#seriously they just got out of a shitty situation only to stumble into another one lol

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee had finally managed to escape the whumper, and after countless efforts, finally thought they could be safe- but this wasn’t true for long. The whumper tore through countless things just to find their favorite captive. when they finally recaptured the whumpee, the whumper made sure that they would never escape again.

[britishassistant]

Soul Searching (Is Harder If You Have Different Maps)

Leona (dream sharing) - Yuu (first words)

It’s been on your wrist for as long as you can remember.

A short paragraph in neat, flowing handwriting, forming one of the oddest sentences you’ve ever read.

Your half-siblings gave you no end of grief about it once the Words Resolved, at least one of them leaking it whenever you moved up a year in school so everybody always knew.

Your father ordered you to keep it covered at all times, then ignored it and you from then on. Just another way you were a stain on the family name.

One of the good things about leaving was at least it became your own.

You buy a new cover, the nicest you can afford with your meager funds. Not because you’re ashamed of it, but because for the first time in your life you could control who knew about it. It was yours, no one else’s.

Still. You really can’t imagine what sort of first encounter you’ll have with your soulmate that results in what’s on your wrist.

Maybe they have a pet? A dog or a cat?

Conversely, even though your meeting requires you to (you hope not seriously) potentially hurt an animal, you find yourself becoming hyper-aware of them. Always keeping a healthy distance between them and yourself.

It helps when you wake up in a coffin after dreaming about (maybe living through?) your gruesome death via monster to a talking, fire-breathing tanuki trying to steal your clothes.

You don’t think stepping on it would improve your situation any.

You’re distracted, is the thing.

You’ve somehow been transported to another world, forced to live in a should-be-condemned building, made a groundskeeper, watched as Grim the monster-tanuki burnt a statue and broke a chandelier with the help of a cocky feckless asshole and a dumbass wannabe honor student, had your ribs broken by a nightmarish ink-like monster that you still can’t find any information on, defeated that monster by somehow getting Grim, the feckless asshole and dumbass honor student to cooperate with your improvised plan, made a two-in-one student and a prefect, hosted Ace in your ramshackle dorm when he pissed off his dorm leader, had a weird dream about a queen and some cards you barely remember, tried to get Grim to attend classes, somehow got shanghai’d into making a mont blanc to appease the same dorm leader who Ace somehow belatedly realized was his soulmate, and—!

Look, it’s been a long two days, alright?

So maybe, when Grim dashes off the path to go steal some random fruit you’ve never seen before, you’re more concerned with catching him than watching where you’re going.

With your luck, Grim’ll end up rolling around in poison ivy. The magical equivalent of poison ivy. Which he’ll transfer to you first thing, but he won’t be affected by because he’s got fur.

You stumble as something… round and thin disrupts your footing by being inconveniently beneath your sole.

“Ow!”

Maybe it was a hose? A greenhouse this big has got to have some sort of sprinkler system, after all. Hopefully you haven’t bent it or anything.

Also since when was Grim’s voice that deep?

“Oi. You’ve got some nerve, stepping on someone’s tail without saying anything.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, come on.

At least he’s good looking, the treacherous part of your brain whispers as a boy so tall and broad he can only really be called a man stands and pins you in place with a glare. With all the ways this could’ve turned out, you really got lucky with this one, didn’t you?

The rest of you mentally screams at it to shut up, because holy shit, this guy has animal ears and a tail and there is no way in hell you could’ve predicted this in a million years.

“Fnah? Are you the custodian here?” Because naturally, Grim would decide now’s the best time to abandon his quest for food. “You look like a rude guy, y’know?”

The guy who said the words on your wrist (your soulmate, your soulmate, he’s your soulmate!) curls his lip. “I may have been in the middle of a shitty nap, but you went and walked on my tail. I can’t just let you get away with that.”

You’re the one who left your tail lying where anyone can step on it…is what you want to say, but for some reason the words won’t come out your mouth.

He tilts his head. “You…aren’t you that herbivore the mirror said can’t use magic? Hmm…”

He seizes your tie and the front of your shirt in a fist, and you discover that being lifted by your clothes? Is something that can and does happen in the reality you now inhabit. You’re hauled up until you’re dangling just below your soulmate’s eye level, getting an unwitting closeup of his collarbone and down his shirt.

You try and will yourself to stop staring.

He leans forwards and his nose twitches as he inhales repeatedly. Is he…is he smelling you?!

“I-I bathe daily!” You splutter out.

You immediately want to find a wall and slam your head into it. The first words you say to your soulmate, what he’ll have been judging your character by right up until this moment, and this is what you come up with? “I bathe daily”? No wonder your soulmate’s wearing gloves.

Your father was right to disown you.

“Ha. I really can’t smell a spark of magic on you.” Your soulmate drawls, one of his ears flickering. “I don’t really feel like taking on an opponent that can’t resist…but it’s not like I, Leona-sama can let you just walk away after stepping on my tail, right?”

You have a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Wh-mmfph?!”

It’s hard to finish your sentence around the hand that this guy has just shoved into your mouth.

“Now,” You can feel his glove-clad fingers poking and prodding at one of your canines with intent. “I was having a shitty dream, and got woken up so rudely that it’s pissed me off. I think a tooth is a fair trade for that, right?”

Oh fuck no.

You think you can hear Grim babbling about running away somewhere around this guy’s ankles, while your legs windmill uselessly in midair.

The hand that’s not trying to fruitlessly pull at his wrist scrabbles for sharpened pencil in your pants pocket. You rip it out and brandish it as menacingly as you can.

“Hoh?” He still looks amused, damn him. “And what are you planning on doing with that, herbivore?”

“Ay’ll ta’e y’r othe’ eye ‘f y’dun ge’ y’r ‘and ou’ a ma mouf!” You threaten with as much bravado as you can muster.

Judging by the way his grin widens, it’s much less effective than you were hoping it would be.

He opens his mouth—

“Leona-san!”

And just like that, it’s like someone’s flicked off a light switch. His eyes go flat, his ears droop, his mouth thins into an annoyed scowl.

He also drops you.

You land hard on your tailbone on the stone path, coughing and gagging from the sudden removal of his entire hand from your mouth.

“Minion!” Grim pounces on your stomach, which does not help with how winded you are. “Are you okay? Did he take all yer teeth?”

You shake your head, trying to wordlessly convey that you’re mostly unharmed.

“Leona-San, there you are.” Another boy with ears and a tail and dyed blond hair comes strolling up the path. “I’ve been sent to get you for your remedi—ah? Don’t tell me you’ve traumatized another firstie again already.”

Again?

“Already?!” Grim squeaks.

The guy who is apparently the other half of your soul turns his head to shoot you a dangerous smirk.

You scoop up Grim and run for your life.

You’re panting by the time you reach the outside of the greenhouse where Ace and Deuce are waiting.

“Ah, Prefect, Grim, we found some…hey, what happened to you?” Deuce asks, taking in the sight of you, bent almost double as you try to get your breath back.

“Th-there was a really rude custodian sleeping in there!” Grim bursts out. “He was super scary!”

“Custodian?” Ace tilts his head. “What are you talking about?”

“I just met my soulmate.” You sing-song quietly.

“Wha-seriously?!” Ace’s face begins quirking in an astonished grin. “Both of us in the same day! Damn, what are those odds?”

“Congratulations, Prefect!” Deuce says, clapping you on the shoulder. “Who is he? What’s he like?”

“He was going to rip my teeth out.” You say brightly, unable to get the sing-song out of your voice.

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Hah?” Ace says blankly. “Wait, seriously?! This isn’t some kinda joke?! And I thought what the dorm head did to me was bad.”

“Maybe it’ll get better?” Deuce, the kind, naive sap, suggests.

It does not get better.

Turns out that the weird dreams about the Queen and the cards and the little girl? Get followed up by Dorm Head Rosehearts overblotting and becoming the same kind of monster that broke your ribs.

You leave that encounter with a torn ligament in your ankle, and another dream of that monster murdering you brutally.

(Except this time, Ace, Deuce, and Trey are trying to fight it and dying to it alongside you, and before its teeth close around your head, you glimpse that the beast’s front paws are actually a grasping, disturbing pair of hands…

You wake in a cold sweat, body shaking and fingers numb around charcoal you don’t remember buying as you try to sketch out the monstrosity, as if confining it to paper will lessen its threat.)

Despite your terror, life goes on. You’re lulled into a routine of going to class, corralling Grim, trying not to die when bits of your Dorm collapse suddenly, making repairs, dealing with your ghostly roommates, hanging out with Ace and Deuce, and doing homework when you find the time.

And then your soulmate decides the best way to prepare for a sports tournament is by maiming the competition.

Your bad feeling from the dreams returning, this time with a Lion rather than a Queen, is only intensified when the headmaster threatens you and bribes Grim into investigating the “accidents”.

Even if he says “The Prefect is so diligent at note-taking I’m sure it’ll be a cinch~” isn’t pushing this kind of thing onto you really way too carefree for an adult?!

The only good thing about this investigation is you, Grim, Deuce, and Cater-senpai get a front seat to Ace’s corny flirtations at Riddle-senpai, and Riddle-senpai’s flustered reactions to him. It’s nice to see they’re getting along well.

It becomes readily apparent from your interviews that the only dorm to be entirely unaffected is Savannaclaw. Even if there are strong players from other dorms who haven’t been injured, they’re usually the type whose…personality quirks have provided them with a defense against the fates that befell their weaker dorm-mates.

Savannaclaw is the only one with all players in fighting form. That, combined with Jack Howl’s certainty that he won’t have an accident when rebuffing Grim’s offer of protection…

Of course, this is when three upperclassmen decide that it’s time to circle you, Ace, Deuce and Cater. Their threats are almost laughably cliche, but when they’ve got the muscle to back it up…

“What’s all this yapping for? Annoying.”

All the muscles in your back lock up.

“Dorm Head Kingscholar!” One of the upperclassmen barks as the jerk who might match your soul strides towards your group followed by the dyed blond guy who took Grim’s sandwich.

Well, at least that gives you a complete name to put to the face. Not that you wanted one.

He looks…? He’s slouching like he hasn’t a care in the world, like he’s the one with all the power here but it’s. Off, somehow. Not quite the casual ease he had when messing with you in the Botanical Gardens, no matter how hard he’s trying to seem otherwise.

“Aren’t you the herbivore who stepped on my tail?” Dorm Head Leona Kingscholar asks rhetorically, prompting his riled up dorm mates to turn towards you, teeth bared.

Your jaw clenches. “And you’re the creep with the tooth fetish. How’ve your naps been lately? I hope karma isn’t making your nightmares too unbearable.”

That gets his eyes narrowing at you, a growl rumbling from his chest and dumb tail swishing as his groupies’ snarls ratchet up a notch.

You can’t say you aren’t grateful for the way Ace and Deuce step in front of you, Grim hissing from the safety of your shoulders, like they could actually do anything if your soulmate decided to assault you again.

The impromptu game of Magift that he challenges the investigation team to certainly feels like one, a beat down dressed up in the guise of a “friendly match” with how often your boys are getting body checked out of the way and the sparks of white hot magic coming from the disk that even have you ducking for cover. There’s no way that this can be safe. It’s as if they’re hoping to take all of you out of commission if they injure you badly enough here.

It takes Jack Howl intervening for you all to have the pretext to escape without any major injuries. You should be following Cater’s speedy retreat, it would be the smart move…

But something stops you in your tracks, leaves you gnawing at your thumbnail as you watch the Dorm Head of Savannaclaw.

All this—the dreams, the plotting for control over something that’s usually left to chance, the weary dorm head you suspect is behind it all, it’s pricking at your brain, drawing comparisons between what happened a few weeks ago with Riddle-senpai. Which is ridiculous, Crowley told you that Overblot is rare and that Riddle’s case was the first time there’s been a major outbreak in decades, but—

Well. You didn’t survive the last 15 years by having the luxury to write connections like this off as mere coincidence.

Which leads to your next quandary: do you attempt to say something? Leona Kingscholar may be a bastard, but you are still his soulmate, even if he doesn’t act like it. The idea of him ending up as one of those monsters that Riddle-senpai became…it makes your fingers go cold and bile rise in your throat. But how—?

He catches your eye.

“See something you like, herbivore?”

You can feel your expression fall flat. “Hardly. A fool on an errand is never an impressive sight. Except, perhaps, for seeing how deep he can dig himself.”

“Hn. I feel like I could say the same whenever I see you.” Kingscholar-senpai retorts, the same damn amusement on his face again as he saunters over to you. Like he’s enjoying himself.

You have to take a breath to keep from gritting your teeth, letting him see how much he’s riling you up, even as he starts reaching towards your face. “Listen. If I could offer some advice? I would tread carefully, if I were you. The path you’re going down with all this, this, you may not like where you end up. If you do, more power to you, but…I wouldn’t want to see you biting off more than you can chew.”

“Even if I knew what you were talking about herbivore,” His grin curls wider when he pinches you chin between his fingers. “Which I don’t, what makes you think that someone like you has any right to tell me what to do? Even among lions there are limits to arrogance, you know.”

You can feel blood rush to your cheeks are indignation flares hot in your gut. Why this little—!

You pull your face out of his hand and turn sharply on your heel, striding off after your friends as his laughter echoes in your ears.

Fine. Fine! It seems that you’re going to have to take Ace’s approach to the problem. Try and put a stop to whatever mayhem Leona Kingscholar is causing before he can reach overblot status. Your soulmate, your responsibility.

You’re just hoping you’ll be slightly more successful this time than you all were with Riddle.

So you end up in the infirmary again.

Jumping off of a set of collapsing bleachers while your soulmate’s Unique Magic eats a hole into your side during his overblot doesn’t make you a better Magift player, surprisingly.

Though you were mostly sitting on the sidelines and shouting directions to Grim, Ace and Deuce until the disk came flying at the back of your head.

At least you’re not alone here though.

In the bed next to yours is Kingscholar-senpai, with Buchie-senpai in the one on his other side.

Your thoughts are still fixed on what Kingscholar-senpai was saying before his overblot, his anger at his powerlessness and his despair at being unable to change anything due to something as immutable as birth.

You’re wondering whether it would be good to talk to him about it once everyone else has left, to tell him a bit about yourself and where you come from, just enough to let him know you understand, even if you don’t condone sabotaging sports tournaments or overblots. Except no, Buchie-senpai will still be here too, the last thing he wants to be subject to is the pair of soulmates who are responsible for his injuries getting mushy when he can’t escape. Maybe this kind of conversation is a bit too heavy to have while you’re both still trying to heal, so perhaps it would be better to ask him to meet you alone once you’re both out of the infirmary?

And then a tiny, excitable angel of a child scurries into the room, looking for Leona-oji-tan, and your soulmate’s hands come up to stabilize the boy when he clambers onto his stomach.

His gloves are off.

There are a limited number of areas where your soulmate’s words can appear, and all of them are localized to the arms, hands, and neck. The lowest anyone has ever had words appear outside of these areas was over the breastbone, and the studies you’ve read showed that this was purely because the poor girl’s soulmate was giving an extremely long and impassioned speech on women’s right to suffrage that took up her neck and both of her arms besides.

Leo—Kingscholar’s overblot form didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination, and it makes sense, given that he hadn’t shown any reaction to your first words to him, but with the inky blot over his hands, you had thought, you had hoped—!

Your words aren’t there. At all.

It’s unrequited.

Of course it is. Of course.

It’s you, after all.

You spend a few days moping once you get out of the infirmary.

It’s not helped by the fact that the dream of the monster that kills you is back with a vengeance, tearing apart Riddle, Cater, and Buchie-senpai before shaking out its leonine fur as it prepares to pounce—!

(You hate how the drawing is getting more detailed.)

And that’s not even mentioning the other dream where you heard knocking from the inside of your mirror…

Between the stresses of the dreams, exhaustion from the crutches you need while the injury on your thigh and hip heals, and the new revelation about your soul’s other half…well, is it any surprise you don’t feel as energetic as before? You’re dealing with enough as it is. Between school and navigating your broken down excuse of a dorm, it’s a wonder you can get out of bed in the morning, much less socialize.

Kingscholar-san sends Jack bearing a brand new uniform to Ramshackle, only one size too big. It takes everything you have to smile and thank him without the annoying waver your voice has taken on lately.

It only ends when you look up one morning to see Grim nudge his tuna can back towards you, a worried frown on his furry little face.

“I dun’ need it.” He insists. “You eat, minion. You need ta build up yer strength and fill yer tummy, you’ve been all droopy and sad and not eatin’! What kinda great magician would I be if I couldn’t look after one a’ my minions? So be grateful, fgnah!”

You try and tell him that you’re fine, you’ve got your rice and egg, but he refuses to budge until you’ve choked down a little under half of the can.

You’re not sure whether it was the shock of greedy, selfish Grim insisting you take his food or how unpleasant eating the oily, unseasoned cat-food-level tuna was, but after you clean your teeth you give yourself a long, hard look in the mirror.

You…well, let’s be honest.

You look like shit. Tired and in pain, yes, but more than that you look like you did when you were floundering on your own for the first time at 14. Alone and directionless and reeling from loss.

You look like you’ve given up.

That more than anything else, makes you scoff in disgust. Really? Of all the things you’ve lived through, all the letdowns you’ve experienced, this is what beats you? A guy? One you don’t even know very well, and is under no obligations towards you besides? Are you seriously making yourself miserable over the hope of a possibility that’s been crushed?

As if.

You didn’t let your middle school graduation break you. You didn’t let your disownment break you. You are not going to lose yourself over an unrequited soulmate.

You’re trying to get back to your world, after all. And sure, you may be leaving a piece of your soul here, and it will hurt, but you’ll live. You’ll move on. You’ll survive.

You slap your cheeks twice.

At lunch, you announce, “I’m going to need some help carrying paint and wood back to my dorm after classes today.”

Ace and Deuce stare at you as you continue, “It’s seriously a pain to try and guess where I can put my crutches that won’t send them through the floors again. Even the ghosts are getting tired of all the holes. Plus, it’s just, really filthy, you know? If it’s going to take the headmaster this long to send me back, I’d rather live somewhere that isn’t going to fall down on me and Grim in our sleep or give us tetanus.”

You feel your smile begin to falter slightly as the silence continues.

“Freaking finally, fgnah!” Grim cheers through a mouthful of your curry. “It’s about time Ramshackle got an upgrade to reflect the majesty of the Great Genius Grim!”

“O-of course, Prefect!” Deuce, angel that he is, puffs out his chest. “I’d be glad to help out!”

“I’m not carrying jack shit.” Ace says, little shit that he is. “But try asking Jack or Riddle or Trey-senpai with that face—it’s so pathetic they’ll probably do anything you ask.”

You kick him in the shins, out of principle.

And then it turns out that Ace, Deuce, and Grim have all gone and sold their souls to the dorm head of Octavinelle in exchange for academic success.

Because, lest you forget, your closest friends and associates are absolute morons.

At least they had the decency to wait until you’d been off the crutches for two weeks and finals were done before springing this onto you.

(You should have known when you woke on the last day of exams to dreams of mermaids and shipwrecks, but you were so busy trying to track down who this figure could possibly be, trying to uncover something, anything more about overblot in the texts that are overdue for the library to update your wall that—!

But that’s hardly an excuse. You should have known.)

Crowley once again commands you to investigate the Octavinelle Dorm Head, with the understanding that your meager allowance for food will be jeopardized if not.

Azul Ashengrotto, as you and Jack discover while following him around, is for all appearances a model student, if a bit of a kiss-up. He is careful to never do anything untoward where the public can see.

Azul Ashengrotto is a boy with what romantics call “a threefold soul”. The one in his body is partnered with the two inside the twins, who only leave his side to slink up to you with promises of deals that will solve all of your problems.

Azul Ashengrotto will only consent to freeing all the students if you sign a contract with him. Three days to steal a photograph from a museum in the Coral Sea, or you join Grim, Ace and Deuce in servitude.

It’s not the first time you’ve signed a contract with every fiber of your being screaming “NO”, but hopefully this will be the last.

And, just to add insult to injury, what Azul Ashengrotto wants as collateral more than anything else? Is your dorm that you and your friends spent the past months making downright hospitable as a way to distract from your soulmate issues.

You think you’re meant to be grateful that those twins let you grab what few changes of clothes you could before throwing you and Grim out.

You are grateful to Jack for offering you a room in Savannaclaw so you don’t need to squeeze into a bed with Ace and Deuce in a four student room, even if that means you’ll definitely come into contact with the person you’ve been avoiding since his overblot.

This gratitude lasts for about as long as it takes Kingscholar-san to open his mouth.

“They can’t stay here.” He grumbles, looking almost as weary as before his overblot. “The empty rooms have been dumping grounds for stuff from the other students—even if they’re used to living in that decrepit wreck, trying to sleep in one of those rooms would be impossible.”

“Hey! Don’t insult our dorm!” Grim protests, hackles raised. “It’s really, really nice now, fgnah!”

“I don’t care.” Kingscholar-san replies.

“Senpai.” Jack groans.

“Ah, I’ve got it.” Buchie-senpai says with a grin you’re really learning to dislike. “We’ll put them in Leona’s room.”

“Do you want me to sew your mouth shut?!” Kingscholar-san growls as you loudly proclaim, “HELL NO.”

“Eh? But Prefect, Leona’s digs would be waaay comfier than any old dusty room.” Buchie-senpai wheedles. “Plus Leona-san is used to having servants sleep in his room as a prince, so this’ll be just like home, right? Plus this way the Prefect and Grim can earn their keep by helping look after him. It’s a win-win!”

There’s a weird interest in Kingscholar-san’s eyes that sends a shiver down your spine (no, stop, stop that, it’s unrequited, he’s not, he doesn’t), before his growl increases in volume. “Ruggie, you—!”

“Right, thanks for the offer Jack but we’re just going to share with Ace or Deuce in Heartslaybul, so…” Back up slowly, very slowly, eyes on them, don’t run.

“Oi.”

You don’t entirely mean to freeze in place at the sound, but your pesky survival instincts have other plans.

Kingscholar-san attempts to cover his scowl with a nonchalant expression. “Well, if you’re truly intent on running away with your tails between your legs, I can’t stop you. After all, only the strong are welcome in Savannaclaw, even if it’s only for three days. But if you’re really sure…oi, you lot! Get out here!”

From the depths of the dorm, three upperclassmen come trooping out. The same three, you note to your displeasure, who tried to waylay the Investigation Team last time.

“Ah! It’s the prey that got away last time! It came back all on its own!” The biggest one crows.

“If you want to stay, you’ll need to prove yourself. Otherwise these three will have the pleasure of escorting you to Heartslaybul.” Kingscholar’s smug look really shouldn’t set your blood ablaze by now. “After all, such delicate, weak herbivores who got taken advantage of need to be looked after so they don’t get gobbled up late at night, right?”

“Who’re you callin’ weak?!” Grim hisses, back arched.

“Aw, does the kitty cat have claws?” The one with floppy ears simpers. “Better have me carry ‘im for you, little prince, otherwise you’ll get aaaall scratched up!”

The three of them cackle like this is the funniest thing they’ve heard all day.

You feel your lip curl.

Fine. Fine! These brats want a piece of you so bad? You’ll show them precisely why the headmaster appointed you “Beast Tamer”.

Grim gave up his fire magic to Azul, so the only real magical support you’ll have against these guys is Jack. But from what you remember from Magift, these upperclassmen are only really good at coordinating when Kingscholar-san is keeping them in line. When they’re on their own…

“Jack, think you can distract the big one until I’m ready?” You ask. “Grim, give the one with the smallest ears the runaround. Pretend he’s Ace and you stole his lunch again.”

“Can do, Prefect.” Jack growls, while the upperclassman with small ears claps a hand over them and yells, “SHUT UP!! THEY AIN'T SMALL, YA BASTARD!!”

“Nah, they’re tiny!!” Grim cackles, darting away like a tiny streak of grey wind, prompting the guy you’ve given a complex to roar and give chase. The biggest one is having similar problems hitting the equally quick Jack, which leaves you in careful position to deal with…

“I’ll make you eat those words!!” The third upperclassman vows as he aims for you with his magic pen.

The last one has the floppy ears of a prey animal rather than a predator. At a guess you’d say some kind of impala or oxen, something with horns. Which means that unlike the other two, who probably rely on their ancestor’s habits of intimidation and claws to inform how they fight, this one is much more used to—

“HIIIYAAAH—!” Charging at threats headfirst.

You skip to the side to avoid the spell he slings at you and hook out your foot to snag one of his.

“Hah!” The punk leaps over your leg. “You gotta try haaaraaaauuowhOAAAAAGH!!”

There’s a large splash as he drops into the pool of water behind you.

You make a show of peering down. “Oh my. Is that much blood normal?”

“GOTAMA!!” The biggest upperclassman shoves past Jack with ease while the one with small ears gives up on chasing Grim, the pair of them rushing to the water’s edge in an attempt to see if their buddy is alright. It’s almost sweet.

Though you’d think with their more sensitive senses, these beastmen would recognize a lie when they hear one.

You catch Grim’s eye and draw an english “m” with your finger. He beams.

All it takes from him is a running leap at the nearest punk to sending him sprawling into the pool on top of his buddy with a scream. Grim spring-boards off of the last one to complete the set and lands safely in your outstretched arms.

You cuddle him to you as he cheers. “Yeah!! Take that, fgnah!”

Jack huffs, looking disapproving even as his tail swishes from side to side. “That was sneaky, Prefect.”

You give him a cheeky “v” with your fingers and a grin, “Well, underhanded tactics are still strength, after all. Right, Kingscholar-san?”

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth, herbivore.” He says that, but his eyes are raking over you, as if seeing you in a new light. As if you’ve impressed him, somehow.

Bad for your heart, that.

It’s possible you may have gotten caught up in their pace and forgotten what this grudge match was for.

“You’re gonna fry in that.” Comes the unwelcome commentary from Kingscholar-san’s bed. “It gets colder at night, but not that cold.”

You clutch at your discount Night Raven College hoodie. Sure it’s big and bulky, but. “Then I’ll deal with it. It’s comfy.”

He rolls over, away from the futon where you and Grim are bunking. You think you hear a mutter of “annoying”.

Grim sticks out his tongue. You do too.

“I heard that.”

You’d almost hoped that being away from Ramshackle would mean the dreams don’t come again.

And for one night, you’re proven right.

It’s the second night, after you’ve gone to bed with advice churning in your brain about destroying the contracts rather than attempting to complete the task Azul had set you, that’s the when they come for you.

You blink awake in the quiet dark of the room, a thin layer of sweat clinging to you.

“Another deal…?” You mutter sleepily to yourself, scrunching your eyes shut. “Guess even mermaids don’t know any better than dealing with octopi…”

There’s a sudden rustle of fabric.

You open your eyes to find Kingscholar-san about half an inch away from your face.

“Are you dreaming about weird twisted versions of the Great Seven?” He demands.

Your mouth goes dry.

“TOO CLOSE!”

He lets you shove his face away until you can sit up before grabbing your wrist and yanking it off.

“Answer the question.” He snarls, grip tightening until the leather of your cover begins to creak under your hoodie.

“I—what?!” You try and parse his nonsensical demands. “No, I just—that was one of the weird dreams I’ve been getting. There was a small fish mermaid, and eels, and this octopus lady who had a contract she was making the little mermaid sign to…I don’t know, go on land, I think? But it’s only recently it’s been mermaids, before that it was lions and then it was queens and cards, and…what’s that look?”

He’s staring intently at you, ears forward and pupils so much larger than they are in the day.

“The Witch of the Sea.” He says, so low that you almost have to strain your ears to hear him. “That’s who the mermaid was making a deal with. The Witch of the Sea, whose benevolence is the basis for Octavinelle House.”

You feel yourself waking up so quickly it’s like caffeine has been injected straight into your veins.

“Then the, the previous two sets of dreams?” You ask, hardly daring to believe your luck.

“The Queen of Hearts, of Heartslaybul.” His eyes dart away from you. “And…the King of the Beasts. For Savannaclaw.”

You gape at him.

You need your notebook, you need to write this all down, this, this is—!

“How’d you not even know who they were?” There’s stifled amusement in Kingscholar-san’s voice as you tear through your clothes from yesterday at the end of your futon, trying to find it.

“I only started hearing about them when I arrived here this year, forgive me if I can’t identify them on sight yet.” You retort, finally finding the little spiral notebook in the pocket of your blazer.

Something long and thin tickles beneath your chin, something fluffy at the end flicking your cheek.

You rear away from it, falling backwards.

You hit something warm and solid and upright, rather than the quickly cooling sheets of your futon. Your position puts you in the ideal position to look up and see Kingscholar-san smirking down at you as you’re caged between his chest and knees.

Oh Seven help you, this is too dangerous.

“I won’t say this isn’t a surprise.” He starts, as the fluffy thing comes back to flick your chin again. His tail. “But it’s not. Hm. There are worse people in this school who could be my soulmate than you, I guess.”

Ice slides down your spine.

“Who,” You rasp as you push yourself up and away. “Who the hell told you?!”

Grim hasn’t been away from you long enough to say anything to Kingscholar, either with you or serving in the Monstro Lounge. Ace may have teased you about it before the Magift Tournament, but after, he clammed up and would always change the subject when someone tried to ask you about it. Deuce is the same, though that doesn’t mean he didn’t blurt something out on accident. Maybe Jack? But no, Jack didn’t know, and even if he did he’s the kind of guy whose moral compass would never—

“What?” Kingscholar-san’s face is a mask of confusion. “You just—”

“And if this is some,” You can feel your face twist as you spit it out, heart pounding double time with hurt. “Pity thing, trying to make the poor, arrogant Prefect feel better because it’s unrequited, then I’d like you to stop, right now. I don’t need to be pandered to, not about something like this.”

His eyebrows lower until he’s giving you a steely glare, and his voice has gone cold. “The hell does that mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” You snap, one hand coming to rub the wrist where your cover lies. “I have your Words, but you don’t have mine anywhere on you. Your dorm uniform is sleeveless, and I’ve seen you without gloves.”

Rather than looking away from you, shame-faced, or admitting to you straight that it was all one big game, to see how he can toy with the person who’s devoted to him but not the other way around, Kingscholar-san says something that leaves you aghast.

“Words? What kind of bullshit are you spouting now?”

You yank up your hoodie sleeve and attack the fastenings on your cover with a ferocity you didn’t know you had, letting it land on a sleeping Grim with a thwap as you shove the underside of your wrist into his face.

He blinks, pushing it back, eyes flicking back and forth as he reads your Words. “What? When did you get this…?”

“I’ve had this since I was four years old!” You cry. “The first Words my soulmate will ever say to me, the way I’ll know who he is, and trust me, if I could have gotten them to Resolve as something else, I would.”

His mouth works soundlessly for a moment, before he says, “That’s not. Soulmates don’t have that.”

You scoff, incredulous. Of all the lame excuses…! “Yes. They do.”

“No, they don’t.” He insists, glaring. “Not in this world.”

“Then why,” You are half a second from either tearing your hair out or punching him in the face and only the gods and the Seven know which. “Does everyone here wear long sleeves or gloves?!”

That actually stops him up short for a second, before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“They are part of the uniform.” He stresses, speaking slowly and loudly like he thinks you’re stupid. “But let me guess, in your world, everyone wears them to cover up that.”

“What other reason is there?!” You fling your arms out to the side. “And don’t you dare try to tell me that soulmates don’t exist in this world or whatever, I’ve been hanging around Ace and Riddle for long enough, I know this world has them!”

“Yeah,” He’s scowling at you, and the fact that he still looks hot like this is pissing you off even more. “But here, soulmates find each other by sharing dreams. Like the ones I’ve had to put up with ever since the start of the school year.”

You freeze mid-retort.

So many things start clicking into place. How Ace wasn’t sure Riddle was his soulmate until the morning after their confrontation over the tart. Why Deuce has so many questions about the meaning of gold in dreams when you’re all meant to be studying in private. The dumb jokes Ace makes about Riddle “keeping him up at night” that have the dorm head turning red and beheading him.

“But why didn’t anyone tell me?” Escapes you in a plaintive murmur.

“I dunno. Why didn’t you tell me that you knew what we were from the moment we met?” Kingscholar-san snipes back.

You scoff, “Oh right, when was I meant to tell you again? When you had your hand in my mouth? Oh! Or maybe it was while telling me that I had arrogance that surpassed even a lion’s when I was worrying about you?”

He face twists into a snarl. “After the overblot then! We were in the infirmary for three days together!”

“And I thought I’d just discovered that my soul bond was unrequited!” You insist, feeling your teeth grit. “I couldn’t put that on you! Not then and certainly not now!”

“And why not?!”

“Because, of all the people in this stupid, insane, dysfunctional, twisted world, you’re the one who shouldn’t have to settle for second-best!” You only realize you’re yelling after the words leave your mouth.

Kingscholar-senpai is staring at you, ears almost flat against his head.

Grim is also staring at you, from where he’s hiding under the covers.

“It’s just…You deserve first prize when it comes to stuff like this.” You finish lamely. “You shouldn’t have to settle for me if you don’t need to.”

Your cheeks are burning, your head is spinning. Why, oh why did you say something so, so melodramatic and stupid?!

“Uh…” There’s a haphazard knock on the doorframe. Buchie-senpai looks incredibly awkward as he continues. “Sorry to interrupt, but, uh. Morning practice?”

“Morning practice! Right!” You have never been happier for an escape. “I-uh-Grim and I need to get ready!”

You scoop Grim up, ignoring his cry of, “But I’m cozy!”

“Herbivore, wait—!”

You aren’t afraid to say you run as fast as your legs can physically take you.

“Please tell me you and Riddle have each others’ Words.” You beg Ace when you meet up with him, Deuce and Jack.

Ace has the audacity to blink at you, bewildered. “Wh-words? Prefect, what the hell are you talking about?”

You take a moment to hide your face in your hands and scream.

That day’s attempts to discover a way to destroy the contract are almost a complete failure.

It’s only thanks to running into Tsunotaro the gargoyle enthusiast outside of Ramshackle that you can add the “almost”.

His words about statuary and forms not matching up to function are bouncing around your head even as you make your slow way back to Savannaclaw. It feels like it should be significant in some way, but how—

“Where the hell have you been?”

Geh.

You’d forgot that coming back here means dealing with him.

“I went to Ramshackle out of habit.” You say breezily, proud of yourself for how you can project nonchalance into your tone. “Ended up talking to a friend who gave me some advice about the situation.”

Kingscholar-san stares at you for a moment, before turning over with a scoff. Dismissing your existence.

Maybe it’s like Vanrouge-senpai said. Leona Kingscholar isn’t the type to expend the energy fighting for what he sees as lost causes.

You huff at the painful twinge in your chest from that thought. You’re over him, you’re over him, you didn’t pour all the blood and sweat into repairing Ramshackle to not be over him by now.

Instead you begin to clean under Buchie-senpai’s instructions, picking up the mess strewing the room—and keeping Grim from pocketing your apparently-not-so-unrequited-soulmate’s valuables along the way.

Which leads to an argument where Buchie-senpai nags Kingscholar-san to hide his valuable before they get stolen, only for your soulmate to retort that he’d like to meet the person who had the guts to steal from him, which makes sense because if he’s truly that confident in his ability to stop a thief, why would—!

“THAT’S IT!”

It finally clicks.

“…vore? Herbivore. Yuu.”

“Hm?” You shake a little, coming back to yourself from where your mind is racing. “Sorry, what is it?”

“You just shouted really loudly, fgnah!” Grim protests. “Made all my fur stand up…”

“Grim.” You kneel down, putting your hands on his little shoulders. “If the contracts really are invincible and untouchable, why does Azul need a safe?”

Grim stares at you, little eyebrows furrowed. “…Because he needs them protected?”

Behind you, Kingscholar-senpai begins to laugh. “Now I see. You’ve thought of something pretty interesting, haven’t you?”

“Eh, so that’s how it is…” Buchie-senpai rubs his chin. “But still, you’re forgetting a pretty big obstacle if you wanna exploit this.”

“Those eel bastards!” Grim spits, hackles raising again. “They chased us around so much today, and made me work so hard in the Lounge…if I had my fire magic, I’d make sushi outta them, y’know!”

“No, sushi isn’t cooked.” Buchie-senpai interjects.

“If only the Leech twins weren’t there…” The gears in your head are turning, a plan forming before your very eyes.

“I’m going to stop you right there.”

You look up to see Kingscholar-senpai frowning. “I’ve got a general idea of what you’re thinking, but let me say right now that I absolutely will not help. I’m not getting involved with troublesome things, and the only thing more troublesome that you is that octopunk. Count me out.”

You can’t deny the hurt that twinges in your chest as he lies back down and turns away from you, even as Grim puffs up at your feet, looking a second away from hissing.

You catch Buchie-senpai facepalming out of the corner of your eye.

That, of all things, is what inspires you to stand and march around the bed until you’re in front of Kingscholar’s face.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” You declare, folding your arms across your chest.

“Hah?” At least that gets him sitting up.

You tick it off on your fingers. “The easy way is you decide to be nice to your poor, unfortunate soulmate and agree to help us out with my plan. I might even give you a reward for it.”

He shoots you a disinterested look. “And the hard way?”

You smirk at him.

You wish what few hours of sleep you do get aren’t plagued by the dreams.

But no. Instead you’re treated to a montage of the Witch of the Seas actively sabotaging the mermaid until she has the girl’s kingly father in a position to trade everything for his daughter.

“So she was after everything from the start…” You mutter as you feel yourself wake up more.

“Hn.” Comes the grunt from the bed above you. “…How can you look so well-rested after what you did last night. ‘S insulting.”

You smile innocently. “You were the one who wanted it the hard way, senpai.”

There’s a series of noises above you that have you sitting up, frowning in concern. You can’t have him choke to death yet, you’ve got a plan to implement!

Although that reminds you, as you take a seat on the edge of the bed and he watches you warily, that there’s something you need to get through to him before you part ways.

“Whatever you do today,” You warn. “Do not agitate Ashengrotto-senpai. No boasting, no bragging, no giving false hope, nothing that could drag his mental state down. Just destroy the contracts quietly and leave. We do not need another overblot on our hands.”

Kingscholar-senpai groans. “Quit nagging herbivore. I know what I’m doing.”

Which is funny really, because this?

This situation right here, where Ashengrotto-senpai is in the middle of overblotting, screaming about how he’s not going back to being a “lame ink-squirting crybaby”?

This does not look like Leona knows what he’s doing.

You attempt to communicate this to him through gaze alone before beginning to rally everyone plus Jade and Floyd to take Azul down.

At least this overblot is a bit better than Kingscholar-senpai’s in that it seems to be fuel more by lashing out at the nearest targets rather than coldly calculating which targets are the best to attack in its quest to murder everyone.

Unfortunately, as you dart forward to drag Floyd-senpai back when he won’t get out of the line of fire himself, that includes you as well.

In a heartbeat, one of the phantom’s tentacles curls around your arm and shoulder.

It yanks.

You don’t have the breath in your lungs to scream.

It begins dragging you towards where Ashengrotto-senpai is waiting, trident at the ready—!

“King’s Roar!”

Sand, floating away in the water around you, as the phantom thrashes in agony, the disintegrating tentacle threatening the rest of the body before Ashengrotto-senpai lops it off.

An arm snags you about the waist, pulling you tight to Kingscholar-senpai’s side even as it’s careful not to jostle where your shoulder’s been dislocated.

He doesn’t let you go until the fight’s over.

You go to bed in your Ramshackle Dorm that night, uneasy.

Sure, you resolved the issue with Ashengrotto-senpai and now know the truth about this world’s soulmates, much to Ace and Floyd-senpai’s teasing, but Kingscholar-senpai sloped off without a word once he’d taken you to the infirmary again. You still don’t know where you stand with him, if there’s anything you could still make of this or if that ship has sailed, if he has any idea why these dreams are coming to you or even what they are. You just! You don’t know. You don’t know if he knows either.

The dreams are waiting for you the moment you close your eyes.

The first one isn’t so bad, if a little unsettling. Your mirror glowing and an odd voice resounding from its depths doesn’t even ping your weirdness sensor too much anymore, sadly.

But then you shift, dropping deeper into sleep.

And come face to face with the monster again.

It’s head is maned with large, grasping tentacles, and Floyd-senpai lies several paces behind it, already torn in two, mismatched eyes staring at you accusingly.

Jack and Leona are the only two between you and it, and you try to remember how it’s gone other nights, how you can possibly beat it or hold it off long enough to make an opening for all of you to escape.

A sweep of a tentacle and Jack meets the same fate as Floyd-senpai. Torn to bits as if he’s a discarded toy.

Leona shoves you behind him, away from him his mouth forming the word “RUN!”

You scream as the teeth close around his chest, shaking him like a rag doll before tossing him away.

You stumble to his corpse, begging him to get up, look at you, anything, Leona, don’t leave you, not like this, please—!

You can’t even bring yourself to run even as the grasping hands close around you.

You wake.

You’re coated in sweat. Your dislocated shoulder aches.

You ignore it all as you lurch from the bed, non dominant hand grabbing the charcoal as you tug out the paper from under the bed with a foot.

You have to—you can’t let—if you can just—!

A sob is trapped in your throat.

You sit up the rest of the night, staring at the monstrosity forming before your eyes.

Even when the light under the curtains turns from black to dark blue, you do not. Take your gaze. Off of it.

It doesn’t really surprise you when you hear a thunderous pounding on the door downstairs.

Startle you? Yes.

But you can guess who it is with almost comical ease.

You shoot a wary glance at the drawing, but. You already took your eyes off it. If it was going to do anything, it would’ve done so by now.

The pounding starts up again.

You groan as you get to your feet, wanting to itch at your shoulder under the sling as you troop down the cold stairs. “M coming, ‘m coming.”

You yank open the door to see Kingscholar-senpai standing there.

He doesn’t look like he’s slept either.

“It is,” You inform him gravely. “Not even five in the morning. Why are you here.”

He snorts as he steps past you into the building. “Don’t ask questions we both know the answer to.”

You sigh as you shut and lock the door behind him.

“Huh.” He says as he heads up the stairs. “It’s less…run-down than I was expecting.”

“Thanks.” You retort, your verbal filter not quite as awake as you are. “Fixing it up was my project to get over an unrequited soulmate.”

He gives you an unamused stare.

“…Sorry.” You rub the back of your head. “I promise I’m not actually trying to start a fight every time we talk. It’s just…”

“Hn.” He grins at you for some reason. “Ruggie says I have that effect on people. That it’s my ‘winning personality.’”

After a moment, you smile back. “Well, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

He looks around your room with interest.

Right up until he notices your wall by the door. “King’s balls!”

“Shh!” You hush. “Grim’s still sleeping!”

You both pause for a moment, listening hard. Grim smacks his lips in his sleep and rolls over onto his tummy, his paws coming up to cover his ears.

“Honestly,” Kingscholar-senpai huffs. “Warn me before you show me all. All this.”

You look at your wall, the names of your friends and their connections to recent overblots, the dreams, and any literature which could contribute to your understanding of these events all neatly connected with pushpins and red thread.

“It’s not that bad.” You say, limply.

He raises an eyebrow in your direction. “Sure. Why’d you have all this anyway? Seems…excessive.”

You scrub a fist over your eyes, exhaustion setting in. “I just…these dreams. They feel way too real to be just dreams, right? And you said that they’re of twisted versions of the myths of the Great Seven, which somehow connect to the dorm that has something going on. Usually by reflecting the actions of the one about to overblot. So if I can understand them, maybe, maybe get ahead of them somehow…”

You scratch at your sling. Kingscholar-senpai catches your hand, and you smile weakly at him. “These kinds of dreams didn’t start until after the first overblot. The monster in the Dwarf Mines that was so far gone that it didn’t even have a person attached anymore. And then there’s…you know.”

You gesture to where the drawing sits on the floor.

Kingscholar-senpai actually lets out a small snarl at the sight of it.

“If it were just a stress dream, something my subconscious is coming up with to process all this, this stuff I’m going through, that’d be ine.” You ramble, feeling slightly feverish. “But that dream only ever comes the night after an overblot, not, not more frequently like a normal stress dream. I’m scared that it’s somehow trying to tell me that this…thing is coming. And, and I’m getting more and more injured with every overblot, so unless I can find a way to counteract them, stop them, I’m not sure I can save—I’ll—!”

To your horror, there are hot tears sliding down your cheeks. You try to mop them up on your hoodie, sniffing hard. “…Sorry.”

“Right.”

You look up to see him standing there, with his arms crossed over his chest. “Where do we start?”

You blink.

“Huh…?”

Leona-senpai gives you an unimpressed look. “Don’t be stupid. Admittedly, if you tried to tell me about this without the dreams, I’d’ve told the crow to get you a therapist. Maybe stop pushing all his duties onto a first year, let alone the one who doesn’t have magic, before you have a mental breakdown.”

“Gee, thanks.” You say, voice flat, but a smile is trying to quirk the corners of your mouth.

“But we do share the dreams.” He scruffs a hand through his bangs, gaze flickering over your wall before landing on you. “And as much as I’d love to wash my hands of this and say it’s someone else’s problem, this stuff is targeting my soulmate. And how could I say I’m the dorm head of Savannaclaw if I just stood aside and let my soulmate get preyed on without helping you fight back?”

Leona-senpai almost seems shy as he suddenly avoids your gaze. “The King of the Beasts wouldn’t. He defended his lioness and cubs to the last. It’s only natural I’d do the same for you.”

You can’t quite help the watery laugh that escapes you at that.

“Oi.”

At the sight of his ears going flat, you raise your hands. “Sorry! Sorry, I’m not, not mocking you or anything, it’s just. I don’t think I knew how much I needed to hear someone say that. To hear you say that.”

Pride is still an annoyingly good look on him. You find you like it more when it’s paired with the soft smile he’s favoring you with now.

“As for where to start…” You gnaw at your thumbnail. “Ah, right. We’ve talked about the dreams about the Great Seven, and of the, that, but what about the mirror dreams? What did you make of them?”

“Mirror dreams?” Ah, his expression of confusion. An old friend which is wearing out its welcome.

“Yeah, you know? The dreams where that mirror is glowing? And there’s knocking from behind it, and tonight there was a weird voice saying something that I couldn’t make out.” He still is staring at you, blank-faced. “It happened before the monster dream…?”

“Yuu,” You can’t even enjoy the shiver that goes through you from hearing him say your name with how serious he sounds. “I haven’t had any dreams like that.”

But then…that means….

You both glance over at the mirror.

The laugh you let out is more than a bit hysterical. You fold forward until you hit his chest.

“Fi-figures.” You hiccup, trying to keep what little composure you can. “Even on top of all of this, there’s always something, right? No rest for the wicked.”

His heartbeat is reassuring at least, as is the low growl that’s rumbling through him and into you.

“Fuck this.”

You yelp as an arm sweeps under your legs. You find yourself grabbing at his sleep shirt as he marches over to the bed and clambers onto it, arranging himself and you so that he forms a wall between you and the mirror.

“Le-Leona-senpai! Wh-what are?” It’s hard to remember to keep your volume down. Grim snuffles behind him and lets out another snore.

“We haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a day.” He says as he arranges you to his liking, his tail coiling around your leg. “And we’re both too tired to deal with this bullshit. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. Maybe even later.”

“B-but-?!” You protest, even as your eyes feel heavy.

“Sleep.” His voice rumbles beneath your ear, and his arm is warm around you, coaxing your muscles to relax of their own accord.

Well, with an order like that, you can hardly disobey, can you?

[awheckery]

so. uh.

cut for frank discussion of chronic illness and the serious failures of the american healthcare system. tw for fatphobia and gaslighting.

Last July, I got sick. It wasn’t too bad at first: some fatigue, body aches and a slightly elevated temp, until suddenly it was bad and I wound up in the ER. It took three rounds of steroids, a round of antibiotics and a more powerful inhaler to get my feet back under me, but I never fully recovered.

I didn’t talk about it here, except for answering an ask in October and blaming my lack of creative output on depression. It really, really wasn’t depression; it was my health progressively collapsing, one system after another until the avalanche of symptoms that flattened me just after New Year’s.

For the last four months, I’ve spiked a fever over 100°F nearly every single day. My joints hurt. My knuckles are knobbly and swollen, and occasionally my fingers are so painful and weak I’ve had to literally tape my pen to my hand at work. I get rashes at random that itch so badly I claw myself bloody. I overheat and have hot flashes in temperate rooms. The skin on my face and neck and shoulders turns red and hot to the touch, like I’m burning for hours with no immediately discernible provocation.

Some days, I wake up and I don’t have the strength to get out of bed. Some days I can’t wake up at all. I’ve slept through deafening alarms for hours, long enough for my phone battery to run out and die. I can only stand up for ten minutes a day without being hobbled by the effort, and every extra minute beyond that I pay for in hours spent bedbound by exhaustion and pain.

I keep losing words. I’ll arrive at the middle of a sentence and stumble to a halt, because the word I need isn’t there. It’s not true aphasia, and it’s not all the time. I comprehend written and verbal communication perfectly well, but I can’t get my own thoughts out without tripping over them.

I am, to quote a friend attending school to be a nurse practitioner, “a textbook case for SLE,” and I agree, but somehow I can’t pay a doctor to treat me seriously.

In January, I was referred to a rheumatologist after the bloodwork my PCP ordered indicated I had autoimmune activity of some kind.

To date, that’s my only test for anything that’s come out definitively positive for any kind of disease state at all. Ever. I tested negative for celiac disease on a technicality nine years ago, despite how specifically and intensely sick gluten makes me, so I was dismayed but not too surprised when follow-up bloodwork for lupus came back just barely inside the range of “normal.” Despite that, I wasn’t prepared to be jerked around as much as I have been.

The first rheumatologist I saw, back at the end of January, had barely been in the exam room for thirty seconds when I could see he’d already made up his mind about me. He was dismissive and perfunctory and condescending when he told me that “plenty of perfectly healthy people have positive ANA results,” and he referred me back to my PCP for an exercise program and antidepressants to treat my “fibromyalgia.”

Putting aside that I’m not a “perfectly healthy person,” I’m a Fat Lady living in America, and I’ve experienced medical fatphobia for decades at this point. You learn the key words and phrases pretty quickly, and “exercise program” has never not been a euphemism for “weight loss.” (Which is heavily ironic in this particular situation, because before I was Fat, I walked 2-3 miles a day for funsies and spent 15-20 hours in the gym every week. I only stopped because I somehow shredded both my ACLs in one summer. I’d love to get back to that if a rheumatologist could help me figure out how to be active and uninjured at the same time.)

I was frustrated after that first appointment, enough to request a referral to one of the best teaching hospitals in the country. Why not go to the best, right? There was a five month wait for an appointment, but I am stubborn, and I made use of the time by documenting every bullshit symptom my body threw at me. I have a daily symptom journal, full of subjective entries like my pain and fatigue levels, as well as objective entries like daily temperature changes and photos of my rashes and my burning face and my goddamn mouth ulcers.

I thought I had enough logged to be impossible to ignore, and then I saw the second rheumatologist three weeks ago, and the first sentence out of her mouth was the beginning of an interrogation on my blood pressure, and whether I was taking medication or if I was on a fucking exercise program for it. I tried to get the appointment back on track by sharing my symptom diary, and she turned back to my just-under-the-wire test results, and told me, “many healthy people have positive ANA results, it doesn’t mean anything without other positive test results for specific conditions.”

I said, “Healthy people don’t run a fever for months.”

And then she told me that a "fever is not associated with any of the conditions a rheumatologist treats." I was so startled by the confidence and authority with which she stated the lie that I was unable to speak to rouse a defense or contribute anything else for the rest of the appointment. After an insultingly brief examination, in which I never took my face mask off and she declined to look at any of my photos, she said that she “didn’t see anything that could be rheumatologically wrong with me.”

I asked her what she thought could be wrong with me, and she grudgingly admitted it’s possible, though rare to have an autoimmune disease and test negative for everything, so she would order more tests and refer me to appropriate specialists for my various symptoms. She ordered a referral to an infectious disease specialist for my fevers, and a referral to a dermatologist for my “rosacea” (that she’s assuming I have, because I would like to again note she did not see it, at no point did she actually look at my face or a photo of it), and a referral to an ENT for a salivary gland biopsy for my dry mouth, and a referral to a neurologist for my “stroke-like” memory and speech problems.

It was, all told, an unbearably shitty appointment. I cried in my car for an hour in the hospital parking garage so I wouldn’t do anything impulsive like lying down in traffic, and then I went home, cried some more, and went to bed for three days.

On the fourth day, I woke up enraged. It’s one thing to be blown off by a doctor when you’re just reporting symptoms without proof, it’s a wholly different thing for a doctor to ignore your proof and lie about diagnostic criteria to your face.

It’s hard enough not to think you’re crazy when your test results come back negative over and over; it’s that much harder after being told that your major concrete measurable symptom is diagnostically irrelevant, when it really, really isn’t.

(for the record, just going off the symptoms I can concretely prove I’ve experienced in the last week alone, I land a 16 on this chart, which is the most up-to-date, widely agreed-upon diagnostic criteria)

I have decided, for the moment, to play ball. I don’t have the energy to jump through all the hoops this rheumatologist wants, but I'm angry enough to drag myself through them. Tomorrow I’m supposed to see the infectious diseases specialist. On Wednesday I see the dermatologist. In two weeks I see the ENT, and I’ve got a neurology appointment tentatively scheduled for December.

I’m going to be blisteringly forthright with all of these doctors about why I’m there, and that I’m looking to exclude diagnoses other than the lupus I pretty obviously have. (Except with the ENT. Apparently they treat allergies, and I’d like to be able to go outside long enough to walk a dog, someday.)

I’m supposed to see this rheumatologist again at the end of November. Depending on how this week’s appointments go, I’m aiming to either move up my appointment with her when one becomes available, or just send a firm yet diplomatic email asking why the diagnostic criteria apply to everyone but me.

If anybody else has gotten through this fucking nightmare successfully, I’m open to suggestions, it’s not like it can get worse at this point.

[yoonpobs]

cold | pjm

pairing: park jimin x oc

genre: fluff, slight tsundere jimin, just cuteness tbh

words: 3, 339

summary: where jimin is ice cold but he wants you to warm him up (not in the way you think)

When Jimin pulls away for the first time in a year since you’ve met him during your movie nights, you suspect that something’s up. But, you also know Jimin—he would have said something to you if there was.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You good?”

Jimin sighs at you, frustrated and you can’t help but feel confused at the sudden shift of atmosphere. You thought picking La La Land was a good choice, but you suppose that since Jimin was a little emotionally constipated he didn’t like it as much.

“I’m not, actually.” He declares, tugging off the blanket that covered both of your lower halves and withdrew from the warmth that settled into the couch.

“Do you—” You contemplate on asking because being Jimin’s friend meant respecting certain boundaries, and you weren't intending to be that friend that stuck their nose in his business.

You choose to remain silent and purse your lips and settle back into the couch, though it felt a little empty without Jimin bunched up next to you. But he was an enigma of unopened thoughts, and the time you spent navigating the course of your friendship in the first few months was ... heavy.

He’d never tell you anything, let alone allow you to indulge in the greatness that was his mind. You’d always hear from Namjoon how much he looks up to and respects Jimin’s way of thinking and mindset, but you rarely get to see that part of him. Sometimes, you felt more of a seat-warmer than a friend. You appreciate him, nonetheless.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about it?” He pries you.

You shrug, covering yourself with the blanket in hopes that it masks your vulnerability and insecurity, too.

“I know you.” You tell him, “You don’t like being questioned unless you say something about it first.”

He purses his lips in a straight line and looks at you ... like he really looks at you. So much that you feel his eyes burning into the side of your head; as if he was attempting to unravel your mind and dig into its deepest depths to understand its content.

“I don’t …” He says after looking at you, head-turning to face the television. Was La La Land seriously still relevant now?

“But I’m asking you to ask me.” He says, and the look of surprise on your face doesn’t disappoint. You gaped at him, forgetting the fact that Ryan Gosling looked really handsome on the screen—because Jimin had just prompted you to ask him about his … feelings.

“I—I don’t understand …” You say, dumbly. He rolls his eyes at you, and you’re familiar with his expression because it’s the one he usually has when he wants to call you an idiot.

“Ask me how I feel.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Your words fail you because the entire situation was sprung onto you so unexpectedly, and you suddenly feel self-conscious about everything. Was this Jimin’s way of assessing you as a friend and throwing you to the curb after a year of being platonically involved with one another?

As if he could hear the millions of thoughts running in your head, he turns to you and grabs your cheeks in between his large palms, and this time you actually short-circuit.

Your intimacy with Jimin stopped at sitting next to each other during movie nights and embracing the warmth that your bodies radiated. Maybe even the occasional accidental brush of fingers when he hands you something, but besides that—Jimin was conservative with his touches.

You can’t lie and say that your heart doesn’t react differently, because for the most part of your friendship you’ve suppressed any romantic feelings that you had or could have had for Jimin. Mostly out of self-preservation because Jimin was just … Jimin.

Cold, aloof but still someone that cared deeply. Yes, he was emotionally constipated when it came to his own feelings, and yes —his gaze more often than not had you cowering in fear. But he never made you feel uncomfortable. Even in the silences, you spent with one another you felt safe. Home.

Not to mention, his entire brooding and stoic persona hit it really well with the women on campus—and the fact he was obscenely attractive. He and you were the types of people that remained just as friends. And suddenly, that could end tonight, too.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He hums, eyes chasing your own but you divert your attention away from him because your eyes tell.

You shake your head, “I’m just confused.”

And confused you were because this was a territory that was unheard of for you—much less for Jimin. If only you could telepathically speak to Namjoon right now because you had no idea what to do or say.

“Well, I’ll keep it simple for you,” He says, “ Ask me how I feel.”

He doesn’t ask you anymore, instead, he insists—as if there was a preconceived answer for you already in the back of his head. Maybe this was how he softened the blow.

“No.” You push him away, flustered. “I won’t let you friend break up with me like this!”

He raises an eyebrow at the sudden rise of voice you admitted, “I like being your friend even if you don’t—and—and I know that yeah, consent matters—but I do not consent to be friend broken up with.”

He listens to you, and his face is still in its signature blankness and you nearly scream at how you wished he’d display a little emotion or a reaction to your blow up. But it seems that between the two of you, you were the emotionally unstable one.

“I know I can be annoying and all over the place and loud but ...” You immediately opt to self-deprecate yourself because nothing could triumph the way it felt to do it yourself than have him say it to your face, “... you’re not allowed to leave me. Ever .”

You fold your arms across your chest and look away because what the fuck did you just do and your face was undebatably on fire right now.

As if he’s noticed the way your eyes widen in realisation, he holds you again—but this time he pulls you closer to his chest until you are forced to look up at him with your flushed cheeks.

“Silly girl.” He hums and you whine.

“What!”

“I have to do everything myself, hm?” He tucks a strand of stray hair behind your ears and it was instinctual for you to pull away because you’ve never felt Jimin like this before. Close, and warm—and all yours.

“Jimin I don’t understand— mpf!” And it was like a scene straight out of a romcom, and you nearly forget that La La Land was still running in the background. You felt like the main character of your own movie, and Jimin was the protagonist's love interest because he kissed you.

Jimin was kissing you.

Kissing. Like lip-locking. Sharing saliva. With you.

He pulls away too soon for your liking, but you gape at him like a fish out of water.

“You—” You stutter, and he chuckles. You feel it more than you hear it because his chest was resting against your cheek.

“Do you understand now?”

You shake your head, “... you feel bad for me?”

He snorts.

“I don’t know if you’re actually this much of an idiot, or are you just hopeless in the romantic department?” He says, and you open your mouth in the offense, ready to defend yourself but he hugs you closer to him and all you could feel was him.

“Excuse me? I’m not an idiot.”

“I just kissed you and you thought I felt bad for you.”

You huff, “What am I supposed to feel! You never speak about your emotions to me, and the most I’ve ever got out from you was a chuckle from the time where I slipped in front of the entire campus during freshers week.”

“That was when we met, yes.” He hums, “Why did you think I’ve been with you ever since?”

You still looked confused and Jimin internally sighs at the way he let himself fall for a dense excuse of a human being like you.

“Cause … you felt 'bad for me?”

"Just because you air-quote it doesn't make it any different from what you said earlier ____."

He groans, “No you dumbass—it’s cause no one makes me feel things the way you do. Strange weirdo who slipped on absolutely nothing, and as a friend who forces me to watch shitty romcoms like La La Land.”

“La La Land is not shitty!” You gasp.

He blinks.

“Is that all you got from what I said?”

“La La Land is phenomenal! All from the artistic production, to the soundtrack—so I don't know why people keep shitting on it because personally I really enjoyed—” But he kisses you again, and you melt into him immediately.

This time he lingers for a bit longer, and when he pulls away you grab onto his shirt to keep him close. You realise your mistake and suddenly push him away, but his hold on you was tight enough to resist your poor attempt.

“I like you, dummy.” He says, and you gasp.

“Nooo.” You say in disbelief.

“I like you.” He emphasises again, and you gasp. Again.

“No, you don’t.” You tell him, and he sighs—knowing that this was going to take a while.

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do .”

“Nope.”

“ Yes .”

“Nuh-uh—!”

He clamps his hand over your mouth and glares at you.

“Me. Park Jimin—likes you, ____ ____, and yes —I can’t believe I like a complete idiot like you, but I do because you fucked up and made me like you from the moment you embarrassed yourself in front of everyone so bad that it was probably the hardest I’ve ever cringed in my life—”

“Hey!”

“—but you quite literally stumbled into my life with your whirlwind of emotions and you made me feel things that I’ve tried to avoid my entire life.” He holds your chin between his thumb and finger so you’d look at him. And you know that Jimin never lies, but something in your heart doesn't allow you that moment of happiness for yourself.

“But I'm annoying …” You say, a little unsure. Jimin simply looks at you, and you're frustrated again at the lack of emotion on his face.

“Yes, you are.” Is all he says, and you gape at his audacity.

You huff, throw the blanket off your body and make way to grab at your belongings that lay idle on the floor next to the couch. You pulled away from Jimin who attempted to grab at your wrist and glare at him so vehemently that he looked taken aback.

“This isn't a joke.” You tell him, and you hoped you looked as strong as you sounded because you felt played. Jimin didn't do this—you were just the clumsy freshmen that somehow befriended him, and he had no way out of it. So you decided to give him a way out on your own.

“Wait—of course, it's not—where are you going?” He exasperates when you make a beeline go to his door. You've never seen Jimin move as quickly as he did, but he manages to secure a tight grip on your elbow.

You try to shove him aside all while you felt like an immense idiot for allowing yourself to feel this way. To feel so human, and raw when you were with Jimin when he hadn't shown an inkling of emotion even when he declared that he ‘liked’ you.

“____—what’s wrong? Is it because I kissed you without asking you? I'm sorry but— ” He apologises and you groan.

“Stop treating me like this!” You yell at him to cut him off, “I know I'm clumsy, and a ditz—but I have feelings and it's not cool how you're doing all of—” You gesture to the hand on your elbow and to your lips, “— this, making me feel things that I shouldn't be feeling.”

“You're missing the point—!”

“Am I Jimin?” You exasperate, and he lets go of you for a moment to allow you space. “You've never shown any sign that you liked me for the past year of being friends, and now you're telling me you do?”

You scoff, “If you wanted out of this friendship, here it is.”

You reach to his doorknob with your back turned towards him, but Jimin was far stronger than you and reached out at the same time; essentially locking you into your position with nowhere to go.

“Just let me go,” You sigh, “I'm giving you your out.”

Jimin turns your body to face him and you avoid his stare. He was taller than you so being locked against the door was a little intimidating, given the fact that Jimin’s stare was nothing short of intimidating.

“Why would I want out?” He asks you, and you blink at him as if he's grown a second head.

“Now you're just treating me like I'm stupid .” You pout, “Did you not hear what I said? I know I'm annoying and I'll get out of your hair, just let me go—!”

You pull at his wrist but he holds you tighter and uses his other hand to softly grab at your cheeks to look at him. You stare at him with wide eyes and mouth scrunched like a fish, and you're sure this doesn't look the least bit flattering at all.

“Dude!”

“Please don't dude me after I just said I liked you.” He grimaces, then sighs.

He proceeds to clamp his hand over your mouth, “Now I need you to listen to me. And I mean— really listen. Not the thing that you do where you completely ignore my point and go on some childish rampage of how I think you’re annoying and want out.”

You glare at him.

He sighs, “I don't know how explicit I have to be—but I like you. I like your presence, I like hanging out with you—and I want to date you. I want everything that's in the book of romance and relationships with you.”

Your eyes widened and you attempt to speak but he clamps down harder than you whine.

“I know I'm an emotionless brick but I've been with you for the past year and my physical presence is the way I show you that I like you.”

You blink.

“And, I don't know if you've noticed but I've been inviting you over every fortnight just to cuddle up next to you to watch movies that are cheesy as fuck because I know that it makes your heart flutter—” He looks straight into your eyes and you're sure he can feel the heat of your cheeks on his hand.

“—I didn’t say this earlier because I was under the impression that you were aware and that we were kind-of-dating but not really— clearly, I was wrong.”

You manage to rip his hand off in his moment of weakness and gasp, “Kind-of-dating? Since when did that even happen?!”

He pointedly looks at you, “You have a toothbrush at my place, half of your closet is in mine—you walk my dog when I'm not home, and I buy your favourite cereal when I do groceries.”

“But—”

“Nope—the only reason I explicitly told you tonight because it was now clear to me that you weren't aware—” He gestures to your frazzled state, “—and that you said you were going out with Taehyung. Alone. To a pizza parlour.”

You barely manage to respond because he exasperates, “Do you know how datey a pizza parlour is?”

You gape at him, “Well excuse me! I didn't even know we were kind-of-dating until a minute ago!”

He glares at you, “And you didn't even believe me when I told you I liked you.”

You fold your arms across your chest, “Obviously. You don't even hold my hand, and you've never kissed me until tonight.”

You punch his shoulder and he hisses, “You didn't even formally ask me out!”

“You’re a scaredy-cat and if I did ask you out you’d probably run away from me!” He exasperates with his hands in the air.

“I’m not a scaredy-cat and I won’t run away!” You argue back and you were suddenly aware of how close he was to you.

You look up at him and notice how pretty his eyelashes were, and how he does look at you with an intimacy that you've only seen for yourself. The look that he reserved for you.

“I'm asking you out now,” He whispers, cupping your cheek.

“Date me. Be with me.”

You scoff, “God. Can’t you even be a little romantic? It’s like you’re demanding me to be with you.” You respond petulantly like a child.

He groans, “I'm not going to grovel you if that's what you're expecting.”

“Tell me why then.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You clear your throat and fiddle with your thumbs, a nervous tick you have.

“Tell me why you like me.”

Jimin stares at you and you want to complain about his stoic expression but he cups your cheeks in his hands a little harder and forces you to really look at him—as if his face held all the answers.

And when you did, you see the desperation behind his eyes, the dedication that he possesses only for you. The way he looks at you like he's meant to prove something to you, and then everything made sense to you—he wasn't inexpressive—you were just too caught up in your own world that you never noticed.

“Jimin—” Your voice cracks but he shushes you, softly.

“Listen to me, okay?” He asks of you and you gently nod.

“I like you because you're here,” He starts off and you were about to scoff but he speaks again knowing your predetermined reaction, “You’re present— always. I don't mean just because we're always together, but because even when we're texting you're there. You're involved.”

“You're expressive in ways that don't need words to tell me anything, which is why I know you like me too.”

“Cocky, much?” You scoff but the burn on your cheeks give the truth away

He smiles a little before continuing, “But that's not it—I like you because you're patient. You stuck with me being emotionally constipated for the first half of our friendship, and yet you're still here.”

“Even though you nearly ran out of here spewing some bullshit about me taking you as a joke—”

“Okay … I may have blown it out of proportion.”

“—but I wouldn't want to have you any other way. Even if it took me literally trapping you against a door for you to listen.”

You melt into his touch and look up at him, “Do you really like me?”

“I really do.” He affirms you, and you tug him closer to bury your head into his chest.

“Can you hold my hand next time?” You ask, softly. And he chuckles against the top of your head, caressing it gently.

“Of course. That's the only way you won't run away from me next time, right?” He teases.

You whine.

“I'm never going to let you go.” He tells you, “You're pretty like this—all mine .”

You smile up at him and Jimin swears his heart melts to be rebuilt whole by you again.

“But you called me an idiot ...”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

You gasp, “Rude—!”

He shuts you up with a kiss more passionate, and a lot more eager that has your head spinning.

When he pulls away, you feel your heartbeat a little faster—especially at the string of saliva that connects your mouths.

“Mine,” He says. You can't help but nod.

His.

[justkending]

The Number One Rule. Chapter 18.

Summary: Y/N has always been seen as “Steve’s rambunctious sister.” However, she grew up, graduated, and moved to London to study abroad for 4 years and get her bachelor's degree. The girl that returns looks nothing like the teenager that left, but don’t worry the attitude is still there and stronger than ever. What’s to come of the two grown adults that used to push each other's buttons, but now have a lot more in common than they’ve ever realized.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Rogers (Steve’s little sister)

Word Count: 3100+

Chapter Eighteen:

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Steve chuckled, bringing his mug to his lips as his sister walked in with a sleep ridden face. She gave him the silent bird before moving to the coffee pot. “I see your morning self hasn’t changed.”

“What are you still doing here? I thought you would have left for work by now?” Y/N asked with a tired voice as she walked to the fridge for creamer. 

He had ended up staying the night and sleeping in his old room that had been transferred into the guest bed. Him and his sister had been up late talking and catching up. 

“Eh, I’m going in a few hours later since I’ve been doing overtime recently,” Steve shrugged, leaning back and watching her sit across from him. She was wearing a giant T-shirt and some old pajama pants that she tiredly tried to straighten from their disheveled state. “What’s your excuse for not being ready for work?”

“I don’t have to be there until 9 today,” she answered with her eyes closed. 

There was a comfortable silence as the two sipped on their coffee and Steve read the newspaper. Looking over he saw her practically falling back asleep in her seat. 

“I guess I need to talk to Bucky soon…” He spoke up. Her eyes opened at that and she turned to him. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean now that I know the case, and now that I know you’re both happy, I don’t have a right to be a jackass anymore I guess,” he shrugged with a smirk. 

“I’m glad you came to terms that you were a jackass,” she chuckled, punching his arm playfully. “We’ve been waiting a few years on that one.”

“Hey, I can call myself a jackass, but you watch yourself,” he warned in a light manner. 

“Sure thing… Jackass,” she mumbled with a smile. Before he could start an argument, she diverted the conversation. “So, should I warn him, or-?”

“I don’t care. We have different shifts today, so I’ll see him tonight probably and talk to him.”

“Ok, then I’ll let you do the talking. I would warn him yourself though. He’s been a nervous wreck around this topic with you. Anytime he thinks about how we’ve hurt you, he gets upset and really anxious,” she explained more seriously. 

“I mean, I don’t blame him. This was a shitty kind of situation to go through, but mom was right. Neither side of the problem was handled well,” Steve sighed. “I’ll text him before.”

“Good,” Y/N nodded. “Want me to come?”

“No, I think we need to talk ourselves,” Steve sighed. “If you know what I mean.”

“I get it,” she nodded standing and grabbing her mug. “Well, I’m going to get ready for work. Mind if I come over tonight though? You know, when the coast is clear? Maybe we can all have a movie night like back in the day! Becca and Sam are invited too,” she pointed to him. 

“Sounds like a plan. You’re paying for pizza though. Since you have an adult job now, it’s only fair,” Steve said with raised eyebrows. 

“Hey, I-”

“You owe me,” he cut her off. 

She glared at him for using the given past situation as a way to get free food. 

“That’s low, big bro,” she deadpanned. 

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing,” he scoffed with a smile, going back to the paper in front of him. 

“Touche,” she nodded with a pursed lip. “At least text me when I can head over, so I don’t interrupt you guys' bromance session.”

“Shut up,” he groaned as she left the room. 

________

Once Y/N got to work, a few hours into her shift, she got a call from Bucky.

“Hey, B,” she smiled through the phone as she went through the loads of papers in her hands. 

“Hey sweetheart,” Bucky replied just as sweetly. “Guess who texted me today?”

“Hmm, Barack Obama?” Y/N responded. “Wait, no! Michelle Obama.”

“Haha, very close, but no,” he chuckled. “You’re brother reached out.”

“Is that so?” Y/N faked surprise.

“I’m guessing you guys' conversation last night went well considering your chipper mood?” he questioned. “Or they went horribly wrong and you’re just a really good actress.”

“We all know I can’t act even if my life depended on it,” she laughed, changing the phone to her other ear as she wrote some notes on a paper. 

“It’s true. You’re a horrible liar,” Bucky confirmed.

“I’m not even going to argue it no matter how much I want to,” she shrugged. “But I would say things went well. I mean we may or may not have gotten into a wrestling match on the front lawn, and mom might as well have dragged us by the ears inside to have a civil conversation, but besides that…”

“Oh God, Y/N… What the hell happened?” 

She just knew he was pitching the bridge of his nose on the other end. 

“Nothing too crazy. It’s just sibling fighting,” she waved off. 

“At least tell me you gave him a chance. You didn’t beat his ass too much, hopefully. You know we’re trying to win him over, not push him further away, right?” Bucky had a smile in his voice, clearly just joking around. 

“You know? Kids’ gotten stronger since middle school,” she noted. 

“I would hope so. He fought in a war and chases bad guys for a living. Can’t have scrawny middle school Steve doing that kind of stuff. He’d get a nose bleed just looking at the wrong guy.”

The two laughed for a little reminiscing at little Steve before he bulked up in high school. But after some joking, Bucky brought the conversation back where he started. 

“But in all honesty, I shouldn’t be too worried about tonight?” he asked. The nerves in his voice were clear to Y/N. 

“No, Bumble Bee. We talked it out, screamed it out, and fought it out. And in doing so, we had a good conversation. Thank Sarah Rogers for keeping us on track and not letting us walk away until it was resolved,” she assured, putting his mind at rest. 

“Ok, good…” Bucky sighed on the other end. A moment of silence went by as if he was trying to process it. 

“Hey, I know you guys still need to talk, but I do want you to know that it’ll be all ok in the end. Don’t get too worked up about it,” Y/N said softly. “26 years of being best pals can’t be ruined by this little bump. You said it yourself.”

Bucky let out a breath and nodded. “You’re right. It… It’s just, I hate that he found out how he did, and…” he paused. “It just kinda sucked seeing him that upset.”

“I get it,” Y/N nodded on her end. “But hey,” she added. “We’ll all be ok. Truly.”

“I trust you, doll,” he grinned. There was some distant talking on the phone and Bucky humming. “Hey, I have to go. Boss needs me for something. Call you later?” 

“For sure. Have a good day, and let me know if you need anything!” 

“Right back at you. Love you, sweetheart,” he slipped out the last part unconsciously. 

There was a moment of silence as the two were stunned. Neither had said the “L” word yet… At least not to each other…

“Uh,” Bucky stuttered out. “I-I-...”

“Buck-,” Y/N started in just as much shock. 

Another round of someone shouting on the other line that wasn’t Bucky came through through the phone. 

“I have to go! Talk to you later,” Bucky shouted into the phone. 

Before she could say anything else, the line ended and she slowly pulled back the phone seeing her lock screen blank. No words came out after that. 

She just stared at the screen where a picture of her Bucky, Becca, and Steve all were embedded in a bear hug together. An old picture, but one that she always loved and cherished with a group of her favorite humans. 

She also loved it because even though it was before Bucky and her had become an item, they were squished against each other. Bucky was smiling wide and caught in a laugh as he looked down at her, catching her from stumbling to the ground, and she was laughing as she gripped his arm to find her balance. Steve and Becca laughing on the side at her clumsy self, and the fact someone was always having to help her stay on two feet. Bucky having always been one of those top people in her life. 

She smiled down at the memory and couldn’t help but feel those little flutters move from her stomach to her chest and eventually make her cheeks heat up. 

_________________

Now he had two things to freak out about. One being Steve and his talk tonight. Yes, he knew he didn’t really need to after Y/N’s reassurance that things would be fine, but still. It was a strange conversation to have with your best friend. 

“Sorry I fell in love with your sister and hid it from you. My best friend of over a quarter of a decade. Not to mention you found out from me coming out of her room half naked after you thought she was home alone...” 

Yeah, that was going to be weird no matter how ok they were now… 

Then you add in, he just casually told Y/N that he loved her before hanging up the phone. He didn’t mean to. It just felt so natural in the moment! 

He wanted to make the first time he said it special, not just by accident…

God, his heart was racing and now he had four hours left of his work day to let those things just stir around in his head. Great. Maybe that 3rd cup of coffee wasn’t that great of an idea.

_______________

“So, everything’s good with you guys?” Sam asked after Steve let him in on everything.

“Yeah. I mean Buck and I still need to talk it out, but… I don’t know. I can’t be mad if they’re both happy at the end of the day. Happiest I’ve seen either of them in a while, if I’m being honest,” Steve shrugged with a small smile. 

“See, I knew that’d be the case at the end of the day. I tried telling Bucky that,” Sam shook his head as he finished up the dishes. “And sorry man about not saying anything. I didn’t think it was my place to,” he apologized. 

“No, I get it. This was their own thing. You were just being a good friend to Bucky and letting him figure this out himself,” Steve waved. 

“He’ll be home in a little. You worried?” Sam asked, washing his hands off. 

“No, if anyone’s nervous it’ll be Bucky. Y/N and I had a really good talk last night. No matter how upset I was before, I now know where they were coming from,” Steve sighed. “Did I agree with it? No, but we all have different ways we would go about things.”

“True facts,” Sam smiled. “Well, I’ll hoard myself in my room for a while until the coast is clear. Let me know if you guys need anything, ok?” 

“Got it. Oh, and Y/N said she was going to come over after with pizza for a movie night, if you want to join,” Steve pointed out moving to the couch. 

“I’m here for it,” Sam nodded, going down the hall to his room. “Call me when all is resolved.”

Steve nodded and plopped down on the couch skimming through the channels as he waited for Bucky. About 15 minutes later, he heard the lock turn and quietly the brunette made his way in with caution. 

“Hey,” Steve said softly, turning from the end of the couch. 

“Hey,” Bucky said with a soft smile as he put his things by the door. 

These were the first words they had spoken in over 2 weeks. They hadn’t talked since the whole fight in the backyard.

“How was work?” Steve asked, making small talk. 

“Nothing too crazy today,” Bucky shrugged, walking to the back of the couch with his hands in his pockets. “Oh, Lillian asked about you again.” 

“From accounting?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Only Lillian I know that’s obsessed with you,” Bucky laughed lightly. 

“God, I’m not ready for that…” Steve returned the chuckle. 

It got quiet after that. Not awkward, but not comfortable either. 

“So…” 

“Listen, Bucky,” Steve sitting back in his chair running a hand across his face. “I’m sorry, I punched you after-”

“Don’t be. I deserved it,” Bucky waved him off, coming around the couch slowly to sit on the opposite end. 

“Ok, yeah. You’re right,” Steve nodded with another small laugh. Again another pregnant pause. “I gotta know. Why didn’t you just tell me, Buck?”

He took in a deep breath before answering. “I’m sure Y/N told you, but we didn’t want things to have a bad falling out and it be awkward for everyone else-.”

“No, not that. Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t going to do it from the start?” Steve interrupted.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Y/N said that you guys went back and forth on not going through with this because you didn’t want to hurt me. I mean, maybe that’s not that big of a deal, but it changes things on my end some,” Steve explained. Bucky just sent him a blank stare. “What I mean is, when I first figured everything out, I was hurt because I thought you didn’t even consider me in your decisions. I know, it sounds selfish, but-”

“No, it doesn’t. You’re a part of the equation to some extent. Just like Becca is. But surprisingly Becca was excited and not freaked out about her best friend dating her big brother. It’s a little different being the big brother in the situation though,” he said softly. “It’s not selfish though Steve. If the roles were reversed and say you and Becca dated, I would hope you considered my feelings in the matter too.”

Steve was glad that he understood what he was getting at. He was worried it wouldn’t make sense or make him look like he thought the whole thing revolved around him. 

“Yeah…” Steve paused. “But you didn’t say anything about that when we did get in that fight. Why?”

“I don’t know… I guess I just wanted you to understand my feelings for her more than anything. I needed you to know that she wasn’t just some girl I was hoping to hook up with at some point.”

“I know you would never do that Buck. No matter how upset I was, I still don’t think that low of you,” Steve sighed. “And about that… I’m sorry I said you don’t deserve her… That was an extremely hard hit to the gut.”

“You were looking out for her,” Bucky said with pursed lips, but the pain from the past comment was clear. It didn’t feel good having your best friend who's been through thick and thin with you tell you weren’t worth something. 

“Yes, but that was a low blow and I said it out of hurt feelings. I was hurt, so I wanted you to be just as hurt. That wasn’t fair,” Steve concluded. “If there is anyone in this world that I trust to take care of Y/N just as much as me, it’s you Buck. I was just blinded by anger.”

“Understandably,” Bucky nodded, looking back at his friend a little less troubled. 

“Understandably,” Steve agreed. They stared at each other silently communicating. “I’m sorry.”

“If anyone is sorry, it’s me Steve,” Bucky shook his head running a hand down his thigh still slightly anxious. 

“How about we both agree that we didn’t handle this situation the best way,” Steve smiled. “I should have seen how happy you two were and not second guess how it happened. I shouldn’t have made it about me when you both clearly are what the other needs.”

“Steve-”

“Truly. You guys have been glowing the last two months with complete and utter happiness and I was so oblivious to pick up on it. I feel like a shitty brother and best friend.”

“You’re not a shitty brother or best friend. Not in the least,” Bucky said scooting to the edge of the couch. “You know that.”

“Y/N tell you we got in a fight on the lawn yesterday?” Steve asked with a small smirk. 

Bucky chuckled. “Yes. Said your mom about beat your asses out there too.”

“All because I was too stubborn to talk it out,” Steve shook his head while he threw it back on the back of the couch. 

“Eh, you said it yourself. We all didn’t handle this situation well,” Bucky chuckled. “She kicked your ass, didn’t she?” he said after a second. 

“Wouldn’t say that, but she must have worked out over seas because I couldn’t pin her like I used to. She was giving me a pretty decent fight,” Steve laughed loudly. 

“God, I would pay money to have someone get that on tape,” Bucky laughed with him. 

The two soaking up the now comfortable atmosphere. 

“So we’re ok, right?” Steve asked. “Leave all out petty, stubborn, and stupid mistakes in the past?”

“I’m fine with that if you are,” Bucky nodded. 

“Good. I’ve missed having my best friend around. I was getting tired of ignoring you,” Steve sighed, patting Bucky’s back. 

“You gave me good practice with your stubbornness for Y/N. Not that I haven’t been practicing with you both my whole life, but damn you guys are too bull-headed monsters.”

“We feed off each other's energy,” Steve shrugged with a smirk. 

“I know, it’s exhausting, yet entertaining all at the same time,” Bucky smiled as he moved his head side to side. 

A knock sounded at the door and they both turned toward the wooden panel. 

“Speaking of the devil,” Steve smiled standing up.

Bucky froze. 

Shit. One anxiety had been cured now, but he had almost forgotten about his second one...

(Tags for this series will be closing soon as it is getting pretty full, please send an ask if you want to be added:)

I’ll post on whatever chapter I decided to close it down here.

The Number One Rule (TNOR) Taglist:

@shadowolf993 @hello-i-am-daydreaming @jessyballet  @emmabarnes @kmuir1  @beautifulrare4leafclover @thefallenbibliophilequote @l0ve-0f-my-life  @shawnie--jo–jo  @asoftie4bucky @katiaw2 @sheeple @sznri @bxtchboy69 @taliarosej00 @bakugouswh0r3 @stopjustlovethemcu @babemendesxz @jenniereiji @taliarosej00 @loveyou5everr @natdrunk @im-a-light-child @stucky-my-ship @fairykimseok

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose  @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan  @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness

@bellamy-barnes

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555 @iheartsebastianstan @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​

[ugh-againwiththenames]

So Many Fanfics So Little Time

This is just my list, I have seen so many (but if you want to use it it’s all yours too!).  I’m not a writer.  But I am a hell of a reader. Voracious one might argue. I just wanted to track my progress through the weeds of the absolutely never ending supply of Destiel and Cockles fanfic. 

Read on if you want to see what I’ve read, and what I’ve thought. I am but one person with opinions - some of them may be unpopular - some of them you might agree with, but if you find something you haven’t read here, I encourage you to do so. 

Honestly, this is just so I can track what I have read already, and when my friends ask, I can reference something easily. I have found some different fics on all kinds of ‘best of’ lists all over the interwebs. And I love recs - so rec away friends. 

As someone who reads a solid 40 novels a year typically, I don’t come by the “I read a lot” innocently. I do actually read a LOT.  When not reading fanfic (a new obsession, all things being fair), I usually read a lot of Fantasy/high fantasy, romance/erotica, and or YA (yeah, that was a bit of a ride no?).  So from this one might digress that I like fluffy, cute stories, complicated and supernatural/paranormal type stories, and I sure do not shy away from violence or smut (or maybe violence with smut? *smirk*). 

I have read all of these in the last 2-3 months (I will continue to add as I go). I had never read a fanfic until 2-3 months ago.  A lot of these wonderful people are on here, and I mean you no offence by not directly tagging you - I’m still learning how to actually properly use this site. Links to AO3 are included (and I love you all). 

These aren’t necessarily in any real order - I did read T&S first, followed by 91W, and 4LW...after that it’s just a shit show of Long or Short, Destiel or Cockles - smorgasbord. Some of these are the most popular Fics out there, and others I’ve never seen recc’d anywhere (just sort of accidentally happened upon them).  So let’s get to it, shall we? 

Twist and Shout - ok look. I understand the stigma associated with this one, but it was the FIRST one I read. It was the ball that shot me down the hill, and I haven’t stopped since. So. I loved it. I CRIED like a baby. SOBBED. It was not the quality of the writing but the way the story was developed and delivered. I have Never Cried Like This Reading a Story IN MY LIFE. It’s a rite of passage. Read It and have an opinion - it doesn’t need to be mine.  

Author(s): gabriel, standbyme   https://archiveofourown.org/works/537876/chapters/955188

Ninety-One Whiskey - aka 91W, it is mentioned so much, and is SO worth the read.  I continued my dive into the war fics (not typically my bag really and here I was reading 2 in a row).  There are a couple of followup stories as well to this series (and yes, I’ve read them all).  Although I’ll say that the original is my favourite. I often got lost in a bit of the War/Tactical descriptions, but would recommend it to anyone anyway. Ugh...the “stolen moments”...they were at the same time tragic and the most amazing things ever.  You feel me? no? go read it. 

Author:  komodobits   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362190/chapters/5214500

Four Letter Word for Intercourse - aka 4LW.  OMG just, OMG. I loved this story. I loved it so much. I think I read it in a day.  Devoured it. It’s so HOT. Just read it. If you haven’t you’re missing out.  LEMME AT IT. I loved “knowing the secret”, and had some major anxiety about that realization dawning (I had to take a breath, and be like, no, no, this is gonna be a mess, but it’s gonna be SO GOOD - I was not disappointed).  There’s more than one work here too - read them all. PLEASE. 

Author: bendingsignpost  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086839/chapters/37568591

Memories Bring Back Memories (Bring Back You) - This was the first Sobs one I read, but it sent me on a spree.  this is the Memory Loss one.  I have one piece of advice here - read everything by Sobsicles. You can thank me later...just go to her page, and fucking sort to supernatural (or not, read it all!) I’d list them but I’d fucking seriously be here all day.  Also, her tags make me laugh so hard.

Author:  sobsicles https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Orpheus - I love this one too, Tattooed!Cas, my LOVE. paired with Mechanic!Dean, my HEART, #help.  Read this one in one evening as well. (I was on a roll).  It’s a one night stand that turns into more (much like my last relationship)....hmm...maybe this is why I was pulled in - although to be fair that is the last similarity to my shitty love life! I do not remember how I stumbled onto this one (tattooed Cas may have been the draw...tbh). Read the warnings though, there is some triggering stuff in this one - but if you can handle it, it’s definitely worth the read. 

Author: sysrae       https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364347/chapters/5220227

Have Love, Will Travel - Can you say no to Stripper!Dean? Cause I sure as hell cannot. Typical sort of character development here with Dean having trust issues, and Cas being painfully awkward...(but in like a super cute way?).  Would Recommend. 

Author: squeemonster   https://archiveofourown.org/works/565455/chapters/1011747

The Inexhaustible Silence of Houses - Change of pace here...It’s got a nice twist.  I didn’t actually clue into how it was going to end until very near the end (maybe I was being oblivious), when the realization came over me and I was...man. I was DONE IN.  I hope that doesn’t spoil (I need some kind of way of remembering them). Voiceless!Cas Hunter!Dean

Author: Askance (doomcountry)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/560268/chapters/1000755

Adagio - This is super short, and super cute. Honestly, I would read the whole thing just for the last line. It’ll take you less than an hour if I remember correctly. Go, I’ll wait. I squeeed. did you? 

Author: noangelsinthegarrison   https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397248/chapters/2928145

Any Little Heartache - super easy read (not in a bad way, but in a ‘you’ll fly through it’ way).  It’s mid-length, not graphic, but really fun hospital AU. HeartSurgeon!Dean / Nurse!Cas - enemies to lovers anyone? Fuck you to Fuck me? yeah. YUM. 

Author: followthattardis https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143376/chapters/11838311

Ad Astra - This is another short(ish) one, just one chapter.  And by that I mean that this is written like a very long poem. Cas as a star who has visited Dean many times over the years of his life, that culminates in 4x01 barn scene. It’s ‘awe’ sad. ‘puppy dog eyes’ sad. The writing format took me a bit to understand what was happening - it’s my lack of poetry knowledge, not the writing.  

Author: nhixxie https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013491

Ad Astra Per Aspera - This is a cute story.  ESL writer, no judgement.  I found this while looking for the one above, and thought the premise looked cute - and it was. Misunderstanding leading to Dean realizing he’s actually Bi.  Miscommunication leading to realization.  

Author: Riverchester https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354336/chapters/28101816

Psalm 40:2 - Time travel post-canon Cas and Pre-series Dean.  If you’re wondering how that works, strap in for this ride, it’s well worth it. 

Author: unicornpoe https://archiveofourown.org/works/30786425/chapters/75992444

Addicted to You - Warlock!Dean/Incubus!Cas - accidental ‘mating’ (I actually really don’t like that word, but there’s sort of no avoiding it in this situation). Cute story.  When you drunk dial a succubus and get an incubus instead...Whatever will we do? 

Author: Ltleflrt https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387346/chapters/9959288 

A Glimpse Beyond - End Fix-it. Not yet complete, 10 chapters so far...I want MORE! Reliving memories Dean/Cas & Sam/Eileen.   

Author: NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/27731689/chapters/67875925

Cas-ti-el - Please I want more...It’s like the story just started. Please write more of this story!! 1 chapter, it’s a trope prompt challenge, but I want it to be a full on story of its own. Imprinted names of their soul mates, Dean doesn’t understand his (because it’s in a different language)...I’m frustrated by wanting this story to keep going. 

Author:  Valinde (Valyria)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941591

Our Bodies, Posessed by Light - another short one. Not going to lie, this one took a little getting used to, and I can’t say that I enjoyed it too much for the sole purpose that the premise gave me the willies.  Cas has to vessel jump - ends up in Sam...I got through it, it had a good ending, but yeah, sorry. This just wasn’t for me. 

Author:  obstinatrix  https://archiveofourown.org/works/260289

Peanut Butter Pumpkin Wedding Cake - Waiter!Dean / Writer!Cas - This is so effing cute, just misunderstanding after misunderstanding bumbling around like the couple of dorks that they are. It’s only one chapter. 100% would recommend. 

Author:  Sparseparsley https://archiveofourown.org/works/223962

Destiel, Actually - This is another super cute story, 5 chapters. Gabriel playing a singular role in putting Dean and Cas in awkward positions to push them together.  I fucking DIED at “oh, I am the sub” - needs context, but I guarantee you that you’ll laugh out loud...

Author:  Bexism  https://archiveofourown.org/works/399934/chapters/658398

The Smell Before the Rain - This was my first A/B/O - a big apology to all those who are into mpreg and whatnot, this was my lesson that I am not. this was not for me. Also - I’m a firm Cas (Alpha/Dom) believer, and i’m good with switch Cas, but it’s hard for me to take him being the full Omega here, when paired with the rest I just couldn’t do it. I finished it, but, not my thing. I know now. 

Author: jscribbles https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355230/chapters/53406127

Crazy Diamonds - This is another short one, only 3 chapters - it’s a body swap for Dean, 4x02 him and 2018 him swap places (assumption that 2018 him is “with” Cas).  It’s a super cute little story. 

Author:  pantheon_of_discord https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151642/chapters/37738631

The Breath of All Things - Wheelchair!Dean / Volunteer!Cas.  This is a lovely story, typical Dean self-hatred etc. Triggering for those with suicide warnings. It had me in tears at the end. There’s a really spectacular quote near the end that I found so romantic I screen grabbed it. 

Author:  KismetJeska https://archiveofourown.org/works/994750/chapters/1967519

Kind of a Forever Deal - SummerCamp!AU This is just a really cute and fluffy summer camp AU.  Which is so different from 91W (That’s right, check the author)! I was a little disappointed with the ending, but otherwise really enjoyed this all the way through and was loving all the discovery and young characterizations of all the characters. 

Author: komodobits https://archiveofourown.org/works/999291/chapters/1978478

Everytown, USA - Best way I can break this one down? Wanderer!Dean (listless and without a place in the world, he ends up in a small town...), Twin!Cas (that leads to some fun things). There are a number of points where you’re gonna yell at Dean for doing stupid shit (that are very much in character for him to do), you think, well, yes, obviously you’re going to do that you silly fucking boy [affectionate]; but whyyy? (but we know). 

Author: aileenrose https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797559/chapters/3854836

Chalk and Chainmail - HighSchool!AU, Cas is an artist, Dean LARP’s - it’s cute and angsty. 

Author:  lemonsorbae https://archiveofourown.org/works/804704/chapters/1517551

A Little Patience - Ok. you want smut? This is your story. You want Kink? This is your story.  I actually did not finish this. It got a little carried away in my opinion. It was VERY panty kink oriented (which, while essentially canon isn’t really my kink) so, if you want that Panty Kink on full display? Go forth and enjoy! it  is thirty something chapters, I got to the mid-twenties I Think. 

Author: riseofthefallenone https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750058/chapters/3739232

Control - I REALLY ENJOYED THIS. Which is saying a lot for someone who has already admitted that a Subby Cas isn’t really my HC - so to so thoroughly enjoy a Sub!Cas story? (maybe it’s the tattooes...*wink*). It’s an AU where Cas is the head of a company - Dean is a callboy I guess, for lack of a better term. Just read it.

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden  https://archiveofourown.org/works/31156601/chapters/76993217

More (I copy pasted the next lot from my google doc, I’ll flush them out later - no i wont...)

Teach Me (short) - movie night in the bunker, things get a little carried away   Author:  Chiyume  https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961327

You Light the Spark (in my bonfire heart) (short) - when cas doesn't realize that dean is unaware of his feelings, super short, super cute                      Author: noangelsinthegarrison https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193910 

Communication Breakdown (short/cockles) - dean ends up in Jensen's head while he films the confession scene, no sexual content Author: jujubiest   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Look What You Made Me Do (short/cockles) -      -  Vegas Con 2020 / jensen comes out with a song     - cute short - no sexual content Author:  green_blue_heller https://archiveofourown.org/works/30251592 Full House (short/cockles) - reimagined version of the rented house story - putting it in order (so to speak). funny / cute / fluffy not explicit   Author: n_nami  https://archiveofourown.org/works/30855827

Cyber Sex (short/cockles) - anastiel https://archiveofourown.org/works/31467086      - shameless post GISH Fest zoom call porn      - Short (very short)

It's Complicated (cockles) - gail_morgan https://archiveofourown.org/works/31434938/chapters/77747519       The GISHtake (short/cockles) - MellyCrazyCoconut https://archiveofourown.org/works/31508099     - cute short post GISH zoom     - oops "babe, really?"  

(10.02.2021 updated) Since last update: New reads - Fuck i’m gonna be here all day - there’s not gonna be as much gonna be NO detail in these breakdowns...sorry! This has now just become a “what i’ve read list” as opposed to a Rec list...

Love, All Alike (Pt. 1 Love, All Alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555599/chapters/10370646                             - Though The Stars Walk Backward (pt 2 Love, All alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves

And this, your living kiss - opal_bullets   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083927/chapters/42744872

Come On, Let's Strike a Match (Domination and Submission: a love story pt 1) - anyrei & queerwerewolf ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722478/chapters/62458810    - Playing With Fire (D&S: a love story pt 2)    - We Kiss and the Flames Get Higher (D&S: a love story pt 3)     - Sparking That Old Flame (D&S: a love story pt 4) 

Cinderwings - bendingsignpost Cinderella!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847041/chapters/29336421

Linden - fleeceframe Swan!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33126730/chapters/82236118

No Netflix, No Chill (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764966

Can't Drink You Away (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785792 

Jensen Totally (Does Not!) Snore (short RPF) - Dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30315717

Dean Ships It (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30349434

All about control - wingless   https://archiveofourown.org/works/9151930/chapters/20791243

Aesthetics in Autoerotica (pt 1 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885544                                                             - The Ties that Bind (pt 2 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant

Let's take a drive - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32581027/chapters/80819581 

Enchanted ink - castielslostwings TattooArtist!Dean TattooArtist!Castiel AU ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043622/chapters/55109530

The bones beneath our skin - darknessbound   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633754/chapters/59515804

The Plot (RPF) - Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795588/chapters/6274970

The Gentle Force with which you Take Me (RPF) - Phoenix_Ascended   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32110120/chapters/79549183

According to all known laws of Life (Pt. 1 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207901                                                          - and he's back (with a mind of his own) (pt. 2 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles

Six hundred sundays (and many more) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31158776

Aching in the Absence of you - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31832977/chapters/78811378

gorging myself on you, still can’t get full (insatiable) (Short) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32203291

memories bring back memories (bring back you) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Dream Come True (short) - bendingsignpost   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071159

tall grass - aeli_kindara   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127040/chapters/30030726

asunder (Short) - rageprufrock https://archiveofourown.org/works/62115

Apheresis - bendingsignpost BloodDonor!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32674783/chapters/81056680

we always were but never knew it - frightfullyrude   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32698324/chapters/81119503

In this Louisiana Bar (Short) - fleeceframe   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31764487

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Alternate Universes - n_nami   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32687929/chapters/81092785

my heart a compass - lagaudiere https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629951

Unsound Inverses - sp8ce (not complete)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836881/chapters/73413300

The Jensen Mistake (RPFish) - fellshish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31950169

tell me about the dream (Pt. 1 Kids are coming home) - playedwright   https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984813/chapters/68544450

It's handy to know (FIMMF Themed ;)) - RosaMarloes   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31761322

So Says The Sword - komodobits AngelTrueform!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597892/chapters/28695592

Communication Breakdown (RPFish)- darkshrimpemotions (jujubiest)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Carry You Home - Casloveshisfreckles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982637/chapters/65862916

In the Shadow of your Wings - Enochian Things (Salr323)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531294/chapters/17121655

When Harry Met Sally (RPF) (Pt. 1 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622347/chapters/17351845    - Eight Dildos (RPF) (Pt. 2 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood    - Attention, Please (RPF) (Pt. 3 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood             - Boat Trip (RPF) (Pt. 4 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood

A Winter's Tale - NorthernSparrow   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654327/chapters/5930561

A Close Shave - NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090167

r/supernatural - renrub (short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626783

sam reads destiel fics - rebshome (short - funny!)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33721624

Angel Cookies - noxsoulmate Chirstmas!AU **  https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729640/chapters/26427765

Under The Midnight Sun - NorthernSparrow Arctic!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690645/chapters/39143677

Bron-Yr-Aur - mrbluesky (Short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225335

The Dean Winchester Beat Sheet - saltyfeathers   https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258594/chapters/45800209

The Meaning On My Skin - saltnhalo   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005378/chapters/42538133

Red Right Hand (Pt. 1 Murder Ballads)  - Duckyboos   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306110/chapters/9760008    - Are you the One that I've been waiting for? (pt. 2 Murder Ballads) - Duckyboos   

Riptides - sharkfish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230426/chapters/30263556

Damn Fine Ride - Cimorene105 (pt 1 - rodeo) Cowboy!AU** (I’m a horse girl, sue me...)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342340    - My Face Just Does This, Sometimes - Cimorene105 (pt. 2 rodeo)    - The Kinkiest Thing I've Ever Done- Cimorene105 (pt 3 rodeo)    - All Signs Point to Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 4 rodeo)    - Monster Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 5 rodeo)    - My Man, The Siren - Cimorene105 (pt. 6 rodeo)    - A Pain in My Ass - Cimorene105 (pt. 7 rodeo)

Astrolabe (terra incognita pt 1) - reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348812/chapters/7326794    - Drollery (terra incognita pt 2) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent    - Rubrication (terra incognita pt 3) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent

Go Down With This Ship - PorcupineGirl   https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023642/chapters/18370474

Fire and Ice - Castielslostwings (Firefighter/Paramedic AU!) **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286295/chapters/55768486

The Structural Similarities of Hunters and Onions - Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound (Short)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33383101

Castiel Novak's Office, This is Dean - emmbrancsxx0   https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411336/chapters/53545840

Out of the Deep (out of the deep pt. 1) - riseofthefallenone - MERMAID AU! **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/548878/chapters/977676

Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx - pantheon_of_discord   https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909440/chapters/24256989

I'll Be Good - LittleAngelCassie   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118334/chapters/9282234

Kenosis - CastielsCarma (Short - part of Destiel ABC collection)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30411720

[ttttaehyungie]

secret santa | kth x reader

secret santa | kim taehyung x reader

genre | bff2l, fluff

summary | What you thought was an ingenious plan to figure out the perfect gift for your secret santee turns out to take a whole bunch of wrong turns, but with the best outcomes.

rating | NC-17

word count | 6.2k words

warnings | some profanities (it’s like... once LOL), mentioned breakups, it’s Christmas in the context of a pandemic

a/n | Merry Christmas everybuddy 🎄✨ here is a lighthearted (or at least it was until i hit the 6am point of the night while writing slkdjflkjd) lil christmas gift to everyone, but mostly to myself LOL bcos I’m finally posting a fic about the one who owns my heart in its entirety 😌

Christmas without you would just not be Christmas at all

Bright mistletoes up above us, it’s just you and me

-- V, Snow Flower

“C’mon, ____,” Taehyung whines. He plops down on the couch next to you and puts his big, round eyes to good use, giving you the puppy dog eyes treatment.

Well too bad for Taehyung, having known him for the last decade has granted you immunity against his pouty antics. There’s a couple of things that Taehyung employs in a bid to get what he wants. First, he’ll whine. Next, he’ll attempt to reason it out with you… or as much as he can convincingly reason with the pout still laced thick in his tone. If that fails, he’ll try bargaining. And finally, if none of the aforementioned has managed to sway you, he’ll just pout in silence.

“That’s the thing about Secret Santas, Tae, they’re supposed to be, y’know, secret.”

“Well, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who your santee is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

There it is. Stage two.

You ignore him and return to scrolling through Amazon in what you hope is a nonchalant manner.

“What if I guess who it is?” he tries.

When you don’t reply, he continues, “Is it Hoseok?” He runs a hand through his golden locks in thought. “No, buying for Yoongi is easy because all he ever wants is practical things like planners. You wouldn’t need help with that. Hm… Is it Seokjin?”

He rambles on about different kitchenware that could make a good present for Jin, a ramble that would have been really helpful if only Jin were actually your secret santee.

Taehyung gasps and falls silent, shocking you into finally looking up from your phone. His already round eyes are even rounder, wide as they are in shock. A hand hovers over his mouth as he goes still.

Then, as suddenly as he had gasped, he relaxes into a laugh.

“For a moment, I thought your secret santee was me,” he says, chuckling. A jolt runs through you, and your breath hitches in a way that you pray is unnoticeable. “But you’re too shitty a liar to do that.”

“Hey!” You jab his side playfully and he yelps. “What do you mean? I’m a great liar.”

“That’s a blatant and unconvincing lie right there.”

You fold your arms and turn away.

“I know you’re not actually mad, ____,” comes his sing-song voice, crossing his arms behind his head and reclining into the couch.

Letting out another huff, you turn further away. So when he grabs your hands and pulls you to face him, it startles you a little.

His eyes search yours, and you can’t help yourself from stumbling into their depths. The seriousness in his gaze holds yours intently.

But just as you think he’s about to apologize, his eyes melt into little crescent moons as he grins. “So. Who’s your secret santee?”

His cry comes out muffled under the cushion you hit him with.

An exasperated groan leaves you the moment you close the front door. Tipping your head back to rest against the solid wood, you shut your eyes. You hear footsteps pad closer.

“I take it your plan didn’t succeed?” Irene says, leaning against the wall as she takes in your defeated stance.

“Nope,” you say, picking yourself back up and hanging up your scarf and coat. Your roommate’s still in the same fuzzy pyjamas she was in when you’d left for Tae’s earlier in the day, and honestly, she’s got the right idea. You’re ready to get back into jammies too.

A Lifetime movie plays in the background, and you’d be willing to bet your life’s savings -- not that there’s much when you’re but a struggling student -- that she’s got a mug of hot chocolate to accompany her.

“Another Christmas movie?” you scoff in mock disgust. “How are you not sick of them yet?”

“What else are we supposed to do during a quarantined Christmas?”

“Don’t kid yourself. You’d be doing this even without the quarantine.”

“Hey. If you detest it so much, I heard that Taehyung’s place has many vacant rooms right now.”

You roll your eyes. She got that information from you. Both his roommates were gone from the apartment for the time being, one went back home for the holidays and another had chosen to attend the entire semester from home since everything was online anyway, leaving Taehyung with the luxury of the entire apartment to himself.

Meanwhile, Irene was making full use of the ongoing situation to evade going back home for the holidays. Too much family drama to allow her to binge-watch her holiday flicks in peace, she’d said.

And you? It’s kinda awful, but you’ve chosen to remain in your apartment just slightly off-campus so that you could get a head start on your research for your thesis, the campus library’s offerings much more vast than the local neighborhood library of your small town hometown.

Upon hearing this, Taehyung had offered to stay to keep you company over the holidays. “We’ve spent every Christmas together ever since we were kids, Christmas would just feel too weird without you,” he’d said. “And then we can join the gang’s Zoom Christmas celebration together too! I heard that’s what Namjoon and Jin will be doing since they’re both in the city over Christmas.”

How you’d managed to keep yourself from melting into a puddle of goo at his casual selflessness was a real feat. Taehyung had always been close to his family, and often missed them intensely while you guys were miles apart from home each college semester. So for him to give up a trip back home so you could still have a piece of home with you over Christmas was not a small sacrifice.

“Hellooo?” Irene waves a hand in your face. You jump, jolted out of your thoughts. “Are you actually daydreaming about it? Ooh, staying over at your crush’s place with no one else around… saucy things could happen, ____.”

Although that wasn’t what you were thinking about, you still feel the heat rise to your cheeks at being caught daydreaming about Taehyung. Instead, you give a feeble excuse to get Irene off your back, “I’m just thinking about secret santa gifts again. Ugh, why’d I have to draw him of all people?!”

“Are you sure you aren’t overthinking this because of your feelings? How difficult is it to think of a gift for a guy you’ve been friends with since you were kids? What about his interests?”

“That’s real tough. His hobbies are so whimsical and oftentimes just impulsive. Remember the phase with the film camera? And then the short-lived violin phase? And the piano phase? The only outcome of that phase is him playing the Chopstick Waltz every single time we pass by a piano.”

“Well, what about something that’s been a constant in his life then through all the phases?”

You purse your lips in thought, weighing the thought. It’s not a bad suggestion, but what has been a constant for him all this time?

Coming up with naught, you sigh and turn to head to your room. “I’ll think about it while I get changed back into my jammies.”

When you described Taehyung’s ideas and interests as being whimsical and oftentimes impulsive, this is exactly what you meant.

“Tae, I don’t think it’s gonna fit. Why’d you get such a big one?”

“You just have to believe, ____. We just need faith, trust, and- well actually, maybe just faith and a really good, hard thrust.”

“I feel like there’s so many that’s what she said jokes to be made here.”

“Wasting your energy on that line of thinking is the reason why we haven’t gotten this christmas tree through the door yet.”

With one more solid push, the widest part of the tree finally makes it through the narrow doorway of Taehyung’s apartment, and the two of you go stumbling forward with the extra momentum.

“We did it!” he exclaims, wrapping you up in a hug. “You believed!”

Internally cursing yourself for the way your heart has the audacity to stutter at his touch. The hug is nothing- the warmth that seeps from his body to yours is familiar because hugs are nothing special in your friendship. Even in your grade school memories, Taehyung had always been a tactile person, giving out hugs generously and demanding them in return by simply throwing himself at people to be received in an embrace, coerced or not. As you and your peers grew older, Taehyung became more aware and withheld himself from his sudden hug attacks, especially towards the other girls. But not you. He felt no need to skirt around things with you, and you found a quiet hum of satisfaction in knowing that Taehyung could be his tactile self with you. Hugs were just an expression of your friendship. Nothing more.

That is, until you wanted them to be more.

You shake the thought away. You’ve dealt with this successfully for more than a year now and you can continue on.

Taehyung loosens his hold but keeps his arms around you, leaning back to look at you. The soft puffs in his cheeks and the light creases around his eyes as they bunch up in happiness are just some of the little things you adore about him. The contentment practically radiates off of him. It’s just like him to get this excited over a christmas tree.

“Shall we get to setting it up?” you ask and he nods, releasing you completely then to get to work.

After the two of you find the perfect spot, situating the tree in the corner of the living room by the windows and in reach of a power socket, you grab the bag of decorations.

The oddly small and light bag of decorations.

“Tae?” you ask, pulling out the single box of baubles. “Is this all you got?”

Grinning sheepishly, he nods. “I didn’t have much left for decorations after I chose the tree.”

“Why’d you choose such a big tree then?”

“What’s the point of getting a tiny tree? It’s only nice and festive if it’s large!” he exclaims.

“Well, what’s the point of getting a big tree that will be bare except for six baubles, Tae?!”

“I was thinking we could improvise the decorations.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Improvise?”

“Yeah, like- wait,” he says, running to his bedroom. His voice floats over from the narrow corridor, “just hang on!”

After a little rustling and rummaging, Taehyung emerges with two shoeboxes and a few scarves thrown over his shoulders. Grabbing one of the shoeboxes from him, you open it to reveal a bunch of keychains. Souvenirs from his friends’ travels and some of his own too. In there, you recognize an eiffel tower keychain you gifted him after your family’s holiday to France.

“Here, look!” He grabs a few and begins hanging them on the tree. “Decorations!”

You laugh. It’s a classic Taehyung move, and honestly it doesn’t look half bad. Picking a few keychains of your own from the box, you join him in placing them around the tree.

“What are you going to do about the tree topper?” you ask.

He smirks. “I’ve already got that all figured out.” Unboxing the second shoebox to reveal his collection of polaroid photos, he rifles around till he finds the photo he wants. Brandishing the polaroid of Yeontan, he grins. “Both an angel and a star. Perfect.”

You can't argue with that logic, and you say as much before vacating the step stool so he can clip the polaroid to the top of the tree with a wooden peg. Eyeing the pile of scarves on the couch, you ask, “What about the scarves?”

“Scarves? You mean ribbons?” he says, and begins draping them across the tree. You giggle and reach for one. The soft material is plush, caressing your skin as you run your fingers over the material. It's much nicer than the other scarves, you notice, and way too nice to be stuck on a christmas tree.

“Hey,” you say, “isn’t this cashmere? Are you sure you want such a nice sweater on your tree?”

Taehyung shrugs. “It was a gift from my ex. It’s not like I’m going to wear it anymore.”

His ex. The words hit you like a punch to your gut.

Taehyung's ex, Samantha, was a pleasant person to be around, easygoing and bubbly with a sunny personality that matched him well. At least, from what you could tell based off the first two months of their relationship that you got to witness firsthand. You're not quite sure who exactly initiated the distance -- whether it was from your own courtesy that you gave them space, or whether Samantha had, directly or indirectly, requested for it -- the memories were all too foggy by now.

What you do remember is that one moment they were happy together, and the next they were broken up, the relationship lasting just a little over six months. Taehyung never spoke much about it and when you did probe, he would brush it off with scant excuses that they just figured they weren't compatible after all.

That had been some time in the spring. Briefly, you wonder how many wears the scarf had gotten, and how much sentimental value it held. The quality of the material hinted towards a relationship that had been going strong.

Yet, you muse over it as you drape the luxurious material over the prickly christmas tree, Taehyung brushed it off with such brashness that spoke otherwise.

“Hey,” Taehyung breaks the silence that has fallen between you, clearing his throat in a self-conscious manner as if he’s feeling guilty over the awkward turn that the conversation had taken. You look at him, half-hidden behind the tree pines, his eyes pensive. Maybe he’ll finally open up about the relationship -- it’s been eight months after all. But then he flashes his usual elfin grin. “Any luck with your secret santee gift yet?”

You groan, partly because no, you’re still clueless and stuck on what to get him, and partly because he’s once again evaded the topic of his ex.

The incessant buzzing of your phone gets ignored, vibrating almost violently in its spot on the tinyass coffee table next to your feet which you’ve kicked up ever so demurely. The consecutive, rapid-fire notifications can only be from an overly enthusiastic Taehyung.

Irene nudges foot with her own socked one. “Aren’t you gonna check your phone? I can pause the movie if you want.”

“Nah, I’ve watched Home Alone enough times to not care about missing anything. And it’s probably just Tae being all excited about secret santa gift suggestions.”

“Ooh, how’s that going? Finally got him to spill what he might want?”

An exasperated sigh escapes you. “No, he’s sending me individualized suggestions for everyone that are so well thought out and personalized that I can’t get them for anyone else.”

Grabbing your still-buzzing phone, you flick through your texts. Just as you’d predicted, Tae’s sent you a bunch of Christmas socks he found on Amazon that he thinks would make a good addition to Jin’s collection of festive socks, a set of really nice paints that would pair well with Yoongi’s newfound interest in painting, and an anthology of time-travel short stories that he thinks would fascinate Namjoon.

“Hm, d’you think he’s called your bluff? Intentionally sending you suggestions that wouldn’t be helpful?”

You shake your head, frowning. “Tae’s not like that. Honestly, it was just a bad move on my part, hoping that he would give some generic gift suggestion that would let slip what he really wants. Tae is too thoughtful to get people generic gifts. He puts his heart and soul into the presents he buys for others.”

Reaching over, Irene pinches your cheek lightly as she coos at you, “Awww, you’re so in love with him. I can feel the cavities forming.”

“Pretty sure those are from the hot chocolate with extra marshmallows you love so much,” you say, tipping your chin in a gesture to the mug in her hands.

Irene sticks her tongue out and takes an extra large sip in typical defiance.

As much as you mock Irene for her love for Lifetime holiday movies and hot chocolate, you do have to admit that there’s a certain appeal to it. Curled up on the lumpy couch in Taehyung’s apartment, cupping the hot beverage in your hands, even the uneven lumpiness of the cheap piece of furniture begins to feel comfortable.

The entire room is dark, save for the glow of the television. Taehyung has always insisted that this is the best way to watch movies. Maybe it’s a good thing your makeshift decorations on the christmas tree -- still standing proudly in the corner of the room -- didn’t include christmas lights after all.

Outside, the snowfall has gotten pretty intense, the temperature dipping significantly compared to the previous few days. It is well and truly winter, the cold showing no mercy to anyone who wasn’t prepared for it. You’re thankful to be inside and with a nice hot drink.

But as the film runs on, you get so engrossed in the plot that you don’t even realize you’ve finished your drink till you drain the last of it. Oh.

Looking over at Taehyung, you could always request for more and you know he’d be more than happy to make you another cup. But the movie is at its climax and the way his eyes are glued to the screen, his mouth slightly agape with how invested he is in the film, you can’t bring yourself to interrupt him now. So you try to ignore the way the cold begins nipping at your fingertips.

Soon enough though, the once warm mug that was a pleasant source of heat became stiff cold ceramic between your equally stiff fingers. Scrunching your toes, you wish you’d thought to bring an extra pair of socks over, especially when you think about the pair of socks you’d stuffed into your boots, soggy and cold with melted ice. A shiver runs through you at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Taehyung asks, and you jump. You didn’t realize he’d noticed.

“Yeah, a little.”

He pouts. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? C’mere,” he says, and lifts the edge of his blanket, revealing his plaid pants and sweatshirt combination.

Crawling in quickly, you tell yourself that you’re only complying because you know he’ll put up a fight if you don’t, and you don’t want the cold air getting into the cocoon of warmth he’s created with his blanket. Not because you’re excited to snuggle up with Tae. Definitely not. But now that you’re here, you may as well make the most of it, you figure.

Taehyung yelps as you press your icy toes to his warm thigh. Your arms wind their way around him, desperately seeking out the warmth of his body heat. Nuzzling lightly into the crook of his neck, you sigh, finally getting some relief from the cold.

The tiniest of groans escapes him. Then, a tight gasp. Stiffening, you peer up at Taehyung carefully.

He’s turned to look at you too, his attention that was once rapt by the movie now focused directly on you with equal intensity. Nervous energy accumulates within you and your heart rate skyrockets, now keenly aware of every hard plane of his body against yours. The logical part of you regrets the way you launched yourself at him and gave no regards for personal space. But you’re only dimly aware of that. The part of you that just wants Taehyung, the part that you’ve kept under lock and key, now fights against the restraints you’ve tied yourself into, unravelling you. You gnaw at your lip unsurely, and you watch as Taehyung’s gaze drops to your lips, heavy-lidded as they linger there, then darting back up to meet yours head-on.

The hand that he has on your hip grips you a little tighter, and you clutch the front of his sweatshirt in response. Your heart is pounding now, and the headiness of it all makes you feel swirly. Is he leaning clo-

Slam!

Both of you jump. The noise from the film startles you both, and you accidentally head butt Taehyung’s chin in the midst of it. He yelps in pain.

“I’m so sorry!” You frantically rub the spot to soothe it. “Are you ok?”

He laughs it off in his usual carefree manner. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure? It doesn’t hurt?”

“It’ll be fine in a bit,” he says, pulling you into his chest, his warmth emanating from his chest to your back in a comforting manner. “Let’s continue watching the movie.”

With his arms wound around you, you wonder if he can feel the way your heartbeat continues to beat erratically. If he does, he says nothing about it. And underneath you, you can feel clearly how his heartbeat matches yours in its stuttering pace. But you say nothing about it. Not for the duration of the movie, not when it ends, not when you stand to leave, and not when he wishes you goodnight at the door.

The next day, you wake up with thoughts of yesterday sending your mind into a spiralling whirlpool. You decide it’s time to make an emergency call.

Also, it’s five days to Christmas and you still haven’t thought of a suitable gift for Taehyung.

“Hello?” comes a chirpy voice over the line.

“Jiminie!”

“____! What’s up?”

“Listen, I need your help. It’s about the secret santa thing.”

“What about it?”

“I need a suggestion for a gift for your best friend.”

Jimin chuckles. “Isn’t he also your best friend?”

“Well, yes, but…”

You take him through your original plan to covertly ask Taehyung what he would like by asking what would make a good gift, and how it got completely derailed, to which Jimin just laughed. And then your discussion with Irene on finding something that has been a constant in his life. Since you’re on the phone with Jimin, you take the chance to rant about your annoyance with yourself at not foreseeing Taehyung’s thoughtfulness and the personalized gift suggestions that he’s been giving you.

“____,” Jimin interrupts you mid-rant. “The answer is right in front of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe your plan didn’t really fail. If Tae is suggesting personalized gifts, then…” he trails off meaningfully.

You gasp. “Oh. You’re absolutely right, Jimin, you genius!”

“This was your own plan, ____.” He chuckles. “Now as for what has been constant in his life… Do you really not realize?”

Oh.

“Jimin, you’re a genius, y’know that?”

“So I’ve been telling everyone.”

“Ok, I gotta go now,” you say, excitement zipping through you as your mind fills abuzz with different ideas now that Jimin has set you on the path.

“Seeya on the 25th, you dork.”

“See you!”

Belatedly, you realize you missed out on telling Jimin about what had happened the day prior. But you shrug it off, figuring that you could tell him about it another time.

---

But as it turns out, you don’t. The hectic rush of preparations for Christmas keep you and your friends so busy, you’re thankful everyone’s blocked out Christmas night for each other or you’d just miss each other completely otherwise.

Days on from the eventful movie night you had with Taehyung, the distance has already caused the memories of the night to go slightly fuzzy. You wonder if it had really even happened, or if you were just overthinking everything as per usual.

And since Taehyung never brought it up, your friendship carrying on in the easy status quo, it was simple enough to chalk it up to your own imagination.

The rush towards Christmas keeps itself up even till Christmas day itself. You’re huffing a little as you squeeze yourself and your grocery bags through the doorway of Taehyung’s apartment. The lopsided feeling of your beanie sitting askew on your head is just one part of your disheveled state right now.

“Tae!” You set the bags down and replace the spare key in its hiding place. “I’m here!”

He comes bursting out of his room and running over to help you with the bags. “Is it time to bake?” His tone is bright and shimmering with anticipation. Baking Christmas cookies with each other’s families was a tradition the two of you grew up with, and a tradition you both intended to keep even while away from your hometown.

Pulling the cookie cutters out of the bag, you wave them with a grin. “Shall we? We still have to prepare dinner after this and make sure we log onto Zoom on time too.”

The afternoon is filled with a flurry of flour and butter and sugar, cookie cutters and oven mitts, and a whole lot of messy icing. You pipe out a beautiful blue and white star, if you do say so yourself, taking pride in the baking skills you’ve honed over the past twenty years. Meanwhile, Taehyung scribbles Yeontan on a star-shaped cookie of his own. He adds this to his collection of alien cookies and rabbits on the moon.

When you’re both done decorating and the icing is left to set, you get to work on dinner. It’s a simple affair, just some mashed potatoes that you set Taehyung to work on, some lightly roasted veggies, and a rotisserie chicken from the supermarket in place of the usual Christmas turkey your families would normally have.

Grabbing plates to serve up your dinner, you can hear the chorus of hellos from the living room as Taehyung sets up his laptop to join the Zoom call. It fills you with a warmth you didn’t know you were missing, the cacophony of noise from your friends still as familiar as it always is even though it’s filtered through the speakers on the laptop. If anything, it may even be more chaotic than ever, with everyone speaking over each other, the social cues becoming even harder to read over the virtual platform.

When you finally enter the room with your two plates, the noise only gets louder, everyone shouting to greet you. You say a quick hi and slip back into the kitchen to get the tray of cookies to show off to the rest over the webcam.

You take your place next to Taehyung, seating yourself next to him in a similar cross-legged position, your knees knocking together as you both squeeze to get into frame together. Memories of the movie night come back to you, but Taehyung seems unfazed. Feigning calmness, you try to focus on the ongoing exchange instead.

The conversation drives itself, years of friendship and months spent apart from each other fuelling the chatter. With small talk on how Christmas day was for everyone, quick catch-ups on how everyone’s doing, inside jokes and references to shared experiences of the past, the atmosphere feels just like that one year you all went on a camping trip together and sat around the bonfire on the final night, swapping stories and jokes in a breezy fashion.

Just as the conversation slips into an easy placidity, Hoseok suggests you all move on to the secret santa bit of the night.

That’s when you gasp. Amidst the manic pace of the day and its activities, you’d forgotten to retrieve your present from where you’d stowed it in your apartment. In the same way that you treated Taehyung’s apartment like your own, so was your apartment to him. Taehyung could walk into your apartment any moment, whether you were present or not, and you needed to find a good secret place for your present. Stashing your prepared present in an unused cupboard in the kitchen, you remember commending yourself for having found such a great hiding spot. Turns out, it was so excellently hidden that even you had forgotten about it till this very moment.

But your internal struggle and the guilt that plagued you went unbeknownst to the rest, each taking turns to open their presents. A whole range of reactions and sound effects went on, Hoseok thanking Taehyung for his gifted sunglasses with such sincerity that transcended the boundaries of the webcam and screen. Yoongi had bought Jin a new fishing reel, and the boys were in the midst of discussing their next fishing trip.

But it was Namjoon’s reaction and the chaos that ensued that truly had you relaxing a little from your anxious-frustrated-guilty state.

“Snacks? And wet wipes?” Namjoon’s expression is incredulous as he pulls the items out of the brown paper bag. “Who’s giving me all these freebies?!”

“FREEBIES?!” Next to Namjoon, Jin smacks the table, causing him to jump. “I’ll have you know that those snacks were selected after careful observation, and I even went so far as to scout out for the specific brand you like and some even required shipping from elsewhere because the grocery stores near us didn’t stock it, and I got you wet wipes because you’re always spilling things, or maybe you could use them after you’re done snacking while on the go, but you still have the AUDACITY to call it FREEBIES?!”

At the sight of Jin gone red in the face, the snickers that the rest of you had been holding in came bursting out.

“Ok, I think we’re the last two to open our gifts,” Taehyung says, reading the room and moving on quickly before Jin could get even more agitated. “____, this is yours from your secret santa.”

Ripping open the wrapping paper swiftly, you find a brown leather-bound journal with your initials embossed on them in gold.

“Oh! This is beautiful,” you gush. “And since we’re the last two, this must be from Jimin!”

Even through the screen, the sight of your friend’s smile, eyes all scrunched up with the sincerity of it, has your heart swelling.

“And that means… that I’m your secret santee!” Taehyung gasps. “No way. And this whole time I was calling you a bad liar.”

He rambles on, explaining to the rest about your sly method of attempting to discreetly ask him what he might like for Christmas. The whole time, you’re chewing on your lip, trying to find the right moment to interject and explain what’s happened.

“Ok! So,” Taehyung finally pauses, looking at you expectantly, “I’m ready for my present!” His hands are cupped and ready to receive the present… that will not make it to him tonight.

You place your hands in his, lowering them gently and taking in his obvious confusion. “I’m so sorry, Tae, I left your present back at home. I promise I’ll bring it over tomorrow! Or you can come over after this to grab it if you want.”

“Oh,” he says, puppy dog pout hitting you full-force with guilt. “But I still want a gift now, so…”

Grasping your hands that are still in his, he tugs you forward into his chest, and plants a soft kiss on your lips.

Silence. Both from your brain, and from everyone around.

It lasts for two seconds -- your group of friends has never found it easy to shut up after all -- and then it’s an eruption, pulling you back to the reality that the two of you are not alone.

You can hear Jungkook screaming, “GROSS!” and Namjoon yelling in confusion. But Jimin’s tinkling laughter, filled with unmistakable joy, cuts through the noise along with a raspily muttered, “It’s about fucking time.” from Yoongi.

In the background, you hear Jungkook asking, “Waaaait, so does this mean that Seokjin has to give Namjoon a kiss now too?” and Jin’s immediate, “NO!”

The noise jump starts your brain back into motion. You attempt to pull away from Taehyung, highly aware that your friends are subject to witnessing all of this, but he tugs you back, anchoring you to him with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist. The laughter from the laptop speakers turns into cries of outrage and then an abrupt return to silence with a click, and you realize that Taehyung must have closed his laptop, ending the Zoom call.

Looping your arms around Taehyung’s shoulders, you begin to respond to his kiss, eyelids fluttering closed. It’s new, it’s electrifying. But it’s also like something deep inside has finally clicked, like you’ve finally arrived. You’re home.

“Did you know?” you ask. “About me having feelings for you?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. Heat rises to your cheeks at that, and you hide your face in his chest. Now that you don’t have to be seated on the floor to be in frame for the Zoom call, the two of you opted to move to the lumpy but still much more comfortable couch.

The gentle strokes of his hand in your hair is familiar and comforting, reminding you of the infinite patience he’s always shown to you. It’s a reminder that this is Taehyung. The boy you grew up with through thick and thin. Your best friend. And that gives you the boldness to continue despite your embarrassment.

“How? And when?”

“Honestly,” he trails off slightly, in thought, “I think it was Samantha who made me realize it.”

A pang of jealousy hits you. But you’re immediately wondering if it’s even warranted, now that you guys are… Well, what exactly are you? You make a mental note to clarify that.

“She was jealous, y’know,” he continues. “Didn’t want to say it at first, and tried to put up with it because she understood that our friendship is not something she could just expect me to give up.

“But it got to a point where things just couldn’t go on any longer. What she initially saw as discomfort that she would learn to overcome with time, soon became an awareness that the two of us were crossing the line of just friends, even if we hadn’t realized it at the time.”

Taehyung sighs, causing you to look at him. He smiles down at you, and skims your cheek with his thumb affectionately. “Maybe it’s because you’ve been here by my side all my life, that it was such a gradual thing and neither of us really realized it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “It was only after you began dating her that I realized how not okay with that I was. I thought it was just me being the possessive best friend trying to get used to having to share you. But then I realized I didn’t just want my best friend back. I wanted what she had.”

Swallowing hard, you remember the bitterness of the jealousy you felt back then, and that still recurs from time to time.

“What about you then? How did you come to recognize your feelings?” you ask.

“Samantha made me face up to them.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “One day she laid it all out, about us being more than just friends. And when I denied it, she asked me, would I choose you over her if I were forced into making that decision. The answer very nearly rolled straight off my tongue. And that was when I knew.”

“Is that why you broke up?” you ask. Taehyung nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you silly girl.” He boops you on the nose. “I’m just thankful that Samantha was as understanding as she was about it. I think that’s why it took me a long time to get over it -- knowing that I’d hurt someone as wonderful as she is with my own blind ignorance.”

“And you too,” he says, leaning down to lay a soft peck on your lips. “I hated knowing that I’d hurt you because of my lack of awareness of my own feelings. That’s why I had to take my time this time around, to make sure that I know for sure.”

“Do you know for sure now?”

“Yes,” he says, holding your gaze with seriousness that has you swimming in its depths. “I’m yours now. Purely and fully.”

When you returned to your apartment the next morning, Irene was waiting to grill you on your whereabouts. It didn’t escape her notice that you hadn’t come back to the apartment the previous night, and she joked about how the vacant rooms in Taehyung’s apartment probably didn’t matter because you could always spend the night sharing his bed anyway.

And when you, blushing madly but holding your own nonetheless, informed her that she was right, well, you should have anticipated her squeals of excitement. “Tell me everything!” she had demanded.

You also should have anticipated the endless teasing that she would put the two of you through, especially in the Christmas season. After a trip out to the stores, finally taking a break from her Lifetime holiday movies marathon, she’d returned with copious amounts of mistletoe to hang all around the apartment, insisting the two of you make up for lost time.

But what Irene doesn’t need to know is just how much the two of you agree with her. Stealing a tiny sprig of mistletoe from around the house -- there’s so much that she wouldn’t even notice anyway -- you pack it into one of the clear baubles you’d bought for Taehyung’s Christmas present, nestling it into the box alongside the other clear baubles that were customized with pictures of the two of you.

[captcas]

Khristmas Karaoke

Khristmas Karaoke by capthamm

Their annual Khristmas Karaoke sheds light on relationships, old and new. read on ao3

“Come on, Killian… She does this all the time. Aren’t you better off without her at this point?” Emma slaps Neal’s arm at his shitty attempt to comfort their friend after Milah ended things… again. She won’t admit her boyfriend is 100 percent correct, because that’s not the point. Killian has alwayshad a thing for Milah no matter how awful she treated him and each time she ends things, Emma knows it breaks him a little more.

She keeps waiting for the time it breaks him entirely.

It’s their friends’ annual Khristmas Karaoke– Mary Margaret insisted on the alliteration– and Milah just didn’t show. It’s a big deal when someone invites a significant other, effectively indoctrinating them into their core group of four– David, Mary Margaret, Killian, and Emma. This is Neal’s second year, which really, truly only freaks Emma out a little (a lot), but it was supposed to be Milah’s first. Killian, Emma’s ever cautious best friend, refrained from inviting her last year, but when Emma said she was bringing Neal again, Killian jumped in immediately and said he was bringing Milah.

Milah chose tonight to tell Killian she didn’t want to see him anymore.

Figures.

With Milah, it was always about her and Emma is convinced Milah’s selfishness is the only reason she was still with Killian. He treated Milah like a queen without so much as a birthday wish in return. (Seriously, she forgot one year and Emma was left to pick up the pieces Killian so gallantly insisted were nonexistent, but Emma could tell– she can always tell with Killian.) Either way, Milah’s lack of interest in anything to do with Killian always made Emma uncomfortable. She wants more for her friend; knowing he deserves more than to be someone’s puppy dog.

But Emma would never say that to Killian. She looks over at him and he’s clearly sulking, so she does what any best friend would do, “Come on KJ, we’re singing.” He goes to protest but Emma grabs his arm before shouting her drink order to David who mock salutes. “Ok go pick something, I’m going to run to the bathroom.” Killian nods, still seemingly unwilling to play along but too nice to deny Emma anything. She shoves him towards the stage and heads towards the bathroom.

After freshening up, Emma heads back towards the stage only to run directly into another woman. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry!”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” The woman looks up and a flash of recognition crosses her face. Emma recognizes her too, but she can’t put her finger on it. They both wave awkwardly before Emma heads to the stage and the familiar woman heads into the bathroom.

Killian is standing next to the stage flipping through the song book when she approaches, “Anything look good?”

“Hmm?” Emma can tell he’s in a different universe and she figures now is as good as any to tell him how she really feels about his Milah .

“Killian, I know you loved her… or love her… whatever. But she keeps you on this retractable leash so she can use you when it’s convenient for her.” Killian doesn’t look at her but she knows he’s listening. “I’m not saying her being a shitty person makes this hurt less, but Neal asked to come tonight… just something to think about.”

It’s her last comment that makes Killian turn towards her, “So you love him then?”

Emma should know how to answer that– she and Neal have been together almost two years, it should be easy– but when Killian poses the question, the correct answer seems to fail her completely.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

It’s a non answer, and Killian knows it, but Emma doesn’t have time to unpack her sudden stumble when posed with what should’ve been an easy question. She’s told Neal she loves him hundreds of times... so, why can’t she say she loves him to others? Something in the back of her mind whispers it’s because Killian is the one asking, but she shoves it down. They’ve had their chance– maybe hundreds of chances– and the timing just… never lined up.

She’s so deep in thought, she almost misses Killian’s answer, “Aye, that he is.” He looks at her intently, maybe expecting her to elaborate, but Emma is coming up short. She doesn’t understand why she couldn’t give him a straight answer– in truth, she doesn’t want to admit why. Somewhere deep down Killian knows this, because Killian knows her . He concedes after a few moments of silence, turning back to the task at hand, “Let’s sing the Grinch.”

Emma smiles, memories of their yearly Grinch Binge, echoing through her mind. Mary Margaret and David can be… a lot. They are very in love and don’t mind showing it off, so ever since they finally got together, Emma and Killian sprouted a few traditions of their own. Neal never liked Christmas movies, no matter how hard Emma tried to get him to watch even the easy ones like Elf with her. Killian loves them– especially the Grinch. So every year, on the Saturday before Christmas, Emma and Killian hunker down and watch every version of the Grinch they can find. When the new one came out last year, they went and saw it in theaters before watching the rest of them. It’s silly, and some of the versions are old and awful, but it’s their thing and Emma looks forward to it every year.

As the first chord hits, Killian still seems to be in his head, so Emma starts, “ You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.” She accents the words by singing in the lowest voice possible, and directing them at Killian. He’s clearly holding back a smile so she continues, “ You really are a heel. You’re as cuddly as a cactus,” she wiggles up against Killian causing him to burst out laughing before joining her for the rest of the song.

They sing it awfully, but neither of them even needs to look at the prompter. When it’s over they bow obnoxiously as Mary Margaret and David cheer. They break into a fit of laughter before hugging tightly. She finally composes herself when over Killian’s shoulder Emma sees something that makes her blood run cold. She must noticeably react because she hears a concerned, “Swan?” in her ear, but she can’t focus when it feels like the entire room is underwater and she’s drowning.

The name of the woman from the bathroom comes rushing back to her as she watches Tamara kiss Neal in the back corner of the bar. She recognizes her as the secretary at Neal’s office and suddenly all the pieces are coming together: late nights and business trips paired with a suspicious lack of increase in income. How could she be so stupid . If Emma hadn’t gone to hug Killian, she never would’ve seen them, her view blocked by the bright lights of the stage. But she did hug Killian and she does see them.

She’s going to be sick.

For a brief moment, she hopes Tamara just came onto him, and waits for him to push her away. He doesn’t, in fact Emma’s pretty sure Neal leans in further. Emma feels her face turn beat red. Before she can think about what she’s doing, she lets go of Killian and leans into the microphone, twisting her body so she can still see Neal and Tamara, “Neal Cassidy, we are done. Tamara, once a cheater, always a cheater but he’s alllll yours. Merry Christmas everyone!”

She feels Killian go stiff at her side when he realizes what just happened. She grabs his wrist, knowing full well his instinct would be to go beat the shit out of Neal.

It’s her instinct, too.

But, in an attempt to be a bigger person, she drags Killian (and herself) back to the table. As they approach, Killian is stoic, David is hiding his head, and Mary Margaret looks like she’s about to explode. Both halves of the annoyingly happy couple begin to talk, but hesitate as they clearly look for the appropriate words for a completely inappropriate situation. Emma cuts them off, “Shots? Shots. Bartender, please put these on Mr. Cassidy’s tab.” Killian goes to protest, but Emma practically pours the whiskey down his throat, subsequently ending their pity party for the night.

. . .

Mary Margaret and David are long gone, but Killian has been a worthy partner to avoid self-pity with. Somewhere between the three shots of Fireball and her third Captain and Coke, he assured her she deserved better while they threw metaphorical darts at each other’s significant others. She knows she should be sad about Neal, but the longer she spends with Killian, the less she seems to care. Maybe it’s the drinks, or maybe it’s the company, but Emma finds herself up on stage, one more time, with Killian cheering her on... much to the chagrin of the rest of the bar.

Emma isn’t sure what song she’s singing, when the host called Mary Margaret’s name Emma subbed in enthusiastically; she’s feeling good despite the events of the night and she’s ready to go. It takes two seconds for her to recognize Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” and only two more for her to start serenading Killian obnoxiously from across the bar.

But it’s all fun and games until the words you’re singing sink in.

“ I just want you for my own,

More than you could ever know”

The more she sings to Killian, the more she realizes the words aren’t very far off from how she feels about him, no matter how cheesy this song truly is. She’s always ignored her feelings for Killian, brushing them off as inconsequential and platonic– due to proximity and nothing more— but they’ve been nagging at her since he asked her if she loved Neal. Somehow, telling Killian she loved someone else would feel like the final nail in the coffin for any chance she had with him.

What is she thinking?

Emma feels the emotions bubble up inside of her until she’s practically overflowing– and then she’s literally overflowing… all over the stage.

It doesn’t take long for Killian to rush to her side, scooping her up and hauling ass to the bathroom. If she didn’t feel so sick, maybe she’d have room to be embarrassed. Killian doesn’t speak, just springs into action– holding back her hair, and keeping her comfortable until she’s entirely emptied out. She sits back, finally feeling well enough to register how embarrassing this situation actually was, but Killian doesn’t miss a beat, “Alright, Swan. Let’s get you some water. I’ll be right back, aye?”

He helps her lean against the wall and hurries out of the bathroom. Emma hangs her head in her hands while she lets the wave of emotions wash over her.

She’s very thirsty.

She’s very embarrassed.

She’s very in love with her best friend.

Fuck .

Killian returns with a glass of water and a toothbrush– how the fuck did he find a toothbrush? She finds she doesn’t really care and is just grateful to have someone looking out for her at all. Killian stands patiently in the corner while she brushes her teeth and downs the water. She turns to face him and maybe it’s the hydration, but she already feels better. “Well, now that I’ve topped off a perfectly shitty night. Are you ready to go home?”

Killian chuckles and nods before reaching out his hand to lead her from the bathroom and out of the bar. They walk hand in hand, swinging their arms between them until it gets a little colder and Emma finds she still has just enough of a buzz to go for it. She wraps her arms around Killian’s, hugging him tightly before resting her head on his shoulder. They’ve done this a million times, but tonight it feels different– she wonders if he feels it too as their pace slows and they walk in silence.

Emma’s always been on the search for that missing piece, the part of her that will undeniably make her whole. For a while she thought it was Neal, but she sees now she was trying to fit a corner piece into the center of her puzzle. She’d like to think, as they walk arm in arm in a comfortable silence, that Killian could be that piece, but she’s not sure. When she’s with Killian, she doesn’t feel like there’s a part of her that needs to be filled at all– not because he filled it, but because he sees her as complete.

Maybe this is how it's supposed to be– not loving in spite of the missing, broken, or faded pieces, but because of them.. Killian has loved her through everything. She’s just been to blind to see it as anything more than friendship– just happy enough to even have that. But what if she could have more. Mariah Carey starts singing in her head again and Emma feels like maybe she’s let her thoughts get out of hand, but when Killian’s thumb brushes gently over hers, she thinks maybe he’d understand, “This isn’t all I want for Christmas.”

Killian stops abruptly, “I’m sorry?” When he automatically apologizes, Emma realizes she needs to elaborate. Nerves course through her— years of heartbreak playing like a broken record in her mind telling her to put up her guard and run the other way. She’s not sure she’s ready for this— to share her entire self with him, but is anyone ever ready? Is there anyone she’d rather tell? The the resounding “no” that echoes through her train of thought which encourages her to continue on,

“No, no, I mean… You know when you’re a kid and you write out your Christmas list with everything you could possibly want and send it to Santa, and you are sure if you get everything on that list you’ll be truly happy?” Emma is positive she looks insane right now, but Killian is nodding and seems to be following along. “Ok, then Christmas morning comes and maybe you get one or two things off the list, but you already forgot about all the other things because just having this one thing is enough to make you happy. It’s not complete, and it’s not everything, but it’s everything to you at that moment?”

Killian nods, moving closer to her, brushing a stray snowflake out of her hair as the sky begins to open up making the everything around them feel a little bit more magical.

“Well, you’re my entire Christmas list and having you as a friend was the gift I was happy with. Just having you in my life was enough. From the time we were thirteen and you punched Robin for calling me a bitch, to the Grinch Binges, and junk food nights where we eat til we’re sick– I never wanted to give up any of it. I mean… 15 years of friendship...” Something in Killian’s eyes shifts and Emma starts to feel nerves rise through her body. She has to keep going before she chickens out again, “It’s not enough anymore.”

Killian looks like he’s about to apologize again, his eyes drooping in confusion, clearly not understanding her confession, “I’m sorry, Swan– I can try to be better– I know Milah she–”

“No, you idiot. I want more. I want the whole list. The entire Christmas list. All of it.” As Killian processes what she said, Emma stands there for what feels like eternity, heart more on her sleeve than it’s been her entire life. She’s about to speak again when he lunges forward into a kiss that can only be described as Christmas magic.

(Any other day she’d hate how cheesy that sounds, but right now her nerves are on overload and her lips feel like they’re on fire so she’s over it.)

They finally break and Killian rests his forehead on hers, cold from chill in the night air, “Swan, I’m s0r–”

“Killian Jones don’t you dare apologize.” He laughs and leans in for another kiss, this one softer but still affecting Emma just as much. They break again, and Emma feels Killian smile against her lips. She silently wonders if she’s too old to send a thank you note to Santa, or the universe, or whoever placed her right in this moment. Kissing her best friend is not where she thought she’d end the night, but now— in a crazy turn of events—it’s the only place she can imagine being. “Wanna head to my place, put on the Grinch, and make out a little?”

Killian laughs again before answering enthusiastically and taking her hand. “As you wish.”

And she does. As it turns out, Killian Jones satisfies every Christmas wish she has for the rest of her life. He also has the tendency to blast “All I Want for Christmas Is You” every year on their anniversary, even four years later when Emma knows for a fact the small onesie wrapped somewhere under the tree is sure to be Killian’s favorite Christmas present to date.

Even after opening the surprise gift, Killian assures Emma his favorite present will always be her, but when she hears him hum their song to little Hope in the middle of Spring she knows that’s not entirely true. (Still, Emma finds she doesn’t really mind.)

@mariakov81​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @pirateherokillian​ @teamhook​ @nikkiemms @bawley-bug​

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.4 (BAON)

Summary:  Jeff doesn't know where they are or where they're going, but he knows one thing. It's probably not good.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

By the time the van came to a stop, Stretch still hadn’t woken up. Not that it mattered very much, there wasn’t a thing Jeff could have done to change their situation. At the moment, they were very much outnumbered, overpowered, and even if he’d had a clue where they were, it wouldn’t have done them any good. Before they dragged him out of the van, one of the thugs yanked a bag over his head. Blinded, he struggled to stumble along as two guys pulled him out, trying not to cry out as they led him barefoot across crumbling asphalt into a building with rough carpet.

He kept as quiet as he could, trying to not only listen in case they said anything useful, but also for Stretch, praying to a God he hadn’t spoken to since he was fifteen and his father threw him out that they didn't hurt Stretch. Jeff could survive a few bumps and bruises, but he didn't know how much Stretch could withstand. Intent was key when it came to Monsters, he knew that much, and these guys seemed to have plenty.

At first, he tried to keep track of where he was being led. An impossible effort when the twists and turns of being dragged along left him too disoriented to know his way up or down. They seemed to walk forever until his captors suddenly stopped and Jeff was shoved down into a chair. Rough hands grabbed at him, rope suddenly binding his wrists and ankles. He didn’t struggle as he was tied, only tried to tense his muscles as much as possible, some shitty internet meme he vaguely remembered reading said that it could help slip free later.

Turned out memes weren’t the best source for escape plans. When they were done, Jeff subtly tried to move and the best he could manage was a painful rope burn. The ropes felt like they were wound through the slats in the chair and unless Houdini decided to make good on his possible return from the other side, Jeff was going nowhere fast.

He could hear their captors moving around, muttering too low to be understood and the other sounds might have been more rope. Tying up Stretch, maybe, he hoped that’s what it was; at least if they were together, that was something, hell, that was everything right now.

The bag suddenly getting ripped off his head made him gasp, flinching from the glaring light pointed directly into his face. Squinting, he could barely see the shadowy figures standing behind it, but he was sure he could see a cell phone pointed in his direction.

“Say your name,” a rough voice demanded.

“Andy—” he began automatically. “No, Jeff, I’m sorry, Jeff! My name is Jeff!” There was nothing else and Jeff shifted, grimacing as the ropes dug in. It was on the tip of his tongue to go on, to blurt that he worked in public relations, that he was nobody important and not worth ransoming. He bit the inside of his lip to keep those rambles from pouring out. Partly because it was probably stupid to tell kidnappers your value or lack thereof, and partly because of Edge. He’d always told them to never offer more information than was necessary and yeah, he’d been talking about board games at the time, but Jeff doubted that Clue was where Edge learned that particular rule. If these assholes wanted more info, they could damn well ask.

Either his name was all they wanted or they already had whatever other info they needed. Jeff didn’t even have a chance to try squinting through the too-bright light when one of them came towards him and yanked the bag back over his head. He sat there, sweat beading on his face and his own breath threatening to smother him as he listened to their captors moving around next to him.

“He can’t talk,” one of them said disgustedly. “He’s still wasted.”

Stretch. That meant he was right next to him, thank fucking god.

The rough sound of a slap made Jeff tense, protests bitten off when the same voice cursed and there came the sound of someone rubbing their head, “What the fuck, man!”

“That’s exactly how we want him, dumbass! He doesn’t need to talk, all they need is a good look at him. Come on, they’re waiting.”

Footsteps and then the sound of a door closing. Jeff strained to hear if anyone was still in there with them around his own breathing loud in his ears, his pulse thundering. There was nothing, no shuffle of feet against the floor or the creak of a chair. Jeff waited a little longer, curling his chilly toes against the rough carpet.

Nothing. Jeff took a long, slow breathing, trying to calm his racing pulse. He needed to be cool right now so he could try to think of something. Even if the Embassy was willing to give these assholes whatever they wanted, they sure as hell couldn’t count on that saving their lives. He was no strategist, his degree was in sociology, for fuck’s sake, but. Stretch always called him Handy Andy and it made him feel like someone different, someone braver who could stand up to a violent asshole on a bus and help Stretch with crazy experiments involving swinging bottles of Diet Coke rigged with automatic mentos dispensers. Jeff might not be the best for this situation, but Andy was sure as hell gonna try.

“Stretch,” Jeff said softly. He waited for someone to shout or a slap followed by a demand that he shut up. When none came, he went on, soft and urgent, “I know you can't hear me, but, just in case you can. It's gonna be okay. I know you're big on promises and I'm promising you right now we're getting out of this. I promise you." If he could glean anything of what Jeff was saying, he hoped he could hear that much. At least maybe he wouldn't be afraid.

"i sure hope so, i didn't get this far in life to get dusted by a low rent group of third rate scooby doo level villains. seriously, they tied us up with rope, were they out of packing tape at ‘kidnappers ‘r’ us’ or were they just eager to try the knots they learned in boy scouts before they got kicked out."

Okay, that wasn’t quite the last thing he’d expected, but it was close.

"Stretch?" Jeff gasped out. He couldn’t see a damn thing through the bag, but he could hear a muted popping sound. Suddenly, the bag was gone, far gentler than before and then he was blinking up into Stretch’s smirking face.

Jeff looked around a little wildly and next to him was another chair, the still-tied ropes hanging from the rungs in loose coils.

“yeah, sorry. i woke up back in the van, didn’t want to tip them off. wherever they buy their roofies must not have given them a dosage chart.” Stretch settled his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. “hold still, this is a lot easier than fighting with knots.”

It was the gentlest and shortest teleport he’d ever felt. Only a brief disorientation and when his vision cleared, he was sitting on top of the ropes that had just been binding him.

Jeff scrambled to his feet, swiping his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. Holy shit, maybe he should take up praying again more regularly, this was the fastest service he’d ever gotten. “Can you get us outside?”

His heart sank as Stretch shook his head. “that's gonna be a no. with the bags on our heads, i couldn't see where we are. shortcutting is tricky, it's dangerous to teleport blind. that's how you end up stuck in walls or halfway inside a table or some shit.” Stretch waved a slender hand at the chairs. “dangerous, not impossible. a few inches above where i was sitting was a pretty safe bet to get out of the ropes, but anything else is more likely to get us dead than on the street.” He frowned, glancing around the room thoughtfully. “plus, i'm not going anywhere without a little intel. they’re fucking idiots, but they knew enough to drug me and how to do it. that's not information you can just look up on a wiki-how.”

“Okay,” Jeff took a deep, steadying breath. "So, what do we do, then?” He glanced at the door. “Can you pick locks?"

"sure,” Stretch said absently. He was looking around the room. It was a storage room of some sort, there was more dusty furniture aside from the chairs, including a rickety desk, and metal cabinets lined the walls. “but i can't do much about the door being barred. i heard something get braced against it when they went out.

"Oh. Right."

“yeah,” Stretch agreed, “at least one of them has a brain cell or two rolling around up top, enough to get them this far. but the road trip is over and it’s time to pay the tolls.” Stretch shook his head disgustedly. "first rule of kidnapping is never leave the kidnappees alone. seriously, i'm getting my cues from netflix and even i know that.”

His eye lights paused in their survey of the room, brightening. Jeff followed his gaze and saw in one corner there was an honest to god old-fashioned rotary telephone pushed into the far corner of the desk, nearly buried under the clutter.

"can't be that easy, can it?” Stretch marveled. He picked it up the handset and held to his skull, then sighed unhappily. “nope. no dial tone, no surprise there, no one has a landline anymore. don’t you worry though, little phone.” Stretch gave it a soft pat. “you’re gonna be real useful in just a minute. seriously, this is just embarrassing. my first kidnapping attempt and they locked us in a room with an entire arsenal.”

“I must be missing the vendor in the corner willing to hand over gear if we do a mission for them,” Jeff joked weakly.

“everything is an arsenal if you’ve got the skills.” Stretch rummaged through the desk and came up triumphantly with…a paperclip? He set it on the desk, adding a pencil, some scotch tape, and what looked to Jeff like an old tube of superglue. “kidnapped by the ebott equivalent of the america’s dumbest criminals, fuck me. edge is going to be up my ass for a month.”

“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit.” It was easier to be calm in the face of Stretch’s ease. “I think six months is the bare minimum.”

“i really wish you weren’t right.” Stretch glanced around the room again, this time directing his gaze upward. “hm, that’ll work.” Tall as he was, the ceiling was still out of reach even for him. Stretch pulled one of the chairs over, ropes trailing behind it like tentacles, and stood on it, reaching for the smoke detector. Jeff could only blink in confusion as he yanked it right off the ceiling.

"You're going to burn down the building?” Jeff asked. Not that he didn’t trust Stretch, but, uh, that seemed extreme for a first escape attempt. “That’d get us out, but I don't think we'll be any more alive."

"nah, just need some parts,” Stretch jerked his head towards the door. “keep an ear on the hallway, will ya, in case they remember that leaving us alone is probably stupid."

“Got it.” Jeff went to the door but before he could press his ear to it, Stretch called his name.

"hey, kiddo, i'm gonna get us out of this." Stretch offered him a familiar, lopsided smile. "i know i don't look like much, but i've been known to keep my head in a bad situation."

"You already saved me once,” Jeff said honestly, "why wouldn't I believe you now?"

Stretch’s pale eye lights flickered with memory, his expression briefly tightening. How did he remember that horrible night in that parking lot, Jeff wondered, what nightmares haunted Stretch’s sleep? He knew something happened after the ambulance took him away, but he’d never heard the entire story. After he’d been released from the hospital, he’d been wrapped up in healing enough to start his new job at the Embassy and as time passed, he hated to ask, didn’t want to dredge it all up again, not when everyone was slowly getting past it. Besides, the others had their own shit to deal with, what with the attack in California and everything happening in Ebott. His trauma was his to handle and that was the end of it.

At the desk, Stretch got to work, humming the ‘mission impossible’ theme under his breath as he dissected the phone and smoke detector with a makeshift screwdriver made from a bent paperclip taped to a pencil. His hands were as deft and easy as any demonstration he’d done for the local kids and Jeff could only marvel at his ease.

“How can you be so calm?” Jeff blurted, wincing even as the words escaped. He hadn’t meant to say it, didn’t want to distract him. Stretch only flicked a glance his way, both browbones raised.

“me?” Stretch snorted, “i am not calm. beneath this gorgeous cookie crust exterior is a honey pie of a person who would start shitting themselves if i could grow the prerequisite equipment. but we're gonna be okay.”

“How do you know?” Jeff hated the faint pleading in his own voice, he shouldn’t be distracting; Stretch was as stuck here as he was and with his HP, it was even worse. He was supposed to be the one helping Stretch, he’d promised, and the best he could do was lookout.

“you seriously think red isn't already on it?” Stretch asked and as terrifying as Red could be, thinking about him right now eased some of the aching fear that was settled in Jeff’s stomach. “all he needs is a clue and we’re gonna get him one. i only hope he can keep edge from razing the city and salting the earth beneath it until then. people might be a little tetchy about that and i’m not even sure you can come up with a press release that’d cover ‘sorry about starting city-wide armageddon, my bad.’”

Before Jeff could think of a reply to that, either an agreement, or a protest that a little chaos could be excused considering the circumstances, he heard footsteps coming from down the hallway. Panicked, he hissed out, “They're coming!”

“fuck, okay, okay.” Stretch scrambled over and set some kind of contraption on the floor near the door that was all waggling wires and circuit boards. He grabbed Jeff by the wrist and dragged him along. “over here, come on, this a harder trick, but you can do it. i need you to hold as still as you can. if you move, they might see you, you get me?"

Jeff managed a hasty nod as Stretch shoved him into a corner, cramming them both in tight, out of the way. "don't move, don't talk,” Stretch reminded him, a low murmur close to his ear. The slim, bony arms around him were comforting and even knowing that Stretch couldn’t physically protect him, having him towering overhead as he caged Jeff against the wall felt oddly safe.

Then something happened. He didn’t know how to describe it. It felt like a heavy curtain fell over the world, everything going distant and muffled, even his vision greying like he was about to faint, only he’d never felt so awake. There was a sudden popping explosion as the door swung open and collided with Stretch’s contraption, but it sounded miles away, the kidnappers’ curses as muffled as if they were speaking from another world.

He didn’t move, held perfectly still even as that curtain slowly grew claustrophobic, nausea starting to churn. Jeff closed his eyes, swallowing convulsively and just went he thought he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, that he either needed to move or he’d start screaming, it was suddenly gone and Stretch was stepping back.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Stretch was pale, sweat showing visibly on his skull. "are you okay?" Stretch asked.

“Me?” Jeff blurted. He caught hold of Stretch’s arms to brace him as he wobbled on his feet. “I’m fine, what about you!”

"i’ll be okay.” Stretch wiped his face on the sleeve of the crummy shirt he’d been forced into with a grimace. “i pulled us halfway into the void. it works, but it burns a lot of juice. the assholes booked it out of here, but more importantly, they left the door open."

The door was opened, they could leave, and yet, Jeff found himself blurting out, “They’ll get away!”

“no,” Stretch said grimly. “they’ll look for us first, thinking we couldn’t have gotten too far. these guys aren’t gonna ditch and run that fast, they know too much. think about it. drugs work on monsters but how do they know what kind and how much? lucky for me, skeleton monsters are different. our systems are finicky, we’re hard to drug. whoever tipped them off about how to roofie me didn’t know that.”

His sockets narrowed suddenly, Stretch turning away to look in the rusty cabinet next to them. “oh, honey,” he said gleefully, “jackpot.”

Jeff joined him, peering into the cabinet as Stretch cautiously wrenched it open. “What did you find?”

He held up a bottle of bleach and said, smugly, “just some nice, normal household chemicals. they can be lots of fun if you know how to mix 'em up and i'm a one hell of a bartender. but first.”

On the desk was another little contraption that was mostly wires and tape. Stretch picked it up and walked over to squat next to a wall outlet. Carefully, he pushed it into the socket. There was a sputtering spark and a tiny red light blinked to life.

“there we go.” Stretch stood, dusting off his hands. “i don’t even want to think about how pants-shittingly angry edge probably is right now, but we can’t let them get the ransom that asgore is probably going to pay and we sure as hell can’t let them get away.”

He grinned then, wickedly sharp for all that his teeth were blunt. “so, how’s about we have some fun, yeah?”

Jeff nodded determinedly. Fuck, yes. If he was going to add to his repertoire of nightmares, he was damn well going to make sure someone else paid for it, in spades.

tbc

[demisexualemmaswan]

till the summer comes again

Summary:  “I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”- Lewis Carroll Emma has been dating Killian for two years, and since then their family unit has only gotten closer. But that could change with the arrival of Eloise Gardner, Killian’s ex. Oh, and has Emma mentioned she’s pregnant? Not exactly. A sequel to six impossible things before breakfast. 

[Read on Ao3] A/N: It is 10:40pmEST on my posting date for @csjanuaryjoy​ and here I am getting this right under the wire. I did not intend to be posting this late, nor did I necessarily intend to write a sequel for a fic that I wrote two years ago and quite frankly had no intention of continuing. But here we are.  At any rate: enjoy this CS January Joy fic!  --

Pregnant.

Emma stared at it for what felt like a minute, and then looked at the other one just to be sure.

Pregnant.

And then she picked up the third one just to be safe.

Pregnant.

A veritable tempest of very conflicting emotions all swirled within her. Joy. Excitement. Nervousness. Dread. Fear.

She nearly grabbed her phone to text Killian to tell him right away, but a wave of nausea was stronger than all of it and she put her head in the toilet. “Seriously?” she complained, her hand curling protectively over her stomach. “Your brother Henry wasn’t like this, you know,” she admonished softly.

“Emma?” A hesitant knock sounded at the door, and the timid voice of Alice, Killian’s daughter, wafted in gently. “Emma, are you sure you’re okay? I’m sure Papa wouldn’t mind just bringing some Granny’s home if you wanted to stay in. I could make you some tea while we wait.”

Emma closed her eyes and considered her options as she kept her head pressed against the cool porcelain. On the one hand, staying at home sounded nice. On the other, Henry and Alice cherished family dinner night at Granny’s. They would certainly be flexible if Alice’s concern was anything to go by. But Emma knew that with the teen years on the horizon, they would only get so many more of these together.

“Emma?” Alice repeated.

“Mom?” Henry’s voice joined Alice’s.

“There is no need to get the Spanish inquisition together,” she told them, sitting up. “Something’s not sitting right with me, but I’ll get some soup at the diner and it’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t we go to the diner, make the order to go and then bring it back?” Henry suggested. “That way Mom doesn’t have to sit so long but we can still go!”

“I’ll text Papa!” Alice said excitedly, and Emma heard the thump of her footsteps as she sprinted away from the bathroom door.

Emma just smiled affectionately, even though neither of her kids could see her. She had to stop that thought for a moment, reflecting on how much had changed in the past two years. Ever since that fateful incident with the bullies, she and Killian had worked and built a relationship and a life together.

They’d bought a bigger apartment together, although with two almost teenagers and now a baby on the way she’d have to reconsider her whole living situation and maybe they’d have to buy a house.

She loved the life that she and Killian built so far. He was attentive, caring, and so good with Henry. And she’d come to love Alice’s tender heart, her creativity, and her sweet tooth. Though she hadn’t articulated this to Alice or Killian yet, admittedly too afraid to break the contentment she finally experienced for the first time in her life.

Emma knew, logically, that both Alice and Killian’s hearts were big enough that this would only strengthen things and not break them, but the little lost girl that lived in Emma’s brain loved to remind her of Neal at every opportune moment and stop her from feeling secure in her relationship.

She was working on this. With Archie every week. Sometimes Killian was there and sometimes she was alone. But she was working on it every day. And she wasn’t alone and her relationship baggage. Killian had told her about Milah, who was not Alice’s mom but had been sleeping with him while she was married and that ended poorly. She could see it in the way Killian’s jaw clenched whenever Alice’s mom came up in conversation.

Alice had stopped asking after a while, but the weight of her mother and the unanswered questions sometimes hung in her interactions with Emma.

 “Emma?” Alice had returned to the door.

“Mom, are you dead?” Henry asked worriedly, jiggling the doorknob.

“I’m okay,” Emma called back. “I just…needed a minute.” She quickly cleaned up the mess up so the kids wouldn’t stumble upon the pregnancy tests by accident. She opened the door and soon had her arms full of two twelve-year olds, who she squeezed close to her. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll still have family dinner, just like always,” she hummed. She leaned over and kissed the top of their heads. “Now go get your shoes.”

Henry dashed away to go get his shoes, but Alice stayed curled in close to Emma for a moment longer.

“You okay, star?” Emma asked softly. Alice smiled a little bit against Emma’s side. The one time Emma had called her “starfish”, Alice had made it abundantly clear that she was only her father’s starfish. So Emma had compromised and asked how she felt about star. So Emma’s star she became.

“Mhmm. Just glad you are too,” Alice said softly, gently squeezing her.

Emma’s nausea greatly protested at the action, but she wouldn’t dare let it show on her face. Alice clearly needed reassurance, which Emma was more than happy to give. “C’mon, let’s go get see your Dad, hmm?”

Alice beamed up at her and raced off into the other room. Emma couldn’t help but smile, knowing that in her heart of hearts that Henry and Alice would be incredible older siblings.

But first she had to tell them.

--

As per their usual tradition, Alice and Henry went scampering off to the jukebox to play some songs, but Killian said that since they were only picking up food to go that they needed to compromise on the song choice rather than switching the two.

Over her shoulder, she could see the two kids having like a good natured argument as they flipped through the song choices. Warmed in thought, she swiveled on the counter stool to look at Killian.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right, love?” Killian asked worriedly, his hand gently cupping her face.

Two years ago, she certainly would have no idea how integral Killian would become to her well-being. And it wasn’t bad before when she lived alone. She could take care of herself fairly easily and her son.

But to have a true and equal partner, who she could depend on and support, fall back on and push up when they needed meant more than she could say. For the first time in a long time, with Killian,  nothing ever truly felt like that much of a struggle. Sure there were arguments and tension sometimes, but with Killian…she didn’t feel like she was white knuckling her grip through life.

Except for the fact that she was white knuckling a napkin in her hand right now, but that was more from nerves because she wanted to keep things the way they were. They’d never talked about kids, though they were both fairly young parents.

Another child wouldn’t be completely unreasonable.

“Love?” Killian’s voice brought her back out of her head. “Is everything okay?”

Looking into his eyes, Emma was warmed by the love and support she saw there. “Yeah, uh…” she started shyly. Her heart began to pick up faster and faster in her chest. “There’s just…something I need to tell you?”

“You know you can tell me anything,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. She smiled and dropped her head, smiling at her lap.

“Yeah, I know,” Emma laughed softly. “It’s just…” She picked her head back up, only for her smile to fade. Killian’s jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes blazed as he looked beyond her. “Killian?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Killian snarled, jumping off his stool and striding toward a woman who was now standing near Henry and Alice.

“Hello, Killian.” The woman’s voice seemed pleasant enough, but it struck a chord with Emma in a way she did not enjoy. She leaped off her chair and ushered the children in close to her. The woman narrowed her eyes at Emma. “Who is this? And why is she near my daughter?”

“Your daughter?” Emma repeated, dumbfounded.

“You lost every right to call her that over a decade ago, Eloise,” Killian growled, effectively putting himself between Eloise and Emma. “She’s my daughter. How did you even find us?”

“I was interested in getting to know my daughter a little bit better,” Eloise replied, that too pleasant voice still grating on Emma’s last nerve. “I’ll certainly be seeing you all very soon.”

Emma felt Alice’s quivering against her side, and she held the girl a little bit closer. “It’s okay,” she whispered, watching Eloise’s retreating form. “You’re okay…”

“Papa?” Alice asked gently, gingerly peeking her head around Emma. “Papa, is she really my mother?”

Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly taking in the confused and devastated look from his daughter. His gaze met Emma’s, looking for a courage or absolution, she wasn’t sure quite which. But she was more than happy to grant it to him.

She certainly was no stranger to shitty exes.

So she nodded and gave him a small smile, doing her best to communicate with him that it was okay, that they would work through this new trial together.

Killian exhaled calmly, and a little smile crossed his face as well.

--

When they got home, Alice and Killian went to Alice’s room to talk privately.

“Shouldn’t this be a family conversation?” Henry asked worriedly. “What if she comes back when Alice and I are at school or something?”

“It is not our place to demand to be a part of that conversation,” Emma said patiently. “If Neal came back, do you think you’d want Alice to know right away or would you rather talk to me first?”

“I’d definitely want to talk just us first,” Henry admitted. “But I’d still want to tell Alice.”

“I think she will,” Emma laughed softly, kissing his head. “Just give her some time. It’s…it’s hard for her.”

“So what can I do, Mom?” Henry asked, his gaze flickering to Alice’s closed door. “Alice is my best friend, she’s practically my sister. I don’t want her to feel like she has to do this by yourself.”

She proudly smiled at her son, her heart near fit to burst. Henry’s acceptance of Killian only reaffirmed that he would make a fantastic older brother to his new brother or sister when the time came. “They really are our family, aren’t they?” she asked softly.

Henry nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “Nice of you to catch up,” he teased, his hazel eyes sparkling with mirth. The joy faded for a moment when he added, “But seriously, Mom? How am I supposed to help her?”

Emma reached across the table to hold her son’s hand. “I think you just ask her how you can best support her and follow her lead. She’ll tell you whatever she’s ready to tell. And if she doesn’t want to talk about it and not want to think about it, then you can distract her and make her feel better.”

Henry thought over this advice before hugging her again. “I love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, kid,” Emma said softly, kissing his head as she cupped the back of it. “You know you’ll always be number one in my life?” she asked him.

“Yeah,” Henry said. “But I can make room for some other people if need be.”

“Good,” Killian replied softly. “The Jones are quite so lucky to be loved by the Swans.”

She was so focused in giving Henry advice that she didn’t even see Killian enter the room until Henry got up to hug him tightly. Killian squeezed him before adding roughly, “Alice is playing Smash Brothers if you want to go play with her.”

Henry dashed off, leaving the two adults in the room alone.

Killian was quiet for a moment before he gently pulled Emma into his arms. “I don’t think I tell you what a good job you’ve done with him on your own,” he told her softly against her hair. “He’s an incredible young lad and his heart is so big…he’s really become such an incredible man without the presence of Neal…”

“He’s so lucky to have men like David and you in his life,” Emma murmured, wrapping her arms around him to give him all the comfort he could want. She held him for a moment longer before asking, “So, how can I best support you, Killian?” He took in a shuddering breath and she squeezed him.

“Whatever your history with that woman is, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Emma promised softly against his skin. “You know I’m always going to see the best in you.”

“And I you,” Killian promised, kissing the top of her hair. “Can we…can we go to the couch?” he asked and she nodded, gently pulling him along to the living room. She sat, and looked back at Killian and tilted her head as he watched her appraisingly. “Are you feeling better? The kids were saying you were poorly.”

“If we’re gonna do some sharing, I can share after,” Emma said, her heartbeat picking up again as she thought about telling him about her pregnancy.

Killian sat across the couch from her and gently took his hand in hers. “I…I was young. Just broken up with Milah and just…not wanting to deal with the pain of losing her. So I was a bit…promiscuous, thinking it would just make it stop hurting.”

“I’m sure you never ran in short supply,” Emma teased lightly, just wanting to see the smile back in his eyes.

He huffed a laugh and gave her a small but cheeky smile. “Aye, my partners certainly never complained except if they were telling me not to stop.” She smiled and gently squeezed his hand again. “And one night I met Eloise at the bar.”

He stopped, looking down again. Her thumb gently dragged across his knuckles and she waited for him to speak again. She didn’t say anything, just kept the drag of her thumb across his knuckles consistent.

“I didn’t…I wasn’t…” Killian sighed. “I thought I’d made it clear that I didn’t want anything beyond a one night stand. But she kept coming to the bar. Or my coffee shop and…and she was a distraction. We didn’t do much talking. And it felt good…”

“But she kept pushing your boundaries and you were so hurt, and she made you forget that you hurt that it didn’t seem important to reinforce them,” Emma blurted out, guessing the story. His eyebrow raised a little and he pulled her into his lap with a strained laugh. “Trust me, babe,” she replied. “How do you think I ended up with Neal?”

Killian nuzzled her shoulder for a moment, as if to soothe the sting of the past. “It gets worse,” he admitted quietly. “She…she kept seeking me out to get pregnant on purpose. So she could trap me with her.”

“Oh my god,” Emma breathed in deeply, looking over her shoulder quickly to make sure Alice didn’t hear that part. “How did you get out with Alice?”

“A few weeks after Alice was born, I came home and she was just…gone. She left a note saying she wouldn’t be bound any longer and good luck,” Killian said wryly. “Little did she know that she gave me the greatest blessing of my life and it led me to the second greatest blessing of my life.”

“Granny’s?” Emma teased weakly, resting her head against his.

“Aye,” he laughed, kissing her shoulder. “Granny’s.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and her entire body seemed to relax in his hold. Even her nausea seemed to settle, knowing that he was here and holding her. “Is there something you wanted to tell me, love?”

Suddenly Emma’s whole world crashed down her ears, and her old wounds came kicking and screaming to the surface. She couldn’t possibly tell him right on the heels of that. What if he really wouldn’t be happy about having another baby? What if he thought she was trapping him just like Eloise did with him?

“Just that, um, I might take a personal day tomorrow so if you wanted to take Alice out of school, she and I can have a girl’s day,” Emma said softly, curling into him, hating how her nausea had returned full force.

Killian stilled, eying her again. After a moment, he seemed satisfied with what she’s said and relaxed as he held her close to his chest. “I love you, Emma,” he murmured softly. “So much.”

“Yeah,” Emma replied hollowly. “I love you too.”

--

Emma made sure to make Alice’s favorite breakfast—sunny side up eggs with a side of scrambled toast and orange marmalade—before the girl woke. She even made a plate for herself, delighted that her future child would give her something to eat.

When Alice walked into the room, her eyes lit up at the breakfast. “Is this for me?” she asked excitedly.

Emma laughed. “Of course. I figured you’d like your favorite breakfast on your day off,” she said, pushing the plate toward Alice.

“Your stomach seems to enjoy the marmalade,” Alice giggled. “I told you marmalade is great!”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Emma said fondly. “Well, today is your day and we can do whatever you want?”

“Whatever?” Alice asked hopefully, her blue eyes sparkling with joy. “Anything I want?”

“Yeah, it’s a self-care day!” Emma laughed. “So you tell me what you want to do today and we’ll do it!”

“Can we go to the library?” Alice seemed to get more excited by the minute. “And then the bakery?”

“You got it, star,” Emma said softly, grinning fondly. “And if you wanna talk, that’s okay. And if you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to do that either.”

The use of her nickname made Alice pause, picking nervously at her crust. “Emma?” she asked softly. “If…if Eloise becomes part of my life…am I still your star?”

“Of course,” Emma replied without any hesitation. “You’re my star, and yo—I mean Eloise can’t take that away from us. And just because she gave birth to you doesn’t mean she has to be part of your life if you don’t want her to be.”

“Will you get jealous if I do?” Alice asked quietly, still picking at the crust of her toast.

“I mean, I’ll miss you if you choose to spend more time with her,” Emma said honestly. “I like hanging out with you. Video game nights with you and Henry are my favorite. But also…if this is what’s going to make you happy, then of course I’m going to support you.” She leaned over and tapped Alice’s nose. “Besides…you have your father’s heart. I know you have plenty of love in your heart.”

Alice looked at her, the same way Killian had the night before. And then she gently leaned over to hug Emma tightly. “I love you, Emma,” the girl promised.

Emma would definitely blame the pregnancy hormones for the way she teared up and held Alice even closer to her. “I love you too,” she whispered. “And I can’t wait to spend the day with you, star. Should we go to the library first?”

“Yeah!” Alice said excitedly and bounded out of the room with unbridled enthusiasm.

Emma worked on getting dressed, pausing only once to run her hand over her bump, before heading out with Alice. She was relieved to see Alice’s viviacious spirit returned as Alice talked about all the books she wanted to read, what books she’d been waiting for, and what books the girls in her class were reading.

They were only a few blocks away when Emma had the strangest feeling something was wrong. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eloise following them, but Emma made sure that she kept Alice close.

She wasn’t entirely sure why Eloise was so close, and she hoped it was a coincidence. The lack of formal channels or communications made her nervous and Emma was worried about making a wrong move.

“Emma, can we go to the second floor first?” Alice asked, gently tugging on her hand. “That’s where are the old books are!”

“Lead the way,” Emma chuckled warmly. She made sure to duck around some shelves when they entered to see if Eloise was still following them. When Emma didn’t see her on the second floor, she let out quick sigh of relief, and watched Alice scamper down the aisle.

And then something collided with the back of her head and everything went black.

--

Emma had the faintest memory of weakly calling for Alice, for her daughter, faces swimming around her while her hand stayed firmly around Alice’s and then everything went dark again.

But she knew she was in a hospital bed now, she recognized the beep of the machines anywhere.

“Of course I want to bloody press charges!” Killian’s voice was a little too loud, but she was thankful that he was there. If he was with her, it meant Alice and Henry were safe. “She hurt Emma! She was going to kidnap Alice!”

He sighed, deflating a little bit at whatever response David gave him. ���Yes, I can bring her down tomorrow to be interviewed. Emma is gonna need some rest…your detectives will have to come here, as Emma’s under observation for another day or too…”

Emma forced her eyes open and gently squeezed his hand. Killian’s head snapped toward her and his eyes filled with tears. “She’s waking up. Tell Alice and Henry that we love them so much and it’s all going to be just fine. Yeah. I’ll speak to your later Dave.” Emma couldn’t even get a breath in edgewise before Killian frantically pressed his lips to hers. “Hey,” she rasped softly. “I’m okay.”

“Aye, I know,” Killian choked out. “Eloise is my…but I still…and then the doctor told me that you…” His eyes searched hers and he realized. “That’s what you wanted to tell me yesterday, wasn’t it? That’s why you were ill…”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said quietly. “I was so scared that after seeing Eloise you’d think I was trying to trap you in a life with me.”

“Emma,” Killian whispered softly, crushing his forehead against hers. “How could you possibly think that I’d be trapped in any kind of life with you? I love you more than anything besides our children.”

“Old wounds,” she replied softly. “Between the first time I did this alone and Eloise making an untimely reappearance I just…my fear got the best of me. I figured I could wait until things settled down before telling you…I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

He laughed wetly, gently pebbling her face with kisses. “Emma…you are such an extraordinary woman. My ex attacks you, and you’re still apologizing to me.”

“You do deserve an apology,” Emma said tiredly. “I hurt you but in a different way…”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Killian promised. “You were trying to protect yourself from being hurt, and I’ll be honest…if you told me last night, I would’ve had a meltdown.” He nudged his nose gently to hers before kissing her cheek. “But if it means that much…you’re forgiven, love. I’m just so happy you and the babe are safe.”

“How are the kids?” Emma asked weakly. “How did Alice get away?”

“She started screaming bloody murder when she saw it happen,” he explained, his fingers dancing gently across Emma’s skin with the utmost love and reverence, and maybe to reassure himself she was still there. “And the librarian knew you were her mother, rather than Eloise who tried to tell the police that her daughter was having a psychotic break.”

Emma sat up abruptly, torn between the desire to find her daughter and comfort her and find Eloise and just start swinging. Killian seemed to read her mind and gently placed his hand on her shoulder so she’d rest again.

 “So just to make sure…you’re okay with having a baby with me?” Emma asked.

“As if flowers mind the summer sun,” Killian replied tenderly.

“Well, technically too much sun tries up the flowers and—” He silenced her with a kiss that had her smiling against his lips. “Point taken.”

“Should we start thinking of names?”

But it was Alice and Henry who had named their little sister when she came into the world seven months later. They named her after the thing that they always got from being with one another: Hope.

[ms-a-z-u-l]

The Alley (Dabi x Reader)

Summary- You meet Dabi in an alley on a regular basis until he tells you that seeing each other will no longer be possible. The only question left is: why?

Categories- Angst, romance if you squint 

Warnings- Only cursing 

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A/N: This one was actually already here but I accidentally deleted it. Also, for some reason Tumblr is not showing my posts with the tags and I have no idea how to fix that :,) I’m still uploading in the case some day it does and for those who can see it, thank you for reading! 

***************************************

“Go back, squirt”

“Why?”

With a sigh, Dabi turned around to look at you. You had barely gotten to your recent go-to place: a secluded alley, sure to keep away any lingering and curious eyes that could see you meeting with a villain nonetheless. Since the particular day you happened to be innocent bait (that’s what they thought you were) in order to rile up the new heroes, recently graduated from U.A with the respective names Shoto and Deku (they have been around the news a lot lately along with a certain explosion hero you couldn’t quite remember his name). Their plan ended up going wrong, nonetheless. As soon as the one grabbing you got distracted, you gave him in the shin as well as harsh bite to the arm and sprinted out of there.

However, you ended up stumbling into someone, and because luck was not on your side that day, it was not a hero but one of the villains at the site. You put up your decent fight and insults you could give (he particularly remembers the one regarding how he never learned how to use a stapler) and the name of “Charcoal” you gave him throughout that day.

Regardless, after the commotion ended and everyone escaped, you were let go by him in an alleyway without saying a word. It was odd. He didn’t say a word, but looking at his eyes, you could tell he might’ve wanted to say something, so out of curiosity you kept coming back to that alley in hopes he would be there.

And now here you were. You stopped counting the times you met in that place, it was a silent agreement when to meet that overtime you could just look at his eyes and know when he’ll be there. Today was different, though, today he was more serious and hadn’t thrown any half ass comment your way that made you tick. He hadn’t made eye contact and had his back toward you.

When he had finally looked at you though, you saw it. It was something seen usually in his eyes, but it was there. Resignation, but for what it was the question.

“I won’t come here anymore, so you should stop coming here too, maybe even pretend like none of this happened”  

You silently stared for a moment before opening your mouth, “But why? Did something happen? Did I do something? If you’re beginning to take my picking at you seriously, I’ll stop really, no worries” you said hurriedly trying to make sense why he wouldn’t want to see you anymore. However, you stopped talking when you saw his face harden as jumbles of words came out of your mouth. “It’s not any of that, stop babbling” he sighed again and continues, “It’s no use doing this. You sneaking in here just to talk to me, I don’t see the case anymore, besides you know it’s dangerous associating with me. You’re wasting your time and I’m wasting mine coming all the way here just to indulge you in conversations that can be forgotten as soon as we both go our separate ways.” With that, he started walking away. But of course, being you we’re talking about, you wouldn’t have that half-assed information that sounded like a way to get you to go away.

“I won’t take that shitty excuse from you. You never looked like you hated it and besides, if you were just wasting your time, then you would have never come in the first place when I first looked for you here, or the next or the next and all the times you came” you started grabbing onto his sleeve, pulling him to at least look at you, show any sign he was listening. Suddenly, you flinched. You started feeling a burning in your hand, and it was getting painfully hotter. When it got unbearable in a matter of seconds, you tried to quickly pull away, but Dabi grabbed you by the wrist and faced you. He had a cold expression, as if wanting to truly frighten you and drive you away. “I don’t give a damn what you thought all of this was. Just accept I got bored and tired of doing this and entertaining you. It’s not my fault you started getting any ideas and believe this could be one of those beautiful disgusting friendships you see on shows. This is real life, doll, and it disappoints you so bad that eventually you get tired of the shit that it pulls you to.”  

All you could do was stare in shock. You didn’t want to believe any words that came out of his mouth. It couldn’t be right, he wouldn’t have stuck around for so long, he wouldn’t have actually shown even the tiniest trace of genuine interest to what you both talked about and the mirth toward your antics. It was simply unacceptable, he was actually a part you began to look forward too. And now he himself wanted to take it away. “Then I don’t care either” you said confidently, however he misunderstood. “Good, this is easier on me now, see ya never I guess-“

“I don’t care what you said. Because i don’t believe it. Even if you say you got tired and bored, I’ll still come the next day, and the day after that one, until you really get tired of it and disappear completely. And if its about me being in danger, well if was that situation that got us to meet, so I don’t care either” you stopped talking with eyes closed, but a felt a presence. Slowly, you lifted your head and he was right there with an honestly unreadable expression.

“Um, ahh- well what I mean exactly is that I don’t believe your bullshit and I still want to stick around here and see you as weird as it may sound, don’ttakeittheotherwayplease-” among your nervous muttering and gradually fast talking, he lifted both of his hand. You didn’t flinch, to his surprise (he didn’t show it however) but rather waited for his next move. It wasn’t a harsh gesture, far from it, it was gentle. He was really cupping your cheeks and caressing the skin, his eyes finally changing, the only way to know how he felt cause he would damn himself if he said the feelings he held, whatever they may be.

“ You’re impossible.. and irritating.. and sarcastic as hell”

You huffed and rolled your eyes lightheartedly, “I got the point, as if you’re all roses and charm”

He lightly chuckled and continued, “If something happens, I only want you to remember the times we were here. Not a bloodied corse in the pavement, because let’s be honest here, this life I’m leading here only ends there, and I don’t want you getting involved in that and end up hurting you along the way, that’s why I want to stop it now, stop seeing me and getting more damn attached, is no good sticking with me-“

“But-“

“No, you listen to me, doll. You’re gonna go back home, go to sleep, and the next day when you wake up you go about your day as always and after you get out of your last class, go home and repeat, simple as that”

At this, your tears started to fall and you choked out, “No, no, I cant do that, you can’t ask me that!” You shook your head repeatedly, “Please, Dabi, don’t ask that of me, I can’t just up and leave and pretend you were never there. I know I don’t say it but I care about you”

“Doll, doll, hey look at me, common, you’re not hiding that pretty face from me are you” he said, squishing your cheeks.

“Dabii!” You exclaimed, not in the mood for any flattery.

“Ok, ok I’ll stop, but look at me” raising your head, and grabbing onto his arms, you waited for him to keep talking. “I’m not doing this it of malice as unbelievable as it may sound. I’m doing this cause, now that we’re letting it all out here, fuck it, I care about you too, and the least I want is getting you into a world that will only let you know of suffering. For the same reason that I care about you, Y/N, is why I want you to go back and have a nice life, and that means is gonna have to be without me.”

After a moment, heard you in a small voice, “But for me, a nice life means you’re in it”

As cliche as it sounded, your words actually touched Dabi. He knew it was dumb, considering what he wanted to do was to let you go, but you just so damn persistent, and he figured it might do for a proper goodbye. Witch that, he leaned down and left a single peek in your right cheek. It lingered more than he wanted to, but it was the first and last time he could feel you like that. All you could was blink out of shock. His lips were not soft like you read in books, they were rough, but somehow the fact that it was him made you care less about those ideal descriptions. Before fully pulling away, you heard him whispered, “Maybe in another life we get, doll”

................................

You couldn’t change his mind, is what you learned the next day waking up in your room. Both of you stayed siting in that alley talking for the last time until you fell asleep.

You knew you couldn’t change his mind when the next days he made good on his promise of not showing up at all.

Eventually, you did what he asked, going about the day with the exception of going to that secluded alley. You made few friends along the way who managed to distract you from time to time after lectures, hang outs at any place they stumbled upon. After an invite to a cafe, you said your goodbyes to them  and started walking home. Somehow, it felt odd. You thought it was your mind, but you kept feeling a certain way. You started looking around but saw nothing. Just when you gave up and started looking down, you saw a figure in the building across form the cafe, with widened eyes, you could see it, the coat slightly flowing behind him.

With a newfound small smile, you started walking again, witch the newfound knowledge that he never really left.

“Yeah, I guess we can meet each other in another alley, you asshole”

[princeanxious]

Part One; “A Wounded Snake Lies Still”

A continuation fic in the au i built from this art piece I did and this post that I’d written that inspired this whole idea. I don’t know how many parts there will be, but the plan is for it to be hurt/comfort? It’s just that the comfort comes in small increments, but I promise the ending will be happy!

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Ships: mentions of past healthy Anxceit, start of story begins w/ analogical, end goal is analoceit! Side royality, Remus is lowkey Aro.

Minor Trigger Warnings: in no particular order.. brief mentions of painful memory loss, brief food mention, Remus and Deceit as sympathetic characters in general, accidental revealing of a secret-Remus feeling awful about it and Deceit being completely forgiving on it. Deceit being sorta selfish but also being very selfless without realize it. Deceit lying when he speaks/ backwards talk.

Serious Trigger Warnings: (slight spoilers) Deceit ignores his own distress in favor of keeping up a nonchalant act around the others, and doesn’t process his inner emotions in a healthy way. Deceit repressing years of his own resurfacing emotional trauma that originally came from his separation from Virgil, Deceit also briefly relives said trauma in the fic and pretends nothing is wrong even though something Really Is. Patton has minor empath abilities in this au and accidentally gets hit with a ride of very negative emotions that Deceit is already internally feeling when he touches Deceit.

(Let me know if I need to tag something else!)

Summary: Virgil’s missing memories have always been a touchy subject. After Remus and Deceit gain their acceptance of from the Light Sides and Thomas, Deceit still seems to have a few secrets to hide. If you asked him, he’d tell you it was for the best that he kept them. Partially concealing the truth was a slippery slope, indeed. But, could you really blame him? When Virgil was dating Logan and finally seemed happy again? To him, All the repression of his own trauma was worth Virgil’s happiness. Their years of love were lost with Virgil’s memories of the past, and there was no way in hell Deceit was about to jeopardize Virgil’s current stability now, not when the only person at fault for losing was Deceit himself.(or, was it? He’s never sure anymore. Trauma is a fickle beast.) Well, one slip up from Remus is all it takes before Deceit finds himself faced with that exact dilema fast approaching, and he finds he is less than prepared to face the music..

[[MORE]]

“Ugh, gross. In front of my deodorant?? Could you guys like. Not?? Be romance-y in the living room?? You two remind me of when Dee and Virgie were dating.” Remus grumbled offhandedly, too tired to deal with his twin’s particularly loud and loving attention directed towards Thomas’s literal representation of the heart this late into the afternoon.

They’d been loudly and shamelessly flirting back and forth from across the room while everyone set up for movie night, Roman in the living room with the others and Patton in the kitchen with Deceit making snacks. It was only seconds later that the duke realized his slip up as everything and everyone around clattered to a halt, the other sides turning stare at him in confusion.

Three years. It had taken Deceit three long, painstaking years and counting to distance himself from the years of memories he’d spent in bliss, to separate his mind from the heartbreak of losing his only love. Three years to come to terms with the fact that his only love now held no memories of the time they spent together, to accept that his love now deeply loved another.

Three years to come to terms with the fact that Virgil would never know what it was like to watch helplessly as his love writhed in pain. To watch as The Line ripped the memories from his love’s very being, forcing Virgil into a clean slate. Three years to come to terms that Virgil would never remember.

Three years of patience and heartbreak and anguish and lies, telling himself that it’d be okay, telling himself that he would move on and heal eventually. Three years of painstakingly separating himself from the narrative he and Virgil used to share, and ensuring that Virgil never had any inkling to what had been of his past. It was the only secret Deceit ever asked Remus to keep.

Rest assured, he’d tried to respark Virgil’s memories many times in the first few months after Virgil crossed over The Line from Dark side to Light, having ultimately crossed for good. It’d only led to fight after fight, driving a wedge further and further between them with each escalated argument. With a bleeding heart, he’d eventually given in, and stopped any further attempts. After all, each attempt only seemed to fuel Virgil with irritation. It had been clear then, that whatever they’d had, was never going to be again.

Three years it’d been. He thought he’d nearly healed, really. Most days he found he could exist and interact with the others and not be reminded of the past, and be comforted that he himself would not be a reminder to the past. Repression had always been his strong suit, though, conciously or not.

The Line had diminished as of late, after Thomas had really begun accepting Deceit and Remus. They could cross The Line for long amounts of time now, and mostly be fine. Occasionally they suffered from a bout of fatigue when disagreements with the others briefly turned sour, feeling The Line tugging back at them insistently. It never lasted for long, but there was always that underlying worry that The Line would finally snap them back into the dark for good if one of them made a final wrong move. The Light Sides didn’t know about The Line, not even Virgil remembered stumbling away from it after all that had happened. And well, if it were up to Deceit? They would never find out about it. Too many questions, too many messy answers.

Three years later, Deceit finds his heart splintering once more, an ache sinking into his chest that he knows Patton feels as they stand nearby one another. Memories flood in harshly, a deep painful longing resurging from the depths of his mind as it always did when faced with his reoccurring trauma sinking its claws into his psyche.

It’s only been seconds, but the silence is starting to feel heavy. Instead of moving on from the previous comment, Remus glances to Deceit, eyes pleading and devastated by having made his mistake, breaking the only promise to Dee he’d ever been seriously asked to keep. And Deceit knows he must do what he does best to save face, there is still time to redirect the carnage.

“Remus, please don’t refrain from spreading lies, that’s certainly not my job, after all.” He teases lightly, keeping his tone precisely on the edge of amused confusion, though his eyes hold an understanding none of the others know to read for. “Next you won’t be telling me that your favorite animal is a squid, not an octopus. Not your worst try at shock humor, yes?”

Remus catches on after a millisecond, drawing out a full cackle. “Sorry, not sorry! You should’ve seen the looks on your faces though! Priceless!! Who knew a shitty joke falling so flat would shock everyone so good!”

Their reactions held the desired effect. Quickly, everyone around the room seemed to relax, Roman even firing back his own playful quip to further lighten the mood. In the end, it was just a bump in conversation, something Remus caused every once in a while as everyone adjusted and Remus learned. Not a single step amiss that wasn’t already expectedly out of line.

Still, he’d have to talk to Remus in private later. Remus was just as sensitive to rejection as Roman was, and paired with his inherently intrusive thoughts, it would come to no surprise if Remus already thought Deceit now hated him. He didn’t, it’d been an accident, and Remus’s first ever slip up in three years since making the promise. Even if Dee had been mad about the slip up, he wouldn’t have had any right to be. He’d be sure Remus was the first person he sought to soothe when they got a free moment alone, it wasn’t right to let those kinds of thoughts fester.

Remus first, Virgil next, as it wasn’t quite crisis averted. He could feel Virgil’s eyes on his back from the living room. He denied his bleeding heart the closure of meeting Virgil’s gaze, of sharing his expression. He was too vulnerable, even now the anxious side could read his tells far too well, often without even realizing why. There was no doubt Virgil would try and talk to him later about it, and no matter how good the terms they were on with each other now were, Deceit knew the conversation would be a rough one. Virgil knows he has missing memories, and only recently had he accepted Remus and Deceit’s vague answers when he’d asked lightly about his past. It was at least him acknowledging they had the answers to the past he doesn’t remember.

If he wasn’t careful, each and every brick in the wall that Deceit had carefully worked to build up in the past three years could crumble right before his eyes, leaving him stripped emotionally defenseless, his trauma bared for all to see. And who knew what the others would do if they knew so much? What would they think of him then? Deceit inwardly shivered at the thought. It would not come to that.

Slipping into the nonchalant act was an easy card to play, it being his strong suit and most comforting form of security, a version of his own little lie of omission to soothe the bumpy situation over.

What he didn’t account for, was Patton gently reaching to touch his arm when everyone else had settled and their attentions returned to their tasks at hand. Deceit fought against his immediate urge to pull away, knowing the moral side just preferred connection through touch when addressing another, and instead looked up to meet Patton with a questioning gaze.

Whatever Patton was about to say died on his lips as he suddenly seemed to reflect an absolutely heartbroken expression, tears welling up in his eyes. Pain and sorrow and surprise seemed to seep into the other’s expression, warring for dominance amongst the primary confusion. It was only then that Deceit realized that Patton was still touching him, his bare arm with an equally bare hand, to be exact. The memory that Patton bore minor empath abilities that were tied into his existence as the representation of Thomas’s morality and feelings sunk in two seconds too late.

Direct skin to skin contact, something Deceit sought often to avoid in general nowadays anyway, was a direct way for Patton to tune into another's current feelings through said abilities, often by accident. There were limits that Patton could control, of course, and Patton only ever seemed to struggle coping with that ability when faced with an overwhelming swell of emotions from the other side. And, well.. Deceit’s mind certainly hadn’t taken well to being reminded of his repressed past, seeping through his protective mental walls with all sorts of roiling negative emotions.

From self-loathing, to dread. From anger, to guilt. From longing, to grief, then to depression, and finally apathy. It just couldn’t be helped that Deceit, a master of disguise and deception, had had three whole years to perfect the act that hid it from the outside and controlled it all from within.

Carefully, Deceit pulled Patton’s hand from his arm, and gently tucked it against the moral side’s chest. Still, he keeps his gloved hand there, letting Patton grasp it with both hands to ground himself after such an emotional ride.

“Deep breaths, dear Patton. Whatever isn’t the matter?” He asks gently, still playing into his act but his eyes plead a different story. ‘Not now,’ they say, ‘I will tell you, but not here,’ they beg. Patton nods slowly, and Deceit carefully wipes away Patton tears. In a move he knows he might regret later if it raises questions, he slips his hat off to gently plop onto the moral side’s head, and gently presses against the others clothed shoulder with his own in a show of comforting affection. It has the desired effect of distracting Patton and lightening his mood, Patton’s lingering upset masked by a watery smile only they can share. Deceit silently mourns the loss of his safety blanket, but accepts that a few minutes of feeling vulnerable while comforting Patton is a good trade to escape having his distress found out. He couldn’t have the other sides cornering him into explaining why Patton had suddenly begun crying without reason. It certainly wasn’t the fact that he felt guilty for Patton having experienced second hand an echo of his painfully raw emotions, no, not at all.

Thankfully their little scene goes unnoticed by the rest of the preoccupied sides, who are far too busy bickering over the movies they want to watch. Well, unnoticed by all but the one who sits to the side. Said side keeps an unconcerned but intrigued eye on the two in the kitchen, glancing over every time he adjusts his glasses to avoid suspicion. Logan says nothing, but knows he has questions for his dearest Virgil when movie night is over. He can only hope that the answers Virgil gives will not raise more questions.

(..Unfortunately, they do raise more questions than answers.. However, they now know exactly who has the answers they seek. It’s only a matter of getting those answers that is a task far harder than they’d ever expected it to be.)

To be continued..

[cuddlepilefics]

New Year’s party

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregiver: Chan

 Noone’s POV.:

Chan had been invited to a New Year’s party and he could bring one other person. The leader decided he’d like to take Jeongin with him, if the younger agreed to come. He had been crushing on the younger for a while now and maybe the two of them going to a party could be like a date, without him having to ask the younger out. The maknae was more than happy to tag along. He himself felt close to his hyung from the moment they first met and even though he couldn’t name his feelings, he was extremely fond of occasions he’d spend with Chan without the rest of their group around. As the evening of the 31th approached, Jeongin grew more and more antsy. They had decided not to tell their members where they were going, so the youngest couldn’t ask any of his hyungs for advice on how to dress. His stomach was churning anxiously as he dug through his closet. Lucky for him, Chan had told his fellow Aussie about his plan and the fact that he may or may not turn this into a date depending on how the night would progress. When the leader was certain Felix wouldn’t squeal as soon as he left the room, he let the younger go and Felix decided he’d go to Jeongin to hear his side of the story and to check on the maknae’s feelings for their leader. The Aussie walked in on a distressed Jeongin pacing the room and pulling his hair.

It took the older a few minutes to talk the other down. They sat on Jeongin’s bed and the maknae confided in Felix that he wanted to look good for Chan but he didn’t find any clothes he was satisfied with. “Innie, do you perhaps have a crush on Channie-hyung?”, the older chuckled, causing the maknae to freeze in his spot. “I – I don’t know? I never really – I don’t think I ever thought about it this way?”, Jeongin stammered uncertain, furrowing his brows, “Now that you say it, he always makes my tummy feel funny. Lix, is that a crush?” Felix cracked up at the other’s confusion. “Yes Innie. I’m pretty sure what you’re experiencing right now is a crush. Come on, I’ll help you pick out some clothes”, the Aussie giggled, pulling his dongsaeng up from the bed. Being pulled to his feet that quick made the maknae’s head spin and he hugged his friend tightly to not fall over till the black spots disappeared. Felix started laughing again, wriggling his way out of Jeongin’s grip: “Innie, I love you to but we need to get you ready.” The older quickly put together an outfit for the maknae and styled his hair. “Wait, let me put some foundation on you. When did you get so pale? You really need to go out more, see the sun and stuff”, Felix stopped the other who was already getting up to leave. Felix quickly applied some makeup to the youngest’s face, chuckling at how the excitement heated the other’s skin up.

Soon Jeongin was good to go and after giving Felix a quick hug, thanking him for his help, he dashed out to meet Chan at the front door. Felix waved them goodbye, thinking ‘I ship it’ before the door closed and the pair was gone. The thing was, despite Felix trying to diffuse his nervousness, the maknae’s stomach was still in knots. They could already hear the music blasting from the street and he stuck close to Chan when they entered the crowded house. The air smelled of sweat and alcohol and Jeongin couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable there. However, there was no getting out of this now, so he just became Chan’s shadow, not leaving the older’s side for even a second.

��Chan’s POV.:

This night was absolutely not going the way I had imagined it to go and that was not a good thing. Jeongin had gotten shy the second we stepped into the house. He didn’t seem to enjoy himself at all but I was going to change that. I led my dongsaeng to a sitting area where a handful of my friends were gathered doing karaoke. Sitting down in the only unoccupied spot, I pulled the maknae onto my lap. My friend who had invited us greeted me and handed us drinks. Innie looked at me slightly panicked as he wasn’t of legal drinking age, so when I had finished half of my drink, I quickly exchanged our cups. He giggled into my shoulder when he realized what I was doing, going back and forth between both of our drinks. It was adorable but I’d have to take it slower from now on, if I didn’t want to be wasted before midnight. There’d be a huge firework which we didn’t want to miss, so I should still have my senses together by that time. As the hours passed, I frequently tried to convince Jeongin to do karaoke since I knew how angelic his voice was, but he always refused. He barely talked to anyone, not even me really and he didn’t participate in any of the party-games. I couldn’t help getting upset. I just wanted to have some fun with my crush and maybe even get a bit closer but he wasn’t having it at all, so as the time ticked by my mood sank lower and lower.

 Jeongin’s POV.:

Everything was too loud. It was unbearably hot between all those people but I clung to Chan’s chest while sitting on his lap, despite him being warm and sweaty like everyone else because he was my anchor in the chaos going on around me. It was quite overwhelming and to make matters worse, I had figured after a while that my stomachache wasn’t caused by nerves. I felt safe in Chan’s arms, especially since I saw him cover for me when I wasn’t drinking but couldn’t turn down the drink either, but despite feeling safe with him, my stomach still hurt. The stale air not helping at all, rather making me nauseous. I really wanted to be anywhere but here but I had promised Chan to spend the evening with him and to watch the firework together, I couldn’t disappoint him. Plus, I didn’t want to bring his mood down by whining about not feeling good or by making him leave early. Resting my head against my hyung’s shoulder, I swallowed a few times to keep my stomach in its place. “Come on Innie, you have such an amazing voice, you’ll sing everyone into the ground. Just one round”, Chan tried to persuade me but I shook my head. He tried to get me to participate in multiple of the activities they had prepared like karaoke, just dance and truth and dare and hadn’t I felt so shitty I would have loved to join but right now my sole focus was on keeping my stomach contents inside my body. “Why not? There’s nothing you want to do. You’re no fun”, he whined and I could hear that he was seriously pissed. “I need the bathroom”, I stammered, looking at my hyung expectantly. “Up the stairs, first door on the right”, he sighed, reaching for his drink the second I was out of his lap.

I choked out a quick “Thanks”, unsure whether he had heard it or not and stumbled in the direction he had given me. I couldn’t breathe, the walls were closing in on me, my stomach churned. Fighting my way up the stairs, I dizzily tripped over my own feet, tears streaming down my face. My stomach hurt, but my heart hurt more. Channie-hyung was mad at me. I had ruined his fun after he had decided to take me out of all people, I had to ruin his night-out. Pushing into the bathroom, I was met with a couple making out in the cramped space. At first, they didn’t notice me over their moaning but then they tried to kick me out. However, they quickly fled, cringing in disgust when I threw myself at the toilet retching hard.

 Noone’s POV.:

Almost thirty minutes had passed and Jeongin hadn’t actually thrown up yet. Instead, he lay curled up on the bathroom floor, seemingly knocked out while wishing for the nausea to fade. At one point, someone had walked in on him but had quickly closed the door again, leaving the boy to his own devices. In the meantime, Chan’s friend plopped onto the sofa next to Chan laughing. “Your boyfriend really is a lightweight, isn’t he”, he chuckled, patting Chan’s shoulder. “What do you mean”, Chan frowned, realizing he hadn’t seen Jeongin in quite a while now. “He’s knocked out in the upstairs bathroom”, that’s all Chan needed to sober up. He knew the younger didn’t drink at all. His friend was cut off by Chan jumping up from the couch sprinting up the stairs and almost tripping himself, with his balance not being in peak condition after the amount of drinks he had. Bracing one arm against the doorframe, he pushed into the bathroom finding the tight bundle that was his dongsaeng. On the first glance he did seem knocked out like his friend had told him but looking closer, Chan could see the goosebumps on his skin and the little shivers that shook the younger’s frame despite the rather warm temperature in the building.

The older slid down with his back against the wall and pulled Jeongin into his arms, earning a whimper. “Hey, Innie, what’s going on?”, he whispered, brushing the maknae’s hair out of his face to get a better look. Instead of answering, the younger pushed Chan away, startling the older, as he launched at the toilet again. Being moved from his curled-up position had sent his stomach over the edge and he gagged up a thin stream of his barely digested dinner. His hyung quickly got over his initial shock and rubbed soothing circles onto his back. Soon the tears were streaming down his face again, when Jeongin choked up another wave. He was sobbing at this point, choking on air and coughing up more stomach contents. Chan was stunned by how much the younger was throwing up, he hadn’t even eaten that much earlier. Jeongin’s head spun and he rested it on the toilet seat, completely spent from the ordeal. He was still crying but much quieter now, there was just no strength left in him. Frowning, the older moved him from where he was laying to rest against his chest instead. The maknae kept crying into Chan’s shirt, while the leader held him, trying to comprehend the situation. “I-I’m so-orry”, the younger sobbed, “I-I’m no f-fun.”

Just like that Chan’s heart broke, remembering what he had told his dongsaeng earlier. Gently he lifted the younger’s head up a bit, feeling the dry heat on the maknae’s forehead and running his thumb underneath the puffy eyes looking up at him broken, as he brushed away the tears. “Shh, you weren’t feeling well all evening, huh?”, Chan cooed as he continued to stroke the other’s cheek. Jeongin shook his head, there was no point in denying it now anyways. “Baby, why didn’t you just tell me?” – “I-I wanted you to have fun, h-hyung”, he sniffed, not noticing the petname that slipped from the older’s lips, “I was so h-happy that you asked me. I d-didn’t want to make you mad at me.” The leader was now close to tears as well, how could he have been so oblivious? “It’s ok, I’m not mad. You know, I wanted you to have fun too. That’s why I got upset when you weren’t having any. If you had told me you weren’t feeling alright, we could have just stayed home. I wouldn’t have minded”, Chan explained, carding his finger’s through the younger’s sweaty hair. “I didn’t want to stay home. I really like you”, Jeongin admitted, playing with his sleeve, “so I was excited to have you for myself, away from the group.” – “I really like you too, that’s why asked you to come with me and no one else”, the leader confessed, heart swelling at the thought of his baby liking him back. “Let’s go home, yeah?” – “But the party? The firework?”, the maknae frowned. “I’d much rather cuddle you all better than party and we can watch the firework from our window, ok?”, the older promised, helping Jeongin stand.

With a protective arm around his dongsaeng’s shoulders, Chan said goodbye to his friends, explaining the situation. The two walked the few blocks home since Chan was to drunk to drive and it wasn’t that far anyways. Jeongin only got sick onto the pavement twice but given how many people were drinking in the streets, he didn’t stick out. Returning to the dorm, they got many confused and curious looks for being home a few hours earlier than expected. “Innie’s sick”, Chan explained, reminding Felix of the maknae’s pale complexion earlier, walking the younger to his room. He removed their makeup and helped the younger into some more comfortable clothes before getting changed himself. He quickly made a cup of peppermint tea and also collected a bottle of water and a bucket, taking the items back to his room. His bed was bigger than Jeongin’s so he wanted the younger to stay with him. When he set everything up, the maknae was already asleep, not even stirring as the leader rummaged around the room. Chan lay down beside the maknae, petting his hair and admiring his face till there were only ten minutes left till midnight. He really didn’t want to disrupt the other’s much needed slumber but he knew how mad Jeongin would be if he missed out on the firework. Gently he hummed the maknae’s name, stroking his arm firmly, as he took his time waking the younger. After about two minutes, Chan had pulled the curtains aside, clearing their few, and sat on the edge of the bed with Jeongin in his lap. The maknae was sipping on the tea, which was only slightly warm by this time, letting it sooth his sour tummy as he leaned into his hyung. As promised they watched the firework together, wishing each other a happy new year before settling back in bed together. The younger was almost drifting off when Chan spoke up: “You know Innie, there’s one thing I don’t want to be in the new year anymore. That is single. Will you Yang Jeongin be my boyfriend?” Jeongin was wide awake again, hugging his hyung tightly. “I will hyung, yes I will”, he squealed happily. The leader placed a soft kiss onto his boyfriend’s forehead, who could feel the older smile into the kiss, before wrapping the blanket tighter around them, telling the younger to sleep his bug off so they could kiss properly.

[maybebanks]

You Know I’m a Minor Chapter 08

Chapter 01

Previous Chapter 07

catch up summary: you had become one of the Pogues from when you first met JJ in a jail cell. Your blackmailing situation with Ward seems to be over. But now that JJ and the pogues know about your secret, how will another messy life be handled?

It wasn’t easy. Nothing ever was. Except surfing, and other basic things like breathing.

JJ was trying to support you, but there was some degree that felt betrayed. You could have told him.

This morning, JJ took you to the bathroom to talk. He didn’t say much.

“Can you...can you take off your shirt for me?” JJ asked.

You gave him a weird look, but you knew what he meant, he wanted to see the damage.

“No, JJ, it’s ugly,” you paused, ready to move past him and leave the bathroom.

His hand met your chest, pausing you, pushing you back.

You couldn’t look him in the eye, you didn’t want to see pity. You wanted to be normal.

“I’m ugly,” you convince.

JJ grabs your cheeks gently, he moves your face up to meet his eyes. His own eyes were watering.

“Don’t you ever say that. You are not what he did to you,”

You didn’t know what to say after that, and moments later you just let JJ take control, he fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt before asking for an ‘okay’ with his eyes.

He pulled it above your head and your arms folded over your chest to cover your bra.

JJ’s fingers traced the bruises along your torso, his silver rings were a unique feeling you’ve never felt, causing shivers down your spine.

He moved towards your back, large prints were all revealed to him. JJ didn’t want to scare you by getting angry, and to him, getting angry was a way to fill in a gaping hole of sadness.

“Jesus,” he whispers to himself.

He was sad. Sad for you, that anyone would hurt someone as sweet and carefree as you.

JJs had moved skillfully along your back, you could get lost in his touch, if you weren’t careful.

His hand accidentally moves over your bra clasp, quickly you turn around, putting your walls up yet again.

“It wasn’t like there’s anything you could have done,” you tell him.

JJ scoffs, “Why don’t you say what you really mean? Huh? That you’re mad I found out. That you’re mad I wanna help you,”

“You can’t help me!”

JJ runs his hands through his hair and turns the other way. He inhales a sharp breath. At this point, you were both out of the bathroom.

“I’ve been through it, Y/n. I know what it’s like,”

“I know. I know you do. But...” you get guilty saying it to him, but you thought it was the truth, “you’re still living it. How can I ask you for help, when you have your own problem?!”

“You wouldn’t have had to go home. You could’ve stayed here with us,” JJ adds.

“You are so delusional, JJ! My situation is nowhere near similar to yours! I made the right decision,” There it was, you were angry again, angry at his hopeful attempts.

“So you’re saying you don’t regret it? Y/n, he hurt you. His daughter,”

“I’m not defending him! I’m just saying he had a reason,”

“Are you seriously going to tell me that you think what he did was okay?!”

He was yelling. At you. Sure you’ve seen him yell before, but when you were being scolded, you saw powerful him, and worthless you.

You stumbled on some clutter on the floor and landed on your side. Ignoring the pain you scrambled up, JJ was standing over you.

“Do-don’t,” you whimpered. This was a scene that continued to replay. Your father stood over you, he would crouch down, then throw the punches. Maybe a kick with his boots.

JJ was frozen, his muscles were stuck and his brain was screaming. JJ didn’t want to be his father, he didn’t want to make you quiver before him.

Your hands were infront of your face. But you were slowly getting up. By now, there was no going back at the severity of the problem.

When JJ didn’t move, reality swept in.

“I wouldn’t hit you, Y/n,” JJ muttered, softly. He was struggling, maybe to fight back tears. He had the same look on his face when he pulled a gun to his fathers head.

The scene before him was tearing him apart.

THUD.

JJ shook his head in disbelief when the door rattled with nocking. (It was the next morning after the camp fire last chapter) John B was out with Sarah, and Pope and Kie where prepping for midsummers.

You propped yourself up with your arms, confused but also afraid.

“It’s okay. It’s probably just Rafe looking for Sarah,” JJ guessed. He stepped towards the door and opened it, it wasn’t Rafe.

“Sheriff,” JJ smiled, “what can I do for you,”

JJ was good at quick personality changes, he wasn’t fake, it was genuine, but he was covering up his emotions.

Sheriff Peterkin invited herself in. She was alone, probably here for-

“Is John B here? DCS called me,” she asked, she moved passed JJ despite his wishes to keep her out on the porch.

She was poking around, when she saw you, still on the floor.

“My...” she trailed off at the sight. You were still without a shirt, covering your bruises with your arms only made it worse.

She walked over to you and helped you up.

“Um hi ma’am,” you say.

“Darling, what’s going on?” She asks, her head turns to face JJ, he rubs his arm nervously.

Thinking fast, he finds a shirt on the counter, it was John B’s button up. He helps wrap it around you.

“JJ, son-“

“It’s not what you think, Peterkin. Y/n fell on her surf board, she’s alright though. She’s a tough one,”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your fighting just now, would it?” Peterkin asks, a suspicious tone in her voice.

JJ starts to defend you again, “Were you spying-“

“No, sheriff. This is from surfing, I promise. But I did get a few bruises from the fight on figure eight a few days back, kooks don’t care who they hurt,” you invent, sure it was party true, but most kooks you know wouldn’t hit a girl.

“Was it Rafe and his boys? They’ve been called in for multiple charges,” Sheriff Peterkin mutters.

“Have John B call me when he gets back,”

Peterkin exits as quickly as she came. JJ was stunned. You were barely holding it in, your felt yourself shake, in fear.

JJ noticed right away and sighed, pulling you into his chest for a hug.

“Please Y/n. I just need you to know, that I would never hurt you. I don’t want you to be scared of me,”

Your fists were filled with his shirt, you were holding tight, like you would fall.

“I believe you.”

—

JJ took you out, to distract from the chaos that was happening. It felt weird to be a exposed to him now. There was a part of you that hated it, the pity. But JJ was more protective than anything. Your hand hadn’t left his.

“Do you think they hate me?” You asked, sitting on a bench, alone with JJ, on some street on the Cut.

“Sarah, maybe. But the pogues, no way. They gotta understand,”

“But..I lied. I don’t regret it. But I do feel guilty now that they know. God, I wish this bullshit wasn’t happening,” you sigh.

“I second that,” JJ scoffed, he had a blunt between his fingers.

—-

You apologized to thme pogues, but they all understood. You shouldn’t have to be sorry. It was just your instincts.

There were little things that the pogues could do to help you, and that was all that mattered.

But, soon after Kiara invited you for a sleepover, your father found out and took you home.

Home sweet home.

That night, you got into a fight about your new friends. He made up some bullshit about him loving you.

“I’m the only one you need! God damn it! Aren’t I good fucking enough! Friends are dangerous,” he seethed, there was no convincing him that he was wrong.

“They love me. They treat me better,” you rebuke, you knew that standing up like this would just earn yourself a beating, but at this point you didn’t mind.

“You think they love you! They’d drop you once they see how bruised you are! All those boys only want you for sexual things. You don’t know the world like I do, don’t be a little bitch and listen to me, because I love you,”

“You? You haven’t loved me since Mom died!” The words just spilled out of your mouth. You squinted you’re eyes shut. Prepared for a blow.

Nothing.

Your father just stared at you. You always told yourself that they’re was some good left in him. But up until now, you thought that disappeared with the 10th beating.

He sighed, grabbing the nearest beer and talking a swig. He moved towards the couch and sat down.

You were about to retreat to your bedroom, when you heard him whisper one last thing.

“You’re just like your mother,”

—

You tugged against your grey zip up, it was just randomly lying on the floor, but you needed something to cover up. JJ was giving you a ride to the Wreck, and he had already honked twice.

“Shut up!” you screamed as you stumbled off the steps of your shitty screen door. Sure it was dangerous to let JJ know the location of your house, but you made him promise not to go inside or even within eyeshot.

The corners of JJs lips turned upwards into a smirk, you were trying to comb your hair with your fingers. You also adjusted your clothes and tried to look as best you could for work.

“Hit it, unless this is a Tesla that can drive its frickin self,” you demanded.

JJ laughed, “please Y/n, we spent all our money on that mansion we call home,”

You slapped his leg, and he took the signal to start the car and drive down the road.

After a while, you began to notice a cop SUV tailing the van, you froze.

“JJ,” you asked, by the tone of your voice, JJ could hear your nerves.

“We’re being followed,” your explained.

“What? Shit!” JJ muttered, as he turned his head to look back.

“Don’t fricking look!” You demanded, pushing his cheeks back on the road.

“Did you do something?” You asked, hoping for reassurance that there wasn’t some other reason.

“Who me? Golden boy? Nah,” JJ jokes, continuing to drive.

“JJ this is serious, take the next left,” you order.

“Relax Y/n, I know how to deal with this-“

“Drive faster!” you cut him off when you notice they are gaining.

JJ pushes the gas petal to what feels like 50mph. He begins pass the intersection when you shout at him.

“The left!!”

Instantly, JJ swerves the car, turning the wheel harshly. His arm moves over your chest, protecting you.

When he finally gains control, he pulls over into one of his friends driveways.

“Shit, I’m sorry Y/n,” he apologizes.

Your heart was pounding, you could practically feel the wheels about to turn over to it’s side. Could you have been in a car crash.

“I-..” you shouldn’t be mad at JJ, but you just wanted to run away.

You opened the door to the car and prepared to get out.

“Y/n! Wait! I’m sorry, are you hurt? What’s wrong? C’mon,”

“I’m fine!” you shout back, walking out on the sidewalk.

JJ didn’t think he deserved all the blame, but for some reason, you were in general, being mad.

“Did something happen last night?”

“I’m just...in a weird place right now,” you looked at him, his concern for you made your stomach drop.

JJ takes a slow step towards you, “is this about your dad? Or-“

“It’s about..um you,” you admit, looking down.

“I said I was sorry-“

“No. Not about the car. I think...” you paused, it felt weird admitting you loved a guy, your heart was throbbing, telling you to keep it a secret, “I really care about you, and I..um..I feel-“

You cut yourself off when the sirens of a cop car invade your sight.

A man hops out of the SUV and approaches the two of you. Involuntary you step closer to JJ, he gently pushes you behind him.

“What can I do for you officer?” JJ asks politely.

“Mind if I inspect the vehicle,” he asks, it was like a retohrical question.

“What uh...what are you hoping to might find?” you ask, worried.

JJ shushes you, making you feel guilty.

“Well ma’am, I don’t know if you know, but your friend Routledge has been extensively breakin the law, just checking if he might be here. This is the vehicle he drives...”

“What law?” you ask curiously.

The officer sighs, “John B’s current residence is about to be pulled, he is underage with no parentals,”

You glance at JJ with fear, they can’t take away his house.

JJ gives you a comforting look and reaches for your hand, your fingers intertwining with his.

“Well, he’s not here. But when you see him, tell him to come down to the station. He already escaped from DCS once...” the officer grumbled.

Eventually, when his car was gone. You jumped towards JJ in a hug.

“They can’t do that! John B is fine on his own! I’d rather been on my own for fucks sake!” your shouts are muffled in JJ’s shirt.

JJ traces fingers on your back and plays with some braids in your hair.

“Hey hey hey, it’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out,” JJ says, not sure he even could convince himself.

—

Chapter 09

Taglist: @p0gue420 @kristinaxilliano @belledutchess @maebanks @omgpankow @kaylinfayezink @dolanfivsosxox @thesurfingsnail @obsessedweirdo @dudebroskiprn @milked-down-coffee @jjsthumbring @retr0babey @traumaflavouredjuulpod @write-from-the-heart @justcallmesams @popcrone818 sorry if I missed u on the tags!

Do you think JJ loves Y/n as more than a friend? Comment🤍

[forasecondtherewedwon]

The Stripping Point

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 6387

Happy Birthday, @spiderman-homecomeme​!

Summary: Peter's ready to turn his new hobby into a profitable sideline. Unfortunately, he writes down his very first client's address incorrectly and shows up at the wrong house.

MJ opens the door to find some guy dressed as Spider-Man and decides the best way to mess with him is to let him stay. Almost immediately, she loses the upper hand.

Quarantine puts people out of work. A lotta people at first, then less, but never Peter. He keeps shooting for the Bugle, lugging his camera all over the city (instead of squeezing onto buses and subway cars that never really get that much less crowded) while he breathes heavily through his mask. He only takes pictures at outdoor spaces to try to avoid both crowds and loners who hassle him for taking preventative measures during the pandemic. They’re stressed, he gets that, but Peter doesn’t wanna be anywhere near conflict. Spider-Man, on the other hand… Well, when he puts on that mask, it’s pretty much business as usual. He appreciates his face covering more than ever and, hey, it’s cool to do a job with social distancing built in.

His gratitude for the web-slinging side-gig only increases as the weeks of pandemic life stretch into months and Jameson starts ordering him back into situations that are just plain stupid from a health perspective. Never mind that he got kinda accidentally stabbed the other week. It’s a totally different set of dangers. Peter resists the new assignments and because Jameson’ll be in deep shit if his number one Spider-Man photographer makes a fuss about working conditions (and because people are getting so desperate for employment that he can pay a new hire even less than Peter’s paltry freelancing rate), the Bugle shells out for another photographer to cover the work Peter won’t do. Good for Peter’s health, bad for Peter’s bank account―which is already whimpering with hunger pangs from sitting near-empty after paying rent. This gets him thinking. It might be time to turn his early-quarantine hobby into his mid-to-late-quarantine money-maker.

Yeah, pandemic hobbies! By April, it seemed to him like everybody was picking something up. Bread-making, yoga, sewing masks for healthcare workers left criminally under-equipped. The hobby Peter picked up, well… it’s a little different. He began practicing it indoors (obviously), by himself, and with skills gained from reading and watching material on the internet. In those ways, it’s a lot like other people’s hobbies. In some other ways, it’s very, very different. Like, instead of putting on specialized clothing like an apron or yoga pants, Peter’s hobby requires taking clothes off. It’s stripping. Peter’s hobby is stripping.

A few things led to him picking that over sourdough or Sun Salutations. Peter loves not only old movies but also old music. Old movies with iconic dance scenes? That’s, like, the perfect combo. He spends a lot of his downtime playing music in his apartment and, when he’s not wiped or injured, dancing along. He figures it’s good for his mood as well as his fitness. Seriously, he can only do so many chin-ups on the metal bar braced in his bathroom doorframe (which is starting to crack). Patrick Swayze’s solo routine from the end of Dirty Dancing is way more fun, even if Peter did tear the knees on a couple pairs of sweatpants because of it. The more music he listened to, the more he started freestyling his own moves in between those of leading men. It was that―trying to create something good of his own―that helped him understand the routines he watched. He figured out the balance between precision and sex appeal and somewhere in there, he realized he was performing for an audience in his head. And what this imaginary audience wanted wasn’t always the goofiness of acting out Risky Business and sliding across the short strip of bare floor between his kitchen and living room in socks, underwear, and a white shirt. Sometimes, the audience wanted him to lose the shirt.

At that point, Peter was once again wandering out of what he knew. He was comfortable with movie dances, had a little of his own repertoire, but he lacked this extra element of storytelling; it was the one that took him from fully dressed down to boxers and socks without tripping and struggling and falling into his meager possessions. That was when he turned to the internet and confronted the fact that he wanted to learn how to strip. If he happened to stumble into related tutorials on how to give a lap dance, who would know? Who was there to judge Peter as he performed for an empty kitchen chair, dragging his hand along the back and body-rolling to buck his hips towards where someone’s face would be? Yeah, it was kinda embarrassing while he was learning, but he had the endurance to try a move over and over until he nailed it, the strength to draw out isolated movements like twitching his hips to keep his butt drawing circles on the lap of his invisible patron, and the overall coordination of, well, Spider-Man. Which ends up being the most important piece of all because, when Peter decides to take his show on the road (or at least out of his tiny apartment), his ‘stage’ name requires about a second of thought. Spider-Man. He’ll go by Spider-Man. He laughs his ass off when he thinks of it. It’s fucking genius! Spider-Man stripping as himself is the last thing anyone would ever suspect!

Naturally, Peter can’t use any of his actual Spidey suits. Those would probably give him away. Also, he’d feel weird about having Karen’s voice in his ear while he flexed his abs next to somebody’s head. Fortunately, after a little digging―which turns into a lot of digging and leaves his room a mess of comingled clean and dirty clothes―he finds his original suit. The zip-up hoodie plus sweatpants one. Yeah, its technological capabilities are basically zero, it’s a little grimy, and too tight, but he doesn’t need it to do anything besides come off. The wear-and-tear will lend genuine-fake authenticity to his character and the snugness around his more developed muscles (it’s been a decade since he wore it last) will make it… sexier? He guesses? The most important thing is the mask, which is the only part of his costume he won’t strip off. Apart from his underwear, obviously. He’s not that wild.

He gets to work cutting a vertical line up each leg of his sweatpants, then sews in snaps. Boom, tearaways. They look kinda shitty, but if he’s any good at all, whoever he dances for shouldn’t be staring at loose threads.

So Peter has his moves, his costume, a few songs in mind, and no engagements. Oh, he thinks he can figure out how to get jobs, it’s just that he somehow keeps coming home, sitting down to compose his ad, and then doing something completely different instead. He’s truly scared witless. Nobody’ll see your face, he chants in his mind to psych himself up every time he’s heading home to his apartment. Still, he freezes at his laptop. There’s nothing about his body that he’s ashamed of―he uses it every single day to help people as Spider-Man. Maybe it’s that, this time, he’d be using it to help himself. Is he a monster for making a buck off his superhero persona? Peter holds onto that question for about a week until the date to pay rent is approaching and his bank account shudders in horror. Ok, money’s tight and he hasn’t been hit by a car lately, so he won’t freak anybody out with road rash or bruising or more of his hand-sewing to close gashes. With a little self-pedicure here and hair-removal there, Peter looks at himself in his bathroom mirror and decides this is as good a time as any.

He advertises online and his hands are still trembling when he gets a call from an unfamiliar number ten minutes after his ad goes live. The ringing phone actually makes him jump. It’s probably a telemarketer, or a wrong number. Nobody would call him with a job this fast. He was counting on having at least a day to sit with the choice he made. Peter fumbles for the phone and answers. For the next minute and a half, he struggles to hear the woman’s voice over the blood rushing in his ears. She thinks he’s the Spider-Man Stripper. He is the Spider-Man Stripper. This is hilarious and terrifying and oddly similar to the brief moment of freefall between slinging one web and the next as he darts around Midtown. Her friend’s birthday party, she tells him, two days from now. Something else she planned (Peter’s adjusting his sweaty, slipping grip on his phone and misses the details) fell through and if he can be the entertainment for a half-hour or so it would save both the party and her friendship. Not to add extra pressure, she jokes, laughing. The sound Peter makes is a weak echo. So can he be there? Is there space in his schedule? He pretends to check that ‘schedule’ so she doesn’t think he’s a total amateur. Yep, yep, he has an opening for her. She has an opening for him, she flirts back, making his eyes go wide as he clutches the phone. God, why couldn’t his first gig have been for some 22-year-old’s bachelorette instead of this middle-aged-sounding woman who possibly wants to eat him alive? By the time she’s telling him her address, Peter’s hands are shaking worse than ever, he can’t immediately find a pen, and she reels it off to him way too quickly. He’s scrawling the address on his arm and right as he opens his mouth to ask her to repeat it, she hangs up. He peers at his arm doubtfully. Should he call her back for confirmation? No, he doesn’t have the guts. Anyway, he can figure this out. The street name was Woodman, right? Or was it Woodlawn? And the number was 712. Or 271. There was definitely a 7 in there somewhere. And his client’s name was… Lisa? Lana. Maybe Linda?

Peter cradles his face in his hands and groans. When his phone starts ringing again―different number―he frantically declines the call, then deletes his ad. One job at a time. Even that, he now thinks, seems ambitious.

―

MJ’s glad she’s not the one throwing this party together. As Liz’s best friend, it’s Betty who took the reins, organizing and then scrapping everything more than once as New York moved from phase to phase during this pandemic. The end result is still less than what MJ knows Betty wants; ideally, there would be more than a handful of guests and things like shiny helium balloons and fancy desserts would be hand-delivered to Liz’s front door on the day of the party. Instead, MJ sits on the arm of Liz’s couch as she inflates yet another latex balloon the good old-fashioned way: blowing it up by mouth until she’s dizzy.

Cindy stomps over and plops down next to her, snatching a balloon from the party pack of 50 (and Betty insists they need them all). She’s been banished from cupcake decorating. MJ would offer a word or two of sympathy, but balloon duty has the prior claim on how she spends her breaths. All she can do is toss Cindy a plastic tiara (Betty bought one―just one!―reading ‘Mom-to-Be’ for Liz, but the online shop screwed up her order and sent two dozen ‘Birthday Girl’ tiaras in its place) after tying off her finished balloon. MJ’s already wearing one. Meanwhile, the tiara-less Mom-to-Be is being driven around the block a million times by her cousin because they’re having the party at Liz’s place and Betty wants the decorations to be a surprise. Liz’s husband, more simply, was banished for the entire day. MJ originally thought they could’ve put him to work, since it’s pretty hectic, but she’s too oxygen-deprived to worry anymore.

Finally, Betty declares from the kitchen that she’s frosted her final cupcake. MJ begs for a reprieve from balloon-inflating and Betty, feeling accomplished and generous, agrees they probably have enough balloons now. Cindy casts her half-inflated one away in disgust before going to help Betty clean up baking ingredients and do dishes. MJ does her best to shoo the balloons to one side of the living room, then carries spare chairs in because their couch won’t fit everyone. Fortunately, they’ve all been recently tested for illness and been vigilant hand-washers and mask-wearers since then, so at least she doesn’t have to find a way to keep every seat six feet apart. She’s just positioning a final chair, still a little out of breath from the balloons, when the doorbell rings. In the kitchen, Betty screams.

“IT’S STILL A MESS IN HERE! STALL HER!”

“’K!” MJ agrees.

She kicks a couple stray balloons out of her path and goes to get the door. They weren’t supposed to come back to the house until Betty texted, but maybe they got tired of driving around, or Liz started feeling carsick. MJ knows she’s been pretty delicate her entire pregnancy with twins floating around in her uterus like a pair of nausea-inducing astronauts.

As she opens the door wide, she sucks in a deep breath to call out a sarcastic ‘Surprise!’ But it’s not Liz and her cousin. It’s… a guy? In a red and blue costume. She thinks it’s a guy. She can’t even see the person’s face, but when MJ reaches up to self-consciously adjust her ‘Birthday Girl’ tiara, they tilt their head and seem to follow her movement.

“Oh! I’m here for you! You’re… not what I was expecting.” It’s a masculine laugh. Young. Nervous.

She crosses her arms suspiciously.

“You’re not what I was expecting either,” she accuses.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “I guess it was supposed to be a surprise.”

What? Betty might have planned a few surprises for today, but MJ does not recall a dude in a mismatched sweatsuit being one of them.

“Guess so,” she says slowly.

“Sorry, I’m, uh, Spider-Man.” He gestures to the costume. Well, she can kinda see the very distant resemblance to what the real Spider-Man wears; there is a crudely-drawn spider on the chest.

“Uh huh.”

MJ’s suspicion is shifting into amusement―this guy really seems to think he has an invitation―when Cindy comes up behind her. MJ darts a look at her friend and is glad Cindy’s no longer sporting her own tiara. No need to confuse this poor… Spider-Man impersonator.

“What’s up?” Cindy asks, poking her chin over MJ’s shoulder, happier now that she’s fled the tasks Betty continually assigns.

“Hey,” says ‘Spider-Man’. “I, uh, I was hired to, uh, dance for the, um…” He gestures at MJ’s tiara. “…birthday girl.”

At ‘dance,’ MJ’s eyebrows shoot up. She looks quickly at Cindy and realizes she’s going to say something. Cindy will handle this how she handles any inconvenience or anomaly: with forthrightness and concision. She’ll have this faux-venger hitting the road before MJ can blink. With a short, friendly laugh towards Spider-Man, MJ angles herself to block Cindy from view and locks eyes with her friend. Cindy’s face says, What are you doing? We don’t know this guy. MJ’s counters with, Let’s see how this plays out. Cindy rolls her eyes, but nods, so MJ steps away from her again.

“As long as you haven’t traveled outside the country in the last fourteen days or experienced symptoms of fever, etcetera etcetera, come on in,” Cindy invites, gesturing Spider-Man through the doorway. “I’m so sorry, but we were running a little behind with the food, so I have to disappear back to the kitchen. But why don’t you get started for her?”

“Cindy,” MJ hisses as she closes the door. “You have to stay.”

“I believe the man said he was here for the birthday girl.”

Cindy smirks and they both glance over to see that Spider-Man has found the speaker and connected his phone. Something catches MJ’s eye and her gaze skims down his leg. What’s up with the side of his pants?

“I’m not the birthday girl,” she reminds Cindy in a panicked whisper. “There is no birthday girl.”

“Well, in her absence, it looks like you’re the one getting her presents. Careful with that one.”

“Because it seems fragile?”

“Because I feel like it’s the kind that comes with a big package.”

Cindy pokes MJ hard in the side and flees when she squirms away. MJ glares after her. Yes, she’s curious about what the hell this impersonator’s doing here in that crappy costume, but it’s so much easier to be curious when she can observe something unfolding without actively having to participate. What she was thinking was that he’d come in and the three of them―Betty, Cindy, and herself―would see how far this went before something either gave them away as not being the people who ‘hired’ him (so he claims), or the guy crumbled under the quavering weight of his own anxiety. Nothing about his look or his manner announces experience. Now, MJ’s on her own as she takes a seat in one of the chairs she brought in. She crosses her legs, bobs her foot, and hopes to hell that Spider-Man’s a breakdancer.

“Listen…” she begins to say, leaning forward to address him, but as she speaks, he turns up the volume and her uncertain voice is drowned out by chimes tinkling above throbbing bass. Oh no.

It’s the tempo that scares MJ. She thinks she could deal with a rabbiting drum intro or the bright squeal of quick fingers on an electric guitar. This song is tauntingly slow and it’s obvious, by how Spider-Man turns in her direction and walks to her with measured steps, that what she’s about to experience will look nothing like handstands or the worm, nothing youthfully, recklessly acrobatic. It’s also clear that she’s in this alone now because the guy putting his back to her and swirling his hips with agonizing slowness as the gravelly vocals come in is in some kind of zone she can’t follow him into.

When I look in your eyes… the song goes. …I can feel the fire.

Nope, MJ’s outside of this, in the real world, where she hears him lower the zipper on his sweatshirt. When he rotates to face her, taking his time, she finds her hands are gripping the seat on either side of her thighs.

A see-through disguise can’t conceal desire.

Spider-Man’s disguise is hardly see-through―seriously, he must’ve been sweltering in those sweats on his way here―but it’s open now, from his clavicle down to where the band of his pants grips his taut abdomen. He probably can’t hear the groan that pushes out of her mouth when she’s just trying to exhale. God, please let the music cover it, MJ thinks. His hood’s still up as he steps even closer to her chair, subtly twitching his hips in her direction, and the ends of his sweatshirt dangle, flashing glimpses of more chest, more abs. MJ swallows and reminds herself that this is all kind of a joke. That she’s the one indulging him and they’ll laugh when this is over. She’ll apologize for the mix-up and he’ll shrug it off as he accepts monetary compensation for his time.

I’ve been readin’ your lips… the singer announces in a louder growl. Spider-Man abruptly strips the blue sleeves from his costume, leaving his torso bare beneath what’s now just a hooded red vest. He’s a fake superhero, but those arms are the real deal. Wow. …they don’t need no translation.

He widens his stance, drawing her eye down to his solid-looking thigh, then slides his hand across her shoulder to grip the back of her chair. His hips roll forward and she instinctively uncrosses her legs. With the extra room, Spider-Man briefly presses his thigh to hers. It scrunches the hem of her dress up before dragging it back down as he retreats. It’s reasonably innocent, likely not even intentional, but heat flares up MJ’s face like one of the candles she might blow out if this were actually her birthday. Honestly, she keeps forgetting it’s not.

They want more than a kiss, I come to make my donation.

Ok, she feels more than just thigh when he glides higher on her lap. MJ automatically flicks her gaze lower, because he’s a stranger and right in her space, and it lands on his groin. Spider-Man bucks suggestively and MJ immediately raises her eyes from the bump in the front of his close-fitting sweatpants. Jesus, is it warm in here? Somebody should do something about that before Liz gets home, fiddle with the thermostat or, or something…

So turn out the lights! the singer’s voice rockets up and goosebumps ripple up MJ’s arms as Spider-Man’s hands smooth down them in his fingerless gloves. He bounces low into a crouch and can’t be more than an inch away from the fabric of her dress as he rolls up her body, face in her lap for, I’m goin’ down slowly. Her pounding heart and rapid breathing almost push her boobs into his forehead when he reaches her chest.

Don’t tell me what’s right, just tell me you want me.

When their heads are level, Spider-Man surprises her by sitting lightly on her lap, nearly chest-to-chest. He takes her hands in his―MJ’s sufficiently stunned to allow him to break her grip on the seat―and guides them to his head, making her push his hood off. It’s strange to feel the mask under her palms. Wondering what his hair looks like really shouldn’t be a main concern right now.

Oh, tell me you want me. Just tell me you want me, want me, want me!

The more insistent the song becomes, the more persuasively Spider-Man gyrates in her lap. Sliding a hand over his head shouldn’t be this seductive without visible hair to push his fingers through, but the way his arm bulges with the motion makes up for it, in her opinion. MJ doesn’t know what to do with her hands. They hover in the air between their bodies.

Let’s make it, baby! the song explodes as he thrusts forward powerfully, throwing his head back.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

His hands go to his shoulders.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

He works his vest off, revealing the rest of his chest.

Let’s make it, baby!

He flings the vest toward the sofa. MJ doesn’t know whether or not it lands there. She doesn’t turn to look. This is… more muscle than she’s ever seen in person on a single human body. Once more, he takes hold of the back of her chair, but it’s with both hands now and his forearms squeeze her in, compelling her to lean forward as he grinds across her lap, forward and back, to, Come, come, come a little bit closer. His face angles into her neck; she feels his nose brush her skin through the mask. She can hear him breathing and it electrifies her. The only reason she clamps her thighs together like she does is to give him more room to straddle her. Really, it’s for his comfort, as a professional. Because this is all just… very professional.

She hasn’t determined where to lay her hands, which is fine because he has another use for them.

I wanna play doctor, the singer drawls while Spider-Man brings her hands to his pecs. Is his heart beating as hard under there as hers is right now or is she imagining it? He effortlessly takes gentle hold of her wrists and encourages her hands down his body. She doesn’t even notice when he lets her go to peel the gloves from his hands and push his sneakers off, leaving MJ to trace the thick, defined ridges of his abdomen.

It keeps gettin’ harder, harder, harder to keep it away!

With the end of the line, Spider-Man rips the sweatpants off―a series of metallic popping sounds too close together to count. Not that counting’s on her mind. Eyeing the cherry-red boxer-briefs that are even tighter than the sweats, she swallows. She can’t remember how to exist on the outside of this. She can’t find the door. Believing that this guy―who’s not really Spider-Man, just like she’s not really a birthday girl―understands, that they’re sharing the scorching intimacy she suddenly feels, is naïve. MJ is not naïve. She just can’t exactly explain why what should be an obvious (skillful, but obvious) pantomime of sex is working on her like real foreplay.

I wanna taste the sweat…

She swears he’s breathing harder than the dancing alone can explain when he palms her knees and pries them apart. Her legs are slack and willing. She is sweating.

…that’s runnin’ over your body.

Tucking his fingers into the backs of her knees, Spider-Man jerks her forward on her seat. It raises her hem to mid-thigh and her pulse to low orbit. He hikes her legs around his hips and she crosses her wrists behind his neck without guidance as he stays in what has to be a strenuous squat to body-roll. Everything comes forward in a delicious wave, from his shoulders to his crotch. From lots of angles, it probably looks like he’s fucking her into Liz’s kitchen chair.

In actuality, there’s no contact between them―not anyplace interesting―until…

Get the sheets all wet!

MJ doesn’t know if his hips nudge between her legs accidentally or intentionally on an overzealous roll. She’s never been given a lap dance before! Is this right? Is this permitted? He seems ready to run with it, repeating the action with greater certainty.

Yeah, I wanna make ya feel nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-naughty!

When the singer quits stuttering out the word, Spider-Man lifts MJ right off the chair into his arms. She inhales hard, desperate for air as the song returns to, Let’s make it, baby! And let’s make it, baby! Well, let’s make it, baby! And let’s make it, baby, baby! He has one hand grasping the underside of her thigh, the other clutching the middle of her back. He thrusts toward her through the chorus, shy of nudging the way he did before. The motion sways MJ fairly gently, thanks to his sure grip and ability to carry her weight with ease, but she might as well be tumbling around inside a washing machine for all she currently knows of up and down.

The animal urgency of the chorus drops down to the slow lull of instrumentals and Spider-Man sets MJ on her feet. She just about rolls her ankle and plans to never admit this made her weak in the knees. As irregular drumbeats keep her on edge, he sneaks around behind her and takes her wrists, raising her arms over her head as she fights the instinct to turn and stare at this guy’s mostly-naked body. She hasn’t dated anyone since before the pandemic, but it’s more than that. While she holds her arms up there, Spider-Man rocks against her from behind, the inside of his thigh rubbing the outside of hers, messing up her skirt, confusing her heartbeat. His hands clamp down on her hips and work them in a circular motion with her ass pressed directly against him.

Wait.

―

Peter’s hard. Of all the things that have definitely gone wrong (having to make up a routine from scratch after blanking in the face of a woman 20 years younger and 500 times more beautiful than who he expected to find) and probably gone wrong (he hasn’t shaken the exhilarating feeling that he’s almost certainly at the wrong house), this is the most serious. He’s in so, so far over his head and sinking deeper, metaphorically, as the woman he’s wrapped around cautiously returns the pressure, pressing his erection.

He was so nervous after meeting her that he went straight to setting up his music and forgot to ask for her name. It’s not like he can casually ask now. It feels like things have gone too far for that. Wasn’t he supposed to feel some layer of detachment, doing this? Stripping’s supposed to be a part-time job, like taking pictures for the Bugle. Maybe he’s too used to caring about people to set himself apart from this. Maybe it’s the shock of her youth and the feeling of touching a real-live person after practicing with an empty chair over months of physical distancing.

Maybe he’s just horny.

The instrumental section goes on and on and Peter yearns. This is a job, he thinks, running his hands up to her waist and back to her hips. As the musical intermission’s finally drawing to a close, he improvises again, scooping the woman up into his arms in a bridal carry just to eliminate the sweet friction against his dick. Where does he go from here? He knows what the tutorials told him, what really gets the target of a lap dance/strip show going. Could go with the couch and push his red vest aside, but the soft rug underfoot beckons.

Now turn out the lights! Bon Jovi rasps as Peter moves gradually to his knees and nuzzles his masked face into the woman’s chest because, at this point, why the hell not? She smells so good. He hears her gasp, then her fingers dig fleetingly into the back of his neck like she wants to hold him there. But she lets go and he lays her on her back in the valley created by leisurely-migrating silver balloons. The light refracted on the woman’s face is crisp and ethereal.

Don’t tell me you love, love me, no… Just, just tell me you want me.

Peter springs on top of her, arms braced and locked, and performs an exaggerated horizontal roll, his hips close above hers. This is the million-dollar (or, like, twenty-dollar) move. The one that unambiguously mimics sex. Though it’s so overstated, so dramatic, the tutorials claimed that, by this stage, the person being performed for would be so wound up, so aroused, that they’d just about believe it was the real thing. He watches the woman’s shaky breathing and flushed cheeks, feels her hands caress his abs, and thinks he’s doing pretty damn good. Too bad he can’t count this as a performance. The desire he feels when he lowers himself closer to her is not an act.

Don���t tell me you love me.

The skin-tight front of his underwear skims her dress. And, though she should really keep her legs out straight to do her part in preserving the distance between them (because he’s fucking failing), she slides her foot along the floor, raising her knee. Peter snatches hold of that knee with the feeling that they just signed some kind of contract and grinds himself against the fold of skirt between her legs. The woman’s chest heaves as she pants. His balls ache for him to stop playing.

Oh, tell me you want me, want me, want me, want me, want me, want me, want me! Bon Jovi and Peter’s sex drive demand, from a rumble up to a scream. Let’s make it, baby!

The woman beneath him tosses her head and bats away a balloon that clings to her hair. Her birthday crown’s askew.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

Peter’s hand is on her ribcage, too near her breast.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

He huffs, loud inside his mask, as he thrusts against her like she’s not some accident, like she asked him to meet her here. For this.

And let’s make it, baby!

Distinct lyrics burst into a high, expressive shriek of noise that sounds enough like a woman being pleasured to send a tingle up Peter’s spine. He grinds down hard, gripping the woman’s hip. By the second shriek, her back’s bowing, her hands commandingly squeezing his arms. By the third, she’s moaning as she rocks against him, tearing an appreciative grunt from him in response. The fourth shriek finishes her right before the song. Peter’s breathing hard on top of her, on the jaw-clenching edge of climax himself, feeling her writhe as the music fades out. It just leaves the two of them here, damningly entangled.

After a long silence, his playlist moves on. Peter stares down at her another few seconds as she strokes her fingers across her mouth, then her eyes snap to where she can’t see his through the goggles.

“Oh shit,” he mutters.

The woman laughs awkwardly like those two words are an understatement for the degree to which this has not gone as planned. She didn’t even know the plan, but anyone would know this was not the intended conclusion―a stripper dressed up in a novelty Spider-Man costume should excite, entertain, inspire lust. But he should stop short of dry-humping his client to completion. Yeah, that has to be an unwritten rule someplace. Peter really shouldn’t have needed to read it to know better though. This has just gotten incredibly out of hand and he has no idea what to say or do.

“LIZ IS ON HER WAY!” a female voice yells from the back of the house, maybe the kitchen that the other woman vanished into earlier.

Peter jerks to his feet, still rigid in the front of his underwear. He thinks the woman he just, uh, danced for is requesting help up, but she’s actually pointing. He looks and sees the bathroom just off the stairs.

“I’m good,” she says. “Go before Cindy sees you.”

Snagging his pants from the floor and the vest portion of his sweatshirt from the couch, Peter bolts for the bathroom as the woman sits up from the rug. Inside, his hands quake with adrenaline as he zips his sweatshirt and refastens all the snaps on his pants. He does his best to adjust things so his waning erection’s not too obvious. For a minute, he yanks the mask from his head and stares at himself in the mirror as he breathes. This is not the side-hustle for him. This was his first and last gig as the Spider-Man Stripper.

Mask back on, he returns to the front room to find the woman he was grinding all over standing with her arms crossed protectively as her friend appears to grill her under her breath. They both look at him as he stuffs his feet back into his shoes and grabs his gloves and the blue sleeves of his sweatshirt. He’ll just carry them. If he stood here and began redoing them, he’d probably die from mortification before he got the last snap snapped. He collects his phone, stopping the music mid-song. He doesn’t know what’s playing. Could be his favourite song in the world and he wouldn’t be able to hear it right now over the volume of the look his ‘birthday girl’ is giving him.

“I’ll just, um, show you out,” she offers, shepherding him away from the woman he takes to be Cindy. She doesn’t volunteer anything about the other person, Liz, who they seem to be expecting.

“Great.”

He’s thankful that Cindy gives them a little space and doesn’t follow. They pause in the entranceway. The woman presses two fifties into his hand, avoiding eye contact. Peter clears his dry throat and nods, closing his fingers over the money because he’s more uncomfortable about the idea of prolonging this with a back-and-forth over him saying it’s too much while she insists than he is about the idea that she’s kinda paying him for sex, even if thinks she doesn’t mean to.

She pulls the door open and Peter jumps aside for two women, one very pregnant. There’s a flurry of voices all of a sudden and when he slips outside onto the step before someone can ask who he is and what he’s doing here, he doesn’t expect the birthday girl to come after him.

“MJ,” she blurts out.

He grins under the mask.

“Peter.”

He never gets to tell people that when he’s in disguise, but she doesn’t know he really is Spider-Man. The honesty feels good.

“So, that was…”

“This wasn’t supposed to be… Um,” he starts again, swinging his arms slightly. “That was my first time. Doing this. I’ve never done a routine for anybody before, so I want you to know I haven’t, like, done that with a bunch of people. I’ve never done this. And I think, uh, based on what happened in there, that I probably shouldn’t.” Peter’s laugh is strained. “I really don’t―”

“Do you want my number?”

He chokes.

“What?”

“I… thought I might as well ask,” she says, clearly self-conscious, looking prepared for rejection.

“No, of course I do,” Peter tells her quickly, holding out his phone. “Please.”

“Ok.” MJ gives him a quick smile, then looks at his screen as she adds herself as a contact. He’s grateful she’s the one putting the numbers in. He really can’t be trusted with that. Peter’s not nervous now, just excited as he thinks about using the money she gave him to buy her dinner.

Though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer, he says, “This isn’t the right house, is it?” as she hands his phone back. She laughs.

“No.”

“Yeah, I… kinda had a feeling.”

“Hey, whoever she was, her loss was my gain,” MJ says bluntly, then blushes hard. Peter chuckles to himself, looking down.

“Ummm…”

“Well, I should get in there. Baby shower.”

“Right, yeah, sure, you gotta.”

“But call me.”

“I will. I definitely will.”

“Maybe you can even show me what you look like without the mask,” she says.

Peter nods, body nothing but a cage for a butterfly swarm, then turns. Behind him, he hears Cindy’s voice as MJ steps back inside.

“Did you just give him a hundred bucks?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what you owe me for going in on the stroller!”

“I’ll go to the bank and take out another hundred right after the party if you want,” MJ offers, sounding unconcerned.

“But a hundred bucks? MJ, he was here for ten minutes!”

“Trust me, Peter earned it.”

“Peter?! That’s Spider-Man’s name?”

“Cindy, come on, he’s not actually Spider-Man.”

The door shuts. Of course he’s not. Peter could no more be Spider-Man than he could fall half in love with a woman simply because of the way she smelled and the fact that she wouldn’t let him off the hook for a lap dance. He starts down the sidewalk with a skip, smiling wide beneath his mask.

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

BTS Mafia AU| You both are arranged to be married and he is sad on your wedding night

Namjoon

Namjoon was laying on the couch in the living room, and you were in the bedroom. This was how you two had went to sleep every night. You were put into an arranged marriage and were set to be joined together tomorrow. You couldn’t sleep, feeling anxious about everything. You got up to get a glass of water when you heard a loud sigh come from the couch. 

“You can’t sleep either?” You ask Namjoon. 

“No.” You sit down on the end of the couch by his feet. He sits up with you and runs his fingers through his hair.

“You want to talk about it?”

“No. It’s nothing I haven’t already said before. It’s nothing against you so please don’t take it that way. I just don’t want to get married this young to someone I barely know. But I guess it can’t be helped.”

“Well we might as well make the most of it right?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we can get to know each other. I know we’ve only known each other for a month but, I’ve come to know a few things about you.” He lifts an eyebrow at you questioningly. 

“Like what?”

“That you’re hard working, passionate, and you care about the people closest to you more than anything.” He smiles at that and you offer him a smile back. You reach your hand over and take his and hold it in yours. “We’re both in this shitty situation but at least we’re together and have each other.” 

“You’re right.” He kisses the back of your hand and you feel your face heating up. 

“You want to come sleep with me? I feel bad that you’ve been sleeping on the couch all this time.”

“Oh, no it’s okay I’ll just stay here. Really I don’t want to intrude or make you uncomfortable.” 

“Mmm, nope come on. I insist.” You stand up and tug him off the couch. He’s not used to people telling him what to do other than his parents, but he finds himself more than willing to listen to you as he trails after you, smiling to himself. Maybe things will work out after all. 

Jin

Jin didn’t keep his displeasure about this arranged marriage a secret. He vocalized it constantly. Around you, his parents, your parents, but they basically told him to suck it up and that the didn’t have a choice if he wanted to take over the crime syndicate for you and your family. You two are sat on the couch, watching a movie when Jin suddenly speaks and interrupts your own thoughts. 

“This sucks.”

“So you’ve said before.. many times.”

“I just don’t get why our parents are doing this! I mean no offense y/n. We’ve known each other for a while now and you’re really sweet and funny and honestly have become a really close and trusted friend but, I’m not ready to be married!”

“So why don’t we just run away then?”

“I’m sorry?”

“We can just leave. We don’t have to stay.” Jin scoffs and stares at you incredulously. 

“You obviously don’t realize my family has members of our gang in every major city in the world. I can’t go anywhere without being found out.”

“We could go to a small town somewhere. Where no one would know or recognize us. Or we could just go to some deserted island and start our own country or something I don’t know.” Jin laughs and you smile at him back.

“If you weren’t Jin, heir to the most notorious crime family in the world what would you be doing with your life right now?” Your question causes Jin to freeze for a moment, trying to think of an answer.

“I don’t know. I really haven’t given it much thought.”

“Oh come on, surely you have.” 

“I mean.. I guess I would want to be a singer. I’ve always loved singing. It makes me happy and makes me forget about my problems for a little while. But I don’t see a point in thinking about that now when there’s nothing I can do to change my circumstances.”

“Will you sing something for me?”

“You... what now?”

“Will you sing for me? I want to hear you.” Jin’s mouth hangs open in surprise for a moment before he nods his head and agrees. His voice immediately soothes you, and seems to soothe his worries too as he sways and gets lost in the music. When he finished singing he looks at you and smiles. 

“Thank you y/n. I feel a lot better now actually.”

“You’re welcome, Jin. You’ll always have me, okay? We’re in this together.” 

Yoongi

Yoongi had been acting weird all day. He seemed rather sad and gloomy. It was the day before you two were supposed to be married and you knew this had to be bothering him. He made it clear from the start he didn’t want to marry you, that he was only doing this to please his parents so he could produce an heir and carry on the family name. However, you thought over the past few months you had cracked his shell even a little bit. 

He was sat in the chair, staring out the window at the cars passing by and sipping a glass of wine looking completely lost in his thoughts. 

“Yoongi?” He sighs before turning his gaze onto you. 

“Yeah?”

“Is everything okay? You’ve been acting really weird today.” 

“Well it’s the day before my arranged marriage how are you expecting me to be? Happy?” His words hurt you, and you look away down at your feet. His gaze softens for a moment before the hard look is back on his face. 

“I’m sorry. I know the last thing you want is to be married to me and if I had a choice I would go to my parent right now and tell them to call the whole thing off. I don’t want you to be miserable with me the rest of your life.” You excuse yourself and walk back into the bedroom. It’s an hour later, you can’t sleep as you’re staring up at the ceiling, contemplating running away and just starting a new life when the door swings open. Yoongi stumbles into the room and you can smell the alcohol on him from across the room. He flops into bed next to you.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What?” You ask feeling rather startled and confused. 

“I wasn’t supposed to actually fall in love with you. You deserve to be happy, to be with someone you actually want to marry, not me.” 

“Yoongi..” 

“I’m sorry.” You hear his voice crack and your heart aches for him. You lean over and grab his hand, lacing your fingers together and giving his hand a light squeeze.

“Don’t apologize. There’s worse people I can think of that I could be in an arranged marriage with.” 

“You aren’t helping, you know?” You giggle and scoot closer to him. 

“What I’m saying is that I like you, Yoongi. Sure we’re doing things completely out of order but I could see myself falling in love with you too.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’m dead serious.” 

“Well that’s a whole weight lifted off my shoulders now that I know I’m not forcing you. Hey after our wedding, do you want to go somewhere? Just the two of us, maybe take a honey moon and just get to know each other?”

“That sounds perfect. I would love that. I really hope you remember this in the morning and don’t go back to being brooding and annoyed with me.”

“I was never annoyed with you, just with myself I guess. And trust me I am not going to forget the fact that there is a chance for us to actually be happy together.”

 Hoseok

You knew Hoseok was acting down tonight because of the marriage that was set to happen tomorrow. It had been forced upon the two of you, and although you got along well enough you both were a long way from being ready to be married to one another. Your parents had only given you both one month to get to know one another before they announced your marriage that would be in just a week. 

Now the night before your wedding is here, and Hoseok has been looking like he was on the verge of panic and tears the whole night. You knew you wanted to cheer him up, so you did everything you could to make him happy. You cooked him his favorite meal, which earned you a small smile. When you also announced that you made his favorite dessert too his face seemed to light up a little. He thanked you for doing those small nice gestures for him but quickly settled back into his poor mood. You did something you had never done before, called his mom. 

“Hello Mrs. Jung?”

“Oh! Y/n? Is everything okay?”

“Um, well Hoseok just seems a little down tonight. I made him his favorite food and dessert but it still isn’t helping lift his spirits is there anything I can do? What is he passionate about? What does he like doing?”

“Well, he loves to dance. I know that seems weird. Heir to the Jung family syndicate is actually an amazing dancer.. I always kind of hoped he would gain the courage to stand up to his father and pursue his dreams of becoming a dancer instead of taking over but.. Oh don’t you dare tell either of them I said that!” You laugh and cover your mouth, not wanting to seem rude for finding the little outburst amusing. 

“I won’t say anything, I promise. Thank you, Mrs. Jung.” 

“You’re welcome dear. I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding.” You hang up the phone and walk into the living room, connecting your phone to the bluetooth speakers. 

“Y/n what are you doing?” You turn on his favorite song, which his mom so graciously texted you after you hung up. You start moving around the room, dancing about and motioning with your hands for him to join you. Ever the dancer at heart, Hoseok begins tapping his feet along to the beat before he stands up, taking you by your hips and dancing you around the room, completely catching you off guard but blowing you away with his dance skills. You step away after a moment, just choosing to stand to the side and watch him get lost in the music. When the song ends he is panting and out of breath, but the smile you had come to adore so much is back on his face.

“Thank you, y/n. I needed that. How did you know I was a dancer?”

“Ah, well I may have called your mom for advice on how I can cheer you up.”

“Really? You did that for me?”

“I did. I know this relationship is kind of built on a forced marriage but, that doesn’t mean I still can’t be kind to you and be there for you.” Hoseok smiles and brings you over to pull you into a hug. 

“And the same goes for you too. I hope you can rely on me to help you if you’re ever feeling sad as well.”

Jimin

Jimin has been moping all night. Which was really unlike him. Even with the whole arranged marriage thing hanging over his head he still was usually pleasant towards you. He didn’t blame you for his circumstances at all.  However now that it is the night before your wedding he’s been locked inside the bedroom all day. You’re getting quite tired and want to sleep, so you knock on the door quietly. 

“Jimin? Can I come in?”

“Sure..” You hear the door unlock and wait a moment before opening it. You find Jimin sitting on the bed, looking rather sad. His eyes are puffy like he’s been crying. You sit next to him and reach out to hold his hand but he moves away from you. 

“Don’t.”

“Why? What’s gotten into you, you aren’t acting like your self?”

“Because I feel like such a horrible and shitty person and I hate this situation we’ve been put in to. I feel like I am forcing you to marry me even though it’s our parents. I could put a stop to it if I really wanted to, but I’m being selfish because I actually like you and I feel terrible.” 

“Jimin-”

“Don’t try to comfort me please. Just don’t.” 

“Goddamnit Park Jimin will you listen to me for one fucking second?” His eyes go wide when you swear at him. You never curse at him and have never raised your voice to him even once. You have his undivided attention now. “If I really didn’t want to marry you then I would have just dropped everything and left, okay? I do like you. And I care about my family as well as your own so I am sticking around because I want to. Not because you are forcing me. So stop saying those awful things about yourself because they aren’t true.” A small smile forms on his face, the corner of his mouth tugging up and his eyes slightly disappear as he looks at you. 

“You really mean that?”

“Absolutely. Now let’s get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow and I am not going to look like trash on my wedding day because I didn’t get enough sleep.” Jimin chuckles as he scoots over into bed and pats the space next to him. You law down and turn the lamp off. 

“Goodnight, Mrs. Park.”

“Goodnight, Jiminie.” 

Taehyung

Seeing Taehyung so sad and gloomy the night before your wedding made you feel terrible. You knew he didn’t want to get married to you. Taehyung was a romantic at heart. He had told you so many times when you stayed up late talking into the night trying to make the most of your situation. He told you he saw himself being with the person for at least a year before proposing, getting married maybe a year after that in the fall, and then having kids and growing old together. However coming from a mafia family had thrown a wrench in his plans when they announced he would be marrying you, to form a stronger alliance and merge your two crime families together. Taehyung was sitting on the couch, staring into the glass of wine that had remain untouched for the last hour as he swirled it around, seemingly hoping to find the solution to all his problems in there. 

“Tae?”

“Mm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really, no.” He sighs and sets the glass down, throwing his head back onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling, hoping to find the answers that the wine hadn’t given him. Before he can process what is happening a loud pop song is blaring through the speakers and he’s yanked off the couch by you.

“Y/n what on earth-” He’s interrupted by you suddenly shouting and singing along very loudly (and badly) to the song playing. 

“Dance with me. Everybody 1, 2, 3!” You reach out and grab his hands and make him dance with you. It doesn’t take long before Taehyung feels all of his sadness melt away. He sings along and gives in, dancing with you and putting everything he’s got into singing the chorus of the song with you. He pretends to be play the air guitar, and you pretend to play the drums. The both of you are bursting into laughter watching the other ones antics. Your eyes meet for a brief moment and Taehyung’s gaze softens. He walks over to the stereo and turns the music down. 

“Come here.” He holds his arms out and you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you y/n. I really needed that.”

“You’re welcome, Tae. I know you don’t want to marry me but we can at least have fun together right?”

“Even though this is completely different than what I was expecting out of my life, I think I am okay with this.“ You smile up at him and Taehyung pecks a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“Good. I’m really glad to hear that.” 

Jungkook

“God this sucks, Jin hyung.”

“What does?”

“This whole arranged marriage thing. I don’t know why my parents are pushing this on me so much! I’m only 22 years old I have plenty of time to find someone I actually love and get married to but they want to ‘ensure the family name gets passed on’. It’s bullshit.” Jungkook didn’t realize you were home yet and could hear his entire conversation with his friend whom he had on speaker phone.

“Give y/n a chance Jungkook. They might surprise you. I’ve actually met them quite a few times and they’re really sweet. I actually think your parents did well in picking a good match for you.”

“But we’ve barely talked and I feel like we’re strangers.”

“And who’s fault is that? Y/n has made plenty of attempts to try and get to know you and vice versa but you acted like a child and ignored them because you were pissy with your mom and dad.” Now Jungkook feels bad for a whole new reason. He hadn’t realized this until Jin called him out on it. 

“Well damnit. Now I feel bad..”

“As you should. Give y/n a chance Kook, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Okay, fine. Bye hyung.” He hangs up the phone. Jungkook processes Jin’s words and you make a noise in the kitchen to alert him to your presence. 

“Oh! Hey y/n uh, when did you get home.”

“Just now. Were you talking to Jin?”

“Yeah, just wedding nerves and everything.”

“I’m sorry we’re both in this situation. I know you don’t want to marry me and we’re both really young. You’d probably rather be living up your 20′s instead of being tied to me. I feel bad.” 

“Oh, no it’s okay y/n. Really. I know I have to do what I need to for our families, I’m sure you feel the same way right?”

“Yeah. Sure thing.” You both fall into an awkward silence after that. You can tell by how sad he looks that he still isn’t okay with this. “Well since you’re nervous and all do you want to practice our dance?”

“What?”

“The bridge and groom always share a dance together. Do you want to practice with me? Maybe you’ll be less nervous if you’re prepared. “

“Um, yeah s-sure.” You play a slow song on your phone, grabbing Jungkook’s hands and places one on your hip and the other in your hand as you sway back and forth. Why did he never notice how beautiful your eyes were before? How beautiful you were in general. How cute your smile was. He finds himself gradually relaxing and letting go. He even playfully spins you and dips you causing you to let out giggles when he does and he loves the sound of it. The song ends and you move away from him. 

“Are you feeling less nervous now?”

“Huh? Oh yeah. A lot better now. Thank you y/n.” 

“You’re welcome Jungkook. Don’t be up too late we have a busy day tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Y-yeah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Jungkook is in fact up late, having an internal crisis when he realizes that Jin is right. He’s going to give this a real shot with you and make the most of it if he can.