#stop being overdramatic challenge failed

[dreadark]

going in circles (more pointless complaining zzz

it's on me for getting mad at people who are just trying to give helpful advice but every time I'm reminded of how far apart someone like me is from most people I just

there was... some anecdote from someone I read ages ago i don't even remember where where they mentioned after they moved they were too depressed to unpack for a couple months but they finally managed to get over their own shame and admit this to their friends, who all came over to their apartment and helped them unpack and see, this problem was resolved in just one night! so don't be afraid to ask your friends for help!!

...sorry... what?

you have multiple good friends who live near you and you're depressed? about fucking what??? what more could you possibly want??????

...this is a shitty way of thinking. I know. people have their own problems and people are affected in different ways etc etc also im doing the classic tumblr thing of getting mad at posts that are obviously not directed at me. well this is my own blog, so it doesn't count, thanks

it's just like if I let myself be that depressed I would die

ah but that's never happened. I'm still here complaining on tumblr so I'm ~neurotypical~ that I have the energy to complain about this means I'm just pretending to be depressed. for clout. of course. ...........maybe this is why I can't connect with people lolllllllllll

if you think about it, the people who can exist while severly depressed are the lucky ones, since continued existence at that point requires some sort of network that can support them meaning these are the ones that would get referenced for psychological definitions or general understanding

but there's bound to be people who aren't as lucky

and those are dead

...well. I'm alive. so what am I complaining about...?

...basically nothing. I'm too lucky to have a valid point to make. but I just say shit anyway

(again, genius, why do you think you're unable to connect with people...)

[lyssismagical]

we'll all be here forever

tw mention for dying/death, not quite suicidal ideation or purposeful self-harm but not taking care of yourself; panic attacks, small emetophobia, lotsa fighting and swearing

(pls pls pls be so nice and gentle I haven't written anything in like 3 years and idk if this fandom is even alive anymore but I found a WIP and had the inspiration to finish it)

read on ao3

The decline began when his principal mentioned, in passing, that Peter’s applications would look bare compared to a lot of applicants with his lack of extra-curriculars. Sure, he had Academic Decathlon and a Tony Stark Internship, but otherwise, that space of his college applications was empty.

So, he took the initiative in his Senior year to join a few extra clubs to bulk up his application. He started a campaign for student class president, joined the robotics club, and got on the football team. As well as all that, he started tutoring during his lunch hours both for volunteer hours and as an addition to his applications.

He needed to get into MIT. He didn’t think he could deal with any disappointment from anybody around him. Tony’s been talking about Peter’s future at SI after graduating MIT, May’s already preparing to sell the apartment and buy herself a smaller condo when he moves out, Ben always said Peter had to go to a school that challenged him like MIT would.

He wouldn’t let them down.

So he continued to squish his schedule as tight as he possibly could. AP classes, homework, four extra-curriculars, tutoring, Spider-Man, and the internship started leaving no time for himself. Sleeping at night started getting cut shorter and shorter, and he could barely make time to talk to his friends or May.

Tony notices first because he’s always been a genius and way too observant for his own good, so when Peter slides into his seat in the lab, dragging a hand through his hair, and tossing a couple textbooks in front of him, Tony almost immediately grabs his shoulder and stops him.

“You okay, kid? You look a little rough?” Tony says, eyes already narrowed in suspicion. One hand cups Peter’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

“Just been busy.” Peter looks towards his homework. English, physics, biology, spanish, chemistry, history, the academic decathlon practice he’s supposed to go over, the speech he’s supposed to have done for the next debate for student class president.

Tony frowns, making his forehead crease. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, kid. This doesn’t just look like regular high school stress.”

“High school student slash superhero is more accurate.”

His watch continues ticking, the conversation wasting all of his precious time.

He needs to get his homework done during lab time so he can squeeze in some Spider-Manning before May gets home from her shift.

“Still,” Tony says petulantly. He crosses his arms and frowns at the work. “You can’t, I don’t know, take a break from all this shit?”

If Peter takes a break, he’ll have double as much to do the next day on top of football practice after school and robotics club after that. But he can’t say that or Tony would force him to drop some of his extra-curriculars.

“Pepper would kill you if she found out you were being a bad influence on me,” Peter says, but when it doesn’t get the reaction he wanted, he frowns and shakes his head. “I’m fine, Mister Stark, just a little tired. Don’t worry, the weekend’s coming up soon.”

Tony sighs overdramatically and moves back to his lab bench.

Peter purposefully fails to mention that he’s got a football game early morning on Saturday, enough time to squish in some patrolling before he has an Academic Decathlon meet at Ned’s house all afternoon, and enough homework to last him all night. And on Sunday, he has to finish his speech for the debate, he promised May he’d pick up his slack with chores, and he’s tutoring a freshman in math all afternoon.

He fails to mention that for him, the weekend doesn’t mean relaxation or a break from the stress of the week, it just means catch-up from everything he failed to do during the week and a time to pick up his slack.

* There’s something so fundamentally wrong about being beyond exhausted and yet, when given the chance, unable to get any real rest.

Peter’s brain is always moving too fast, always caught in the To Do List’s and the ideas of failure and disappointment if he doesn’t complete every task. Everything he could’ve done that day but hadn’t, all the things he did but could’ve done better, all the things that were pushed to the backburner with all the things he had to complete.

His eyes are closed and his breaths are even, room dark around him and quiet except for the TV that plays almost silently in the background. He’s comfortable and vaguely floating, not enough to be considered asleep but nowhere near conscious either.

Math homework sits only half complete on the coffee table, his academic decathlon cue cards are mixed with his debate notes on the floor, his history textbook is left open on the opposite couch.

He should’ve done more. He should be trying harder. He should be doing better.

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how much work he puts into everything he does, it’ll never be enough.

He can’t sleep, he got a B- on his last pop quiz in chemistry, Coach Wilson shouts at him every practice for his clumsy feet and his slow pace during warmups, Tony’s been staring at him with the same worried expression every time he goes over for lab days.

Even Flash has been worried about Peter.

“You okay, Parker?” Flash had sounded at least partially concerned before quickly tacking on, “Because I get your spot on Acadeca if you’re slacking.”

But it had been weeks since Flash had been mean to Peter, he hadn’t been tripping Peter in the hallways or spitting cruel words at him in class.

If Flash is being nice to Peter, that means there’s really a problem.

May slips into the living room, meaning it’s already three am, when she leaves for her occasional morning shifts at the hospital. She lifts the quilt off the back of the couch to drape over him.

“Have a good day at work,” Peter slurs, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Have a good day at school, honey.” She leans down and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “And thank you for helping out this weekend with chores. I’m really proud of you, you know that? And I’m really proud of you for your football game. I’ll see you tonight?”

Peter has to think for too long, scanning through his mental to do list. “Got football practice and then robotics till seven. And I said I’d walk MJ home first so I’ll only be home at nine or ten.”

“Michelle’s the opposite direction of here from school, isn’t she?”

“Mm,” Peter replies intelligently, the perfect image of a genius student planning on applying to MIT.

May kisses his forehead again. He knows she’s worried about him, he knows she wants to tell him to stop, or at least slow down, that he needs to take care of himself. But it’s not the time nor place for an argument like that. “Well, I’ll be asleep by the time you get back, but I’ll leave your dinner in the microwave. You’re too good, Peter.”

Peter barely manages to utter a goodbye and an I love you before his mouth stops working again, content to pretend to sleep for another two hours before he’s off to pick up MJ before school. She lives in a shadier part of town and she mentioned, quiet and more honest about herself than she normally is, that she gets nervous walking to school and back because of some people who have been trying to get her attention.

Without hesitation, Peter had offered to walk to and from school from now on. To keep her safe and comfortable. He is a superhero after all.

Just because that adds an extra hour and a half to his already hour-long trek to Midtown, doesn’t mean anything. He’s okay with waking up at five in the morning to get to school, and he’s okay with only making it home late after practices. If it means MJ’s safe, he’ll give up another chunk of his sleeping time for her.

MJ talks idly about academic decathlon for the majority of the long walk to school.

She keeps a hand firmly on his upper arm, as though scared he may keel over if she isn’t careful. Her eyes rarely leave his face, even if he barely offers any facial expressions let alone any words of wisdom. Easily, though, he answers every one of her decathlon practice questions from memory, proving that the sleeplessness and the stress hasn’t totally messed up his intelligence.

Or so he thinks.

He’s about to leave his history class when his teacher stops him.

She’s a nice woman who doesn’t assign a crazy amount of homework, no more than his other classes do, and she’s generally lenient with marking assignments. He wracks his head for any reason why she would stop him. He’s pretty positive he handed in his history assignment about one of the presidents at the end of the previous week, and he remembers being pretty confident in his answers to the pop quiz.

“Sit down for a second,” Miss Christie says, gesturing to the chair beside her desk. She has the decency to look sympathetic and confused when she tells him, “Your grades have dropped drastically since midterm, Peter.”

“What?” His brain’s moving a bit too slow through the sludge of his to do lists.

At midterm, he managed an eighty-eight on his test which brought his overall grade up to an eighty-five. Not his best grade, but certainly nowhere near worrying. He was just going to make sure to ace the exam, and he was sure he’d get a ninety out of the class.

“Your grade has gone from nearly a ninety down to barely passing, Peter,” Miss Christie explains, pulling open his file on the computer. “I normally wouldn’t worry too much about a sixty-five, it’s not too abnormal for lower grades in a history class for a STEM school, but this is concerning coming from a bright student like you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Miss Christie frowns, turning her monitor towards him and zooming into his grades. It shows all his assignments he’s submitted, all his grades slipping towards mid-fifties and lower. His pop quiz he only managed a thirty percent on.

“At this school, as you know, if you don’t make a sixty or higher for your final grade, you fail the class.”

Peter’s whole world feels like it’s crashing down around him.

“Now, I know how much potential you have, Peter, but I’ve taken a peek at the last assignment you submitted, and at this rate, you won’t be passing the class unless you put more effort in.”

More effort.

He doesn’t know where he has the time for more effort anywhere.

May’s going to kill him.

He might as well throw his MIT application down the drain if he fails history.

“I, uh, it’s just- Between my classes and my extra-curriculars and the internship, I just- I don’t have the time for much,” Peter admits. He’s not quite sure why he’s alright admitting his struggles to his history teacher and not to people like Tony or Ned or May, but the words fall from his tired mouth before he can stop them.

Miss Christie smiles like she understands his struggle. “I can give you another week to finish your last history project and I’ll assign an extra-credit assignment to get your grade up a little more, if that’s what you’d like. If all goes well with those two projects, future assignments, and your exam, I think you could pull off an eighty, Peter. Hope’s not lost.”

He doesn’t know how to tell her he doesn’t have time for two more big projects this week.

Football practices are longer because they have another game on Sunday, Academic Decathlon is getting harder because they have sectionals coming up, robotics club has a tournament in a few weeks so they need to put extra work into completing their robots, student class president debates are in a few days and then voting is coming up, he agreed to take on a project from the real Stark interns who need his help with their prototype, not to mention his actual homework.

“I just- Miss Christie, I need a good grade for college applications and I- My schedule is already as packed as possible, is there anyway I can get an extension-”

“I can’t start making exceptions for students, Peter. I’m already being generous by giving you more time for the first project.”

Peter swallows thickly, suddenly feeling very nauseas and dizzy. “Of course, Miss Christie. Thank you.”

He barely lets her finish giving her spiel on hard work equals good results before he races down the hallway towards the bathroom.

*

“You can’t tell May or Tony about this,” he begs, slumping against the wall, trying desperately to stop crying.

“Peter, this isn’t okay,” Ned says. His eyes are too wide and he looks shakier than Peter feels. He’s got a wad of damp paper towel and gently pats the sweat from Peter’s forehead.

MJ’s leaning against the sinks despite it being a boy’s bathroom. “Are you sick? Catch a stomach bug?”

“Panic attack.”

Apparently, that’s not the right answer because Ned cups Peter’s cheek and tips his head up, patting away his sweat and tears more insistently.

“I’m late for- for-” Peter’s vision swims as he stares at the watch, unable to comprehend the ticking hands or match it to his mental to do list.

“Tutoring. It’s lunch,” MJ supplies. She steps into the already-cramped stall and slides to the floor beside Peter. “Don’t worry, Flash is taking over for you. That kid already knows all she needs to know, though. She doesn’t really need Flash’s help.”

“We can’t hide this from May or Tony. You need help, Peter.” Ned finally gives up with the paper towel but his eyes are just as wide as he grabs Peter’s hand, hanging on to him.

Peter shrugs, eyeing MJ carefully before he lets his head fall on her shoulder. He closes his eyes, shutting himself off from further argument.

Nothing’s right.

The three friends are cramped together in a bathroom stall because Peter can’t hold himself together, because no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be enough.

He doesn’t say any of that, all the words getting clogged in his chest where all his self-loathing and pain sits. Instead, he murmurs a soft apology and lets his eyes fall shut.

Eventually, they have to drag themselves off the bathroom floor for class.

Ned rambles about how Peter should see the school nurse and go home for the rest of the day, and Peter makes up excuses about how he’s fine just a little stressed, how he’ll make sure to take the night easy and get some good rest and be back to normal by the next morning.

Even MJ tries to convince him to sit out of chemistry, even though Peter’s grade has dropped in that class too, even just to lie down in the nurse’s office for an hour.

But Peter throws on the most convincing smile he can muster and shakes his head, promising them that he’s fine.

And they trust him enough to take his word for it.

Maybe that’s a mistake.

*

May’s asleep by the time he gets home, so he grabs some money from his secret stash he’s been saving from some of the paid tutoring he’s been doing and grabs himself a few energy drinks from the bodega a block away.

And then he sets himself up at his desk with all the work he has to do laid out in front of him.

He was in for another long night.

*

It’s not like he has the option to stop.

It’s not that simple, it’s never been. Failing, at this point, would be the worst thing he’s ever done. The list of people he’d be letting down is too long, too many, he can’t do that. He can’t let down his loved ones like Tony and May, Ben, Mary and Richard, Pepper and the Avengers, his teachers, his friends, himself. He can’t do that.

Everything is resting on this.

May won’t be able to move out of the city, she’ll have to continue taking care of him when he’s unable to move, she’ll have to keep working to take care of him, she’ll have to keep worrying about him every night he goes out patrolling. He’ll continue dragging her down.

Tony and Pepper won’t be able to retire.

He’s heard them talking about that dream they have. The cabin, far away from everyone and everything, maybe a child down the line, a child of their own, not just some orphan kid they got saddled with. The garden, the lake, the pet, the baby, the ability to give up all the things tethering them down. Peter’s meant to take over SI when he graduates MIT. There’s never been an If with them. Like they couldn’t even imagine a world where Peter couldn’t do it.

Letting them down now?

He’d lose his second family. He’d lose Tony and Pepper, he’d lose his ties to the Avengers. How could he be Tony Stark’s prodigy if he couldn’t even get into MIT?

He has to work harder.

He has to do more.

He has to be better.

 He has to.

*

MJ puts a hand on his knee in English class, everything between now and then is a confusing blur, but he’s suddenly grounded.

“You’ve been shaking all class,” she says. Her eyes are wide and worried, and she doesn’t take her hand off his leg. “When was the last time you slept?”

He takes another sip from his water bottle, filled with an energy drink. It makes his knee bounce under MJ’s hand. He tries to shake away how cloudy his mind is, trying to focus on what the teacher’s droning on about.

“Hey,” MJ says, elbowing him to get his attention. “If you don’t sleep at night, you’re never going to be able to focus.”

“I slept fine,” he snaps, pushing her hand off his leg.

The teacher’s talking about Shakespeare, going over the play they were asked to read earlier on. He knows it like the back of his hand, so it doesn’t matter that he zoned out for most of class.

“Don’t be a dick when I’m just trying to help.”

He shakes his head again, one hand lifting to tug at his hair, pain clearing a little bit of the fog.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds panicked, even to his own ears. He’s been fucking everything up, everywhere he goes, but he can’t lose his friends, he can’t fuck this up.

“It’s fine, dude, just…” She looks towards the teacher, who hasn’t seemed to notice their distraction, and slides her notebook across to him. She’s drawn a few sketches of him, all of which picture him with dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up every which way, and movement lines around his legs and fingers. There are some notes on Shakespeare between the sketches and some absent thoughts in the margins.

Peter doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m worried, okay?” she says so genuine that it hurts his chest. She reaches out to touch his leg again, seeming to understand how much the small gesture helps. “I know you’re stressed about college applications, but you’re falling apart, and I don’t know how much longer I can just watch you do that to yourself.”

“I have to get into MIT.”

“You have Tony Stark willing to write you a letter of recommendation, all this other stuff, football and student council, it’s not necessary. All it’s doing is destroying you.”

Peter’s voice drops to below a whisper. “I don’t want a stupid accident to be the reason I get in.”

“Accident?”

“Spider-Man! I can’t have… It’s unfair. I’ll spend my whole life wondering if it was just a fluke.”

“How is that a fluke?”

“I wandered off on a field trip and got bit by an experiment. I should be dead. It’s a complete fluke that I am who I am.”

“It’s not a fluke that Tony’s kept you around,” she argues. Her nails are digging into his leg a little, pressing the fabric of his jeans into his skin. Her voice almost raises, but she catches herself and glances back towards the teacher before whispering, “For a genius, you’re acting really fucking stupid.”

Peter takes a shuddering breath. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s not. You know it’s not. You’re killing yourself for no good reason.”

“MJ, Peter, your attention please,” the teacher says. They both apologize quickly, and MJ sends him a look that says this isn’t over.

*

MJ practically drags him by the ear to the nearest bathroom once class is let out.

“You know I’ve got super strength, right?” he says, though he doesn’t even think he could access it through his exhaustion anyway, not that he’d try. He’d let MJ drag him wherever she pleases.

MJ lets him go when they’re safely inside the single-person bathroom and leans back against the sink, staring him down.

“If you’re going to reprimand me, can we get it over with? I’ve got things to do, Em.”

“We’re waiting for Ned. He’s on his way.”

Peter rolls his eyes and huffs out a sigh. “So this isn’t a reprimand, it’s an intervention?”

“You should be grateful it’s only going to be me and Ned. I could’ve pulled some strings and had Stark and May yell at you too.”

Peter winces. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t if you stop acting like an idiot.”

There’s a knock on the door, a rhythmic sound, and MJ opens it to let Ned in. Ned’s face is flushed and his eyes are a little too wide, and anger sparks in Peter’s chest, setting off a red-hot forest fire through his body.

“Did Flash say something to you?”

Ned only gets like this, red-faced and wringing hands, when someone insults him.

“It’s fine, Peter,” Ned says quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter! I’m going to kill him. What did he say?”

MJ puts a hand on his shoulder, almost like she’s ready to hold him in place, like he’ll shake out of his own skin. “Easy tiger. Getting in a fight with Flash is the last thing you need to be worrying about.”

Peter looks to Ned who already seems to have calmed down at least a little. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, dude. I’m fine. Flash is always going to be Flash. It’s really okay… What’s important is you right now. What’s going on with you? When was the last time you slept?”

“I have to get into MIT.”

MJ rolls her eyes and pulls away from him. She smells like vanilla and it makes him dizzy. “He thinks the whole Spider-Man and Tony Stark internship is an unfair advantage he shouldn’t be able to use in order to get in.”

Ned’s jaw drops open and he looks absolutely flabbergasted at the idea. “That’s insane! Do you really think that?”

“As I told MJ, I wandered on a field trip and suddenly I have things that most people could only dream of having. It’s not fair that Tony Stark can write me a letter because I wandered on a field trip. I can’t use Spider-Man like I’m better than everyone else because I wandered on a field trip. It’s not fair.”

“Just because it was an accident that it happened doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve the benefits that come from it,” Ned says. “You could’ve gotten those powers and done nothing. Nobody is making you use your abilities for good. You save people’s lives, you do everything you can to keep Queens and Midtown safe. You spend hours everyday getting knives or worse pointed at you to keep those people safe. And it’s just some fluke? I don’t think so.”

Peter shakes his head, shutting his eyes when he feels tears burn at them. “It’s not that simple. I’m Spider-Man, but Spider-Man isn’t me. Spider-Man isn’t some poor kid from Queens who has one and a half friends and can’t keep his grade up in History. Spider-Man isn’t some teenager who dumpster dives and reads graphic novels. Spider-Man isn’t Peter Parker. And because Spider-Man isn’t Peter Parker, anything that Spider-Man has can’t be mine. The acclaim, the ties to the Avengers, the internship, those all belong to Spider-Man, not me.”

Neither of them seem to have an answer for him.

Ned’s looking at him like Peter’s a stranger, confused and uncertain.

MJ’s looking at him like she finally realizes he can’t be helped. He’s too far down to be fixed by a simple pep talk in the bathroom.

“It’s not fair for me to use Spider-Man or Mister Stark as leverage for university. So, in order to get in, I have to beef up my application. I need extra curriculars, good grades, AP classes, I need this stuff in order to get into MIT. I can’t stop.”

Ned shakes his head. His eyes are misty and his face is still red. “Sure, okay, but if you stack up your day to be full of extra curriculars and homework, you have to drop Spider-Man patrols and internship nights and tutoring for the money, you can’t do everything.”

“I have to do everything. I’m still Spider-Man, even if Spider-Man isn’t me. I have a responsibility to this city, to try as hard as I can to keep people safe. And I have a responsibility to Mister Stark to be a protegee, to be his heir, so that he can finally retire, both from Stark Industries and from Iron Man. I have a responsibility to May to make her proud. I have a responsibility to my parents, to Ben, to do something great like MIT. I have a responsibility to May to get scholarships so I don’t rely on her for money she doesn’t have. I… I don’t have a choice. I can’t just give up.”

“You’re going to kill yourself!” MJ says, voice loud, and Peter’s head pounds.

“I’m going to get in and I’m going to graduate and then I can stop. It’s only six months. I can survive six months of this.”

“At this rate, you’ll be dead in a week.” She sounds so angry, so upset with him, and god it hurts to feel like despite all the effort he’s put in, he’s still managing to let people down. “Do you have any idea what sleep deprivation does to a person? Especially someone who enjoys swinging around hundreds of feet in the sky and fighting people with guns.”

Peter looks to Ned, tries to see if maybe his best friend will understand, will, at the very least, take a different approach, but Ned just stares back, eyes wet and jaw clenched.

Peter’s breaths have gone shaky, chest aching with the lack of oxygen. “I can’t just stop, Em.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” she grounds out. “This ends now.”

“I can’t stop,” he repeats, tears blurring his vision. He falls back against the wall, head thumping against the bricks.  “I can’t. It’ll look worse now if I was on the football team for two months before abruptly dropping out. Same for robotics or student council. Even if it’s for the betterment of my grades, it’ll still look bad on my application. I can’t stop seeing Mister Stark, he’ll know something’s up, he’ll try and convince me to stop working so hard, he’ll try and use his power to prove that I can get in even if I fail all my classes this term and that’s not fair. I can’t stop.”

MJ shakes her head. She’s made up her mind on this, and when MJ makes up her mind there’s no turning her around. “Then stop Spider-Manning. If you let yourself rest at night instead of swinging around Queens in spandex, maybe you could actually do everything else without falling apart.”

“If Spider-Man disappears, people will die. And it’ll be on me.”

“You can’t save everyone!” she shouts. Her fist hits the edge of the sink with an echoing thud. “And if you die, you won’t be able to save anyone.”

He can’t help but flinch, trying to shake his head, come up with anything, find an argument that makes sense, but he comes up blank, just failure ringing through his head.

“I can’t stop,” he repeats like it’ll make a difference.

Ned finally speaks up, “I’ll call May. I’ll tell her what you’ve been doing, how you’re failing history. How little sleep you’ve been getting. I’ll tell her.”

“And what’s she going to do,” Peter challenges. “Tie me to my bed? Force me to sleep? Take away the suit? Ground me? She’d have to invest in vibranium locks if she really wanted to keep me from going out.”

“You’re really going to fight all of us?” MJ says, disbelief and anger darkening her voice.

“I have to do this.”

“Well, I’m not going to stand by and watch.” She shakes her head at him, mouth set in a deep frown, and then she walks out of the bathroom and his life.

He looks at Ned, silently pleading for him to understand, and Ned stares back with wet eyes for a moment before turning away as well.

He’s left alone in that bathroom, ears ringing and head spinning and tears sliding down his cheeks, clinging to his jaw, lungs aching.

*

Is it possible to do this without his two best friends at his side? He isn’t sure but he’s convinced himself that there’s no going back now. The only way he’ll get them back is if he stops, and that’s not an option.

So it’ll just be him against the world. He can handle that. He has before.

It’ll all be worth it when he gets that shiny acceptance letter.

*

“Kid.”

Tony says it in a way that Peter instantly knows what’s happening. He’s sitting at the dining room table when Peter gets to the tower for Lab Night, hands crossed on the table, shoulders tight, mouth set in a firm line.

“I don’t need another fucking intervention.” He doesn’t know where the anger came from, seeping through the tired cracks. He’s pretty sure he’s never sworn at Tony before. He’s not surprised that MJ and Ned ratted on him, he knew they would after their fight in the bathroom, he just hoped Tony wouldn’t make a big deal of it.

Tony shakes his head, gesturing towards the pulled-out chair beside him, Peter doesn’t move from the hallway, just drops his backpack on the floor. “Kid.”

“If you’re going to lecture me, I’m going to pass. I have shit to do.” He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. There’s no filter left. All that’s left is hardened sharp edges and dark rings beneath his eyes and the ghost of who he was shaking its head at him.

“Peter-” Tony never calls him that, so Peter knows it’s serious. “-Please just come sit and we can talk about this. It’s not a lecture or- or an intervention, I just… I’m worried.”

He crosses his arms tight, curling into himself a little. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, kid, and I’m sorry I let it slide for too long, I should’ve said something sooner, but I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“I’m fine,” Peter grounds out again. “And I have shit to do.”

Tony stands slowly, hands open and fingers spread like Peter’s a feral animal. “You’re working yourself to the bone. You’re going to get hurt.”

Peter stays quiet, staring Tony down. The older hero takes a step closer and Peter steps back, keeping space between them.

“I’ve looked at Karen’s reports, kid-”

“You’re still spying on me?”

“I’m checking in.”

“I should’ve disabled those stupid protocols months ago.”

Tony doesn’t meet Peter’s fire with fire, though, he just looks… aged. He looks more exhausted than Peter feels, wrinkles set deeper than Peter remembers, streaks of grey in his hair standing out in the moonlight. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I’m fine, okay? I haven’t been to medical in weeks.”

“You’ve been averaging two hours of sleep a night. Do you know what that’ll do to your reflexes? Your fighting abilities?”

“How many fucking times do I have to say I’m fine?” Peter’s voice has raised a little, not much but it still feels like it echoes off the walls of the dark hallway, it rattles inside his head.

Tony sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re working too hard. You’re not sleeping, you’re drinking an obscene amount of caffeine, you’re not eating enough, you’re stressed, you’re lashing out. You know who you sound like?”

“Exactly. Who are you to judge?”

“I’ve learned from those mistakes, Pete. And I don’t want you to make them too. You’re going to get yourself killed patrolling or have a caffeine overdose or hurt yourself in the lab or burn bridges or turn to something worse than caffeine to get you through the day.”

“I’m not you!” Peter snaps. He can feel tears in his throat, voice threatening to break, hands shaking so he curls them into fists and stuffs them in his pockets. “I’m fine, okay? I can handle it.”

Tony shakes his head again, people have been doing that a lot lately when they talk to him. “I spoke to your principal, Peter.”

He flinches, taking another step back into the dark hallway. His breaths are coming too quick and a headache is beginning to form behind his eyes and Tony’s eyes are following him, tracking every movement that cements his points, and he looks so fucking sympathetic, so hurt.

“I’m going to fix it, okay? I have a few more days to perfect that history assignment and I’ll get the grade up by finals. It’s going to be fine. I can fix it.”

“It’s not just history, Peter.” Tony keeps saying his name and Peter hates how it’s grounding him to the conversation, stopping his swirling to-do lists in their place to hear Tony’s words. “It’s history and it’s chemistry and it’s calculus and it’s gym and your football coach says-”

“I can fix it!” Peter pleads, voice trembling. “I just need to try harder, I just need to put more effort in, I just- I just need to do more.”

Peter’s starting to feel claustrophobic in the hallway, images of Toomes and dust and darkness seeping into his eyesight.

“There’s nothing more you can give,” Tony says, gentle despite tearing down Peter’s world with just his words. “There’s not enough time in the world.”

“Fuck you,” Peter spits, he takes another step back. He points a shaking finger at Tony. “Fuck you. And fuck Ned for telling you. And fuck Coach for thinking I’m not good enough. And fuck MJ for switching me to an alternate. And fuck Miss Christie for not giving me a chance. And- and fuck Oscorp for making that fucking spider and putting these responsibilities on me. And fuck for parents for putting this pressure on me. And- And-”

“Kid.” And he sounds so genuine and pained and soft. And Peter fucking hates him.

“This, all of this, is your fucking fault. Yours, and May’s, and my parents, and Pepper’s, and Ben’s, and Ned’s. It’s on you.”

Tony, for his credit, just sighs softly and nods. “I know what it’s like to be under that kind of pressure. To have people make it seem like their future for you is the only one that matters, that you have these insane expectations to live up to and what you do will never be enough. But, kid, we’re all proud of you already. You don’t have to go to MIT for us to be proud. I can’t speak for your parents or for your uncle, but me and May and Pepper, we’d be proud if you went to community college. Hell, we’d be proud if you didn’t go to college at all. You don’t need MIT to have our approval, Peter. And we certainly don’t want you to kill yourself trying to get there.”

Peter shakes his head, tears beginning to curl down his cheeks, no doubt bright red already. “What about your future? I’ve heard you talk about it. You and Pepper and that- a kid, a kid who’s actually yours, retiring, giving up Iron Man and Stark Industries. You can’t do that if I go to a fucking community college.”

“We’ll figure it out. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” he shouts, unable to stop himself, voice wavering. He clenches his teeth so hard that his head starts to pound. “I can’t let everyone down.”

“And I’m not going to lose you, Peter.”

“I can do it!”

“Kid.” He sounds so pained, strained, desperate. “You’re going to go out patrolling on zero sleep, hopped up on too much caffeine, and you’re not going to be able to dodge that bullet. I’m going to get the red alert that you’re hurt and I’m going to be the one to find you bleeding out in some shoddy alley. And I’m not going to be able to save you. I’m going to have to hold you as you die. I’m going to have to show up at May’s door at an unforgivable hour and give her the news. Is that really what you want?”

There are images of that night in his peripherals. The black of the gun, the grey of Ben’s jacket, the red on the pavement, the gold of the police officer’s badge, the red on his hands, the brown of the apartment complex, the red on his jeans, the green of their apartment door, the brown of May’s hair, the red of her eyes, the red on his sweater, the red on his shoes.

“It’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can do it!” He’s crying, choked back sobs making his whole body tremble. “Why doesn’t anybody think I can do it? I have to- I can’t stop-”

Tony shakes his head again and again. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Peter.”

Peter doesn’t have the energy to stand anymore, pressing his back into the wall and sliding down it, knees pulling up to his chest. He curls into himself, as tight as he can, suddenly sobbing loudly into his knees.

“I can’t let everybody down. I can’t stop. I can’t give up,” he chokes out, pushing his hands into his hair and tugging until pain clouds his vision as much as his tears.

“I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, kid,” Tony says. “But I promised myself I wouldn’t let you become me. I swore after-” His voice breaks, guilt rushing into it. “After Toomes, that I wouldn’t make another mistake with you. So I can’t, I can’t let you do this.”

And Peter, he feels so small, so broken, so lost. “Are you going to take the suit?”

“If that’s what it takes to stop you from patrolling on no sleep, then yes, I have to.”

He bites his lip to stop the noise of despair from escaping him, metallic blood filling his mouth. He grabs his backpack from where he left it when all this started and throws it at Tony, too much superstrength behind his throw when it hits Tony in the chest with a solid noise.

“I wouldn’t have to if you dropped those extra-curriculars, Peter, or let me help with homework, or stopped tutoring or something. If I thought you could still be safe out there.” And he does sound genuinely guilty.

“Leave me alone.” He means to say it angrily, means to shout it from deep in his lungs, means to make it hurt, means to throw it like a dagger, but it just comes out small, weak, childish.

“Kid-”

“Please,” he says, looking up from his knees to meet Tony’s empathy with red eyes and wet eyelashes and a hoarse voice, to meet him with emptiness. “Leave me alone.”

Tony swallows loud enough for Peter to hear even through the rushing in his ears and then nods slowly. “Okay, kid. You know where to find me. And just so you know, I’m not doing this to be malicious. Everything I do is for you.”

“Go away.”

And he’s left alone. MJ, Ned, and now Tony. Gone.

He cries until he has nothing left to give. And then he curls up on the hardwood floor and cries some more.

*

When he wakes, there’s a blanket covering his body and a pillow underneath his head in the hallway, and a glass of water sits nearby. His head throbs something wicked and his back aches, but it’s probably the most sleep he’s gotten all week.

He drinks some water and then slowly rises to his feet, joints cracking at every move. He keeps the blanket tucked around his shoulders, hanging off him like a cape, and shuffles towards the kitchen.

See, he knows he’s in the wrong. He’s known since before MJ confronted him that what he was doing to himself was fucked up. He knows that this isn’t good or healthy or right, that he’s pushing everyone away like he wants to be killed and forgotten. He knows that Tony had every right to be pissed after yesterday. He knows that he hurt his friends and his family. He just doesn’t know how to stop anymore, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s lost and he feels small, he wants his mom to run her fingers through his hair and tell him everything will be okay.

Instead, he puts on a pot of coffee.

He makes two cups, too much sugar in one and just a little milk in the other, and takes them down to the lab.

He hesitates just outside the glass doors. He knows Tony didn’t sleep last night. He knows Tony has every right to hate him. He knows Tony probably broke down the second he left Peter alone. He knows Tony probably had footage of him sleeping open all night. And Peter doesn’t know if he can fix this.

Tony looks up like he knows Peter’s there. His eyes are red-rimmed, a little wild from caffeine consumption, and his hair sticks up in every direction like he ran his hand through it a hundred times.

Peter walks into the lab cautiously, slowly, like he’s the one approaching a feral animal this time. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all, he just sets the coffee down in front of Tony and then backs off a few feet.

They stare at each other for a few moments.

“Hey, kid,” Tony finally says, looking like he might cry at any moment, Peter feels the same, on the edge of a precipice.

Peter’s hands are shaking so badly that his coffee is spilling. He sets it down on the lab bench, knowing it’ll make a ring and guilt rising just a little higher.

“Hi,” he squeaks, swallowing again and again. He doesn’t let himself clench his hands into fists, just lets them shake.

Tony takes a long sip of coffee, Peter watches every movement he makes like he’s scared Tony will lash out at him, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and it could happen at any second.

“Kid,” Tony says again. But he doesn’t follow it up with any words of wisdom.

The apologies ball up in his throat, getting stuck, and his breathing starts to struggle around them.

Tony’s expression softens, shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s okay.”

And Peter’s the one to start shaking his head fervently now. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s okay,” Tony repeats gently, always so gentle like Peter’s made of fucking glass. “It’s going to be okay, kid.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Peter feels panicked, trapped, scared. He feels like he’s dying. Like the past weeks of pushing himself beyond what he’s capable of have finally caught up to him. All the caffeine, the sleepless nights, the stress, the fights, the anger, the nightmares, the headaches, the visions, the pressure, it all just caves in at once.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“I don’t want to die,” Peter chokes out. Because Tony was right, if he continued like this, he was going to die before he was able to make it to MIT, no ifs ands or buts. He would die. Even without the suit, he would die.

And he didn’t think it would bother him so much, the idea of dying, but with the work he’s put towards his future, is also the dreams of what could be. That future he’s planned for himself could be so exciting, so fulfilling, if he made it there.

“It’s going to be okay, bud. We’re going to figure it out.”

Peter doesn’t cry, he doesn’t think he has a single tear left in him, but his shoulders wrack with pain regardless. He reaches out for Tony with what strength he has when the whole world is caving in on him. And Tony moves quickly, standing and coming around the bench, wrapping Peter up in his arms, taking the weight of the world off his shoulders, burdening some of the pressure with him.

“I can’t give up,” Peter says, words muffled in Tony’s sweater.

“You don’t have to give up, buddy, but we have to make some changes.”

“I need MIT. I need Boston. I need scholarships. I need the grades and the extra-curriculars and the money, I need Spider-Man. How- How?”

Tony holds him up when his knees threaten to give out, cradles the back of his neck, a good pressure that alleviates a little bit of the pressure behind his eyes. “MJ told me how you feel. That what Spider-Man has doesn’t belong to you. That I, what we have, belongs to Spider-Man and not you, but you’re my kid, Peter Parker is, not Spider-Man.”

“We wouldn’t have met without the spider. We wouldn’t know each other. I wouldn’t have this internship, I wouldn’t have a spot in your life. Even if you like me for me and not my alter-ego, it still is because of him.”

“Even so, I wouldn’t have kept you around if I didn’t like you, kiddo. I wouldn’t have offered an internship, I wouldn’t have bought back this tower to stay nearby, I wouldn’t have wine nights with your aunt, I wouldn’t have movie nights with you, I wouldn’t go to your decathlon meets, I wouldn’t be handing over my company, I wouldn’t be planning out a room for you in my cabin, if it weren’t for you.”

“You are?”

“You’re my kid, Peter.”

“So it wouldn’t be wrong for me to use the internship on my application,” Peter says quietly, less of a question. “It wouldn’t be wrong for you to write me a letter of recommendation.”

“I have one written already. Had it written since you were fifteen.”

Peter breathes in the smell of metal and day-old cologne and coffee, and finally feels like his lungs accept the oxygen for the first time in what feels like forever. Tony will make it all okay.

*

“Hey… I’m sorry for what happened the other day,” he says, listening to the tinny sound of silence as he leaves a message on MJ’s phone. “I really am. I know you were just trying to help, I was just too far gone to accept it. I’m- I’m going to stop, relax, slow down. You were right, of course you were. I don’t know a time when you weren’t right. I’m dropping football and robotics and tutoring. I can’t do it all and Spider-Man. I’m taking a couple days off, a ‘mental health long weekend’ Tony’s calling it. If you… Maybe you’d think about coming by? I know you have no reason to forgive me, but- I just- I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. And thank you. Thank you for trying to help me, thank you for being a friend, thank you for putting up with me these past months, thank you for telling Mister Stark, thank you for everything. Alright, well… bye, MJ.”

*

May comes by that night. She cries when Tony tells her how bad it got, how little sleep Peter was getting, how much he was pushing himself. She cries and gathers Peter up in her arms like he’s still five-years-old.

“Peter, baby,” she says into his hair. And that’s all it takes for him to cry too. And she keeps saying it, “Peter, baby, I should’ve known, I should’ve seen it. I’ve been working too much and I…”

“I just wanted to make Ben proud,” he cries into her scrubs.

“Ben would be so proud of you, baby, so goddamn proud. You don’t need to do anything more than be you for him to be proud. I’m so sorry we ever made you think otherwise. He loved you so much and he just saw so much potential in you, we all do, that’s why- We never wanted to put you under so much pressure, just wanted to make sure you knew you could do anything you set your mind to.”

*

MJ and Ned come by. They exchange their apologies, even MJ says she’s sorry for being so angry that day.

They spend the day playing video games and talking and eating.

Peter feels like the balance has been restored in the universe.

*

When he finally applies to MIT as well as plenty of back-up schools, he doesn’t freak out. He thinks that it’ll be okay, whatever happens. If he has to do a lap year, so be it, if he goes to a college in Boston or New York for a year before reapplying, it’ll be okay.

His grades have steadily increased since The Intervention, and his caffeine intake has steadily declined. He hangs out with his friends more regularly, spends time with May, has relaxed nights with Tony instead of cramming them full of studying. He gets back his spot on the Academic Decathlon team and splits his responsibilities as student class president with his vice president.

Tony pats him on the shoulder and presses a kiss to his forehead when he hits the final submit button on his final application. He murmurs a quiet admission of pride into Peter’s hair.

Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.

*

MJ gets early acceptance to Harvard. Peter’s never seen her smile that wide before.

*

Ned gets accepted to MIT a few weeks later. He brings the letter to Peter’s apartment and says that they should wait until Peter gets his, but Peter shakes his head and tells him to open it now. Ned’s hands shake badly as he opens the letter. There’s a long moment of silence as Ned reads and Peter waits.

And then, “I got accepted.”

Ned doesn’t sound as happy as he should, sounds nervous even as he looks up at Peter.

“Dude!” Peter exclaims, jumping up from his seat. He grabs the letter from Ned’s hands and reads the congratulations. He throws his arms around Ned. “Holy shit!”

Ned hugs him tight but when they pull away, he still looks small. “You’re not… upset? I mean, if you don’t get it, I can wait to start, defer until next year-”

“Are you kidding?” Peter says, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “I’m so proud of you, dude. I’m so excited for you. You deserve it, man.”

And Ned finally smiles. “I can’t believe it.”

Peter pulls him into another hug.

*

Peter doesn’t hear anything for weeks.

There are a few nights where his anxiety gets the best of him. Sometimes, he heads over to Tony’s lab, knowing he’ll be up even at the odd hours. Sometimes, he swings over to MJ’s, lands on her fire escape and taps on her window. She’s always there to soothe his worries. She doesn’t have a doubt in her mind that he’ll get accepted, neither does May or Tony or Ned. But, worse case scenario, it’ll all work out. Nobody’s going to be upset or mad if he doesn’t go to MIT in the fall.

*

And then he gets it.

He’s studying at the dining room table with Ned and MJ, preparing for midterms in March, when May comes home from work with the mail. And sitting among them is the letter he was waiting for.

MIT.

“You ready?” MJ asks. She puts her hand over his on the letter.

“No matter what it says, it’ll be okay,” Ned reminds him. “No matter what.”

Tears burn his eyes all of a sudden. He puts the letter down on the table, unopened, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. They have a future planned out, the three of them. An apartment in Boston, road trips together back to New York whenever they can, MJ wants to get a cat. May’s had her two-week notice letter ready on the coffee table. Tony’s already started blueprints for that cabin he’ll build. He knows he keeps saying everything will be okay if he doesn’t get in, but…

“It will be,” MJ says like she knows what he was thinking. “You can still come to Boston with us if you don’t get in. Your future doesn’t rest on what this letter says.”

Peter believes her, that it’ll be okay, but slides the letter to her, silently asking her to do the honors, he can’t do it himself.

She nods and picks it up. She gives him one last reassuring smile before opening the envelope.

“Dear Peter Parker,” MJ reads.

[aceofspadesblog]

Restless Reprieve

Geno and Aftertale belong to CrayonQueen Reaper belongs to Renrink

If there was one good thing to come from being stuck in this stupid void, it was Reaper.

Geno wasn’t one for overdramatic clichés, but he truly felt like he’d found his soulmate. 

The god of death didn’t magically make everything better. Geno’s day-to-day was still a living hell. But Reaper was a bright spot in the darkness. The god helped him through the worst moments, he was a support to lean on. He was a distraction from all of the bad things happening in Geno's universe.

Reaper had stumbled into the Save Screen one day, trying to reap Geno’s soul. Geno had, of course, told him to fuck off. They fought. Reaper won. Reaper tried to take Geno’s soul. He failed.

Both skeletons were surprised to discover that Reaper’s Death Touch didn’t work on Geno. Neither was sure why. It may have been from Geno’s half-dead state, or the amount of determination he’d consumed, or a mere side effect of the Save Screen. Or maybe there was just a glitch somewhere in his code. Whatever the cause, that encounter had led to Geno’s new recurring visitor. 

At first, he’d found the death god annoying. Reaper was a terrible flirt, always so touchy-feely... probably because Geno was the only person he could touch without them dusting on the spot. But still. It was annoying. Geno had been irritable whenever the god visited. But as time passed, he’d begun to enjoy the other’s company. Geno told himself it was just because Reaper was something different in his monotonous life, but it was difficult to fool himself for long.

Reaper would tell Geno about different AU’s he’d visited, sharing stories about particularly strange deaths. Gruesome, sure, but it gave Geno something to think about aside from the violence happening in his own world. Reaper brought trinkets and snacks to the Save Screen. He’d find colorful designs to fill the void, or force Geno to try weird candy flavors. And it was nice, to have something different. To have something to look at other than the surrounding blackness. To be able to taste something again after so long not needing food to survive. To have new experiences for the first time in years.

Geno’s favorite gift by far were the books. They gave him something to occupy his time after Reaper left. And the fact that the god of death had thought about what Geno went through while he was gone, had thought to bring him a distraction... it was endearing. 

They grew close. Eventually, they started dating. Sort of.

Geno couldn’t really go on dates, since he couldn’t leave the Save Screen, but Reaper didn’t care. He seemed to take it as a challenge, trying his best to recreate all of the stereotypical date locations in the void. 

There coffee date had been sipping coffee while sitting on the floor of the Save Screen. They’d spread a blanket over the grassy patch of the void for there picnic. The theater date consisted of Geno and Reaper snuggling together with popcorn and a blanket to watch a movie on Reaper’s phone. 

It was simple, but Geno liked it. Reaper was creative in his quest to make every “date” different. To keep bringing new experiences to the void. And it was sweet. 

But it wasn’t enough to overcome the hell Geno went through whenever Reaper was gone. When the god of death left to reap the souls of those who’d passed, and Geno was left alone with a handful of books and that view of his family and friends viciously dying on loop.

Some days, he could shut out the human’s torture and focus on the distractions Reaper had provided. But some days those distractions didn’t work, and he felt like he was slowly losing control. How long could he watch these same scenes before he lost his mind? 

As much as he loved Reaper, those emotions couldn’t overcome the need to destroy his universe, to stop the human, to save everyone from there endless suffering. He kept trying to talk to Sans, to convince the other monster to help him. Sans continued to refuse. The Resets kept happening. His friends kept suffering. Papyrus kept dying. 

Reaper kept visiting. It felt like he was the only thing keeping Geno sane. But it was like a ticking bomb that kept being reset. There’s still an impending explosion, it’s just being delayed. 

How long until Geno bursts? When will it all become too much for him to handle? At what point will he fall apart so much that he can’t be put back together? 

---

One day, everything changed. 

Reaper hadn’t visited lately, and Geno was feeling a little extra crazy, like he’d explode at any moment. He restored Sans’s memories of the previous Resets. 

Geno had been worried that he’d pushed too hard. That he’d broken his double, that he’d have to wait for another Reset to attempt his negotiations again. But it worked. At least, Geno thought it had. Sans agreed to help him. 

But it’d all been a trick to drag Papyrus into the Save Screen. To get Geno’s baby brother to talk him down from the edge. They were convinced they could find there happy ending. Geno didn’t believe in happy endings anymore, but he let them try.

Apparently all it took to end this hell was a damn piece of butterscotch-cinnamon pie.

<- Previous | Next ->

[carewyncromwell]

Back to School Challenge // hosted by @cursebreakerfarrier​​​

💗𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑼𝑵𝑬𝑿𝑷𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑫💗

“I've always been a man with a plan, Always prepared never once to leave it to chance, But it's all unscripted when I'm with you: It seems familiar, yet it all feels so new... All of the sudden I miss you, Thinking about all of the things that we've been through... Oh no, it's not that I planned to, But I think it feels like maybe I'm falling for you and me...”

 ~“Unexpectedly” by Jason Chen

x~x~x~x

Duncan Ashe and Jacob Cromwell’s mutual attraction was an open secret to just about everyone in their year. Not only did Duncan’s constant scolding and derisiveness toward Jacob seem so overdramatic that it embodied the phrase “methinks he doth protest too much,” but Jacob and he both were incredibly attuned to each other, even in comparison to how they treated their other close companion, Olivia Green. Duncan was Jacob’s shadow in most classes and just about always sat next to him. He’d also go out of his way to heal any injuries Jacob received himself, rather than send him along to Madam Pomfrey, so he could scold him the entire time to be more careful. On Jacob’s side, he always without fail brightened up whenever he collided with “Ashe” (as he exclusively called Duncan), and he’d always go out of his way to make physical contact with his boy best friend, whether by leaning against his arm, wrapping his arm around him in one-armed hugs, resting his head on Duncan’s shoulder, or even grabbing his hand or wrist and pulling him along after him. 

It seemed for a long while that the only people who were unaware of the sparks flying between them were the two boys themselves -- at least until their fourth year. Then the only person who didn’t know how deep the two boys’ feelings for each other had gotten was Jacob himself. 

Jacob, Duncan, and Olivia had each earned themselves some admirers over the years, for their work with the Cursed Vaults. Most of those admirers weren’t gutsy enough to act upon their feelings, for good reason -- Duncan frequently intercepted any notes from and bared his teeth at anyone who made a move toward Jacob (who’d always been notoriously people-dumb), and the one idiot who thought it’d be okay to flirt non-stop with Olivia even after she politely told him to piss off ended up getting his ears Transfigured into kumquats, courtesy of Jacob. One of the people who’d been sweet on Duncan Ashe, however, was Sharon Edgecombe. 

Sharon was a Gryffindor in their year with more wiles than her outward appearance would suggest. She was very pretty and poised, but that was partly thanks to how much value she put on appearances. She liked being around exciting people, even people who were a little on the “rebellious” side, but she also liked being well-liked and praised, and was rather enamored with the idea of dating someone with an edge while still remaining popular and squeaky-clean herself. To put it simply, she wanted a “bad boy�� lover who would still protect and take care of a “good girl” like her. 

Eccentric, scatter-brained, bright-eyed genius Jacob Cromwell would never have been someone who’d grab Sharon’s attention...but Hogwarts’s resident tsundere -- the cynical, mischievous, stylish Duncan Ashe -- most certainly was. Sharon saw Duncan as just the sort of rulebreaker who could give her the excitement and attention she craved and yet still be handsome, safe, and image-conscious enough that he wasn’t threatening. And so, liking the thought of Duncan coming to her and sweeping her off her feet in time for the upcoming Winter Ball, Sharon ordered a Love Potion and then used it to spike a glass of pumpkin juice, which ended up right in front of Duncan at breakfast that morning. 

Fortunately for Duncan, his two best friends had both popped over to the Slytherin table to sit with him, to chat about the Ball next week. And when Jacob flopped down on Duncan from behind, playfully hugging him and resting his head on his boy best friend’s shoulder even as a darkly flushed Duncan snarked at him, the book-smart, people-dumb Ravenclaw caught a strange whiff of something coming from Duncan’s drink. In an instant, Jacob’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he abruptly snatched the glass right out of Duncan’s hand before he could drink from it.

“Wha -- ?! Jacob!” said Duncan, bewildered. 

Jacob gave the glass a sniff. His eyes darkening more than ever, he glanced from Duncan to Olivia and back.

“Smell this,” he said, holding it out for Olivia to smell.

With a bemused blink, Olivia leaned in and gave the drink a sniff too. She wrinkled her nose. 

“Smells...sugary,” she said with a deep frown. “Really sugary, sickly sweet. Like cherry-flavored medicine.” 

Looking faintly vindicated, Jacob then tilted the glass back toward Duncan. Raising an eyebrow at Jacob, he reluctantly leaned in and smelled it himself. When he did, though, he gave a start.

“...That’s not sugary,” he said, bewildered. “It’s -- well, like some musty old chamber. Like the inside of the Fear Vault. And something sweet, like honeywater or something -- ”

“ -- while I smell chocolate and pine,” Jacob finished darkly. “Namely, things that should attract us.”

Duncan and Olivia both turned to Jacob. Then Duncan pieced it together.

“Amortentia?” he realized. 

“Yup,” said Jacob, and his blue eyes flashed coldly down at the pumpkin juice. “The smell seemed weird for pumpkin juice, but us smelling different things confirmed it. Especially yours, Liv -- I reckon since you don’t swing toward romance at all, the smell isn’t particularly pleasant to you, no matter how sweet it is...”

Duncan looked at Jacob in bewilderment as Olivia picked up the glass, her eyebrows raised high over her narrowing eyes.

“Well, then, this is definitely taking a one-way trip to the loo,” she said very coolly. 

She shot a quick, beady look around the Great Hall, as if checking to see if the perpetrator might be watching. Jacob’s almond-shaped blue eyes swiveled suspiciously around too. 

“Right...” he said very lowly. 

Unclenching his jaw, he took the glass from Olivia and got to his feet. 

“I’ll take it -- you go on ahead to Charms, I’ll catch up...”

“Jacob,” Duncan said abruptly, before he could stop himself. “We were going to talk about the Ball, remember?”

“Go ahead and talk!” Jacob called over his shoulder casually. “Reckon it’ll just be the two of you going to that shindig anyway...”

Duncan was taken aback. “What? But Jacob...everyone’s planning on being there. It’s expected -- ”

“Since when do you do what’s expected of you, Ashe?” Jacob teased. 

“Jacob, we were hoping the three of us could all go, as friends,” Olivia attempted a bit more mildly. “I think it’d be a lot more fun for all of us, if we went together...” 

But Olivia’s sentiment somehow seemed to go right over Jacob’s head. 

“Eh, sorry, Liv -- you know parties aren’t really my scene. Too much punch and not enough brain cells. You and Ashe knock yourselves out -- I’d better go take care of this.”

A vein was twitching to life in Duncan’s cheek as Jacob strolled away. 

“Jacob!” the Slytherin bellowed after him. “For once in your life, could you think of anyone else’s feelings besides your own?!”

Little did Duncan know that Jacob had indeed been thinking of someone besides himself, while walking off with that spiked drink. Rather than just ditch it, he actually took it back to the Ravenclaw boys’ dorm, pouring it into a vial and then stoppering it so he could study it later. For the next week, while Duncan, Olivia, and the rest of their class got ready for the Winter Ball, Jacob spent his free time trying to dilute the ingredients so as to narrow down who had meant to drug Duncan. It was on the night of the ball himself that Jacob finally received his answer -- the mysterious sender was Sharon Edgecombe. 

Now many people -- upon discovering something like this -- might’ve thought to take their findings to that person’s Head of House, or even Dumbledore himself. But Jacob was so furious that once he knew who had tried to drug his boy best friend, he immediately set about confronting Sharon. And after leaving the commonroom and seeing everyone walking downstairs toward the Great Hall in formal wear, Jacob realized that the Winter Ball had started, and she would most certainly be there.

Jacob stood out like a sore thumb on that crowded dance floor, dressed in his disheveled school uniform with his hair as messy as ever. Even Duncan, who’d been sitting on the sidelines with Olivia and looking rather surly, stiffened up abruptly when he noticed Jacob walk quickly across the room, right over toward the punch table, where Sharon Edgecombe and her date, the big, burly captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, were chatting. 

“Jacob...?” Duncan muttered, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

Duncan and Olivia exchanged a quick, decisive look. The two got up from their table, smoothing out their dress robes (elegant black velvet and pale pink polyester, respectively) as they rushed to go find Jacob. When they spotted him again across the room, they saw Sharon’s date had left her and Jacob alone, and they weaved through the bustling crowd to try to reach them. 

Sharon, for her part, had feigned innocence in response to Jacob’s accusation. Once she’d sent her date off so as to talk to Jacob privately, though, her angelic facade seemed to flicker somewhat. 

“It’s so nice, when you can find someone who’ll do anything for you,” she said sweetly, indicating the Hufflepuff Captain with a short little nod. “I suppose that’s why you’re so territorial of him, isn’t it?”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Duncan,” said Sharon, as if it were obvious. “Really, Jacob...you could’ve asked him to the dance yourself, if you’d wanted...”

“I don’t give a damn about this bloody dance!” Jacob snarled back. “What I care about is you trying to drug Ashe with Amortentia!”

Sharon gave a forced little laugh. “Still stuck on that idea?”

Her brown eyes grew a little smaller. 

“We all know how you feel about him, Jacob,” she said under her breath.  “Aren’t you tired of acting like this is all for him, and not for yourself?”

Jacob sneered at her. “If you truly knew how much Ashe means to me as a friend, then you wouldn’t question that. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, for Ashe.”

“Oh, I’d definitely believe that,” Sharon said innocently. Something cooler flitted through her expression as she smiled at Jacob. “That’s why I know this ‘good friend’ act is just a mask you’re putting on.”

Jacob’s eyes flared. “Excuse me?”

“Plenty of people would be up to using a Love Potion, if it hooked them up with someone like Duncan Ashe,” Sharon said lowly. “You can’t tell me you would’ve been mad, if that Love Potion had made Duncan attracted to you. Honestly...you’re probably just mad that you weren’t smart enough to think of doing it yourself first -- ”

In a split-second, Jacob’s eyes widened, his pupils narrowing to dangerous, rage-filled slits --

SMASH. 

In an instant, Jacob had brought up both of his hands and shoved Sharon backward, right off her feet and straight into the punch bowl set up behind her. With a scream, Sharon brought the entire table down with her, the reddish liquid splashing all over her dress as the bowl shattered under her weight and everything came down with a crash to the floor. 

Duncan and Olivia both froze stock-still, their hearts jumping into their chest, as everyone else in the room whirled around to watch the action. Jacob was lording over Sharon, his eyes full of rage and his teeth bared.

“You listen here, you no-good, arse-licking little trollop -- if you want to act so bloody smart, then stay the HELL away from Ashe, or I’ll turn your face inside out -- !”

Sharon’s big, burly date ran over, yanking out his wand as he came up on Jacob from behind. Before his spell could land, however, Duncan had shoved his way through the crowd, right over to Jacob.

“Piscis Dolornasum!”

Jacob turned, startled, when his best friend appeared behind him seemingly out of nowhere, hexing the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain right in the face. Within seconds, the Captain dropped his wand as both of his hands flew up to his nose, which was suddenly excreting tons of slimy-looking sardines. 

“Ashe?” said Jacob, startled.

Duncan turned to look at Jacob over his shoulder, smiling darkly despite himself. “...Heh...Olivia said it’d be a lot more fun if we were here together. I don’t reckon this was what she meant, though.”

Jacob smiled weakly in return. “Probably not...”

“What is the meaning of this?”

All of the students parted quickly to let Professor McGonagall through. She was dressed in high-necked tartan.

“Professor -- ” Jacob started at once, but Sharon interjected. 

“Professor, Jacob Cromwell, he -- he just went crazy!” she said pitifully. “H-he accused me of trying to drug Duncan Ashe with Love Potion, even though I told him I didn’t do it -- ”

“I have PROOF, you lying little -- !” Jacob was about ready to punch her, but Duncan and Olivia both grabbed hold of his shirt from behind. 

“ -- And then out of nowhere, he just -- PUSHED me!” Sharon pressed on. “S-so Willy came over to try to help me, and then Duncan hexed him -- ”

“He was trying to attack Jacob!” Duncan couldn’t stop himself from interjecting despite himself. 

“He pushed my date into the punch bowl!” the Hufflepuff Captain retorted as best he could around the sardines still spilling from his nose, pointing an accusing finger at Jacob. 

“She bloody well had it coming, for what she tried to do to Ashe!” snapped Jacob.

“B-but -- but I didn’t do anything!” sobbed Sharon. 

Jacob once again made an angry move toward Sharon, but Olivia wrapped her arms in a hug from behind, to try to hold him back. 

“Jacob, take deep breaths,” she urged him lowly. 

“I -- I just wanted to have fun tonight!” Sharon choked. “And -- and now my dress is ruined, and -- and the Ball is ruined, and -- Jacob Cromwell ruined everything!”

She burst into tears. McGonagall regarded her with a rather detached, muted expression, before taking out her wand and flicking it at the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain’s face. 

“Finite Incantantem.” 

In an instant, the sardines stopped spilling out of his nose. 

“Go on back to your dormitory and change, Miss Edgecombe,” she said curtly. “I will speak to you in my office tomorrow morning.”

She then shifted her gaze over to Jacob and Duncan.

“As for you two gentlemen...you’re hereby banned from the remainder of the Ball, for your disgraceful conduct.”

Jacob and Duncan’s mouths both dropped open. 

“But Professor, she spiked Ashe’s drink with Love Potion!” Jacob argued desperately. 

“I did not!” whined Sharon.

“Enough,” McGonagall said in such a quelling voice that she silenced both of them. “Regardless of the evidence I’m sure you have to back up this accusation, Mr. Cromwell -- which, believe me, I would very much like to see -- ”

She shot Sharon a rather beady look. The pretty blonde’s face seemed to blanche at the severity of her expression. 

“ -- it does not give you nor Mr. Ashe the right to physically attack your classmates. You should have come straight to one of your professors as soon as you suspected this and left us to settle the matter.”

Jacob’s shoulders seemed to deflate with resignation, even as his face flushed with further righteous anger and resentment. 

A flicker of pity seemed to pass over McGonagall’s face.

“...Mr. Filch, escort these two back to their dormitories,” she said quietly. 

Filch materialized out of the crowd and grabbed both Jacob and Duncan by the scruffs of their necks.

“Hey -- !”

“Let go, you -- !”

Filch gave both of them a leer before he looked back up at McGonagall. 

“S’pose you’ll be sentencing them to detention too, then?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. “I’d happily take care of these two’s punishment, if you -- ”

“I think missing out on the remainder of the festivities is more than enough discipline for now,” said McGonagall. “Off you go, then.”

With a displeased sneer, Filch nonetheless roughly yanked Jacob and Duncan out of the Hall and forcibly escorted them back to Ravenclaw Tower and the Slytherin dungeons. 

Both Jacob and Duncan were left to stew in their juices for a while. Jacob felt furious at the seeming lack of justice for Sharon, while Duncan was irritated that Jacob had made him miss the Winter Ball after he’d gotten dressed up just to go. But, Duncan supposed, half the reason he’d really wanted to go was the thought of going with both Olivia and Jacob...pick out some robes for Jacob, the way he had for Olivia; snark about everyone else’s outfits together; sneak some Hiccough Sweets into the bowl of butterbeer...maybe even dance a little, if he could’ve pull Jacob aside...get out of everyone else’s line of sight, at least for a short while...see Jacob properly dressed, for once...his long dark hair combed into handsome waves, to frame his eyes...

Afterwards, though, Olivia came around to cheer Duncan and then Jacob up. When she came up to Ravenclaw Tower later, Duncan in tow, to find Jacob, Olivia had brought a whole bunch of enchanted fiery-red and watery-blue streamers from the party back with her.

“McGonagall let me have them,” she explained. “I think she does believe you about Sharon, Jacob, even if she hasn’t seen your proof yet. She just didn’t want to go too easy on you, since you still shouldn’t have pushed her.”

Jacob scoffed. “You’re right -- I should’ve Vanished her mouth right off her face: that would’ve shut her up...”

“Careful, or someone might think of doing the same thing to you, the next time you mouth off in Potions class,” Duncan said dryly.

He paused. Then, biting the inside of his cheek, he spoke again.

“...Jacob?”

Jacob tilted his head. “Hm?”

“I didn’t...hear everything you said to Sharon, but...I gather that the reason you shoved her into that punch bowl was...well, to protect me.” 

Duncan swallowed.

“It was still really stupid of you, mind you,” he scolded very quickly, “especially considering Sharon’s incredibly well-liked and there were about a dozen witnesses around, so it was almost inevitable that she was going to play the victim -- ”

“I don’t care how many witnesses there were, or whatever charade that slag wants to put on,” Jacob said coldly. “If she so much as looks at you again, I’ll hex her face off.” 

Duncan’s ears darkened with a flush and he actually seemed to be trying to bite back a pleased smile.

“...That...that’s beside the point,” he mumbled. 

“It’s exactly the point!” Jacob argued. “I don’t care what anyone else says, what McGonagall does to me -- I don’t even care if you think it’s stupid, I’m going to protect you, Ashe -- you and Olivia.”

“That’s not -- ” Duncan muttered in a combination of frustration and awkwardness. “I didn’t mean -- I was just...ugh.”

“What I think Duncan is trying to say is ‘thank you,’” Olivia said serenely. 

Jacob frowned at her. “...Then why didn’t he just say that?”

“I was trying to!” Duncan sighed in exasperation. “If you’d just bloody shut up for a minute...”

“You were the one who wouldn’t get to a point!” Jacob said with a confused frown. “And you say I prattle on aimlessly...”

Olivia chuckled quietly as her two male friends started to bicker. Easing herself up and off of the foot of Jacob’s bed, she took out her wand and started levitating the streamers into place, using a Sticking Charm to “pin” them along the bed frame. The moonlight peeking through the tall windows bounced off of the enchanted red and blue, making them glow supernaturally in the night.

[the-widow-sisters]

Tracing My Love

Summary: When Yelena is bored one day, Natasha asks Yelena to lay her head on Natasha's lap. Yelena is confused until her sister introduces her to a gentle activity that fully satiates the touch-starved beast within Yelena. Just innocent sister fluff.

Word Count: 2093

  “I’m bored,” Yelena whined, drawing the last word out in a much too dramatic fashion. She could feel Natasha’s gaze upon her as she looked up from the book that she had stuffed her nose into.

  “Go for a run,” Natasha suggested, and Yelena shook her head from her position on the other side of the couch, just groaning loudly.

  “It’s too hot and miserable for that,” Yelena informed her, looking at her older sister and taking in the unhidden grin spreading across the redhead’s face.

  “You could get one of those nasty slushie things you like,” Natasha spoke, and Yelena scoffed immediately in reply.

  “The store is not open on Sundays. Besides, the slushies are a delicacy. Second only to vodka,” Yelena informed her, and Natasha just grinned a bit wider, a laugh rising in her throat, and Yelena felt quite satisfied with herself for bringing such emotion to the redhead.

  “So that must be why you like them,” Natasha suddenly piped up in response. Yelena shifted her gaze to her in slight confusion.

  “What?” Yelena asked, suspicion in her voice as she noted how smug and pleased that Natasha sounded with herself. She had to admit that it was quite nice to have the privilege of hearing Natasha’s voice in such a pleasing, happy tone.

  “You must be mixing vodka in so you can’t taste the actual slushie,” Natasha told her, keeping her voice perfectly level, and Yelena narrowed her eyes a little in a playful glare. Natasha’s light greens were sparkling with mirth as she glanced up from the book.

  “Ha,” Yelena just faked a short bark of laughter.

  “There’s food in the kitchen,” Natasha suggested, and Yelena just pouted a little in response to the statement.

  “There is no sour cream and onion chips,” Yelena shot down her sister’s proposal,

  “I bought some for you yesterday.”

  “Yeah, about that… I finished the bag yesterday,” Yelena admitted with a slight grin, completely unashamed of her feat, and Natasha’s eyes widened a little

  “Seriously?!” Natasha questioned, some surprise in her voice as she looked up from her novel once again to gaze at Yelena.

  “What?! I’m a growing girl, you know!” Yelena defensively declared, and Natasha just shook her head with mock disappointment.

  “If you keep downing a whole bag of potato chips all at one time, you’re going to grow. Not sure if you’re going to like how you do, though,” Natasha commented, raising her eyebrows.

  Yelena brought her foot up, gently kicking Natasha’s arm that was holding up the book. However, she overdramatically did it, so it looked like she was putting more effort into it than she actually was. Natasha skillfully kept her hold on the book, just trading hands as she kept reading.

  Yelena groaned before scooting over closer to Natasha, her eyes locked onto the side of Natasha’s face. She eased ever nearer to the redhead, and she finally was close enough to rest her chin on Natasha’s shoulder as she lazily raked her gaze over the words inside the book, not truly reading any of it. Natasha raised an eyebrow, craning her neck slightly and looking down at the blonde.

  Yelena just shifted her honey-green eyes upward to meet Natasha’s.

  “What are you reading?” Yelena questioned curiously, and Natasha huffed a little. She delivered a swift, soft kiss to the center of Yelena’s forehead before looking back down at the book.

  “Probably nothing you’re going to find interesting.”

  “Try me,” Yelena challenged, and Natasha simply looked down at the younger girl with blatant skepticism evident in her stare.

  “I will have you know that I am very educated in the world of literary… ness,” Yelena proclaimed, her voice a little uncertain despite the bravado she forced into it. Natasha just chuckled fondly, shaking her head a little.

  “It’s Gone with the Wind,” Natasha told her, and Yelena wrinkled her nose with disgust. She tilted her head, trying to get a better look at the cover. She scoffed as she spotted a man and a woman on the front in a loving embrace.

  “Are you sure this is appropriate reading material?” Yelena asked, trying and failing to hold back the laugh in her voice. Natasha raised an eyebrow with slight confusion, not exactly understanding Yelena’s mirth.

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “It looks like it has some… adult themes,” Yelena suggestively spoke, waggling her eyebrows ridiculously, and Natasha finally flipped the book to actually take the time to look at the cover. She quickly caught on, just laughing at the younger girl. Yelena chuckled but awaited an answer.

  “No, no, none of that. Just pure romance. Not anything too out there.”

  “Ick. Sounds sappy,” Yelena blew her off, her chin still resting on Natasha’s shoulder heavily, and she noticed out of her peripheral vision that Natasha was rolling her eyes in reply to her.

  “Natashka, I’m bored,” Yelena drew the words out tiredly, unable to think of anything she wanted to do and hoping that her awesome big sister would think of something. Natasha finally put down the book on the table nearby, pursing her lips ever so slightly as she grew lost in thought.

  After a painstakingly long moment of this, Natasha seemed almost as if she had settled upon something or came to some conclusion or another. She looked at Yelena and shifted slightly so that Yelena would raise her head from its place on her shoulder. Yelena felt the need to complain about the loss of her comfy place, but she held her tongue, curious as to what Natasha was coming up with.

  Natasha looked at her for a long moment before finally speaking.

  “Lay down,” Natasha patted her lap, and Yelena started to do it without question, eager to take advantage of her sister’s offered affections. However, she quickly paused in the middle of her movements, looking at Natasha skeptically.

  “Wait… Why?” Yelena asked, and Natasha rolled her eyes fondly, nothing but warmth in her eyes.

  “Just do it,” Natasha told her, and Yelena hesitantly complied, not sure what to expect but trusting Natasha nevertheless. She was not sure if she was being lured into a tickle trap so she carefully kept her arms clamped to her sides once her head was in Natasha’s lap.

  “Relax. No tickle fights,” Natasha assured her, and Yelena loosened, hearing the genuineness in the redhead’s voice. She hesitantly slid her arms up so that they were resting on either side of her head and across Natasha’s lap.

  To her surprise, Natasha rolled up the back of her shirt, and Yelena stiffened just barely. She quickly loosened up, though, trusting Natasha wholeheartedly. Before she could ask what the older woman was doing, she suddenly felt feather-light touches raking across her back gently.

  She almost shivered from the feeling, and her eyes were open wide as Natasha’s digits tickled barely along her back, tender across her skin.

  “I’m going to trace a word on your back, and you’ve got to tell me what it is,” Natasha explained, her voice soft and quiet, and Yelena just nodded barely, worried that if she even breathed wrong that the attentions would stop. The ministrations were unlike anything she had ever felt, and it made her mind completely overload with the sensations of the most trusted person in her life touching her so lovingly and so gently.

  Y-E-L-E-N-A.

  Natasha stopped once she had spelled it out, and it took Yelena a painfully long moment to respond to the redhead as she tried to get her thoughts back in order from the overwhelmingly kind touches.

  “Yelena,” Yelena answered softly, finding herself eager for the next word that would be traced if only to feel Natasha’s gentle fingers running across her back.

  “Good job,” Natasha softly praised, and Yelena felt her chest constricting with something that was so purely the love of an adoring little sister that thought her older sister’s praise was as valuable as the air she breathed. Of course, she would never admit this to herself, but it nevertheless was an emotion that was coursing through every fiber of her being.

  “Two words this time,” Natasha explained quietly, and Yelena almost impatiently awaited her sister’s tender touches.

  S-W-E-E-T.

  G-I-R-L.

  “Sweet girl?” Yelena asked, almost embarrassed as she uttered one of Natasha’s special nicknames for her.

  “That’s it,” Natasha quietly agreed, and Yelena felt herself melting even further with the love in her voice.

  It was all that Yelena had ever wanted in her life. She had just wanted her sister’s affection, approval, and love. While she felt ridiculous on one hand for finding such satisfaction and pure happiness from a silly game like this, on the other hand it was something she craved deeply.

  Natasha soon started writing again.

  L-A-P-O-C-H-K-A.

  “Lapochka,” Yelena affirmed, feeling a slight smile coming to her face, and Natasha chuckled warmly.

  “Thought I’d switch languages and make it a little more complicated,” Natasha told her, and her voice was filled with nothing but affection. Yelena felt herself inflating a little with the loving, proud tone in Natasha’s voice. She knew she had really accomplished nothing significant, but it was still a huge deal to her that Natasha approved even of something as dumb as guessing a word right.

  Natasha traced another word on her back, and Yelena concentrated on it carefully.

  “Rooskaya,” Yelena acknowledged, and Natasha swept a hand across her back as if she were erasing the word. Yelena closed her eyes, enjoying the contact from someone that she trusted so deeply.

  “I,” Yelena read once Natasha wrote and paused for a while. It was confusing to her, and she did not know what exactly Natasha meant by just one letter.

  Natasha swept a hand across her and started again. Yelena furrowed her brow as she felt the letters across her back.

  “Love,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha started writing again, her finger moving carefully along Yelena’s skin.

  “You,” Yelena finished, and she quickly realized that Natasha had written her a message. Goosebumps covered Yelena’s back, and Yelena moved her head so that her chin was on top of Natasha’s leg. She looked up at the redhead, feeling her heart overflowing with pure adoration. Natasha was looking down at her softly, her eyes warm with care.

  Yelena felt her lips tugging down at the corners just a little, and she valiantly fought the tears of love, happiness, and awe that were threatening to come over her. She moved a bit closer to Natasha, burying her face into the redhead’s stomach and wrapping her arms around Natasha’s waist slowly and tightly.

  She ordinarily would not have cried at her sister telling her that she loved her, but somehow, this time felt so much more meaningful. It was through that physical contact and affection that Yelena so craved and needed, and the fact that Natasha had somehow combined verbal and physical methods to tell her how she felt was almost more than Yelena could take.

  “Ya tebya lyublyu, Natashka,” Yelena spoke against Natasha, and Natasha ran her fingers through Yelena’s hair before gently pulling Yelena’s shirt back down over her back.

  “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu, milaya devushka,” Natasha reciprocated, and Yelena just pressed herself against Natasha harder, feeling her body as it moved with her breaths.

  After a long moment of this and when Yelena was sure she could trust her voice again, she pulled away from Natasha and rolled over so that she was laying on her back with her head in Natasha’s lap.

  “Wait… Isn’t it your turn?” Yelena questioned softly with a slight quirk of her eyebrow, trying to convey more chill about this whole thing than she was really feeling. Natasha chuckled a little, reciprocating the eyebrow raise.

  “Sure,” Natasha replied easily, and Yelena sat up from her place in Natasha’s lap and straightening her legs on the couch so that Natasha could lay across her. Yelena just watched her expectantly, and Natasha smiled softly before laying her head down in Yelena’s lap carefully, her arms brought up so that her hands could gently hold onto Yelena’s leg.

  Yelena softly pulled back Natasha’s shirt and looked down at the slightly scarred canvas before her. She quietly thought for a moment before a wicked smirk came onto her face. She began to trace the word.

  Natasha was quiet for a moment, and Yelena finally reached the last letter, waiting eagerly for Natasha’s response. Sure enough, Natasha quickly caught on, and she spun on her side, looking up at Yelena with mock offense.

  “Poser?!”

  Yelena just cackled.

[starryevermore]

scooby doo! and the overdramatic youtubers: the investigation (2) ✧ sam and colby

scooby doo! and the overdramatic youtubers ✧ a parallel universe snc au | ao3

summary: the gang + snc get close to wrapping this whole thing up. 

word count: 1,633

warning(s): fred is pissed at colby

The gang settled at a table in the library, calm now that the adrenaline from being nearly killed by the Shieldmaiden had worn off. Except, Fred still looked ready to kill Colby. And this disdain for Colby certainly was helped when, after the coast was clear, Daphne hugged him tight and declared her thanks a hundred times over. Yeah, Fred was pissed off, and Colby was praying that they solve this mystery ASAP so that their mission could be complete and they could return home, lest Colby return home in a body bag. 

“So, uh, what did you find out, Velma?” Sam asked, fiddling with his thumbs. 

“More than you did when you ran off with Scooby and Shaggy,” she said, smiling slightly, not looking as angry as her words would suggest. 

“In our defense, we just wanted to find the Shieldmaiden,” Colby said. “And it’s always the ones who break off from the group that find the monster first, so our logic was sound.”

“Hm, I suppose,” Velma said, flipping through her notebook that she had jotted down clues in while they had been researching. “The history of the Shieldmaiden is a bit fuzzy. As far as I could see, there is no real historical roots in her existence. There have been rumors over the last hundred years or so, but nothing that was of note. It mostly surrounds a—”

“Let me guess,” Sam interrupted. “It’s some ghost story about a Shieldmaiden who once took over Little Denmark, destroying effectively everything. She wanted power, and the only way to get and enforce that power was by ruining everything that the town prided itself on. And once she got that power? She made sure that no one could take away. At one point, a rebellion rose up. But it failed so horrifically, with so many lives lost, that no one dared challenge her again. The townsfolk never forgot them, though, and what they had sacrificed in order to try and get some semblance of peace. Eventually, the Shieldmaiden wasted away and, with no heirs, so did the town.” 

Velma blinked. “Actually, yes. The ghost story basically faded away after a while, save for some journals detailing everything. That’s essentially where all of the information came from, so who’s to say if it’s real or not.” 

Colby frowned. So, in this universe, the Shieldmaiden story was purely legend? Whereas in his and Sam’s universe, people were trying to pass it off as fact? Interesting…

“Anyways, the story has seen some resurgences over the years, namely when similar legends have made the rounds online. None of this was any issue until a few months ago, a real Shieldmaiden ghost made its first appearance in town. And ever since her first appearance, she seems to be going after a very specific type of infrastructure in town.”

“And what’s that?” Sam asked.

“Well—”

But, before Velma could finish her thought, the Hex Girls threw open the doors to the library, running over to their table, earning a loud “shhh!” from the librarian. They ignored the librarian, only stopping when they reached the table. Colby felt his face grow warm when Thorn stopped just behind him, her hand on the back of his chair as she tried to catch her breath. 

“What’s happening?” Daphne asked. 

“It’s the Shieldmaiden!” Thorn said. “You need to come quick!”  

“She attacking again!” Dusk added. 

“Follow us!” Luna said, grabbing onto Velma’s hand and tugging her out of her seat. 

The rest quickly jumped up, following the Hex Girls to the scene. 

As they walked, Colby slowed so he and Sam were at the back of the group. When he was sure that no one could hear them, he asked Sam, “Do you think something’s going on between our universes?” 

“Because the Shieldmaiden stories have overlapped? I’m not sure,” Sam admitted. “It’s strange. Maybe it has something to do why we were given this mission?”

“Like, if the Shieldmaiden isn’t stopped, she’ll do something in our universe?”

“Maybe?” Sam paused. “I wish Ard—Lux. I wish Lux was here. She would know what was going on.” 

“I just wish Lux would talk to us,” Colby said. “She’s left us in the dark, probably gave us this mission, and she just…I don’t know. I thought we all got close in the Karate Kid universe, but I guess it more one-sided than I thought.”

“I mean, she’s got an intense job. We should know better than anyone how hard it is to keep in contact with people while we’re working. We can’t exactly fault her for that.” 

“I know. It’s just…I miss her. Like, more than I thought I would.”

Sam nodded. “I get that. You did spend more time with her than I did, but…You just gotta trust that she’ll come around when she’s able.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then what else can you do?” 

They’d accidentally fell so far behind that, when they caught up to the rest of the gang and the Hex Girls, they’d already finished talking to the witnesses. Shit, they were really fucking bad at doing this mission. What would happen if they didn’t keep up? Would they fail? And what would that mean for their universe? 

When they reached the gang, Velma was saying, “Well, gang, looks like this mystery is just about wrapped up?”

“Huh? What did we miss?”

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Sam cursed—or, at least, tried to curse—as he got his foot stuck in some elaborate trap that resulted in him dangling in a tree outside of the cathedral. Why couldn’t he curse out loud? Was this a result of them being in a cartoon universe? ‘Cause if it was, he couldn’t wait until he was out of this hellscape. 

“Sorry!” Fred apologized, running up and quickly untangling him. Sam landed on the ground with a quiet thud! “That wasn’t meant for you…” 

“Yeah, I figured it was for the Shieldmaiden…” 

“Oh, no, it was for your friend.” 

Sam blinked. “Colby? Why?” 

Fred scoffed, resetting the trap in the event that Colby came back. “He tried making a move on Daphne earlier, and now everyone thinks they’re about to be some power couple. There’s even headlines already—Meet Little Denmark’s Newest Powercouple: #Colbne! As if Daphne would ever date him. I mean, why would she, when she can have someone tall and good at traps and blond and good at traps—”

“Listen, brother, you don’t have anything to worry about. Colby was just trying to save her, not trying to make a move on her. Trust me—”

Before Sam could finish his sentence, he heard the frightened shouts of Colby, Shaggy, and Scooby, who’d been used as bait to catch the Shieldmaiden. 

“Wait, they’re supposed to go to the other trap! Where the girls are!”

“Well, change of plans, Fred, ‘cause the Shieldmaiden’s gonna have to go into the trap meant for Colby!” Sam said, gesturing for the the guys to run toward where they were so that the Shieldmaiden would get caught.

And, thankfully, Colby at least seemed to know what was up, running towards them before jumping out of the way last minute so that the Shieldmaiden, who was hot on his heels. Unable to stop herself, she fell right into the trap, a relatively simple design where her foot was caught in a loop of rope that flew up, dangling her upside down from the tree.

She trashed around, trying to free herself, but Fred let her fall easily, knocking her head against the ground so that she was disoriented when she sat up.

By then, Velma, Daphne, and the Hex Girls had rounded the building. 

“Jinkies, you caught the Shieldmaiden!” Daphne said. 

“Good job, Freddie! Now, let’s unmask this gal and so who’s been behind this mess all along,” Velma said, She reached over, pulling off the zombie mask off the Shieldmaiden. 

“Jacklyn Ann?!” everyone cried out. 

By now, the authorities had arrived and began to place handcuffs on the now un-masked villain. 

“Ah, just as I expected!” Velma said. She turned her attention to everyone else and explained, “The Shieldmaiden has been targeting tourist destinations all over Little Denmark. If you recall, when we met Jacklyn Ann earlier, she expressed her hatred for the tourist industry.”

Jacklyn Ann scoffed. “Well, can you blame me? Tourists ruin everything they touch! They have no respect for where they visit! They trash everything, they have no respect for history! They prioritize their fun over all else, and it cheapens the town! Then, when the town’s resources are drained, the town suffers!” 

“Well, we can’t fault your reasoning, but surely you could’ve taken a different route, a more legal route to achieve your ends?” Colby said. “I mean, isn’t your dad the mayor? Couldn’t he have done something?” 

“Oh, Daddy doesn’t listen to me! This was the only way for him to see that tourism is evil!” she shouted. “And I would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids!”

“Yeah, yeah, we get that all the time,” Shaggy said. 

They watched as she was carted off in a police car, the car driving away. They stood still for a moment, before Velma turned to Sam and Colby said, “I told you there was no such thing as ghosts.”

“One instance doesn’t disprove anything,” Sam said, shrugging. “You never know what’s out there. And, uh, we should probably be heading out. Got more investigations to do, you know.” 

“Wait!” Thorn said. “Before you go, would you like to be in our music video? It’s the least we could do to repay you, all of you, for helping out here.” 

Sam and Colby shared a glance. Then, Colby said, “Sure. Don’t see why not.” 

[imagine-turtles]

Hi! How are you today?

I wanted to ask you for some headcannons about the turtles getting jealous of their s/o

I would love it if they were from Rottmnt, but whatever you enjoy writing is okay! I will love it <3

ROTTMNT! Government-assigned issues and problems! Thanks for waiting!

One social media post from his s/o, out navigating the bustle of New York with friends, and Leonardo is convinced he’s never getting another crumb of affection in his life.  He’s simply wasting away in a hole in the ground and if he doesn’t do something to win his partner back he’s never going to see them again.

His brothers preemptively tell him to not blow up their phone.

So, Leo falls back on his competitive nature.  He’s totally not jealous!  He has his own stuff to do, y’know.  Absence, heart, fondness, etc.  Besides, he’d probably just make all his s/o’s friends jealous when they saw how in-sync they are.  Honestly, he’s doing them all a favor.  Probably took his partner’s friends, like, two hours to get their vibes sorted out this morning and the last thing they need is for someone to knock them out of alignment.  Perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with his brothers anyways; surely they’ve missed him, as he’s been spending so much time being a doting boyfriend lately.

Finally, Leo tires himself out and resorts to moping around looking miserable.  Because he is!  His s/o cares not for him.  They’re going to get distracted topside living such a carefree life and he’s going to rot in a sewer because he’s “not supposed to be walking around in broad daylight” or something.

He recovers, eventually, after his s/o returns to give him 2x their usual attention as compensation.  Not without extravagant complaint, of course.

~~~

Raphael tries to act like he’s not bothered.  Poor Raphael fails to act like he’s not bothered.  Whereas his katana-wielding brother’s kicked puppy act is a bit overdramatized, his is 100% genuine and honestly pretty hard to watch.  His family loves his s/o--adores them, even--and that’s exactly what he wanted right up until it felt like his brothers started preferring them over him.

And it really was great at first!  Raph hadn’t figured his family would be that enthusiastic about meeting his s/o, but he wasn’t about to keep them from tripping over themselves until they just... didn’t stop.  Feeling invisible kind of sucked, but what was worse ended up being the feeling that maybe they’re all completely normal and he’s the one not doing enough.  His brothers are trying so hard to make his s/o happy, and all Raph is doing is getting jealous?  Why is he not doing more?

Raph finally caves and spills his guts, after working himself up into an entirely unnecessary state of mental anguish.  His brothers admit that maybe, maybe they got a little carried away trying to make Raph’s s/o feel like part of the family.  It’s just that none of them have had a serious partner before, and he’s the most likely to fulfill Splinter’s dream of grandchildren; preferably rodents, but whatever they can bring home is fine.  Hence, everyone is a bit too invested in keeping Raph’s s/o around.

~~~

Unfortunately, Donatello swings wildly between standoffishness and turning the whole situation into a personal challenge.  One minute, he’s holed up in his room working on a relatively useless project he’s become freakishly invested in.  The next, all he’s focused on is the fact that his s/o used their own VPN when he is literally right there.  That is his partner messing around in his wheelhouse--and the fact that it’s just as good as anything he could do somehow makes him feel worse.  If he’s not quantifiably useful to them, what are they going to stick around for?  His personality?

Are they mad at him, tired of being around him?  If he brings it up, is he being petty?  If he doesn’t bring it up, will it snowball into more problems?  They’d tell him if something was wrong, surely, they’ve promised him over and over again, but he can’t help but think something’s about to go horribly wrong.

(At some point, Donnie’s s/o gets wind of the situation and gently reminds him of how bitterly he’d complained about his workload not one week prior to the whole situation.)

~~~

Michelangelo knows he needs to be supportive, knows his s/o’s life doesn’t revolve around him, but it really doesn’t help when they’re off on a school trip having a blast with all their school friends.  There’s a whole chunk of their life he doesn’t really get to be a part of, and it kinda stings.

So he tries to occupy himself with happier thoughts.  Mikey daydreams of how things would be if he could join them; he’d dial up the charm until all his s/o’s friends were his friends too, one big gaggle of high schoolers laughing and tripping their way through to graduation.  The way school’s supposed to be, he figures.  And of course, he and his s/o would be that couple, the freshman couple everyone still sees together senior year and thinks are they made for each other or WHAT?

But when Mikey’s vibes are a bit off, everyone’s vibes are a bit off, and his s/o wises up fairly quickly.  He doesn’t deny anything when they ask, just lays it all out on the table as disarmingly as ever.  Sure, he’s a bit jealous of some parts of their life, but he can be happy for them at the same time.  It’s nothing he’d get resentful over, after all.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Steven Universe - How the show fails to handle emotion, irrationality, and trauma

I have a better understanding of why SU is the way it is now. Why it is very dramatic, and why the characters often act in ways that are entirely out of proportion

When making a critical post about the handling of Flame Princess in Adventure Time, /u/samhadj01 attributed part of the problem to be that Rebecca Sugar was responsible for Flame Princess’s conceptualizing, and wrote her and Finn the same way that she writes SU characters - in a heightened emotional state, where they are feeling the EXTREMES of their emotions at all times, yelling at the top of their voice when angry, crying their eyes out when sad, and hurting each other. The reddit user said this made it difficult for the writers to figure out where to take Flame Princess next.

I challenged this reddit post’s claim that Rebecca writing FP’s first episodes meant that the crew didn’t know what to do with her. There is a lot of oversight in the AT crew, and Rebecca was just one cog in the wheel, even if she was full of ideas that ended up getting used. If she came up with a bad idea it would be the responsibility of her colleagues to put it back on track, and I don’t even think FP’s initial portrayal is the problem - the issue is she was completely marginalized after the fact, and bizarrely rewritten to lose her early immaturity without there being enough progression into that new stage. Following this she was basically written out of the show, with the exception of when she’d be useful to show off another character’s development (Finn, PB, even Cinnamon Bun).  

WITH THAT BEING SAID, I thought Samhadj made a good point about SU.  

Rebecca Sugar always loved writing music into her stories because it was the purest form of expression. You can hear how much love she puts into her music. She wanted to create a show where she could really sell emotions, where she could fill it up with songs that the characters would sing to express themselves and their troubled feelings. She wanted all the characters to be expressive, emotional, angry. She wanted Steven to be a character that helps everyone else learn to deal with their emotions, much like how her brother Steven helped her, as she’s said before. 

The issue is that, in order to facilitate this, she would need to write characters who would BE in these conflicts, feel heightened emotions at all times. 

So Rebecca conceptualized the gem species. 

Even though they take the form of adults, the gems are incredibly stunted. They remain the same for thousands of years. They are not equipped to process emotional trauma, having lived in a society where you have to cover up all your flaws and feelings at the risk of being shattered.  The show follows several Crystal Gems who rebelled against this system, but still haven’t figured out what it means to be free from this systematic oppression. They’re trying to live peacefully, but they’re prisoners still, in their hearts. 

Steven is the catalyst for change that points out the things that upset them, and forces them to deal with their emotions. He acts as emotional support and encourages the crystal gems to grow.  Steven also has much growing up to do himself. He has to confront the truth about what it means to BE a crystal gem, to have inherited the gem of the person who started the revolution, and Steven over time learns how messed up everything is. He is overcome with the desire to fix it, while still learning about himself.  

Why is this sort of storytelling a problem?

For the characters to have heightened emotions all the time, it means they have to keep getting in conflicts that reveal these emotions. It is these conflicts that make the show feel overdramatic and edgy - how characters will lash out and hurt each other, all the time, because they had a bad day, or something reminded them of something that hurt them. 

More urgently, who they are lashing out against. While the Crystal Gems hurting each other in season 1 makes sense, it is when they start taking things out on Steven himself that things become straight up toxic. 

Steven has to bear the brunt of EVERYONE’s problems, AND his own. He chases after Pearl in “Rose’s Scabbard” and nearly falls to his death while she ignores him, he fights with Amethyst when she is insecure about Jasper, he has to deal with Ruby and Sapphire’s fighting. He has to deal with all the townies and their stupid conflicts as well, Lars and Sadie’s fighting, so on. And ON TOP OF ALL THIS, people are trying to kill him all the time!!!!! But he is getting absolutely no meaningful support, and this is obvious, because the show itself acknowledges this later on. 

You start to ask the question, is this even worth doing? The characters around Steven display incredible immaturity, and after a certain point, they stop feeling like heroes.  They feel like leeches who are taking advantage of a young boy. 

Things get RIDICULOUS in the final season. Even after the episodes where Amethyst acknowledged the shitty status quo of everyone leaning on him, Steven then has to deal with the emotional problems of the Diamonds themselves, who it turns out lashed out the entire GALAXY because they didn’t know how to talk about their feelings?! For millions of years?!?! To be turned around by one teenage boy, even after a revolution where many of their gems expressed why they were wrong???!!!  

I think it was these final episodes of Steven Universe that completely shattered any remaining suspension of disbelief about the diamonds.

I’m no alien to ancient, immortal characters in charge of millions demonstrating incredible immaturity. Look at Princess Bubblegum and Marceline. Marceline would lean closer to the Amethyst side of the spectrum where she lashes out against everyone, while PB would be on the Pearl or Diamonds side where she’d pretend to act all rational and coolheaded and then do something insanely bad like crash a wedding or manipulate children. Pretty yikes, even up to the finale.  However, the difference is that AT is a more lighthearted wacky show where immaturity can slide for jokes, and most of the issues these characters have are inward facing. They identify and work on their problems themselves, with some support but not much interference from outside. They also do NOT act crazy all the damn time, and have plenty of moments before, during, and after their development where they are fully supportive friends. I enjoyed learning more about these characters and their pasts, because the immaturity never broke my suspension of disbelief.

The DIAMONDS, on the other hand, never get any sort of character development. I was excited to learn more about their creation, and how they came to be these insanely powerful beings that controlled a fascist society where emotion is not allowed. Why is it this way? Why do they want to keep it like this?

We never find out. We just see Steven embarrassing White Diamond after she attempts to murder him, and then she immediately goes full 180 redemption. It makes no damn sense! 

Steven Universe Future attempts to address the issues with everyone Steven knows being emotionally dependent on him, but Future forgoes genuine themes about healing in favour of its edgy focus on how Steven has become “damaged”. 

I was shocked watching SU Future’s first few episodes. I was astounded that the show would deconstruct itself so thoroughly, and have Steven address the exact things that were on MY mind. He realised that he’d been used.

How ballsy is that for the show to have the protagonist literally tear it to pieces in the final few episodes? 

However, any hopes for Steven directly addressing these issues, communicating with his friends and HEALING were dashed about half way through, when he only kept escalating.  Steven got so outraged that he shattered Jasper, and attempted to kill White Diamond while also injuring himself. He started to see himself as a monster. He becomes a murderer. He turns into a kaiju at the end since that’s how his perception of himself is different.

I was really disappointed that the show had wasted its entire runtime to build this up. 

The emotion that Rebecca Sugar was trying to capture was Steven’s pain, anger, the disconnect he had with his friends.

Future did not spend ANY time in demonstrating that Steven’s friends were acknowledging his pain. In fact, quite the opposite - they kept dismissing all of his feelings about Ruby and Aquamarine, and Greg was revealed as The Literal Worst when he thought his perfectly normal conservative upbringing was way worse than Steven literally getting tortured by aliens every other day and having no friends or education.  When Steven has his breakdown, they all cROWD him and start yelling at him. They have absolutely no regard for Steven’s boundaries at all. It’s almost like Steven’s friends are P-zombies at this stage. 

I did not like how Steven was portrayed as a dangerous, out-of-control killer. It’s not just that he SAW himself as this - it’s literally what he was.  You can do bad things because of your trauma, but it won’t turn you into a monster. If you act like a monster, that is your responsibility. 

And then the series ends with the hug, but we do not see Steven’s actual healing process or reconnecting with his friends. We only get a brief goodbye episode. 

After watching Obsidian, I cannot help but compare these scenarios. Obsidian was about Marceline healing from her emotional trauma. It was still very much a part of her, but she was learning to recognise when it was damaging her life, and communicate with others about it. It’s about learning to accept your cracks.

If SU Future had been about dealing with trauma properly and healing, it could have been the best series on Cartoon Network, and fully redeemed the weaknesses of the original show. 

However, Rebecca and the SU crew decided to focus too much on Steven’s pain, and Future ended up exacerbating the issues of the show. 

[oliviaischillin1204]

flora and fauna

Pairings: Platonic Logince

Word Count: 3,879 words

Warnings: being tickled by plants and bugs

i realized that i don’t write nearly enough solo logince, so here’s these good good boys, featuring Logan being stuck, Roman being smug, and the Imagination just trying to defend herself

Logan didn’t know why he did the things he did.

Sure, when Roman suggested he and Logan take an ‘expedition’ into the Imagination so Logan could study and categorize the beings found there, it had seemed like an educational and fun activity for the two of them. But when they arrived, Logan found that the Imagination, while certainly entertaining, was largely as nonsensical as most of Roman’s creations. 

“These trees are growing despite the impossibly high acidity levels of the ground,” he rambled, making thorough notes in his pocket notepad as they trekked along the path. “And these flowers don’t seem to blossom according to any sort of seasonal pattern, Roman. What did you call their species?”

“I don’t know!” Roman replied cheerfully, hopping across a small stream that Logan was sure had not been there a moment ago. “That’s why you’re here.”

Logan blinked at him, incredulous. “You expect me to be able to completely create my own system of classification for the entire ecosystem of the imagination?”

“Yep!” Roman replied. “Because you’re smart enough to do it!”

His words made Logan sighed in fond exasperation. “With the impossible flora and unrelatic fauna you’ve cultivated here, this is going to be one of the most ridiculous tasks you’ve ever asked me to do.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “You better watch what you say around the Imagination, Teach. I don’t completely control her, you know. She has feelings.”

Now Logan snorted outright, his mirth increasing at the overdramatic look on Roman’s face.

“I’m going to ignore how preposterous the idea of a sentient ecosystem is,” he said, “and instead inform you that I don’t fear the Imagination. Nothing here can hurt me.”

He moved closer to a tree, inspecting its strange bark. Roman watched him with arms folded and a furrowed brow.

“The Imagination can’t hurt you,” he said slowly, “but it can still get revenge for your rudeness.”

Logan smirked, turning toward Roman. “And how would it do that?”

Roman shrugged. “Like that, probably.”

Suddenly Logan felt something wrapping around his upper chest, yanking him backwards until he hit the tree with a thud. He looked down, and found himself staring at a tangled mass of thick, green vines, wrapped around his chest right underneath his arms, and apparently keeping him attached to the tree.

He looked at Roman, eyes narrowed. “You did this.”

“I didn’t!” Roman insisted, holding his hands up defensively. “Honest to goodness, Teach, I’m not controlling this. Maybe you shouldn’t be so rude to the Imagination? I don’t think she likes it.”

Logan scoffed, tugging at the vines across his chest and finding them much sturdier than they looked. “Well, make her let me go, then. This isn’t funny.”

Roman hummed. “Well... maybe you’ll think it’s funny when she starts tickling you.”

That made Logan freeze in place, his hands locked around the vine he was attempting to pry off of him. He looked up at Roman.

“Excuse me?”

“Tickling you,” Roman repeated, a small smile growing on his face. “I think that’s what she’s planning on doing, anyway. She’s very playful like that.”

“That’s--” Logan cleared his throat, hoping to hide the slightly nervous tone of his voice. “That’s absurd, Roman. Why would she-- it-- the Imagination... do that to me?”

“Because you’re being rude, obviously!” Roman retorted. Logan was about to protest against that-- what’s so rude about making logical observations?-- but before he could speak the vines seemed to shift around him, more and more dropping from the tree’s high branches until there were several hanging loosely in the air in front of Logan.

He tugged at the band around his chest with a tad more urgency. No luck.

“Roman,” he warned. “Let me go, or--”

“Or what?” Roman challenged. He settled back on a large, cartoonish toadstool, watching with interest as the vines continued to move closer to Logan. “I don’t think you’re calling the shots here, Teach. Might as well just let it happen.”

Logan opened his mouth again, but clamped it shut as one lone vine, small and thin, hovered right in front of his face. He stared it down (or, as much as he could, considering it didn’t have eyes). The vines wiggled threateningly.

“Wait--”

The vine didn’t wait. Instead, it dove in to flutter rapidly all over Logan’s neck, making him gasp and struggle not to let out any laughter.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s very ticklish.” Logan craned his head to see Roman ‘whispering’ to a few vines close to him. “Yes, his laughter is very cute. I can’t wait to hear it, either!”

“Roman!” Logan hissed, a wobbly smile rising to his face despite his best efforts. “En-- enough-- no!”

He jerked his head to the side in a weak attempt to protect his ear, which the tiny vine was now targeting with vigor. Logan was so distracted by these smaller tickles, he failed to notice the other vines creeping closer, until--

“Ah!” One poked at his side.

“No!” Another traced along his hipline.

“W-- wait!” And yet another began fluttering just above his belly button.

“Yes, those are all his favorite spots!” Roman cheerfully confided in the vines. His eyes shifted to Logan. “Ready to apologize, Teach?”

Logan gritted his teeth. “Absolutely not.”

Roman shrugged, turning back to the vines with a wicked smile. “Have at it.”

Logan’s eyes widened, and before he could react, all of the vines dove in at once.

The one at his side began gently prodding up and down his torso, apparently searching for the most ticklish spot so it could focus all of its attention there. The one at his hip wrapped once around his entire hipline, and began rhythmically squeezing in just the right spots to make Logan curl his legs up as much as he could. And the one at his tummy switched from fluttering to full on scratching, especially at the small circle of pudge right around his belly button.

Logan couldn’t help it: he began laughing, loud and hard and giddy.

“No-hoho, not there! Stohohop!”

He batted at the vines as much as he could, but the restraint around his upper chest kept him from reaching them very well. Meanwhile, more and more vines creeped forward, until he was trying to fight off two, three, four vines at each one of his tickle spots.

“Nahahahahaha! Rohohohoho!” he cried out, stamping his feet to the ground. Unfortunately for him, the movement just served to draw attention to his legs, and a few vines darted down to squeeze and vibrate all over his thighs and knees.

From his position to the side, Roman flashed Logan a cheeky grin. “Better not cause a fuss, Logan. The more you fight it, the more she just wants to tickle-tickle-tickle you!”

Logan could barely hear him over his own laughter. He threw his head back against the tree, unable to stop himself as his bright peals of laughter echoed all around the forest. He realized it was pointless to try to fight off the vines, and so instead he settled for covering his face as much as he could.

“Hey, no hiding!” Roman scolded. “She wants to be able to see your smile!”

Sure enough, Logan began to feel the tiny vine creeping around to scratch just at the edge of his hands, on his cheeks and jawline. He giggled anew at the feeling, and managed to move one hand out quickly enough to push the vine away.

“Stohohop that!” he insisted through his laughter.

To his surprise, the tickling stopped, and he greedily took in deep breaths. He glanced at Roman, who was watching him with a purely diabolical look on his face.

“Someone’s in trouble,” he cooed. Logan didn’t have the chance to ask what he meant-- although the flipping feeling in his stomach made him worry that he already knew.

After a moment, Logan began to feel the vines around his chest moving, pulling away from their previous position. He felt a surprised gratitude for about half a second, until all of a sudden the vines split into two ropes, both of which crawled upwards and wrapped around each of his arms.

The whole thing happened in less than a second. Logan tugged at his arms, and realized that they were now practically mummified to the tree above him, leaving his entire torso open for tickles.

“Oh, better watch out, L!” Roman chirped. “I think she wants to play with your armpits now!”

Sure enough, Logan felt two wiggling stems prodding at the bottom of his pit, just above his highest ribs. He giggled; he hadn’t realized how much those vines were protecting him, and he wished more than anything that he could close off the vulnerable spot.

“I hope she doesn’t find out that she can crawl through your short sleeves to tickle your bare underarms,” Roman pondered aloud, inspecting his nails. At Logan’s affronted noise, he looked up with a face full of faux-innocence. “Oh, should I not have said that?”

“I hate yohohohou!” Logan’s words were lost to a fit of frantic giggles as the two vines easily did what Roman suggested. They slid up and through his short sleeves until they were able to stroke and scratch all over his bare skin, and Logan couldn’t help the violent explosion of giggles that escaped his mouth at the tickly feeling.

“Nohoho! Get out of thehehehere!”

The vines didn’t listen, and to Logan’s distress a few more returned to their previous positions, wiggling all over his torso without being blocked by his restraints. A few of the smaller ones even darted upwards to thread themselves through Logan’s shirt sleeves, relishing in the fact that they could now tickle Logan’s bare midriff.

Meanwhile, Roman was clearly enjoying watching Logan get tickled, and decided to help by making up for what the Imagination lacked: verbal teasing.

“Oh, is she going for your ribbies, L? It’s a good thing you’re all tied up with nowhere to go, because she’s not particularly great at counting. Just try not to wiggle too much, okay? We don’t want to mess her up-- Uh oh, was that a snort? Little Logi has some snorties when the Imagination tickles his tummy? Ooh, I wonder if she can make you make that noise again. It makes you sound even cuter than you already are!”

“Stohohohop!” Logan insisted, although it was impossible to know if he was talking to Roman or the Imagination. Either way, Roman gave a dramatic sigh of displeasure.

“I’m surprised at you, Logan. It’d be just so easy for you to take your punishment without complaining, yet you still insist on disparaging the Imagination? You’re lucky you’re not getting tickled even worse than you already are.”

Logan’s blush deepened further. “Shut uhuhup!”

“And you’re still being completely rude! I think you’re gonna be here a while, huh?”

A precise pinch just above Logan’s knee made a small shriek escape his mouth, his leg kicking uselessly out in front of him.

"Rohohohman!"

Roman smirked. "Maybe if you ask the Imagination nicely, she’ll let you go.”

"Nohohoho!" Logan squealed as the small vine brushed against his ear yet again, this time teasing the sensitive spot right behind his earlobe.

"Still no, huh? If you insist.”

Roman abruptly stood up, marching over to Logan and gently urging the tickling vines away from him. As the logical side slumped against his remaining restraints, he eyed Roman warily, especially as the creative side moved closer to inspect a nearby bunch of plants.

“Actually, I think the Imagination brought some friends in to help her,” he said conspiratorially, cupping his hands around something in the bush and moving back towards Logan. Logan leaned forward, still curious despite his current situation.

In the middle of Roman’s palm sat three brightly colored bugs that looked similar to caterpillars. Two of them were about two or three inches long, while one was easily less than an inch big.

“These are called song worms,” Roman announced proudly, “thus named for the way they survive solely on a diet of melodious music. They have very particular taste-- nothing too harsh, or else it’s bitter, and nothing too quiet, or else it’s bland. Recently, though, I realized that music isn't all they like to listen to. And once they hear something they like, it can be... very tricky to persuade them to leave it alone."

He shoved the wriggling mass in his hand underneath Logan’s nose, forcing him to take in their fat, fuzzy bodies and tiny, scurrying legs.

"What do you think it'll feel like once these little guys get to crawl all over your tummy?”

Logan gasped, eyes going wide, and immediately started shaking his head.

"No, no--"

Roman hummed, pulling his hand back and letting the worms crawl across his knuckles. “Do you think it'll tickle more or less than the vines?”

"Roman, please,” Logan interjected, “please, I'm begging, alright? Please let me go, please stop t-- ti-- tickling me!"

"Oh sure, of course, Specs!” Roman said agreeably. “No problem. Just say you're sorry."

Logan froze, staring at Roman in disbelief. "What?"

"Say you're sorry for disrespecting the Imagination,” Roman continued. “It's that easy."

He shrugged, giving Logan an innocent smile, and the logical side felt himself growing defensive.

“I was not disrespecting the Imagination,” he insisted. Roman tsked.

“Calling the flora ‘impossible’ and the fauna ‘unrealistic’?” he said. “That sounds pretty disrespectful to me, Teach. Just apologize for being rude, and I’ll let you go.”

If Logan had been wiser, he would’ve apologized. Unfortunately for him, his stubbornness completely took over.

"I won't apologize for speaking logical truths!"

"Suit yourself."

And with that, Roman tugged slightly at Logan's tie, pulling his shirt collar away from his neck, and dropped all three of the song worms down the front of his shirt.

Logan went ballistic.

"Nohohohoho!" erupted from his mouth as soon as the fuzzy worms made contact with his skin. He jerked forward as far as possible in a desperate attempt to curl in on himself, but all he succeeded in doing was jostling the worms further until they all fell down his torso-- brushing against his chest, ribs, sides, and stomach the whole way down-- to the bottom of Logan's tucked-in shirt. There, they finally righted themselves, and each began a slow crawl up Logan’s lower tummy.

“Nohoho-- ohohoho my God---”

If he weren’t tied to a tree, there’s no way Logan could’ve stayed upright. The worms didn’t just tickle, they were torturous; each one managed to wiggle and explore at a maddeningly slow pace along Logan’s tummy, and their fuzzy bodies coupled with their delicate legs made him feel a level of ticklishness he’d never experienced before.

“Oh, I think they like you!” Roman cooed from his position seated on a nearby log. “Your laughter must be absolutely delicious to them!”

“Take them out, take them out, take them out!” Logan screamed. Roman only laughed.

“Ready to apologize?” he asked. “’Cause if not, we can stay here for a while. All night, maybe! Just you, and me, and the three little worms snacking on your yummy tummy laughter. How long do you think you could stand it?”

As Roman teased him, one of the worms began crawling up the side of Logan’s hip until it reached the divot at his natural waistline. Logan cackled, bouncing up and down as much as he could in his position.

“Not there! Not there!”

“Ooh, bad spot?” Roman asked gleefully. “I think you’re in trouble, L. That noise you just made was way too cute to not hear again, and I think my worm friends agree!”

True to Roman’s words, the worm on Logan’s side paused for just a moment after it initially touched Logan’s tickle spot, but after a few seconds of hearing his cackling laughter, the bug began parading around and around the spot in a tight circle, scribbling its soft legs over the skin as much as it could. Logan wheezed, his body lurching in the other direction, but it wasn’t long before he was met with a second worm giving him the exact same tickle attack on his other side.

Roman laughed outright at the way Logan began jerking his hips back and forth in a frantic attempt to dislodge the tickles. “Aw, are you dancing, Logan? I’m sure those hungry worms are delighted by the show they’re getting with their dinner!”

“Plehehehehease-- make them stop!” Logan screeched, smile about ready to split his face. Roman stood up, walking slowly over to Logan with his hands behind his back.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll stop anytime now,” he said conversationally. “I mean, all they want is some food!”

His tone turned a little more teasy as he stepped closer to coo in Logan’s ear, “And maybe they’re right. It is dinner time, isn’t it? I think I’m gonna head back to the Mind Palace for some supper, okay, Logan?”

Although it was hard to hear him over Logan’s laughter, the logical side managed to understand exactly what Roman was threatening. “Dohohohohon’t leheheave me hehehere!”

Roman smiled, and lifted a hand to pat Logan’s cheek condescendingly, giving him a quick scratch under his jaw as he did so. “Don’t worry, I’ll check back on you when I’m done eating! It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”

With that, Roman turned on his heel to leave, and Logan’s stomach swooped at the thought of being left alone, tied up and tickled mercilessly, with no one there to save him. He opened his mouth to protest, and--

And an ear piercing shriek escaped from his mouth.

In his peripheral, he saw Roman freeze on the spot, but Logan could hardly see him through the tears of mirth springing to his eyes. While the two larger worms had been getting acquainted with Logan’s sides, the smallest one had been curiously skittering all over Logan’s tummy with no rhyme or reason, leaving ticklish sensations all over his skin. However, it appeared that the worm had found somewhere very interesting to investigate: a strange, small hole in the middle of its new food source. The worm paused, its interest piqued, and without further ado dove headfirst into Logan’s belly button.

“Nohohohohoho!” Logan wailed, his entire body thrashing under the ticklish barrage. The worm in his belly button decided to curl up, warm and cozy in its new hiding spot, and its fuzz was now stroking every inch of the inner walls of Logan’s belly button.

Logan hadn’t even realized what he was saying through his screams of laughter, but after a few moments of babbling he finally realized his lips were moving with the words, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Before he could react, Roman was next to him, yanking his shirt out from his pants and causing all three worms to lose their grip and fall to the ground. They scurried away, no longer interested in Logan now that they’d gotten their fill of his laughter.

“Are you okay?” Roman asked. He lifted his hand to tug at Logan’s restraints, but before he could even touch them, they released Logan from his standing position and allowed him to crumple into Roman’s waiting arms.

“Ohohoho-- oh my gohohosh,” Logan panted as Roman eased him down to the ground. He wrapped his arms around himself as he caught his breath, trying to rub away the phantom sensations of the bugs on his skin. “That wahahas-- evil.”

Roman looked appropriately guilty. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t actually going to leave you alone, I was going to watch from the other side of the tree. I didn’t realize they’d tickle you quite so badly.”

Logan blushed, a flustered smile still on his face from all of the tickles. “Yehes, well... I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t let me go.”

Roman sat back on his haunches, looking around them pensively. “Actually, I think you have someone else to thank for that. Or, rather, something else.”

A tap on Logan’s shoulder made him jump, but as he turned to find the source of the touch, he found himself face to face with the tip of one of the vines that had tickled him earlier. As Logan took in the sight, the vine bobbed up and down, as if waving at him.

“Oh!” Logan said in light surprise. He cast a quick glance at Roman, who nodded at him in encouragement. He turned back to the vine, and waved back. “Um, hello there, little one.”

The vine wiggled happily, stretching forward to bump against Logan’s palm in what was almost a handshake. Roman beamed.

“See!” he said, bouncing in place. “She’s really friendly, aren’t you, pretty plant?” He reached forward to stroke the vine, whose reaction to him was much more familiar than her interaction with Logan had been.

“Very friendly,” Logan replied. “Even though she thinks torturing me is merely a fun game.”

He had meant the comment in jest, but the vine seemed to sag at his words. Before he could apologize, however, she took off into the tree and quickly returned with a small bulbous flower, the exact shade of Logan’s tie.

“I think she’s trying to say sorry,” Roma supplied helpfully. “I mean, she’s the one who undid your restraints when the tickles got to be too much, not me.”

The vine edged closer to Logan, shyly offering him the flower. Logan took it, and after a moment awkwardly patted the vine on her ‘head’.

“Erm-- thank you,” he replied. “And... I’m sorry that I called you impossible, and unrealistic, and... everything else I said. It’s not your job to make sense, and I shouldn’t have insulted you for it. I’m sorry.”

In a flash, the vine was wrapping around his wrist, just tight enough to not be painful. Her tip began to rub against Logan’s hand, tracing the lines of his palm, and Logan was hit with a strange urge to coo at it.

“Do you think,” he started suddenly, turning to Roman, “we can come back tomorrow? After today’s events, I’m, very curious about the environment here and would like to study it further, such how its sentience manages to transfer between organisms, and--”

“And maybe someone might want to get tickled again, now that he and the Imagination are best friends?” Roman asked. He laughed at the way Logan’s blushed deepened again, until the vine unwrapped herself from his wrist and darted to poke Roman in the side.

“Ah!” he squeaked, gently batting her away. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing, I’m sorry.”

Logan smirked. “I suppose that explains why you know so much about the Imagination’s tendency towards tickling?”

Roman blushed, shoving Logan’s arm. “Shut up, Specs.” He heaved himself off the ground, and after helping Logan up, the two began making their way back to the door of Roman’s room.

“Bye, Imagination!” Roman called over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow!”

As Logan followed him, a small vine waved at him out of the corner of his eye. He smiled, waving back. Perhaps there were worse things to be than ‘impossible’. In fact, Logan realized, the impossible things just make life that much more fun.

[inadaydream99]

hello💕 can I request a stray kids reaction when other members see you cuddling? fluff? I hope you know what I mean jshsj thanks🥺

Hey, thank you for sending in a request! I hope you enjoy reading this 😁

Chan

It’s not unusual to find yourself laying across the sofa cuddling your boyfriend. In fact, it’s a regular occurrence. But even still, it doesn’t stop the complaints and whines from the other members to stop being so mushy in front of everyone.

You are both minding your own business when Seungmin walks into the living room and instantly lets out a noise of disgust upon seeing you and Chan cuddled up together. The act itself is completely innocent, but Seungmin can’t hold back his distaste of the constant need for you to be touching in some way. If it’s not cuddling, it’s holding hands, or Chan’s arm wrapped around your waist and so on.

“What’s wrong Seungmin?” You question innocently, lifiting your head slightly off of chans chest to meet eyes with the younger boy.

“Can’t you cuddle somewhere less public?” Seungmin asks in a slightly blunt manner, a sad look on your face as you look at Chan who gives you a reluctant smile before answering Seungmin.

“Sure.” Chan simply reply’s as you both sit up and move apart. You look over to see Seungmin’s reaction, his eyes slightly wide in shock. He felt kind of bad, not actually thinking you would stop cuddling because of him.

After a while, Seungmin stands up, heading out of the room. Before he leaves he turns to face you and Chan who are still sat on the sofa separately, looking slightly awkward. Seungmin makes eye contact with you, sending you a subtly nod and smile to let you know he was leaving. You return the gesture before resuming your cuddling session, a content smile on you face from being alone once again.

Woojin

“You don’t have to constantly be on top of each other.” Your eyes widen in surprise upon hearing Minho’s sassy remark, the others snickering in responce.

You feel Woojin’s arm tighten around you, keeping you close as he senses your thoughts of moving away.

After the first remark, the others joined in, a flood of jokes aimed your way about having too much PDA even though you and Woojin are just cuddling. It’s pretty causal, you’re not exactly on top of each other like Minho’s first joke.

You don’t respond, silenced by your embarrassment. But Woojin, however, is visibly getting irritated as the comments continue.

Usually when you cuddle with your boyfriend no one draws any attention to it, but Minho had opened the flood gates to this simple act of affection and gave the younger members a chance to mock Woojin.

“Alright! That’s enough now.” Woojin aggressively spits, eyeing everyone as their faces suddenly become subdued and quiet. You look up to see your boyfriend’s expression, his eyes filled with rage sending fear into everyone.

“Woojin it’s ok, it’s just some lighthearted jokes. It’s not stopping us from actually cuddling.” You softly speak as you gaze up at your boyfriend, trying to get his anger to disappear.

Seeing your calm responce to the now slightly awkward situation made Woojin sigh in defeat, his features softening as he looks at you.

Minho

What started off as you and Minho cuddling together in his room turned into you attacking Jisung with pillows for interrupting your quiet time and then proceeding to annoy you both because he is jealous that Minho never shows him affection like that.

“If I want to cuddle my girlfriend then I will.” Minho laughs as his pillow smacks Jisung in the face, the younger dramatically falling into the floor and whining in pain even though it didn’t hurt him in the slightest.

You stand next to Minho with a smirk that matches his, looking down at Jisung who lays defeated on the floor.

“I don’t think he will be interrupting our cuddles any more.” You laugh as Minho grabs you by the waist and pulls you with him as he falls back onto the bed behind, clutching you to his chest tightly.

Changbin

“Do I look like I care?” Changbin throws his head back in laughter at your remark towards Felix after he complained that you guys are always cuddling around everyone.

You have a triumphant smirk on your face as Felix rolls his eyes in responce and slumps onto the sofa beside you both.

“I just think you could maybe do that in your own time.” Felix mumbles grumpily under his breath, still loud enough for you to hear it.

“This is our own time, you’re intruding.” Changbin challenges with a raised brow and cheeky grin.

Throughout this whole conversation your cuddling never stops. In fact, you make more of a conscious effort to be obvious about it, your head resting on Changbin’s chest and your hands playing with his in your lap.

Hyunjin

You were currently fighting the bright red blush that covered your face, curling into your boyfriend to hide from the attention that has been directed in your direction.

You see, you and Hyunjin rarely had any sort of PDA in front of the guys, both of you preferring to keep it private as you didn’t get much time to be together.

So when you are found cuddling on the sofa, everyone took the opportunity to point it out and make a big deal over a very simple act.

“Leave us alone!” Hyunjin playfully exclaims as his arms tighten around you protectively. His overdramatic facial expressions sending everyone into laughter.

You finally lift your head up and begin to move out of Hyunjin’s embrace but fail when a loud whine emits from him in responce.

“Don’t let the comments ruin our cuddle!” Hyunjin complains like a child. You chuckle at your boyfriend, finding his behaviour very endearing, before settling back down next to him, your arms wrapped around his torso and a content smile across your lips.

Jisung

Cuddling is an everyday occurrence between you and Jisung. Your boyfriend doesn’t really care if there is people in the room or not, if he wants your attention then he is going to get it.

You are currently talking to Jeongin, laughing as he tells you about Hyunjin falling and hurting himself because he got too cocky whilst practicing earlier in the day.

It doesn’t normally bother Jisung when you give attention to the guys, knowing that you are friends with them all. But when he wants your attention and you ignore him, that’s when he becomes jealous and possessive.

Coming up behind you, he places his chin on your shoulder and snakes his arms around you waist, his hold firm in order to make his presence known. But you don’t bat an eyelid in his direction, your conversation with Jeongin unfaltering.

After a while of not being acknowledged, he decides to up his antics. Beginning to nussle his nose into the crook of your neck, a smirk appears on his lips as he sees the goosebumps appear on your skin in the wake of his breath.

“Ugh, can’t you wait until you’re alone? We are tying to have a conversation, it’s disgusting.” Jeongin snaps at the elder boy, resulting in Jisung to lift his head and send a warning look.

“Thanks for sharing your opinion, it’s a shame I don’t care.” Jisung retorts earning a snicker from you in responce. He feels pride swell in his chest upon getting a reaction out of you which urges him to continue with his attention seeking.

Finally, Jeongin leaves and you turn your attention into Jisung. As you meet his eyes you hold back a laugh from seeing the mischief they hold as he finally gets what he wanted: your undivided attention.

Felix

“That is not my problem.” Felix sasses earning a laugh from you. It’s not often that he is that openly sassy, but when he is it’s highly amusing.

You have been hanging out in the kitchen with your boyfriend and have somehow moved from baking to standing in each other’s embrace, your arms around his neck and his around your waist securely, surrounded by the mess.

Your moment of tranquility is ruined by Woojin entering the kitchen and making a comment about people wanting to eat and not be put off by your sickly affection.

As you advert your gaze to see Woojin’s reaction you feel Fleix’s hands squeeze your waist making you jump in surprise. He stifles a giggle at your reaction and turns to look intriguingly at Woojin who just rolls his eyes before leaving the room.

“Come on, let’s go and annoy him some more.” You say as you give your boyfriend an evil look before taking one of his hands from your waist and dragging him into the next room.

Seungmin

It’s been a long day at work and the only thing that has gotten you through it is knowing you could cuddle with Seungmin after.

It was all nice and cozy, your limbs intertwined with your boyfriend’s as you cuddle on his bed. The room completely silent apart from your breathing and the occational sounds of quick kisses that Seungmin has been planting all over your face.

Your little world comes shattering down when Changbin enters the room and lets out a disgruntled noise. Your head lifiting to shoot him a look of displeasure at the interuptance.

“Look, it’s sweet that you guys are cuddling but can you just stop the other stuff while there is other people in the room?” Changbin casually asks, trying to come across as reasonable as possible even though he can already predict the responce he will get.

“If you don’t like it then maybe you should leave.” Seungmin mocks, an irritaitingly cheeky smile of his face.

You sigh loudly before pulling away from your boyfriend and sitting up on the bed, your hands resting on either side of you to hold you up. Seungmin takes your hand in his and plays with your fingers as he continues to lay down, a pout on his face at you moving.

“Now you’ve ruined our moment, I hope you’re happy.” Seungmin complains as Changbin laughs while leaving the room once again.

Jeongin

“But I need affection to survive.” Jeongin complains cutely, the most adorable expression he can pull on his face as he looks around the room. You giggle and pinch his cheek, cooing at how adorable your boyfriend is.

All the guys laugh at watching you baby Jeongin, his cheeks flaming red with embarrassment before swatting your hand away and lowering his head to try and hide his face.

His whines are a result of the guys finding you cuddling together, their teasing of the youngest uncontrollable as they see him loving the affection from the innocent act.

“I though you needed affection?” You chuckle at the shyness it has caused him, only laughing louder when he peeks up at you through his lashes with a look begging you to stop.

You were relishing the moment, loving this side to Jeongin. It’s completely opposite to his usually cheeky and mischievous antics towards everyone.

You move to rest your head on his shoulder, snuggling into his side as much as you can not caring about the teasing you both recieve. Jeongin doesn’t make any attempt to accept your cuddle, but you know that if you were alone he would, he just doesn’t want to look soppy in front of the members.

[verannaca]

(One Last) Chance.

whoa, another fic?? someone better stop me

anyway, when i was writing Some Things Change, i’d had this overwhelming urge to delve further into everyone’s feelings and reactions, as disney has a tendency to half-ass human emotion?? there are consequences for actions; this is known. i wanted to explore consequences and how they’re dealt with - delving into Anna and Elsa like this isn’t something I’ve done before, but it was fun. hopefully it’s well done :’)

i’m definitely an anna fan (not just because we have the same weird name); she’s a character that helped me on a personal level when i was in a time of need. i’ve never really related to nor liked Elsa but i do try really hard to understand her perspective, and i like her more now that i’ve explored her character.

this fic is very pro Anna and Elsa! it does not favour one or the other. that said, if you are an Elsanna shipper, leave. This is strictly platonic and sisterly and i don’t want y’all fucking it up lol

Warnings - this fic contains: characters with ptsd, emotional trauma, mentions of neglect including child neglect, mentions of panic attacks, detailed anxiety attacks, mentions of severe loss/death, and details of grief. I know these warnings sometimes sound ridiculously intense compared to what the story really is, but i’d rather be overdramatic than underdramatic. (fic is about double the length of the last one, and it takes place after the events of Frozen2, so this is your spoiler warning??)

Also, I can’t believe the feedback on my last story?? i’m so pleased :’) anyway, i’ll shut up now. enjoy.

Anna had been Queen for a few weeks, but those weeks hadn't been peaceful. She had so much to say, and never the time to say it. Until, one night, it all comes out, and suddenly, Elsa is faced with a horrible reality: her sister isn't okay.

XXX

All she could hear was the sound of ice cracking and shifting. The sounds echoed throughout the ancient glacier; it was deafening. Only barely could the sound of footsteps be heard as she made her way across the ice. She knew it was too late. She was shivering; terrified— she'd never felt the cold before. Her hands were so cold, she could barely move her fingers. Her hair had turned white and her skin was beginning to frost over. Is this the end? 

She had to do this. It's what's right. It has to be. This voice had been calling her for months; it was time to find out the truth. She could've told her sister. She should have told her sister. But she was afraid of frightening her. Afraid of bringing more trouble into her life. 

That didn't work. Anna had to know these things. She had to. She couldn't function otherwise. Her anxiety wouldn't allow it. Elsa knew this, and yet, she kept another secret. 

It would've been fine—Anna was understanding. It all would have worked out, but then Elsa did the unthinkable.

She pushed Anna away. 

Again. 

That was the last time they'd seen each other. They'd fought; Anna was desperate to protect her sister, and in the heat of the moment, Elsa was unable to communicate clearly. She couldn't explain that Anna couldn't come with. That it required magic; that it was dangerous. No. If Anna knew that it was dangerous, she definitely wouldn't have let Elsa go. 

But Elsa needed answers. And now, she was alone. Unable to communicate with the living. She was freezing; dying; alone. Her guilt became overwhelming when she realised that she wasn't going to return to her sister. She had found what she was searching for, yes, but was this sacrifice worth it? 

She couldn't move. It was dark, and so cold. Her legs were frozen; the ice was spreading up her body. Her hand froze in place; with her free one, she called out her sister's name and sent her an important piece of the past. 

And then, she was gone. Frozen solid. Breathless. Dead. 

The look of horror on her face was something that could never be unseen. This wasn't supposed to happen. She promised. 

The glacier was still loud; the sounds of the ice became haunting. It was overwhelming. The voice of the siren that called to her began to fade back in, but that peaceful call turned into a scream. A loud, high-pitched scream. 

A male voice faded in; “Anna! It's okay! You're dreaming!” 

Anna’s eyes shot open and she bolted upright, gasping for air. There was a faint squeak in her voice with each breath she took. She was quickly wrapped in a tight embrace—this wasn't the first time she’d woken up like this. Kristoff had barely been sleeping these days; he'd hold her until she was asleep, then he'd watch her for hours. 

Three years they'd been together, and he'd never seen her so distraught. They talked about this recurring nightmare of hers—there were two of them, set in two different caves. 

She didn't know how she knew that Elsa suffered a similar fate that she herself did three years ago, but she knew. She knew in the moment; she felt it. She knew her sister died alone; that she'd experienced something so intense; something she could have never imagined. And Anna was devastated. It gutted her. All she wanted to do—all she'd ever tried to do was protect her sister. And she failed. 

Elsa was alive. She was okay— she'd found herself. She had decided a few weeks ago to stay in Northuldra; she felt more at home there. Anna was happy for her sister, and more than understanding. She wished her all the best, and spoke to her often. 

But what Anna always failed to mention or show was how angry she was. 

Her fiancé knew. He had to hear all of it, all the time. He wanted to listen, though. He wanted to help her cope. It was important to him. He'd always put her first; to her, he felt like the first person to truly see her. To truly see and hear Anna. 

She'd always been kept in the dark. She was always the last to know about anything and everything. It stung, badly, especially when she discovered her parents met their demise because they were searching for answers about Elsa's abilities—yet another thing that they failed to tell their youngest daughter. 

Anna wasn't selfish. The exact opposite. She put everyone else before her. Always. When they found the shipwreck; when Elsa pulled up those memories, Anna was devastated for her sister. She knew how agonising it must have felt. 

But Anna needed care, too. Those were her parents, too. And their last thoughts; their last exchange was about Elsa. 

It hurt. It hurt more than she would've liked. And even after such a tragic discovery, Anna couldn't resonate with her sister. No, Elsa had to push her away, and Anna found herself alone again. 

And god, was she angry. She had never been so angry. 

How could she be left alone? After everything? Why would Elsa do such a thing?

It was in that cave that Anna hit her low. The lowest she had ever felt. She'd never felt so helpless; so pained. She was reprocessing the loss of her parents; she was trying to not be angry at them, but it was difficult. They left her with nothing. Then, she had to process the loss of Elsa. Her sister; her universe; her other half. The only person that mattered. And that thought hurt her in a different way. What about Kristoff? He mattered; he was her best friend, and she left him behind. And Olaf—the only good thing from her childhood; her last beacon of hope and light was gone. Because of Elsa's decisions. 

Anger. A high level of anger that she couldn't seem to get past. 

To add to it? She had no home to return to. She knew she had to break the dam; she knew her kingdom would most likely be wiped out. 

She cried alone in that cave all night. She clung on tight to the satchel that contained her mother's scarf and what remained of her frozen friend, and she cried. She grieved. She may have slept at some point, but her dreams seemed to fade into reality. Nothing felt real. Nothing felt right. 

And it was in that cave that Anna realised: she was worth fighting for. Yes; Anna was valid. Anna was worthy. Anna would be okay in time. She was more than a spare. She had to see that for herself. She had to stand for herself; trying to put motivation behind destroying her home was impossible. She couldn't get up for that. 

No. She had to get up for Anna. Because Anna deserved better. 

And so, she did. It was too much to handle at times; she fell over her own feet as she struggled to step. But she managed. She found her way out of the cave and tried to do the next right thing. 

She never told Kristoff that she had contemplated her life. He didn't need to know. She was reckless; challenging death. She needed to see how close she could get. It was when she almost didn't stick the landing as she leaped off the falling dam that she realised she didn't want to die. 

Mattias had saved her. And then, she was safe in her lover's arms. 

Just as she was right now. In her bed, in her bedroom, in the home that wasn't destroyed, being held by the person she loved the most, and although her heart was beating too fast and her palms were sweaty, she did feel safe. 

It was just a nightmare. 

They stayed in silence for a while; they'd already discussed these events to the point where Kristoff was beginning to have the same nightmares. But his were about Anna being alone in that cave. He loved Elsa, truly, but he knew Anna was the one who had really suffered. 

So, he held her. He held her until she fell asleep, then he laid her down and held her until the sun came up. 

It was Friday. Kristoff had guided Anna through the morning and early afternoon; he was worried about her well-being. They'd agreed to be completely open with each other, and Anna was able to talk about her deepest darkest feelings, fears, and secrets, and not feel like prey. Elsa was coming that evening for their typical weekly catch-up and game night. The first few times, Anna had been excited to see her sister. They both had so much to share. But Anna was tired now, and Elsa was a reminder of her pain. 

She didn't let it affect their evening. She wouldn't ever dream of making Elsa feel anything negative. She understood. 

But sometimes, she wished Elsa paid more attention to her feelings. She wished her sister could be as loving as attentive as Anna was for her. Sadly, that just wasn't the case. 

It had been storming all day, typical for this time of year. Anna and Kristoff had met Elsa just outside the gates, as they usually did. She greeted them both with pleasant hugs and greetings, excited to see them. Time flew by for her in the forest; the weeks felt like they lasted only a day. 

It was during their reunion that Elsa made a quick comment; “let's get you both inside before you freeze to death!” 

It was a half-hearted joke; a casual comment; completely harmless. Kristoff only noticed enough to chuckle; he and Anna were definitely cold, while Elsa wasn't even wearing proper shoes. The cold truly didn't bother her. 

Anna wasn't so amused. In fact, the comment triggered something in her brain that made her scowl at her sister. Elsa was oblivious as she made her way to the castle, linking arms with the new queen as she walked. Anna forced a smile and went alongside her—now is not the time for a fight. It was just a comment; it was harmless. 

It was careless. 

As they'd began to warm up and make their way down the great hall, a light conversation had begun, though Anna barely said a word. 

Freeze to death. 

She pictured Elsa alone in that cave, turning to ice as life left her body. She pictured herself fighting through a nasty storm before she too froze solid. It sent a shiver down her spine. She could still feel that cold, even after three years. She remembered the sensation in her chest as she began to froze; she felt the ice burst in her heart before the world went black.

There was nothing funny or casual about freezing to death. 

“Are you going to talk to me, or are we already playing charades?” 

Another joke. It was light; pleasant. Anna looked at her sister, who had a warm gaze in her eyes, and a light smile across her face. But that smile faded when she felt the chill in Anna's stare. They slowly stopped walking and stood still, staring at each other. 

“Is everything all right?” Elsa was concerned—she’d realised then just how exhausted her little sister looked. She was beautiful and made-up; her rich auburn hair was neatly tied in a bun, and although she wore no makeup (she never did), her eyes did seem bright and alert. But they were also very tired. Elsa tried to keep the mood light; “it's exhausting being queen, isn't it?” 

Anna forced a smile; “it's not as bad as I thought it would be, but yes. The days are long, and the night's longer.” 

They slowly picked up pace again. Kristoff stayed on Elsa's left side; Anna on her right. He’d remained silent to give them a chance to communicate, though he knew how to read his fiancée, and could tell how tense she was. 

“You do get used to it,” Elsa replied, placing her hand on Anna's. Their arms were still linked. 

Anna side-eyed her sister. She had so much to say, but mentally talked herself out of it each time. It would be so much easier if I didn't love you so damn much. She knew Elsa meant well, and she knew Elsa had suffered much on her own. That didn't change how Anna felt overall, but it kept her from saying something she'd regret. “I think we should keep things simple tonight,” she chimed in. “Maybe cut the evening a bit shorter than usual.” 

Elsa didn't seem fond of the idea, but she also didn't want to intrude. “We can definitely play it by ear, if you like. I have nowhere to be; this is our night.” She pulled Anna a bit closer, tightening her grip around the younger woman's arm. 

Anna pulled her arm back, though, to Elsa's surprise. The redhead instead crossed her arms over her stomach and kept her gaze away from her sister's direction. 

Elsa wasn't a people person, but she knew body language—especially this particular stance. She grew worried. “Are you sure everything's all right?” she prompted, walking close beside the queen. 

Anna nodded distantly, then looked at Kristoff. She took a breath and said, “I have some things to do that I forgot about earlier. Would you please escort my sister to her chambers for the evening?” 

Elsa was quite taken aback. She knew how mature and capable her sister was, but Anna never spoke like a queen when it was just the three of them. Why would she? The blonde looked up at her soon-to-be brother-in-law with a questioning gaze—they exchanged a look for a brief second before he nodded at Anna; “of course.” 

As the redhead began to head off, Elsa gave chase. She took Anna's arm and turned her around so they were facing each other; it wasn't aggressive, but was full of worry. “What's up with you? I'm worried.” 

Anna almost laughed, but she contained herself. “I’m fine,” she said simply. “But I have duties to tend to.” 

She tried to walk away, but Elsa held her tight, desperate for an explanation. “Hey, wait. We promised to communicate, right? Talk to me. Please.” 

Anna raised a brow. Don't be mean, she thought to herself. Even to your sister. But her control was lacking. “You...want me to let you in now? Isn't it a bit late for that?” 

Elsa—and Kristoff—could hear the sting in her voice. “Anna—” 

“You expect me to drop what I'm doing just for you?” She hissed. It was accidental; her tone. She wasn't a mean person; she wasn't rude. But her anger was rising. 

Elsa looked hurt, though her surprise outweighed her pain. “I'm sorry for whatever I did—” 

Laughter. Anna took her arms back; “what you did? Jesus, Elsa, where do I even start.”  

“Anna, maybe we should take a break,” Kristoff suggested, stepping in. 

The sisters both replied with a mutual, “no, no,” but Anna's was a lot harsher than Elsa's. 

“Should we start with the same old bullshit?” 

“Anna—” 

“Or is that history now? Yeah, I suppose we can bury thirteen-years of pain with three-years of companionship. That balances out beautifully. Oh, and how about recent events? That voice that you failed to tell me about? Or maybe that fact that we saw our parents last moments and it was all about you?” 

Elsa had crossed her arms by this point; shoulders raised. Her eyes teared up more as Anna’s voice got louder. Kristoff stayed silent. She needed this. 

“I suppose we also shouldn't then mention that I buried them alone! That they were my parents, too! That I'm not just your spare! But that'd be too much, right?” 

Anna took a step closer to Elsa; her heels against Elsa's flats made them the same height, and they were able to make direct eye contact. 

“You manipulated my love. You wouldn't stop for five fucking minutes to explain what was going on. I needed you just as much as you needed me. And how did you care for me? You pushed me away. Again.” 

“I had to.” Her voice was soft; broken. She was pained—she hadn't seen Anna like this before. Ever. It killed her. Did she really make her suffer alone? How could sweet, happy, bubbly Anna be depressed? Anxious? Lonely? 

“I know you think you did,” her voice was stern, but shaky. A tear managed to escape her eye and run down her freckled cheek. “But you have no idea what you put me through.” She didn't mean to yell; “I thought I had lost EVERYTHING.” 

Elsa winced at the volume, but kept her stance. 

“I had nothing. And you LEFT me ALONE, Elsa! The last time we'd spoken, we fought. That goodbye-hug lost all meaning after you'd forced us into that boat! I was so ANGRY! And not once—not ONCE did you ask if I was okay.” 

“Gods, Anna, I—” 

“NO.” The redhead held up a stern finger, silencing the older woman. “It's my turn. You shut up.” 

“Anna.” Kristoff's voice was gentle and understanding. It grounded her. Pulled her back to reality just enough to make her aware of her words. 

The queen took a deep breath; her finger curling in as she made a fist. She let out a shaky breath, not breaking eye contact with those glossy, ice-blue eyes. “My parents died. I was alone. You were all I had, and I didn't even know what you looked like. I tried so hard to be strong, but that was a darkness I never thought I'd get out of. And then...” she trailed slightly, anger turning to pain. “When I was alone. In that cave. After watching and hearing our parent’s final moments; Olaf, the only friend I had left—because I never thought I’d see Kristoff again after I left him to follow you... He flurried away. I watched him die. I held him as he died, Elsa. And he was all I had left—of my childhood, of my home, of you. And you were gone. Just like mama and papa; you left and were to never return. I thought Arendelle was gone. The dam had to be broken; I couldn't have ever imagined that you would've saved it.” 

Elsa let out a soft, shaky breath. “You had nothing.” 

Anna nodded ever so slightly, pursing her lips to hold back her tears. Her voice was barely a whisper; “nothing.” 

The blonde lost her gaze as she became aware of her tears. She quickly wiped them away, holding her hands over her mouth as she stared at her sister. 

Anna couldn't decide if she felt better. She'd said almost everything that she needed to say. She looked deep into Elsa's eyes, not wanting a response just yet. She wanted her to think. “No matter what, Elsa,” she said softly, “I love you.” 

After a brief moment, the queen turned and walked away. Elsa and Kristoff watched her go, and although the older sister tried to follow, Kristoff held her back. “Give her space,” he said gently. “Let her breathe.” 

Elsa looked up at her friend; “did I say something wrong? Tonight? To trigger this?” 

He shrugged lightly. “Maybe. Maybe it was that comment about us freezing. She's been delicate lately.”

Of course. It had to have been that comment. Elsa placed her hand flat against her stomach as she felt it churn. “I have to talk to her. I have to make it right.” 

“With all due respect,” Kristoff began, holding her attention to keep her from following Anna; “whether it's fair to anyone or not, there is thirteen—maybe even sixteen years’ worth of damage that has to be fixed. Anna loves you more than anything; she'd be willing if you are, but above all else, you have to remember that her feelings are valid.” 

Elsa nodded, though she was rather lost in thought. All those years, she thought she was suffering alone. She thought Anna was being cared for; loved. But she wasn't? She was alone? 

They worked. Their parents worked. They were royals, sure, but they were also dealing with Elsa's magic. Who raised Anna? Who taught her to be queen? Did she truly only have the portraits on the walls to talk to? Was she really neglected for all those years?

It hurt. It hurt more than anything. Elsa brushed away the original plan of a game night—that could wait. Fixing their family was far more important. She knew she had to give it time; she knew she had to think. Things wouldn't be resolved tonight, but she could start the process. She could prove to Anna that she cared. And they'd work at it again next week. And the week after. And Elsa could visit more often. This could work. This could be okay. 

Right? 

XXXXX 

Game night didn't happen. They didn't even have dinner together. Anna had locked herself in her room; something that made Elsa's blood run cold. She'd knocked only twice over the course of four hours, desperate to be acknowledged, but the queen had no interest. She had more to say, but kept her words simple; “go away, Elsa.” 

It wasn't meant as revenge. Anna wasn't trying to be petty. She just needed time. How much time; she had no idea. But at this rate, no conversation was going to take place before the end of the day. It was already long past sunset; the outside world was dark, cold, and quiet. A perfect place for Elsa to think. 

She'd seen Anna open the door for Kristoff; the two disappeared into their chambers a couple of hours ago. Elsa wasn't one to eavesdrop, despite how desperate she was to talk. She couldn't bear to pace around the halls of this massive castle; so, she went outside. She’d made her way down to the water, sitting on the large rocks, watching the gentle waves. Snow was falling rather heavily; the temperature well into the negatives. Her dress was of her own creation, though a new design; her shoulders and arms were entirely bare, alongside a lot of her chest and most of her back. Her hair was still white from the events that took place in Ahtohallan, but it was a small change from the platinum-ash blonde it was before. Despite her thin attire, she wasn't cold in the least. She was shivering, but that was caused by the emotion she was struggling to hold. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but her cries were silent. 

She loved Anna. More than anyone, or anything. She thought it was obvious. She'd always gone out of her way to make sure Anna's happiness was number one. What she'd failed to realise was that Anna had emotions other than joy. The redhead had always been a little ball of sunshine; Elsa wholeheartedly believed that nothing could dim that light. To find out Anna had been in pain for sixteen years of her twenty-one years of life... 

Agony. It was agonising. Like losing someone you love. Elsa pressed her hands hard into her stomach in an unconscious attempt to stop the pain she was feeling. She still hadn't learned how to handle emotion—she was shut off from humanity for so long, she forgot what it felt like to be human. To just...exist. Anna kept her grounded; kept her real. 

But that whole time that Anna was caring for her, she herself was in pain. She pushed her own feelings aside to care for Elsa, and the blonde had never noticed. She knew Anna was selfless, even before the at-the-time princess sacrificed her life for the sake of her sister and her kingdom. But this was on another level. This was nearly two decades of suffering that she endured for Elsa. 

A sob escaped her throat so suddenly, it startled her. She shrieked and jumped in response, slowly crawling off the rocks and onto the snow-covered ground as she let herself sob freely. She’d hoped that the snow would muffle her cries; the last thing she needed was someone coming to check on her. No one ever checked on Anna. 

The pain of those long years came rushing back. Oh, how badly she wanted to throw open that door and hug her sister. How badly she wanted to sing back to her; to tell her jokes and teach her and love her and tease her. She wanted to grow up with her, and that was stolen from them. She wasn't allowed to be the big sister she'd always dreamed of being. She wasn’t allowed to hold her best friend. They weren't allowed to discover the world together. They never got to roam the kingdom in their teen years and gossip about romantic interests. They never got to explore too far and get in trouble for it. They never got to laugh, or fight, or sing—they didn't see each other. They were strangers. 

And then, suddenly, they were together again. And just as quickly as that, they were apart. That pattern seemed to continue. 

Elsa thought heavily about their relationship; she tried to find the flaws on her side; things that she could control. She’d noticed a pattern of her own; it seemed that every time Anna tried to communicate with her, Elsa ran in one way or another. To Elsa, this was a simple defence mechanism—it was hard for her to communicate. Often times, she needed to take what was said and think on it before she could reply fairly. But to Anna, it was the same story: she was being shut out. 

Elsa realised that she had to work hard to be different for Anna. Not to disregard her own feelings or history, but to meet her sister in the middle. You gave up so much for me; surely, I can sacrifice a few boundaries for you. I can learn for you, Anna. 

She stared blankly across the fjord, though her view was obstructed by her tears and the falling snow. She brought a shaky hand up to her eyes to wipe them as dry as she could; she was a bit surprised that the tears weren't frozen. She'd never truly understood how her power worked; even after her discoveries and the comfort she found within herself, it was still difficult to understand something so otherworldly. 

Anna never struggled to understand. Not once. Their problems were never based around Elsa's powers; when they fought, Anna didn't care about the temperature in the room. She didn't care if the windows frosted over. She wasn't afraid of her sister; Elsa's magic was just a part of who she is. It was that unconditional love and treatment that truly helped Elsa come to terms with herself. Hearing a similar message from her mother only added to that. 

But now, she had complicated feelings towards her parents. If they neglected Anna, how could Elsa forgive them for that? 

They were only human. They did their best with what they had. They tried. 

And they're gone. That’s a history that can't be fixed. And most importantly, that isn't Elsa's responsibility. No; she has her own damage to fix. She can only control herself. And now, she had to make the first move. 

XXXXX 

She’d cleaned up a bit. She had to gather her thoughts. It was hard; finding the courage was so hard. She got a rush of anxiety every time she thought about knocking on that door again—being rejected by the person who had constantly tried to reach her hurt on a whole other level. What have I done? 

She sighed and shook her head. “No. You can fix this,” she said quietly to herself. Verbal reassurance had always been more helpful for her. It pulled her out of her head, and eased her anxiety just a smidge. “Just talk to her. She needs you. You can do this, Elsa.” 

A knock came at her bedroom door. Elsa turned, surprised; she called a delicate, “come in.” 

A moment passed, then the door swung open and Anna stepped in. Elsa felt her heart leap into her throat, and simultaneously, her stomach dropped. Yet again, she failed to make the first move. “Anna. I was just coming to see you.” 

The redhead seemed surprised, but it was gentle. “You were?” 

Elsa nodded and gently hugged herself; “I mean, I was trying to find the courage to come and see you.” It was difficult to admit for some reason. 

Anna smiled ever so slightly as she shut the door behind her. “Well,” she took a few steps closer and gently crossed her arms for comfort. “Beat you to it,” she half joked. She had changed into her nightgown; her auburn hair fell loosely in an elegant flow half-way down her back. 

“Again,” Elsa said softly, defeated. “I'm s—” 

“I'm tired of apologies,” Anna interrupted, voice still quiet. She’d failed to make eye contact as she spoke. “Words have lost meaning over the years. Certain words, at least.” 

Elsa nodded distantly. She didn't know if she should speak, or listen. 

Anna took a breath then looked at her sister, also defeated. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I've never lost myself like that before,” her voice faded out a bit on that last part. “I didn't mean to raise my voice; it was immature, and I'll make sure it doesn't happen again—” 

“No.” 

The queen tilted her head, slightly taken aback. Elsa's voice was stern. It surprised her. “No?” 

The blonde moved closer, expression showing her desperation. “No, it will happen again, and that's okay. You have every right to be upset and you should never apologise for being human.” 

Anna smiled lightly again. Those words were extra important coming from Elsa. “I just don't want to hurt you.” 

“Your honesty will never hurt me, Anna,” she replied. “That isn't for you to worry about, anyways. You've got to speak up for yourself. Always. Even against me. I want us to be able to talk—gods, I want us to be able to fight and make up as sisters do.” She paused, then continued when Anna said nothing. “Things don't have to be perfect all the time. And things aren't going to fall apart if we have a falling out. We have to learn.” 

Anna’s gaze fell as defeat rushed over her again, and Elsa noticed. It sent her into a panic, but she tried to contain it. Did she say something wrong? Is she missing something? What does Anna need? Is it ruined? Is it over? Anna's going to tell her to leave and they're never going to speak again? No, she wouldn't do that. Would she? If she decides she deserves better; if she decides that— 

Elsa was ripped out of her thoughts when she was wrapped in a tight embrace. Her arms instinctively wrapped around her sister and they held each other close, relaxing. 

“I have spent my entire life petrified that I'm going to lose those that I love, and that's all that seems to happen.” 

Her voice was so delicate and pain-filled that it made Elsa's tears quickly return. She tightened her grip around Anna's petite frame, and buried her face in the crease of her warm, freckled neck. 

Anna stared blankly towards the wall. It still felt weird to be in this room; to be on this side of the door. The weirdest part was that there was someone in that room all along; she hadn't spent those years just talking to a door. There was another lonely little girl on the other side, who lived to hear the voice of her baby sister. 

Anna tightened her grip, too. Tears welled in her eyes, but she swallowed them as best she could. “You were my light, too. The only thing I lived for. The thought of someday meeting you was all that got me through those lonely nights.” 

Elsa’s fingers curled in as she grabbed at Anna's hair and clothes; she tried to contain her emotions, but couldn't, and cried on her sister's shoulder. 

Anna felt her move in her arms; she knew she was crying. It made tears escape her eyes, too. “I know you're broken. I know you've been through hell, too. I just wish we could walk through the flames together.” 

Elsa nodded; “we will.” Her voice was broken and weak; she sounded nasally due to her crying. She held Anna even tighter, if that were even possible. “We will always do this together, Anna, I swear. I'll never leave you behind again.” 

Anna wanted to smile at the thought, but couldn't. How could she believe such promises? The first day they'd spent together, Elsa said the same thing. Together. Then again as they travelled to the forest. Then again as they—

“Prove it.” 

A beat passed, then they mutually pulled out of the embrace. Elsa kept a hold on Anna's upper arms, but the redhead took her own hands back and crossed her arms again. They looked at each other with tears eyes; cheeks red and puffy. Elsa looked genuinely upset, whilst Anna almost looked betrayed; broken and distrusting. 

“Prove it,” the queen repeated. “Don't just say it.” 

Elsa nodded distantly; “I will. But—” 

“No buts.” She shook her head, clearly unimpressed. She wanted to be understanding. She wanted to be soft. But she couldn't let herself. Not this time. “I know you're learning, Elsa, we both are. We've had the same amount of contact with people; the same amount of practice. But I'm not a stranger. I'm not someone you met on the street; I'm your sister. And I know we grew up apart and we have much to learn about each other, but we spent the first five years of my life together, and I want us to be close again. And I know it's not realistic—we were young, but we could still—” 

“Anna.” 

The queen stopped. She’d started rambling. She did that sometimes. It was very Anna. She smiled sheepishly; “sorry; I get carried away.” 

Elsa smiled warmly; “I want us to be close, too.” She thought for a beat, then when they made eye contact again, she continued; “I am sorry; truly. I had no idea. There are so many things that I wish I had done differently; for both of us. I wish I could take all your pain and turn it into something beautiful for you. I wish you hadn't spent so long alone— I'm so sorry for the consequences. For your anxiety and your depression and your fear of abandonment—for everything that affects your daily life, I am so sorry.” 

“You get it,” Anna replied quietly, offering a weak, lop-sided shrug. “You get it because you feel the same in some way. We could understand each other. We could help each other. But I'm so afraid to talk to you sometimes; I'm so afraid that you're gonna shut me out again that I almost don't want to get close to you. I can't handle any more pain. I just can't.” 

Her heart broke again. Anna was right about one thing: they do understand each other. That was one thing that really bothered Elsa, was knowing that the pain she'd always felt; the pain she'd always tried to protect Anna from had been there all along. They really were in the same boat. Elsa gently ran her hands up and down Anna's upper arms, then took a tight hold of her. She looked deep into her aqua eyes; “Anna.” 

The redhead sniffled. She knew what words were coming; she'd heard it all before. It was different this time. Elsa was trying. Elsa heard her, and saw her, and accepted her. That’s a step. But was Anna really willing to give her another chance? 

“I promise from now on we will do this together.” 

Each word was fully pronounced; her tone was stern; she was serious. 

“We will work through this together.” 

One more chance to make things right. It was only fair; Anna herself had been lacking at communicating, too. It was a mutual ordeal. This chance would be for them both. 

“Are you willing to try? To work at it? To truly let each other in?” 

It would be a lifelong healing process. Or so she figured. There was too much history, and surely the future would only be busier. Anna was queen now; she did have duties to tend to. And, she was engaged. She was soon going to be a queen and a wife. She saw children in her future; her near future. It was easy to picture; life with Kristoff was more than ideal; they had incredible communication skills following their engagement. They’d sat down and talked out everything. They were always on the same page, even if they sometimes had disagreements. 

A queen. A wife. A mother. A sister? 

Could she handle all of those responsibilities? Was she ready? She was only twenty-one. Her future without Elsa looked easy, as much as that pained her. It felt easy; the idea of moving on. Building her own family and her own legacy. She was Arendelle's hero; this was her forever home. Did Elsa have a place in Anna's future? Elsa made it clear that Anna had a place in hers. Was that mutual?

The queen looked at her sister, and Elsa looked back at her, awaiting an answer. 

Are you willing to try? 

Anna smiled warmly. “Of course.” 

[trylonandperisphere]

ASK POLLY APR. 1, 2020

‘I Don’t Think I Can Handle 18 Months of Isolation’

By Heather Havrilesky

Hi Polly.

So the world’s falling apart. I’m seeing quotes from experts that predict this will go on for 18 months or more. I don’t think I can stand the stress and isolation all that time. I have mental-health challenges, so I think I might crack. And I’m not sure our infrastructure can endure it either. I have a medical condition that’s stable and doesn’t put me in danger of COVID-19. However, I worry the strain on the health-care system will take away my treatment, leading to a slow death. And then there are the usual worries about things like food. Will the supply chains hold up six months or a year from now? How do you see all this happening and not start looking for an exit? I’m willing to admit that I’m weak or entitled. People around the world deal with this all the time. I don’t think I have it in me. How do I find some strength and hope?

Feeling Weak

Dear Feeling Weak,

On any day of your life, a million terrible things could happen. Every morning, you have to force all of the awful possibilities out of your mind. You do this because there is no alternative.

I’ve always been a very fearful person. I’ve always been sensitive to the fragility of the human body and the myriad ways lives can be ripped apart. My dad died when I was 25 years old, and it made me even more fearful. Then I had a baby.

Imagining all of the bad things that could happen to the baby almost sent me over the edge. I felt like someone had removed my liver and now I had to hand my liver over to other people, and ask them not to drop it or neglect it.

One day I came home, and my husband was holding my liver in one hand while stirring a boiling pot with his other hand, all the while talking to my stepson in an animated, cheerful fashion.

I freaked out. “You are going to kill me,” I said. “Calm down,” he said. “Stop being so overdramatic.”

My heart started racing even more (Pro tip: The words “calm down” are never calming!), but I washed my hands and then took the baby away from my husband. And then through gritted teeth, I said something like this: “You are going to listen to me very closely. Don’t talk. Just listen. I am in a very, very particular, unfamiliar, fragile place. I have never felt this way before. I’m going to have to describe it to you. You are going to have to listen. You do not have to understand or believe that I am remotely sane. You can continue to believe that I am irrational. But if you do not listen closely and respect and honor my needs around this fragile feeling, this marriage will end. Period. This is not negotiable.”

I wasn’t someone who threatened to end my marriage, ever, just to be clear about that. I needed to communicate clearly that we were on perilous terrain.

We retreated to the bedroom and talked for a long time. I told him what I needed in order to raise a baby with him. He told me the reasons he thought I was nuts. I told him that I was fine with him thinking I was nuts. He could continue to do that. Of course my views were not utterly rational. Rational was not the point. Calming down was not the point. He needed to understand how high the stakes were for me. Even if there was a .0001 chance that my baby would drop into the boiling water, the stakes were too high for me to endure those odds. He didn’t have to understand my feelings, he just had to operate as if he had the same feelings, for my sake.

It took a lot of persuasive talk, and tears, to get my husband on my side. It was exhausting. But by the end of our talk, my husband got it. He agreed to behave in ways that were guided by high stakes and my irrational feelings and to never say the words “Calm down” to a woman whose liver you’re holding. And if ALL OF THAT sounds nuts to you, that’s okay. These were the conditions I knew I required in order to raise a baby with someone who was more careless than I was in every way. These were the things I needed in order to share a house with this man and trust him to raise a family with me.

After that, I felt better. And my husband never told me to calm down when I described the toddlers who get left in the car or run over by a clueless grandparent backing out of the driveway. He took on the low-odds possibilities until he was worrying about them himself. I turned him into a slightly neurotic, hyperaware parent. I formed him into a seismograph, in my image. Call it twisted, I don’t give a fuck. It worked. We were aligned. We fought less. We kept our kids relatively safe from harm. Maybe we became obnoxious. Maybe we were paranoid. I still don’t care. I didn’t feel alienated and alone in my marriage, because I dared to get very, very specific about my needs.

And once I knew I had someone on my side, I started to calm the fuck down. I made a resolution to keep all of the looming threats in mind without INTERNALIZING and VISUALIZING and LOSING SLEEP OVER the millions of ways a baby could die or become injured. Any time I went from safeguarding my kids to picturing something awful happening to them, I learned to stop myself.

Doing your best to avoid disaster is practical. Repeatedly imagining disaster, on the other hand, is wildly impractical. Once I realized how jittery and anxious I was feeling, I steadfastly refused to indulge my imagination when it came to my baby. I resolved not to become a pile of nerves quivering on the floor. I wanted to breathe and feel happiness and survive parenting without being transformed into a shadow of my former self. I wanted my kids to be aware of danger but not paralyzed by fear at all times.

Mistakes have been made, that goes without saying. But the decision to never fixate on terrifying outcomes when it came to my kids was very important. I could still fixate on bad outcomes FOR ME. But that was (and is) a world apart from doing it about my kids. Eventually I didn’t have to try anymore. The second I pictured something terrible, it was just: NO. CAN’T.

Everyone is different. Everyone experiences different conditions as threatening or scary or paralyzingly awful. We all have to respect these differences while relentlessly standing up for our own needs and asking for exactly what we want from the people who are closest to us. That means becoming a tiny bit shameless, I should add. It took a shameless amount of assertiveness and belief in my own particular sensitivities as a seismograph to ask my husband to behave as if he, too, were a seismograph. I had to get very specific. I also had to let go of the need to be right and seem rational. I had to own my role as the Chicken Little of the family.

“Pretend the sky is falling with me,” I told my husband, and he did. It was an act of love and solidarity. I was so grateful for it. It kept us glued together at a vulnerable time, when we could’ve fallen apart for good. I didn’t have to hate myself for being a chickenshit or a seismograph. I could relax because someone was on my side.

That story probably feels pretty divorced from your circumstances, but it’s not. For you to feel comfortable safeguarding yourself while also refusing to fixate on the millions of horrible outcomes that could befall you specifically and all of us generally, you need to stand up for the particulars of your mental health. You need to look closely at your specific emotional challenges as a human being, and you need to say: This is how it feels for me. I feel like I want to find an exit. I feel like I can’t survive this. I feel like I am not strong enough.

Here’s the suicide hotline for anyone who’s been feeling that way: 1-800-273-8255. Commit to reaching out to someone when you’re feeling bad. Everyone is struggling right now. We’re all in the same boat at some level. It’s important to understand that moments of extreme darkness will come and go, and things could get a million times worse and still be survivable. Put your faith in human connection: It makes all the difference.

If you have close friends or a partner or a family member who can listen to you describe your very specific Chicken Little–flavored needs and desires and align themselves with you, and show solidarity for your (sometimes irrational!) experiences of what this moment means, then call that person or those people. Open up to them, and explain your needs, and get them to understand.

But let’s be clear: Finding people who will join you where you are is very, very hard. It’s hard for all of us, always. If it feels impossible? Guess what? You’re not alone. Try your best. And if/when that fails, I want you to write everything down for you, until you clearly comprehend who you are and where you are and how you’re feeling right now.

This is not about descending into darkness in any permanent way, mind you. This is simply about painting a picture that someone else might understand, a persuasive portrait of how you’re experiencing this moment. This is you saying to yourself: YOU ARE HOLDING MY LIVER OVER A BOILING POT OF WATER. This is you crying and telling yourself: I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN DO THIS. DO YOU FUCKING GET THAT?

This is you making your needs crystal clear. This is you standing up for who you are, without shame. Does that really matter, all alone in your apartment as the world crumbles around you? YES, IT DOES.

This is you saying: I deserve to have my needs met. Think about all of the times you were treated like your needs were irrational, like you needed to calm down and shut the fuck up, like you needed to stop being so in the way, so inconvenient, so absurd, so laughable, such a wreck. I’ll bet you can think of a lot of examples.

Use this moment to get your own back. Take this opportunity to say to yourself: I don’t fucking care if I’m fragile and irrational. I’m going to honor my needs without shame.

Don’t skip this step, even if it seems beside the point. Honor your needs, without shame. That’s number one.

Number two is: Protect yourself. Take very good care of yourself. Feed yourself well, exercise, get plenty of rest. Stay aware of the threats so you can do your best to avoid those threats. Put energy into making yourself feel as healthy and resilient as possible.

Number three is: Resolve not to fixate on the millions of terrifying possibilities you cannot control. You can make this choice now because your peculiar needs matter. Remember? You’re honoring your needs without shame now. One of your needs is this: Avoiding the terror here. You said it to me for a reason: You aren’t strong enough to hold these terrors inside your head for 18 months. So don’t do it.

Are you strong enough to survive for 18 months in isolation? Yes, you are. You’re strong enough as long as you’re honoring even your most irrational needs without shame, being very safe and careful in areas that are within your control, and letting go of all of the circumstances beyond your control, as in banishing them from your fucking head permanently.

Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (Read it if bleakness makes you feel stronger. If not? DO NOT READ.) is about a man who’s struggling to survive in a post-apocalyptic world. As the man and his son travel south toward the ocean, looking for food and shelter, the man tries hard to avoid big questions and unknowns that might threaten his ability to survive. Because he has a boy to take care of, he becomes extremely practical. He protects his boy and he keeps moving forward, no matter what. There’s a sense of calm beauty underneath the horror of every word McCarthy writes. Showing up for whatever comes next is beautiful. You don’t have to be a hero. You just keep moving.

I probably wouldn’t have sat my husband down and insisted that my irrational view was going to need to be honored, back when we first had a baby together, if I weren’t convinced that our ability to raise a baby and stay together depended on it. It took something bigger than myself to force me to finally stand up for my very specific needs and persuade another, very skeptical human being to hear me out and get my back.

Today, you’ve been faced with a challenge that’s much bigger than any challenge you’ve faced before. The stakes are high. This enormous calamity dwarfs you and exists outside your thoughts and feelings completely. You have to treat yourself with extreme care under these conditions. This is an opportunity for you to finally stand up for what you need at every level, in a very concentrated and intense way that is fully justifiable and concrete. This is a chance for you to design a map that you can use to navigate this disaster and every other disaster to follow this one, guided by your very irrational, specific desires. This is your time to learn to blot out the parts of the world that are just too gigantic and out of your control for you to metabolize, and focus on what you can actually control and have influence over instead. You have to avoid big questions and keep moving forward. You’re about to achieve a sense of mastery over your life and your understanding of yourself, while letting go of what you can’t control in a permanent way. These high stakes are a blessing disguised as a curse. Take this blessing.

What sustains you? What can you create, every day, to bring you life, to build up your strength? What beauty is lurking underneath these terrors? As Ranier Maria Rilke wrote, “No feeling is final.”

The path before you is simple. You wake up in the morning and you put Chopin: Nocturnes in your headphones and you look for joy. You embrace every tiny glint of beauty and every scrap of hope hiding in this small, enclosed life. You surrender to the reality of this “borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it,” as Cormac McCarthy put it. You eat this divine silence, this dark longing, this lonely sweetness, this solitary dread. You sit in your quiet garden and welcome the weather, good or bad. No feeling is final. You are strong enough.

Polly

[carriedawayfromhome]

Schedule - L.H/A.I

Part 1

Count: 1.8K

Summary: Ashton and Luke are married and Luke is concerned that they have become too predictable, so he comes up with a plan to help them. 

Rating: Explicit

Masterlist

Part 2 here

“Babe, I think we have a problem.” 

Ashton looks up from his place on the couch, placing a bookmark into the spine of his book, saving his place for later, “And what would that problem be Luke?” 

Luke lick his lips, looking at his husband from across the couch, “Have you noticed we have sex the same time and place every night?” 

Ashton raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms in mock defence, “What are you talking about?” 

Luke sighs, jumping up to walk over, sitting down closer to the brunette, “Every night, after the dinner and dishes are done, after an hour of t.v we then go to the bedroom and have sex.” 

“Are you complaining about the sex?”

“No!,” Luke grabs Ashton’s hand, “Of course not, I love our sex life, it’s just….”

“Just what?” 

“It’s predictable.” 

Ashton waits for a moment, watching as Luke’s worried face scans his. A smile appears across his face and he can’t help but laugh, throwing his head back onto the couch. He watches as Luke crosses his arms at him, clearly not happy with his reaction to his concern. 

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“Aw babe, I’m not laughing at you, I’m sorry.” He leans forward to place a kiss on Luke’s still angry face, peppering a few kisses around his eyes and cheeks and rolling one of Luke’s curls around his finger, “You’re worried that our sex life is too… scheduled?” 

With his angry face still plastered on, Luke throws himself back onto the couch, moaning out in exasperation making Ashton howl with laugher from his overdramatic scene. Ashton can’t help but smile at his cute husband, he’s always been one to be just a little over the top, but hey, that’s what he loves about that man. 

Their sex life lately is a little bit calculated, it can’t be helped though both men work full time day jobs, so most of the time they are exhausted when they get home and the only time they can have sex is late at night. 

After a few adorable moments of watching Luke sulk on the couch, Ashton leans up and over, crawling across Luke’s body to settle on top of him, Luke’s arms coming around Ashton immediately, settling on his lower back. Ashton lets his head fall into Luke’s neck, breathing in his scent deeply, sighing in the process.

“I love having sex with you Ash,” Luke says, squeezing his hands around him, “I just think we’ve gotten too, I don’t know how to say it….”

“Vanilla?” Ashton mumbles into Luke’s neck. 

Ashton feels him nod against his body and he presses a kiss to Luke’s neck, he’s right though, they have gotten a little bit vanilla than what they used to be. When Luke and Ashton first starting dating they were all over each other, it first started with heavy petting in movie theatres, a hand job or two in an empty parking lot, maybe a quick blowjob at a viewable window. That all was thrown out the window once they realised how much they loved the thrill of being a little more mischievous. The heavy petting turned into blowjobs at an afternoon showing of a movie they didn’t much care for, sex in the car in an empty parking lot, Luke’s long limbs always marking up the inside of their car and they would sometimes rent a hotel room just to have sex against the huge glass windows, knowing someone could be watching at any moment. 

But as the years went by, they got busier and busier with work and they got comfortable in the laziness of their sex life, how easy it was to quickly have sex then be able to fall asleep in their own bed, undisturbed. Ashton hadn’t given it too much thought, but sometimes when he would drive by a hotel, or an empty car park he would get a little rush shoot through him as he thought about all those hidden moments with Luke. 

“I have an idea.” Luke says, shaking Ashton out of his thoughts, “A good idea if I say so myself.” 

Ashton laughs into Luke’s neck, sitting up so he’s now straddling the younger boy’s torso, looking down at him, “And what would that idea be Mr Irwin?” 

Luke bites his lip, hand coming up to hide his face. They’ve only been married officially for a couple of months, so every time Ashton calls him by his new last name it never fails to make Luke blush a scarlet red. 

“A challenge.”

“Go no.”

Luke sits up, making him and Ashton now chest to chest, “A challenge to see who can come up with the best new way for us to have sex.” 

“Okay, and what does the winner get?”

“He gets to do whatever he wants to the other contestant, for example, you.” 

Ashton smiles and lightly punches Luke in the arm, “So you’re automatically assuming I’m going to lose then huh?” 

Luke nods, leaning forward to lightly kiss Ashton on his cheek, “Yep, you do remember it was my idea to rent the hotel room.” 

Ashton rolls his eyes, “Yeah yeah, whatever, but it was my idea to give you a blowjob in the cinema,” He rolls his hips forward, “And I didn’t see you complaining about that.” 

Ashton watches at Luke licks his lips, he can almost see the memories of that night in Luke’s eyes, he rolls his hips down once more, seeing if he can get a reaction out of him. 

Luke moans quietly, closing his eyes for a moment, “We can start now if you like.” He breathes out, hands going to Ashton’s hips, fingers tightening onto the waistband of his jeans. 

Ashton sly smile stretches across his face, he leans forward capturing Luke’s lips in a heated kiss, tongue immediately entering his mouth. Luke moans, letting Ashton hold him in place, his own hands trail round to the front of Ashton’s jeans, palming the tightening denim, loving the way it makes him breathless. Ashton breaks apart from the kiss, leaning forward briefly to lick them, taking Luke’s bottom lip into his teeth, biting very lightly at the soft skin. 

Ashton jumps off of Luke, holding onto his hand in the process, “Follow me.” He whispers, tugging on Luke’s arm. Luke follows Ashton through the house and to the from door, excitement rushing through him, wondering where Ashton might take him. 

They both stop at their car, the faint light from the house still illuminating them both, the cold night air making Luke shiver. He watches as Ashton turns to him, an almost devilish look on his face as he leans forward pushing Luke up against the car, hands trailing under his shirt to stroke his smooth skin. 

Luke pulls away, “I think you forgot the keys babe.” 

Ashton shakes his head, hand coming down to rub Luke through his jeans, “No love, I’m going to fuck you right here, on the hood of our car.” 

Luke’s eyes shoot open, head whipping side to side, watching just in case the neighbours could see them, “Ash, what if someone sees us out here?” 

Ashton shrugs, undoing Luke’s jeans ,grabbing them and his boxers, pushing them down to Luke’s thighs, his hand reaching out to hold him, stroking gently. Luke bites his lip, eyes still darting around, they live close to their neighbours, if one of them were to even go their porch right now they would have a nice view of Ashton now on his knees, tongue licking up and down Luke’s cock. 

Luke closes his eyes, hands automatically going to Ashton’s hair, tugging at the strands, letting him get lost in the feeling. Ashton starts to suck, tongue swirling around the head, hand still stroking where his mouth can’t reach. His other hand reaches down to play with Luke’s balls before descending further, fingers reaching down to rub against Luke. 

Luke clenches, hand almost painfully tugging at Ashton’s roots, he opens his eyes again, taking one last look around to make sure no one is watching their adventure before he beckons for Ashton to stand, helping himself to Ashton’s zipper, tugging it down to his thighs also. He then turns around, leaning over the hood of the car, hands resting on the cool metal. 

Ashton slicks up his cock with as much saliva as he can, knowing that Luke can take it like this, they’ve done it before, though he may just be feeling it a little more tomorrow morning. After inserting two fingers briefly to ease him into it, he then lines himself up and pushes in slowly, hands going to Luke’s hips, steadying himself. 

Luke hisses into the brisk air, bracing himself as Ashton enters him, letting the feeling of being full wash over him. He knows that Ashton won’t be gentle, he can usually tell if it’s going to be a sweet and tender Ashton, or rough and hard. Tonight he can feel the heat radiate off of his husband and he knows that he’s going to be harsh. 

Luke’s guess is correct as Ashton pauses for a moment before thrusting deep and hard, not letting Luke have a moment to breathe, he relishes in the tiny squeaks of pleasure coming from the blonde below him as he continues moving, not letting up for a moment. The sweat starts to trickle down his forehead as he leans forward, grabbing Luke by the back of his neck, still not slowing for a second. Luke has taken it upon himself to lean down to stroke himself, letting them both get closer to their climax.

Not a moment later Ashton feels Luke clench around him and a high pitched whine leave his mouth, hands still bracing against the car. Ashton starts to get messy with his movements as he too feels his body start to fall over the edge, he lets the feeling wash over him, his body stilling against Luke, his breath laboured as he leans onto Luke’s back. 

He doesn’t let them bask in the afterglow for too long as Ashton can feel Luke start to squirm underneath him, so he stands up, pulling out slowly before pulling his jeans and boxers up. Luke stands up and does the same, both men fully clothed now standing in front of each other. 

Luke is the first to start giggling, hands coming up to wrap around Ashton’s waist, “That was so hot Ash.” 

Ashton kisses the top of Luke’s head, standing back to grab his hand, leading him back into the house. After retreating back into the warmth, they both decide a shower is best and after undressing and both relaxing under the strong stream of water, Luke whispers, “But my next idea will be better, just saying.” He winks, letting Ashton imagine all the things that both men will think up to try and beat the other. 

Let’s just say it’s going to be an interesting couple of weeks. 

[sugaxjpg]

02 | blank check; m

⤷ “Let me get this right, okay? You threw my name in as your fake girlfriend because you needed to prove yourself to your empty-headed friends, and now you need to fix it. Still,” you paused, raising your eyebrows, “your way of fixing is not to disclose it as a lie, but to cover it up with an even bigger and riskier one. Is that correct?”

⤷ PART 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |Co-written with @pantaemonium

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Fuckboy!AU & FakeDating!AU

✓ Filed under: smut, tragic comebacks

✓ Words:  8,048

Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! Before anything else, Laura and I would like to thank you all for the overwhelming support we’ve received for part one. We are beyond thrilled that you guys are liking this series as much as we are!! Without further ado, let’s get down to business (to defend the huns).

“There is no way in hell I’m wearing this, you hear me?” you screamed against the phone for the third time in less than ten seconds. A high-pitched ding indicated the audio had been sent, and that was your signal to toss the device aside. Jungkook would not listen to it, like he had not listened to the other ten voice messages you had blessed his chatroom with.

The last message you had received from him had been short and dry, more of a user’s guide than a text. It exhibited his advanced SAT vocabulary and his outstanding talent to be concise. Lambda Kappa Pi. 11pm. Say you’re my girl and they’ll get you in. Good luck with the dress.

My girl, as if there was a dimension out of the multiverse you had been thrown into in which you would say such nonsense. My girl, your brain echoed, this time in his voice, that you imagined would be hoarse and whiny during sex. No, no, that was not an image you wanted in your mind.

“Hey, I’m Jungkook’s girl,” you spoke as you imagined yourself babbling at the entrance of the frat house, clad in that skin-tight little red dress. Imagination is a very powerful weapon to use against oneself, and it immediately transfigured you into a Legally Blonde character, one of the sweethearts from Delta Nu but with no rich daddy, no fake tanning, and no equilibrium to stand over the sky-challenging high-heels he had sent along with the dress.

You’d look far more like a clown that had just ran away from the circus, that’s for sure.

You clenched your jaw at the absurdity of that idea, ignoring the butterflies that begun dancing in your stomach. His girl. Stupid ass. You would never do something like th—

—Ding!

In a reflex, you practically threw yourself on your bed to reach for your phone, chest bubbling up with the ridiculous excuses that he could have sent back to you. Instead, however, what you were met with was a simple series of condescending texts:

Jungkook’s only neuron said: u’ll look great bby

Jungkook’s only neuron said: im getting heated just thinkin of u in that ;)

You said: You prick

You said: That dress doesn’t even cover my ass properly

Jungkook’s only neuron said: that was what i was hopin for

You groaned out loud as your eyes read his message, mind working faster than the quick progression of your thumbs against the screen — you better be ready for me to ruin you with the favor I have stored up, then, you texted back.

Jungkook’s response arrived all too soon. There was no physical time to toss the phone back onto the bed, to try the diminutive piece of clothing on and see if there was a way your boobs could survive without suffocating. As the notification blared through the speaker, you imagined him, expecting your reply by the phone, biting his nails. In your imagination, he was nervous, at least a bit; but Jungkook and his cohorts did not know nervousness, at least not when confronted to tests of women. They followed all those ludicrous bro-code-or-whatever-they-called-it rules; and making girls wait for their replies was in the book.

“Ruin or be ruined, that’s the world we live in,” you read out loud, trying to find in between the words Jungkook’s personal trademark. Unexpectedly, there was no baby. No typos. No superfluous exhibition of his very pompous personality. Had he asked for help? Perhaps Namjoon, the only one in the frat house with a functional brain. Maybe Yoongi, but it sounded way too contained to his taste.

“Quote your sources next time,” you typed rapidly, grinning all the way. “See you later, bby.”

Now Jungkook’s Only Neuron could type and ruminate over your odd response all he wanted. There would be no more texts until the party — except perhaps a picture or two of you in that dress, blurry and terribly illuminated. The ire of the gods would fall upon him when he tried to zoom in into your boobs only to find pixels. A taste of his own medicine, that was what you called this cruel stratagem.

Now, there were only a limited number of things which could count as social humiliation for you. As mentioned aforetime, failing a ridiculously easy class or exposing your underwear were near the top of the list, alongside some awfully personal experiences, but you never thought there would be something to top all your expectations. Turns out that 90’s movies make a so called “makeover” to be something great and empowering when, in reality, it had to be the spiritual equivalent of intestinal cramps in the middle of a road trip. And yes, you had been through that. No further comment.

Maybe the movie director of your life was sadistic. Maybe that experience was karma for ruining poor Jungkook’s mental health earlier that day. Whatever it was, it was the new number one on your list of social humiliation. You could not claim you hadn’t gotten anything out of that night — but experiences make you grow, right?

You knew you had fucked up the second you walked up to the fraternity house — that stupidly large, greek-like mansion that pulsated under the progression of the awfully loud music — and saw a pair of underwear on the grass, lost amidst a sea of bottles and beer cans. And then a bra. And then an used cond— Jesus Christ! Were those kids acting out Animal Planet? There were limits. There had to be. Goodbye to your long lost purity.

To top it all off, it was cold. Not nice, chilly cold, but winter-is-here kind of Game of Thrones bullshit. The wind was like cold daggers against your skin, piercing your naked legs as you moved closer to the entrance door, benumbing your senses to the fullest extent. Whatever it was that you had in store for Jungkook, it had to be equally torturous to that walk of shame — the night had not even started, and you were already constructing an escape plan.

“Hey,” you said as you stopped in front of two athletes, crossing your arms before your figure — thank God for your common sense, since the leather jacket you wore both covered your insanely tight boobs and gave you a bit of heat. You wouldn’t have started a conversation with them if not absolutely necessary and, in that case, they were blocking the passage. “Excuse me, please.”

One of them turned to you with arched eyebrows, looking you up and down, “You seem familiar,” he mumbled, infecting the atmosphere with a terrible scent of alcohol. To be fair, you thought you knew him too, but did not want to get into friendly terms with any of them. “Whatcha’ doing here?”

Hell, here goes nothing, “Jungkook called me here.”

“Jungkook, who?” The other one — the travel-sized counterpart — laughed, hitting his friend’s shoulder in his drunken haze. “We know no Jungkook.”

They were still blocking the entrance, and you were not in the mood to commence an arrogant dissertation on why they did know the Jungkook you were referring to, and why was their ruse so evident. Shivering inside the leather jacket, you tried to find a way around the words he wanted so desperately to hear. “I am his friend,” you said.

The smaller of the two scoffed. “Jungkook has no friends.”

“I thought you knew no Jungkook,” you smirked, devilishly, but the brainless pair would not subside in their efforts to rip a confession out of your — literal — cold body. “For fucks sake. I am his girl. Jungkook’s. The one that gets to fuck him every night while you two try to resist the homoerotic dynamics you have seen yourselves trapped into. Now let me in, Tweedledee.”

“A straight-up bitch. Hot.” They murmured as you made your way into the hall. Inside, a myriad of bodies crammed the room, pressed against one another. Girls in short dresses and stressed boys trying to get their attention roamed around, red cup in hand. Their scent was sweetly rancid, a mixture of alcohol, sweat and pheromones you would not be able to stand for long without a drink in your hand.

No. Wait. Probably wouldn’t be the wisest of ideas to be intoxicated while pretending to be someone else’s girlfriend for the night. You got awfully sincere when you had alcohol, and the last thing you needed was to ruin your saved favor, especially after going through all the trouble you did. Next step would not be to drink away your disgust, as compelling as that seemed to be, but to find out your pathetically inadequate fake boyfriend.

Taking a deep breath, you skirted the overabundance of bodies as you made your way past the main living room, finding solace in a somewhat calm corner of the ambient. You leaned your back against the asperous wall, taking your phone out of your purse. Numb, your thumbs cried under the effort of unlocking the device and moving to his contact — that arrogant smile on that nauseatingly perfect display picture — to type your impatient messages:

You said: Hey, loser

You said: I’m here already

You said: Where can I find you?

You waited for a few seconds to see if he would get online, but nothing appeared on your screen. For a moment your mind wandered towards the possibility of it all being a prank, after all: to get you, a serious and stuff girl, in that outrageously small piece of red fabric would be a huge joke on itself, even more if he managed to show it off to his friends. If that was the case, you would transfer colleges. Not to be overdramatic or anything.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I told you to wear a jacket, baby girl.”

The second you raised your gaze, you came to regret your reckless decision — not in the cutesy, hesitant manner you were feeling aforetime, but in the this-was-a-horrible-idea-and-my-life-is-over type of shit. Not because you were in any sort of danger, but because you accepted the fact that you had absolutely no way to control yourself near the sheer sexual temptation that was Jeon Jungkook. Not like that.

In all his glory, the idiot looked the best he ever did. With his black hair slightly disheveled, parted almost in the middle, and eyes gleaming under the neon lights of the frat house, he looked like he had just stepped out of a photoshoot for Men’s Health. His team’s jacket — blue and white, with the symbol of your college — had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms; unbuttoned so it presented you with the v-cut shirt he wore underneath, grey. You could see the outlines of his fucking abs with that crap. Muscle pig. It was absurd. He should take it off.  

And of course, there were those fucking thighs. But you would not allow your gaze to fall under his waistline just yet. Yet.

A hum from his part interrupted your momentaneous fall into inferno, making you realize how quickly your heart started to beat. “You’re lucky you’re hot as fuck,” Jungkook acknowledged, his own eyes falling to your form, eyebrows slightly arched. “I always knew I had good taste for girlfriends.”

The silence between you was bubbling with an unspoken tension. Sexual, Cosmopolitan would have defined it as purely sexual. "Ten Easy Tips to Know if your Crush Wants you Too," or something of the sort would had been plastered all over the cover, where a barely-legal model would have judged you with doe-like eyes.

Jungkook's roseate tongue came out to wet his lips, to fill the void words had left behind with a heavy sigh. You wondered what those lips tasted like. Had you been asked to guess, you would have said cherry, or strawberry — although you were certain he had been drinking beer or, worse, cheap tequila shots.

The faux courage that had been motioning your body forward ever since you abandoned the dorms was now slipping in between your fingers as you reached for the hem of his jacket. "You look—" you started, but your mind went blank in a maelstrom of adjectives, amongst which you found barely no insults.

"—smoking hot?" Jungkook ventured. He was not mistaken, but still you scoffed. It the quintessence of your being, the endless sarcasm; you could not just abandon the truth of your nature for a boyfriend. A fake one, to top it all.

"I was going to say stereotyped, but hot also fits. I guess," index pressed against his chest, you leaned forward reducing the space between your bodies to naught. Air escaped in between his teeth when your lips caressed his ear with your murmurations. "What now, baby?" you mumbled, oblivious to his fingers as they traveled up your arm in a tender caress.

"Honestly?" the impish gleam of his eyes was a bad omen or, at least, the indication that you were not prepared in the slightest for what was to come. "I want to kiss the hell out of you, but not here."

For a second, you allowed yourself to forget that it was all an act. Without a second thought, you found yourself biting your lower lip in sheer desire. Lucky you, the boy would most likely think that was part of the fake love, and not your raging hormones coming out to say hello. “I would very much like that, yes,” you purred out against his skin, pressing your chest against his own. His heart was beating fast, but yours was no different. “Where to?”

Jungkook seemed to take a second to calm his nerves, clearing his mind from the impulses that flashed within his needs — if he were to be sincere, you two could forget that plan and just have a private place for yourselves, but there was a protocol to follow, his reputation at stake.  “Couch,” that word came out in a serpentine whisper, muffled as if had been verbalized miles underneath the sea. Against your waist, his palm held your skin in an almost protective manner — yet, both of you were holding back now.

You hummed in agreement. His scent was intoxicating you, the heat of his body was monopolizing your most logical of conceptualizations. “Take me whenever you need me,” you agreed as one of your hands slid down his chest — jesus, those fucking abs — and towards his own hand. You intertwined his fingers in his, loving that position a bit more than you probably should. “Should we?”

If he had said something in return, you did not hear it. Before you could control yourself any further, the boy was already guiding you past the chaotic ocean of exhilarated bodies, holding down to your hand as if it was his own version of salvation. Jungkook was lucky he was hot — very fucking hot, at that — otherwise you would have cracked another joke or two about how eager he appeared to be. Still, you were certain it would backfire.

“I see you want to put up a show,” was what you said instead, accompanying his harsh movements as the two of you arrived upon the center of the room — the heart of the party, if you could say that. From your peripheral vision, you could see splashes of blue and white moving around, signaling that more of his teammates were around. Classic show off. “Want everyone watching.”

“You have no clue, babe.” Jungkook turned around just in time so he could see the glimpses of lust coruscating inside your eyes. Bedroom eyes. Cute. “I want that jacket off.”

“No deal,” you told him promptly. With a groan, the boy threw himself on a beige couch nearby, sitting somewhat close to where another two jocks conversed vigorously, waving their red cups in the air like they were not half full. It was only a matter of seconds before they saw the two of you — more precisely you — and his pretty spectacle would finally begin. “Why do you want to expose your girlfriend like this?”

It was no problem. He could take it off himself.

As a response, Jungkook simply placed his hands on his thighs, signaling you that it would be your seat for the night — seems like you would be sitting in his lap, after all. “Come here, baby,” he requested. Okay, you would be lying through your teeth if you said that the place did not appear to be as inviting as possible. “Let me have a taste of you.”

To hell with it. If you were going to act it out, you might as well put up a show, and calm down your raging hormones as you did so.

And fuck, there were some things that 90s movies could never prepare you for. There was no scene, no soundtrack, no music video able to distract you from how firm his legs were as you sat down on top of them, dress slightly moving up your thighs. There was no director, no storyline that could guide your hands around his neck as you tilted your head and closed your eyes, falling to the absolute misery that was Jeon Jungkook. There was nothing in the entire world that could have made you pull away.

What a terrible fucking idea.

Jungkook groaned as soon as your lips met, quick to set the pace as a quick, needy, sloppy kiss. His hands, before so vacillating, now had traveled to your ass, where he squeezed your flesh, making you press down your hips against his, not letting it go for a second. You melted against his kiss, allowing yourself to sigh and moan against his mouth as his tongue encountered yours. Lacking places to hold onto, your hands moved to his cheeks, then to his hair, intertwining in his black locks and pulling on them.

Okay, there were things you regretted. You thought there was nothing capable of topping the preposterous plan of pretending to be Jungkook’s girlfriend, but that was because you had not reached that point of the night just yet. Because you had still not pulled away just enough so you could speak, caressing his lips with your own, speaking in a voice so filled with lust that you were surprised yourself. “Is that all you can do, kiddo?” you provoked him. “Come on, Jeon, is this how you treat your girl?”

He smirked. “Believe me, princess, there’s nothing I’d love more than treat you the way you deserve. Anything for you. But, you see, the audience is waiting and, as much as I would love to fuck you raw in this couch, I’d rather give the show I promised, and then renegotiate the initial clauses of our little contract,” then, a small pause, “if you are interested, of course.”

The boy was an idiot, or so you had thought: Jeon Jungkook, the dumbass that lets his dick make every essential decision, and doesn’t grasp even half of the references you throw at him. Apparently, that was not the case, and his intelligence was extensive only when he had to protect his pride and bring to term an important business. In other words, he wasn’t dumb, he wa just a selfish little prick.

Fingers sauntering up your thigh, Jungkook murmured in-between delicate kisses, and it made it impossible for you to deliver a witty remark. Every few words he would stop to taste your flesh with the tip of his tongue, and then nip it with his teeth. Lost in the feverish reverie of his tender caresses, you abandoned yourself to the feel of his kisses as his lips marked the path towards your jaw, your cheek. With a sigh falling from your swollen lips, you hoped to express the thirst he had incited, but he merely watched your reaction, diverted. Motherfucker. He knew what he was doing.

“For now,” he said against your ear, marking each word with a tap of his finger against your thigh. “This will have to do.” His thumb slid past the hem of your skirt and fuck, how you wished he were to continue his journey towards your underwear. There had been no specifications about that matter, but you had added your distinctive touch to the outfit. Jungkook did not know yet, but he would have loved to take that off you.

“I really think you can step up your game, Jungkook.” You looked around, biting your lips. None of the players around you were particularly interested in your little affair. Short skirts and exhibitionism were the daily bread of all those jocks. Luckily, that night no one had pulled out their dicks to measure them or start a peeing contest. Perhaps later in the night, when alcohol run freely through their bloodstream, eliminating their inhibition — or what was left of it, anyways. “This show of yours will impress no one.”

As if motioned by the fuel of a good challenge, Jungkook pounced over your lips. His touch was no longer delicate, contained, or meticulous, as it was before. Earlier, all he had wanted was to create a beautiful painting in which you, a girl that would have never had any interest for the jock in the class, was head over heels for him. He cared not about his audience, not anymore, as he could not bring himself to think of the friends he was supposed to impress. His only and most primal desire was to prove himself, to erase the disdainful sneer tainting those lips that were like nectar against his tongue.

You threw yourself off his lap and leaned your back against the arm of the sofa, being trapped between it and his large figure. In the impetus of his sudden adoration, you lost your hold on reality and allowed for him to overtake you, pressing his chest against your own. Jungkook’s hand in the small of your back cushioned your descents to the inferno of his hips pressed against yours, hands exploring your waist, and the curve of your breasts over the tight dress.

It was getting more and more difficult to come to your senses when all you could feel were his palms against your breasts, only to go down to your ass a second later. Your dress was being pulled upwards, your heart overtaken by the intoxicated by rhythm of the song as one of his legs moved in between yours, pressing down on your core — gradually at first, but then strong enough for you to moan loudly against his mouth. This kid was playing with fire. You loved it.

You were out of breath and out of mind when a voice called from the outside world, that universe of flashing comets and red asters circulating around your sweltering bodies. “Hey kid! Jungkook!” the unknown timbre insisted further and, before you could recognize it, Jungkook had pushed himself away from you to smile at a stranger. Whoever it was, you wanted him killed for interrupting your search for nirvana. “You know we have rooms for that kind of unholy shit. Leave all the exhibitionism for Jimin, he loves it.”

With a smirk, his victory became plastered across his douchebag face, “I got carried away, sorry,” Jungkook explained, lips shining with the remnants of your gloss. His hand was still against your waist, but he showed no shame when he winked in your direction, purposefully following your eyes as they grew darker — he was loving it. “Tastes like heaven, y’know?”

The other guy, whose name you could not quite recall, simply rolled his eyes at the out-of-character sentence, “Whatever you say, dude,” he mumbled underneath the music, unaffected by show you two had put up. Instead, his gaze seemed to be a bit lost in the remanent liquid that dwelled on the bottom of his red cup — poor kid was completely wasted. “Uh, by the way, before I forget. Namjoon has been looking for you for like two hours or whatever. He says, and I quote, that he wants to see it or he won’t believe it.”

Jungkook’s smile grew by a few millimeters, finding in that sentence the opportunity he needed. He didn’t need half of your GPA to understand what his friend was referring to, “Yeah, sure thing, man,” he answered. You were amazed how casually he was acting for someone who still had one hand holding tightly to your ass, but you could not claim you did not like it. In fact, he could strip you naked for all you cared, fake boyfriend or not. “Where is he, by the way?”

Chewing on his words for a second, the guy paused. His chocolate-colored eyes got lost in the horizon and, at last, you came to understand that he must have consumed something other than alcohol — hey, no judgement, you were not precisely the morally superior person in that conversation. “He was at the game room with the dudes. I don’t know if they’re still there.”

“Perfect,” Jungkook exclaimed, his palm squeezing your ass once again. Only then did you notice that, in the meantime, his shirt had rolled up a bit. Now you totally could see those abs you have always dreamt about and, good lord, they were even better than what you imagined. If you were not acting then, you would have cursed out his unnamed friend for interrupting that slack of paradise — but hell, the ghostly sensation of his lips on yours still got the best of you. Fucking prick. He was too powerful. “Thanks, Tae. You didn’t see anything.”

Tae… Taehyung. Oh, now you remembered. The kid who got high and ate pizza from the bottom of the pool in freshman year. Disgusting and slightly worrisome. You thought some memories could be left forgotten.

Taehyung suspired. “I did, though,” only then did his gaze navigate back to you, lingering on your face for a couple more seconds than necessary. You didn’t know if it were the drugs acting up, or if he was examining your artificially naive expression. “Hot choice of panties, by the way. Your ass looks great in lacy black. Cheers to that.”

“You have really good taste, buddy.” With a radiant smile, you agreed. Past the blur of weed and alcohol, Taehyung replicated the gesture, and raised his red cup in a giddy toast. Whether he was lauding the glorious roundness of your ass, or the intricate beauty of your one and only pair of expensive panties, you did not care. There was no use for shame within those walls, especially when your ass was indeed hot confined within the soft lace. “Imaginary cheers to that.”

It was a moment of amicable comradery, even though Taehyung was one shot away from becoming the buffon of the party. Around your waist, Jungkook’s fingers tightened but, before you could turn around to face his predictable displeasure, the moment ended, and you were presented with a luciferous smile.

“Noted. Thank you dude, see you around.” Jungkook screamed over the loud bass of a terrible remix of a very popular song you wished was shorter. The constant chit-chat developing around did not help communicate but, luckily, you were not required to hold a challenging conversation that night. With a peck in the lips and a light squeeze of your ass, Jungkook prompted you to move. It was strangely loving — for a jock, at least.

Once anew, he guided you through the crowd, a hand in your waist and the other buried deep in one of the pockets of his jacket. The picture was magazine-worthy. One of those blurry shots, taken with a Polaroid, that could had made it into the cover of an Indie album — even if Jungkook could have starred in an Abercrombie & Fitch ad, jacket and all.

“Where is that fucking game room?” The question felt extremely bitter against your tongue when you had to wipe someone else’s sweat off your arm. The party was heating up, and not in the good way. “Please tell me it isn’t some Fifty Shades of Grey shit.”

“Didn’t picture you as one of those.” Jungkook let go of your waist to interwine his fingers in yours. It was calming, the chilliness of his hand against your sweltering skin. “But no, here we never watched that. The dudes are, you know, more into anal compilations and shit like that— not me!” He rushed to say, hands up in a gesture of defeat. “Baby Jesus wouldn’t not approve.”

That was, by far, the weirdest conversation you’ve had in a long time.

“Pity, now that I thought we would make a great pair.” You sighed. “I guess I’ll have to find another hot dude to watch my kinky porn with.”

“I— sweet lord.” With shaky hands he massaged his cheeks. You were exhausting, even for him. Good. “We’ll discuss that later.” Jungkook opened one of the doors in the hallway, leading into a big space that was, precisely, only meant to game. “Now we have business to do.”

Biting down on your lower lip, you took a couple steps into the large area, absorbing its details. The first thing you noticed, as your company closed the door behind you two, was that it was soundproof — finally, a blessing for the night. As the excruciating buzzing in your ears still lingered, your hearing started to focus on the diverse conversations that dwelled beyond those closed doors. From what you could notice, there had to be around fifteen people in there — stereotypical jocks and cheerleaders, if you were to be quite honest — and they were mostly segregated into two smaller groups. One of which, you recognized, had the individual you two had been looking for.

Now, Kim Namjoon was a specimen of his own kind. You had no idea what kind of satanic pact had he resorted to, but it had been good enough to gift him the brain of a Harvard professor and the body of a professional athlete — all wrapped up in that team jacket, which suited him so dangerously well. You would be lying through clenched teeth if you were to say you had not checked him out at least once or twice during your shared Advanced Literature classes — but that was a secret that would be buried with you. Again, he was still one of those fraternity types, and blowing up their egos was as easy as blowing other, less christian areas.  

Again, you would be lying if you said you had not considered that either.

Jungkook’s arm found the curvature of your waist once again, making you fall back into your usual acting state. Next to you, the boy was smiling freely — not in a sympathetic manner, but in a I’m-getting-good-sex-tonight kind of smile. He could keep dreaming, for all you cared. “What’s up, Kim?” he cheered, guiding you around the grey couch. Considerably large, it was surrounded by two armchairs, forming a square-like shape in the center of the room. On the wall next to it, a baseball game was silenced on the LED screen. “Thought I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

Namjoon had his elbows resting on a marble table, seating on one of the tall benches that surrounded it. You were surprised he had even found empty space in there, since all you could see was a pandemonium of empty bottles and pizza boxes. “I should be one one saying that, Jeon.” The other jock smiled just as freely, exposing those dimples you had always found unbearably cute. He did not look at you for a second. “You are not one to vanish during a party. Did you get laid or something?”

“See, Namjoon, your friend Jungkook is trying to get laid tonight, but let’s see how that goes, right honey?” You butted in, to Namjoon’s dismay. Very delicately, like the Disney princess you were not. You sat on the couch, paying no mind to the many diverse types of stains dotting it. Kim Namjoon was not going to ignore you, like you were a nothing but a pretty decoration Jungkook carried around to show off — especially not when you could beat his non-existent genius ass any day during a debate. “Hi, Namjoon. Didn’t see you in class last Wednesday.”

“Hangover.” He explained, taking a bite off a chewy slice of cheese pizza. “I have to confess I am surprised. I thought you were joking when you said you two were—”

“—dating, yes. I’m a married man now, Namjoon. No more getting laid with just anybody.” Jungkook flopped by your side. His hand went immediately towards your naked knee, and there it stayed. Very subtle.

“What do you guys talk about?” Namjoon pried, impertinently. In his timbre you could perceive a hint of disbelief, and it was understandable. He had seen you in action, going after your debate opponents like a shark in bloody waters. Jungkook was, compared to the you he had witnessed, a kindergartener in nappies, and he simply couldn’t comprehend how the two of you could work together — or even compliment each other, honestly.

“Volleyball.” Jungkook said, with an enthusiasm that made your wry smile pathetic. “She loves volleyball.”

Namjoon crackled at the unexpectedly joyful response. “Never seen her in a game.”

“I’m more of a theoretical fan of — of the sports.” Eyes disappearing into the fakest smile, you tried to escape the trap Jungkook had thrown you into. Namjoon was correct. You had not set foot in a court ever since high-school, and even back then you had only done so because it was mandatory. “I have watched Haikyuu at least thrice. I’m an expert.”

“She’ll come to the next one.” Jungkook kissed your cheek, interrupting your excused before it was too late. The touch of his petal-like lips was, at the very least, pleasant. “We made a deal. She wears my jacket and I use the shortest pants I own for the game.”

Namjoon chuckled at the idea, still skeptical. You knew he would be a hard one to convince, since he usually saw through your bullshit — both in debates and in real life.  “Yeah, right,” was all that he managed to say, still dodging your gaze. Oh, you saw what he was doing. Sneaky motherfucker. Sly little snake. By avoiding you and focusing on your fake boyfriend, he was both pressing on the one easier to slip on the lie, and annoying you. He knew how you got when you were hot-headed and that was, once again, a recipe for disaster. “In all seriousness, weeaboo anime aside, what do you… theoretically like about volleyball?”

No eye contact still. Fair. Two could play that game.  

“Physics,” you answered within a heartbeat, almost surprising yourself by how naturally that  response came from in between your lips. Not necessarily a lie, too. But that was a long story. “I told you this already. Volleyball can be explained with high school-level of mechanics. Energy and work, force, projectile motion… You know the deal.”

Namjoon hummed, watching closely the line of cheese that dripped down his pizza. “Yeah, I know the deal,” he told you. He had not bought it. “And I know you know it too. My question is,” he paused, looking up to point at Jungkook. “Does he?”

Well, you just had to know it would backfire like that. Still, you barely had time to feel panic starting to germinate in your throat before Jungkook interrupted the conversation with flawless grace, “Not much, that is why she’s teaching me,” perfect. Simple. Fail proof. You could barely believe that the single neuron that inhabited his mind managed to make a synapsis with itself and come up with that. “Yo, man, why are you so defensive all of a sudden? You’re making my girl uncomfortable.”

My girl. You hated how much you liked that.

His friend hesitated for a second, chewing slowly on the piece of food. It didn’t seem like it was any good. In the very least, it was cold. “Yeah. My bad, dude. Bad week,” Namjoon was quick to apologize, which you did not believe for an instant. He was smarter than that, more arrogant than someone that would so fast admit to his own fault. “Guess I just can’t believe you managed to get a girl like Y/N. Life sucks sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you were the one who asked it, even if both of you were thinking it. It was your turn to try and not to get defensive, but it was getting harder and harder by the second. You crossed your legs, which induced for your red dress to slip up your legs. Namjoon followed the movement, and then his gaze was stuck. Oh. Maybe there was another reason for his lack of eye contact. “Don’t tell me that the great captain Kim Namjoon is suddenly jealous.”

He shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. But you do look hotter than ninety-five percent of the chicks I’ve seen all year,” and then, his next sentences were directed straight at Jungkook. “I don’t know if you had the chance to see it already, man, but she has a great taste for underwear.”

Ninety-five was a good percentile, but you were indeed hot in that dress. Namjoon trembled, almost imperceptibly, when you slid your legs over Jungkook’s lap, to cuddle against his chest. In all honesty, the posture was not comfortable, not in that dress. Had you been back in the dorm, in your PJ’s, the tale would have been completely different; but Namjoon’s expression was a poem — a terrible one, at that — and that was enough satisfaction for the moment.

When you sighed, Namjoon replicated it, in a long-drawled, cheese-scented exhalation. The sound he emitted was pitiful, but it helped you comprehend fully the frustration the poor boy was submitted to, and the ultimate reason behind his pizza binge. His was a severe case of blue balls, and you were the one and only cause it. Cute.

“Namjoon, if you really want to address my exquisite taste in underwear, you can tell me directly,” you said. A thread of cheese remained in precarious equilibrium in between his lower lip and his hand, as he struggled for once to follow your words. The genius had short-circuited over lacy panties and the grossest kind of PDA. Another achievement unlocked in the marvelous experience that was college. It would look beautiful in your curriculum, right beside your volunteer work. “Jungkook is more used to seeing me without it. He wouldn’t understand our fantastic taste.”

“Babe,” Jungkook whined, caressing your thigh to make you cognizant of his presence. “I do love your underwear—”

“—Scattered all over your bedroom.” You whispered in the most impish little voice. By the glance he returned, Jungkook had loved the image. Maybe it was just your imagination, maybe you were in character and your discerning was altered, but you could have sworn his dick had twitched at the thought. Interesting.

To drown his sorrow, Namjoon took yet another slice of pizza. The boy could eat. He was still munching his previous victim, and it was making you hungry. Jungkook was very hot and all, but he had not offered to get you a drink or something to eat. Chivalry was, indeed, dead. “Let me ask you a question, Y/N,” Namjoon murmured in-between greasy bites. “It’ll be easy. I promise.”

“I’m all ears.”

“What is it, exactly, what made you fall for our ace?” Namjoon inquired. It was an unexpected question. A cheerleader could have asked the same, waiting you to offer a bland response in the trite language all popular girls had long mastered like: his big, big eyes; his toothpaste commercial worthy smile, the humongous size of his — not his brain, that was for certain.

But it was not a cheerleader the one to make the question, but Namjoon. Out of all the athletes in the house, Namjoon was the only one you had ever exchanged more than a few words with. Interesting words. The kind that — put together in a coherent sentence — form conversation two functional adults can take pleasure in. “Does he read Whitman to make you sleep?” He pressed further.

Before you could think twice, the words were already departing from your lips. “He rants about your pep-talks, that’s enough to have me snoring in seconds.”

He scoffed. “Nice comeback, it’s a pity that you’ve been avoiding my question like the plague,” Namjoon said in what appeared to be a groan, patience starting to run thin. At last, he appeared to have finished eating his horniness away, for he dropped the last slice of pizza back in the box. “Let me rephrase that, then—”

Next to you, Jungkook fumbled on his seat. “—Namjoon, bro, that’s enough,” he said firmly, almost an order. From the way Namjoon’s eyebrows moved together into a frown, you could tell that such serious demeanor was also uncommon amongst his group of friends. Jungkook was only serious in two situations: during games, and when his white knight complex had been activated. You would guess that was the latter. “I know it’s hard to believe, all right? Even I don’t buy it sometimes. But this is exactly why we didn’t tell you guys earlier, I knew you’d have a blast interrogating my girlfriend. And this is not cool, alright? It’s not cool that you’re over here talking about her underwear and acting like you’d be a total catch compared to me. Fuck that shit, dude, don’t ruin the night for us just because you got some jealousy stuck up your ass.”

Silence. The other boy took a second, then two, to chew what was left on his mouth, closely analyzing his friend. You could see the wheels moving inside Namjoon’s brain and — unlike Jungkook — he had more than one synapsis to make. “Hey, fair enough,” he said. And then he started smiling. Actually smiling. Putting-the-Cheshire-Cat-To-Shame kind of smile. “What has gotten into you tonight, uh? Jesus. I’m just fucking with you, didn’t think you’d get this overprotective. That’s some serious shit you’ve gotten yourself into, Jeon.”

Jungkook seemed to take an instant to fully digest the unforeseen change of demeanor, then joined his friend in his laugh. “Bro, what the fuck? You were annoying as hell,” he was clearly puzzled, even if you could see sheer alleviation in that smile. Oh, honey. He was not acting over there, was he? Poor kid really took that to heart. “Get outta here with that interrogation bullshit, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Look at that, you already know one famous victorian character,” Namjoon sarcastically celebrated, turning back at you — still living in the apex of confusion. You should have stayed home and read a book, where men are predictable and fraternity athletes as just a ghost in your memory. “You’ve been a positive influence so far, Y/N, props to that. I’ve been trying to get him to at least watch the movies for ages.”

“He only agreed to watch it once I explained Iron Man featured in it.” Taking advantage of your fake-girlfriend privileges, you slid your hand under Jungkook’s shirt. Fingers dawdling over his warm skin, you delighted in the sensation of his muscles quivering under your touch. It would not be noticeable to Namjoon — although he was particularly sharp that night. Words encompassing your feathery caresses, you murmured into his ear. “I’m thirsty, babe.”

Namjoon looked away when you nuzzled Jungkook’s neck, to bury his jealousy under another pile of cheese.

“Do you want some beer?” Jungkook blinked twice, trying to decipher the sudden change in the inflections of your voice. It was no longer playful, teasing, but dripping something he could have only categorised as desire. Jungkook was dense, enough to miss the a very evident innuendo by a mile. “I can go get you something.”

“No, not that.” Your fingers treaded an undiscovered path towards the lines of his hips, and the hem of his pants. His brain had missed the memo, but his dick was extremely eager to catch up, and was now constricted against his belt. The moment he rose from the couch, the boner would be exposed, and it would give him the perfect opportunity to drag you away from the room and towards his bedroom. “Jungkook… Let’s go.”

“I need to go to the bathroom first.” He excused himself to Namjoon, who had decided to embrace his solitude by hugging the pizza box and returning his attention to the baseball game. His team was losing. Big night for Kim Namjoon.

Jungkook pecked your lips and scurried from below your body. The room was cold now that he had left, and Namjoon was not willing to talk.

“So… pizza, huh?” you said, fixing your clothes. The last thing our brave captain needed was to take another glimpse at your ass.

Namjoon stared into the screen, absorbed by the little figures moving around. It was hard to believe that someone like him could he find baseball so entrancing. “So…Jungkook, huh?”

There it was. Jealousy, in its rawest form. He would never be so explicit in front of Jungkook, they were friends after all, but with you Namjoon could say whatever thoughts crossed his mind. “You know Jungkook isn’t as stupid as he wants all of campus to believe. He might not be a genius like you, but he is smart. He’s just a little bit caught up in the popularity game,” you said. The words leaving your mouth surprised you. Kind words for Jeon Jungkook, what a night to be alive. “Don’t be so surprised, Namjoon.”

The baseball game was no longer as relevant, for Namjoon deigned to look at you. Browns knitted in incredulity, he dropped the last slice of pizza and cleaned his hands in the team jacket. Symbolically, it was not a good thing, but he was probably overdosing on cheese. “I’m not surprised. Maybe you like him, after all.”

“Maybe I do.” You confessed with a quick wink and a guilty smile. “He gives good head, too.”

“That’s too much information.” Namjoon was nauseated, but he would never say it aloud. There was also the possibility that it was not nausea the grimace transfiguring his cute face, but jealousy. “You should go get your boyfriend, though, I think he got lost in his own reflection or something.”

Just like Namjoon had suggested, you followed Jungkook’s trail towards the bathroom. Trail, as in asking the couples making out in the hallway where the bathroom was. The first pair had not responded you, they were too busy sucking each other’s tongues to even form a coherent sentence. Titty in hand, the man in the second pair of lovers, explained where to find the bathroom — that was also known as the knocking shop.

To be fair, you knocked, but the music was too loud and the sound too timid. When you received no indication from Jungkook, you opened the door. At first you could not see past the outrageously pink sink. It was horrifyingly ugly. Jungkook rested against it, his forehead was pressed against the mirror, his warm exhalations creating beautiful designs over the reflective surface. One of his hands gripped tightly the sink, the veins of his arms visible, like rivers you had loved to explore through your fingertips. His other hand was trapped within the confines of his jeans, pressed against his dick. With every sigh and every moan, he would roll his hips against his hand, fucking himself into oblivion. All signs of arrogance vanished from his features when he was about to cum. Vulnerability looked so pretty on him.

You wished there was a joke you could crack, even if to yourself, that could serve as a coping mechanism to whatever the fuck you were being presented with. Still, nothing came out of your lips besides a loud, slightly horrified:

“What the actual fuck, Jungkook?”

[jungcock]

DOTTI (m.)

→ pairing: jungkook x reader

→ genre: coworker au, smut, crack if you squint

→ word count: 6.2k 

Work colleagues are off limits. Period. But, when the office eye candy seems to have eyes for only you—you find it extremely hard to refrain from breaking your #1 rule.

→ warnings: dom!jungkook, mild voyeurism, dirty talk, forced orgasms, unprotected sex, public(?) sex, overstimulation, breath play, multiple orgasms

Tension. Thick undeniable tension was all you could associate with Jeon Jungkook. Months of lingering stares, idle work conversation and quiet interactions in the photocopy room was enough to drive you insane. Nothing really happened, but enough happened for you to be invested in him and the idea of him—how close or far away he was, when he’d walked past you next. He had his hooks into you, deep. And embarrassingly, he didn’t need to give you a lot for him to bombard your thoughts regularly. He was just that tantalising.

It began with the longing stares. He’d never fail to catch your eye, whether it was across the boardroom table or through small crowds in the lift. Every chance he got to eye fuck you, he abused. It was always with a challenging eyebrow cock or smirk—subtle enough for it to be deemed appropriate but distressing enough for your cheeks to flush.

He knew what he did to you. It was apparent in the way you'd stutter and stumble in his presence, unable to answer him in a fluent sentence and scrambling for papers when he'd ask for something. He pretended not to notice and that's what got to you the most. The quick once over that he gave you every morning was one of the very few signs of legitimate interested he showed. He knew you liked what you saw, he liked what he saw, but he didn't do anything about it. And sadly, neither did you—you couldn’t and you wouldn’t.

He waltzed around like he owned the place and you watched him, like every other woman in the office, as he made four trips to the coffee machine and six trips to the printer, every day. He looked like a walking, talking Hugo Boss campaign in his tailored suits and navy dress shirts. He smelt subtly of expensive cologne every time he’d lean on your desk to ask you for paperwork. And, he spoke in a dialect that broke the corporate look in the sexiest way possible.

It goes without saying he was extremely distracting. You were always professional and hard working in the few jobs you’d had, however, your performance was the worst it had ever been at this job. It resulted in after work hours in the office, much like tonight, still photocopying and printing hundreds of pages of work a good five hours after you were supposed to go home. You used this time to curse Jungkook. Pathetic—yes, but cleansing. If you didn't let off steam in these frustrating times alone in the office, you wouldn't be able to fight or conceal the hatred for him. Or more so, the hatred for the effect he had on you.

You were mumbling to yourself, walking to and from your desk to the printer. The only other people there at that time were the cleaners and they always had headphones in. The third trip to your desk you had noticed the kitchenette light on, although you didn't think much of it. You really should have. Still rambling on unintelligibly about how good his hair looked that day, you shuffled documents on your desk, making the biggest ruckus. It was near impossible to anticipate his approaching footsteps.

"Um, are you ok?"

You almost jumped out of your skin.

"What the fuck?!" you screamed, papers flying everywhere.

"You're always doing that," he exasperated, shaking his head.

You glared at him incredulously. The Jeon Jungkook at the office, at this time of night?! The guy was a star, good at everything and the boss' favourite. He was always on top of his work, he never even qualified to do overtime. What really made you mad was that you were here because of him distracting you and now—he was here to distract you some more. Fucking spectacular.

"What are you doing here?!" you almost yelled at him, beyond frazzled.

"Uh, I work here, just like you?" he replied, his eyes darting around the room to emphasise how obvious it was.

You didn’t even have the energy to roll your eyes at him.

"You scared the shit out of me,” you huffed, blatantly unimpressed.

He raised his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry."

You blew a strand of hair out of your face before dropping to the ground to collect your papers. Jungkook was kind enough to help you. So, you decided not to yell at him when he shuffled them together in the wrong order.

"I didn't expect anyone to be here this late," he confessed.

He handed you the pile he collected and you snatched it rather coldly.

"Yeah, well, I'm always here this late."

He chuckled. "Rough, I understand why you're so cranky then."

You narrowed your eyes at him. Another thing that irked you about Jeon Jungkook was that nothing ever truly fazed him—all cheek, all smiles. He was always on his A game, always composed and put together—shrugging anything off his shoulder as if it was nothing. And sometimes, it came across as borderline mocking. While you stood there in your beige stockings, heels chucked under your desk, blouse untucked and hair pulled back into the messiest of buns—he looked just as perfect and impeccable as he looked that morning. While you were frowning, he was grinning. The contrast between you two made you look downright sad, just another thing to irritate you that night.

“I have to get back to work,” you announced before strutting away.

He chuckled and bit his lip, relishing in the sight of you walking away from him. He would never tell you to your face but he loved it when you were riled up. From the way your hips swing when you’d walk with haste to meet your deadlines, to the way you pulled your hair up messily to expose your flushed face and neck. There was just something about you when you were flustered... It was how he would imagine you’d look after a good fuck. And then it had him imagining fucking you so good, you would sigh in bliss and your eyebrows on your little flushed face would unknit. He thought about this every day since you’d started working there. He’d always feel so bad for you but he couldn’t bring himself to help you. Despite knowing you were a smart girl that could handle herself, he was too addicted to his flustered ____ fetish to help lessen your workload. If you were ever to know, he knew you’d hate him… even more so than you did now.

“You know it might be easier if you just take all your paperwork so you don't have to make so many trips,” he called after you.

Tonight was the time for him to redeem himself, to get in your good books. However, much to his dismay, you just weren’t having it.

“I'm cranky, Jungkook, maybe you shouldn't talk to me,” you called back.

“____! Don't be like that,” he replied with a laugh.

Jungkook followed you to the photocopy room, making sure to grab the rest of your paperwork for you. He stopped in the doorway, taken aback at the sight of you. You were stressed, it was very evident and this time, it wasn’t cute to him. It made him sad. With shaky hands, you jabbed at the printer buttons impatiently. With papers wedged under an arm, you had to blow loose strands of hair out of your face. You were distressed, he had never seen you at this level of frustration before and for once, he didn’t like it.

“You know—”

“What, Jeon?!” you snapped at him.

His eyes bulged at your outburst but he was quick to shake it off. “Abusing Dotti isn’t gonna make her print any faster,” he said, softly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Dotti?”

Jungkook huffed before sauntering closer to you, a smug smile on his face. He got close, too close for comfort but you stood your ground. His cologne wafted into your face and you had to refrain yourself from inhaling louder than necessary. He reached around you and all you could do was stare at his collar, inches from your face. He slapped a hand on the printer and unrolled a worn sticker that read ‘DOTTI’. You raised your eyebrows in understanding. You learnt something new every day.

“Since you and Dotti are so close, why don’t you have a word with her for me then?” you sassed, taking a decent step away from his aroma before you started drooling.

“Is ____ asking me, for help?” he grinned.

You sighed and attempted to push him aside, “Nevermind.”

“No no no,” he interjected.

He delicately grabbed your wrist and you held your breath until he let go. You were unlucky Jungkook was so observant. No matter how convincing your cold front was, he saw right through you. Maybe, that was why he had the confidence to continuously push your buttons?

“I want my girls to get along,” he winked.

You don’t know whether Jungkook calling you his girl or Jungkook calling the printer his girl startled you more. Nevertheless, you let him help you. You were highly appreciative but you also highly impatient and tapped your foot while waiting. You heard him chuckle but he didn’t comment—a smart move on his part.

“Ok, all done,” he exclaimed.

You forced a smile before approaching the printer, but he refused to move. Your shoulders slumped in dejection and he chuckled again.

“Now I need your help.”

You groaned you couldn’t help it.

“What could you possibly need my help for, golden boy?”

“There’s this girl—”

You slapped your papers on the table behind you before giving your forehead a rub and sighing overdramatically.

“You’re seriously asking me for relationship advice… me?!”

“Yeah because—”

“Jungkook!” you interrupted him again, “Does it look like I have a love life? I’m here for fuck sakes! I’m here every single night until 10, 12 some nights!”

“Right… but this girl—”

“Why are you here, Jungkook? If you’re here just to pester me, I’m really not in the mood and I don’t have the time right now.”

You weren’t known for being so nasty. You had been under this type of pressure before but it never drove you to speak to anyone like that, especially a coworker. You were overtired and overworked. And, not to mention, you still wanted to fuck this boy, bad. The sexual frustration on top of everything else was just too hard for your exhausted soul to handle. Although, Jungkook didn’t let your snarkiness get him down—at least, he didn’t show it. Instead, he smiled.

“That’s fair,” he acknowledged you. “How about you let me take you out for a drink after this then?”

You scoffed, ignoring the hope and anticipation in his eyes—oblivious to it.

“I really couldn’t think of anything worse right now,” you almost muttered as if you weren’t supposed to say it aloud. You really shouldn’t have.

He chuckled again, but this time his heart wasn’t it in. It was then you realised what you said and you regretted it, instantly. If anything, what you said meant the opposite to how it sounded. You liked Jungkook, a little too much and it frustrated you. As much as you wanted him and wanted to go out with him, you couldn’t. You couldn’t do those things with him without jumping his bones. And you wouldn’t be able to look at him the same at work, you wouldn’t be able to look at yourself the same having broken your number one rule: do not fuck workmates.

“You really know how to let a guy down gently,” he sniggered, the disappointment of rejection clear in his tone.

You winced as if there was malice behind his words but you knew there wasn’t. You were wincing at the mild devastation you caused him, and there was no going back now—what was said was said, and what was done was done.

“I have a lot of work to do, Kook,” you said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

“I know,” he sighed, before eventually handing you your papers. “Good luck.”

Only when he looked down, you had the courage to look up at him. He was properly wounded. Once your hands grasped the papers, he quickly turned to leave. Oh, how you felt bad.

“Thank you,” you mumbled after him.

“Yeah.”

And he was gone.

*

You couldn’t focus. All you had to do was photocopy documents and you couldn’t even do that right. Your mind was so distracted, warped around your encounter with Jungkook and how horrid you were to him. He really didn’t deserve it. You felt terrible but you couldn’t bring yourself to go over and apologise. You could hear him pottering at his desk, you could hear his mouse clicks and deflated sighs. Twenty minutes went by and you were scanning the same documents over for the third time. It was karma—you anticipated and mentally prepared yourself for a long night.

“Ahem.”

You looked up to see Jungkook standing in the doorway, staring at you with sad hurt eyes.

“Do you mind if I stay? I need to print a few things.”

You nodded almost immediately, avoiding any form of eye contact. He really just asked for your permission to use the printer next to you. It was confirmed, you just painted yourself as the evilest bitch in Jungkook’s eyes. The whole time you had worked with him he had always seemed to have the upper hand. He was always the one leaving an everlasting impression on you. Now, you just one-upped him in that department and in the worst way. God, you really needed to say something—anything to clear the air, and your conscience.

“I’m sorry ok,” you managed to mumble. It was the right thing for you to say—regardless of how uncomfortable it made you feel. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to admit you were wrong, it was that you didn’t want to accept the guilt for hurting his feelings, you didn’t want to make it real. The last thing you needed was to hate yourself on top of everything else that was on your plate.

Jungkook froze and looked at you, you could see it from the corner of your eye. You kept working, refusing to look at his dumb gorgeous face. You prayed he’d just accept it so you wouldn’t have to have an awkward heart to heart. You just wanted to move on. Although, you had lasted a good ten minutes in the most painful of awkward silences. If you could survive that, you could survive anything Jeon Jungkook swung your way.

“Hey, you don’t like me, it’s cool. Now I won’t make any more of an idiot of myself. You did me a favour,” Jungkook said lightheartedly, already brushing your unnecessary rudeness under the rug.

“It’s not that, Jungkook,” you sighed, “I do like you. I’ve just had a hard week, hell, I’ve had a hard couple of months but that doesn’t give me the right to take it out on you. I’m sorry about that.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything for a while and made you second guess if he even heard you. Surely, he did. The was no way he didn’t. You finally tore your eyes away from your work to see him staring at you with the biggest grin. You almost snorted at the childlike delight in his eyes.

“So… raincheck on that drink then?” he asked cautiously.

You let a smile creep up your face. “Sure.”

Jungkook continued to smile at you, grinning so hard his eyes almost disappeared. “Looking forward to it.”

The next hour grew comfortable, chatting about nothing and everything in particular. You mostly trash talked other coworkers, laughing so hard at how your opinions were the exact same. You both disliked the same people, had the same interactions with others and noticed the same weird traits each of them had. You wished you hadn’t spent so long avoiding actually engaging with Jungkook. In a very short period of time, one on one, it was clear he was a genuinely cool guy.

"So... did boss man dump work on your desk just before he left for the day?" You asked him when your laughter simmered down.

Jungkook chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. You kept working, only looking up at him after it took him longer than usual to reply. He turned around almost immediately to avoid eye contact and somehow busied himself in the stationary cupboard. You grimaced—it was a simple question, was it not? You opened your mouth to say something, repeat the question as if he hadn't heard it even though there was no way he didn't, but he beat you to it.

"Surely you’re almost done," he smiled at you, circling around you to sift through the papers you had placed to the side.

You found it bizarre he just changed the subject, out of the blue, but you chose to let it go.

"I'm not, but I'm done for tonight," you replied, checking your watch to see it was half eleven.

"Good!"

After a few seconds of the both of you gathering your things, you both turned to each other to speak, chuckling when realising you were in unison.

“You go,” you prompted him, softly.

He shyly shook his head and you turned to him properly, cocking an eyebrow at him—silently coaxing him to speak. He faltered easily, seemingly like what he was about to say, he’d been wanting to say for awhile. You were intrigued.

“I have a confession to make,” he began, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t actually have any work to do. I knew you’d be here so I offered to photocopy some work for Taehyung.”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, your mind-boggling, “And why would you do that?”

Jungkook let out a nervous chuckle, “C’mon ____, don’t make me say it.”

Your mind was reeling, frantically connecting all the dots. It made sense as to why he’d been there, as there’s no way he’d have enough left over work to do over time. Although, what you struggled wrapping your head around was that he did it for you. He wanted to spend more time with you. You tried your utmost best not to feel too flattered.

“That girl…” you began, reminiscing the previous conversation before you had so rudely yelled at him.

“I was talking about you, of course,” he admitted, unintentionally making you feel stupid.  

With furrowed eyebrows, you turned to look at him and saw his cheeks red and his hands all fidgety. He couldn’t meet your eyes. You had never seen this side of Jungkook, cute and… bashful. And all of a sudden, you felt an overwhelming need to reassure him.

You crept up to him, slowly, carefully watching his reactions. He cocked his head to the side when you stopped in front of him, inches away from touching him and just stood there, staring at him, contemplating. He opened his mouth to question you but then closed it again when you delicately placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed up on your tippy toes. You heard him gasp and hold his breath as you gained on his face, slowly, inching closer and closer, locking eyes with him and then flicking your gaze down to his lips throughout. You were so close and Jungkook let his pretty eyelids flutter shut. You took one last look at his serene expression before torturing him any further and pressed your lips against his.

You don’t know why you did it. You had felt entranced, possessed, as if you just had to, on top of wanting to. His lips felt like heaven, soft and moist and they moved delicately with yours. You cupped each side of his face and he dropped his papers to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He began deepening your kiss, tilting his head to the side to devour your mouth, pushing it open, sucking in your bottom lip. You felt your knees and your hands trembling. Jungkook whining into your mouth also slowly dissolving your self-control. You wanted to melt into him, so bad. But instead, you pulled away quickly.

He was dazed and confused and the sudden loss of you stunned him long enough for you to escape his hold. Neither of you had spoken a word yet and in that silence, you quickly went back to gather your things. He stood watching you, hair a mess and lips slightly swollen and for a split second, you thought he’d let you slip past him no problem. You were wrong.

“Where are you going?” he confronted you, grabbing you by the waist.

“I—I’m going home, Jungkook,” you stuttered, unable to meet his eyes.

He slowly exhaled, loud and deep before removing your work out of your hands and flinging it onto the table behind you. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, turning away to retrieve the papers but he prevented you every time.

“You can’t,” he argued, holding onto you tighter.

“Jungkook—”

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?” he mumbled, moving a hand up to play with your hair. You gulped and he pulled you closer, pressing his fingertips into one side of your neck and pressing his lips to the other side. His damp pecks caused goosebumps to spread all over your skin before he moved to your ear to whisper. “Do you know long how I’ve wanted you like this?”

“Jungkook, we can’t,” you keened, unintentionally, into his touch. He ignored you, listening to your body instead. He continued to massage into your waist and your neck with either of his hands, causing you to whimper, to submit to him without protest. It goes without saying, you were extremely disappointed with yourself.

“No, you can’t,” he reiterated, spinning you both around and slamming you into the printer. “You can’t just kiss me like that and leave!”

He was getting rough, rougher than you had expected he’d be in such heat. You theorised it as all that pent up sexual tension, all those daring looks over months of working together, unable to take anything further, unable to release that frustration out on each other. He was tired of having to go home and touch himself to the thought of you. Little did he know, so were you.

Staring into his dilated pupils, lust-crazed and delirious, you palmed his cheeks softly and pecked his lips with as much passion as you could muster. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his lips.

He shuddered and hissed before taking control of the kiss, his large hands roaming all over your body, manipulating your movements. He kissed you harder and all you could do was let him—let his tongue invade your mouth and let his teeth nibble at your bottom lip. He moved down to your neck, leaving moist patches on your skin, sucking until moans fell from your lips.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he was chanting in a mumble, kissing you wherever he could and you were incessant in responding with breathy whimpers. His hands moved to your sides, kneading at your flesh and up under your skirt to claw at your ass. You yelped.

“I hate it when you wear this skirt,” he growled in your neck. “You’re such a fucking tease, do you try to kill me?!”

You looked down from the ceiling to see Jungkook staring daggers at your skirt, that he had now hitched up above your thighs. Your eyes widened. “N—no,” you stuttered.

Jungkook head snapped up to look into your eyes, his own filled with menacing arousal and it made you shiver. “Bullshit,” he rasped, before hoisting you up onto the printer.

A squeak escaped you as he did so and he wrapped your legs around his waist. His lips were back on yours and even though he had only been kissing you seconds ago, the relief you felt was as if you had gone an eternity without kissing him. He felt so right, you felt a fool for holding out on him for so long—for following your stupid rule for so long. The consequences would be complicated and awkward and bothersome but the way he felt pressed against you, kissing you, was euphoric and frankly, worth it. With that mindset, you had no complaints when he spread your thighs apart and ripped your stockings off of your legs.

“Finally,” he mumbled to himself while reaching for your core, and softly rubbing you through your panties.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed under your breath, throwing your head back. “Please.”

“Please, what?” he taunted, teasingly tracing your clothed slit.

“Touch me,” you breathed, your open thighs trembling.

Jungkook sniggered, rubbing you in circles before removing his touch completely. You whined in protest, your clit throbbing at the loss of stimulation. Tears pricked at your eyes as you watched him back away from your needy body and head towards the door to close it. When he turned back around, he stared you down predatorily. Ignoring the chills you felt, you raised a hand to him, gesturing for him to return to you. He shook his head.

“I want you to do it yourself,” he demanded, leaning against the table opposite you.

“Huh?”

“Touch yourself for me, baby.”

“Oh,” you breathed, your whole body trembling. Your heart was racing as you carefully raised a leg to perch your foot on a ledge of the printer. With your skirt already hitched at your waist, you pulled your panties to the side, your wetness tethering strings to the fabric.

“Goddamn,” Jungkook groaned, palming himself through his dress pants.

You began stroking your soaked slit, delicately spreading your arousal all over your folds. You couldn’t control your moans when your nimble fingers found your clit and started rubbing tight circles. So badly, you wanted to throw your other hand into the mix to finger yourself at the same time. But the way you were perched on top of the printer, you had to keep your other hand behind you to support your weight. God, you needed to feel full, but your movements on your sensitive nub were too pleasurable to stop. You whined for Jungkook and he gripped his clothed cock tighter but refused to help you. You wailed, resigning to chasing a clitoral orgasm. You rubbed yourself faster and harder until your wrist cramped up. You felt your walls spasming, clenching around nothing as you came close to your end. Your eyes screwed shut and your mouth fell open as a wave of euphoria hit the pit of your stomach and then washed through your entire body. You were left shaking, trembling, your juices spilling out of you shamelessly.

“You really just… came all over Dotti,” Jungkook commented when you finally caught your breath and he strode up to you.

You slapped him on the chest, your cheeks flaming red. “Shut up!”

“And it was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen,” he rasped in your ear, his fingers returning to your throbbing pussy. He attacked your swollen nub and you squealed from the overstimulation and banged your foot on the paper tray. “Careful,” he warned but continued to torture you, rubbing you roughly and unapologetically.

“Jungkook, please,” you begged shakily, your skin slick with sweat, your unbuttoned blouse and loose strands of hair sticking to you. You had never looked so alluring to him, a perspired mess, completely spent, exhausted and compliant. His cock twitched in its constraints.

“You’re one needy bitch, aren’t you?” he growled through his teeth.

You nodded, whimpering, whining, almost sobbing. You wanted to feel full, you wanted his cock stuffed inside you so bad you felt you were going to go insane if he made you wait for a second longer. Thankfully, Jungkook couldn’t hold out any longer either and pulled his length out of his zipper, hard and pulsing. Your mouth watered at the sight.

“Tell me how much you want my cock, huh, baby?” He cooed, running his shaft up and down your dripping folds.

“Hmm, I want it so bad, please Jungkook fuck me,” you begged him, “I need it, I’ve been so stressed out, please, I need you to fuck me good.”

“I don’t know, ____,” he taunted, “you tried to run away from me earlier. Are you sure? I am your work colleague and this is our workplace… We’re breaking so many rules, don’t you think?”

He was still rubbing his shaft all over your wet heat and slapping his hardness on your clit every once and awhile, causing you to squeak. You looked up to see a mocking expression on his face and it made you want to slap it right off. He was driving you crazy, how he dare?

“I don’t fucking care, Jungkook,” you growled through your teeth. “I need you inside of me right now or I swear to God, I’m hopping off of Dotti, tackling you to the floor and riding your cock myself.”

A huge grin spread across Jungkook’s face. “As sexy as that sounds, I’m enjoying having Dotti in the equation,” he teased, maintaining control.

“You fucking weirdo—oH!”

He slammed into you, all at once, knocking the air out of your lungs. You hadn’t felt so satisfyingly full in a very long time. His size was perfect for you, stretching your walls exquisitely, reaching you in spots you forgot existed. He began a relentless pace, not giving you any time to adjust. You couldn’t control your moans. The way he was bucking into you, ramming you, had the printer juddering beneath you. For Jungkook, it was easily ignored as he had he eyes fixated at where you connected, watching his cock pump in and out of you at a blinding pace, your wetness dripping down and pooling into a printer compartment. If he wasn’t making you feel so mind-blowingly amazing, you might have cared.

This was what you needed. This was what you should have given into a long time ago. If you had just let him fuck your brains out, all the tension, all the stress that distracted you from your work would have been non-existent. But of course, with Jungkook’s cock pounding you, this theory made perfect sense, when in fact, it was the complete opposite.

He picked up the pace, which you didn’t believe would be possible but he did. He held your thighs apart wider, pumping deeper into you and making your eyes roll back. You felt your end draw near and your breathing hitched. A shaky hand flung down to your clit and you rubbed ferociously. Jungkook watched as you massaged yourself frantically and screamed your completion at the ceiling. As your walls clenched sporadically around him, he shuddered and grunted wildly.

Your muscles went limp, your orgasm shocking and then exhausting your body—but Jungkook ignored it and continued his merciless thrusting. He was still rock hard, warm and pulsing inside you. You didn’t know how much your body could take. Not at any point had he slowed down and you were so sensitive from your previous orgasms, it was beginning to hurt.

“Cum again for me, baby, c’mon!” he snarled, droplets of sweating running down his forehead.

“I CAN’T!” you screamed at him, clawing at his dress shirt, clawing for something, anything to hold onto.

“Yes you can,” he grunted, one hand dipping to touch your engorged clit and the other hand wrapping around your neck. His fingers enclosed around your throat, stifling your wails of pleasure. You were starting to feel pleasure again. Jungkook had manipulated the overstimulation, building you up again in a fraction of the time. Your mind and vision went blurry as the waves of ecstasy rocked through you, so close to tipping over the edge. You had never felt such a raw high.

“You look so good on my cock,” Jungkook groaned. He was panting, moaning, grunting— he was shamelessly vocal throughout and you found it beyond erotic. It felt so good knowing he also felt good. As much as you enjoyed being lost in pleasure, being fucked into oblivion—hearing Jungkook on the other end, seeing him work relentlessly, grounded you in the best way. You didn’t want him to ever stop fucking you.

He squeezed your throat, constricting your breathing slightly and suddenly, altered his pace. He removed his touch from your clit and grabbed your shoulder, both of your hands snapping up to grip his forearms. This way, he had complete control over you.

“Take. Every. Single. Fucking. Inch,” he chanted while delivering five brutal thrusts. Your body jerked with every violent collision of hips, his tip hitting your sweet spot. You drowned in your high, your breath hitching and your toes curling.

“Oh fuck!” Jungkook exclaimed once he felt your walls squeezing him, deliciously—the printer then collapsing an inch with a loud crash. He let go of your shoulder and throat, hooking his arms under your thighs and lifting you up off the printer with haste. Your limbs were still spasming from your orgasm, your neck rolling until your head found his shoulder to rest. With his cock still lodged inside of you, he leaned you against the wall and began ramming into your convulsing cavern. It was too much, you could barely hold yourself up.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, “put me down.”

Jungkook grunted in response, carrying you over to the table and lying your limp body down. He folded your legs against your chest, continuing to abuse your seeping hole, chasing his high. His thrusts began to get sloppy and after three more pumps, he was spilling his load into you, roaring at the ceiling. His warm seed splashed against your walls, mixing with your own juices and trickling onto the table.

He leaned down, hovering over your splayed body to give you a big kiss. You somehow found the energy to return it, opening your mouth for his wet muscle to taste you. He then pecked your lips twice before rolling off of you and leaning against the table next to you, side by side. The both of you stayed silent for a bit, catching your breath, attempting to wrap your heads around what just happened… you had fucked each other, finally.

“Wow,” you huffed.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Goddamn, you destroyed me,” you swallowed.

He chuckled. “Yeah, and Dotti.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you raised your head to glance at the printer you had just been railed on. The paper tray had snapped, the scanner was dented and the whole machine had collapsed on its side. You dropped your head back onto the table and burst into laughter. Jungkook joined you, his grin so big all you could see was teeth. Your cute, bashful Jungkook was back and you didn’t mind the whiplash of his conflicting personas.

“We’re so fucked,” you said through a cackle.

“Yeah, all of us.”

“Stop!” you squealed, “We did not have a threesome with a fucking printer!”

“I think we did,” he replied cheekily.

“Jungkook!”

“I still want to take you out for that drink,” he stated, very casually changing the subject.

You nodded, “Yeah, of course.”

Jungkook smiled at you before getting up to inspect DOTTI. Sure, he was good with printers but there was no way he was going to be able to fix that one. You pushed yourself up, your arms and legs still shaky, trying to avoid the pool of cum between your legs. It was difficult, even though you felt the most serene and relaxed you had felt in a while, your body felt like it had just been through a war.

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t wanna go out for a drink.”

Jungkook turned to you with a disappointed expression. “Oh.”

You giggled.

“I want you to carry me home tonight instead…” you admitted, “Honestly, I don’t think I can walk.”

Your knees wobbled as you tried to climb down from the table and Jungkook sniggered. He found some antiseptic wipes and cleaned up the mess so you could just slide down. You adjusted your panties and skirt and pulled your tattered stockings off of your foot—there was no salvaging those.

“I’m happy to do both, you know,” he suggested sweetly, folding his arms and leaning back against the table.

You were attempting to fix your hair, retying the bun and then shook your head, forcing you to start again. “No, I can’t have you doing me two favours,” you exasperated.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I made you break your number one rule, it’s the least I could do,” he theorised, more nonchalant than was appropriate.

“What?!” you almost squealed, “How’d you know about that?”

He chuckled cheekily, poking his tongue at his cheek. “I asked Taehyung about you, and apparently, you told him at the Christmas party last year you never get romantically involved with coworkers. He was very disappointed, I might add.”

“You asked about me?” you unintentionally gasped, Taehyung’s interest in you was carnal and old news. 

Jungkook chuckled. “Yeah, I actually like you, ____.”

You blushed. You don’t know why. He had just seen you in all your glory. He had just fucked you into another dimension.

He started scratching the back of his head—you were beginning to catch on that he did it when he was nervous—and shuffling his feet. “And I was hoping… I could be an exception to your rule.”

You smiled, big, you couldn’t refrain from it.

“We’ll see.”

[kaiju-z]

Today’s summary is of a One-Shot DM’d by the lovely @langstymclangstface​. Go visit their page and give them some love, for they are a talented writer and we had a hellaciously fun time playing this one shot together!

Seon Adventures Episode 20.5:  “Crumbling Wax”, a Seon Adventures Halloween One-Shot

(Aka Nelatha’s Coochie Quest. The sequel title no one asked for :eyesemoji:)

It has been. A short while since our heroes have been in the city of Crystalgate, Capitol of the country of Aetorumia.

A costume festival is being held, bright and shining lights illuminating the night time sky above the wandering citizens as they pass by booths and tables of contents, finding entertainment for themselves and their loved ones.

Each and every one has made it their goal to wear a costume as ostentatious as the next, a sort of challenge between each other to see who can be the most in the spirit of the event.

High spirits are in the air, in spite of a problem that has arisen for everyone. Or most of everyone. A sickness has hit a substantial part of the populace and thus, people are using this evening as a gateaway from the bad vibes of their relatives being down for the count.

Some call it the end of the world, but they’re honestly being overdramatic dramatic.

Amongst the walkers of this town, there are four of the five members of the party “The Cultbusters”. Sadly, Belli is at home (I headcanon that Mournimar left Morgan with her, as we didn’t get a description of Morgan’s costume. So the good direwolf is there to be her comfort animal, along with familiar, Orion.) and she is siiiiiick. And thus, she is locked off at home, as are all that have been hit by this flu.

The rest of the party are lucky.

And the rest of the party are dressed up to their heart’s content!

Amelia wears the proud costume of a sea corsair. A daring, romanticized fersion of a pirate, with Archie as her fat little shoulder griffin, a pair of wings strapped to the chunky, hunky kitty’s back, a little beak on his face. He’s living his best life and loves his catmom.

Walking beside her, Nelatha Shadowspire’s joined the group yet again. Accompanying her lady friend Genasi, she is wearing a sexed up version of a Cleric’s uniform. Particularly, that of a Honos cleric. (She is basically a fantasy sexy nurse) And she is confident as hell in that outfit. She makes it work and she knows it.

Flanking them is Mournimar, who, while initially planning some other attire, has opted for the costume of a favored character of his from a classical play. He wears the rags of the infamous drug dealer, tomb raider, bard and poet, the Graverobber. And he is blue screening real bad on account of not being used to such festivities. With Belli on the sick bed, he is but inchest away from touching shoulders with his fellow tiefling.

He, of double disguises. Who, along with the elf baby have dressed up as the characters of Fangface and Fangpuss respectively. They are goofy outfits, but Luctan is having a ball with it, enjoying the cartoonishness of it all and the hilarity that he, someone already in disguise, is wearing a third skin now. And the baby is baby. He don’t care none.

Last, but far, far from least, Malak walks with his new traveling companions, wearing a skeleton costume. A onesie, his face painted up to appear skullish.

Together the five, plus the baby and cat, walk amongst the people as streamers fly overhead. People dance and play and drink to their heart’s content. In a various level of dress.

What catches their attention is that amongst the chaos there’s a man selling candles. A sign upon his booth states the title “The Candle Man”, as their noses are attracted by multitude of scents from these particular ones.

The closer they walk, the musical tunes of The Living Tombstone’s “Spooky Scary Skeletons” hail in repetition, much to the frustration and disguist of Nel, who’s bardic pride feels poked at with the ridicilousness of that tune.

Along the way to the Candle Man’s booth, Malak’s eye stops at a nice old fashioned game of bobbing for apples. His curiosity overtaking him, the human man gives it a go and dunks his head in the water, trying to be as dexterous as he can with his chompers.

He tries his best. Swinging his head left, right, center. Up and down, trying his damnedest to nab one of the apples. But alas, he fails at the task. From the outside perspective, someone has to walk on over to him and pull him out and back, as the Death Cleric looked like he was drowning.

Trying to give it a go himself, Mournimar enters the “battlefield” of fruit and preps to dive headfirst (as you do). Malak is the ever helpful man he is and places a hand on Mournimar’s shoulder for encouragement, casting Guidance on him.

Through a combination of the ranger’s skill in handling items and the Cleric’s holy magic, the tiefling nabs an apple. But not just your regular Granny Smith’s apple! This one is of a golden color.

“Congratulations, you won the grand prise!”

He is the victor of the game and earns himself a bag of candies from the vendor, a kind lady speaking in her best Applecore accent.

“Excellent!” exclaims Mournimar and offers the bag around. But be it because of a distate in sweets or a lack of hunger, he is left to feast on the candies himself. All the more for himself!

As they continue on, they pass by a number of establishments. From new age bars, to meat houses.  Bakeries and the like, all theming their foods after the holiday that has been bestowed upon the masses, with skulls and pumpkins and bats and all sorts of crawlies.

Luctan asks around about the sickness. Most people suggest it’s a cold time of year, so it’s normal. There are a couple of people out of town, panicking a bit regarding a pandemic. Performers say they’ve lost a hood half of their act, because of this. Lost their voices and shit.

Mourni’s type of Orc walking around, basically looks him up and down, shakes his head and says they tried, but shit didn’t work

A fire genasi performs a juggling act with flaming knives nearby. Luctan, being the boy, who loves his pointy things that he is, goes for a closer watch of the show. The Genasi man waves at Luctan, between throws and tosses and twirls and spins of the burning blades.

Impressed with the performance, Luctan gives a gold piece and a bunch more Fire Genasi come out, juggling. Despite that they are very excited to perform for him and stuff, they haven’t said a single thing. To Luctan, it appears that they are just very dedicated to their craft. And he appreciates that.

(He loves a man, who can handle a blade. Somewhere Ficus has himbs a sneeze, probably.)

Nel is not amused. Why? Aside from the juggling, her resting witch face is earned from seeing Amelia approach a pet store, where they have cats dressed in little costumes.

And you can pet said cats.

Set up as advertisements and stuff. You can buy treats themed for each cat.

She picks up the quiet mewing of kittens from the back of the room, where people pay to have kittens crawl and paw over them.

While Malak enjoys a variety of Pumpkin Spice Lattés (And there are so MANY Pumpkin Spice Lattés) Amelia goes to the cats. There’s a nice lady holding two fat cats. And she gets to pet some cats. Lennard and Harry. They were married and had a ceremony last week and the kittens are in the back.

Amelia is tearing up. This is the best day of her life.

Good work is being done for these cats. She is warned about a certain cat boi who jumps on people and demands cuddles.  Amelia seems to be prepared for this. Heavy is the ribcage that must contain so much love for felines.

Out of nowhere  areally fat Scottish fold jumps and descends on her, which causes Nel to scream a loud screm.

In response,  The cat looks at Nel and bleps.

This is the happiest day in Amelia’s life.

Cats are available for adoption.

With the cat on her head and the two in her arms, as well as Archie on her shoulders, she is virtually in cat heavan. If this is a dream, don’t let her wake up.

All the while, Malak gets free gingerbread with every latté. (Nel feels like the world’ll collapse around her over all the coffee.)

Eventually, with cats in tow, the party find themselves at the Candle Man’s store.

One very bored teenager fiddling with a candle. He looks like he can’t be bothered. As they get closer to inspect them, each one looks like a person. They seem to be made expertly, made in order of famous people, but they don’t recognize any of them.

Except for one.

Luctan vaguely recognizes one of the figures as the dancer!Zitra! But something seems off about it, like it was done in a hurry. Almost like someone wasn’t used to this, as opposed to the expert.

The young one explains that  the candlemaker’s sick, so the kid had to rush ‘em.  Luctan buys one of the Lady Zitra and an unknown dude.  Then hands the young salesperson a pamphlet and encouraging words. He believes that they can do better!

Curious, Malak wants a candle made of him. But gets the strange explanation that a personal hairstrand is required for the wick. And backs off immediatelly.

Luctan and Mournimar have no idea what this is about. To Nel there seems to be more than he’s letting on. Sinister vibe coming off of him.

She’s noticed he hasn’t’blinked once since they met him, but a few minutes prior.

He’s very cagey about what his general job is, as opposed to the summer job.

It’s mostly, you know, ehm, bar keeping and cleaning.

At the Busty Wench. The one in town.

Nel doesn’t remember a franchise opening here.

On these revelations, the shadyness of the character, if Malak hadn’t changed his mind before, he most certainly had now.

Malak casts Zone of Truth.

The moment he casts the spell, something odd happens. No. Something horrid happens. The ground begins to melt.

All around them? Everyone starts melting as blobs of flesh and clothes and then they realize they’re surrounded by wax, which starts to pull and move towards the stand, which is slowly changing form until they start in front of a vague humanoid figure twice of Mournimar’s height.

Yeah...

The sign is very litteral.

Much to Amelia’s horror, all cats, but Archie, begin to melt. Gordon and Harry and the one on her head crumble and fuse and melt off and down to the ground below. Even the cats were fake.

The wax man has a big as smile. Whatever he is. the party had never heard of it before.

As he says that, he rises into the air and drops down and suddenly everything is melting into wax, white and overpowering scent of burning candle and the floor is disappearing beneath everyone’s feet.

BOGUS!”, to say the least.

Thinking fast,  Nel uses Polymorph and changes into a giant eagle and grabs Amelia and Archie to move them to safety. Once in the air, she looks out into the horizon and in a perfect circle? She sees that the city is surrounded by a desert. And slowly-an-and- and melting?!

Malak is noticing that the fire jugglers, who but moments prior were catching and throwing burning blades, were now sleeping and drowning in wax.

He tries to save them, but isn’t strong enough to do a thng about all this.

From what the lot of the ‘busters can gather, apparently the sick people are the real ones. And they are sinking.

Wasting no further time, the rest of the party start climbing.

Arriving at the top, they see that the area they started from? There’s this vast and expanding black hole, going outwards. Up top, Luctan has a vague feeling that something isnt’real here, but there’s so much magic surrounding him, he cant’pinpoint what the illusion is.

All the while Mournimar strategizes with the polymorphed Nelatha.

Malak takes a notice that the hair sticking out of the wax candles is still there and he realizes that the figurines at the stall are left completely in tact.

Luck realizes that some of the people he tried pulling out had wax figurines.

The ones he was shown were selected so he wouldn’t recognize them. It is by mere chance that they had met the Lady herself. And thus, he acts upon a gut feeling.  He removes the hairstring and the figurine cracks, before beginning a climb down to the candle booth. To repeat that on a grander level. And Mournimar follows, in spite of Luctan’s protests.

Nel is tasked with carrying the others away.

(And here we have a bit of a 2-3 minute break, because Cat’s mic was off for a good while. Because her kitten, the Little Man/Little Bastard as she calls him had turned it off. It was the funniest thing ever.)

As they part ways, Amelia casts Levitate on Luctan. Yell heah!

As Luck flies, he remembers he left Belli asleep in the Shadowspire Manor, which from his perspective, begins to melt. Cursing under his breath, he takes the figurines with a box and removes the hairs on the way to Belli’s as Mournimar sprints after him.

As they move, Mourni notices Luctan’s in tiefling form. And has a tail?!

The levitation drops eventually and Luctan falls on the ground. As he turns around, he sees he’s been chased by a fellow tiefling, but it’s not someone he recognizes.

Nel turns in her normal form forcibly as they travel and they are surrounded by strangers. Making her 3 point landing, Amelia notices a bird turning into a humanoid form and sadly doesn’t recognize Nel.

Everyone’s... surrounded by strangers.

A figure about Amelia’s height rises from the wax and says “Hello there, don’t be frightened. You’ve been saved.”

Luck see this form as well, but it’s smaller and childlike and feels an eerie sense of calm.

Mournimar, unfortunately, fails on a wisdom save and “ knows everything’ll be alright”.

As he realizes this, his features starts melting off, until Mourni is gone, replaced with a lump of wax.

Seeing all this madness happening around him, Malak casts Protection of Good and Evil and protects himself.

Luck feels Danger as he sees that someone start melting, which causes him to have... the freaks out. It’s this reason why he probably only too late notices he has his tail back?!

Feeling threatened by this wax fhild,  Luctan casts Sacred Flame, which burns a hole through the child’s chest. Not falling for whatever niceties the child propheces, the red tiefling burst into a dash towards Belli’s location.

Mournimar is ordered to attack Luctan. And he does so, chasing after him, unsheathing the swords from his hips and attacking.  All the while this big lump of wax follows along as the floor seems to start to swallow him.

Luctan gets attacked and the seering pain feels like fire. Looking at the wound inflicted by the possessed Mournimar, he realizes he’s made of wax. Out of anxiety and rage and frustration and pain, he goes on to react with a Hellish Punishment at his attacker and melts Mournimar?!

(BEGONE, TIEF!)

Malak makes an attack, casting Litch Slap on the monstrous child. He hadn’t prepared any combat spells, but at the very least he had this.

Chunks fly and hit Amelia and Nel and reveal wax underneath.

Nel bounces. Not recognizing anyone, she has no reason to be here.

The thing goes after Malak.

Amelia bounces as well.

She takes two steps, before  a hand reaches out from the ground and grabs her, squeezing and burning.

With a strength, unmatched and one powerful crushing motion, Amelia’s head pops off. And she poofs out of existence.

Malak attacks with his axe and that has no effect. As Nel runs, tendrils are grabbing at her feet. “Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope.”

One successful tendril  grabs and pulls her down.

Nel feels herself being pulled down into the wax and it pours down into the ground. She suffocates and no longer is within this realm of existence.

The tendrils go after Luctan, shifting into vicious spikes, but melt behind him, due to him perpetually casting Prestidigitation, applying sparks in the viscinity aorund him.

.He carries on like this, until the sensation of emptyness under him catches his attention.

And he starts falling.

And falling.

And. While still dressed in the Fangface costume, he tries to concentrate on hsi wings. Figuring he could create them at this point, he does so. Wax versions of his wings shape from his shoulderblades. And for a short moment, he manages to fly up.

Until the wings break apart.

And he starts falling yet again.

As spikes portrude from around him and impale him, taking him out as well.

And then there’s Malak.

“ I’m the last survivor, you guys.”

The kid begins to clap with a wicked smile and congratulates him.

Then we all open our eyes. Peppery Pete stands over us as we wake up.

Basically. What it comes down to, as we catch our bearings and get up, is that Pete explains Belli hired Pete to drug us with some strange drug.

It was whack.

The party are not amused. Nel is confused.

They just stand there. Being menacing.

Malak takes a knee and rests a hand on Pete’s shoulder.

“Look, mistakes happen.”

“ But if you ever do this to us or anyone again, I will personally sever your soul from your body.”

Pete is. To say the least. Terrified from the death glare.

And Amelia basically realizes that Pete is bullshitting them and Belli had nothing to do with this. It was meant to be a team building exercise.

“Yeah, but why am I here, though?!” - Nel’s still confused.

FIN!

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