#on a brighter note i dyed my hair again and i feel hot as fuck even if in reality i look like the weird barbie

[racingmiku2018]

gendercrisis is in full gear now that im thinking on it but i dont have the means nor the motivation to work on it rn so i guess were balling regardless

[jeonsjiddies]

Headlights | pjm (m)

Summary- Jimin is a fuckboi, rumor has it his tongue can make you see stars. Everyone assumes he’s this way because he just wants to have fun. No one dares look deeper, no one sees the haunted look in his eyes, the emptiness and pain that reside in their deep brown depths. Until you.

🎶 Headlights by The Classic Crime - “Please don’t face the headlights of oncoming cars alone.” 🎶

Word Count- 14.7k 🥴

Pairing- Jimin x reader

Genre- smut

Warnings- oral (female recieving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slightly rough sex, nipple piercing? is that warning?, some depression-like symptoms/thoughts, a little self destructive behavior? Kind of.

a/n: Part of the Tatted Bangtan Series! This is the longest fic I have ever written and it is my baby. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think!  💕 

Walking up to the frat house was intimidating, and you slowed your stride enough for Hana to reach back and yank you with her into the party. You could feel the bass of the music rattling your bones and couldn’t hear Hana as she shouted over the music to you. 

“I can’t believe you made me do this!” you hissed, twisting your body around just in time to narrowly miss a drunk football player bulldozing his way through the crowd. 

“What?” she shouted back. 

You simply rolled your eyes and shook your head, gripping her hand tightly and following her through the overcrowded living room to the barely quieter kitchen. You took the drink she handed you and nursed it slowly, since you liked a good buzz but still wanted a clear head. 

You felt his gaze before you saw him; you could feel the shivers along the back of your neck. 

You turned to seek out the cause, methodically searching the crowd. Your eyes met the most beautiful pair of brown ones you’d ever seen, the strobe lights from above causing them to almost glow brighter-  but that was the only light in his gaze. His eyes looked… sad. Empty. 

It seemed like everything else turned blurry, and you could only focus on him in perfect clarity, every feature defined and prominent; every move he made, your eyes followed. Everything else faded away, and you only saw him. Him and his beautiful eyes, full of longing and something you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t help but furrow your brow in concern. Your face showed your every emotion like an open book, and you opened your mouth to ask Hana who was staring at you before she squealed, gripping your arm.

“Park Jimin is totally checking you out!” she giggled, tugging on your sleeve excitedly.

“Park Jimin?” you questioned rhetorically.

“He’s famous on campus. He’s hot, rich, and a total freak in the sheets. Rumor has it his tongue can make you see stars. Every girl on campus is dying for a night with him.” she chattered.

“Oh geez.” You rolled your eyes.

“Seriously. The saying is: once you Jimin, you can’t Jim-out. He’s so good in bed, he’s had to get like three restraining orders against girls who can’t let go. They say once you sleep with him no one else will do.” she continued, waving her hands in the air dramatically.

“I’ll take your word for it.” you giggled, glancing over towards Jimin once again.

He was absolutely gorgeous, with perfectly styled light brown hair, soft, plump looking lips, a jawline that could cut someone. His white t-shirt showed off tattoos that danced down his arms, covering the delicate ivory skin beneath. His thighs alone deserved their own wing in an art gallery, beautifully encased in skin tight ripped jeans. You caught yourself staring, clearing your throat and averting your gaze, but something kept drawing you back to him.

He was surrounded by girls, all leaning forward to give him the best view of their cleavage, all doing their best to seduce him, but he looked bored. Lonely. Lost. He sighed and his eyes trailed back to you. He watched you for a moment, noting how you flushed and turned away looking flustered. A smirk played on his lips and he shoved himself off the wall, making his way over to you.

“Shit! He’s coming over here!” Hana whisper-shouted.

You braced yourself, waiting for him to call you out for staring, or yell at you. Your body seemed to be vibrating with nerves because you could feel him getting closer, like your body had a radar that searched him out. Warm breath ghosted over the back of your neck, right under your ear. You shivered.

“Hello, there princess.” he purred.

You spun around, startled, and came face-to-face with Jimin.

He was even more gorgeous up close. He smelled of alcohol and something minty. You couldn’t help basking in the lovely scent that filled your senses for a moment, before leveling your gaze to his. His body wasn’t even two inches from yours. If you leaned up on your toes, you’d be kissing him. You took a step behind you, your back hitting the island in the kitchen.

“Hello,” you greeted in return, willing the heat in your cheeks to look like it was from the humidity in the room and not Jimin’s proximity to you.

“I haven’t seen you around before, are you a Freshman?” he inquired, sending his charming smile your way and making your knees want to buckle.

“No, I just normally don’t come to parties,” you explained, tilting your head towards Hana. “Hana made me.”

“Why not?” he wondered aloud.

“Just… not my scene.” you shrugged. 

Jimin watched your face, amusement apparent on his features. He seemed to be contemplating something. Apparently coming to his decision, his smile came back to grace his gorgeous face, but it didn’t reach his eyes, a detail you couldn’t miss even if you’d wanted to.

“Sounds like you need to have a little fun,” he smirked, stepping closer to you, his fingertips trailing along your hips and his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered his next sentence, “I could help you with that. My room is upstairs.”

“I… I, uh… no… no thank you,” you sputtered, placing your hand on his (deliciously firm) chest and gently urging him backwards to put space between your erratically beating heart and his warm, enticing body.

“What?” Jimin asked, genuinely confused.

“I’m not that kind of girl.” you said softly, trying to cushion the blow to his ego.

“You really don’t want to fuck me?” he asked, bewildered.

“Um… no thank you.” You coughed awkwardly.

Jimin stared at you for a moment, reading you. His eyes searched yours, looking for something. You didn’t know what, or if he found it, but when he looked away, he shrugged.

“Your loss.” he turned to the sound of someone calling his name and left you standing there, heart pounding out of your chest and legs weak.

You watched him walk away, plastering on that signature flirty smile that fooled everyone around him. You watched his animated dancing, life of the party, putting on a show. You watched his eyes search the crowd, like his soul was longing to find something, but you didn’t know what.

                                                      -♡-

A few weeks had gone by since your encounter with Jimin, and somehow he was everywhere. You saw him on your way to class, laughing with his friends by the fountain. You saw him at the coffee shop, exiting the building as you were about to enter. You saw him in the crowded hallways of your university, heard his infectious laugh bubbling from his chest and dancing through the air. 

Even when Jimin wasn’t in your direct line of vision, even when you couldn’t hear the way his melodic voice carried through the air, he was everywhere. Every night since meeting him, you dreamt of sad, empty brown eyes attached to the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. Every other thought that flitted through your mind was about him. What was Jimin up to? Does he look happier today? Was it just that night? Where was he now?

Sitting in the lecture hall next to Hana, you couldn’t pay attention to what the professor was attempting to teach you, a heavy sigh falling from your lips as you doodled a familiar pair of plusher ones. Hana nudged your shoulder.

“What’s up with you lately? You’re like, lost in space or something.” she accused.

“Sorry, just got a lot on my mind,” you sighed, playing with the edges of your notebook distractedly.

“Wanna talk about it?” she wondered.

“How much do you know about Park Jimin?” you asked almost instantly, causing Hana to jump a bit.

“Oh honey…” she sighed, shaking her head, “Don’t go there. Park Jimin is a good fuck if you’re looking to let loose, but I wouldn’t get too invested. Fucking is about all he’s good at. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” 

“Do you really think he’s not good for anything but that? I mean, he’s human.” you defended.

“That’s not what I meant, I just know how you are. Don't go crushing on him, he’ll break your heart Y/N. Park Jimin doesn’t do emotions. He does meaningless sex.” she explained.

“I guess…” you trailed off, avoiding her gaze.

“Seriously. Don’t go looking for trouble.” she warned.

“I won’t.” you promised.

“Good. Now, there’s a party this weekend. Are you coming?” she grinned.

A classmate in front of you coughed obnoxiously sending you a glare. You shot them an apologetic smile but lowered your voice. Hana didn’t lower her volume at all though.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” you shrugged.

“Come onnnn. Live a little!” she encouraged.

“If you two ladies have something to share with the class, I’d be more than happy to give you the podium. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until after class to discuss whatever is so important,” the professor hummed, shooting a glare in your direction.

Immediately silencing yourself, you looked down at your notebook, where the drawing of Jimin’s plush lips stared at you. You stared back, recalling the last time you’d seen him, and how your heart had pounded in your chest violently enough that you thought it was going to come out. 

You decided you needed to see him again, which is how you found yourself completely out of place once again at another frat party. Drunk and stoned college kids stumbled around, grinded on each other, made out in corners, and caused all kinds of trouble all around you as you tried to be inconspicuous in your search for Jimin.

“Do you want a drink?”  you asked Hana and she nodded, so you ventured into the kitchen to retrieve something for the two of you. 

Once you returned, you couldn’t find her anywhere. She had a tendency of wandering off with the first hot guy she set her sights on, but you decided to look for her anyway. You wove between bodies, checking around corners and searching all the obvious places. When you came up empty handed you ventured out the back door, only to notice none other than Park Jimin sitting on the porch swing alone, smoking.

Previous task abandoned, you walked up to him and sat beside him; his eyes lazily trailed up and down your figure as he assessed you, his plump lips turning up into a smirk.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again. Change your mind about my offer?” he smiled seductively.

“No.” you shrugged, offering him the extra cup in your hand, which he took while watching you carefully.

“Seriously? Am I not your type or something? You think I’m ugly?” he wondered, feigning distress.

“That’s not it at all!” you gasped out with a little too much conviction.

“So you find me attractive?” he verified, scooting closer.

“Well, yes,” you admitted, cheeks blazing while you avoided his intense gaze.

“So you do want to fuck me.” He grinned.

“No,” you shook your head.

“Why?” he questioned, letting his fingertips dance along the edge of your shorts.

“Like I said. I’m not that kind of girl. I think sex should be meaningful,” you shrugged, though your body betrayed you with the goosebumps rising at his touch.

“Ah, so you’re one of those hopeless romantics,” he laughed.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you giggled. “I’m not waiting for a knight in shining armour. I just want it to mean something.”

Jimin focused his gaze on your face, watching you carefully as you fiddled with a stray thread on your blouse. He knew your body reacted to him, he could see the way you shivered, feel the goosebumps on your skin. He didn’t understand why you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to fall into bed with him like everyone else. You were an enigma to him. 

You finally met his gaze, curiosity getting the better of you. You had to know if his eyes still held the same look as before, or if it was a one-time thing. You could still see the loneliness, masked by his overconfident demeanor. 

“What’s your major?” you asked, changing the subject out of the blue.

“What? Oh, um… dance, actually.” he said, averting his gaze.

“How long have you been dancing?” you wondered.

“Since I was little. Why are you asking this?” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Just wondering. I don’t know anything about you,” you easily replied.

“What’s yours?” he countered.

“Creative writing.” 

“That’s cool.” he sent you a tentative smile.

“Thanks. So is dancing. I can’t dance to save my life,” you giggled.

“I’m sure you’re not that bad,” he argued, a smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, you haven’t seen bad,” you laughed.

After taking a moment to wonder why you were even outside talking to him and what you could possibly want from him, he pushed his suspicion aside..Jimin rolled his eyes with a smile and stood up, extending his hand out to you. You sent him a questioning look and he just shook his hand until you grabbed it, and he pulled you to your feet. He reached down into his pocket and pulled out his phone, playing a song you hadn’t heard before, but enjoyed nonetheless. It was slow and simple, but still pretty upbeat.

“We’ll try something simple so I can see where you’re at, ok?” Jimin grinned at you, spacing his feet apart and watching your face.

“You’re going to make me dance?” you gasped.

“I’m going to teach you some easy moves. Everyone should know at least one dance move,” he laughed.

“If you watch me fall on my face I can never look you in the eye again,” you grumbled.

“Oh hush. Okay, start with your feet shoulder width apart for balance.” he instructed.

You mimicked his stature, placing your feet shoulder width apart and following his movements that he did slowly so you could catch on. You could tell he was graceful and knew how to move his body, even when he was slowing down and exaggerating his movements so you could keep up. Jimin’s movements were fluid and calculated, each new step had precision but flowed into the next seamlessly. He was made to dance, you decided. And somehow, you didn’t fall under his instruction. He was patient and understanding when you’d mess up, showing you again and praising you when you got it right.

 He seemed to be having fun, his laughter filled you with giddiness and his smile seemed genuine, his eyes scrunched up into little crescent moons and his beautiful pearly teeth on display, his hands wrapped around his stomach as he leaned over in another fit of laughter. You giggled along with him, albeit at your own expense, but you loved seeing this side of Jimin, he seemed… happy, carefree. This was the way Jimin was meant to be.

When you messed up again, Jimin laughed, coming over to you and grabbing your hands, showing you how to move your body to the music by leading you with his own. Your back was pressed against his firm chest as he guided you, his hips flush against yours, causing a blush to creep up your neck. Jimin must have noticed the position he’d put you in, but it didn’t stop him. He only pressed closer, whispering in your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me, babygirl,” he purred, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

You shivered, attempting to turn and pull out of his hold to scold him, but you were interrupted by a loud male voice coming from inside the house.

“Yo Park where the hell have you been? We need help in beer pong! Oh-” a tall man you recognized as Hoseok froze at the sight.

Jimin cleared his throat and stepped away from you. Hana peered around Hoseok from behind him, curious to what was going on. Her eyes widened when she saw you, and she gave you a look of disappointment, knowing you hadn’t listened to her warning. You looked away, avoiding her gaze as Jimin breezed past you to follow Hoseok inside. Hana watched you for a moment before following them inside, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

                                                         -♡-

It had been a few days since your dancing lesson with Jimin, and seeing him in such a comfortable, happy state hadn’t really done much to take him off your mind, especially not after seeing his eyes glaze over and the mask slip right back on as soon as Hoseok called his name. How he’d breezed past you like you didn’t exist after what felt like a special moment shared between the two of you.

Maybe Hana was right… maybe all he wanted was sex. Your anxiety was telling you he was playing with your emotions, but you knew better. You saw something in Jimin, something no one else seemed to notice. The small amount of time you’d spent with him when he had let his guard down had given you the opportunity to see what potential he had. 

 Jimin didn’t have to be tough and closed off. He could be fun and open and sweet. He could be thoughtful and patient and encouraging. He could be silly and smart and dedicated. He was talented and hard working. You’d spent maybe an hour alone with Jimin at the party that night, and in that small frame of time, you’d seen a glimpse of the real him shine through that facade he put on for everyone else. 

You wanted to see it again.

You took’d taken a trip into the city to do some sight seeing and clear your restless mind, having been driven crazy going in circles. It had taken longer than you’d anticipated, so you’d opted to take a taxi home with the sun having gone down a while ago and the stars making their appearance. You watched the cityscape fly by, lost in your own little world. The closer you got to campus, the more you paid attention, knowing the bridge that overlooked the beautiful skyline would be coming soon. 

You watched the water below ripple gently, small waves dancing across the surface of the river underneath the bridge. It was beautiful, reflections of the city lights shining and shimmering in the water. You glanced up at the other end of the bridge and saw a figure standing there, alone. It kind of looked like…

“Sir, stop the car. Pull over please!” you begged the driver.

He shot you a curious look but pulled to the side of the road. You handed him your fare and dashed away from the car towards the figure. Once you realized he wasn’t going to jump or do anything stupid, you slowed your stride, watching him as you quietly made your way over to him. Jimin was lost in thought and didn’t notice you approaching him. He watched the waves longingly, as if he wished he were floating away in them, part of the nothingness. Like he wanted to disappear into the water and drift away into the sea.

The look in his eyes as he gazed out into the unknown was haunted, and it tore at your heart to see him look so empty. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and if that’s true, Jimin’s soul seemed broken. You wanted to know why. He had it all. He had money, good looks, friends, girls, what could possibly be missing? Why did he look so dejected?

You gently placed your hand on his shoulder and he jumped slightly upon realizing he wasn’t alone, turning to face you. His gaze met yours in silence, he watched your face for a moment, then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Y/N?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I was riding by and saw you, I wanted to make sure you were okay. What are you doing up here all alone?” you wondered.

Jimin turned to face you fully now, looking down at you with a hard expression.

“Why do you care?” he asked, bunching his fists at his side. “What do you want from me Y/N? Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I don’t want anything from you, Jimin. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I want to be your friend,” you explained softly, reaching out to touch his arm, which he yanked away.

“You want to be my friend?” he laughed bitterly. “Why? So I can buy you stuff? You want my money? Here,” he took out his wallet, holding out several bills for you to take.

You were shocked, stepping back a little, but looking up to meet Jimin’s gaze. He looked resigned, angry. You looked at his outstretched hand, holding the money out to you and sighed. You reached for his hand, and he thought you’d take the bills, but you only eased his hand back down to his side.

“I don’t want your money,” you told him, trying to keep your voice from sounding as offended as you felt. “I just like spending time with you.”

“Why? What is your angle here? Just take what you want and go, like everyone else does. Everyone uses each other, I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of me, but just take it and go. Stop acting like you care about me,” he hissed.

You watched him for a moment, chest heaving as he took deep breaths, looking angry and closed off and… scared. He looked scared. He said everyone uses each other, did he really not have anyone in his life who genuinely just wanted him to be happy? 

“I do care about you, Jimin. I don’t want anything from you but friendship,” you said softly.

“Right,” he laughed, “like I believe that. No one just wants to be friends. They want something. Sex. Money. Status. Then they leave, everyone leaves eventually so why bother getting attached and pretending to care?”

“That sounds really lonely, Jimin,” you trailed off quietly.

Jimin’s expression was one of shock. He was expecting some sort of reaction out of you, anger, defiance, maybe admitting you were just after his money. He expected you to try to trick him, to yell at him, to tell him he was an asshole and you never wanted to see him again. Jimin was not expecting you to see straight through him, to see how lonely he was, how much he craved connection.

You terrified Jimin. He’d been drawn to you from when he first laid eyes on you, admittedly it was a sexual attraction at first. When you’d refused him, though, he was intrigued. He’d watched you around campus, how you never sought out to be the center of attention, how you didn’t go looking for drama or clout. Then you showed up on that porch swing at the party, looking into his eyes like you really saw him.

Jimin hadn’t felt so at ease so quickly with anyone in his life like he did with you. He felt like he could be himself, like he could let his guard down. He had fun, really enjoyed himself for the first time in what felt like forever with you. He wasn’t putting on a show. He wasn’t giving the people what he thought they wanted to see from him. He was just spending time with a beautiful girl who made him feel like he was enough.

And that was terrifying.

Jimin couldn’t afford to get attached again. He’d had his heart ripped out and stomped on so many times he’d honestly thought he didn’t have one anymore. Until he watched the way your eyes lit up when you giggled at one of his silly dance moves. Until he felt the giddiness rising in his chest when you smiled especially for him. Jimin almost couldn’t remember what it felt like to feel so carefree, and he missed it so much. He longed to be free and let go.

You made him feel like he could, and that scared Jimin shitless. He’d spent so long building up this wall to protect himself, so long wearing this mask of indifference to shield his weary and battered heart from another letdown. Another person pretending to care. Another “friend” using him to get something. Another betrayal. But you… you felt so genuine. You were light and happy and kind and you made him feel like he could breathe again. He barely knew you, and already you’d wormed your way into his heart enough to make him feel like things could be different. It scared Jimin just how badly he craved that, the connection, to feel something again.

“I… I guess,” he finally admitted, his shoulders slumping from the confession. 

He looked like he was deflating, the tension falling off his body once he finally let it out that yes, he was so lonely. He watched your reaction, embarrassed that you’d seen this side of him. He didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of anyone, didn’t want to give them the chance to use him again. But you just smiled sympathetically.  You didn’t push or pry.

Instead, you pivoted. “Are you hungry? I kind of want some ramen. Come with me to the store?” you offered.

Jimin eyed you warily, but nodded, falling in step beside you as you walked along the bridge, the only sounds you could hear were the soft rippling of the waves below and the sounds of the cars rushing past. Jimin was quiet beside you, looking like he was lost in thought. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was stepping, and tripped over a loose brick on the sidewalk.

You saw the headlights of the oncoming car nearing closer as Jimin tumbled into the road, your heart beating out of your chest in bone-chilling fear. You jumped into the street and grabbed Jimin’s hand. You jumped back and yanked him onto the sidewalk mere fractions of a second before the car zoomed past where your bodies had just been, horn blaring obnoxiously. Jimin’s body crashed into yours, sending you off balance and splaying against the sidewalk.

You groaned at his weight being flung on top of you when you crashed into the hard cement sidewalk. Jimin propped himself up on his arms, body still flush against yours as he searched your face, eyes wide.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What the hell were you thinking?! You could’ve been killed!” he scolded, eyes roaming over your face and arms for any injuries. 

“So could you! I couldn’t just sit back and watch you get run over!” you defended. 

“So you risked your life for someone you barely know?!” he hissed, with no real bite to his words. 

Worry and guilt were swimming in his gaze as it met yours. You softened, reaching up to caress his hair gently in an attempt to soothe him and get him to focus on you and your next words.

“Hey, we’re both fine. Everything’s okay,” you smiled.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he said more to himself than you, “What even are you?”

“Still hungry,” you giggled playfully, trying to ease the tension surrounding the two of you.

Jimin rolled his eyes but finally, a smile graced his pretty lips. You both seemed to notice your positions at the same time, your cheeks lighting up and the tips of his ears turning red. He scrambled off of you, holding out a hand to pull you to your feet. You both avoided eye contact and he let out an awkward cough, scratching the back of his neck.

“Let’s go get ramen then,” he smiled shyly, motioning for you to go ahead of him.

You walked together in silence, Jimin being much more careful about where he was stepping while you made your way to the convenience store at the edge of the university. Entering and nodding to the cashier on duty, you both made your way over to the ramen. You reached out to grab a bowl, and a gasp left Jimin’s lips.

“You’re bleeding!” he grabbed your arm, examining the scrape on your elbow.

“Oh, whoops,” you shrugged. 

Jimin went to the cashier and requested the first aid kit, then guided you to a seat and gently took your arm, cleaning the cut with an antiseptic wipe. You hissed at the burn, and he apologized, leaning down to blow air on the wound. You watched in awe at the way his lips looked, plump and soft and delicious. You shivered as the cool air hit your skin, soothing the burn from the antiseptic wipe. Jimin smiled up at you.

“Better?” he asked.

Not trusting your voice, you simply nodded. He took the bandage and placed it over your wound, smoothing it out with a gentle brush of his fingers. 

“There. All better. Let's eat!” he chirped, pushing off his knees to stand.

You both picked out some ramen and drinks, using the water dispenser to add hot water to the dry noodles. Jimin reached for his wallet to pay for you both reflexively. You didn’t put yours on the counter and he looked at you in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Uhhh… waiting my turn?”

“What do you mean? It’s our turn.”

“It’s your turn. I’ll pay for mine when you’re done,” you shrugged.

Jimin looked shocked and confused, and the cashier looked impatient. You nodded towards the counter and Jimin paid, watching you curiously as you completed your transaction with a smile on your face and thanked the cashier. Jimin held the door for you and you both walked to a nearby park, sitting on the bench to eat. 

You ate and talked and joked and laughed. You both just enjoyed being in each other’s presence, able to let loose and not feel judged. You watched Jimin’s eyes begin to shine for the first time since you’d met him, and your heart swelled with joy. You’d finished eating long ago but neither of you wanted to leave, so you stood up.

“I’ve been practicing, you know.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

“Practicing?” he echoed.

“Dancing. I’ve been practicing what you showed me. Not to toot my own horn, but I’ve gotten pretty decent,” you grinned playfully.

“Show me what you’ve got,” Jimin smirked, leaning back into the bench with his hands folded behind his head, his shirt riding up and displaying his mouth-watering abs, along with the small trail of hair that dipped down underneath his waistband.

You stood with your feet shoulder width apart, just like Jimin had taught you, and started shaking your hips like you’d seen him do that night at the party, giving your best impression of his dance routine for the first minute or two. Then, you grinned at him as he opened his mouth to praise you, before you started doing the chicken dance.

Jimin’s laughter rang through the air and he started dancing with you, both of you making fools of yourselves, your only audience each other and the moon that shone brightly in the sky, illuminating Jimin’s face, highlighting his ethereal beauty. The two of you danced and laughed for a while, before falling onto the bench in a fit of giggles. 

Finally deciding it was time to go, Jimin insisted on walking you home, saying it wasn’t safe for you to be alone that late at night. You agreed, not because you weren’t capable of keeping yourself safe, but simply to stay with him for a little longer. You tossed your food containers in the trash as you left the park. His hand brushed against yours a few times as you walked, talking animatedly about anything and everything, and you figured it was just an accident soyou didn’t think too much of it.

Disappointment washed over you as you walked up to your dorm building and you sighed, scuffing the ground with your foot in an attempt to stall. Jimin made no move to leave either, both of you waiting in silence for the other to say something. Suddenly, you felt warmth surround your frame as Jimin wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“Thank you for tonight. This is the most fun I’ve had in a really long time,” he whispered into your ear, almost like a secret he didn’t want anyone else to hear, though you were alone.

“Me too, Jimin. Thank you for coming with me, and walking me home,” you smiled, returning his hug and placing your head on his shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long hugs between stranger-friends were supposed to last, but you weren’t going to pull away first, not when you felt so warm, so safe, so comfortable. Your heart was racing but your whole body went pliant at his touch, any tension you’d been holding melting away as you melted into him.

Jimin pulled away first, leaving a chaste kiss to your cheek before turning around and walking off, shouting “goodnight Y/N!” over his shoulder as he left. You missed the way the tips of his ears turned pink, and he missed how your whole face turned red. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you crawled into bed that night, your dreams filled with bright brown eyes shining in the moonlight, and a little bit of hope.

                                                        -♡-

After the night on the bridge, you and Jimin began hanging out. He’d wait for you outside the lecture hall and walk you home some days. Others, you’d show up with his favorite coffee and snack in hand before his (regrettably chosen) 8am class. Jimin was different around you, lighter. 

Because he was Jimin, people noticed. Eyes trailed after the two of you everywhere you went, whether you were together or not. Rumors spread, saying that you were using him to gain recognition, saying that he’d knocked you up and been forced to date you, saying that you’d blackmailed him or something. Neither of you paid attention to the prying eyes that seemed to dissect your every move, you were too caught up in each other.

You made Jimin feel like a better person, and Jimin made you feel safe and giddy. But there was no denying the massive crush you’d formed on the poor guy. You did your best to hide it, trying not to make him uncomfortable. You’d told him all you wanted was friendship, you weren’t about to make a liar out of yourself and get rejected, losing your new friend over something so silly as your unyielding yearning for him.

You really tried not to let your eyes linger on him for too long when he walked unaware beside you, humming the newest song he was practicing for dance class. You tried not to let your touches last longer than socially acceptable for friends, despite the way your entire body seemed to light up with electricity every time his skin met yours. You tried not to stare longingly at his lips as he told you a story about his childhood or a class he’d taken the day before.

You tried not to fall in love with him.

You tried not to fall in love with the way his eyes formed crescent moons when he smiled, his real smile. The one he used in your presence, not the one he plastered on for the rest of the world to see. You tried not to fall in love with the sound of his voice calling your name, or the way he’d mindlessly sing quietly to himself while doing mundane tasks. You tried not to fall in love with the way he’d already be looking at you when you glanced up to check on him, with the way he’d shoot you a goofy face.

You tried not to fall in love with the way he held you close, the way every hug was just a little too long, the way he’d hold open doors for you or fix your collar, or the way he seemed to be able to make you forget about the rest of the world. You tried not to fall in love with how strong he was, both physically and emotionally, how he’d let you in and trusted you. 

But Jimin was a force of nature, somehow terrifying and comforting at the same time. He showed your heart no mercy, consistently proving himself to you over and over and making you fall harder and harder. How were you not supposed to fall head over heels for Jimin? A few weeks into your friendship and you were ready to throw caution to the wind and marry the man. Or maybe you were a little dramatic, but still. You felt so deeply for him you almost couldn’t stomach it.

Jimin seemed to bounce as he walked in front of you, using his ridiculous amount of coordination to walk backwards so he could face you as he spoke. You giggled at his behavior, keeping an eye out to make sure he didn’t run into anything or anyone. He wove around the crowd gracefully, looking back every so often, but you still watched out for him. Just in case. 

“So then the professor woke the kid up by slamming a book on his desk, I kinda felt bad for him, to be honest. But it was really funny. The kid wasn’t too bothered by it, he laughed with everyone else, and apologized for falling asleep. I don’t blame him though. I nearly lost it when he went into the section on Pavlov,” Jimin recounted, rolling his eyes.

“Poor guy!” you laughed.

“I know, so embarrassing.” he cringed.

“Yo, Jimin!” came from somewhere in the crowd, and Jimin’s easygoing expression immediately morphed into a hardened one. 

You turned to see Hoseok and Hana jogging to catch up with the two of you. Ever since they’d started dating, you’d seen Hana less and less. You didn’t mind much, as your time was mostly filled with Jimin. Hana’s hair had gotten longer and she’d dyed it a light shade of pink. It suited her.

“Hey Hana, I like your new hair,” you smiled.

“Thanks, girl! I haven’t seen you in forever!” she grabbed you, pulling you into a tight hug which you returned, shooting an uncomfortable look towards Jimin.

His attention was on Hoseok though. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and you didn’t like it when Jimin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. It looked unnatural, wrong. Happiness belonged on Jimin. Hoseok was sweet, he was funny and lively and courteous, you had nothing against him. But you wished he would leave so Jimin would go back to normal. Unguarded. 

“Jimin, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a couple days man. I really need your help. Are you busy? The girls can grab coffee or something and we can swing by the shop?” Hoseok begged. 

“Ooh that sounds so fun! We haven’t hung out in forever! Please, Y/N?” Hana begged, pulling on your shirt sleeve.

You shot a look over to Jimin, gauging his feelings on the situation, but you couldn’t read him. His face was stoic and you couldn’t see his eyes. He shrugged, following Hoseok across the street.  Hana pulled on your arm, directing you to a nearby coffee shop and grabbing a table in the corner by the window. 

“You still like the hot chocolate here the best?” Hana asked, standing up to order. 

You moved to follow but she waved you off, placing your order for you and handing it over once it was ready.

“Thank you.” you smiled, “How much was it? I’ll venmo you.” 

“Don’t worry it was only like two bucks,” Hana shrugged. “Hobi’s been paying for everything lately, hasn’t asked me to chip in a dime! So I’ve saved up a bit.” 

“Oh wow,” you laughed.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! Do you remember when we used to come here like every day to do our homework and people watch?” Hana giggled.

“Yeah, it seems so long ago.” you agreed, grinning at the memory.

“Ugh, I still had that poofy curly hairdo and you wore those high school musical shirts all the time? When was that, like 8th grade?” she cringed.

“Freshman year of high school, I think. We met in high school.” you laughed. “Why did your mom let you leave the house like that?” 

“Girl I don’t know!” she groaned, “why did yours?” 

“I guess she wanted me to express myself,” you shrugged with a giggle.

“Express yourself right out of any chance to be popular,” Hana remarked sarcastically, throwing in a playful smirk.

“Hey, I don’t need to be popular. I just need a few good people around me,” you shrugged. 

“Hmmm… So, how’s Jimin?” she asked, glancing away and not meeting your eyes.

“He’s good. We were just on our way back to my dorm to watch a movie when we ran into you guys,” you explained.

“A little netflix and chill?” she laughed, but her eyes zeroed in on you.

“No,” you shook your head, “just a movie.”

Hana sighed, placing her coffee on the table and looked you in the eyes.

“YN, I’m worried about you. Someone like you shouldn’t be hanging out with someone like Jimin. When I invited you to that party, I just wanted you to get out more, not start messing around with someone like him.” Hana explained, attempting to keep her voice soft.

“What do you mean ‘someone like him’?” you asked harshly.

“You’ve heard what people are saying right? They’re spreading rumors about you because you’re hanging out with him. He’s bad news, YN. He only sleeps with girls to get what he wants. I know you’re a hopeless romantic but I can guarantee he doesn’t love you, no matter what he’s telling you.” she sighed.

“You can’t be serious.” you laughed incredulously. 

“YN, I’m just looking out for you. Jimin is-” she began but you stood and cut her off.

“Jimin is kind. Jimin is funny, smart, sweet and loyal. Jimin doesn’t talk shit about people behind their backs. Jimin doesn’t pretend to care just so he can cause trouble. Jimin doesn’t judge people based on rumors. You don’t know anything about him, Hana. You never cared enough to. No one has! You all think he’s some souless succubus who only uses sex to get what he wants, but you’re wrong. You don’t know him at all. Jimin is wonderful and I will hang out with him as much as I damn well want to because you know what? He makes me happy. So you and anyone else who has a problem with that can fuck off,” you seethed, slamming five dollars down on the table to pay her for your drink, not wanting to owe her anything, “Keep the change.”

You stomped away from the table, finally looking up from Hana’s speechless, shocked expression to find Jimin and Hoseok staring at you in mirroring astonishment. You froze for a split second, but in your rage, trudged forward, grabbing Jimin’s hand and pulling him towards the exit.

“Let’s go.” you grumbled, and he allowed you to pull him out of the exit and begin walking down the street, leaving Hoseok and Hana in stunned silence.

You didn’t let go of Jimin’s hand and he didn’t make a move to pull away as you walked silently to your dorm, your anger slowly going from a boiling rage to a simmer. You opened and shut the door with a little more force than necessary and flung the dvd cabinet open with a little too much emphasis. Jimin watched you curiously, letting you have your space and set up the movie before you crawled into your bed next to where he was waiting. 

You laid your head on his shoulder, needing the extra comfort of having him close after your emotional meltdown at the coffee shop. You sighed, letting the tension roll out of your body that you’d stored up from the encounter. Jimin wrapped an arm around you, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked quietly, eyes still on the opening credits of the movie.

“No,” you pouted.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, gaze shifting to you.

You sighed and sat up, turning to face him and pausing the movie.

“How much did you hear?”

“Hoseok and I walked in right about where you asked Hana what she meant by someone like me,” he explained.

“Oh,” you flushed, looking away from him. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

Jimin sighed, turning your shoulders so you’d face him and you gazed up into his eyes as he focused on you.

“Hey, it’s okay. I know what people think about me. I don’t care about their opinion. I care about yours, and maybe Hoseok’s. Sometimes,” he explained with a chuckle.

“I guess…” you trailed off.

“Thank you,” he spoke suddenly, softly.

“For what?” you wondered.

“For sticking up for me. For believing in me. For having my back,” he told you, his eyes swimming in an emotion you couldn’t place.

“Of course. I meant everything I said. You’re an amazing person and if people would just take a second look and get to know you, look past the wall you put up, they’d think so too.”

Jimin pulled you into his arms, encompassing you in his warmth and comfort, seeming to hold you together when you felt like you were shaking into pieces from the intensity of how strongly you felt for him. You relaxed in his hold, allowing the warmth of his body against yours to soothe your nerves.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispered into your ear, barely audible.

“You’re my best friend too,” you whispered back, hugging him just a little tighter.

Jimin smiled against your neck where he’d rested his head, and you hoped he couldn’t feel how loudly your heart was beating from feeling his lips against your skin, though he probably didn’t mean to do that. You pulled apart and snuggled into the covers to watch the movie, finally completing the task you’d set out to do since mid-afternoon.

Once the credits rolled, you were tucked into Jimin’s arms, drifting in and out of consciousness. Jimin glanced at the clock and sighed.

“I don’t want to leave but it’s getting late,” he looked down at your face.

“Nooo.. don’t go. You’re so comfy,” you whined.

“Are you calling me fat?” he huffed playfully.

“Oh hush,” you giggled, but looked up at him, biting your lip nervously.

“Can you just… stay? Just for tonight? If you want to, that is…” you looked down at your hands.

“You’re not worried someone will see me leave in the morning and start more rumors?” he wondered.

“I don’t care if you don’t,” you shrugged, meeting his eyes once more.

“Scooch over then,” he grinned and you giggled triumphantly, scooting over to one side of the bed so Jimin could slot himself between you and the wall.

He wrapped an arm around your middle, pulling you against his chest and sighed contentedly. You snuggled just a little closer, mumbling something about the chilly air in the dorm, but really you just loved being close to Jimin. Butterflies swirled in your stomach, and you listened to Jimin’s breathing begin to even out as he fell asleep. You followed not long after. Wrapped in the safety and comfort of Jimin, you swore it was the best night's sleep you’d ever had.

                                                        -♡-

The second Jimin had exited your dorm that morning, there were about 50 pictures of the incident flooding social media, rumors flying rampant about your night spent together. Every other comment was about how you’d turned into a whore or Jimin was just playing with you or you had to have something on him. You ignored them all. People could think whatever they wanted, but you knew you hadn’t done anything wrong.

On the contrary, waking up beside Jimin had felt so, so right. You’d somehow shifted in the night, both of you seeking out each other’s warmth and you’d woken up face-to-face, your noses almost touching. You’d opened your eyes to find Jimin opening his and you both smiled at each other, giggling nervously as you broke apart. 

Jimin had gone home to freshen up, seeing as your impromptu sleepover left him without a change of clothes or a toothbrush. You hadn’t heard anything from him since he left, and you were starting to wonder if he regretted staying, if he felt uncomfortable now. Your nerves were eating you up and after your fight with Hana, you didn’t really know who you could talk to about it. You sighed, flipping through a textbook while being unable to concentrate on anything you were reading.

A few hours went by and you were starting to lose your mind from the lack of communication and the anxiety it caused. You picked up your phone to distract yourself with something when a text from Jimin came through. You sighed in relief, opening the message.

Jimin [5:54pm]: The guys at the frat house say I’ve been boring lately and I’m not allowed to skip tonight’s party. Come with me?

Did he mean come with him as in… be his date? Surely not. Right? Your heart hammered in your chest. Sure, people had seen you and Jimin around together a lot, but it was another thing entirely to go to a party together. That was basically announcing that you were dating. Maybe he didn’t see it that way? Maybe he just wanted to bring his friend to the party?

You [5:59pm]: Sure. Meet you there?

Jimin [6:04pm]: Starts at 10. :)

You texted a little back and forth in the next few hours, then you got ready for the party andmade your way over to the frat house, wondering what kind of fresh hell this party would bring. Though, you couldn’t say all parties were bad. You had met Jimin at one of these. That had turned out to be the greatest thing you’d ever done.

You were filled with a sense of nostalgia walking up to the familiar front door and entering into the foyer, greeted with booming music and some cheering from the corner where someone was doing a keg upside down. You were startled by an arm wrapping around your shoulder, pulling you into a warm body.

“Y/N! Nice to see you again,” Hoseok grinned, leading you towards the kitchen.

“Hey Hoseok,” you smiled, a little confused.

“Jimin and I were about to play beer pong with Tae, we need a 4th player,” he grinned.

“Oh okay,” you smiled, walking with a little more confidence.

“Y/N!” Jimin grinned, walking over and wrapping you in a hug, “I’m glad you came. You’re on my team, ok?”

“Sounds good,” you grinned.

“Y/N, this is Taehyung, you’ve already met Hoseok. Tae, this is Y/N,” Jimin introduced.

“Nice to meet you,” Taehyung grinned a boxy smile, enthusiastically waving to you from his end of the island. “Sorry we’re about to kick your ass,” he added with an evil chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” you giggled.

“Have you played before?” Jimin wondered.

“A few times, not at a big party like this but I’ve practiced,” you mimicked brushing off your shoulders and Jimin let out a hearty laugh.

“Alright, a seasoned pro!” Hoseok chimed in excitedly.

“Is Hana not here?” you asked quietly to Jimin.

“I haven’t seen her, no,” he shrugged.

“Did they break up?”

“I doubt it, but I don’t know.” he answered.

“Alright, ladies! Let's go!” Taehyung shouted enthusiastically.

Hoseok took the first shot, landing it perfectly in a cup on your side of the table, and Jimin took the first swig, downing the cup. Hoseok shot again, missing by a mile. Jimin laughed before tossing his ball across the table, expertly landing it in one of the opposing team’s. Hoseok pouted but drank anyway. Jimin tried again, landing another. You clapped and hooted for him. Jimin got three cups before he missed.

Taehyung got two cups, and you drank both before he grazed the edge of the third, but the ball didn’t go in. You started shooting and got two cups before someone jostled you on your third throw, causing you to miss the entire table. You shot a glare to the offending stranger, who apologized profusely. You sighed.

“Minho is clumsy but he’s sweet. Don’t be too hard on him. He might actually like it. Kinky bastard.” Jimin winked at you playfully.

You choked on your next breath, giggling at his words. Neither team scored anything for a while, too busy trash-talking each other and cracking jokes to concentrate on the game. Jimin’s full smile had yet to appear, but he did seem more relaxed in your presence, so you took it as a win. He wasn’t quite himself, putting on more of a show than usual, but you decided to let it go since he seemed like he was having a good time. Surprisingly, you were too. 

Taehyung was sweet and funny. He was easy to talk to and super charming. Hoseok was a ball of sunshine and energy, and they both seemed to accept you as part of their little group with no effort at all. You were Jimin’s friend, and therefore you were their friend by association. You wondered if these were people Jimin could be honest with, they seemed really genuine, but you knew how guarded he was so you weren’t about to bring it up. They were fun to be around, and that was enough for now.

The night raged on, and your team ended up winning beer pong. You’d both gained a pleasant buzz from the game but Taehyung and Hoseok were absolutely trashed. Jimin explained that they might’ve pregamed a little too hard before the party, so the added beers from their crushing defeat sent them over the edge into utterly intoxicated. They were currently clutching onto each other and singing a very off key rendition of a song you didn’t even recognize.

“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” you asked.

“Just down that hall,” Jimin pointed, and you smiled at him before making your way there.

You quickly did your business and washed your hands, checking your appearance in the mirror and smiling to yourself about how well the night was going. Everything was perfect and after last night with Jimin, he seemed more… into you? Less platonic. Or maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Either way, you were hopeful that maybe Jimin felt the same way you did.

That was, until you walked out of the bathroom and saw him pushed up against the wall with some girl’s tongue down his throat. 

You felt like the room was spinning. Your heart shattered and you found it difficult to get air into your lungs as you stood frozen in shock, eyes glued to the pair like a car wreck. You just couldn’t look away. It felt like years, but lasted only a second before Jimin’s eyes opened and he spotted you. He pushed the girl off of him, taking a step toward you, but you made a beeline for the door.

You weaved your way through the crowd as fast as you could, ignoring Taehyung who gleefully called out for you to join him in karaoke. You begged any entity that was listening to let you hold your tears in until there were no witnesses, focusing solely on getting your feet to move faster and holding your emotions at bay. You heard Jimin calling your name but you only moved faster, sprinting out of the open door and down the empty road.

How could you have been so stupid? Of course he didn’t like you. You were just the first person to show him, real, unconditional friendship. That’s all his affection was. Platonic. He didn’t want you. How could he? That girl looked like a supermodel. Of course she was more his type. How could you even think he would ever want someone like you? Because he spent one night with his arms wrapped around you and brought you to a party in front of his friends? Ugh.

“Y/N! Wait!” Jimin called, and you could hear his footsteps growing closer. 

Damn him and his dancer’s stamina.

You wiped any stray tears from your eyes and did your best to plaster on a smile as you turned around to face him, you couldn’t outrun him. You might as well act normal and pretend everything was fine. Jimin slowed to a stop in front of you, panting a little.

“Where are you going?” he asked breathlessly.

“Oh, uh. I’m going home,” you grimaced as your voice cracked.

“Y/N, it wasn’t what it looked like,” Jimin began.

“Oh Jimin, it’s fine,” you brushed him off, using every bit of your willpower to make yourself seem believable. “You can do whatever or whoever you want. It’s not like I own you.”

“I saw the look on your face, Y/N, I-” Jimin tried but you shook your head.

“No it’s fine. I should’ve known you’d want to have some fun tonight. You’re not obligated to babysit me just because you invited me,” you cut him off.

“But I-” he tried again, scratching his arm in frustration.

“Go back to the party, that girl is probably waiting,” you smiled, moving to turn around.

“Would you just fucking listen to me?!” he shouted, making you freeze in your tracks. 

Your eyes flickered up to meet his in shock, mouth hanging slightly ajar. Despite him being covered in tattoos and piercings, you’d never heard Jimin raise his voice or be threatening in any way. His sudden outburst caused your heart to flutter in your chest, both with astonishment and a little bit of arousal.

“She just came up and started talking to me, and she asked me to fuck, but I said no. She kissed me out of nowhere and I froze. As soon as I saw you I knew I fucked up. I pushed her off and told her to get lost. I don’t want her, Y/N. I don’t want any of them,” he nearly growled in frustration, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

Your heart stopped beating entirely. 

“I was scared to tell you because I didn’t want to scare you off. You said all you wanted was friendship and I didn’t want to push you away. You’re my best friend. You’re the only one who really sees me, the only one who really cares. You make me a better man. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Everyone leaves but I can’t lose you. Not you. I… I love you. I’m in love with you,” he sighed, taking a step closer and gauging your reaction.

“You… do?” you whispered, scared that if you spoke too loudly he’d vanish and you’d wake up from this dream.

“I love you,” he repeated, placing his hands on your shoulders and running them down your arms to interlock your fingers.

“I love you too,” you choked out, your tears running freely now. “Jimin I love you so much it hurts.”

Jimin lifted one hand to cup your cheek, his eyes full of love and adoration and contentment. His gaze flickered down to your lips then back up to your eyes. You nodded, just barely, and he leaned in. Finally, after months of daydreaming about this very moment, Jimin’s soft, plush lips pressed against your own. Time seemed to stop, and everything faded away but Jimin and the way he kissed you. 

His kiss was gentle, but held so much passion. All the words he couldn’t say, or didn’t know how to, he flooded them all into the way he kissed you, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you closer as he worked his mouth against your own. Kissing Jimin felt like coming home, like the first breath of air after being caught in a current and forced underwater until your breaking point. It felt right. 

Jimin’s tongue danced along your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth, allowing him entrance. His tongue explored your mouth, sliding along yours and it felt more like a loving caress than horny college kids making out. Deepening the kiss had lit something inside you and you pressed even closer to him, pouring all your love and longing into the actions between your lips.  

Pulling away only when your lungs began screaming for air, Jimin rested his forehead against your own, his breaths coming out labored. His eyes searched yours and a slow smile spread across his reddened lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted breathlessly.

“Me too,” you giggled, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as the blush crept into your cheeks.

Jimin laughed and held you tight against him, rubbing soothing circles against your back. You both stayed like that, in the middle of the road, the only light being the stars and the moon, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that Jimin loved you. Jimin loved you! And he wanted you. And you were safe in his arms. 

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Jimin smiled, pulling back to look at your face.

You nodded, slipping your hand into his and walking beside him. Your whole chest felt like it was going to explode. You were elated. You were shocked and excited and so, so happy. You giggled to yourself, hiding your face with your free hand as Jimin walked you home.

“What’s so funny?” he chuckled.

“I can’t believe this is real, I’m so happy,” you admitted, biting your lip nervously and shooting a curious glance his way to watch his reaction.

Jimin smiled softly, pulling you closer to leave a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Me too baby. Me too,” he said softly.

Jimin walked you home and you both crawled into your bed. Jimin wrapped you up in his arms and held you close. You felt like you were in heaven. You ran your fingers through Jimin’s hair, then trailed them down his arm, tracing his tattoos with the tips of your fingers. Jimin smiled, rubbing shapes and doodles into the skin of your back where your shirt had ridden up. 

His gentle caresses were soothing, and after the ultra emotional day you’d had, you were pretty drained. You drifted in and out of consciousness, shifting closer to Jimin and he grinned, holding you against his frame and leaving gentle pecks on your neck, your ear, wherever he could reach. You giggled.

“I’m so glad you’re finally mine,” he whispered into the chilly air of your room.

“I’ve been yours, Jimin. From the moment I met you,” you admitted sheepishly.

“I might not have known it yet, but I was yours too,” he smiled, kissing your cheek. “Now go to sleep.”

So you did.

                                                        -♡-

About a week later, the rumors were still running rampant about you and Jimin after you’d both made it official on social media, and were now spotted sharing sweet kisses and tender touches in public rather than just being together. You’d received a fair amount of messages and evil looks, girls upset that you’d taken Jimin off the market and now his skills were “going to waste.” You’d just roll your eyes and hit the block button.

You had been wondering about those skills more and more recently. Once you and Jimin had started dating, he had seemingly become allergic to wearing shirts. Prancing around your dorm room with his toned body on display, delicious ink decorating the surface of his ivory skin… you were frequently having thoughts that weren’t exactly PG. But Jimin hadn’t brought up sexual activity, and neither had you.

You felt like you could cut the sexual tension with a knife some days, but didn’t want to push Jimin into anything, not when you knew that he’d used sex as a way to push people away in the past. You knew you were overthinking, and should probably just talk to him, but you were nervous. But oh goodness did you want him. You’d wanted him from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, and rejecting his proposition that first night had been harder than you’d thought.

Now it seemed like every time you looked at Jimin, it became harder to hold back. Knowing that he knew you loved him now, and that he loved you too gave you that level of comfort you needed to be able to finally take the plunge with him. You wanted him to plunge into you. All. Night. Long. 

You shook your head to rid yourself of the dirty thoughts you were having just as Jimin climbed in bed beside you, snuggling up to your frame and pulling you against him. You smiled and ran your fingers over the tattoos on his arms, tracing the designs with the tips of your fingers as lightly as you could. Jimin liked that you were always touching him. Running your fingers through his hair, tracing his tattoos, or just resting your palm against his chest. It didn’t matter as long as you were touching him, he was content. 

He shifted, laying on his back with one arm tucked behind his head, allowing you to rest your head on his chest and trace the tattoos that littered the skin there as well. Jimin closed his eyes and focused on the sound of your even breathing and the feeling of your fingers gently brushing against his skin. He shivered a time or two, and you snuggled closer, assuming he was cold. Unable to rid yourself of the lingering dampness between your thighs, you let your fingers gently graze across Jimin’s pierced nipple.

Jimin sucked in a breath and bit back a low moan, but you heard his chest rumble with the action. You bit your lip and mumbled a quiet, insincere apology. You traced the tattoos along his collar bone for a while before your fingers daringly dipped down, brushing the other exposed nipple, which had Jimin tensing below you and letting out a quiet whine.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” he accused, focusing his gaze on you.

“Noooo…” you trailed off, looking up at him with faux innocence.

“I’m trying really hard to be good right now, baby girl,” he breathed out, almost as if he was in pain. 

“What if… I don’t want you to be?” you whispered seductively, letting your hand trail down his abdomen teasingly.

Jimin’s muscles clenched at the movement, and you noticed there was a sizable tent in his sweatpants. Your mouth watered at the sight. He was clearly working with some nice equipment. Jimin shifted so he could put his full attention on you, his eyes searching yours.

“Are you sure? I know you said you were waiting, are you really ready for this?” he asked, concern and a little bit of hope written all over his face.

“I’m sure. I love you, Jimin. I want you,” you smiled reassuringly, leaning in to place a kiss to his gorgeous, soft lips.

Jimin brought his hand up to cup your cheek, working those plush lips of his against your own. The two of you had made out before, but this felt different. You were filled with anticipation and need. You pressed yourself closer to him, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding gracefully along your bottom lip, which you immediately parted for him.

His deft muscle slipped inside your mouth, rolling against yours skillfully. His hand dropped from your cheek and snaked up your side, sneaking under your shirt and grazing along your stomach until he reached your breast, kneading it underneath your flimsy bralette. His thumb brushed against your nipple and your body jolted towards him, seeking more. 

“Mmm… so responsive.” he whispered against your lips with a teasing smirk. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, then let your nail scrape gently along his pierced nipple, tugging ever so gently on the metal ring. Jimin moaned into your mouth, his body arching towards yours. You smirked against his lips.

“So responsive.” you giggled.

Jimin chuckled, pulling back to look at you with a raised eyebrow, the light reflecting off the piercing there as well. His cocky look was gasoline on the fire of your arousal, and you made yourself busy by kissing down his exposed neck, leaving a trail of red and purple bruises in your wake.  Jimin’s low moans were music to your ears. You wanted to elicit more of the beautiful sounds from the irresistible man who had become putty in your hands.

Urging him onto his back, you straddled his hips and ground your covered core down against his clothed erection for a little relief, causing Jimin to let out more delicious noises. You kissed down his chest, bringing his nipple piercing into your mouth and licking around the sensitive area before tugging it gently with your teeth, scraping the flesh just a bit in the process. Jimin’s hips bucked up into yours at the action.

Your fingers teasingly dipped below the elastic of his sweats, running back and forth along the edge while you worked your mouth against each nipple. Jimin’s hands found purchase on your hips, his nails digging in just a bit so he had something to ground himself while you teased him. Your hand slipped underneath his sweats, surprised to find he’d foregone boxers. Your fingers brushed against his rigid length, and he tensed, gripping your hips harder.

“Don’t tease,” he groaned, head lolling back as he tried to restrain himself.

You giggled, wrapping your hand around his length and slowly dragging it upwards, letting your thumb circle the tip. You used the precum that spilled out to lubricate your next journey down. Jimin groaned, finally losing patience and effortlessly flipped the two of you over until he was hovering above you. He smirked at the surprised expression on your face and began leaving pretty red marks all over your neck and the exposed portion of your chest.

He sat up momentarily, pinning you with a hungry gaze and fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Off,” he commanded.

You immediately complied, peeling the fabric off your body and tossing it away, revealing your lacy bralette. Jimin’s eyes roamed over your chest and he licked his lips before leaning down and letting his tongue draw a stripe over the thin fabric covering your nipple, already erect and sensitive. Soft whimpers escaped your lips. It felt good, but you needed more.

Jimin’s lips traveled farther down your body, leaving marks all over your skin. He licked and sucked and nibbled in places you never would’ve considered erogenous zones before, but honestly, maybe it was just because it was Jimin. His tongue danced along the hem of your shorts teasingly before he glanced up at you to make sure you were still okay. You nodded breathlessly.

Jimin peeled your shorts down to expose your black satin panties, and you wished you’d worn the lace ones but it could’ve been worse. He brought the little bow tie between his teeth, tugging and letting it snap back against your pelvis. You jumped a bit and Jimin chuckled, mumbling “so cute” under his breath before slipping your soaked panties down your legs and tossing them aside.

“Damn baby girl, you’re dripping,” he grinned triumphantly. “What got you all worked up like this?”

“Jimin,”  you whined impatiently.

“That’s right baby, say my name,” he teased (although he wasn’t really joking), but didn’t waste much more time, lowering his face and licking a bold stripe along your folds to distract you while he snuck a finger closer to your entrance, letting your arousal aid him in entering you. His tongue drew some sort of lost language on your clit with expertise, and it was almost impossible for you to hold still with the amount of pleasure coursing through your veins.

Your hips bucked up and Jimin moved a hand to splay along your lower stomach, holding you down onto the bed while he devoured your pussy, slowly adding a second and third finger to stretch you out. It burned for a moment before you got used to it, Jimin’s fingers gliding along your walls and hitting your g-spot repeatedly. Even for your first time together, he knew your body like the back of his hand.

 You could already feel the coil deep inside you threaten to snap at Jimin’s ministrations. You were a moaning mess, babbling his name like it was the only word you knew. His plump lips wrapped around your throbbing bundle and he sucked- hard. You groaned, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you, your vision going spotty. Now you knew why they said he could make you see stars.

Your body fell lax against the mattress as you panted, before pushing yourself up on your elbows to see Jimin’s face lift from your core. He met your eyes and seductively licked your juices off his lips, closing his eyes and savoring the taste of you. Your mouth went dry at how erotic he looked, and he climbed up your body, pressing his lips to yours and allowing you to taste yourself. 

Your mouths worked against each other, and you wound your fingers in his hair, tugging gently on his soft locks, causing him to let out a low whine. 

“Do that again,” he begged against your lips, his voice deeper and a little hoarse, but needy.

You wound your fingers in his hair, gripping it tighter and tugging again. Jimin let out a strangled moan, grinding his rock hard member against your core. Your body shivered at the feeling of his clothed shaft pressing up against where you needed him the most.  

“Jimin, please,” you sighed, bucking your hips up to meet his.

“Okay baby. Oh fuck. Please tell me I still have a spare condom,” he suddenly groaned, reaching over for his wallet on your nightstand. 

You watched him curiously, your eyes lingering on the curve of his plump ass under his sweats. You licked your lips, wanting to bite into the flesh. You’d save that for another time. Jimin let out a triumphant noise and held the condom in the air like a first place medal. You giggled at your boyfriend and rolled your eyes with a smile. 

Jimin slid his sweats off in one smooth motion, kicking them away and onto the floor somewhere before ripping the condom open with his teeth and rolling it onto his length. Jimin paused,  peering at you from his place above you, a small smile curling onto his plush lips, his eyes alight with adoration.

“I love you,” he whispered, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I love you too,” you sighed happily. 

“Are you ready?” he asked, squeezing your hand gently.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

Jimin leaned down, meeting your lips in a soft kiss, and slowly slid his rigid length into your honeyed entrance. You gasped into his mouth at the welcome intrusion, his cock stretching you in the most delicious way. Even with the prep from his fingers, his cock stretching your walls burned just slightly. Jimin deepened the kiss in an attempt to distract you from the discomfort, slowly inching more of his length inside until he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.

Jimin fit inside you perfectly, his thick cock filling you up like he was made for you. He pulled back to look at your face, and you shot him a reassuring smile. He brought your joined hands up to his lips, placing them gently on the back of your wrist, and once you nodded your approval, he slid out until just the bulbous tip was left inside, before sliding back in, setting a slow, torturing pace.

This wasn’t your first rodeo, though you were nowhere near as experienced as Jimin, but no one had ever felt this good inside you. No one had ever felt this right. Jimin reached places inside you that no man had before and you were already falling apart at the movement of his hips. Jimin was definitely a dancer, able to move his body precisely and with precision, angling his hips to hit that soft spot inside you with every thrust. 

“Fuck babygirl, you look so beautiful like this,” he groaned into your ear, his hot breath coming out in short puffs from the physical exertion.

“Ngh. Jimin,” you whined, “Please. More.” 

“Can you handle it?” he wondered, experimentally dragging his cock a little faster along your walls, continually hitting that sweet spot inside you.

“Yes, yes please. Need you,” you whimpered, bucking your hips up to meet his.

Jimin’s brow furrowed in concentration and his hips picked up speed, his sole purpose in that moment to give you the most blinding pleasure you’d ever experienced. His punishing pace had you wailing out his name in ecstasy, clawing at his back in a desperate attempt to ground yourself to something, lest you float away into oblivion from the fire building deep in your core.

“Come on baby, you look so pretty when you cum for me. Let go,” Jimin urged, his free hand slipping between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“Fuck… Jimin!” you cried out, and his teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck was the last thing you needed to send you careening over the edge into bliss for the second time that night.

Your breath coming in heavy pants, you were surprised when Jimin showed no signs of slowing down. Your walls continued to clench around his length in the aftermath of your orgasm, and Jimin let our low growls at the feeling of your pussy swallowing up his cock with each thrust. You whimpered, slightly sensitive from your two previous orgasms, but Jimin pistoning himself inside you still felt heavenly. 

Jimin shifted, pulling your leg up over his shoulder, the new position allowing him to reach even deeper inside your core, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your skull at the sensation of his cock kissing your cervix. You were a whimpering mess, your moans now garbled gibberish, not making any sense. All you knew in that moment was Jimin and how good he made you feel.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh, and you shivered. His thrusts were getting erratic as he chased his own high, but Jimin was desperate to make you cum again first. He pinched and rolled your clit between his thumb and forefinger, abusing the bundle in the best way, sending you closer to your high once again.

“Fuck, Jimin- I-” you groaned.

“Come on baby, give me one more,” Jimin encouraged, using all his strength to hold back his own impending orgasm as he slammed inside of you.

Your whole body seemed to seize as you came for the third time, this one more intense than the others, making you almost dizzy with euphoria. Your throat burned with the force of your screams, quickly turning raw with use. Jimin didn’t last much longer, your cunt clenching around his length sending him over the edge. His hips stilled as he spilled ropes of hot cum into the condom. You could feel the heat from the thin plastic layer and wished that you could feel his seed shooting into you, dripping from your hole. 

Jimin collapsed next to you, panting. His body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he looked absolutely edible like this. His plump lips parted as heavy breaths escaped, he turned his head and his eyes met yours. You were both shaking from the intensity of your highs, and you let out a quiet giggle which made a smile bloom across Jimin’s lips. He let out a quiet chuckle.

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed, turning his body back to face yours after tossing the used condom into the trash.

His arms wrapped around your torso, bringing your naked chests flush against each other as he peppered chaste kisses along your forehead, nose, and cheeks before catching your lips in a sweet kiss. 

“I love you,” you whispered, clinging to his sweaty body like he was the only thing keeping you from floating away, and maybe he was.

“I love you more,” he grinned against the skin of your neck.

“Absolutely not. I love you more,” you pouted.

“Nuh uh,” he teased, fingers poking into your side, causing you to shriek and curl into him.

He laughed and kissed your forehead, relenting from his teasing and tickling. Your bodies spent, you drifted off to sleep together, safe in the comfort of each other’s arms.

                                                        -♡-

Months had flown by in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, it was May and you were graduating. They say time flies when you’re having fun, and they are right. Every moment spent with Jimin never seemed to last long enough. After the two of you started dating, Jimin had slowly begun opening up to other people. He learned to trust Hoseok and Taehyung, and your initial impression of them had been correct: they were people Jimin could count on. 

Jimin did lose a few friends from the frat house when he stopped trying to play the part of the indifferent fuckboi, but he didn’t really count those people as losses. If they couldn’t accept the real him, they weren’t worth it. The two of you had branched out socially, and made new friends as well. Yoongi, the music major, who began working at the coffee shop you both frequented. He was stoic and unapproachable at first, but Jimin had commented on his band t shirt once and Yoongi’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, showing that he was actually super sweet and thoughtful once you got past his icy exterior. 

Namjoon, the business major whom you’d met while browsing the shelves of your university library. You’d been having a hard time reaching the book you wanted, and Namjoon had assisted without you even asking for help, his much taller frame bringing the book down to your level. He’d told you he had read that book at least ten times and you would surely love it. The two of you hit it off and soon Jimin joined you, immediately connecting with Namjoon as well. He was smart, patient, and would make an amazing businessman, just from the way he could read people but never treated anyone any differently.

Seokjin, the culinary arts major who had gone around campus giving out free samples of his work, promoting his new youtube channel “Eat Jin.” One taste of his dasik and you were begging him for the recipe. Jin had lit up and began explaining exactly how to make it and invited you to an episode of Eat Jin.

Jungkook, who hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to do yet, had met Jimin at the gym. He was boxing in the practice room that Jimin had reserved to dance. He hadn’t noticed he’d gone over his time, and when Jimin politely entered the room, complimenting his form, he’d flushed and shot him the most adorable bunny smile. Jungkook apologized for running over his time and Jimin brushed it off, but Jungkook insisted on buying him coffee as an apology.

Slowly but surely, your friendship group grew, each new friend weaving their way into your hearts and teaching you something new. They got along with each other as well, as it turned out. You’d thrown a surprise party for Jimin’s birthday and invited them along, Namjoon and Jin became inseparable almost immediately, and Hoseok and Yoongi as well. Taehyung and Jungkook became a dynamic duo, consistently stirring up trouble wherever they went. 

Hoseok and Hana hadn’t broken up, after all. Hana had even contacted you to get coffee, apologizing for judging Jimin unfairly and trying to get in between the two of you. She’d joined your little group of friends, which slowly became more like a second family . Jimin flourished, surrounded by people who loved and cared for him exactly as he was.

He didn’t have to pretend to be anything but himself, didn’t have to please anyone, play any parts. His smile reached ear to ear and his eyes shone with love and light and so much life. Thinking back to the way they’d been dull and lifeless when you first met him brought you to tears as you watched him throw his head back in laughter and wrap his arms around Jungkook, who returned the gesture with similar glee.

Jimin no longer seemed broken. The dead weight resting in his chest had been lifted, and he was free. It didn’t happen overnight, and beginning his relationship with you certainly hadn’t been a magic fix, but it had been a catalyst. You taught Jimin that there were people in this world who genuinely could care for him without expecting anything in return. You showed him that there was still good, and he could trust people. Then, slowly, he’d met more and more people who only validated the lessons you’d taught him.

The more people Jimin met who didn’t use him, the more the ice around his heart began to chip away, giving him the strength and the courage to save himself from the darkness that had plagued his heart and mind for so long. And now, you were all graduating, moving on to pursue your dreams and aspirations. It was the last party of your college career, and you’d all gathered because Jimin had announced he’d had something to say to everyone. You gazed up proudly at your boyfriend.

“Thank you all for being here to celebrate the last night of college!” he cheered, earning hoots and hollers from your friends.

 “I know we all promised to keep in touch, but I just wanted to make sure that you all know how much I appreciate you being in my life. I love every single one of you, and I couldn’t have asked for a more amazing group of people to surround myself with. You all have lifted me up, encouraged me, and given me the strength to keep fighting when times got tough. They say that sometimes when you’re in a dark place, that you think you’ve been buried. But really, you’ve been planted. You just need a little bit of love and patience before you bloom. So thank you for giving me what I needed to bloom. All of you. Especially you, Y/N. You were the first person who really believed in me, and if it weren’t for you, I never would’ve let in any of these guys. I love you, baby. And I love all of you,” he grinned, “So here’s a toast to all of you, may your future be bright and your beer be full!”

Cheers erupted around you and you cheered along, all of you knocking back a sip of your drink to Jimin’s toast. He hopped down and wrapped an arm around you, kissing your cheek as your friends congratulated him on his speech and shared how happy they were to have met you both as well. Your heart felt like it couldn’t possibly get any fuller than it was in that moment, surrounded by people you loved. 

You and Jimin had both grown so much since that first night at the party, you’d fought, you’d cried, you’d laughed, and you’d gotten stronger. You were so proud of him and how far he had come, and you felt peace settle over you knowing the fact that he’d never have to be alone again, and neither would you. No matter what you found on the road ahead, you’d be okay.

You had each other.

[kingreywrites]

There Beside You

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2912

Eugene Appreciation Week Day Three: Home

Summary: Eugene gets sick and needs to rest. His friends and family check up on him, because what's a home if not people taking care of you when you need it?

Note: this is... an extremely self-indulgent sickfic asfhdghj hope you enjoy!!

Read on ao3

At first, Eugene had blamed his headache on the amount of paperwork he had to go through that day. Being Captain was something he loved, but it did involve filling a lot more forms than he had expected, and sometimes he grew tired of looking at papers all day. 

Except that his headache came as soon as he woke up. And with that, the constant shivering, despite having closed the window in his office. Ah, and he was also bone-tired, for some reason. In all honesty, he had an inkling that whatever that was, it was not paperwork induced, but Eugene was trying to power through, hoping that this was simply an off day. 

He did not remember laying his head on his desk, or closing his eyes. 

"-don't know Pete, this isn't like him," Eugene heard, somewhat distantly. He felt cold all over. His cheek was smushed on what felt like paper, and he hoped that he hadn't wrinkled whatever it was too much. Or worse, drooled on it. God, was he drooling? No, no, his mouth was shut, and felt drier than a desert too. Why was he- 

"Eugene?" Stan whispered, way closer than before. Eugene felt a hand on his shoulder and startled. 

In his mind, he was going to straighten up quickly, but in reality, he blinked sluggishly, tried to raise his head, realised that he felt way too nauseous for that and buried it in his hands. Yay. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I was just... uh..." 

"Sleeping on the job?" Pete offered helpfully. "Which is totally okay!" he hastily added. "It can stay between us!" Eugene groaned from behind his hands.

There was no way the entire castle wouldn't be aware of his untimely nap now. He gave it twenty minutes, tops.

"You okay Eugene?" Stan asked. "You really look, uh… tired."

"Didn't sleep well," he muttered. That was partly a lie, because he did sleep all night without a hitch, he simply woke up without feeling rested at all. Sighing, he finally raised his head fully, a dull ache at the base of his neck making itself known. The room was way brighter than he remembered it being.

"You sure? Because-"

"Yes Stan, thank you, I just-"

Eugene tried to get up while he was talking, so he could avoid falling back asleep on his desk. However, he understood very quickly that this was a bad idea - it was as if his entire body became too warm at once, and then he was looking at the ground, Stan's arms around him and keeping him from actually falling on his face.

Huh.

Pete's shrill voice was echoing loudly in his ears, as was Stan's panicked exclamation that he had a fever, and just like that, Eugene knew the next few hours (days?) were going to be a pain.

------

Eugene didn't have to open his eyes again to feel the curious and intense gaze that laid on him. 

"Varian," he muttered, voice not as strong as he had hoped, "I told you I'm fine." 

He opened one eye just in time to see his friend pout from behind his goggles, quickly hiding the contraptions he was apparently trying to put on Eugene when he saw the older man looking at him.

"What's that?" Eugene asked suspiciously. 

"Wha- Nothing!" Varian waved his hands in the air, immediately betrayed by the sound of something crashing on the ground behind him. He grinned awkwardly. "Nothing at all, yep." 

"Liar!" Kiera exclaimed from the other side of the room, dashing to pick the thing up before Varian could even protest. 

Eugene groaned as they started to chase each other, slowly stretching his legs and feeling how much he still wanted to go back to the sorta sleep thing he was doing before that. After the initial freakout of what felt like everyone in the castle, Eugene had managed to convince them that he just needed some rest, which was what he was doing. Or trying to do. He had hoped that lying down on the couch of his own bedroom (because he didn't feel like going to bed so early) would be enough to feel better, but that was without counting the guests that had invited themselves today. He didn't even know when the girls arrived.

A louder noise erupted, and he opened his eyes again to see Catalina dangling Varian and Kiera above the ground. In wolf form, of course. Eugene's head hurt too much for him to try to intervene and, at that point, he would give her an alibi if she needed one, as long as he got some quiet. 

"How's my man feeling!" Lance exclaimed loudly as he opened the doors with a bang. Eugene cringed, trying to hide further under his duvet. 

"Inside voice, Dad," Kiera mockingly reminded him, as if she hadn't been fighting with Varian a second before. 

"Ah yes sorry, what-" Lance paused, probably seeing for the first time the position the kids were in. A dull thud also told Eugene Catalina probably released the others at this exact moment. "You know what, I'm not even going to ask. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, Eugene!" 

Eugene wanted to be forgotten right now. He felt miserable, probably looked miserable too, and absolutely hated the fact that he was. Lance, who knew him better than most people, also knew exactly the stuff that bothered him, and commented that his hair was a mess, gathering a hateful glare for this. 

"There he is," he announced smugly. 

"Fuck you," Eugene muttered in answer. 

"Love you too, G-bug." 

Lance was very lucky Eugene didn't feel like doing anything, because if he had been only a fraction better, he would have strangled him. He huffed when he felt his friend put his hand on his forehead, a shiver running through him. 

"Oh yeah Stan was not kidding about that fever." 

Given that Eugene felt like death warmed over, he could only guess what the others were feeling when they touched him. 

"Ahem," Varian coughed from where he was still sitting. The kid got up, snatching his invention back from Kiera's hands. "You know, measuring someone's temperature with only skin contact isn't a very reliable method to get an accurate reading. Which is why I made- This!" he exclaimed, brandishing the contraption high in the air. 

"Isn't it the stuff you use to make sure your boilers aren't about to explode?" Kiera asked drily. 

"I repurposed it for human use! I just... never tried it, but it's very easy, you place it under your tongue and-" 

"I'm not putting that in my mouth kid," Eugene interrupted. 

"It's perfectly safe!" 

"I trust you, I'm still not putting it in my mouth." 

Varian grimaced, obviously searching for a convincing argument. "What if I try it so you can see it's safe?" 

"I'm- I'm really not putting something you put in your mouth in mine." Catalina made a fake gagging sound to support his point, which was appreciated, and finally, Varian accepted that the debut of his invention wasn't for today. 

Which was the moment Lance chose to help Eugene straighten up so he could drink. Eugene really didn't want to but his best friend insisted and so here he was, sitting with his head swimming, slowly sipping from a glass of water as Lance chattered in his ear. The kids were arguing about something else now, though Eugene couldn't have told you what, and even if he had wished for quiet, he had to admit this was nice too. He really didn't feel well, but it was better with people at his side. 

"What are you guys even doing here?" he mumbled after a while. He had slipped a little on the couch and was now resting on Lance, who had his arm around his shoulder. "Varian was working here today but... You and the girls?" 

"Oh you know, I was coming to visit my favourite people and it so happened to be the day when- okay, okay," Lance corrected when Eugene raised his eyebrows at him, knowing his lying voice far too well. "Rapunzel asked us if we could keep an eye on you while she's working." 

"I don't need a babysitter." 

"I'd take you more seriously if you weren't also cuddling me." 

"Shut up." 

Lance laughed and Eugene smiled, not really that upset. He had known Rapunzel was worried, and he had had a lot of trouble convincing her she didn't need to put the entire kingdom on pause so she could stay with him. Being sick sucked, but he wasn't dying, he simply needed some rest. But… He had to admit that having some company was nice.

The sound of bickering, Lance's voice telling him stories, all of that was familiar and comfortable in a way that made it easier for Eugene to doze off against Lance. He was somewhat aware of shivering still, and of the brush of fingers against his skin. He could hear murmurs around him, too. 

He mumbled something when he felt himself move, but just as quickly, he was on his bed. It didn't take much more for him to completely fall asleep.

------

He thought he woke up once or twice to the sight of Pascal looking at him, but that could have also been a dream. Eugene wasn't sure. What he knew is that he kept oscillating between being way way too cold and way way too hot, which made for a frankly terrible sleep. Right now, he was on the hot side of things, and despite trying to kick his covers off, he could feel them still sticking to him. 

Something cold and wet touched his forehead, and Eugene opened his eyes with a start, surprising... 

"Your Majesty?" 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Arianna smiled, a wet cloth in her hand. From her shoulder, Eugene could see that Pascal was peering down at him too, a worried frown on his face. 

Eugene blinked several times. 

"What are you- I mean- What?" That made Arianna pause and he worried for a second that he was being rude, but she laughed instead, looking amused. "Sorry I just- did Rapunzel ask you to do this? Because you really don't have to." 

"As a matter of fact, no she didn't. Lance did." 

"Lance did," Eugene echoed, voice strangled. Lance asked his future mother-in-law to babysit him while he was sick. To be fair, Lance and Arianna had struck an... interesting friendship over the years, but Eugene was still easily flustered around her, and really wished she didn't have to see him like... this. 

"But it's really no trouble," Arianna added, after a beat. "I'm keeping you company, while Pascal here is keeping me company. We... Everyone is worried about you, Eugene." 

Pascal squeaked in affirmation, while Eugene just let out the faintest oh. He still kind of wanted to bury himself under his pillows. He really didn't want Arianna to see him in this state, even though it was too late for that. 

"Your fever has climbed a lot this afternoon," Arianna explained, settling back on the chair she had installed next to his bed, "but it hasn't worsened in the last half-hour, so, hopefully that's a good sign." 

Eugene hummed quietly, unsure of how to proceed. Pascal had abandoned his worry for his "You're being ridiculous" look, which Eugene felt was a bit unfair since he was sick and completely unprepared for this situation. Between his own awkwardness, Arianna's memory issues, the attack on Corona and its repercussions, they never really had a chance to become... friends? Maybe? 

Though, of all the occasions to do so, being sick and feeling too weak to even sit up wasn't the one he would have picked. 

"If you want..." Arianna trailed off, before picking up a book that he hadn't noticed was next to her. "I was reading this, with Pascal. Maybe I could..." 

"Oh, uh," Eugene hesitated. He noticed for the first time that she seemed just as awkward as he was, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he did - that they never truly had the time to really get to know each other beyond their shared love for Rapunzel. "I- Yes, I'd like that, if that's okay," he finally answered. 

Arianna smiled, and slowly, she started reading. She didn't sound very used to telling stories aloud, but she was trying, and Eugene appreciated the gesture more than she could imagine. 

His only regret was falling asleep before he could hear the ending.

------

Eugene woke up to the soft touch of a hand on his forehead, mattress dipping a little as a new weight settled next to him. He didn't even have to open his eyes to know who it was, didn't even have to think about it for a tired smile to make its way on his face. 

"Hey you," Rapunzel murmured when he slowly blinked his eyes open. Her hand was still on him, gently stroking his hair, and she was lying on the bed on his right. "How are you feeling?" 

"Better now," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Can't feel too bad when you're here with me." 

That made her chuckle, and he grinned. He wasn't even lying - he felt a little better than he did earlier, and had stopped shivering all the time. Right now, he was warm and comfortable, if a bit exhausted still. 

"You'd flirt with me even if you were at death's door," Rapunzel said, more gentle than she had intended, happy wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. 

"Hmm, I think experience has proved that I would come back from the dead to flirt with you." 

Her eyes widened, before she burst out laughing, quickly lowering her own voice despite the giggles, mindful of his headache. He seldom made jokes about his own death to Rapunzel, the subject being a little touchy and all that, but when he did, they always landed. 

"Let's not test that theory further," she snorted. 

"Agreed," he sighed, before they lapsed into a comfortable silence again. 

Despite the dimming light, he could see the love shining in her eyes, wild hair sticking up around her face after a long day of fiddling with it. He had seen her do it so often that he could imagine it clearly, the way she would run her fingers through her hair, eyes narrowed in concentration - or how she would simply shake her head to get stray strands out of her vision. It was the cutest thing to witness, in Eugene's absolutely unbiased opinion. 

Rapunzel booped his nose, breaking him out of his reverie. 

"I'm gonna ask you to stop looking so cute when I can't kiss you," she joked. 

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing," Eugene smiled. "I've always hated being sick, but this is, by far, the worst thing about it." 

And it wasn't... It wasn't that much of an exaggeration. Before meeting Rapunzel, he had hated being sick because that nearly always meant he spent the day alone and miserable, with, if he was lucky, someone coming to check on him once or twice. When he lived on the streets as a thief, sicknesses were also often synonymous with death - if not because of the illness in itself, but because someone took advantage of it to take revenge on you. Thankfully, Eugene hadn't fallen sick often, but he had always dreaded the possibility of it. 

But now... He thought about the day he spent, being constantly checked on by the people he loved. He thought about the warm hands on his forehead, the voices trying to stay quiet for his sake, the worry and the love all directed at him. He thought about having a family he could count on, a home in all meanings of the word, and... And now, the worst thing about being sick, was the danger of passing it to someone he loved, even though he knew that if it happened, he would be there for them the same way they had been for him. 

No matter how many years had passed, it still surprised him, sometimes, to realise how much his life had changed for the better. 

"Come here," Rapunzel muttered, before sneaking her arms closer to him and bringing him into a tight hug. "Not a kiss," she whispered next to his ear, "but still good." 

He chuckled, melting into her embrace, finding comfort in the way he could feel her breathe against him. 

"I'm pretty sure I could still get you sick that way," he mumbled, resting his head on the cool skin of her shoulder, "but yeah, this is good. I missed you today." 

"I missed you too. You're not allowed to be sick when I have work." 

"I'll reschedule next time," he laughed. 

Slowly, he could feel his fatigue come back, his eyelids heavier with every blink. He didn't want to sleep right now - not when he was finally feeling a little better, and Rapunzel was here - but his hold on her kept getting slacker, and he knew he wouldn't stay awake for much longer. 

"I love you," Rapunzel whispered, kissing his hair gently. 

"Love you too, Sunshine," he answered. Or tried to. He wasn't too sure that anything he said was understandable, but she was still holding him close, and he knew she got it. At worst, he could say it again tomorrow, and every day of his life too.

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

AUTHOR REVEAL of the JATP ROUND 2: FLUFF FICS!

The Tropes:

Exes

Time Loop AU

Camp Counselors

Prank Wars

————

Okay, Campers, Rise and Shine! (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by nik_knows_nothing

Summary: When Reggie launches a particularly ill-advised prank war at HGC Ranch, Luke’s fully prepared to take it in stride.

When the days start looping, though, he begins to suspect that this might all be a little bit above his head.

In other words, he’s at least 78% sure that the time loop isn’t a direct result of Reggie’s pranks.

Maybe 77%.

Oh, well.

At least he’s not in it alone.

(The Groundhog Day meets Gravity Falls meets Summer Camp meets The Author’s Own Distaste For Prank Wars AU that no one asked for. Ever. At all.)

Starting To Forget (Just What Summer Ever Meant To You) (Not Rated) [Flynn x Carrie] by bi_magic

Summary: Last summer didn’t end on a positive note for Carrie Wilson - she and her girlfriend broke up on the last night of camp, and she’s been miserable since. But it seems that the universe is intent on having her fix that this summer. Even if that means she has to live through the same day over and over and over again until she does.

Creative B.S. Was No More, Was No Less (Look Around, You're Gonna Miss What You Found) (Rated T) [Alex x Luke, Flynn x Reggie] by @americanhoney913

Summary: The midnight men move again

Don’t know when

Best friends forever

In trouble again

Here’s to you, here’s to me

Over the rafters and we’re free

— Over the Rafters, Rick Schiffman

***

Alex and Luke go undercover on a mission to a summer camp in order to find a talisman that could endanger the camp and all the kids. While there, they bond with the kids and make peace with the fact that they broke up.

While Alex and Luke are away, Flynn accidentally fucks with time.

bitch but like romantically (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie] by @screamin-amuseum

Summary: The dining hall’s exactly the same as it has been for two mornings now, and Flynn doesn’t hesitate to poke Willie twice on the nose and whisper “pancake” on her way past their seat.

His eyes widen and he whips his head around to follow them, excitement glimmering in their eyes.

“Really?” they blurt. Flynn rolls her eyes and nods.

~

or: flynn gets stuck in a time loop. {for troped jatp round 2}

down by the bay (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @sunsetcurbed

Summary: Over time, Camp Phantom has simply become known as a selective summer camp: one that took only the kids that Caleb saw promise in. And Caleb wasn’t exactly lying. He really did take only the ones he saw promise in, he simply looked for different traits than others might.

For example, say, hypothetically, a boy who could see the future. Or, hypothetically, a girl who could interact with ghosts. Or, hypothetically, a boy who could summon objects to him with a simple thought. Or, and this is completely hypothetical mind you, a boy who could manipulate time.

Those might be some traits that Caleb saw promise in. Just, like, as examples.

Time will tell (But only if you do it right) (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie] by @malecacidd

Summary: Carrie had been acting a little off for a week or so, but Flynn was pretty much known for seeing something in nothing, and that was probably what they were doing then. If something was going on, Carrie would tell her eventually.

OR

Who knew all it took was a little bit of miscommunication to mess up time itself?

and so it begins (Rated T) [Bobby x Reggie] by @comeonpeters

Summary: It’s the first day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie gets a little lost in the woods. During this misadventure into the woods, he finds an egg shaped rock, an inhabited cabin that may or may not be riddled with signs, and something that might be magic. He probably doesn’t get paid enough to discover magic.

or, when they were thirteen years old, four boys met at camp carolling and eventually became a band that almost became something legendary. now, all four boys are coming back as counselors, three boys in one band and one boy in his own solo act.

so begins the reunion, though it doesn’t go how any of them imagine.

Porcupine Day (Rated T) [Bobby x Ray x Rose] by @wr0temyway0ut

Summary: It’s been fifteen years since Trevor broke up with Ray and Rose and they’re… not fine, but managing. But when Trevor to adds insult to injury and buys the camp across the lake from the one they once owned together, the two camps become locked in a bitter rivalry. With neither side willing to set aside their pride and work out their issues, the universe decides to settle their fates itself.

Day After Day (After Day After Day) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by hufflebibin

Summary: When Alex met Willie just after their senior year of high school, they spent a wonderful three months dating before their relationship ended in a blaze of glory. Now, four years later, they meet again as counselors at a summer camp. The only problem? Alex keeps reliving their first day together. The day that Luke had declared “Prank Day.”

This is not how Alex pictured his summer going.

clocks move faster (it's all we're after) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke] by @willexxmercer

Summary: Julie likes it when her friends are happy, so when she realizes she’s stuck in a time loop, she uses her knowledge to make sure everything works out for everyone… except she conveniently forgets to factor herself (and Luke) into the mix.

Touch of Magic (Not Rated) [Alex x Luke] by @williexmercer

Summary: When everything stands in Luke and Alex’s way of getting to be with the people they love, they have to repeat the day over and over until they can get the happily ever after that they want.

the play's the thing (that goes wrong) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @madeline-kahn

Summary: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day for Macbeth, but not so for Alex and the production of Hamlet that he is directing and starring in. And while he’s stuck repeating the day of the performance over and over, mishaps of all kinds befall the cast.

anything, anything (for another run with you) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @aroacethetic-shitpost

Summary: The moment Alex steps foot in Camp Greenwood, he knows that this summer is a bad idea.

He knows it as soon as he sees tan skin, long hair, and a tie-dyed crop top at the check-in table.

Willie.

-

the camp counselor/exes/prank war/time loop fic of your dreams (unless you read all of the other troped round 2 fics lmao)

there’s a glorious sunrise, dappled with the flickers of light (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @tonightthestarsalign

Summary: What comes next happens in slow motion. Luke’s foot catches on the last rung of the ladder. Julie watches as he stumbles a step forward, barely catching himself before falling on his face. The ladder clatters to the floor below. The trapdoor, no longer propped open by it, falls closed with a loud thunk, the lock clicking into place. They’re stuck.

“Luke!” she exclaims loudly. “Look what you did!” Julie drops to her knees in front of the trap door, desperately trying to fit her fingers between the wood and the stone to pry it open again. Of course it doesn’t work.

“What?” he snaps back. “I wouldn’t be up here in the first place if it weren’t for you trying to fuck us over.”

or: ex-best friends Luke and Julie, working as camp counselors at rivaling camps, find themselves stuck in a time loop

the daughter of apollo (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @the-most-beautiful-broom

Summary: (the JATP x Camp Half Blood AU that nobody asked for)

maybe the world isn't ending (maybe it's been postponed) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke] by @tmp-jatp

Summary: Alex runs his fingers through Willie’s hair. “I think it’s best to just leave them to their own prank war at this point. Let’s not forget that time Julie put hot sauce in the coffee pot and my mouth was on fire for an entire hour.”

“You’re exaggerating, Alex-”

“I most certainly am not,” Alex cuts Reggie off.

“Or how about the time Luke tried to put glitter in Julie’s bed,” Carrie joins in, “but got my bed instead? I can appreciate some glitter, but even I know when enough is enough.”

“Suffice it to say,” Willie finishes after they’ve passed around a dozen or so more memories of pranks from the summer, “we’re all done being your collateral damage. Whatever Julie has planned for you tomorrow, Luke, you’re on your own.”

-

It’s the last day of camp and Julie has one more prank planned for Luke. He just doesn’t know what it is.

Here We Go Again (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @kybee1497

Summary: Julie blinked as she stared at the place Euterpe had disappeared. What did that even mean? What journey? Old places and lost faces? What was she talking about? But before she could dwell on the questions swirling around in her mind, the sky full of stars began to move, shifting in place and descending until they were all around her. Julie felt her feet leave the ground as she rose up and up. One star in particular was burning brighter than the others, growing bigger in front of her.

It grew and grew, until the light was blinding and Julie had to throw a hand up against the harsh light. She closed her eyes as the light surrounded her and then she was falling. Falling down, down, down.

————

All the Winners can be found here.

We hope you enjoy these fics from our fabulous Fantoms! Make sure to leave kudos and comments to show them some love! And don’t forget, if you missed the initial writing deadline you can still submit your fics to our Non-Anon Collection at any time! Thank you all so much for participating this round! Now that winners and authors have been revealed feel free to post about your fics, create artwork for it, if you like, and don’t forget to tag us!

We hope you all will join us for Round 3! The prompt drops at Midnight tonight!

[hoodedwing]

Loyalty Killed Me

Summary: The Joker could finally do what he wanted to do, traumatize Nightwing

Characters: Nightwing. Harley Quinn. Joker. Mentions of Red Hood

Warnings: Just really sick ways of stitching people up. Blood. Depressive. Major character/s death mentions. Batman. Doctor Leslie Thompkins

Additional Notes: I know Joker cannot traumatize Grayson canon-wise? Please correct me if I’m wrong.

Word Count: 2,242 words

***

Time doesn't stop.

Time knows, in its hands. It plays around with the seconds. These seconds matter, someone dying, someone on the communicator whispering, ____ come get me. come get me, I can't go back.

Time doesn't freeze. Time does not have a cloak drapes around it in a timeless manner. Time does not walk in a regal manner and stroke your gaping wounds to cauterize them. Apply pressure because really, when did Time wait for you to stop the damned arterial spray? Have you seen first hand how much blood can spew, almost like a fountain from that serrated dagger?

Time has caught up with Dick Grayson, the Wonder Boy. The Nightwing Blüdhaven didn't deserve. The loving boyfriend/husband of Barbara Gordon. The first son of Bruce Wayne, Batman.

Batman. He doesn't know who's Batman. Not anymore.

-

3200..6400..12800..

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Remember, inhale slowly, inflate lungs. Let it circulate through. Let. Let it work.

Richard. That's your name. Your mother was beautiful and your father was handsome. You are a Grayson. You have brothers and sisters.

Pain.

Pain is relative. If you fuck with pain long enough, it won't fuck back with you. Pain spreads through him and he inhales deep, bigger breaths. Trying to drown out the searing ache. He succeeds, deceives his brain.

Dick Grayson is such a liar.

He knows how to lie, how to smile widely at the Blüdhaven precinct when shit goes down or still tell a joke or two when Damian is there.

Dick Grayson is such a liar.

He's a good man. Honest to goodness. He's fooled himself into thinking his left leg didn't feel on fire, he's successfully managed to stop gasping against the rattle of his chest, a rub or two might be the cause. Who knows?

BOY WONDER! SAD YOUR DEAREST BATMAN HASN'T COME TO SAVE YOU YET? WHY LOOK AT THAT.

Mistah J checks his watch and smiles, his crooked smile stares back at Richard.

Dick only looks away as the Joker's cold fingers run his slimy, skinny fingers along his body. He used to shiver under his touch in a bad way, he would gulp and squeeze his eyes shut, hunting for memories to dive into.

When he got Zitka. When his mother named him her Robin. When he went on patrol for the first time with the all mighty Batman. When he first met Jason. Then Tim. Then Damian. Then the nights they spent healing wounds, fighting together or just sleeping or Netflix.

Dick doesn't move, doesn't say a word. He doesn't even let out a humourless laugh or a quip. Dick clings onto a hope.

Batman. Come get me.

BOY WONDER IS STILL LIVING. WHY, THAT'S A JOY. COME OUT THERE LITTLE BLUE BIRD. YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN STAY IN THAT LITTLE BRAIN OF YOURS? WHEN YOU WAKE UP. THAT LEG WILL HURT. YOUR BLOOD WILL SPILL AGAIN ON THAT DARNED LITTLE CREST.

He doesn't care. The glorious speech does not make him flinch. He looks at the window, one thought crosses his cloudy vision.

Bruce (Dad), come get me.

LET'S HAVE SOME MORE FUN, SHALL WE. EVEN JAYBIRD PLAYED THIS GAME TOO. COME ON, HE HAD FUN. LET'S PLAY BLUE BIRD. BLUE JAY. HMM. I LIKE THAT.

-

Playtime.

Its always target practice. He would lie there and watch Harley swing her mallet here and there, sometimes too close to Dick and she would talk to him, so sweetly.

Aww, you wanna play too? Let's play together, shall we?

His face will clench up, his head will scream and suddenly everything is loud as Harley fires guns at targets and maybe shoot some arrows at Dick.

On lucky days, he's used as her gymnast prop.

I want to fly again. Batman I'm falling, please I'd like to fly again. My wings are clipping and I will rip. -

He falls asleep.

You can't call it sleeping. Dozing in and out of consciousness, he was neither awake or sleeping. A grey haze flittered across his vision. No sign of clarity. He still heard the rattle of his breath, the fire in his leg. The now warm abdomen.

He feels someone at his leg.

Harley Quinn was there, a sly smile as he feels a needle go in and out.

In and out. In and out.

In and out, in and out. You need to breathe Dick. In and out. In and out.

When he hears the door shut and a ricocheting silence, he peeks at his leg.

A sick suturing of his leg stabs with dental floss, a handiwork Harley was sure to boast later on. He doesn't care if it gets infected. What's the big deal? Batman will take care of it.

He turns over on his side to his communicator lay. The Nightwing emblem was shattered beyond measure. No matter, I can get a new one. The communication mattered.

He presses the distress signal again, again. Again. Bruce better get that flashing orange light and he should feel his bipolar touch in no time.

He tries to talk, voice hoarse from decreased usage and a rough sandpaper-like quality stuck to it.

"H..hello? Bruce. Dad. Please get me. I'm.. I'm waiting. Please."

He turns back in his side, curled up like an invited animal.

The rain pours, shadows keep coming in and out but none belong to his dad.

The boy asks the moon if Batman had lost his way. Asked if the moon could shine the light brighter at him so Dad can find him faster. He'll be okay, he'll be okay. Bruce might be lost, after all. There's a lot of streets and time isn't on anyone's side.

-

Two weeks go by.

Dick still finds himself bound by the ties and definitely no sign of the caped crusader.

Batman is surely coming.

That thought fades slowly, over the weeks. He's gotten more used to the Joker and the crowbar.

Is this how Jason felt, when he was in Hell?

Dick cannot remember. Dick only knows how the sound of metal and bones work, how the bullet will hit skin, pierce it through with frightening velocity and dull ache afterwards. The pool of blood will remind him that yes, I was shot.

A sick game of Russian Roulette. Instead of one bullet, there's multiple. A .44 magnum shouldn't hurt anymore. The revolver keeps spinning in his mind where acrobats should be. Where's Bruce. Where's dad. Am I forgotten?

Dick tried to remember how to breathe. Is it that hard? Just pulling in oxygen and letting the respiration mechanism do its work?

Distract thine self.

He tries to remember. Tries. He's trying. Nightwing has to do this. You need to at least remember your name. Your mother, your father. Dick. Dick.

Richard. That's your name. Your mother was beautiful but I don't know what her hair colour is, sometimes it's blonde or chestnut and your father was handsome.  You are a Grayson. You have brothers and sisters. Are they Jason? Tim? Da- I don't remember, I don't remember the tiny one. Is he even real? Your sisters too. Stephanie, Stephanie. I have one more, the sneaky one. She's fast but I don't know her name. I'd like to know her well too. Pity I. I don't know her name. I hope she knows my name. That way I can hear her voice and maybe figure out who is the charming one. I know she does ballet. I know she made brownies once with.. Who? I don't remember his name. The old man with cheery wrinkles and deep eyes. I don't know who he is too. Oh. Oh oh. Dick.

[DANGEROUS TO FALL ASLEEP, RICHARD JOHN 'DICK' GRAYSON. EYES. OPEN. EYES. OPEN. BREATHE. (MY LUNGS DON'T WORK)]

I'm begging someone, please. It doesn't have to be Bruce. Get the ballet girl to help me please, she fast and maybe I can ask her name while she gets me out of here.

-

Bruce never gives up.

You know that too, do you? He's spent 3 weeks finding his son. His beloved child.

Do you ever think how much Bruce's heart breaks over and over everyday?

-

"ALFRED?! CAN YOU GET JASON NOW, NOW, NOW?! I FIGURED HIS COORDINATES."

Bruce flips from the Batcomputer and grabs everything. A blind haste, he's never dressed so fast. His son. Oh my god, his son.

Jason is down there getting the Batmobile to rev up and they speed.

They speed.

Are they fast?

I guess. If you call 290 in 85 fast.

They run, Jason dashing first and his breath catches in his throat. A cold draught erupts inside of him. He snarls, Bruce turns as he digs through the alleyways. He finds what he knows lurks.

"The sick fucker is going to end Dick in the same fucking warehouse he ended me in. That big bitch.

Bruce puts one hand on his shoulder and squeezes. No time to panic, Dick is the one. is the unsaid message as Jason crashes through the window.

And even him, Red Hood. The one who sees and commits murder everyday, stops and hot anger sears through him.

Dick lies, barely 15 feet away, bound up and covered in his own blood, the ripped Nightwing suit from his recon mission. Bruce picks him up while Jason gladly punched (and secretly plugged a bullet) the fuck out of Mistah J and Harley.

They lie on unconscious, Jason evaluates the scenes, trying to suppress his screams at what they've done to Grayson.

Bruce picks up Dick like he's glass, he hurries to the Batmobile with Jason telling to prepare the Medbay.

"The Medbay.. I.. I don't think. Leslie. Leslie can."

Is all Bruce says and Jason revs up, driving the Batmobile way beyond the legal limit. Bruce doesn't give a flying banana about it. He'll pay the fine later.

Bruce looks down at his son, hoping he hasn't fallen asleep yet. Finally, finally Dick is in the arms of the crusader. Half his domino mask is ripped and Bruce tries to not break at the baby blues staring without any light-hearted gaze.

His heart still beats (A reminder he's alive and could've been more alive. Bruce failed him)

"LESLIE. DR THOMPKINS!"

Jason screeches across and marching in, earning angry stares  from the other patients but it turns into gasps and horror when they see Batman carry a limp Nightwing barely clad in spandex anymore. Everyone bows out, knowing they were priority.

-

Something inside Dick broke.

He doesn't know what it is.

He'll live with it.

-

"Bruce, he's fallen into a coma."

Leslie says, solemn. Angry tears form in Jason's eye and he was about to fight Bruce, give him the tirade. Compare him to Nightwing.

The unspoken message rings loudly in Bruce's mind. He doesn't need Jason to say it.

You failed him too.

Jason is seething, anger. Sadness a d everything is violating him from inside.

If you were a minute later, he would've died. We would've been carrying his body to the grave. The Joker would still live. You see the problem? DO YOU NOT SEE THE FUCKING PROBLEM?

Bruce sits beside Dick, his pulse like a fluttering butterfly. He grasps his hand in Duck's fragile one and prays.

Prays that he wakes up.

-

Dick is on a life support machine now.

I guess the ventilator couldn't keep him up. All good boys do die. If not, maybe a part of them broke.

Dick is no exception.

-

Alfred squeezes Bruce's hand. Jason sits so quietly beside him alongside the rest of the family.

Its April 27th. Jason was taken this day.

They don't say a word, neither does Red Hood, he just wants the baby blue eyes to open again.

He cries.

-

Five months have gone by and he stirs slowly.

He's barely moving and Jason shoots up and looks, squeezes Dick's hand again.

Baby blues meet emerald green.

Jason dashes for Leslie. She comes and shoos everyone out.

Jason is fucking glad. Dick is alive.

-

Bruce is disappointed.

He cannot bring himself to meet Dick who's currently in the ward under observation. He's failed Dick. He knows it.

He enters, heavy hearted. Dick is smiling at everyone but Bruce can see it, the hard lines. The sunshine doesn't reach the baby blues. He thinks they've turned into aquamarine, a shade tad too dark. I guess, that's what trauma does to people.

Dick smiles at Bruce, he feels the tension and Dick pats the chair beside him where Jason was sleeping. Bruce softly sits, he has no heart to wake Jason up.

Dick is alive. Dick is alive.

Bruce places one hand on Grayson's one, it feels much more warmer and his pulse is beating normally.

And he breaks.

He cries, tears steaming down his cheeks. An ugly sound escapes his throat. Bruce gasps in air and exhales shakily. Dick watches, silent.

Is this how you felt when I was in Hell?

Dick doesn't touch Bruce, doesn't say its okay and I'm alive. He stares dead into Bruce.

I cannot forgive.

Dick sits quietly, he doesn't have to say it. Loyalty does kill you in the end if you step on all the wrong pieces of glass.

That's when you find yourself falling from the trapeze line, you find yourself swirling again in the memories you wish you could lock.

Loyalty in the end, is your demise.

[writingwithbella]

Old Scars/Future Hearts: Salty Like A Summer’s Day

series summary; one summer. one tour. six people. touring with your older brother and the band he manages is supposed to be fun. you get to be with all of your favorite people, go to different cities, and jam out to shows every night. so why is pope so set on making your experience a living hell?

pope heyward x routledge!reader 

2.4k words (👁👄👁we really went off with this first chapter ngl)

a/n: yay! first chapter in @bricksatanakinswindow​ and I’s new fic! We are both very excited to share this with you and would love to hear what you have to say on the first chapter! this fic is definitely going to be a wild ride, but one we hope you enjoy as much as we do!

JJ Maybank sees you first.

He’s booking it across the parking lot, his hat close to flying off his head and his backpack slapping violently against his back as soon as you step out of your car. You’re too focused on tugging your charger from the port to realize he’s barreling towards you at full speed. When you finally look up, you have less than ten seconds to brace yourself before JJ is slamming into you, squashing you between him and the car.

“y/n!” he shouts, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “JB said you were coming but I said I wouldn’t believe it ‘til I saw it. You know how flaky you can be, right?”

You roll your eyes and shove JJ off of you, a grin making its way onto your face. “Fuck off, Maybank. I always keep my promises.”

Before he can answer you, another voice sounds from the other end of the parking lot in the same tone of elation as JJ. “Thank god!”

Kie’s making her way towards the two of you, a radiant smile on her face. She looks as beautiful as ever, her hair falling behind her shoulders in curls. Her skin is glowing, and her eyes are bright. You move from JJ’s grip in favor of pulling Kie into a bone-crushing hug, a small giggle escaping your lips when she gasps.

“If I had to suffer through this tour without you or Sarah, I’d go insane,” she says, moving to drink you in. “You look good, y/n. When did you start wearing so much black?”

You laugh a little, shaking your head at her. The last time Kie had seen you, you were going through your pink phase. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, really, except for the fact that it wasn’t your style. You had experimented different styles over the past few years, deciding that a mixture of pretty much everything suit you. “Just recently. I decided it’s the right vibe for now.”  

“Well, I, for one, don’t care about clothes. Let’s go back to the bus,” JJ says, grabbing two of your bags. “John B. says he misses you. Surprising, right?”

“Shut up, JJ!” you and Kie say at the same time, falling into a fit of giggles as he rolls his eyes at you.

Kie links her arm with yours, guiding you towards the tour bus that would house you for the next four months. You had been excited when John B. had called and asked you to help him manage to band on tour. Your summer was originally going to be spent in your hometown, pretending your brother wasn’t traveling the country while you worked a minimum wage job.

But this option was much, much better.

You see John B. and Sarah before they see you. You can tell right away that your brother is smitten with Kie’s best friend. His attention is fully on her, a smile brighter than the sun painted on his face. You knew your brother like the back of your hand, having watched him fall in love with girls time and time again.

“Ah, so JB is already making moves?” you ask teasingly, resting your hands on your hips.

“Sarah Cameron does have that effect on people,” Kie comments.

You snicker, shaking your head at your brother. He is a hopeless romantic through and through. You could only hope Sarah possessed some of those traits.

“I was hoping JB was lying when he said you were coming along for the ride.”

Pope’s voice turns your blood into ice. He was the last person you wanted to see – the person you were dreading seeing. Pope wasn’t nice to you. There was no way around it. For some god-awful reason, Pope Heyward fucking hated you. And because you weren’t one to back down, you reciprocated those harsh feelings.

It was exhausting being around him, always being so angry and rude. But you weren’t going to let him push you around.

You turn on your heel, catching Kie’s eye. She sends you a pleading look, one begging you to be nice. You can hear her voice in your head; C’mon, y/n, it’s the start of the tour. Let’s not do this right away.

“I promised,” you say stiffly, your eyes raking over him lazily. You ignore the tug at your heart when you see him. He always looks attractive, but today especially, he seems to have turned up the heat. He’s wearing ripped black jeans, a Nirvana tank top, and his hat backwards. He looks like a tall glass of water, begging to be drank on a day as hot as this one.

But then he opens his mouth.

“We all know how hard it is to keep your promises,” Pope says dismissively. “Kie, did you see where JB left the keys? I want to get the AC going so we don’t all heat case.”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” She replies offhandedly, gesturing towards the love-stricken boy. Pope rolls his eyes, but not frustratedly like he had with you. Rather, he seems amused, humored by the older boy’s antics. You scoff, but rather than begin the argument again, you turn to face Kie and JJ who are trying to ignore the obvious tension in the air.  

“This is gonna be so much fun!” JJ mocks, to which you and Kie laugh raucously, catching John B’s attention and breaking him out of his Sarah-Cameron-centered trance.  

“Alright, alright, calm down kids. Let’s get on the bus, I feel like I’m dying.” He pulls the keys out of one of the pockets of his cargo shorts and begins walking towards the bus. The rest of them follow after, lugging their suitcases and duffle bags behind them as if they had been walking for miles. Under his breath, Pope mutters.  

“That’s such a great idea, John B. I wonder who literally said that not ten seconds before?” You can’t help the snicker that you make at his words. He looks over at you, but before he can make whatever snarky comment had come to his mind, John B interrupts, opening the door to the bus and gesturing to the ample space within.  

Note your heavy sarcasm.  

“Welcome to your humble abode for the next four months. There’s a living room, a kitchenette, and in the far back, behind the curtain, the bunk space. Bunks are first come, first serve, so if you want a top bunk, I suggest you claim it now.” His words spark a race within the group and the six of you push and shove each other out of the way to claim your ideal bunk.  

You are reaching to seize the top bunk for yourself when a dark arm moves past you and places an olive green duffle bag on the undressed mattress. You turn to look at the owner of said arm and, unsurprisingly, find it attached to Pope, who is smiling innocently.  

“That’s my bed.” He laughs slightly, to which you cross your arms and stare him down with your most intimidating look. He laughs harder.  

“Really? I didn’t see any stuff on it saying that it was yours. No sign, no luggage. In fact, the only stuff on there is mine, so I think this is my bed. Sorry.” You can tell by the smile on his face that he is in no way sorry. But, it doesn’t matter. JJ and Kie are giving you both wary looks as if waiting for a fight to break out and this is going to be a four-month long tour. You will have plenty of time to annoy and argue with each other later.  

For now, for them, you’ll just grit your teeth and bear it.  

“Fine. I’ll just take this one. But, if I hear a single snore from you, I won’t hesitate to smother you with a pillow.” You place your stuff on the next bunk down, ignoring Pope’s looming presence behind you.  

“Fine, but one peep from you and I won’t hesitate to push you onto the floor.” You scoff.

“Fine.”  

It’s hours later that you find yourself alone with Kie, JJ and Pope having left to get either groceries or something they’d forgotten to pack, while John B is still attempting to woo Sarah by taking her to some park nearby. A sort-of goodbye to the Outer Banks before they depart for their four-month venture.  

“It’s so weird,” Kie mutters, sipping on a can of beer she’d pulled from the minifridge. The boys may not know how to pack the basics like a toothbrush or enough socks, but they’d remembered to stock every cool place in the vehicle with alcohols of all types from cheap beers to hard liquors.  

“What’s weird?” You reply, sipping on a cold beer of your own and staring out the tinted windows into the nothingness of the parking lot beyond. There really isn’t much to do on the bus when it’s just the two of you, resigning you to talking or staring—you at the outer world and Kie at her phone.  

“I feel like, I don’t know, we should all be at a dinner, celebrating us leaving for tour. Instead, we’re just sitting here, doing nothing, while everyone else does whatever. Just feels like a shitty start to tour.” You shrug, looking away from the window, and turn to face her, who hasn’t looked up from her phone in the entire time she talked.  

“Well, there’s still time for us to do all that. Maybe not a celebratory dinner, but we leave at 11 o’clock tomorrow. We could have a nice breakfast send-off.” She scoffs lightly, jokingly, and finally looks up from the screen to meet your eyes.  

“Very funny. I’m just saying, I thought tonight would be going differently, that’s all. I thought maybe we would all be sitting around a table and drinking and laughing and talking about all the things we want to do on tour. I thought we’d be trying to keep you and Pope from killing each other and be separating John B and Sarah so they didn’t try to fuck right there in front of us all. Instead we’re all separated and we’re drinking and I don’t know. I just thought things would be different.” You could definitely see where she was coming from. This isn’t how you thought tour would be starting off either, though you couldn’t say you were surprised. The group had never been very well-organized, so the idea that they are all on different pages doesn’t surprise you.  

“Well, there’s still enough time left in the day for me and Pope to start arguing again, so don’t discard that idea yet. But seriously, if you want to have a celebratory send-off, I can goad my brother into a breakfast thing tomorrow. I’m sure they’d all love to eat before the four-hour drive to Raleigh.” Kie shakes her head amusedly, looking down at the can in her hand.  

“Nah, I don’t want to force the boys to do anything they don’t want. If they want to start on a low note, that’s on them. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of group meals on the road, it’s kind of inevitable. Speaking of low notes, what the fuck is up with you and Pope?” You suspect that this was the motive behind the entire conversation—to get you to talk about Pope, but you can’t find it within yourself to be surprised.  

The tension between you and Pope has always been a point of contention within the group. No one within the group seems to know how it started, not even you. All you can remember is Pope meeting you and immediately treating you with hostility, which you returned because you didn’t know what else to do. Now, because you both possess deep friendships with every other member of the group, you are forced to tolerate each other's unbearable existences. But your friendships with the others doesn’t mean you won’t still make comments and pick fights with each other every chance you get.  

“Nothing new. He’s still an asshole and I still don’t know why. But I’m trying to be nice, for you and JJ. He just makes it so difficult. He keeps making little digs at me and stealing my bunk? He just keeps acting like a child! I don’t get it, what did I ever do to him?” Kie shrugs, but before she can reply, the door opens and the topic of your conversation enters with JJ, carrying multiple bags. At the sight of you, Pope’s expression sours.  

“Hey, so we got some basic needs for the road so we aren’t just eating junk all the time.” JJ tosses a bag to you, which you examine with an amused expression.  

“This is exclusively gas station junk food. There’s not a single healthy item in here.” JJ laughs, swiping the bag from your lap as he and Pope move past you and Kie to the kitchenette. Pope refuses to look at you.  

“Okay and? Fresh fruits would rot so fast, it doesn’t make sense to have them. At least these things will last.” JJ says, pointing at you.  

“Yeah, but my waistline won’t. We have to eat healthier, even if it means buying fruits and veggies and eating them within the day,” Kie speaks. Pope rolls his eyes, but jokingly, like he’s amused by what she said. You’re sure that if you had said the same thing that he would be going off on you or making comments. It’s frustrating to you that he held you to a different standard than his other friends.  

“I’m going to bed, guys, you all have fun,” you mutter, chucking your empty beer can into the trash can in the kitchenette and maneuvering past the confused boys. You just don’t have it in you to deal with Pope at the moment and it makes more sense for you to just remove yourself from the situation entirely rather than listen to Pope make snide remarks towards you all night.  

You dress quickly for bed and ensure the curtain is closed before you slide into your bunk, covering yourself with the blanket you had packed, not realizing the beds wouldn’t come with any sheets. You’d have to buy something soon if you were going to survive the next four months.  

As you lay still in the bunk, eyes open despite your pleas for sleep to come quickly and easily, you hear Pope’s voice cut through the silence of the bus despite its hushed tones.  

“What’s her problem?” It’s said jokingly, a mockery at your expense, but the reply you issue within the depths of your mind is serious: you are.  

taglist; @sarahcxmeron​ @northcarolinanative​

[guessmonsta]

hello my queen... returned to her castle I see? Could you please do a thing just like the Kuroo one except Kuroo is Bokuto's wingman? I'm so soft for them and you ohmygoodness

You’re adorable and I appreciate you so much. For legal reasons I created a fake cafe called The Gazelle. I’ve used it like twenty times if this is a real place I’m so sorry

It was a very rare occurrence for Bokuto to be awake before noon on a weekend. It was even rarer that he was sprinting across campus to get to Kuroo’s dorm at nine in the morning. Campus custodians gave him weird looks, girls walking to their professors office hours giggled at him, but he just kept running.

Kuroo lived on the eighth floor in the farthest dormitory building from Bokuto’s. He ran up the stairs, skipping two as he went, and once he finally got to Kuroo’s door, he didn’t even bother to knock, he just slammed his fist against the door in one harsh blow.

From inside, he heard Kuroo mutter a quick, “fucking hell,” to his roommate before the door swung open in his face. Kuroo didn’t look amused, and scanned Bokuto up and down before he snorted, covering up his mouth with his hand.

“I’m not gonna judge your lifestyle bro,” Kuroo snorted, “but literally, what the hell.”

“Listen, hear me out,” Bokuto began, still slightly out of breath. “The cute girl who works at The Gazelle has a shift right now.”

“What?” Kuroo stared at him dumbfounded. “How do you know that?”

“Me and, and a couple of my friends from statistics have been taking notes on each time she works. She always works Saturday mornings so-” Kuroo cut him off by laughing again, then stepped out into the hallway and motioned Bokuto to start walking. No matter the situation, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, Kuroo was always readily available for anything Bokuto had in mind.

“So you’ve been stalking this girl?”

“Bro, I’m not stalking her, I’m just admiring her. A-and that admiration has gotten to a kind of unhealthy level to me personally, as a person.”

“Wait, so have you actually ever even talked to this girl?” Kuroo asked, and was faced with Bokuto widening his eyes. “Dude, you’ve gawked at her every single time we’ve gone, and you haven’t even talked to her?”

“I ordered a hot cocoa from her that one time-” Bokuto sighed, “I sound like a simp.”

“Bro, you aren’t a simp. What you are is stupid. How the hell are you going to work together with your statistics friends to recreate some random girls' work schedule but you all have a D in the class?”

“Listen-” Bokuto laughed. “Sora says that she has dyscalculia, and that the rest of us probably have it too. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Kuroo. Sorry I can’t be a perfect chem major like you.” He teased, socking Kuroo in the arm. Kuroo winced slightly, then punched him back.

“Yeah, you have your strengths for sure.”

“Okay, so I’m probably gonna actually talk to her today.”

“Wow, making big boy moves.” Kuroo laughed, “Where’s this coming from?”

“I can’t tell if it’s fake confidence or adrenaline!” Bokuto shrugged. “Both work!”

Once they entered the cafe, the familiar smell of coffee beans, warmth, and just a tinge of something else hit Bokuto and made him so much more nervous. Why should he be nervous? He was hot. He was sexy. He was 6’2 of big beefy muscle and fat ass, he shouldn’t be afraid of rejection!

But then he saw her. __ hair pulled back into two pigtail french braids as she politely took a stoners order at the counter. He finally got to see her eyes, they were __, pretty __ eyes and the cutest little smile and this cute little way her nose scrunched up when she did-

Kuroo was laughing at him. Kuroo was doubled over Bokuto’s shoulder, absolutely wheezing at him, and Bokuto no longer knew how to feel.

“Bro, not cool!”

“You’re just-” Kuroo started cackling, his signature loud witch cackle, and Bokuto felt his face flush red. The pretty barista made eye contact with him at the sound of Kuroo’s laugh, cocked an eyebrow, then went back to her order. The butterflies promptly returned to his stomach.

“The way you looked at her bro-” Kuroo hiss whispered. “Priceless.” 

“Get your shit together dude, you gotta be my wingman!”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Kuroo managed to choke out between laughs. “This is too much.”

“You’re horrible! I can’t be my own wingman! How am I supposed to hype myself up without looking like a complete jackass-”

Before Bokuto could finish, he realized that they were next up to order. Pretty __ Eyes looked at him and cocked her head, a shy, playful smile crossing her cheeks.

“Hi there! How can I help you today?” She chirped. Awh, even her customer service voice was adorable, he thought to himself. He sighed, trying to suppress a goofy smile on his face. Somehow, Kuroo got it together enough to stammer out, “Hey, hi, yeah, can I get uhhhh… iced latte with oat milk and vanilla flavoring please?” like a dork would.

Bokuto was so caught up thinking about how the prettiest girl in the world was somehow working at a cafe and not walking the runway, and why Kuroo would order something with oat milk out of all things, to even realize that he had to order next. Before he could snap out of his daze, he heard Kuroo laugh.

“Sorry about my friend. When he was born, all his brain cells were converted into sexy instead.”

The barista covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a laugh, and Bokuto felt a hot blush run up his neck. He would’ve punched Kuroo in the arm, but figured he had to keep his cool.

“I-” The barista giggled, not even trying to hold back her laugh. “I mean, yeah, good for him?”

“Oh yeah.” Kuroo leaned his arm up on the counter. There was nobody else behind them, and Kuroo knew what he was doing. “I mean look at the guy. Seventy four inches of pure, raw sex. Do you like volleyball?”

At this point, Pretty __ Eyes was borderline hysterics. Bokuto was starting to think Kuroo was less of a wingman and more of his own, personal jester.

“Yeah, I played in high school.” She responded. Cute, and played volleyball? Bokuto just felt the blush just hotter. 

“Yeah, this guy right here, Owlboy Sexyman, he was the fourth best ace in the country, don’t you know. Fukurodani’s captain.”

“Oh wow, you guys went to Fukurodani?”

“Nah, just him. I’m not even a fragment of how cool Mr. Sexyman here is.” Kuroo pointed at him with his thumb, then shook his head. “And he has a fat ass.”

She laughed, and shook her head.

“And does Owlboy Sexyman want anything today?”

At this point, Bokuto couldn’t hide his blush. He knew if he opened his mouth to start talking, he would end up sounding like a dog toy.

So he just stood there.

Kuroo sighed, and kicked him in the shin, which caused him to jump.

“Seems like he’s just too damn sexy today! No brain cells in sight. He’ll take a large iced hot chocolate with extra whip.”

“Sounds great.” She giggled. “Since you guys literally just made my whole shift, I’m gonna give you twenty percent off today.”

“Thank you, you’re a doll.”

When they stepped aside to pay for their drinks, Bokuto burst out laughing. Kuroo looked down at him, and choked back another cackle.

“Did you like what I did there?”

“You-” Bokuto snorted, “Are so fucking stupid.”

“Ah, it’s my specialty.”

“That definitely did not work at all. If anything, she probably likes you from that whole show you put on.”

“Nah, she didn’t look interested in me. Worst case scenario, at least we made a pretty girl laugh at your expense!”

“Yeah, I guess.” Bokuto shrugged.

“Iced latte for Kuroo!” Pretty __ Eyes called out, then handed the drink gingerly over to him. He took a dramatic sip, then sighed.

“Hits the spot.”

“How the heck do they even… milk an oat.” Bokuto muttered, and Kuroo shrugged.

“I dunno. How do they milk almonds?”

“Do almonds have boobs?” Bokuto asked, a little bit too loud.

“Iced hot chocolate for Owlboy Sexyman!”

The moment she announced this, Bokuto wheezed, and Kuroo spit his coffee out in the most violent, dramatic, and cartoonish way possible. Bokuto didn’t know whether or not to keep laughing, or start crying. Kuroo had iced coffee dribbling down his neck like a toddler, but even he himself couldn’t stop laughing.

Bokuto looked up to see Pretty __ Eyes hunched over the serving station convulsing as well. Bokuto walked over to her, and bowed his head in shame, all while laughing.

“I am so-”

“Who the hell are you two!” She stammered between giggles. Bokuto noticed her eyes were brighter when she laughed. He had managed to stop laughing but the smile on his face only grew. She was beautiful and he had no idea how to handle it.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” She shook her head. “Your friend has to clean that up, because I’m definitely not going to.”

“He will, he will. “Bokuto looked back over at Kuroo, who was still laughing to himself hysterically, his face buried in his hands. “I promise we’re not on drugs.” 

“Hey, it’s college. No judgement.” She smiled, Her fingertips brushed his as she handed him his drink. He noticed that she had scribbled her number on the side of the cup, and the dying blush on his face returned. His mouth gaped a little bit, then he looked back up at her.

“My name is not actually Owlboy Sexyman.”

“I would hope not.” She smiled. “I’m __, by the way.”

“I’m Bokuto.”

“Bokuto.” She repeated, then smiled. “We should hang out sometime. I don’t know many other people around here who play volleyball.”

“Oh, wow, I-” Bokuto nodded and smiled, looking a little bit dumb as he did. “That’s awesome! That’s great! That’s great.”

“See you around then?” She cocked her head. Bokuto nodded a little bit too aggressively.

“I’ll see you around!”

__ shot him one last smile before she turned around and walked back to the order counter. Bokuto sighed a deep sigh, and sat back down next to Kuroo, whose shirt was covered in spit and coffee.

“Dude, you did it.”

Kuroo looked up at him from his hands, and smiled.

“Shit, I would hope so, because this oat milk is fucking disgusting.”

[redcrossroads]

The Last Breath

The sunlight touching his skin isn’t warming his dropping temperature. Cold sweat has broken out on his skin and the ringing in his ears is growing fainter. The plants he’s collapsed on are soft like his bed, trying to persuade him to close his eyes and fall into eternal slumber. It reminds him every breath could be his last, the numbness spreading from his toes up to his chest is a sign he won’t have much time left. Not with the wounds staining his body a bloody red. The Shadow leering above him, shielding him from the sun, is smiling.

“Still not dead, huh?” The Akuma with the frozen smile says. Blood stains its claw like hands, which it puts on his hips, titling its head. It kicks him in the ribs, laughing.

Pain shots up from his chest, sharp and hot and the thing must have broken his ribs beyond repair. His gasp is wrung from his lungs, blood splattering across his cracked lips. The laughter doesn’t stop as a foot is raised above his chest.

He braces himself for the end, clinging to the vision of pink flowers and a smile brighter than the sun in the hopes of forgiveness. He couldn’t keep his promise to her and he knows when Alma hears of his death, her gentle soul will weep for him like she’s done for so many fallen soldiers before. If he concentrates hard enough, he can feel her fingers gliding through his hair, a phantom touch of what he’ll lose to death.

The thought of her brings a smile onto his face.

“Bye, bye, Exorcist—”

“Uncle!” A shout shatters his rose-glinted vision, filling what is left of his heart with dread. “Uncle, where are you? Mother is searching for you! He woke up! He finally woke up!”

A child. From the sound of the young voice it’s a child heading his way, towards the Akuma frozen above him. Horror has him trying to shout a warning but blood fills his mouth, leaving him to choke for breath.

The kid will die. He doesn’t know why a kid would be here of all the places, but as soon as it got close it would be torn to shreds, ash scattered to the wind. The uncle most likely dead, having died at the hands of these killing machines and the mother would be left wondering why her kid isn’t coming back if she’s not the next to lose her life.

He tries to move, to raise a hand despite knowing his actions would be futile but his body doesn’t move.

“I saw you heading this way earlier and the smoke is a dead giveaway, so come out already!”

But to his shock, the Akuma flinches back, foot lowering and without another glance, it runs.

“Uncle?” The voice calls out, the rustling through the fields getting nearer. “I’m not going to play another one of your childish games. Stop hiding and let’s walk back. It’s urgent!”

Without the shadow he fights to adjust to the brightness in his eyes. The afternoon sun is glaring through the drifting clouds, filling his vision with flickering lights. Before his sight clears of the spots making him blind, the sun vanishes once again.

Instead of the Akuma standing over him, lips twisted into a sleezy grin, a child is blocking the harsh rays of the sun this time.

A boy peers down at him, face upside down and standing out against the blue canvas he hated with every fiber of his being. Nothing had the right to look so lively and beautiful when he’s dying agonizing slowly.

Vision growing darker he sees waves of dark hair framing the boy’s face, unruly from the gusts of wind blowing across the fields. Eyes as golden as the wheat surrounding them widen in horror as they hold his gaze.

Lips moving, he doesn’t hear what the boy says.

Because his eyes slid shut and his heart ceases to beat.

“You’re not the Beansprout.”

“Hoh?” Allen’s lips are moving, but it’s not him who speaks. The smile on his face is lacking the necessary warmth if the eyes hadn’t been enough of a clue. “That was fast. You’re the first one, aside from that guy who’s gotten it into his head that he wanted to play on my side, to see through my act so fast.”

Kanda scowls, sword drawn and held against a pale neck. “Who the fuck would fall for your shitshow of an act? Idiots.” He presses on, watching a thin trail of blood appear.

“So,” Nea leans into the blade, eyes gleaming in satisfaction and lips curling into a grin full of teeth when Kanda jerks away at the movement to stop himself from possibly killing him. Mugen’s blade is too sharp to take the risk of beheading him just yet. “What gave me away?”

The audacity—

“You’re even more fucking annoying than the Beansprout, Noah.” Nea’s smile slips an inch at the slur. Kanda relishes in seeing the displeasure fester in those eyes. “Go back to hellhole you crawled out from and out of my sight.” Or I’ll kill you, he doesn’t add because it must be written across his face.

Nea watches him for a moment, eyes darting across his face with an intensity an interrogation would warrant. The color of the Noah Clan and the damned wheats he’s died in. Prying into his soul, searching for something Kanda cannot name but he holds that gaze drilling into him and glares.

“A second Exorcist…” Nea mumbles, eyes narrowed. “Someone who’s soul has been called back from...” He cuts himself off, eyes widening in realization before his lips pull into a taunting sneer. Kanda tenses up, hand tightening around his sword handle.

“Not another fucking word out of your mouth.” He threatens, pointing the tip of his sword at the eye he knows wouldn’t heal from being impaled. If push came to shove and Allen couldn’t wrestle control back soon, he’d have to live with the consequences.

“You appear to know me,” Nea notes, any hint of cheer to mock him bleeding out of his voice. Kanda twitches at the pressure thickening in the air, pressing down on him and making it hard to breath. “You recognized me for who I was the moment our eyes met.”

Kanda doesn’t deny the accusation. He sees no reason to lie when he despises liars. His silence speaks of itself. He knew it wasn’t Allen, whose eyes were warm and fierce when speaking to him, the moment the sun reflected its amber shine in those silver eyes.

He knew because those eyes were the last thing he saw before death claimed him so long ago.

“Well,” Nea hums, a low sound of resolution. “It’s too bad.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. He chuckles, a throaty noise of dry amusement. “Because I don’t know you.”

He smacks the sword aside with the flat side of his hand faster than Kanda can see and punches him in the jaw. Mugen slides from Kanda’s grasp as he lands on the floor, feeling his healing set in to mend his broken jaw. But it’s too slow. Kanda is too slow to react.

Because when he looks up, he sees his blade glinting in the evening sun, golden eyes burning with bloodlust and the blade is swung down.

[builder051]

My world’s on fire (how ‘bout yours)

Nat on Fire 9.0.  

Please note that I do not write scat outright, though this fic relies heavily on the idea of it.

Eating disorder tag warning

________________________

It’s not supposed to happen this way.  

Nat rests her cheek on the toilet seat.  It’s gone sticky with either her sweat or her vomit; she doesn’t care much which, and she’s certainly not going to take any steps to find out. Her gorge rises again, and she lets the preemptive saliva run out the side of her mouth.  It hangs in a long rope that refuses to touch down into the cloudy water.  Nat’s sure that if it did, it would part company with her lip, and she could tidy herself up.  But no such luck.  

Her stomach gives an ominous gurgle, and Nat clenches her abdominal muscles.  “No,” she growls, giving the side eye to foil packet of laxatives that didn’t quite make it into the trash can.  It’s the second packet.  Her hands got shaky and her gut started doing somersaults before she could successfully lob it across the tiny bathroom.  

It’s not supposed to happen this way.  

They’re onto her at SHIELD; Fury giving her extra-long stares in meetings, Maria tapping her pen as Nat steps on the scale in her medical debriefs.  Then there’s Steve, who practically lives with her when he’s not called away on missions of his own.  “Just want to make sure you’re alright,” he says.  “Because I care about you,” he says.

Plainly he doesn’t care enough.  He took his bike back to Alexandria after the plane touched down last night, and Nat has seen neither hide nor hair of him since.  Good riddance, she’d thought.  So she’d hopped, skipped, and jumped straight to the pharmacy and loaded up on her favorite brand of laxatives.  They’ve updated the font on the box, and the colors are a little brighter since the decade has changed, but the formulation is the same.  Nat has the ingredients list memorized.  She could probably formulate the medication herself if she had access to all the right -ics and -ates.  

Nat’s rock-hard core can only prevent the inevitable for so long, and when the pit of her stomach begins to feel as though it’s scorching on a bed of hot coals, she reluctantly lets go, leaning forward and letting sourness spill over her tongue again.  

She tastes the plasticky reddish coating.  It’s slightly sweet, and Nat finds herself wondering vaguely how much sucralose is swimming in her stomach.  Or maybe aspartame.  Or even maltitol.  That would be a fitting choice.  She nearly snorts, but it becomes a heave.  A wave of pinkish fluid, chunky with mucous flows into the toilet slowly, almost languidly, as if it’s just dying to choke her on an ill-timed breath.

Nat spits hard, then squeezes her pelvic floor again.  She’ll do just about anything in her power to keep from losing her bowels all over the bathmat.  For a second she considers clawing her way up the tank and plopping down on the toilet seat, but that would be too much effort. And inviting the worst.  No, she’ll stay in her current position, thank you very much.

She’s about to lie the side of her face down again when an infernal buzzing fills her ears.  The bathroom may be the size of a matchbox, but the subway tiling makes it echo like Grand Central Station.  She glances sideways at her phone, balanced on the lip of the bathtub, and rotating slightly with each thrumming vibration.  

It’s Steve’s picture that pops up on the screen, a jaunty shot of him in a leather jacket, standing beside his bike.  Nat scoffs.  The image is practically half a decade in age, but she still feels jealousy along with the pain in the pit of her stomach.  He’s out having fun, or whatever, while she’s cooped up doing... this.

This is her choice, though.  And it’s her choice whether to answer the call.  She bites her lip, tasting a tinge of coppery blood through the sourness and sweetness that are already there.  Nat rolls her eyes, then regrets it almost immediately.  It bypasses making her head hurt and goes straight to her stomach, ramping up the nausea and forcing her to roll to face the mess in the toilet water once more.

The phone stops ringing as she pukes up air and not much else.  Nat sighs in relief, though she’s careful not to relax her body too much.  But her temper spikes again quickly when the devices begins to vibrate again almost immediately.  

“Can’t you just shut the fuck up?” she mumbles, swatting a hand in the phone’s general direction.  The phone stubbornly ignores her.  

“Right.”

Not trusting herself to stray far from the toilet, Nat uses her foot to knock the device onto the floor so she can pick it up.  She snags it in her clammy grip and snorts in distaste before swiping at the green answer button.

“Yeah?” she asks gruffly, hoping the hoarseness in her voice will be lost to a combination of bad mood and bad signal.

“You ok?” Steve asks on the other end of the crackling line.  “I know it’s been a few days.”

Nat wonders if any of her old lines will work on him.  I’ve got the stomach flu, she considers saying.  I ate some bad takeout.

“Having a smoke,” she decides on.  At least it’ll explain the note of guilt in her voice.  

“In the bathroom?” Steve asks.  Of course he can hear the echo.  Of course he can.

Nat struggles to think on her feet.  “Gotta avoid the smoke detectors somehow.”  She tries to grin, but loosening her mouth makes other parts of her body loose as well.  She clenches again and bares her teeth.

“Want me to come over?  Between the two of us we can probably rewire it--”

“No,” Nat interrupts.  The only reason she hasn’t already done so is because the place is a rental.  On the very real chance that a spark from her gun or the ash from a joint hit the carpet, she doesn’t want to be in trouble with management.  She decides to throw in a touch of shade, just for good measure.  “Like I’d need your help with a project like that.”

“Oh.  Sure.”  Steve sounds properly chagrined. “But still, I could pick up something.  Korean barbecue, or something.”

Nat tries not to spill her guts again.  From any direction.  “I don’t like barbecue.  From any country,” she says snootily.  

“Right...”  She can tell Steve’s trying to fact check her.  “But weren’t you at Clint’s thing--?”

“I don’t like it,” Nat insists, which probably does the opposite of any good.  She just doesn’t feel well enough to come up with any other excuses.  Best to keep beating the last horse till it’s well and truly deceased.  Unfortunately, this brings up an image of ground equine like she’s seen in European factories, covered in a generous serving of Carolina’s best concoction of tomato and brown sugar.

Nat pulls the phone from her ear to her cleavage and heaves hard.  For a moment everything hangs in limbo, and she’s not sure where the sickness in the pit of her stomach is going to come from next.  But then with another cough, it’s all down her chin and speckled across the toilet seat, pink and gluey.

“Nat?”  Steve’s muffled voice asks, the phone buzzing in time with his words and sending minute vibrations through her shirt and into her very skin.  “You ok?  What’s going on?”

She has a split second to decide what to say.  If she hangs up, he’ll be onto her in a second.  If she makes an excuse, will he buy it?  Can she claim PMS?  Has she told him yet that she’s infertile?  Nat clenches her abs and glutes as she tries to remember.

“Natasha?”

“I’m just sick,” she says guiltily, hanging her head in mock shame that feels more than real.  

“I thought you were smoking...”  He’s suspicious now.  Nat can practically see the concerned crease between Steve’s eyebrows.

“I was.”  Nat breathes through a cramp.  “I just, uh, it’s been too long.  Turned my stomach.”

She’s surprised when Steve starts to laugh.  “Hm.  Yeah,” he says with a chuckle.  “I know how that is.  Only happened to me about twenty times before Buck finally banned me from cigarettes...”  He sounds almost wistful now.

“Yeh.”  Nat does her best to agree while swallowing another rising gag.

“You want me to come?  Best remedy there is to have something to eat.  Maybe rice and egg drop soup?” Steve offers.  “I promise to leave the barbecue there.”

Nat would smile if she thought she could.  Maybe.  Possibly.  She hasn’t yet decided.  What she can do is grimace as her lower abdomen begins to twist in a manner of more familiar discomfort.

“Nah,” she whispers, trying not to gasp in pain.  “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”

Steve sighs over the other end of the line.  He pauses, then says, “Ok.  Later, then?”

Nat knows she isn’t getting off the hook.  Best she can do is keep him away long enough to let her empty out in peace.  She doesn’t know how long it’ll take.  Hours, possibly.  

She doesn’t know what time it is, but Nat assumes it’s close to the lunch hour, since it’s light outside and Steve’s so hell bent on food.  “Maybe dinner?” she poses.  

“Sure,” Steve says with what can only be described as a sigh as relief.  It must confirm to him that she’s not too far gone.  

Nat’s pleased with what she’s managed to do, but now guilt squeezes her gut and threatens to make her sick all over again.  

“Eight, maybe?” Steve suggests.  “I’ll bring the food.”

“Yeah, ok.”  Nat’s mouth is watering again, but not with anticipation of the meal to come.  She wants to get off the phone before she vomits again, or, god forbid, before her body decides to do anything else.  “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

“Ok.  See you.” Nat lowers the phone and presses the red button before Steve finishes saying goodbye.

“Ok,” she sighs, lowering her forehead to the toilet seat again.  “Ok.”  She glances down at her phone again to check the time.  Just under seven hours to go.  It’s more than enough time.  She’ll be fine.  

Nat considers bolting across the tiny studio to crack the window and air the place out, but her stomach drops again, and she knows she won’t make it in time.  Oh well.  Just another thing to do later, then.  Along with cleaning up.  Getting dressed.  Readying the disaster of an apartment for favorite unwanted houseguest.  

Because for fuck’s sake, it’s not supposed to happen this way. 

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @haletostilinski!

A/N: a little note, here, that a friend gave me ideas that helped this along, lol;; a soft warning for a vague Hale fire mention;; I hope it’s a good gift, and I hope you have a very merry christmas!!!

Read on AO3

*****

Loneliness, Food, & Mistletoe

It starts with a dorm.

Or, more accurately, it starts with a waterfall.

Specifically, it starts with Stiles waking up to a flooded dorm, water rushing from the ceiling after having had the craziest dream about being in a snow-strewn field with his mom and a group of people he didn’t know, having a feast and drinking flower wine, as they all chatted with him, all beatific expressions and an ambiance of aching joy. His mother had hugged him, before he’d woken, whispered something he can’t remember into his ear, and then his eyes had fluttered open to a personal, theatrical, indoor waterfall.

It takes him about three minutes, blinking and smacking his lips and generally being only barely awake, before he actually realizes what’s going on to the tune of shrieking curses and scrambling to save everything he doesn’t want to lose to spectacular water damage.

His roommate, the ass, has been at his girlfriend’s place since the day before yesterday, and has enough money that his only response to the informative, sarcastic, slightly melodramatic text Stiles shoots off to him is the equivalent of a shrug and an, I’m good here, so you’re on your own with that shit-tastic fiasco. Have fun.

The dormkeeper, TA person is… daunting? Stiles has never talked to him, anyway—no matter how hot like burning the guy is, storms live in his tsunami eyes, ‘I’m going to kill you’ is written in the line of his impressive eyebrows, and intimidating might actually, in this case, be an understatement. But, nevertheless, he doesn’t really have the option of avoidance now, since it’s four in the morning, water’s still actively flowing, and Derek’s the guy.

(If there was any other guy, but, nope, Derek’s the only one.)

So, gingerly, clothes and computer and cheap-ass griddle piled haphazardly in his arms, he—tries and fails to knock at least four times, almost dropping everything in the process, cursing some more, until the door’s opening all on it’s own, a sleep-mussed, startlingly soft Derek Hale standing there, glaring at him, and narrowing his eyes hatefully at Stiles’ armful of things.

“Oh. I, uh. Have a feeling this is already off to a bad start? Um, so, okay. My room? 320? I’m Stiles, by the way, I’d shake your hand, but… uh-hm.”

One of Derek’s eyebrows steadily rises as Stiles babbles, and now he’s leaning on the door-frame, arms crossed over his chest, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Stiles gets the feeling, if he doesn’t get to the point soon, Derek’s going to slam the door in his face. In hindsight, introducing himself wasn’t necessary.

“My dorm’s flooding, is the thing.”

Derek’s eyes widen, something like a growl filling his chest as he whips around to grab something from his room. “Stay here,” he orders, his voice a little like smoked sugar-grain, higher than Stiles would’ve expected. The man prowls away intently without another word and Stiles sighs heavily, sets his stuff beside Derek’s door and settles down next to it to wait.

Derek comes back more than a little soaked around two and a half hours of bejeweled, tetris, and candy crush later. He looks harried and two shades shy of homicidal.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” he bites, and Stiles looks up from his phone to gape at him.

“I—no? Is there no way to fix it? Is it still flooding?”

“Yes,” monosyllabic monotone, but there’s something incredibly dry in his eyes and it takes Stiles a second to realize the man wouldn’t have just left it like that, then another to realize that, even if the flooding itself has been stopped, it probably hasn’t been fixed, and he really doesn’t have anywhere he could possibly go.

He tells Derek as much and the man glares at him for an endless moment, it feels little better than being an ant pinned under a microscope and infinitely more awkward. A huff, and then firm, thick-corded muscles are wrapped around his pile of stuff and lugging it into Derek’s room.

“Wai—woah, hey, hey, dude, what are you—?” Stiles calls, exasperation and incredulity warring with annoyance as he scrambles to follow after. Derek drops Stiles’ stuff on the right side of his perfectly pristine room- the side with the bean-bag and the nineties bulk-tv and the pale-blue carpet and the closet door, without the bed and the distrubingly neat study desk and the bookshelf- before regarding him with a scowl.

“Don’t make a mess,” the man says, “it’s temporary.” Then he grabs a change of clothes from the closet and leaves Stiles stranded with the implication that Stiles will probably be staying here until whatever piping problem turning his dorm into a nature documentary gets fixed.

Here with the annoyingly uncommunicative TA dormparent who is simultaneously terrifying and vaguely infuriating.

He blinks at his stuff, breathes. He’s pretty sure he’s been through worse… maybe.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

He gets desensitized fairly quickly, gone from mildly scared of the guy to downright vexed by him.

He’s obsessively clean, which is something Stiles struggles with, but is more capable of understanding—after all, up until now, this has solely been Derek’s space. Still, the half snarky, half antagonistic, half animal sounds of irritation don’t actually tell him anything- except that Derek’s upset, and there could be any number of reasons why, because, man, this dude is tightly wound as fuck- until his side of the room is being invaded and forcefully cleaned before Stiles can protest, let alone do anything about it. He has some definite anger management issues, and isn’t spectacularly good at dealing with Stiles’ particular brand of hyperfocus versus hyperactivity, and cheap, unhealthy college student habits. Stiles has some problems with how quiet he is, how he’s never tactile unless he’s aggro, and how he’s always huffy, grumpy, sour.

Needless to say, they grate on each other, and it might be a month yet before Stiles’ room gets fixed, which is just, you know, great.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Snip.

Derek tries valiantly to focus on his book.

Tnk, szznip.

A vein in his forehead is throbbing, he can feel it.

Stiles mutters unintelligible gibberish around the highlighter he’s holding between his teeth.

Clip, snip, tnk, snap.

“What. The hell. Are. You. Doing.”

Stiles spins around quickly, the chair making two dizzying rotations before he stops it, facing Derek, and yanks the marker out of his mouth. There’s a neon yellow mark right next to his lips, cuddling up to his freckles, pen and glitter coating his bone-nimble fingers. Derek doesn’t want to be endeared, really, he should be annoyed.

“Writing an essay on how to use inflections correctly, how to make them flow, y'know? So that questions sound like questions, sentences sound like entiresentences. It might be surprising how many people struggle wi—”

“Stiles,” he snaps, annoyance abruptly far brighter than fondness.

“Oh my god, can’t you just… chill, a little? I’m doing classwork—although the depths of the internet may’ve distracted me, on that one, I’ll admit—and I’m making decorations for Lydia’s christmas party, because she’s terrifying, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t she’ll gut me. Or steal my roommate—.” Stiles cuts himself off, a tiny recoiling flinch in his eyes that Derek doesn’t understand at all, but it’s there and gone so fast, it might not have been there at all. “Which would actually border on a good thing, considering, well, Jackson.

"Wait… have you ever met Jackson?”

A headache. Derek’s pretty sure he’s getting a headache.

His question answered, he contemplates just ditching for the quiet of the library, only. Well.

(This is the first time in a very long time he has shared his space with anyone, and his feelings about it are complicated, to say the least, but part of him whimpers at the idea that, if he were to leave right now, when he came back, Stiles might be gone. Another part says that he’ll come back to a mess that would be too much work to clean and babysitting is just altogether a better idea.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he worries about Stiles’ oddly mournful pause.)

In the end, he sighs heavily, and returns to his book.

“Don’t make a mess.”

Stiles starts muttering about being the cleanest person in the world, and Jackson and he would probably get along, and just wait, he dyed Jax’s hair blue in the fourth grade, he can fucking do it again if he wants to, fucking Sourwolf.

Sourwolf? Derek wonders; then, I better keep an eye on my shampoo.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Derek watches Stiles do the same thing he’s been doing every day for a month and a half.

The egg sizzles on the griddle, gets tossed on top of a bowl of instant ramen, which is downed along with two red bulls, before Stiles’ full attention is returned to his work, which is, as always, at least ten things at once, armed with a highlighter, no less than four books, his computer, two notebooks, a dozen differently colored pens, and maybe a thousand color-coded sticky-notes, half of what he’s writing is either seemingly encrypted or in a different language altogether. In a few hours, Derek knows, he’ll blithely down another redbull.

He barely fucking sleeps, and he’s paler than the moon, and, jesus christ, if he keeps going on like this he’s going to die, his body won’t be able to take it.

The next day, Derek shoves a plate of banana peanutbutter bagels with granola and yogurt on the side in his face along with a cup of caffeinated tea, and Stiles looks up at him with wide, wide eyes before smiling, those eyes crinkling, the honey in them warm and gooey as his cheeks dimple and plush, crushed-pastel lips curl something happy. It’s the brightest thing Derek thinks he’s ever seen, and everything around it gets cotton-soft, tempered with gentled sweet, and his breath catches, heart tripping over the bubble of wonder billowing out in his chest.

Stiles says, “Thank you,” on the edge of an awed breath, and Derek swallows, nods curtly, stalks away.

He tries to remind himself that Stiles can be annoying and loud, talks too much, asks too many questions, doesn’t take care of himself at all, is, quite possibly, one of the messiest people he’s ever known, and that it shouldn’t matter how nice it is to share space with someone again- because sharing space isn’t something he should be allowed, anyway- it shouldn’t matter that, when he does decide to talk, Stiles actually listens, or that he gets Derek’s dry humor, snipes back easily and mostly good-naturedly, or that he smiles like… like that.

It shouldn’t matter. This is temporary and Stiles is an asshole most of the time.

(It does matter, and Stiles isn’t the kind of asshole Derek could ever hate, anyway.)

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Stiles’ room gets fixed. And that’s fine, that’s seriously fine, it’s not like he wanted to sleep on a borrowed air-bed in the corner of someone else’s room much longer, anyway, but…

He’d just started to get used to Derek, just started to be able to maneuver around him and with him with any kind of ease, could now translate the scowls and the serial-killer eyebrows from the emotionally clumsy, socially awkward language he’d finally realized they were into mostly… unexpectedly sweet intentions. More than that, he’d begun to realize just how much of a dorky mom friend Derek secretly is, with him spending any time he wasn’t studying or cleaning- or cleaning up after Stiles- reading some really old, complex book, cooking (for them both, because every time Stiles eats a mildly unhealthy meal or foregoes food for caffeine, Derek’s eyebrows twitch like he literally cannothandle watching Stiles’ unintentionally self-destructive habits without overloading on discomfited concern), and drawing these steampunk looking ink sketches of buildings and construction.

It had taken less coaxing than Stiles had thought it might to get Derek to admit that he wanted to be an architect, and that a lot of those books he was reading were either historical diaries, euro-romantic literature, or spanish or french poetry, with occasional visits from obscure fantasy and science fiction. He has a weathered set of books by Tolkien, and the whole of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, dozens of ragged, rugged, heavily used art journals, along with a complete collection of star trek and star trek: the next generation and old school doctor who cds on his bookshelf. He’s sassy in an almost inspiringly dry way, quick witted, funny, and, just, genuinely good.

Yeah, his social skills leave a lot to be desired, and he can still be annoying as all hell sometimes, but. An almost permanent glare doesn’t stop him from dropping everything and helping anyone who needs anything the moment they ask, doesn’t stop him from kindness and chivalry, for all that it’s masked by his gruff, almost wolfish demeanour.

And yesterday, for the first time, he saw Derek laugh. It was an odd kind of thing, because he’d woken up grumpier than Stiles had ever seen him, and it had felt like the first day all over again, like five thousand steps back, a doom-gloom quiet descended and everything Stiles did seemed to grate, everything anyonedid seemed to, and after all the discoveries he’d made about Derek’s character, it had felt like such a loss.

So he’d taken the lashing out in stride and done whatever he could to cheer Derek up.

The tension broke when, after corralling Derek into a daredevil marathon- because he had a feeling that Derek might… relate, a little- he began rambling about parkour and cinematography and “sinful red leather, oh my god.” He doesn’t even remember what he’d said, exactly, that made it happen, he’d just turned his brain-to-mouth filter off and let the words come, but the next thing he’d known, Derek was curved toward him and in, knuckles to his mouth like if he just pressed down on it enough it wouldn’t come. His eyes had gone so vivid, vast forests, willow trees tangoing, dipped back into the lakes their roots curled so close to, sunshine scattered across a dusk-smoke sky as a smile spread helplessly, as a sound a little like joy bubbled up and overflowed, and the thing that shocked him most was that he’d been rooming with this person for three months, and this was the first time he’d ever seen anything like it.

Mist still lingered in that small, frangible piece of joy.

Something devastating taints most things Derek does, Stiles thinks, and begins to hate all the more that he suddenly needs to leave this temporary haven, because he wants to know why.

He wants to see Derek smile more, wants him to laugh so much this whole room is saturated with it. Wants to be the reason for the sound, the expression, wants more.

Derek turns from his drawing when Stiles clears his throat, square black framed glasses perched on his nose, charcoal smudge on his cheek, and Stiles bites back a burst of something utterly fond.

“I’m gonna head out.”

Derek’s eyebrows twitch a little, his mouth tilting firmly down when he eyes Stiles’ stuff packed, a little less haphazardly than last time. Unhappy, Stiles can read easily, but the rest is inscrutable.

The man nods and Stiles huffs. The less comfortable Derek is, the less communicative he is, and Stiles gets it, but he’s unwilling to leave on this note, so he digs his phone out of his pocket, flicks it to contacts, adds a new one, names it Sourwolf, and hands the thing over. Derek peers down at it, glares at him.

“We’re friends now,” Stiles informs him, “insufferable nicknames are a necessary evil.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise, a little sarcastic quirk to his mouth.

“Yes, friends. Dude, give me your number of your own free will, or I’ll get it on my own using my awesome investigatory powers and I’ll spam you pictures of dirty dishes and piles of laundry and unorganized bookshelves. You know me, you know that I can, and I will.”

Derek scoffs a half disbelieving sound and rolls his shoulders meaningfully.

“You wouldn’t block me,” Stiles smirks, “we’re besties, big guy.”

Derek glares at the slight mess Stiles has left on his desk, gives Stiles a blank look with black at its’ edges, raises an eyebrow.

“Face it. I’m a slob and you love me anyway.”

Stiles moves to tidy up a bit, anyway, and when he returns to Derek, the man’s holding out his phone, Sourwolf’s contact page completely filled in.

“Text if you. Need… food,” Derek orders, voice saturated in a grudging growl, and Stiles knows he’s grinning like a fucking loon- he doesn’t even care- as he leans in, smacks a quick kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“Definitely,” he agrees, delightedly, before spinning toward his stuff, heaving it up, and swanning off.

(He doesn’t turn back or stay long enough to see the deep, candied-cherry flush that fills Derek’s cheeks, coats the tips of his ears. Doesn’t hear him exhale, sharp and heavy.

Doesn’t hear him breathe out a soft, strained, “Fuck.”)

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Stiles sighs when he sees the sock on the door, for a whole, huge, sack of incredulous reasons.

The first being that it’s three a-fucking-m, and Jackson knew he’d be getting back around now. The second has to be how absolutely cliche it is, nevermind the actual state of the sock—maybe Derek’s rubbing off on him, because all he can think of is that fucking germ song Derek texted him a few days ago, and how he’s going to have to disinfect that doorknob if he ever wants to feel safe using it again because eughh.

So he’s stuck, slumped outside in the hall, with absolutely nothing to do.

He barely even hesitates to snake his phone out of is jacket pocket and start texting Derek. Yeah, it’s ass'o'clock in the morning, but Derek turns his phone off when he goes to sleep, because he’s lame, so Stiles is pretty assured in just complaining to a non-existent audience, figuring Der might get a kick out of it later.

He tries not to look too deeply into the fact that Derek’s the first one he wants to complain to, the person he’s been talking to the most lately, refuses to analyze how overjoyed he’s been to discover that, as long as you give him the time to, Derek’s communication issues don’t hinder him as much over text.

Derek’s sometimes so dry it takes Stiles a whole fifteen minutes to realize he wasn’t actually being serious, on tuesdays he only responds in iambic pentameter, and he uses shakespearean insults on occasion because he’s nothing less than a sarcastic little shit; he’s still monosyllabic, every once in awhile, and his punctuation is as terrible as it is in real life, but it’s like the distance, the phone between them, makes Derek feel more confident, makes it easier for him to be… himself.

The week before last, they got into a conversation about past relationships, that led to a discussion about fire and the confession that Derek had only ever had three relationships, one that ended because he’d made a childish mistake his high school lover couldn’t forgive, another that ended in flames, a trial, and a prison sentence for a woman Stiles would… probably kill without a second thought, if he’s being honest, and a third that was too self-destructive for both of them to have ever been healthy or sustainable.

Soon after, Stiles had opened up to him about his mom’s disease and his dad’s drinking and his bills—he hadn’t really had the time to date much, his romantic entanglements tend to be of the more one-night-stand, friends-with-benefits variety, and even when he’s wanted more, no one else has seemed to.

Every day since Stiles moved out, even after he’s annoyed the hell out of Derek to the point of radio silence, the man comes to him with a tupperware full of healthy, incredible food, and a cup of tea, his scowl fermenting on his face, the storm of it worsening when Stiles inevitably giggles (how can he not?) as he takes the gift. There are days, too, when they’ve ribbed each other, chatted extensively about conlangs and architecture and psychoanalyzed star trek characters in between memes and jokes and Stiles’ ever fickle focus, and Derek will come bearing his small feasts with this soft, tender, breathtaking expression, a smile curling in his eyes that never touches his lips, and hot cocoa or coffee with whipped cream and cinnamon and marshmallows and extra chocolate instead of tea.

(“I’m going to get fat if you keep bringing me this-” a bite, then, choking back a moan- “glorious, sacred—oh my holy god.”

A hand, large and warm, calloused and covered in ink-stains, in charcoal and lead, had smoothed tenderly through his hair, gentle enough to make him almost thoughtlessly lean into it, to make him want to shiver.

“It’s better,” he’d said, then left before Stiles could ask what he meant.)

He doesn’t know what to do about how much part of him, lonely and withering, the same part that would view Lydia taking Jackson away as some form of punishment, because then he’d be alone, craves every little interaction, and then some.

Mostly, he ignores it, as he starts to type out how much of an asshole Jackson can be, and couldn’t he have gotten his nookie a little earlier? which all devolves into an anecdote about that time he painstakingly filled Jax’s locker with water for being an asshole and all his stuff got soaked but he kept the freaking fish.

He’s surprised when he gets a text back calling Jackson a goodly rotten apple, and then asking if Stiles realizes what time it is.

〖did i wake you? don’t you turn your phone off when you pass out so it can charge or some shit?〗

〖There could be an emergency.〗Derek texts back, succinctly, 〖And I don’t want you to starve.〗

〖… you keep your phone on at night, now, because i could have an emergency craving?〗

Stiles bites his lip, hard, warmth bursting in his chest, champagne-fizz rushing through his veins. His heartbeat’s skipping along to an odd tune of half embarrassed hope, and he’d known he was probably crushing on this man, but, god, he’s so fucking gone for him it’s ridiculous. For one, completely insane moment, a giddy part of him wants to send a bunch of kissy, heart-eyes, I might be falling head over heels for you emojis.

But, no. No way. Too awkward, silly, and he’s still not… sure. About how he feels.

Derek texts,〖Yes,〗 and it takes longer than it should to remember how to breathe.

〖you’re being sarcastic right now, aren’t you? you’re such a fucking tease, i was totally craving one of your crazy sandwich concoctions〗

〖Stiles.〗

A minute or so passes.

〖You woke me up.〗

〖yes. i gathered. the hazards of being my friend, oh, such a horrible atrocity, how much sleep have you lost, woeful der-ber? how much? shall i just call in the queen to chop off my head right this very minute?〗

〖Stop being an asshole or I’m going back to sleep.〗

〖you wouldn’t leave me in the lurch like that, would you?〗 He stops being an ass, anyway, though, just in case, only feels a fraction of guilt as he steers the conversation toward Lydia’s fast-approaching christmas party, one which they’re both attending, because Lydia’s a force of nature, and she somehow met, cajoled, and garnered a befuddled promise out of Derek at some point after the whole dorm-waterfall incident. Derek’s still mildly lucky, at least he didn’t get roped into decorating duty.

For all Stiles knows, if Lydia had known Derek’s architectural ability, she would’ve demanded he construct her an entire building for the affair.

Time ticks by, and Stiles is enjoying himself enough that he doesn’t notice until his phone starts complaining at him how low his charge is. The only problem? his charger is in the room.

He has no fucking clue how long Jackson’s going to be keeping their room… occupied, and he’s far too invested in this silly little conversation he’s having, anyway. (How could he not be? He can practically see Derek smiling through the phone.) So, vaguely hopeful, he tries knocking on a few other doors, begging after anyone who might be willing to lend him their charger. The only one who isn’t so pissed off about him waking them up or interrupting their study time as to simply slam the door in his face, doesn’t have a compatible charger, and…

You know what? fuck it. He needs to talk to Derek, this idiot who cares enough about Stiles to wake up at three in the morning and endure Stiles’ spazztic assholery, who, if Stiles actually asked him for food seriously right now, would probably make him something and come without a second’s hesitation, whatever black look he may’ve worn the entire time, who said 'emergency’ like part of him expected having a friend meant the maw of disaster was ten seconds away from chomping at the bit, the dork who… yeah, he must be totally fucking in love with.

He sincerely doubts he would have opened his door, army crawled through a room hosting a veritable pornographic lovemaking scene on the bed, snatched his charger out of the outlet, and rolled the fuck out of there for anyone else. Not even candy crush and boredom are that important.

But Derek is.

A silly conversation about crows being one of the most mischievous animals on the planet and seagulls being generally shitty is.

Fuck.

What the hell is he going to do now?

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Christmas eve brings the ice queen Lydia and her spectacular winter gala that… pretty much the whole college has been invited to and is attending.

But Stiles doesn’t let himself get distracted by the two guys covered in glitter, dancing and making out on a table to the cheers of a bunch of drunken peers, or the various decorations put up, scattered around, that he had a hand in, or the numerous people trying to get is attention or get in his way. He’s on a fuckingmission.

He’s on a hyper-focused and overthinking for two weeks about how to approach the Big Emotional Elephant In The Room, before giving it up as a lost cause and going for the first stupid thing he could think of, mission.

Which is why, when his eyes catch Derek’s across the room, he rushes for him, which is just as well, since the man seems greatly relieved to have an excuse to run away from the group of people cornering him, trying to elicit conversation.Derek still makes a noise of surprise, though, when Stiles’ saving him comes in the form of grabbing Derek’s arm and impatiently dragging him away, calling a brusque, “I need him more!” over his shoulder at the gawking partiers.

“I—Stiles?” Derek murmurs, mildly wary, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Stiles’ ear.

Valiantly, he doesn’t let himself shiver, instead, he jerks to a halt, hand still wrapped tightly, terrified and hopeful at once, around Derek’s wrist. His breath is short, heart beating too fast, and he’s scared.

What if this doesn’t work? What if it’s… not meant to be? What if he loses Derek to these useless, silly feelings?

“Stiles?” Derek urges, softer, more worried, and he pulls his wrist away, replaces it with his hand, wide and warm and so, so gentle.

Stiles swallows, forces himself to take a breath, to turn enough to look Derek in the eye as he squeezes his hand, indescribably grateful for the contact. Vast seas reflecting vaster galaxies stare back at him, solicitous, fond, questioning, and there’s this little confused smile twitching at his lips.

A smile Stiles thinks was knitted and weaved together just for him by a man who doesn’t like to smile at all, has too many reasons not to, besides.

God, it’s probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Stiles breathes, and those impossible eyes widen, too-lovely lips part. “And, goddamnit, I really want you to come to this doorway with me where there’s mistletoe so I have an excuse to kiss you?” The words trip over his tongue, come out all in a rush, flutter and skip like his heart, a terrified, hopeful sort of babble, his eyes scrunched up because he has no idea what Derek’s reaction will be, and he doesn’t dare look.

The fingers laced with his curl in further, a staying kind of thing, as Derek responds, a little husky, wanting, soaked in every type of sugar imaginable, “Or you could just kiss me here?”

Stiles’ eyes snap open, and Derek’s grinning, all impish rogue, glittering amusement. “No,” Stiles blurts, logic pretty much knocked clear out of him, “no, I have this all planned out; the mistletoe’s important.”

Derek leans in, eyes hooded, heated, brazen, his free hand sliding up Stiles’ cheek, tender but no less shocking for it, their lips nearly ghosting when Derek whispers, all alluring, seductive-smoke, “How important?”

Stiles feels a bubble of hysteria climb up his throat as he tugs a sprig of mistletoe out of his pocket to hold above their heads. “Important enough that I have contingencies,” he tells him, and Derek blinks a little, laughs almost suddenly, warmer than any fireplace, sweeter than any confection, and the best gift Stiles could’ve ever fucking asked for.

This may, in fact, be one of the best christmases he’s ever had.

It only gets better when they bridge the gap, a caress that turns filthy on the edge of a gasp as Derek pulls Stiles flush to him, both of them greedy for the taste of each other, biting and humming and mewling softly. Stiles’ arms end up around Derek’s neck and Derek’s clingingly around his back, their kiss ending breathlessly, both of them melting further into their embrace, drinking each other in, nuzzling, and just. Holding on.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Derek presses the words into Stiles’ pulse-point, barely heard over the chaos of festivities and overly loud, remixed christmas music, “I love you, too.”

Stiles chokes on a laugh, and holds all the tighter.

“I think I lost that mistletoe.”

“Mmm. Merry christmas, baby.”

Stiles can’t suppress the shiver this time.

“Merry christmas, Der.”

[sassysweetstories]

Fall To Get Back Up

Request: “OK this is a bit of a stretch but can you do an imagine where the reader is like super duper famous like gigi Hadid and was dating Shawn mendes and he broke up with her and she started smoking again and he sees in it paparazzi photos and he feels bad because she looks sad but a few weeks later new photos of her and Daniel Sharman come out and they both look happy and she looks happy and yeah I know that’s super hard but Idk what I would do without your work💖⚡️⚡️” 

Ship: Shawn Mendes x Fem!Reader (minor), Daniel Sharman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fighting, cussing, fluff, angst, guilt, regret, jealousy, mentions of depression, smoking cigarettes, etc.

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. 

Tagged: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw@anamcg317 @bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist@beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19 @violence-and-velvet @lachicadelamanzana

Third P.O.V

Nobody had expected the break up. It was huge, the only thing being talked about. SHAWN MENDES BREAKS UP WITH (Y/N) (Y/L/N)! It’s on every news outlet, can’t run from it even if she tried. Andrew was still trying to wrap his head around the situation himself. From the outside, they looked like the perfect couple, happy and healthy. Almost two years of dating, he decided to dump her for what seems no reason whatsoever. And of course, (Y/n) wanted for the situation, the relationship, to have never happened. Except nobody else would stop talking about it, wouldn’t shut up actually. She wanted to get back to her old life but the tweets kept coming in. Some were positive and others, not so much. (Y/n) tried her best to ignore all of it, find a way to cope. But in doing so, she slipped into old, unhealthy habits. She could still feel his soft lips atop hers, warm and plump as sucked down on another cigarette. 

Pushing the shades up to the roof of her nose, (Y/n) pulled out another as she made her way over to the cafe to meet with her agent who’s tried effortlessly to get the young woman out of her house, away from bad habits. She knows she’s going to be pictured. There's always someone lurking around the corner, just when she thinks she’s comfortable. But upon entering the cafe shop, there’s a sense of comfort that she hadn’t had in a while. The smell of warm hot cocoa and old, torn books makes her smile for the first time in months. It doesn’t take her long to find her agent, already sat down with her favorite drink as she sported a sympathetic smile. Her agent, V, hadn’t set her and Shawn up. They had fallen for one another all on their own and V couldn’t help but admit that it was great publicity. This though, this breakup was hard. 

“THIS JUST IN! MODEL, ACTRESS AND ACTIVIST, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), SEEN FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE BREAKUP WITH CANADIAN MUSICIAN, SHAWN MENDES!” The TV screams and Shawn can’t help but look up, wanting to know if she’s doing okay after their split. The second the image displays, his heart drops. She looks pale and broken, thinner than before as she brought a cigarette up to her lips. Oh my god. . Shawn thought as his face turned pale. I did this to her. . . (Y/n)’s once beautiful and warm face was nothing but cold and lifeless. Her eyes were no longer loving and bright, more gaunty and tired circles. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks, months even. The longer Shawn looked at the image, the more regret and guilt he had. God, she looks so broken and sad. He couldn’t not feel for her. They were once the item, the talk of the town if you will. 

It takes him a minute to actually see the cigarette. Shawn cusses under his breath at himself. How could he have hurt her so much that she slipped back into old habits? Because of it, he was sure that’s why she looked so different, so broken. It takes everything in him to not call her, to beg her to stop and come home but it’s too late. She won’t come back to him, at least he believes that she won’t. (Y/n) looks incredibly different from when they first met and honest to god she looks like someone else entirely. She doesn’t look like the girl he fell in love with. But then again, he did this to her. Maybe, just maybe, all of this could have been prevented. But it was too late. 

It had been a few months since he last saw her. After being spotted in the cafe, it’s like she vanished from the tabloids completely all over again. Shawn would never admit that late at night he’d sit atop his bed and scroll through Twitter, almost praying he’d find a photo of her, some reassurance that she was okay because he would always spew a blatant lie when he was asked how he was dealing with the breakup. He wanted to know that she was happy again, that she was content. Shawn missed the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something as simple as flowers, or the way the sun almost seemed to touch the ocean as it peaks up from down below. This ritual continues to happen for the next few days, that is until new pictures start to float around the internet, photos he can’t ignore. There she is, looking more beautiful than the day Shawn met her. Her eyes are wide and glowing, brighter than before. Except this time, she’s not alone. They don’t shimmer that way because of Shawn anymore, they twinkle because another man that wasn’t him. 

She’s with a man that looks vaguely familiar to him. The guy was either an actor or musician but he didn’t have to look hard to bring a name to the face. Daniel Sharman, actor on the TV show, Teen Wolf. Even though Shawn is straight, he can’t deny that the guy is a handsome man, built and toned with light brown hair and a mix of both blue and green eyes. His jaw-line could literally cut a diamond and for some reason, the longer Shawn looks at the photos, the more angry he becomes. He hates the way Daniel’s eyes linger on (Y/n) as he wraps his hands around her waist, lovingly. How the young man peppers her shoulders with faint kisses and laughs when she giggles. They looked more happy and content than her and Shawn ever’d been. He hated how affectionate they were with one another, made his stomach turn with jealous disgust. Clicking on one of the videos from the twitter handle, he scoffed as Daniel twirled (Y/n) around to The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra. The comment section was over-flowing. 

“THEY LOOK SO CUTE TOGETHER!”

             “SHIP OF THE CENTURY!!”

“i honestly can’t wait to see them get married. like, i want a man who can look at me the way Daniel looks at (Y/n). #totallyjealous”

              “mom and dad? mOm aNd dAd? MOM AND DAD!! THAT’S MY MOM AND DAD!” 

(Y/n) can still remember the night she first met Daniel. Forced to attend a party she was sure nobody wanted to be at, she’d finally had the chance to slip away from the crowded scene in hopes to have another smoke. As she brought the deplorable stick up to her lips, sucking in slightly, a voice from behind called out to her. “Ya know, smoking that much will shorten your life-span. It’s killing those pretty lungs of yours.” Glancing over her shoulder to find the source of the voice, she hadn’t recognized the gorgeous man in front of her despite a faint familiarity. “And who are you? My father?” She says, sarcastically. “I ain’t got much of a life anymore, doll. Might as well pick up the pace.” Though her voice was joking, there was a hint of truth to which Daniel could clearly see, making his heart hurt for the young woman. “What makes you think you ain’t got a life?” He asks, genuinely curious to learn more of the famous, (Y/n) (Y/L/N). 

“I suppose I’m jumping back into old habits after my breakup.” Daniel knew about that, couldn’t run from it even if he tried. But apart of him was happy to have at least some slim of a chance to talk to her, let alone date the woman of his dreams. He’d always admired from afar and thought he’d never have a chance, not until now. In that moment, Daniel takes a risks and hold her hands in his, taking the cigarette out and away from her frail fingertips and puts it out before saying, “Times like these make me think that once you reach the bottom, you can’t go any further down. Sometimes you gotta fall to get back up.” And for the first time in months, (Y/n) feels like she can actually breathe again. It’s like the anvil leaves her chest and she can feel, see hope behind those beautiful bluish, green eyes. From that moment on, they were absolutely smitten. 

Of course Shawn wanted (Y/n) to be happy, to not have hurt her the way he had but he couldn’t help but feel hurt upon seeing the photos of the woman he once loved, maybe still loves. There are more videos of them and he can’t not watch them, gritting his teeth while he does so. Daniel runs after (Y/n) before lifting her up into the sky, her giggle echoing across the field before he set her down, both their cheeks red and rosy. Shawn hates the way he kisses her, the way he holds her close to his chest. But he can’t stop watching. There’s another video. She’s on his back, smiling as their friend is about to capture a photo of them. (Y/n) whispers something faint and he can’t quite make out the words until he glances at the caption. “She said ‘I love you’ to him.” Daniel’s jaw drops before he turns over his shoulder to look up at her with loving eyes. Quickly, he drops her before kissing her passionately. 

“OH MY GOD THEY ARE SO CUTE I’M DYING!!” 

             “actual couple goals” 

“i want a girl like (Y/n), god damn” 

              “LOOK AT MY PRECIOUS CINNAMON ROLLS!” 

Shawn tosses his phone to the side, rolling his eyes at the nothing but positive tweets. They were once the it couple. How could things have changed so quickly? Except they really hadn’t. It had been nearly a year after he dumped her. But he supposed seeing her single meant they could still reconnect. But at the end of the day, he’d done this to her. Shawn dumped her and she got back from the bottom and found a man who loved her more than life itself. 

(I hope you guys liked it! PLEASE. FUCKING. COMMENT) 

[insideedensgate]

Life can be so fickle (indeed)

character study (1/?); john seed

1790 words

John had always been afraid. He never wanted to admit it, but he always felt terrified in a way.

He understands it well, when people tell him of their fears.

He understands it well, how to let them face their fears.

He is no monster. He is more like a widow, fat and fed, waiting in her web. He is their biggest fear.

june 1986

John Seed was born on a sunny day mid June, birds chirping and the air inside the small bedroom was sticky and hot.

The labour has been problematic and the first thing he sees of the world, full of opportunities and love, are the cold eyes of his mother, starring down on him.

His cries flood the room and shake the house, his brothers impatiently waiting outside the closed door.

“I say it's girl”, his oldest brother whispers, ear pressed on the door, “Joseph? Joe, c'mere!”

John's older brother hastily slides down the window sill, the young couple from down the street who's wedding was today and who he was watching, long forgotten when they entered the room.

december 1990

Winter in the Seed household is cold, deadly even. John has learned that early in his life. Sometimes, the heater is broken. Sometimes, Old Man Seed is too drunk or too lazy to buy new gas. Thus, they freeze. They don't have any money left for warmer clothing.

“Stop complaining”, his mother says when her four year old son, blue lips and pale skin, tugs the end of her skirt slightly. His fingers hurt from the cold. It creeps into his bones, numbs his body. He should be afraid, afraid of dying or pneumonia. He isn't. He is used to the cold.

Jacob stopped going to school last month. John is glad, that he has someone to play with.

The couple that got married four years ago dies in a car accident that night. With them, all colour leaves John's world, dives it into ice cold blue.

march 1996

The air in the gym is sticky. John thinks it stinks, of greasy teenagers and sweaty shoes. He stands there, bare chest in front of his teacher.

“It is nothing, Mister. I just fell down the stairs, how often do I have to tell you this?”

He knows it is a lie. And for a mere second, he can see it in his teacher's eyes. They believe him. Trust him.

Then it's gone.

“I am going to call your parents, John.” He knows it, now he is lost.

january 2002

John doesn't know where they are. He misses them. It hurts.

“Tell me of your sin, my son”, Mister Duncan says, stroking his hair. It is no gentle touch. It burns.

There's no escape. Nowhere to run.

But John doesn't have to. He can lie, lie until the pages turn blank and the trees loose their leaves.

Until he seems them again.

“I got drunk in third period history.”

“With whom, my child?”

“Stephen and Mary Ann.”

“Then we should atone you, shall we?”

He has forgotten his own name. He has forgotten Georgia. They burning sun when he and his brother used to play on the streets, running through the woods.

He forgot it all, he lost it all.

He'll never forget them.

All that is left now, is the perfect shell of John Duncan.

He never wanted to kill someone so badly in years.

september 2006

He is drunk, third period, family law. He and Robert, one of his class mates, are sitting together. They have late lunch.

It is already cold outside, because it is always cold in Connecticut. Every winter, the cold burns in his bones and he curses Old, dead Man Seed for never buying new gas when they needed it. He takes another sip of the expensive liquor, feels it burn and sting in his throat.

It hurts so good. Robert snorts a line, hands the white powder over to John.

“And so she said to me “Do you really think you can fuck that girl -”, he tries to listen to the pathetic stories they tell him. Maybe Jessica and her affairs will have some use. He makes a mental note.

april 2010

“Mister Seed? It's Miss Watkins, secretary at Yale University Law School, New Haven, Connecticut. Mister Duncan asked me to contact you.”

The young lady smiles up at John, who is standing on the other side of the counter. The Duncan shell smiles back.

He hears his brother's voice muffled through the phone's speakers. It sounds rough and weary, vigilant in a way. It hurts him. For a second, he feels empathy again – real empathy tingling in his stomach. It hasn't for years and it makes him dizzy, his vision fading for a mere second. Or maybe it's just the cocaine.

“Jacob?”, he says as he holds the phone to his ear, “It's me, John.”

He doesn't want to be alone any longer. He doesn't know where Joseph is, God have mercy on him. He just wants his brother to be here, to be there when he graduates from college.

june 2010

Jacob did not come.

John tries to swallow the lump in his throat and braces himself with pride against the pain.

Jacob said he had no money to fly across the country.

John's offer to pay his flight and a hotel room has been left without answer.

He looks at his professor when he hands him his diploma and the Duncan shell smiles.

Smiles at Sarah, 28, sitting fourth row. She doesn't smile back.

John bets she only smiles when she sits on the cock of that old guy.

The shell's smile grows brighter, and John laughs.

may 2013

When he looks into the mirror, he doesn't know who he is looking at.

He reminds himself of a chameleon. Shape shifting. Concealing himself.

He not only learned how to do it, he knows how to do it. It has become a sort of an instinct.

Natural selection, evolution.

Did it already became a a part of him?

John doesn't know who he is.

Tick.

He has money.

A lot of it. Too much.

He hates what he is, what he stands for.

John doesn't know how to cure that.

Tick.

His skin itches.

He needs it.

The sex, the rush of cocaine pumping through his veins.

John doesn't know if he's strong enough to resist it.

Tick.

All he can hear is the thumb of his heart against his ribs and a clock ticking at the back of his head, reminding him of the time that is running through his fingers like sand.

It is like he's lost.

John doesn't know how to be found anymore.

august 2013

It is the first time he sees them again after so many years.

Well, not alive. He very much just sees their tomb stones.

He spits on their graves, he can't behave, doesn't want to.

He thinks back, at his first time in Georgia where he grew up, and suddenly he thinks of the young couple that lived down the road. He loved watching them sitting in their garden, so happy and so in love.

They were his age when they died. They had nothing and still were so euphoric. All things have to end some day.

He has it all and he desires the whole world to end.

In a way, all the pain came the year they passed away. He doesn't believe in a connection, he really doesn't – he's not that foolish, but he still searches for one. Just a few seconds.

There has to be a way for it all to makes sense again.

In the end, he always comes to that one conclusion. There isn't.

When they left, all the beauty he had ever been able to witness was ripped away. More ripped apart in the crashed van, blood and broken limbs. From that day on, there was silence and clouded skies. He envies them.

He spits again.

november 2013

At least he is back home now. Sunny Rome. Beautiful Georgia.

Joseph looks horrible, John thinks, dark circles under his eyes, a maddening calmness in his eyes.

Jacob shakes most of the times, sometimes he even screams without reason. He polishes his military decorations twice a day, pathetic, John thinks.

It hurts him. Badly.

Joseph often writes on the walls, some nights he can't stop himself.

Jacob vomits once a day, most nights he can't help himself. No one does.

But he loves them. Dearly.

The only bit of love he'll ever allow himself to feel again.

july 2014

As Joseph pulls her back out of the water, John can see it.

The thin material of her white dress clinging to her body, wet and transparent.

Holly is her name.

And John wants.

He takes. He always took and he will always take.

It is so much easier than giving.

He tells himself that it's nothing. No love. Nothing.

Love destroyed him, that woman wouldn't.

october 2015

It rushes through John's veins, like the substances he has so long forgotten about.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

He carves the next letter into the cultists back, making his flesh spring open and bleed onto the floor.

“We should atone you from your sins, shall we?”

His own voice rings in his head. It scares him, but it feels good.

He keeps going.

january 2018

Joseph says they're ready. Something is coming, The Collapse is close.

John anticipates it, he is prepared.

He wants it to end. He wants everything to end.

He wants the world red and burning and bright in the light of pure atonement.

He wants to see them suffer, choking on their lies and their disgusting lives.

He wants to see the world crumble before his toes.

He hates it so much, everything that is on the outside. He hopes Eden is better to them.

march 2018

Every breath burns and stings, it feels like his lungs are torn apart by the simple process of breathing.

There it is again, the ticking sound of the clock. Slow. Steady.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He knows it is going to be pure, divine silence soon. He embraces it.

Thumb. Thumb. Thumb.

John is not afraid. John is not terrified. John has no fear of missing out, John is not clinging to his life. As he stares into their eyes, he can seem himself for the first time.

Ironic, he thinks, how eyes may be the mirrors to the soul. Who knew it would be mine I see, not theirs?

The thumbs stop, the clock stops ticking.

John Seed knows exactly who he is, as he takes his last breath.

[crystalsnowmins]

Yoonmin Scenario #10

2k words of fluff again because I'm too soft for hard shit.

*     *     *

New Year!AU, In which Jimin get into an accident on New Year’s Day and Yoongi looks so distraught seeing his boyfriend all injured, but Jimin seems to think it’s all funny and he is laughing his ass off at Yoongi’s choice of attire. It hurts his ribs when he laughs. And Yoongi wants to kill Jimin anyway. (But not really).

Yoongi sighs umpteenth time as he gets off the phone with one of the clients from Australia. He groans when stretching his body and looks at the time. Still 17.30 pm. It seems like as the midnight is approaching for a new year, the time is stilling or rather going extremely slow.

He can’t wait to go home to his boyfriend and just spend a new start with him. Even on the 31st of December, 2017, Yoongi is still at the office working his ass off because people find holidays to fucking inquire and get their anger off onto some stranger on the phone. And isn’t it great?

He has sent almost half of his staff to go back for New Year, because he’s not heartless, not until Jimin came into his life and took him into a whirlwind. To others, he has become tolerable but still a universal asshole of a boss. And isn’t it nice to hear that from your own PA aka your childhood friend?

And although, Park Jimin sweetly asked him to stay, bribed him with seduction and lot of kisses and cuddles, he just couldn’t because, “Would you want your boss to party while you all are working your ass off?” And Jimin kept quiet, understanding Yoongi’s situation as well. So he sent him off with a sweet kiss and a promise to meet soon.

That soon is taking a lot of time and Yoongi almost wished he was back home, cuddled with his love instead of hearing complaints from the clients. But hey! He’s gonna take for the team because isn’t that what CEO of the company does? ISN'T IT?!

Yoongi slams his fist on the table.

His, oh so lovely, boyfriend has sent so many selcas of his that it’s not helping the situation. He’s teasing the fuck out of him with messages as such:

-Missing you, hyung ☹️☹️☹️

-Danbi feeling down because daddy is not here to cuddle us. (With a photo of Danbi aka their cat and Jimin cuddling together.)

And oh, how Yoongi wishes he was holding and cuddling them.

-Hwaiting, Yoongi! (With a picture of Jimin fisting his hands and smiling preciously.)

That was an hour ago when Yoongi was so frustrated with the image that he replied he’s going to kill everyone and run home to Jimin. It took his boyfriend to reply back in 15 minutes the last message.

But that was not the last message because Jimin has sent one more when Yoongi was on phone.

From Jiminie ☀️

-Hyung, I forgot the pie. I’m going to buy some. I’ll see you at home.

P.S. come home and ditch everyone, please.

Yoongi sighs.

To Jiminie ☀️

-Sure, sunshine. Drive safely.

It was around 22:45 when Yoongi was allowed to go home and send everyone home as well. He has never felt so happy in his life, going back home to his lovely boyfriend. When he arrives, he loosens his tie and call out for Jimin but hear no response, so he moves further into the kitchen, hoping he’ll find Jimin there, but to his surprise, the younger wasn't there as well but he left a note.

If I am late, then don’t worry. You know how I venture out during holidays, but I promise to return soon.

Till then freshen up and wait for me!

Love you xx

So Yoongi exactly does that, he takes a steaming shower until the bathroom is fogged up. He comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist and goes for his closet to take out his night attire. Now Jimin is usually not an expensive boyfriend, but he likes holidays a little too much and he buys things that match holidays, not that Yoongi minds but he definitely minds a pair of night suit with bears on it and happy new year written everywhere.

He contemplates before deciding to wear it. Whatever makes Jimin happy. So he takes the pant and only when he’s about to wear it, there are impatient knocks and continuous doorbell rings. He frowns and moves out to the hall to open the door, simultaneously, wearing his pajamas for the night.

When he opens the door, there’s a wild and very worn out looking Hoseok.

“Please don’t tell me there’s another glitch and we have to stay, I’m going insane here, it’s new-,” Yoongi starts to whine in his throat

“Yoongi,” Hoseok calmly calls him. “It’s Jimin,” Is all he says and wait for Yoongi’s reaction who only frowns.

“Jimin?” Yoongi looks behind to see his boyfriend but finds no one. But Hoseok is shaking his head no, face looking distressed. Same, Yoongi thinks.

“He’s at the hospital, Yoongi,” Hoseok stresses, getting an incoming call but ignoring it.

“I never liked you being dramatic, why is Jimin at the hospital?” Yoongi rushedly says and feels the nerves start to kick in and he hopes it’s not what he think-

“He was in an accident, his car-,” And suddenly Yoongi is wearing his shirt from today and rushing out from home with Hoseok.

They settle in Yoongi’s car and he bounces his leg in anticipation and bites on his nails (a bad habit that Jimin has been trying to get rid of). Apparently, Jimin’s phone has been damaged during the accident, so when he reached the hospital, he gave Taehyung’s number for a family. And then Taehyung informed everyone.

“He’s fine,” Hoseok hopefully provides, which didn't work because the driver was slow due to snow and also new year’s traffic.

“Fuck, shit!” Yoongi growls and holds his own things.

“Yoongi, calm down. Tae says he’s okay, minor injuries, nothing to be worried about. He’s fine.” Hoseok says, constantly on phone with Taehyung as Yoongi left his in the office.

“He’ll be dead, when I see him,” Yoongi grits.

When they finally reach the hospital, Yoongi taps his shoes impatiently as the receptionist takes his sweet time to tell the room number. When they finally find the room number, Yoongi is sprinting off, as if he didn’t reach soon, Jimin will leave, or is in too much pain without Yoongi by his side

But when he opens the door, the brat is laughing with Taehyung and Jungkook. He sees Yoongi and smiles brighter at his boyfriend, “Yoongi-hyung!” He greets, looking like he didn’t have a fucking car accident.

Like Hoseok said, he doesn’t look terrible, his face a small scar on his hairline, which he’s going to bitch about it for long, and his lips are busted. He has a neck brace but he looks fine, doesn’t look like he’s dying and that’s a relief. He sighs at the young man but then hardens his glare and Jimin pouts, knowing what’s to come.

“You fuc-,”

“Hyung wait!” Jimin puts out his tiny palm in front of him, “Before you say anything,” He bites his lips as if stifling his laughs and Yoongi groans, “What the hell are you wearing?” And then he’s bursting out in laughter along with others, even Hoseok, who tried his best to not laugh all the way.

Yoongi looks irritated but then he looks down at his attire and realises. He feels the blush coming onto his cheeks, making him feel hot. He’s fucking wearing those bear pajama, his crunched office shirt and a very expensive Armani shoes without socks. What a fashionista.

“Shut up, Park Jimin,” Yoongi mutters irritably and glares at him which makes him stop and hit Taehyung to stop him as well.

“I’m sorry?” Jimin provides.

“Sorry wouldn't cut the shit!” Yoongi scoffs.

“But I’m okay!” Jimin protest.

“And what if something could have happened terribly?” Yoongi asks, silencing every little talk around. “On the starting of a new year, that too!” He exaggerates. “Then what?” He glares at Jimin who was looking down in guilt.

“But I’m okay,” He repeats quietly. “I’ve sprained my neck, but it’s nothing terrible, hyung,” Jimin explains and holds Yoongi’s arm with both his hands.

“Why did you even have to go out?” Yoongi knows there’s no point in arguing when Jimin is okay but does he fucking wants to start a fight with the younger! His anger is solely due to the worry and terrible thoughts in his mind for Jimin. Things could have gotten wrong, things could have turned out terrible, he would-

“I told you I’ll be buying some pie,” Jimin reminds and Yoongi knows that but it was a rhetorical question anyway. “You like pie,” He whispers, smiling innocently at Yoongi.

“I like you a little too much,” Yoongi mutters with a scowl and Jimin smiles prettily, doe-like eyes sparkling even in this situation. Yoongi would like to think its because of him and not because Park Jimin is naturally a happy and positive person. Jimin pulls him closer until Yoongi his touching his sides.

“I’m really okay, hyung. I promise. I know you were worried, but I’m here and alive and not going anywhere.” He promises and Yoongi sighs, taking his other hand and running through Jimin’s hair and the younger closes his eyes.

“Why didn't you call me?” He bitterly mumbles and gives a sideways glance to Taehyung who nervously looks away.

“Because I know you’d be worried and having a heart attack on the way.” He jokes and Yoongi glares but also thinks Jimin is right. He might have died before he could’ve killed Jimin first. “Plus, you had a packed schedule, I didn’t-,”

“You dare finish that sentence and I will cut your tongue,” Yoongi warns and Jimin gives a nervous chuckle, before zipping up his lips and throwing the imaginary key.

“I was hoping to get out of this without you finding it, so I didn’t call you.” Jimin clarifies calmly.

“Oh yeah?” Yoongi sarcastically asks and moves back, taking his hand away from Jimin’s hold and hair. “With that big ass neck brace, you could have fooled me,” His glare is as intent as Jimin’s pout and as much as Yoongi wants to cuddle Jimin and take care of him, he’s just too angry at Jimin being ignorant.

“Yoongi-,” Hoseok calls carefully.

“No!” Yoongi says, “Don't take this brat’s side, especially you, Hoseok-ah!” He points at him and Hoseok surrenders, raising his hands and moving back, giving an apologetic smile to Jimin who understands because nobody wants to lose their job even though he wouldn’t.

“Things could have gone terribly! Don’t you realize that Jimin! I’m worried sick here because you were being careless and something could have happened to you. Do you think it’s a joke? Do you know what I felt when Hoseok told me? I felt numb, I thought I lost you. Do you know how-,” And then somewhere a loud ring goes off, interrupting Yoongi’s lecture.

“Whose-,” But before he could ask, he’s suddenly pulled by Jimin and feeling his lips. He shocked for exactly 10 seconds, registering what is happening when he hears shouting from outside, shouts of celebration. Oh, god. It’s 2018 now! Jimin is still kissing him without any response from the older.

“Hyung…,” Jimin whispers against his lips, due to lack of response and Yoongi is cupping his cheeks and kissing in properly for the first time in 2018. They move without any rush, although Yoongi is pressing his lips hard against Jimin. The latter rests his hands on Yoongi’s and gave it squeeze of assurance.

“I could’ve lost you tonight,” Yoongi mumbles, breaking their kiss.

“Hyung, happy new year,” Jimin mumbles, moving forward to steal another kiss to which Yoongi reciprocated faster this time.

“Gross, okay. Disgusting.” Jungkook scrunches his nose up at the PDA. Yoongi gives him the finger.

“Happy new year, baby.” Yoongi smiles and looks at his boyfriend. “Let’s make this year ours this time as well, hmm?” Jimin eagerly nods. “I love you,” He whispers so that only Jimin hearts and kisses him again.

“I love you too, Yoongi-hyung.” Jimin genuinely says, “Now move, because my lips are numb.” He points cutely at his busted lips and Yoongi nods, standing up and caressing his face.

“Go home, kids. I’ll be here. Enjoy with your family or whatever. Happy new year!” Yoongi says to them with a thankful look and they nod, standing and leaving.

“And I wasn’t even speeding hyung!” Jimin complains that night when they have shifted him to a VIP room. Only the best for his baby. Yoongi holds him closely as he tells his story. “It skid and crashed against a pole and then a car comes from other side and hit mine—yours, so I sprained my neck.” He tightens when he heard another car crashing into Jimin’s, it could have been a different vehicle, something bigger.

“But I’m really okay, that man helped and apologised and took me to the hospital, so I’m fine.” Yoongi hums and tries to shake off any negative feelings.

“What a way to start new year huh? In a hospital,” Jimin carefully turns to Yoongi who opens his eyes to the movement.

“What? With an awesome makeout?” He cheekily says and presses his lips against to Yoongi’s for a reminder. Yoongi gives one of his gummy smiles to Jimin and flicks his forehead.

“Brat,” He mutters blissfully.

“But your car is kinda fucked up, I hope insurance covers it up,” Jimin opens a few buttons on Yoongi’s shirt and rest his palms on his naked chest.

“I don’t care about the car,” Yoongi sleepily mumbles.

Jimin smiles.

“Okay,” He whispers and kisses him some more before deciding to sleep as well.

When Jimin was allowed to discharge the next morning, Yoongi embarrassingly mumbles on his phone for a change of clothes. Because surely Yoongi came in this horrible fashion but he won’t leave like one as well.

Jimin was laughing from his hospital bed to which Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“Imagine if somebody capturing this, CEO of one of the biggest fashion magazine having an awesome clothing style,” Yoongi gives him a middle finger with a sarcastic smile.

When Hoseok arrives, Yoongi changes in the bathroom, looking more like himself. Jimin changes as well with the help of Yoongi, while Hoseok brings out the car in front of the hospital.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says, looking at Jimin now with hand clutches together to Yoongi’s. “Let’s not get into any accidents, okay?” He squeezes Jimin's hand as if trying to tell his emotions. Jimin nods.

“No promises, hyung.” He winks and skips to the car.

“Aish, this brat,” Yoongi grumbles fondly.

*     *     *

I swear I'm going to write so much angst next, I've got the plot ready for yall. Wait for it!

[goblinmin]

t*ip toes through your tulips* namkook

Kiss Meme Drabbles : Namkook : 35. Death Kiss

note: i didn’t sign up for writing angst, so don’t worry about that, this is as soft as anything. namjoon’s a brat. jungkook is tired, but he’s trying his best.

‘This might be your last chance,’ Namjoon is saying –croaking, really, which is all he’s been able to do for the past week now. He’ssitting on the couch in a nest of blankets, one even draped over his head likea woolly veil for extra measure, refusing to part with that infernal cocoon ofhis no matter how high his fever creeps. He’s pouting as he watches Jungkookpack up his books, eyes in full red-rimmed, sickly puppy-dog mode, and if Jungkookwas a lesser man (read: if his phone’s camera wasn’t broken) he’d take a photoof the sight to save as blackmail, maybe go old school and keep tiny a copy inhis wallet.

‘I don’t think it will be, hyung,’ he sighs, shutting downhis laptop to pack that up, too.

‘Jungkook-ah, these could be my final hours,’ Namjoon says,tugging the blanket off his head down around his shoulders instead, leaving himwith a messy, soft brown bird’s nest atop his head. Tufts of hair stick out atthe oddest angles, making him look slightly wild, kind of precious.

Jungkook ducks his head to zip up his bag, doing his bestnot to laugh. ‘D’you want anything while I’m out?’ he asks him. ‘Morepopsicles?’

‘Aren’t you listening?’ Namjoon demands. He’s been crankyall day, very cranky – all week, actually. His head hurts too much to read orwatch TV, his throat hurts too much to comfort eat, the painkillers make himgroggy and the antibiotics make him queasy. He’s been impossible to please andso hard to comfort and very, verywhiny. It’s ranged from adorable to downright annoying, but Jungkook’s feelingsoft right now, post-afternoon-nap with the furnace his boyfriend has become.

‘I’m listening, hyung,’ he says placatingly, getting to hisfeet and hoisting his bag up onto the coffee table. It lands there with anearth-shaking sort of thud and Jungkook groans, thinking he has some idea howAtlas felt when he first faced down the planet he was doomed to carry. ‘I’mvery sympathetic.’

‘No, you’re not.’ Namjoon slumps heavily sideways onto thepillows in a flurry of blanket. His next words come very muffled: ‘I’m fadingfast and you don’t even care.’

Jungkook snorts softly, rounding the coffee table again tosit on the edge closest Namjoon. ‘Fading fast?’ he echoes, dubious, lifting acorner of the top blanket to find his face.

Namjoon’s brow creases, eyes slitting weakly open. ‘Thefastest,’ he confirms.

He’s still flushed dark in his cheeks from the fever, pastyunderneath that, but his forehead isn’t so fiery now when Jungkook pushes hishair out of the way to check with his hand. ‘You feel a lil’ cooler, I think,’he murmurs.

‘That’s the blood pooling in my torso in preparation fordeath,’ Namjoon grumbles.

Jungkook frowns at him, continuing to comb his tangled hairgently back, out of his eyes. ‘Hyung, that doesn’t even sound like a realthing.’

‘I swear it’s a symptom of something,’ he mutters, thoughhis heart isn’t much in it, eyes slipping shut again. It’s a bad thing when KimNamjoon can’t even call to mind his morbid science facts.

‘Right,’ Jungkook murmurs, smirking at him. ‘So, popsicles?’

‘That’s a definite no on the final kiss, then?’ Namjoonasks, and Jungkook snorts quietly, rolling his eyes. He’s been requestingkisses all morning, but every time Jungkook breaks and moves to indulge him,Namjoon decides it’s an awful idea, pushes Jungkook’s face away, curses himselffor being such a selfish human.

Around and around and around.

All morning.

Honestly, he’s lucky he’s cute, Jungkook thinks, or he’dhave moved back to Yoongi’s place days ago.

‘You really want me to get sick, too?’ he asks him, with aknowing look, because they’re both well aware what the answer’s going to be.

Namjoon pouts again, very softly. ‘No,’ he mutters, frowningforlornly at something in the middle distance before his forehead crumplesproper, brows pulling together pitifully. ‘But it’s been days,’ he whines, and he just looks and sounds so damn patheticwith his glassy eyes and his hoarse voice cracking that Jungkook can’t helphimself.

‘I know, hyung,’ he sighs, moving over onto the couch tosettle down next to him again. Namjoon wastes no time curling an arm around hiswaist, shifting up to use his upper arm as a pillow. Jungkook can’t imagine it’sall that comfortable, but Namjoon seems content, even more so when Jungkook turnsto kiss his forehead. ‘You’ve been very brave.’

‘I have,’ Namjoongrumbles, still sounding pouty.

It’s at times like this Jungkook’s reminded how hot he oncethought it’d be to date an older guy – a TA, no less, the brainy-looking post-gradwith all the nice shirts and big glasses, very sophisticated looking dude.Jungkook imagined him poring over thick books in dead languages by day, spendinghis nights holed away in some secret observatory, discovering new planets andshit. He never would’ve expected this, the brainy-looking post-grad with hismany long limbs draped all over Jungkook in faded Ryan pyjamas, fourconsecutive days’ worth of bed hair atop his head, and smelling strongly ofcitron tea. He’s nuzzling into his chest now, too, making these sorry littlesnuffling noises.

Hot.

Sophisticated.

Laughing quietly to himself, Jungkook rubs his back a coupletimes, tightening his grip to pull him in a little closer. ‘The bravest hyung,’he murmurs into his hair, pressing a kiss there.

Namjoon hums contentedly, slipping a hand under Jungkook’sshirt to rest over his stomach. ‘Get me Melona,’ he finally mumbles. ‘And thosecreamy berry ones Jin-hyung brought, but don’t mix them up with the other berryones Tae brought because they were the fucking worst. It was like swallowingacid.’

Jungkook nods to himself as he rattles off the order: ‘Melona,creamy berries, no acid popsicles, got it,’ he says, kissing Namjoon’s crownagain before jostling him a little. ‘You know you gotta get off me before I canleave, right, hyung?’

Namjoon chuckles, a low, flat sound, though Jungkooksupposes it’d be meant to come across as evil if he had the heart for the fulltheatrics. ‘You’re the one who sat back down, Jeon, accept your fate,’ he says,bringing his head up again to rest on the pillow by Jungkook.

‘You looked so pitiful, what was I meant to do?’ Jungkookasks him.

Even with his eyes shut, he managed to glower. ‘I don’t wantyour pity.’

Jungkook grins at him. ‘Yes, you do.’

‘I do,’ Namjoon admits, finally cracking a smile. It’s asmall thing, almost microscopic, but still, it’s the first decent one Jungkook’sseen in a while.

‘I like that,’ he murmurs.

Namjoon’s eyes flicker open again. ‘What?’

Jungkook reaches up to poke at where the shadow of his leftdimple appeared just a moment ago. ‘There was a smile, right here.’

‘Impossible,’ Namjoon scoffs. ‘I’m dying, Kook-ah, didn’t you get the memo? We don’t have time forjoy. You haven’t even written my eulogy.’

Jungkook rolls his eyes. ‘The whole block got the memo, hyung, but that was a smile.’ His own grinwidens as he leans in to land a peck on Namjoon’s fiery cheek. ‘A pretty smile,’ he coos, sickly sweet,enough to rot anything within a 12-mile radius.

Namjoon makes a face, seeming utterly disgusted, butJungkook swears the colour in his cheeks deepens even more. ‘Shut up,’ he groans.

‘No, you shut up,’Jungkook shoots back, reaching up to clap a hand over Namjoon’s mouth when heopens it to say something indignant. ‘Hyung, the doc even said you’re not meanttalking so much.’

‘If I can’t kiss you ortalk to you,’ Namjoon grumbles, tugging Jungkook’s hand away from his mouth, ‘then,what’s the point? Just euthanize mealready.’

And he’s doing it again, the sad eyes, big and glassy andpitiful, and Jungkook couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to, heaving a heavysigh as he hooks a hand under Namjoon’s chin, tips it up and catches his lips. They’rechapped raw from the fever, in no fit state for kissing, but it’s only a smallthing, light and lingering. Still, Namjoon makes this noise low down in hissore throat, like a soft whimper, and Jungkook swears it takes all he’s got notto groan in reply. He’s missed this.He’s missed all that loving exchange of uncontaminated bodily fluids, too, nomatter how much he’s been teasing Namjoon for all his whining.

‘There,’ he murmurs, rubbing his nose gently against Namjoon’sbefore he pulls away.

Namjoon seems to take a moment for himself, eyes still shut,face caught somewhere between pain and reverence, and Jungkook finds it’s amighty struggle not to kiss him again.

‘You’re gonna die,’ Namjoon finally says, opening his eyesagain to glower wearily. ‘Why’d you do that?’

Jungkook quirks up an eyebrow. ‘Because you asked me to?’

‘I wasn’t serious,’Namjoon says, voice rising and cracking painfully again from the stress ofbeing half a decibel above a whisper. Jungkook rubs a sympathetic thumb gentlyover the front of his throat. ‘You knowI wasn’t serious, Kook-ah.’

With a mischievous grin that Namjoon is to sick and slow todecipher before he strikes, Jungkook gets him again, another gentle kiss righton the corner of his mouth before he pulls away fast. He’s off the couch whenNamjoon starts squawking, lifting a cushion to throw, but Jungkook’s quick towag a pointed finger at him.

‘Ah-ah! No talking,’ he says, biting the inside of his cheekwhen Namjoon’s eyes go even wider with indignation. ‘I’m serious, too. And now you’ve had your death kiss, so I’m gonna get outta here before I’m late.’

Namjoon slumps into the couch again, hugging the pillow tohis chest instead, looking huffy, but Jungkook knows. He seems brighteralready, eyes not quite as flat as they were, that pout to tense, almost as ifhe’s holding it against a smile. He keeps up the act the whole time Jungkook’sgetting his jacket on and hitching the backpack to end all backpacks up ontohis shoulders.

He stops on his way past to drop another kiss on Namjoon’sforehead. ‘Don’t kick it before I get back, okay?’ he murmurs, smiling at theway Namjoon’s lips twitch – he’s the worst at pretending to be mad. ‘Try tosleep more, hyung. Text me if there’s anything else you want.’

Namjoon is dutifully silent, nodding once, curt, but asJungkook’s nearing the door, he feels the heavy thud of a cushion hitting theback of his head. For such a klutz, a cranky Kim Namjoon really does haveincredible aim when it comes to throwing shit at his devoted boyfriend.

it’s like 3am, i just wanted to post this, so i’m rly prayin there were no obvious mistakes or holes, lmao. i hope you liked this~

[vinnymauro-chenzomauro]

Can we see some of your writing? You don't have to post it if you want.

Sure, here you go. It’s from a fan fiction, if you don’t mind:“I’m Vinny. I can feel what you’re feeling right now. I can feel the feelings of this entire room. Very tense. Very, very tense. I can also influence feelings as well. The only cool thing about me is that I’m part dragon. I’m the last of my kind,” The smallest male said. He was about 5’5” with shoulder length light-ish brown hair. He had light hazel, greyish eyes that looked almost snake-like as they shifted under certain lights. He had a slight tan from being in the sun so much, as I presume. His smile was as bright as, if not brighter, than the sun. He wiggled his nose like a bunny and looked to the guy Andy introduced as Chris.“I’m Chris Cerulli or Motionless whichever you prefer. I’m a vampire,” The tallest one smiled at me and showed vampire-like teeth. He was tall and lanky with jet black hair that looked like that of a dog’s when you give it a bath, greasy and messy all at the same time. Behind him were four or five others just like him.“I’m Joshua Balz. B-A-L-Z is how you spell my last name. I know, I know, you can tease me about it but that’s my real last name. There’s no getting around it now that the government has fallen due to that douchebag president, Donald trump. All of my friends call me just plain Balz. I am just really strong,” A bald, tattooed man said, stepping out from behind Chris. A woman stepped out from behind him. She was just as tattooed as him. “This is my wife Ryan-Ashley, she’s just a normal human being.” “I’m Ryan. I’m normal too,” A man with dark black hair and piercing brown eyes told me. He smiled as a woman stepped out from behind Ryan. She was a little heavier set with straight brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She had an amazing smile and she seemed nice enough. “This is my girlfriend Samantha. But you all can call her Sammie.”“I’m just a normal person as well. My name is Richard Olson, people call me Ricky. But only my friends can call me Ricky,” This man had the same piercing blue eyes as Sammie. He was small and lanky. Ricky had dark hair with blonde roots. He looked around the warehouse and tapped his foot against the ground.“Come on Rick, stop being so nervous. This place is amazing and Phoenix seems like a nice enough woman. Come on Rick, calm down or do I have to calm you down?” Vinny shot a glare at Rick and he stopped, straightening up. I flinched at the sound of the word woman.“Phoenix is actually one of our male members. He’s an amazing warrior and can not transition because of the war. He was going to transition once but the hospital we were at was ransacked by a whole bunch of criminals on their way to Seattle a few years back. But he’ll get his transition one day. We’re sure of that. But for now, he’s an amazing, bigender soul with the body of a much more feminine person,” Jinxx wrapped an arm around my waist and I nodded lightly. The group nodded back and smiled.“I’m Devin Sola. I can see and hear ghosts. That’s why my friends call me Ghost. You guys can call me Ghost as well. Actually, I’m like Phoenix, except I want to be a female. So if you would be so kind and use feminine pronouns for me pease,” A small-ish man with a whole bunch of Tim Burton tattoos waved at me. I nodded and looked at all of them. They were all seemingly good people and I hoped for the best that they didn’t have to stay here long, a large crowd around me is never a good idea.“So, what’s your story bodyguards? It seems like all of you have a story that you want to tell,” I walked them over the a set of tables and chairs. Balz pushed the heavy-they were roughly a hundred pounds of industrial strength steel-tables together. He brought up all of the chairs necessary for my new bodyguards plus Jinxx and I. We all sat down in unison and I waited for someone to start the story. Finally Chris opened his mouth to speak. “We came here all the way from Canada, originally from Pennsylvania. We were sheltered by the Wild Ones up there. To be quite honest, I don’t know why I chose Canada, I just did. It seemed like the best option for us. We could be tracked down through CODIS and NDIS or some software like that. I couldn’t take that risk, so all of our fingerprints have been burned off. All of us escaped, and are escaping, persecution in Pennsylvania. I was going in for charges of murder. Apparently I had killed a police officer while trying to escape the psychiatric ward I was in. Balz and Ryan Ashley were going in for assault. They had apparently beat up a woman who had been calling Ryan Ashley names all night,”“She called me a cunt and a bitch what else was I supposed to do? Just walk away? I had to do something. So, I decked her in the face. There is no apparently about it. I decked her and it meant something. That whore deserved it. She even called Balz a fucking freak of nature. I didn’t need that skank bringing my baby down. He was a world champion weight lifter. He’s not a freak of nature. He’s my pumpkin and finance,” Ryan Ashley interjected and Chris rolled his eyes.“Can I continue my story hot stuff? Or do you want to tell it,” Chris bared his fangs and hissed lowly, like an angered cat. Ryan Ashley shrinked up and went quiet. Balz stood up slightly and Chris hissed at him as well. His eyes became red and snakelike. “Why do you have to talk to her like that, Chris? Do you really hate her that much,” Balz looked at Chris and Vinny made a gesture. Chris and Balz went misty eyed before they sat back down in their respective chairs. Even Ryan Ashley went momentarily misty eyed. Jinxx widened his eyes and nodded a bit. Like he was making a mental note of something.“As I was saying, Ryan was going to trial for assaulting a police officer. Both Ricky and Ghost were picked up on prostitution and murder. Vinny was picked up for some random drug charges. F.E.A.R was ready to prosecute all of us for crimes we didn’t commit,” Chris paused for a moment, looking between Ghost and Ricky. “Hey, it’s not my fault I’m fucking sexy as all hell,” Ghost licked her lips sexily and leaned forward. Her ample breasts sat on the table, spilling out of her shirt and onto the table. The were tattooed and beautiful. From my position at the table I could see that Jinxx had pitched a tent.“That you are baby, that you are. You’re gorgeous. You’re a modern day Aphrodite. Now let Chris tell his story sweetie. These kind people need to know our story,” Ricky touched her hand and smiled. She went quiet, shifting in her seat a little bit. Clearly they had some type of sexual or romantic relationship going on.“Well, all of us except for Ghost and Ricky were accused of crimes we hadn’t committed. They were actually selling their bodies to random Johns and Janes. The Janes loved watching Ghost and Ricky go at it,” Chris sighed and looked to the pair again.“It was demeaning Chris. It was absolutely disgusting. Women like that should not be fertilizing our relationship. Real male loving males do not need that in their lives. We do not need that or women loving women. We are not some fangirl’s little wet dream,” Ricky pulled Ghost to his side. “It may look like we’re straight, but when we first met, Ghost was not in the form she was now. But we were happy and those cunts used her…illness, or whatever they want to say instead of using the word transgender, as a way to jack off. It was disgusting.”“Anyways, we were a relatively good band before all of this happened. We’d like to think that we were going to become mainstream. We called ourselves Motionless In White. We were going down the drain for a while, that’s why Rick and Ghost turned to prostitution. Our entire house was raided for evidence. Luckily, we salvaged a few thousand of our CDs before the police raided the studio. We’ve been selling them on the road for money and we’ve been recording up in Canada. We’ve been working a new album up there in our spare time. It’s an album for Valentine’s Day, songs for our lovely partners. Jamie and Gaia were taken too soon from us. They were killed way too soon for any of our likings. Jamie was killed in a car crash. She was luckily killed on impact. We were so glad that she didn’t have to suffer through any pain. Gaia was trampled to death by some crazed fans. It’s not like we couldn’t control our fans. It’s just that Gaia was accidently pulled into the mosh pit and everything went downhill from there. It happened so quickly, too. I-I mean we- had no time to react. W couldn’t save her. Ricky and I wanted to honor our lost loves. Ghost wanted to honor all of those who had died for love, who died because of who they love. It was quite a nice album and concept. All we need is Vinny’s testimony of love and then we’ll be done,” Chris looked at Vinny and he blushed a bit.“There is a guy, no one really liked that I was guy who pined over a guy I saw once in another life…in another timeline. Where none of this happened and we were a huge band that was going to release an album called…Graveyard Shift, I think. But no one will believe that I actually love him so much,” Vinny smiled at me and I looked down, avoiding his glance after it had become awkward.“That’s because alternate timelines do not exist. It’s just a figment of your imagination. You made it up to relieve the pressure of being in this war. We all do it and you’ve taken it way too far. We all know it. You’ll speak his name in your sleep. You’ve gone batshit Vincenzo and that’s it,” Josh spat at Vinny as Vinny shrunk back into his seat. Vinny pulled at the edges of his torn sweatshirt. “We really did lose a lot of people on the way, sometimes our own minds. It was too big of a group I guess. We lost two of our former drummers on the way up to Canada though. Angelo Parente and Brandon Richter. We don’t know what happened to the other former members, but we assume that they’re dead or dying. We’ve had to kill a few group members because they literally lost their minds. That’s why we had to kill Angelo. I really loved him and I was pretty unsure of my feelings. So I never told him until he had a mental breakdown. He was shaky, violent and completely suicidal. I told him how much I cared for him and he became better for awhile. Then Angel literally broke and“We barely made it to Canada. We almost lost Ghost on the way. The Shadows burned down our safehouse. They chased us all the way to the border. Ghost barely made it out of the house alive. She had severe burns all of her body. They’re still there, all up and down her left side. The fire never touched her face. Though she did get blinded by one of the Shadows. We were at a loss to be honest with you. I had no idea how to lead a team after all that has happened to us. We weren’t Wild Ones, technically at least. I mean, we are powerful in our own rights, but we didn’t have the numbers to start our own chapter from where we were. No one really wanted to follow us into battle. We had lost too many people along the way to even consider having people follow us, especially me. That’s when we got picked up by the Toronto chapter of the Wild Ones. Casey, Olivia, Catherine, Justice and Tatiana have been very nice to us. But sadly, they too, have moved on. The Shadows burned down the building we were staying at and this time, they got Vinny. He was burned quite badly as well. But we were able to save him in time before any of his burns got too serious. That was about a month back and we are all still recovering from that event,” Chris sighed and looked over to Ghost an Vinny. She stood up and peeled off her shirt without any hesitation. It was like she had done this before in many different situations. Vinny, on the other hand, moved more slowly. It was like he was insecure of his own body and it made a lot of sense for him to be that way. He was a burn victim and his body was proof of the war we were still fighting to this day. We didn’t need for this war to happen and both of them were proof of why we didn’t need this war at all. They were the reason that we needed to stop fighting over stupid, little, idiotic problems.Her pale skin was contrasted by bright pink burn scars that reached up towards her neck. She twisted her head up to the light and showed a continuation of the burns on her chest. Jinxx and I looked on in awe. I never noticed that one of her eyes was paler than the other. That is what Chris must have been talking about. She looked over at Balz, who nodded. She put her shirt back on and sat down. Our eyes moved to Vinny’s smaller body. Vinny’s body was much more red than Ghost’s and showed how recently he received the burns. His burns didn’t stretch as far up as Ghost’s and his burns were more concentrated on the right side of his torso. His skin was peeling and red. Some burns were still greasy and wet looking. Soot clung to his skin in some spots and gave him an eerie, sickly glow to his skin.“The Shadows took my little brother. They killed him in cold blood. They killed my older sister too. Right after I went to join Motionless, they killed my whole family. Those damn Shadows tried killing me too. But they couldn’t really kill the last of the vampires,” Chris looked over all of us and sighed. “We needed help, specifically your help. No one actually wanted to help a bunch of misfits like us. You’re a bunch of misfits and misfits help misfits.”