face him. “you be a good girl and follow instructions.”

she gulped. “this is so not fair.”

“how is this not fair?” he asked, returning his hand on the back of the chair and leaning in. “tell me.”

“you know how i feel about eye contact.”

“i do.”

“and you’re using it against me. your skills. you’re using your skills on me.”

he chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers. “i have more skills than you can imagine.”

“yeah? you’ve got anything new up your sleeves?”

“maybe i’ve been researching.” he shrugged.

this time, she made her eyes bore into his. “maybe you can use your skills on me.”

“with so much pleasure.”

[cheemers-writing-archive]

Encore (Okuyasu x Reader)

“To the new year!”

“To the new year!” Everyone else repeated. The clinks of glasses could be heard all throughout the restaurant. Although, instead of champagne, wine, or anything of the sorts, the drinks at this party were completely alcohol-free. You and your class decided to have a new year’s party at the local recreation center, with a rented out room and everything. Of course, this was done the day of, as practically everyone had plans on the eve. Even though the teachers were there to supervise, they mostly stayed on the sidelines as your class celebrated together.

You, of course, were having a wonderful new year’s party. A few weeks ago, your good friend (and secret crush) Okuyasu had confessed that he liked you. You, of course, were ecstatic, immediately saying yes. This was the first party you went to with Okuyasu as your boyfriend.

“Hey,” Okuyasu nudged you. “Let’s sing a song together!”

Right. The room that your class rented out had a karaoke machine. You wanted to, but there was a small problem: you were tone-deaf, and nervous about it, too.

“I don’t really… want to,” you mumbled, grabbing your arm.

Okuyasu shrugged, then put an arm around your shoulders. “That’s okay. I’ll probably go up there myself at one point, if you wanna cheer me on.”

You sighed. “Okay, fine, I really do want to, but it’s just… my singing isn’t great, and I don’t want to ruin the night for anyone else.”

“Aw, don’t worry about that!” Okuyasu laughed. “I’ve heard some god-awful singers up there already, and nobody looks unhappy, do they? You can’t be any worse than them.”

You still looked unsure.

“Would it be better if we sang together?” he asked. “I’ll sing super loud so nobody can hear you.”

Although you were still nervous, Okuyasu’s suggestion brought it down just enough to agree to go up to the karaoke machine.

As you walked up, your heart started beating fast again, but Okuyasu’s hand in yours brought it back down.

Right in front of the stage, Josuke was talking to some girls before looking up. “Oh, Koichi, they’re on stage!” Josuke nudged his friend beside him, who was talking with Yukako before turning his attention to his friends.

It was only thanks to Okuyasu that you weren’t having a panic attack at the moment. “What song should we pick?” he asked.

You looked at each of the songs he scrolled through, until you saw a familiar tune. “What about Moonlight Densetsu?” you suggested.

“You know how to pick a good song,” Okuyasu said as he picked the song. The beginning started up, and suddenly your class all turned to look at you. Your heart started to race even more than before, and your breathing quickened. Quickly, Okuyasu squeezed your hand, and you came back to your senses just as the first line started.

Gomen ne sunao ja nakute

Yume no naka nara ieru

Shikou kairo wa shooto sunzen

Ima sugu aitai yo

Although you were quiet at first, you slowly but surely got louder as the song continued. Your worst fears were staying fears. Even though you were so clearly out of tune, everyone seemed to be having a good time. At one point, Josuke even joined in, drowning out your fears even more.

Seiza no matataki kazoe

Uranau koi no yukue

Onaji kuni ni umareta no

Mirakuru romansu

Shinjite iru no

Mirakuru romansu

By the end, everyone was cheering. You suspected that lots of the girls were cheering for Josuke, but you didn’t care. What was most important was that everyone was still having fun.

“See? What did I tell you?” Okuyasu laughed, pulling you into a hug. “They loved you!”

“Josuke, I had no clue you had such a feminine side!” One of the girls ran up to the boy and grabbed his arm. “Who knew you liked Sailor Moon so much?”

“Well, I’m sure she loved you, too, but Josuke just so happens to be more popular than us,” Okuyasu laughed.

“I had a lot of fun!” you said, and hugged Okuyasu tighter. “Thank you for helping me go up there.”

“I had fun too,” Okuyasu finally let go of you. “Thanks for going up with me.”

After the party, you were walking home with your boyfriend before you had to part ways.

“I guess this is the part where we have to say goodbye until tomorrow,” you sighed.

“Y… yeah…” Okuyasu looked down and grabbed his arm.

“Are you okay?” you asked. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“There is, actually.” His face started to get red. “Um… I’m not as good as Josuke with these things, so I’ll just ask. Can I kiss you?”

You froze for just a moment, dumbfounded, before answering, “Yes, please do.”

The two of you struggled for a small while trying to get the angles of your lips right, before finally landing the kiss. It lasted for a small moment before being let go of, but it happened.

“Okay,” Okuyasu said. “Now we can say goodbye until tomorrow.”

And with that, the two of you parted ways.

[hargrove-mayfields]

It’s finally day one of @harringroveweek! Yay!

The prompt I went with for the 24th was: [Holiday] In the Summer! Here goes!

It’s late June again. School’s out, Max is turning 15. Three days away from the one year anniversary of when shit started going wrong.

Ideally, Billy wants to spend it moping; Honestly that’s how he spends most of his time anymore.

Since getting out of the hospital, since moving into a trailer with the Mayfields, since- well, everything- he just doesn’t have the motivation for much. Or the ability. Though that’s harder to admit.

So even though it’s the little shits birthday, and he spent the morning helping Susan tape balloons to the TV set and shit since he couldn’t sleep anyways, he didn’t expect the day to go much different than any other.

He’d tell the little brat happy birthday and be on his way with lying around and hating himself. Fun.

And then he found a spare party invitation on the calendar, that he’d either not noticed all month, or had just been out there this morning.

Tearing it off of the tack, he drops it on the dining table in front of Max, making the rickety old thing wobble slightly, “All of your nerds are coming here? Today?”

Matching his annoyed tone, Max looks up at him like he’s an idiot, that judgemental glare he’s so used to by now settled in her expression, “Uh, yes. It’s my birthday, asshole.”

Okay, he probably deserved that.

Still, he scoffs at her attitude and pulls the chair out next to her, “Aren’t most of those losers like, loaded? Can’t they host you or some shit?”

“No! Billy, it’s the first holiday of our summer break and I want to spend it at our new place.” Max says it like it’s a matter of fact that can’t be argued with, but Billy has to interrupt, “But your birthday ain’t a real holiday, Maxine.”

He can practically hear her eyes roll, having obviously struck a nerve as she crosses her arms and over explains in retaliation, “Shut up. I know that. But after what happened, it’ll be nice to celebrate something that doesn’t involve fireworks and crazy family members and nasty picnic food for a change.”

“Whatever.” He lets her have that. In the grand scheme of things, he doesn’t give a shit about any of this either way.

But then she makes this weirdly smug face instead, acting like she’s about to get him back or something with a simple comment, “Steve Harrington will be here.”

Best he can give is a half-hearted shrug, “So?”

She shifts to face him in her chair, obviously frustrated with his lack of cooperation with whatever idiotic plan she cooked up in her mind, “C’mon, I thought you liked Steve.”

Billy pretends he doesn’t feel his face heat up at that remark, or at least the personal context behind it, maybe being a little too defensive in his comeback, “Can I tolerate him more than the rest of the dipshits you hang out with? Sure. Do I particularly like him? Absolutely not.”

“You’re so picky. At least he talks to you. When was the last time you heard from any of your own friends?” It’s in her tone that he knows she doesn’t really get what she’s talking about, or understand why he’s been so distant. That his best friend didn't make it out like he did and now he’s all alone. So again, he just lets it go.

Saves this particular argument for later and tries changing the subject in a way, “Look. I just still don’t forgive him for lying. Or totaling my car.”

She doesn’t appreciate having her sarcasm dished back in her bratty face though, and she makes it known by shaking her head, a frizzy mess of slept-on hair he’s probably going to begrudgingly help Susan detangle later shaking at him too, and declares, “I’m not even going to acknowledge what you just said.”

“It’s true.”

“Yeah, whatever.” There’s this break in the conversation, and Billy thinks he’s done being annoyed, out of the woods for a few moments of peace, until Max starts up again. At least this time, there’s a bit of honesty in her voice, “You know, maybe you’re just comfortable like this, pushing everyone away. But I had to learn how to accept that sometimes, not everyone is out to get you, and I think you should too.”

But it’s uninvited honesty all the same, and it makes Billy feel strange, some barely fifteen year old girl preaching at him like that. There’s some sort of equally genuine answer dancing at the back of his thoughts, but he shuts it- and Max -down, “Since when were you my therapist?”

“Doesn’t matter, because I mean it.” Her posture straightens, knowing she’s won for now, “If you don’t come outside during my party, I will personally see to it that you are dragged along to every single gathering we have from now on. Every. Single. One.”

“Fine. I’ll participate. But only because I don’t want to be subjected to your dorky bullshit for the rest of my miserable life. I didn’t survive what I did just for that.”

“Aw, but now you’re going to miss Mews 2’s gotcha day party at Dustin’s next week.”

“Thank god for that. I might’ve just-“ Nowadays there's a tube that’s doing most of his breathing for him, since the massive hole in his chest still hasn’t quite fixed itself. He takes the opportunity to pinch it between two fingers, pretend to twist it, make a statement here that doesn’t need more explaining.

Because quite frankly, he would rather suffocate than go to a birthday for a cat with a handful of freshmen as his company. He misses being invited to parties that mattered.

Max doesn’t budge, if anything getting more stern, “No jokes like that on my birthday.”

“When did you become such a bitch?”

“Since I started spending more time with you.” As much as that stings in some backwards way, Billy cracks a smile. She probably had learned that from him, and they both know it. He almost feels proud even if she still won’t shut up, “But, because I’m actually trying to enjoy my hurtling advancement towards death, when my friends get here, do me a favor and don’t bother us with your dumb ‘jokes’.”

“What is it? I have to be outside, or I’m not even allowed to talk to you?”

“Both. Because I want you to sit with Steve.”

All this talk about someone he definitely used to have a flaming crush on isn’t good for Billy’s heart this early in the morning. Well, maybe it’s not that bad and it’s just his ego that’s in danger, but he complains about it all the same, “Why are we talking about Harrington again?”

“Well you know Dustin is going to bring him along, and then Steve’s going to be weird and he’s not going to want to do any birthday stuff with us because he’s older but he’s not going to want to be awkward so he’s gonna do it anyways, but he’ll just end up confused and annoyed and he’ll start whining about it and picking on us and-“ Max rambles on and on, so Billy decides to cut her off before she’s the one running out of air, “Alright. I’ll babysit the babysitter. Jesus.”

“Thank you, Billy.” Max wears the brightest shit eating grin, displaying all that righteousness right back in his face, “Just for that, I’ll re-invite you to Mews’ Party.”

Totally out of comebacks that aren’t way too harsh for her sensibilities, he can’t help but take her spot as the eye-rolling bitch then, “Gee, thanks.��

And then she’s off like a bat out of hell into the rest of her day, leaving him in this confused whirlwind of way too much happening all around him. In his state, it’s a lot of work just watching her skit around the tiny trailer like it isn’t a prison, and maybe it isn’t for her, not with how excited she is anyway.

So Susan and Max pretty much have the party handled from there. The most Billy ends up really doing is zip-tying a banner to the dogs kennel and stacking up some drink cups. It felt pretty shitty knowing that he’s not even strong enough to carry a card table from a few feet from the shed to the yard. Lucky for him, it’s easy enough, with all the other dramatics he tends to pull in a day, to play it off as pure disinterest.

Around when it starts getting hot out the rest of the shitbirds start showing up by the car-full, so it’s time for Billy to double down on his aura of definitely not wanting to be fucked with. He sits by the corner of the porch, the furthest spot from the hotspot of attention that is that new rat-dog and the only place in their new yard with any damn shade, and hides his face in a solo cup full of lemonade that definitely hasn’t been spiked with a little bit of Susan’s sherry, no sir.

The brooding older brother that nobody likes is not a hard part for him to play. They keep their distance and he keeps his easy peace. He might actually be enjoying this little summer party they’ve put together, if not just because it gets him out of that tiny fucking trailer for a few hours and out in the open air.

Until his little bubble of solitude bursts, Max’s wish for him has come true.

Barely an hour into the thing, Steve Harrington saunters over, just as awkwardly as the birthday brat described. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and his posture is way over-practiced. Looks like they may have both been forced to socialize. Billy wonders vaguely if he’d been blackmailed too before Steve breaks the silence with a stiff, “Hey.”

A non-committal gruff is Billy's only initial response. He’d like to maybe say more, but he doesn’t trust himself yet. He likes keeping to himself more anyways.

“You look pretty unenthused with all this.” Steve prompts, stupidly observant and painfully tense. Almost charming, somehow. Chalk it up to old feelings.

“Yeah, well, excuse me if I’m not thrilled about being stuck out in this humidity, playing babysitter for a group of kids that don’t even like me, with nobody else to talk to but my stepmom and some- random high school wash up.” Billy doesn’t know why he let all that come pouring out. Was it not a few seconds ago he decided he wasn’t going to do this?

He’ll blame it on a head injury or something.

“That’s how all the holiday parties go with these kids. You get used to it.” Steve shrugs, carrying on the same dry conversation until realization of Billy’s harshness and the implications of it hits him, “Wait, what-“

He doesn’t acknowledge it, maybe out of guilt for snapping and not totally just to save his ass, though that’s only for himself to know and think about, “Since when do unpopular dorks’ fifteenth birthday parties qualify as an official summer holiday? That’s the second time I heard that today.”

“I guess it’s just a matter of wanting to celebrate for once. You have to admit last summer sucked pretty bad for these kids. What’s the big deal if they want to act like birthday parties are the biggest event of the year?”

That description is so sweet, it almost doesn’t fill Billy with bitterness. Almost.

He mentions, either fishing for sympathy or for something to fight about, fine with whichever Harrington is willing to give him, “I didn’t even get a card.”

“When was your birthday?”

“Does it matter?”

“Uh, obviously it does. I asked for a reason.” Wisdom to curiosity to offense. This boy is truly giving Billy a run for his money in the confusing motives and twisting others’ words competition. A man after his own heart.

“Since when did you care what happened to me?” Billy demands a little harsher than he means to, and Steve must get that because, “I think we’re getting a little deeper than birthday cards here..”

Which, yeah, he’s absolutely right about that, but he doesn’t need the context. For Billy’s sake mostly, because it’s trauma Harrington wouldn’t understand combined with that dreamy crush on him that apparently just keeps coming back that’s making him so defensive over every word that the other could come up with.

And even if he’s more clever than he seems, and genuinely interested in what Billy’s talking about, and definitely still just as pretty as he was in high school, Billy figures, it’s better to scare him off now. Save himself the torment.

He can’t have what he wants, so he’ll just be a bitch about it or something. Maybe that is where Max learned her tricks.

So, even though Steve is right, Billy refutes it, in the most bitchy, inconsiderate way possible, which is to say he’s overcompensating for his dumb school boy crush, “We’re not, actually. You’re just being nosy. Because of course King Steve’s got to keep stroking his ego. As if showing up here wasn’t enough.”

Looking genuinely exasperated, a good sign for the sanctity of Billy’s secret, Steve asks, “What are you even on about anymore, Hargrove?”

“I know you’re somewhat of a dunce, but isn’t it obvious? I mean, if you wanted dirt on me, you could’ve just asked Max. She doesn’t exactly give a damn about me, so you didn’t even have to show up here, but you did anyway.” Yeah, that’s definitely a projection issue there. Better to let him think he’s become neurotic than to give off that he’s a queer.

At least Steve has the backbone to argue with him, “Uh, newsflash Hargrove. Not everything’s about you. I’m literally just here because Dustin needed a ride.”

“Oh, then pardon me for thinking I might be permitted to intrude upon your presence then, King Steve. It’s only my fuckin’ trailer.”

A beat. A look of revelation passing over the frustration in Steve’s features and leaving behind something softer. A tone that is way too gentle for the asshole Billy is intentionally being follows too, “Is this about that bullshit rivalry between us?”

“What else? You think I’m jealous of that never ending trail of mascara tears you bring everywhere with you? Ain’t got much to brag about there, King.” Billy’s spiraled too far into this to back out. Self-loathing over his own feelings pushed outward into insults. It makes him feel like shit. But he tells himself it’s fine just as long as he plays the part well.

He’s relieved when Steve braces through the compassion he let into his tone before and retaliates with some actual fire behind his words instead, “Except status. Is everything a competition with you?”

“Hell yeah, one that even with this damn tank weighing me down I could beat you at.” Not true. But he’d be willing to try. As long as it gets a rise out of Harrington.

Unfortunately for him, he’s once again overestimated the mean-spiritedness of everyone but himself.

Steve tilts his head just so, looking even more stupidly cute than usual, as if he’s more confused now than offended. Not what he was hoping for, “I don’t get it. I never cared about the comparisons people made about us. I thought they were crazy for wanting me to fight you for the crown and all that. I was over it before you even showed up.”

It’s getting harder to act like he’s unbothered by it all, and Steve isn’t helping. As easy as it is to pretend he’s raging and cold all the time, he lets just the slightest bit of vulnerability into his next response. An accusatory call for help of sorts, “So now you think you’re above me?”

“What? No? I’m just sayin’, Hargrove. Maybe this isn’t just about the past anymore. Because honestly, I used to like you Billy.”

What can Billy even begin to say in response to that? Something stupid, probably. But hearing those words from the one person he always wanted a second chance with, that sucks. There’s about a thousand ways he could spin this to mean something different. Something he wants to hear.

Instead, he stares at the ground in silence, though Harrington is unfortunately undeterred, and keeps talking, making everything worse.

“I mean, yeah you were kind of a dick, but you just had this way about you. Charming I guess.” He trails off with this admirable, nostalgic sort of tone that Billy can feel in his core. Every day is a memory for him, a series of fuck ups that all lead to this conversation with Steve Harrington at a backyard birthday party. Is he willing to delude himself for even this one little moment, to think that Steve might be the same? “Honestly if it wasn’t for the concussions you dealt me like, a week after we met, I think we could’ve been friends.”

“You deserved it.” The quiver in his voice must not be very convincing, because Steve just shrugs it off, and repeats, “Like I said, I’m over it, anyway. I just think that maybe we should stop living in the past all the time.”

It’s true, he shouldn’t. And he shouldn’t keep arguing either. But as long as he has a bond with Harrington, even if it’s through bitterness and hatred and other things he doesn’t want to think about, that’s a hell of a lot better than being honest and scaring him off, leaving himself with nothing to connect him to Steve at all.

“I’m almost touched, Harrington. But you wanna know something? This? It isn’t me.” It’s become a thing for Billy to just spew whatever crosses his mind apparently, because he rambles, on and on about things he’s never said to anyone before, “Being hooked up to tubes and shit, living in some run down trailer park with my step-family that don’t even like me because everyone else I’ve ever known skipped out on me. All my friends are dead or terrified of the rumors around my name and won’t come near me. The past is where I am. The real me. And that’s where I want to be.”

“For what it’s worth, Billy, nobody actually thinks of you like that.” Somehow it feels even shittier to hear Steve stand up for him. Again he’s at a loss for words, fighting a thousand battles of deceit and egotism and betrayal in his mind. And again, Steve continues.

“I mean, you might look at yourself as broken or something, but to us, that’s all bullshit. You’re a goddamn hero. And I’m serious about that.” The more Steve speaks, the more Billy feels guilty and just generally bad. This whole situation is stupid. He should’ve just ignored Harrington, or at least tried regular small talk instead of- whatever you could even call this.

Monologuing back and forth and making each other feel like shit. Maybe that’s just the way they were meant to interact. Speaking of, Steve still doesn’t stop, though Billy doesn’t know if his heart can take it. Literally.

“So even though you’re hurting and you have every right to be, holding onto something that isn’t there anymore, only holds you back from achieving something better.”

Billy glares at Steve for that, if not just to hide the fact his eyes feel a little misty, and accuses, sounding totally pathetic and mean, “Where’d you read that? Actually, I don’t even think that’s something you could comprehend..”

“A friend of mine said it to me when I was pussyfooting over whether or not I should visit you in the hospital, actually.”

“You never visited me.” Did Billy mean to sound that disappointed out loud?

“Not when you were awake.” Steve sighs as he retells it, his turn to be uneasy with oversharing in an attempt to compensate for some personal failure, “But at first, before you woke up and when your dad was... Well Max needed a lot of support and I thought I’d try my hand at it, but I couldn’t get over everything you did, at least not at first.”

Billy narrows his eyes in disbelief, mostly wondering why nobody never told him about this. Steve takes the doubtful expression as an invitation to explain himself. Again.

“I just thought, ‘why would I go visit someone who seemed to only ever want to hurt me?’ But my friend said I should think about letting go of that stuff and I did, and I might not be good at showing it but, something I learned is that, I still kind of like you, Billy Hargrove.”

Billy waits until he’s sure Steve is done to ask, “You know something, Harrington?”

“Huh?” There's a light in his eyes, a sort of hope with Billy’s engagement that wasn’t there before. Like he’s expecting to have made things right with his speeches that totally aren’t making Billy subtly tear up.

It would be a shame to crush that hope, but-

“I hate everything you just said. I’m tired of being talked down to. I’m tired of hearing other people tell me they know what happened to me, and frankly I’m more than fucking tired of acting like everything’s okay and normal just because these kids want their summer break to be full of celebrations. Fuck that, and fuck you.”

A deep breath is in order. It’s shaky and makes Billy sound unsure of everything he just said. And to be fair, he is. Venting his problems to Steve Harrington is a questionable choice at best. Why can’t he just fucking shut up?

At least he can do damage control. He looks at Steve instead of the vague space of the ground in front of him that he was ranting at before, telling him firmly, “But, you’re still right.”

“I am?” A tiny smile grows on his face.

Billy, as he has proven to himself today, has to accommodate for the butterflies in his chest that goofy little smile on that pretty face gives him, so he deflects. Tries to remind Steve of the asshole he’s talking to who doesn’t deserve happiness and fluttery feelings.

“More right than I’ve ever heard you be. Except maybe when you decided to mow me down in that car. Don’t think these brats ever would’ve forgiven me if I smashed a car full of ‘em.”

Steve, to his credit, only scrunches up his face in distaste at the comment, “You’re not gonna change my mind like that, you know. You want to scare me off by being cold and mean, but it’s not going to work.”

“Why?”

“Are you really gonna make me say it again?”

In the place of another obnoxious speech, Billy just shakes his head no. That’s enough, now that the tension between them seems to be mostly gone. He didn’t think he would, but he prefers it that way anyways. Not like they were getting anywhere, with all the arguing about everything before.

It’s a peaceful silence then, that settles in their tiny corner of the yard. They have the best seats to watch the brats doing their stupid and mildly amusing party shit. Not that Billy’s paying them any attention.

There’s something Steve said that he can’t get out of his head. That whole thing about liking him. It’s definitely just a meaningless coincidence that Billy happens to really like Steve back, in the kind of way that would forever ruin all future festivities at their place if word were to get out.

Becoming Max’s freaky fag of an older brother instead of the mildly-weird recluse brother would definitely ruin some recently established community connections.

Still, he’s got to shoot his shot while he’s got the chance. They’re basically alone and they’re on decent terms now, so, considering their history, now’s as good a time as any.

“Hey, Harrington?” Billy bites at the corner of his nail, waiting for Steve’s acknowledgment. It’s only when those gentle eyes lock on his, shining with curiosity, that he wills himself to continue, to make a sort of confession, that could definitely also be explained as platonic if shit hit the fan, that he blurts out-

“I like you too.”

And that’s it.

They don’t talk about it again, after all the bitching Billy did they’re honestly out of things to say, but a little while later, when he’s sure nobody’s looking, Steve one-ups Billy in this cautious game. He puts his hand on his, under the rickety plastic garden table Sue had brought over for him to put a piece of cake on, so nobody could see even if they wanted to. An awkward gesture accompanied with a pearly smile on a blushing face.

A silent way to say that he got the real meaning behind Billy’s declaration of like.

That’s not something they talk about either, but it’s nice, holding hands like that for the rest of the time they’re expected to be chaperones, as if this tiny party of tinier nerds is going to get out of hand. It’s a start anyways.

On its own, the shitbirds birthday party doesn’t make June 21st a real holiday, but being the anniversary of the day Billy told the truth for the first time in his goddamn life, and got a new boyfriend out of it, it might make the date celebration worthy in Billy’s book.

[sserpente]

A/N: So this is a much requested Part II of this Christmas Imagine which I suppose you can also read on its own. Also has requests from @keepcalmandtravelonkate and @fandom-rpblog as well as the exclusive Zoom meeting idea. Haha, enjoy everyone! ♥

Words: 1822 Warnings: fluff

Christmas Eve came sooner than you had thought and it was about as cheerful as you had imagined it. Thor greeted you with mug of steaming hot chocolate first thing in the morning, wearing the ugly Christmas sweater you had bought him last year and Tony was already in the spacious living room with Pepper to finish up the preparations for his annual Christmas party.

You spent the entire day baking biscuits and didn’t see Loki all day but for some peculiar reason you hoped that he too would attend the biggest Christmas party in New York City. Tony had invited everyone—no, that was not entirely true, the party was, in fact, for everyone—especially those who had no one else to spend Christmas Eve with or wanted to do so with none other than the famous Avengers.

With a sigh, you finished applying your red lipstick and admired yourself in the mirror. The green dress shimmering like a thousand tiny crystals had cost you way more than what you would normally spend on clothes but the occasion was worth it. You had only realised after that green was Loki’s colour too. Another sigh escaped your lips.

The God of Mischief and you had not really spoken since the roof-incident. Part of you wondered whether he was about as confused as you about what had happened between you, especially after Thor had interpreted your entanglement in a romantic manner, the other insisted you didn’t think too much of it. Loki was just… Loki. Mysterious, mischievous and handsome. Wait… handsome?

By the time you arrived at the party, more than two dozen guests had already arrived. Dressed in Christmas pullovers, suits or festive dresses much like you, they held small glasses full of mulled wine, eggnog or champagne, munching on biscuits and other Christmas treats and chatting with each other and the superheroes who had already joined the party guests, impressing them with their stories and their skills.

Your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Loki standing only a few feet away from you. Heavens, he should not be allowed to wear suits. Instead of the light version of his Asgardian signature outfit you usually saw him in, the God of Mischief was dressed in an all-black suit complimenting his raven hair and tall figure. It was perfect to blend in and not attract too much attention, for many citizens still avoided him like the plague after everything that had happened only a few years back. Your eyes met, sending waves of electricity though you, and he nodded.

You furrowed your brows when somebody spoke your name. “Is that you?” Much to your dismay, you recognised the voice immediately. It belonged to Derek, your ex-boyfriend. Derek who collected action figures of the Avengers and who owned a Captain America costume worth five-hundred dollars. Derek, who had cheated on you with other women and, upon your break-up, had blamed you for the sexual imbalance in your relationship. Needless to say, you had not exactly ended it on good terms. The last thing you wanted to do was chat to him of all people on Christmas Eve. Much rather, you’d finally spend some time with Loki again. He was fun to be around once he had warmed up to someone…

“I tried to text you like… a hundred times.”

“I saw. I blocked your number after fifty.” You retorted.

“Don’t be like that. I was going to make up, you know.”

“You literally told me it’s my fault that you went ahead and fucked other women behind my back, Derek!”

“Because you didn’t give me what I need in the bedroom, baby. We should have talked about that more. It wouldn’t happen again. Let’s talk about this. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay… Care to dance with me then?”

“Absolutely not.” You hissed.

“Come on. You are not here with someone, are you?”

You blinked. Fuck. Think, think, think. “Yes, actually.” You lied quickly. Your eyes fell on Loki who met your gaze again in a strange and almost affectionate way—something had definitely changed between you since he had helped you decorate the Avengers facility and you remembered, with butterflies in your belly, how he had caught you in his arms when you had fallen off the roof like a bird with broken wings. The idea came to you before you could properly think it through. Derek would never dare to defy someone like Loki. He was your perfect alibi to get rid of him.

“I’m here with my boyfriend. You probably know Loki?” Before you could change your mind, you stepped forward, closed the remaining distance between you and put your arm under Loki’s. He did not fail to react. Turning away from Thor, he frowned and stared at your linked arms, then opened his mouth to question you. Much to your relief, however, the gesture did not seem to anger him.

You shot him a pleading glance. Play along, you thought. Please, take the hint.

“Are you serious right now?” Derek spat, a both disgusted and shocked expression on his face.

Much to your surprise—or maybe not—Loki wrapped his arms around your middle then, pressing you against his strong body. Your heart skipped a beat. This felt like him cradling you in his arms like a bride, only more… intense, for this time—this time, it was actually intentional.

Loki gave Derek a glare, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “Are you alright, my sweet mortal?” My sweet mortal? “I believe you have promised me a dance.”

Derek swallowed, blinking at you a few times—and then, without a word, he shook his head and disappeared in the burbling and dancing crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Good thing for you he’d always been a coward.

But while relief was flooding your veins, at the very same time, adrenaline set every single cell of your body on fire. Loki was still holding you. His lips against your skin had felt like the gentle kiss of a butterfly… You looked up, if anything not to make the situation even more awkward than it already was, given that by now, both Thor and Natasha had become rather taken aback witnesses as well.

“Thank you. I really owe you.” You muttered.

“I take it this was a former suitor of yours?”

You gave him a weak smile. “That’s a very elegant way to put it but yes, he is my ex-boyfriend. I left him when I found out he cheated on me—repeatedly. I panicked when he approached me and I knew he’d be scared of you.”

“Why thank you.” Loki replied with dismay before, much to your surprise, a smirk grew on his lips.

“No! I just meant…”

“I know what you meant. So?”

“S-so what?”

“He is still watching you. You would do well to keep up the act.” Loki said, keeping you from spinning around to check. But he was probably right either way. You had just announced in front of a bunch of strangers as well as your ex-boyfriend and two Avengers that Loki and you were dating. You were honestly surprised the Trickster did not at all seem too bothered by this very circumstance, not to mention what it meant for you. Ever since the roof-incident, you certainly didn’t mind clinging onto him like that.

“Dance with me.” He commanded softly, one of his large hands coming to rest on your waist while the other interlinked with yours. “He will lose interest if you feign easiness.”

You nodded quickly, leaning into him to not raise any suspicion and taking a deep breath when the side of your face connected with his chest. Loki rested his chin on the top of your head, weighing you gently from side to side as if the music was made of waves carrying you over an ocean. It was a classic playing right now—What are you doing New Year’s Eve by Ella Fitzgerald—sweet, calm… romantic. This evening was going in a very dangerous direction now but you couldn’t help but feel safe and protected in the God of Mischief’s arms. Who would have thought that putting up Christmas decoration together would create such a strong bond between two people… a mortal and a god on top of that?

“I got you a Christmas present, you know.” You murmured after a while.

His voice vibrated in his chest, you could feel it against your cheek. “Did you now?”

“Hmm…” He stole away your ability to speak. That was so unfair! “I was going to give it to you tomorrow morning but… would you like me to give it to you now, in private?” It would be the perfect excuse to get away from here for a bit too, even if, in better lighting, Loki would probably notice your blushed cheeks.

“Lead the way, my sweet mortal.” There it was again. Smiling up at him sheepishly, you moved a step back and took his hand, practically fleeing from the scene.

Loki remained in the doorway when you reached your room. Whether it was out of decency or respect, you couldn’t quite tell. You crossed your room with quick steps, reaching for Loki’s gift under your bed. You had wrapped it in green paper and decorated it with a golden bow. A bit of a cliché perhaps but it looked just perfect.

“Merry Christmas, Loki.” You said when you returned to him and handed it to him. He only took it hesitatingly.

“Why did you get me a gift?”

You shrugged. “I just wanted to be nice. I doubt the others will have gotten you something so I thought… just so you can unwrap something too?” You almost choked on your nervous laughter. “You know I almost decided not to give it to you after all after you almost drove me mad when I was hanging up the Christmas lights.”

Loki chuckled. “I suppose you made that consideration before I saved your life.”

“More or less...” You replied, winking at him. Hey… this isn’t so hard after all!

Your heart was pounding in your chest by the time he unwrapped it, revealing the notebook and the green and gold fountain pen you had gotten him. It even came with green ink.

“It’s not much, really, just…” You said quickly. “I keep seeing you scribbling and reading a lot and I thought…”

“Thank you.” He interrupted. Honesty swung in his smooth voice, making your heart beat faster in an instant. At this speed, you were going to need an ambulance soon.

You smiled. “I ought to thank you. Derek is a dick. You saved me twice now, I’m in your debt.”

Loki chuckled once more, looking you deeply in the eye. “Yes. I believe you are.” It was, without a doubt, a promise.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente 

[demieddie]

Ok I have a cheesy Buddie prompt, but can you do one where it’s Christmas and the team wants to know if Buck got Eddie his gift yet and Buck is calm cool and collected with an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket

[anon, i need you to know i love this prompt so much. thank you!!]

Buck’s aware that it's common practice amongst the firehouse to inquire about what everyone’s buying for Christmas. They had to become a little more careful after Bobby and Athena became a thing and Athena could pop into the firehouse, but it’s still a frequent topic. The only problem is that this year he doesn’t want to say. This shouldn’t be an issue considering Buck and Eddie have the same schedule, although, the team can, and sometimes do, go to hilarious lengths to get them alone.

This is why it’s no surprise when something snags Buck’s sleeve and pulls him into the men’s bathroom at the station a few weeks before Christmas.

“Everything okay here, Chim?” Buck asks when he looks at his kidnapper.

“Of course,” Chimney responds, slightly puzzled as if he didn’t just pull someone into a bathroom like he’s an agent in a C-list spy movie. “Just wondering if you’ve gotten Eddie’s Christmas present yet?”

“Uh yeah, I picked it out a couple of months ago.” Buck immediately realizes he’s said too much when Chimney’s eyes light up.

“Must be something good if you got it that early.”

Buck chuckles, straightening out his sleeve while deciding how much more he can give away.

“It’s something he mentioned and we talked about months ago, just had to find the right one,” he responds, then immediately changes the topic when Chimney looks even more intrigued. “Have you gotten Maddie’s yet?”

Chimney’s halfway through describing a new high-end spa when the alarm goes off. Buck's never been more relieved about an emergency in his life.

The next one to ask is Hen, who brings it up when they’ve just finished treating a victim of a minor car accident.

“So, Buckaroo, you’ve been awfully quiet about what you’ve gotten Eddie this year.”

“Like I normally shout it from the rooftops ⁠— that would ruin the surprise,” he jokes. Hen rolls her eyes.

“You’re an amazing gift-giver, especially when it comes to Eddie and Christopher. Sure, you may not talk about it a lot, but you usually mention what you’ve got.”

Buck takes a glance at the accident to ensure Eddie’s still with the other victim.

“Listen, Hen, I know. It’s just this year I need Eddie’s to be a surprise.” Hen stares at Buck with her eyebrows pinching together then her smile starts to grow when she pieces it together. “I can tell you what I got Christopher though if you still need ideas for Denny,” he offers, instead of confirming her conclusion.

“We can talk later back at the station,” Hen says with a pointed look at where the rest of their team is approaching. “I’m happy for you though, Buck.”

“Thanks, Hen.”

Realistically, Buck knew Bobby would prod him eventually, but with only a few days until Christmas, Buck thought he may have gotten out of it. That bubble is burst when he’s helping Bobby make breakfast after a long shift. Everyone else is sleeping in the bunkroom, so Buck can’t fault him for taking the perfect opportunity.

“Any big plans for you and Eddie? We rarely get Christmas Eve night and Christmas off,” Bobby asks, flipping over the bacon that’s sizzling in front of him.

“Nothing much, really,” Buck says, prepping the scrambled eggs. “Just spending the full day with Christopher and enjoying the day off.”

“Any presents you’re excited to give him? Anything you think he’ll really like?” Buck looks over at Bobby, but he’s turned away, so Buck can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking or if Hen or Maddie tipped him off.

“I mean, all of them hopefully.” Buck chuckles lightly. “But there’s one I’m looking forward to.”

Bobby looks back at Buck. “Anything you’re going to tell me about?”

Buck bites his lip before smiling wide, giving Bobby his so-called ‘What? Me? Innocent, Angelic Me?’ face. Eddie had dubbed it so a month into them dating when he returned from the store to find Buck and Christopher covered in flour after an ill-advised baking adventure.

“Not yet. You’ll know soon though, it’s almost Christmas after all,” Buck responds.

And sure enough, Bobby finds out Christmas night when May shows him a post from Buck’s Instagram account. It’s a selfie of Buck, Eddie, and Christopher all squeezed into the frame, with Eddie’s left hand resting over Buck’s shoulder, clearly showing off a shining gold band on his ring finger. The caption reads, Thanks for granting my only wish this year. Merry Christmas from the soon-to-be Buckley-Diazes!

[leiawritesstories]

We Do This Every Year

12 Days of Rowaelin, December 31: holiday traditions

Word count: 1,273

Warnings: Some language, some drinking, innuendoes. Otherwise all fluff! Enjoy!

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have we got everything ready?” Aelin yelled from down the hall.

“Yes, Fireheart, we have everything under control,” Rowan returned. “You’ve asked me five times in the last ten minutes and the answer is still yes, babe!”

He could practically hear her eyes roll. “Just making sure, buzzard!”

Rowan walked down into their bedroom and leaned against the doorframe, watching his wife toss her hair a few last times and apply her lipstick. “I promise we are ready, my love.”

She turned around. “Okay, okay. I believe you, love. You know I get antsy when we host, though.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her hair, careful not to muss it up. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way.”

Aelin winked up at him. “You haven’t seen anything yet, buzzard.” Rowan’s nostrils flared at her implication. She swept past him, heading down the hall. “And no, there is not enough time to discover the rest of this outfit before our guests arrive!”

Rowan groaned. “You’re going to kill me, Fireheart.”

Her laugh floated down the hallway. “At least you’ll die a very happy man, husband mine.”

Half an hour later, the parents knocked on the door. Rowan opened it to let all four of them in. Rhoe and Evalin greeted him warmly, with Evalin of course whispering, “Have you made me a grandbaby yet?” in his ear as she hugged him. She asked the same thing every time she saw him, prompting many a grumble to Aelin about how her mother had baby fever. 

Pyotr and Enna Whitethorn both hugged their son at the same time, then greeted Aelin just as affectionately. They had fallen in love with her the first time Rowan brought her home, and if he was telling the truth, Rowan knew that he and Aelin would probably still only be boyfriend and girlfriend if his parents hadn’t needled him to propose. 

Evalin placed three bottles of champagne on the counter with a clink. “Where is that nephew of mine?”

“He probably forgot tonight is New Year’s Eve again, Mom,” Aelin grinned. “Ten bucks says he and Lys are...uhhh...canoodling.” She smirked.

Her mother sighed, but her eyes were laughing. “Oh, my daughter, however did I manage--”

“Make that twenty!” hollered Rhoe from the living room. Everyone burst into laughter.

“Twenty it is, Dad!” Aelin called. She raised a brow at her mother. “You want in, Mom? You know it’s tradition...”

Evalin shook her head, chuckling. “You and your father can lose money on Aedion all you want; I already know he and Lysandra are having a go at it.” She winked wickedly at Aelin. “They’re going to beat you two to giving me grandbabies.”

“Mom!” Aelin flushed bright pink. “I did not need that image in my brain!”

“No, but we aren’t getting any younger and we do want little Whitethorn babies to spoil,” grinned Pyotr. 

“Oh, all of you are awful,” groaned Aelin. “We’re going to have kids, just not yet. Okay?”

Just then, Aedion and Lysandra walked in without bothering to knock. As usual. Rowan poked Aelin’s ribs, his eyes sparkling, and she had to press her lips together to keep from howling when she took in her cousin’s rumpled shirt and the hickey on Lys’s neck that wasn’t quite covered by her pretty sweater.

“Happy New Year, my dear family!” Aedion boomed. Lysandra rolled her eyes, mouthing “I’m not responsible for him.”

Evalin smiled broadly at him. “You’re late, dear.”

“No I’m--” Aedion glanced at his watch. “Well shit, I guess I am.”

“You owe me twenty, Fireheart,” Rhoe said, clasping Aedion into a brief hug. 

“Remind me before you go home, Dad!” Aelin smirked at Lysandra, touching her neck. Lysandra stole a glance in the mirror by the entrance, and her cheeks flamed red. 

“Don’t you say anything about it,” she hissed to Aelin, trying to adjust her neckline so it hid the mark. “Ae......can I use your concealer?”

“Of course you can, you know where it is.”

“You’re the best!”

Lysandra reappeared a few minutes later with her love bite successfully covered and joined her husband on the couch. “Right, all of you, where’s the party?”

“In Aedion’s pants,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear, and she buried her face into his shoulder to hide her mirth. 

“You are the worst, buzzard,” she hissed, composing herself. He just winked, the naughty bastard. “Lys dear, if you wanted a drink, the bottles are on the table over there.”

“And food?” Aedion perked up.

“Yes, you overgrown child, and food.”

~

By eleven o’clock, all eight of them were engaged in a heated hand of cards, the alcohol they’d each consumed giving rein to much blustering. Rhoe laid down three jacks, cast a smug grin around the table, and leaned back into his seat. “I dare any of you to top that.”

“Oh, I’ll top it,” murmured Evalin, laying down her hand, “even if it’s not in this game.”

“MOM!” Aelin flushed bright red. “Your child is right here!”

“It’s nothing you don’t already know, my dear,” Enna returned, placing her own cards down. 

“Aaaaaaand this is why we don’t drink together,” Aelin chuckled, taking another sip of her spiced wine. 

“But it’s tradition,” singsonged Rowan, setting down his hand. “Three queens, Rhoe. I’ve got you beat.”

“Oh bugger that,” Rhoe grumbled. 

Aelin placed her own cards down. “Bust.”

Lysandra and Aedion both turned theirs over, neither of them beating Rowan’s three queens. 

“Well, son, are you confident in your win?” Pyotr asked over the top of his cards. 

Rowan thought for a moment. “Absolutely,” he replied. 

Pyotr just grinned a little catlike grin. “Your mistake, my boy.” And he laid down three aces.

“Well fuck me,” Rowan grumbled, tossing back the rest of his drink. 

“Gladly,” Aelin purred. Rowan coughed violently, his eyes bulging. Aelin whacked his back until he regained his breath. 

“Fireheart,” he wheezed, “you can’t say things like that in public.”

“But it’s tradition,” she smirked, winking broadly. Rowan sighed, loudly, and went to get himself more food. 

~

Just before midnight, Rhoe flipped the TV on, showing the countdown. Enna and Evalin both groaned. 

“Honey, turn that awful thing off, we can count ourselves down!” Evalin yelled

“And miss out on a fine American tradition?” Rhoe asked, widening his eyes in mock affront.

“We don’t need to see a bunch of strangers snogging on TV; we’ve got children and champagne,” Enna called. Everyone broke into cackles. 

“Cheers to that, Mama Whitethorn,” Aelin laughed. “Lys and Aed’s obnoxious smushing of lips makes me want to scrub my eyes every damn year.”

“As if you and Rowan aren’t equally as bad,” Aedion returned, flicking her nose. 

“Might I remind you exactly who carries around mistletoe in his pocket in case he gets kiss-hungry?” Aelin said in an overly sweet voice.

“You weren’t supposed to mention that,” Aedion grumbled, puffing his lip into an oversize pout. She just gave him an angelically innocent smile and handed him a champagne flute. 

Rhoe walked around the room, pouring everyone’s glass, and set a countdown on his phone. 

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...

The room erupted in cries of “Happy New Year!” and clinking glasses. 

Rowan pulled Aelin close and tapped her glass with his. “To a new year, Fireheart.”

“To a new year, buzzard.” She drained her glass, rose onto tiptoe, and pressed her lips into Rowan’s. He cupped a hand under her chin, returning her kiss. 

“Happy New Year,” he murmured when they broke apart, both of them slightly breathless. Aelin’s turquoise eyes brimmed with joy.

“Happy New Year, my love.”

[jumblejen]

There Are Two Things I Know for Certain

Suptober21 Day 31: Masquerade

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34846543

“Why exactly are we doing a couple’s costume?” asked Cas.

“’Cause we’re a couple.”

Dean and Cas stood in their bedroom looking through their uninspiring wardrobes for costume ideas. Their dresser drawers weren’t much help either. “Does the couple’s costume have to be a romantic couple?”

Dean blushed, “I mean I guess it doesn’t have to…”

“Dean, we’ve discussed this. It’s okay to say what you want.”

“Well, then I want to do a couple’s costume that’s, you know, a couple.” Dean’s blush deepened.

Cas quickly pecked a kiss on Dean’s cheek. “We can do that.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have much to work with. I mean, the party’s in a few hours.”

“We could be FBI agents.”

“Not very couple-y.”

“We could be cowboys.”

Dean grinned. “A cowboy couple?” Dean waggled his eyebrows at Cas.

“Like Ennis and Jack? They’re cowboys and a couple.”

Dean frowned as he thought about it. “Too sad.”

“What about something biblical? Since I was an angel.”

“Not a lot of happy couples in the bible.”

“Adam and Eve?”

“I don’t think we have any fig leaves.”

“They didn’t actually wear fig leaves.”

“Are you suggesting we show up to Charlie’s party butt-naked?”

“It would be accurate. Though they often carried a satchel made of woven grasses to carry the fruit they gathered. All our bags are leather or plastic.”

“Your concern about costume accuracy is about whether we have a bag made of appropriate materials and not that our junk would be out for everyone to see?!”

“It was just an idea.”

“I mean, neither of us is exactly the body type for Eve.” Dean barked a laugh. “Though I guess we could go as Adam and Steve.”

“So it’s okay if both of us are nude?”

“No, Cas. No nudity. It’s a family party.”

“Ancient Greece? We could try for Achilles and Patroclus.”

“Also super depressing.”

Cas looked around the room for inspiration. Dean could practically see the light bulb above his head as Cas walked back to the closet with new determination. He rummaged around before emitting an ‘aha!’ in triumph.

“What’d you find?”

Cas pulled the stack of sweaters out of the closet and began going tossing some onto the bed. Finally he held up two sweaters, one in each hand. “What do you think?”

“Do we have a white turtleneck?”

“I think so. Maybe in the bottom drawer?”

Dean obediently bent down and started sorting through the infrequently worn items. “It’s a little stained.”

“The sweater will cover most of it.”

“True. What about pants?”

“Jeans for you. Those darker khakis for me.”

“You think you just get to decide who’s who?”

“Dean.”

“Yeah alright, jeans for me.”

“What about shoes?”

“Chucks. I think they’re blue and red? But whatever’s fine. I doubt anyone’s gonna be focused on that level of detail.”

“Should we try to make masks?”

“Not really enough time for that. Plus if we’re wearing masks, I can’t kiss you.”

Cas put the striped sweaters on the bed and walked over to Dean. “Hmmm. That would be a problem.” He slid his arms around Dean.

Dean grinned in delight and kissed Cas, arms grabbing right back at him. “You have good ideas.”

“They are an obvious choice.”

“Well, I’m still sorry about the whole…incident…after I brought them up all those years ago…”

“I’m not. It was awkward, but seeing you laugh like that… There are worst ways to spend your last night on earth.” Cas kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Better ones though too. Sometimes I wish I’d kissed you then.”

“It would have changed things.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

They stood holding each other. “I’m sorry it took so long,” Dean sighed into the small space between them.

“I’m happy we’re here.” Little kisses turned into big kisses turned into shuddering breaths. “We are missing one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Dean was a little breathless and dazed staring into Cas’ eyes.

“Does Jack have a rubber duck we can borrow?”

Dean burst out laughing, his forehead pressed against Cas’. “Pretty sure we can scrounge one up.”

[harrysweasleys]

show and tell // g.w

summary: the four times george shows you he loves you before he says it for the first time.

warnings: injury, blood, broken bones, sickness, mentions of nudity and food

word count: 5k

a/n: this was so much fun to write!! i hope you all enjoy :) x

———————————————————————

one

It was mid-march and the spring sunshine felt as if it were everlasting. From the moment you woke up, to the late evening, the golden rays illuminated the fields around the Burrow and brought a sense of warmth and comfort. As if you were away from the rest of the world, practically untouched by civilization.

It was the epitome of peaceful.

Even in the peak of the afternoon, while Molly and Arthur bustled about the house, and while the gaggle of Weasley children decided to take advantage of the weather and challenge one another to a playful Quidditch game.

You weren’t really sure why they chose to call it playful, per say. They were all awfully competitive. Last week, Ginny was knocked off of her broom and into the pond. Luckily, she sustained no injuries, but it was still a rather intense sight. About a month back, Bill had decided to join, and had to use his wand to repair a black eye.

Safe to say, as you sat on a small lounge chair and watched over, that you were nervous. Your eyes felt as if they were locked on George’s every move. That if you looked away, he’d end up toppling to the ground in a mess of long limbs and ginger hair.

“You sure you don’t want to join?” Ginny called down to you, hovering a few feet away on her rather mangled broom that she most likely used in childhood before she got her much nicer one for the Gryffindor team.

You shook your head, squinting as you looked up, “I’ll pass. I’m much better as a spectator.”

She shrugged, her braid flipping over her shoulder as she took off back towards the make-shift pitch.

The game went as it always did — the same teams, the same keepers, the same chasers and beaters, and of course, Harry and Ginny as rival seekers. Nothing was really new there.

George looked rather at ease on his broom. It was a sight you loved to see. You knew that work stressed him out, that he was always trying to improve every aspect of his business and it was one of the things that swirled in his mind constantly. But seeing him here, in what appeared to be his element, brought a smile to your face.

Unfortunately, that smile was wiped off rather quickly when he collided with Ginny not even five minutes into the match. She ended up collecting her wits and balance, staying up in the air. George, however, did not.

Luckily for him, he was only a few feet off the ground. But the sickening crunch that he made when he landed flat on his face was the furthest thing from “lucky” that you could think of.

You shot up off of your chair in a panicked heartbeat, rushing over to where his body lay limp on the ground. You could feel your body grow warm in worry.

“George!” you crouched next to him and placed one of your hands on his forearm, “Georgie, are you okay?”

He let out a groan, rolling over onto his back. A stream of blood rushed down from his nose, which already looked off coloured and crooked. Broken, no doubt.

“Is it bad?” he asked, his eyes squinted shut.

You winced, trying to avoid looking at the damage on his face, “I’m really not the person to ask.”

He began to sit up, groaning a bit as he did so, and slowly opened his eyes. He brought one of his hands — one that was already covered in a mixture of dirt and sweat — and brought it to his face, wiping it across his mouth and chin.

As he pulled it away and spotted the crimson liquid on his fingertips, he let out a mutter of a curse.

“I’m bowing out of the match,” he called up to his siblings, all hovering nearby to see if he was alright, before pointing at his face, “I’m gonna go clean this up.”

His hair was matted down to his head from sweat, as well as his clothes practically clinging to his body, but you wasted no time in grabbing on to him to hoist him up. You weren’t overly familiar with injuries, since you were in no means a Healer, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to help.

“Let’s get you to the washroom,” you held his arm, leading him into the house and guiding him since his head was tilted back, pinching his nose to prevent any more bleeding.

On the way into the tiny washroom, you grabbed your wand that was sitting on the dining room table. Hermione had taught you the spell for repairing a broken nose, and though you’ve never performed it before, you had to give it a shot.

“I should be alright,” he muttered with his hand still pinched on his nose, his other free hand rummaging across the cluttered countertop to try and find the tissues.

You gently whacked his hand away, “Stop. Let me help.”

You began guiding him over to the edge of the countertop, bringing him closer until yourself pinned right between his body and the sink. So, you gave him a little shove, hopped up onto the cold tile, and brought him close. His body stood between your legs, your feet immediately wrapping around his torso so that he could stand still and close, enough so that you could try your best to fix the damage from his fall.

“If I wasn’t bleeding, I’d rather enjoy this position,” you could hear the handsome smirk in his voice, even as you grabbed a handful of tissues and placed them under the running water of the sink.

“Oh, shove it,” you chuckled, taking one of the wet tissues and turning to face him. He was still pinching his nose, but he was now facing you.

You began to dab at his chin, glad that the blood hadn’t had time to dry so it was rather easy to wipe off. He didn’t wince, but then again, you imagined a majority of the pain was probably in his nose. George had a high tolerance for pain, which was something that was probably built up after years of testing products on himself. Especially those damn nosebleed nougats.

“Oh, wait, I’m an idiot,” you scoffed, pressing the tissue to his face with one hand as you reached for your wand with the other, “Let me fix your nose first.”

His eyes widened at the sight of the wand in your hand, and he shuffled back a few inches, “Merlin, are you sure? You’ve never fixed a nose before.”

You tossed the used tissue into the bin before grabbing another one, this time holding it right against his nostrils, “Just let me do this. It’s one spell, how hard can it be?”

The hesitation flashed through his eyes before he slowly nodded his head, “Fine, fine, I trust you.”

Through the nervous beating of your heart, you managed to smile. Those three words caused all of your unease to drift away, your focus landing solely on the one word you had to mutter.

He took a step back, this time in confidence.

Instead of making the poor man wait in pain while you went over the consequences in your head, you lifted your wand and spoke, “Episkey.”

The crunch was quiet, but George’s eyes shot open and he bit down on his lower lip, a muffled shout of pain getting stuck in his throat as one of his hands grabbed your thigh, giving it a squeeze that was bound to leave a bruise.

“Oh, Merlin, are you okay?” you asked, tossing your wand aside and placing your hands on either side of his face. His cheeks were awfully warm despite how pale they had just become, and you felt the tenseness of his muscles as he stepped back between your open legs. His grip on your thigh didn’t lighten up, and you felt a surge of guilt bubble up into your belly.

“Georgie?” you asked more softly this time, one of your hands running through his sticky hair, “Did I make it worse?”

He shook his head, not exactly speaking, but giving you the answer you needed, “‘s fine.”

You gave a small pout, taking your hands away from him to avoid causing overstimulation. Though, as soon as your hands left his skin, he put his own hands on yours and guided them back up into his hair.

You gave him a puzzled look as you began to run your fingers along his scalp again, but he quickly answered your silent question, “Feels nice.”

His smirk returned to his lips and you rolled your eyes, immediately realizing you fell into his trap, “Oh, you little git. You’re fine, aren’t you?”

His laughter echoed in the small bathroom and managed to ease all of the worry and panic that was swarming through your mind, “No, it does hurt, but it’s not that bad. I do really like you playing nurse though, love. I should fall off my broom more often, yeah?”

You tossed a tissue at him, your own laughter bubbling in your chest, “Don’t you dare think about it, Weasley.”

“C’mon, love,” he grinned, bringing his face closer to yours, only to have you push him away.

“We are cleaning up the mess that is your face before you kiss me,” you smirked, holding up another tissue. He rolled his eyes and let out a groan, but he let you continue dabbing at his skin until he was all cleaned up. His nose was left with some light bruising, but you barely even focused on that after his little painful performance he decided to put on.

It really was never a dull moment.

———————————————————————

two

George’s birthday came around way too quickly for your liking. You remembered New Years Eve as clearly as if it were yesterday, and now here you were, on April the first, knocking loudly at his door at nearly eight thirty in the morning.

It was still early in the day — you guys would be headed to the burrow for dinner with his family in the late afternoon — but you decided to pay him a little surprise and pop by his flat with a few gifts and sweets in the morning before being whisked away. You always enjoyed the private moments between the two of you, and this was no different.

His face appeared in the doorway mere seconds later, his hair sticking up in countless spots, and his baggy jammies hanging loosely around his body. His cheeks were flushed pink at the sight of you standing there; a bag of gifts in one hand and a plate with a tiny cupcake in the other, one little candle on the top with a flame that you had enchanted not to burn out until he made his wish.

“Happy birthday!” you grinned, flashing him your best smile despite the urge to laugh at his disheveled appearance. He seemed to have just gotten out of bed. You had spent the night with George before, usually if he had the next day off and the two of you could laze around in the morning, and there was one conclusion you could make from it.

George was not a morning person.

However, through his sleepy state, he shot you a bright smile, “Look at you, coming by to be my gift.”

You rolled your eyes as he moved aside, letting you walk into his flat, “I’m not the gift. But I do come bearing some.” You placed the bag on the floor and stuck out the plate, handing him the cupcake. His smile never faded as he took it from you, holding it in one hand and the other went to his chin, pretending to ponder.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes scanning over his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. He looked deep in thought.

“Gotta make a wish, right?” he replied, “Though, you’re all I could ever wish for and you’re right here.”

You felt an eruption of fluttering in your chest at his sweet words — he really was quite the flirt — but you brushed it aside and removed your coat, placing it on the hook behind you before turning back to him, “Make your wish, you idiot.”

He smirked, shooting you a cheeky wink before he closed his eyes and blew on the candle, the little flame dying down quickly.

“See?” you chuckled, now removing your shoes so you could properly enter the flat, “Was that so hard?”

He stuck out his tongue, one of his fingers dipping into the icing of the cupcake. You were too busy focusing on carrying the bag of gifts, however, that you hadn’t noticed his icing covered finger reaching in your direction. So, as you turned back to face him, it smeared across your cheek.

“That’s what you get for being mean on my birthday,” he raised an eyebrow, proceeding to walk over to the couch in the living room, your own footsteps following closely behind him. The icing was sticky against your skin, but you were too busy trying to get even to even bother wiping it off.

You finally caught up to him, grabbing the cupcake out of his grasp and holding it away from him, scooping up some of the icing and smearing it across his lips. 

He looked quite amused, nodding his head slowly as he started licking his lips, “Nice try, love.”

“Oi, just shut up and sit down,” you scoffed, grabbing a tissue from the end table and wiping the icing off of your face, tossing the tissue in the bin before reaching over and grabbing a box out of the bag, “Now. Let me spoil you, yeah?”

You sat next to him on the couch and placed the box in his lap.

He leaned over and pressed his lips against your cheek, placing a delicate kiss before pulling away, “You already spoil me enough just being with me.”

You shook your head and let out a laugh, motioning your head in the direction of the box once again, before he finally proceeded to open it.

It didn’t take long for him to go through his gifts. Five boxes later, and he now had a few new things for around the house. Not that he needed appliances, really. He was a wizard. But he had mentioned to you a few times that he was starting to attempt doing a few things the “muggle way.”

“This is all brilliant,” he grinned, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his side, “Thank you, love.”

You leaned up and pressed a light kiss on his jawline, not missing the way his body shivered at your touch. It brought you a sense of pride, honestly, the fact that you were able to have this affect on him.

“However, there is one more gift to open,” he said, sitting up from his spot on the couch so quickly it nearly knocked you backwards.

“There is?” you asked, peering around the flat to see if there was another parcel. Maybe Fred had stopped by to give his twin a gift before the party at the Burrow.

“Sit right here,” he held up one finger before bolting into the bedroom, disappearing from view for a few moments. Maybe his parents had dropped something off?

He came back into the living room, a box in his hands with big letters on the side that read Y/N. You furrowed your eyebrows as he placed it in your lap, a pleased grin on his face.

“What the bloody hell is this?” you asked, not even masking your confusion, “It’s your birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He nodded, the smirk still on his lips, “Why, yes, I haven’t forgotten. But I figured for my birthday, what I want to do is spoil my girl.”

You shook your head, letting your head fall back onto the couch cushion — the couch that had once belonged to his brother Bill before he moved in with Fleur — and let out a laugh, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Just open it,” he placed a kiss on your temple, your heart in your chest feeling like it was about to burst.

You let out a breathy laugh and began to unwrap the box, opening it up to reveal a lumpy knitted sweater, the first letter of your name written out in the centre of it. It was perfect. Homely, and clearly made with love. You knew Molly knitted these for her children every year, but you didn’t expect to get one so soon, let alone ever.

“Oh, George. Your mum made me one?” you asked, voice filled with awe as you picked up the jumper, holding it against your chest as if you were hugging it. This honestly meant more to you than you could express.

“No,” he grinned, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck, “I actually made that. Mum taught me a few years back and I never thought it would come in handy, but here we are.”

Your eyes widened at his words, heart so full that you could barely find the words to reply. If you weren’t so shocked, you might find yourself word-vomiting a bunch of lovey dovey nonsense. But you couldn’t. You honestly couldn’t speak.

“You’re part of the family now,” he broke the silence, one of his hands finding its way into your hair and giving a small twirl, “I want you to know that.”

You felt an itchiness in the back of your throat and you knew your emotions would get the best of you, so instead of speaking up, you decided to toss your arms around his neck and hold him as close as possible, the new jumper squeezed between the two of you as if it were holding you together. Which, in a way, it was.

George really was amazing, and there was no doubt that you were starting to fall for him. But this gesture, this gift, was beyond that.

It showed you that maybe, possibly, he was the one.

———————————————————————

three

Two days after George’s birthday, which had been a long and tiring evening at the Burrow celebrating another year of Fred and George, you found yourself feeling a little under the weather.

It was most likely not from Molly’s meal assortment, but possibly from standing outside in the chilly weather to watch the fun little firework display the twins had decided to put on for themselves. Plus, you were pretty sure Charlie had shown up with a cold as well.

You had woken up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, your head unfortunately feeling quite congested as well. As if a throbbing migraine was bubbling just below the surface.

To simply put it, you were most likely coming down with said cold.

You had woken up in a rush, immediately reaching for the tissue box to clear your sinuses, but in the process of doing so, happened to wake up the ever-so-sleepy George next to you.

His arm retracted from around your waist and he rubbed his eyes with his hand, squinting to look over at you, “Are you okay?”

His voice was heavily laced with sleep and you felt bad for waking him up, but the gross feeling of sickness was a little too overbearing for you to really worry about disrupting his sleep schedule.

“Sorry, Georgie,” you replied, holding a tissue to your nose, “I think I stood a little too close to Charlie and he passed his germs onto me.”

George’s head fell back onto his pillow, “Git.” You let out a small laugh as he shoved the blanket off of his body and onto yours, all the warmth that his body produced now gone as he got out of bed. A whine left your throat and you reached out, trying to grab his hand and pull him back down.

He tossed on a shirt and turned to face you, “Be back in a second, love. Just gotta do something.”

A pout made its way onto your lips as he left the room, his disheveled morning hair disappearing through the bedroom door. You didn’t necessarily want to pass your possible sickness onto him — you’d only end up feeling guilty and responsible — but you already missed the comfort that he brought when he laid next to you. Even though he had been gone for a total of ten seconds.

You could hear noises as he rummaged through the kitchen, but you didn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. The throbbing in your head would make it hard for you to even have proper balance. You didn’t want to make it worse.

It didn’t take long for George to return, a small tray in his hands and a smile on his lips. You sat up properly, trying to get a peek as to what he had with him.

“For you, my princess,” he gave you a quick wink, placing the tray next to you on the bed.

Your heart swelled. He had brought you breakfast. A plate filled with fruits and a cup of tea sat nearly on the tray, smelling and looking more delicious than ever. Maybe it was because of the thought and love he put into it, but you honestly couldn’t wait to dive in.

“You made me breakfast?” you asked softly, looking up at him as you moved the tray onto your lap.

“I did,” he slid back under the blankets next to you, one of his hands finding yours and giving it a light squeeze, “The tea will help soothe your throat and the vitamins in the fruits will help you feel better.”

The smile on your face was so wide, you swore it reaches your ears, “Georgie, this is so sweet.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m the best.”

You gave him a poke in the shoulder, laughing at his cockiness, “That you are. That you are.”

———————————————————————

four

Unfortunately, George had caught your cold. And he loved to complain about it. Every second he could possibly find to bring it up, he would. Not to blame you, of course, but to milk it as much as possible so that you could take care of him. 

Not that you could do much, really, since you were still nursing your own annoying sickness. But you did try to help as much as you could. You’d made a soup, he’d make the tea. It was a compromise that helped the both of you.

However, one afternoon, when the two of you started to feel better, George had decided to take matters into his own hands and bring a little life back to the flat. 

“Dance with me,” he spoke out of the blue, coming up to you on the couch where you were currently quite content reading away.

“What?” you placed your bookmark in your page, placing the book onto the cushion next to you, “Now?”

He nodded, picking his wand up off of the end table and pointing it in the direction of the little radio by the window. An old tune — one that sounded a lot like the song that played at the Yule Ball, funnily enough — started playing throughout the room.

You shook your head, a small laugh leaving your lips as you placed your hand in his, “Since when are you a dancer, George Weasley?”

“For you, always,” he smirked, leading you to the open area of the room, one of his hands immediately finding your lower back. You felt your chest grow fluttery at his touch, every previous thought leaving your body as you melted into him.

Your hand linked in his, the other one resting against his shoulder. His eyes found yours and he gave you a genuine smile. Nothing cocky or teasing. Just a real, fond smile. 

“What’s this for, then?” you found your voice, the two of you moving in slow circles around the small space.

It wasn’t much, and neither of you were good at it, but it was romantic. You hadn’t even noticed that George had used his wand to light a few candles, the light of the flames dancing against the walls. 

“What?” he asked with a slight upturn of his chin, “Can’t a bloke just dance with his girl?”

You ignored the feeling of your heart swelling and gave him a grin, “Yes, actually. I think he can.”

The music was soft, but it was enough to really set the mood. As if you were a princess dancing with her prince, the world disappearing around the both of you and leaving you alone to dance under the moonlight. Or, really, the two of you alone in a small London flat. But a girl can dream, right?

George’s chest was warm as you pressed your forehead against it, revelling in this feeling of privacy and intimacy. You felt untouchable. 

“You’re really special, you know that?” his voice was soft, mouth close to your ear as he mumbled the words. 

You pulled away just enough to look up at him. There was something in his eyes — love, pride, admiration, or something similar — and you really did feel like you were all he could see. Like he had eyes only for you. 

“Could say the same about you,” your voice matched his in softness, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips. 

He beat you to the action, though, as he tilted his head down and closed the space between the two of you, warm lips pressed softly against yours. A million different feelings bubbled in the pit of your belly and you swore you would crack under the heavy blissful peace that soared through you. 

You loved him. 

There was no way you could deny it. 

Especially as the two of you stood there; lips moulded together as if they were meant to be, your bodies pressed against one another, and an unspoken mutual feeling of adoration passing between you two. 

You really did love him. And you hoped he loved you back. 

———————————————————————

one

The water of the bath was awfully warm. Perfect to contrast the gloomy grey skies and heavy raindrops that came down loudly against the window. For nearly mid-April, the weather was still awfully dreary. 

George’s fingers traced up and down your arms, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake despite the warmth of the bath water. It was warm enough to cause light steam to build on the mirror, and for the two glasses on the edge of the tub to build condensation, but not warm enough to deter your body’s natural reaction to George. 

Your head was resting against his chest, one of his hands against your skin and the other in your wet hair — which much to your dismay, was let down from the ponytail in which it was previously in. George’s orders, of course. 

“You smell nice,” he mumbled, his head leaned back against the tub, his own hair sticking up in spikes after he dipped his head under water, “So do I, actually.”

“It’s the soap, you goon,” you giggled, “That’s what soap does.”

“Goon?” he lifted his head, causing you to turn around and face him, your own body still resting against his, the feeling of his bare skin against yours causing a warmth to spread in your chest. 

“You’re a cute goon, though,” you winked, lifting one of your hands to flatten down his hair, “So it’s fine.”

He nodded, “Right. You’re lucky I love you.”

Not only did it feel like time stood still, but it felt like the both of you did too. The water went silent at the lack of movement, and the eye contact between the both of you felt so prolonged that neither of you could blink. 

Did he just say what you thought he said?

You knew, undoubtedly, that you had fallen head over feels for the ginger boy in front of you. He was the perfect partner in every sense of the word, really. He was caring, he was gentle, he was exciting, and he loved you. 

“You love me?” your voice felt as if it were bound to crack. You didn’t want to move or sit up, too afraid to disturb the moment. To break the connection that had been built with those three words. 

It was as if he himself wasn’t sure he had said them, but by the light smile that graced his gorgeous freckled face, you could tell he meant it. 

“Yeah, I do,” he nodded, “I dunno why it took me so bloody long to say it. But yes, I love you.”

A weight felt like it had been lifted off of your shoulders at the confession, a wave of powerful emotions threatening to smother you in replacement. 

“I love you too,” you didn’t even hesitate to say the words as you were so utterly sure of them. 

The tips of his ears turned a light shade of pink as his smile grew, lopsided and genuine, “That’s good, then.”

It was nearly impossible to hide your pure thrill, arms finding their way around his neck in an instant. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his right back around you, holding your body against his as if he were too bloody pleased to let go. 

“I love you,” he said again, so softly you barely even registered. If you were an inch further away, you might not have even heard it. 

You placed a light kiss on the underside of his jaw, once again relishing in the pride that blossomed at his involuntary shiver, “I love you too, Georgie.”

And Godric, did you ever. 

———