#then i can go HOME. i can get my ass out of this hellhole (college).

[scattered-winter]

guess who's officially dropping oouuuuuut✨✨✨✨✨

[disturbedbydesign]

A Very Bad Thing (Deviance Series - Part 2)

Pairing: Jim Hopper x OFC

Word Count: 3.4K

Summary: Chief Jim Hopper is a mess. He spends his days drowning his grief over his daughter’s death in alcohol and pussy. Having already fucked his way through the small town of Hawkins, he goes trolling for ass a few towns over and gets more than he bargained for in Sarah, a young girl who shares his daughter’s name.

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Explicit Sex (O&V), Spanking, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Everyone’s Got Daddy Issues. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: I wrote this a thousand years ago but I just rewatched Black Widow and my David Harbour/Hop Daddy problem has returned in full force. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Hopper pulls into the parking lot of a fleabag motel and parks his Blazer out of sight. No one needs to know who he is here and it’s better for everyone if they don’t. He’s about two hours outside Hawkins, in a town that people don’t leave; there’s no reason for anyone to know his face or his name, but he’ll use a fake one anyway. He had to get out of town, if only for the night.

Hopper has been plowing his way through Hawkins for over a year now, and this series of mostly regrettable decisions has come with an unexpected consequence. Perhaps he would have expected it had he given half a shit but it is what it is: Hopper can barely walk out his door without coming face to face with a woman who he has known, carnally, in the not too distant past. These interactions have ranged from slightly uncomfortable to violent. He deserved worse than a slap across the face and he knows it, but it still stung like a bitch and he doesn’t care to repeat it.

Tonight he’s on the prowl for some strange. He checks into Motel Hellhole under the name John Baker, takes a quick shower and some pills, and he’s off to the gritty looking bar up the road. Any bar walking distance from a place this nasty is bound to contain a few women willing to make that ten minute walk for a good time with a stranger. He’s not above going home with a pro, either. He’ll take any pussy that comes willingly, and with no strings.

Sarah notices him the second he walks through the door—that tall, thick stranger with the beard and the thighs that she could already picture smothering her—and she decides she has to have him. She doesn’t know exactly how old he is but she’s willing to bet he’s got about fifteen years on her. It doesn’t matter; he’s exactly what she’s looking for and she’s old enough to make her own decisions. She’s a college graduate now—an adult, not a child. She has a steady job, she pays her bills, she can do what she wants, and nobody can tell her what to do anymore.

Especially not Him.

She hates the term “daddy issues”—it’s far too reductive—but it is what it is and she can’t help the things that she wants. She will always blame Him for the way that she is and her therapist says that’s normal. Of course, the doc doesn’t know about the things she craves in the dark, with other men—strangers who could be Him but aren’t. Maybe this is exactly the kind of thing she should be talking about in therapy instead of her usual lies and half-truths but she just can’t bring herself to admit it, even to another woman. Some things should only be discussed in the dark.

It’s rare for her to get this worked up so quickly but this one is truly special. By the time he’s at the bar she’s already thinking about what he might look like bending her over his knee and spanking her until her ass is a searing red. She wonders how far he would let her go—if he’d let her say the things she wants to say but can’t talk about. She wonders if he has things he can’t say either.

Hopper is savoring that first sip—the burn of the whiskey scratching the itch he’s had since 10am—when the jailbait sidles up next to him on a mission. She’s young—too young—but she asks anyway.

“Buy me a drink?”

He shakes his head and laughs. “No.”

“C’mon,” she says. “Just one little drink.”

He turns to her and gives her a quick up-and-down. Early twenties, he thinks, everything is still high and tight on this one. Still, it’s best to be certain.

“Lemme see some ID.”

She just laughs, but he’s dead serious and she eventually digs her driver’s license out of her purse. “Happy now?”

22. It’s questionable, but older men than he have done far, far worse and it’s not the kind of night for scruples. Then he sees her name.

Shit.

“Sarah,” he says. “Pretty name.”

He turns away from her, back to his whiskey, hoping she’ll go away.

“I always thought it was kind of boring,” she says, “but if you like it…”

She hops up on the barstool next to him and he’s praying that she’ll just leave him alone but she’s relentless—fiery and desperate. She crosses her legs and swivels to face him.

“I’ll take a Jack and Coke with lime,” she says.

Just one drink, he tells himself. He will buy her one drink, make polite conversation, and then leave.

The bartender pours Sarah’s cocktail and sets it down in front of her, and when she takes Hopper’s money she gives him a not-so-thinly-veiled look of disapproval. Deep down he knows this nice, old bartender lady is right, but it still pisses him off. Who the fuck is she to tell Chief Jim Hopper what he can and can’t do? Granted here he is not the Chief—he’s good ol’ John Baker from nowhere, just passing through.

It only took that one look from the bartender to make him want to do Very Bad Things to this eager young thing sitting next to him. Because now it was a challenge designed to disgust this old hag behind the bar who had the audacity to question him. Chief Jim Hopper does whatever the fuck he wants, for better or worse.

Sarah squeezes the lime in and stirs her drink with her finger, sucking it dry in a way designed to hold his attention. It works, because on nights like this one, he is more animal than man.

“So,” she says, “you know my name but I don’t know yours. That’s hardly fair.”

Hopper clears his throat. “It’s, uh, John,” he says.

She raises one eyebrow. “Is John really the best you could come up with?”

He meets her eyes and they are blue-green and bright with youth. “Do you really care what my name is?

“No,” she says. “I don’t.”

She finishes her drink far too quickly and Hopper orders her another one. He hears the bartender mutter “pig” under her breath and he smirks at her as she walks away.

The walk to the motel is a short one but it feels much longer in heels. Sarah is using Hopper’s wide body to steady herself but it’s still slow going.

“Why do women wear those things?” he asks.

“Because men like them.”

He chortles under his breath and pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket.

“Aren’t you gonna offer me one?”

“Don’t smoke,” he says, lighting one up. “It’s bad for you.”

She rolls her eyes so hard it hurts. “Whatever you say, Daddy.”

She didn’t mean to say it. It just slipped out. She hadn’t even meant it in that way in this particular circumstance but, well, it’s out there now. She waits, and the pause is excruciating.

“Good girl,” he says.

Even in the dark she can see his smile is wicked. He’s drunk—they both are, but she’s acting drunker than she really is. She doesn’t know why, exactly. Maybe it makes it easier to play the game she wants to play. Maybe she just wants him to want to take care of her. And he does, too. It’s in the way he hugs one arm tight around her waist to keep her steady, and the way he asks, “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m great,” she says. “Never better.”

The closer they get to the motel, the louder the voice gets: This is Wrong. This is Wrong. Do not do this. It’s a voice, ever so slightly maternal, that he hears often and never listens to. Tonight is no different; it’s worse, even, because his demons are getting louder and hungrier as they approach the door to his room—contrarians drowning out every last shred of reason.

Psst, they say. Do this horrible terrible Very Bad Thing with this pretty young daddy-less girl. Psst, they say. Don’t you miss being someone’s Daddy? Be her Daddy for the night. This one you can help. This one you can save.

Maybe, just maybe, this will help you.

Of course it won’t, and he knows that, but the whole concept holds a sick sort of allure and she is clearly desperate for a kind stranger to indulge her in whatever it is she needs to do. He assumes she’s got her reasons for wanting things this way and he knows that it’s none of his business. It’s easier not knowing. Everything’s easier in the dark.

“It’s cold out here, Daddy.”

It sounds different when she says it: none of the innocence and sweetness of a child, but still with that pleading tone, that need to be both seen and heard.

“We’re almost there, princess.”

He has no earthly idea why he calls her that but it feels like the right thing to do. Hopper turns the key in the door and she pushes past him inside, flopping down on the bed and shedding the troublesome heels.

“Feel better, princess?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

This is a hell of a lot more than he bargained for tonight and he doesn’t really know what he’s meant to be doing, but one look at her sitting expectant on the bed and he realizes that he doesn’t care. He knows this is a Very Bad Thing but it doesn’t feel that way; it feels like blood humming under his skin, muscles tensing, and a throbbing down below. In this room with this girl, Hopper feels powerful, a protector. It feels fucking good, and isn’t that the point of all of this? To feel good for a little while before he inevitably feels bad again?

He crosses the room and sits, legs splayed, in a chair across from the bed, never once taking his eyes off her.

“Bring me a cigarette,” he says, and he waits.

Before tonight, in all her years of sexual activity Sarah had only found two guys willing to indulge her darkest urges. The first was some frat guy in college who would have done anything to get in her pants. She appreciated the effort but it just wasn’t right: he was too young, too short, too lean. He was a boy; she wanted a man. The second was a guy she met in a bar near her apartment in Indianapolis. She’d just graduated and moved as far away from home as she reasonably could, and she’d been in the mood to celebrate cutting that particular cord. The guy fit the basic qualifications but even with beer goggles he was borderline repulsive: bad breath, thinning hair, his body the wrong kind of thick. She felt sick afterward and swore she’d never do it again.

Neither of them compare to this John, or whatever the fuck his name is. He’s everything she’s ever wanted—a little bit more, actually, because he is thick everywhere. She’s trying her best not to choke on him but even with his hands clenched tight in her hair and his voice stern, he’s being almost delicate with her.

He sounds calm when he speaks, almost bored: “You sure know your way around a dick, don’t you? Got a lot of practice I bet, taking home random guys to suck and fuck when you don’t even know their fucking names. Didn’t Daddy raise you better than that?”

He didn’t, actually, but her cunt throbs anyway when he says it. She can barely breathe and he knows it and releases her, and when she pops off his cock she wipes the snot and spit off her face and says, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“You will be,” he says. “Stand up.”

She gets up quick and stands stark naked in front of him. He’s leaning back in the chair, languid, with one hand stroking his cock and the other stroking his beard. He takes his time soaking in every inch of her. She’s buzzing with the need to be touched and whispers, “Please,” without thinking.

“Please what?”

“Please punish me.”

He smiles lazily at her and says, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Whatever you want,” she says, and she means it.

“You’ve been a bad girl, princess.”

“I know, Daddy.”

“And what happens to bad girls?”

“They get the belt.”

It just slips out. She doesn’t mean it or want it, and now she’s frozen in place, waiting, hoping she didn’t just ruin everything.

Please don’t.

He shakes his head slowly and she releases the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“No belt,” he says. “Not for my princess. No, you’ll just get a good old-fashioned spanking.” He pats his thighs. “Now get on Daddy’s lap and take your medicine.”

There is nothing in the world that feels better to Sarah than a good hard spanking. Something about that sharp, stinging, red-hot pain mixed with her inevitable arousal is sickly familiar and provides a kind of release she can’t get any other way. He has big, bruising hands and he’s not afraid to put a little muscle into it and leave his mark on her. She hopes she will see it there tomorrow, after her new Daddy is long gone, as she stands naked in the bedroom of the childhood home she’s still forced to visit. She can see it now: the over-the-shoulder examination, counting the bruises and tracing the handprints in the full-length mirror on the door while He sits quietly downstairs, waiting for mother to bring Him his dinner.

A series of three quick whacks gets her squealing and squirming like a pig in his lap but he holds her there with his forearm. She can feel his cock hard against her stomach. She can’t see his face but she can hear his gruff voice loud and clear.

“Spread your legs.”

She does as he asks and he runs a thick finger up and down and then, finally, pushes inside her. He grunts at her wetness and the ease with which she opens up for him. His other hand is kneading an ass cheek already swollen and raw and the combination of the two sensations—fire and water—brings her close to coming.

“Don’t stop, Daddy.”

He’s not speaking now, only grunting and growling his approval as she starts to push back against his fingers and take them deeper. He smacks her hard, once, and then leans over and licks a hot trail across the small of her back.

“Fuuuck,” she says, long and low, and he smacks her again, harder this time.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

She can barely find the breath to say, “Yes, Daddy,” but she does and then she feels herself coming hard around his fingers. He sounds underwater when he says, “That’s a good girl.”

There is a moment—brief but horrifying—when Hopper is struck with a terrible clarity. In these few seconds, with his cock deep in this girl’s throat, he is clear-headed enough to acknowledge the absolute depravity of the situation. It is playing on a loop in his head—“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”—but it’s Her voice he is hearing. He almost pushes her away, pulls up his pants, and walks out the door, but he doesn’t for one simple reason: it feels fucking fantastic. Hopper is deep in animal fuck mode and even though he already hates himself, when has that ever stopped him?

She’s whiny when she comes, which he usually finds irritating, but in this particular instance it seems fitting. He’s ready to fuck this girl through the mattress now so he stands her up, lifts her by the underarms, and tosses her onto the mattress like she weighs nothing. The demons are back now, loud as ever. Psst, they say, fuck her raw, fill her up with cum and make yourself a new baby girl. But even he knows that’s a bridge he can’t cross so he wordlessly digs a rubber out of his wallet and tosses it to her.

She gets it on him with practiced speed and she’s begging him to fuck her in some truly disturbing terms. He thinks about which way he wants to take her first and he decides he wants to see her work for it. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her in close.

“Hop on,” he says. “Ride Daddy’s dick for a while.”

She climbs on him, absolutely giddy, and within moments she’s got him lined up just right. She lowers herself onto him, nice and slow, and when her ass hits his thighs and he can’t get any deeper further she moans long and low.

“You’re so fucking thick, Daddy,” she says, and he digs his fingers into her hips.

She’s a bit too bony for his taste but she’s light as anything and when she starts to work his cock he practically snarls. She’s fucking him hard now, head thrown back and nails dug deep into his shoulders, sure to leave a mark. Hopper’s eyes wander up from her perky little tits bouncing to a small mole on her neck—so pale and exposed. The animal part of him wants to sink his teeth into it, break the skin, taste blood; instead, he grabs her under the ass and stands up, balls deep in her, and fucks her until his arms give out.

She’s on another plane now, yelling “Fuck me, Daddy,” over and over again at a volume that would make him paranoid were he anywhere else but this sleazebag motel. This room has seen worse—he’s almost sure of it. He tosses her on her back on the bed and mounts her, knowing he’s close but not wanting it to end. When it ends it will become something other than what it currently is, which is an almost indescribable feeling of Wrong and Right and Good and Bad, all jumbled up in a big bag of Who Gives A Fuck.

He hovers over her, just the tip in, and she whines, “I want it.”

He pulls out and slaps her clit with it. “Then ask for it nicely, you little brat.”

“Please, Daddy,” she begs. “Can I have it?”

“Say you’ll be a good girl if you get it.”

“I will,” she says. “I promise.”

He puts the tip in again and she bucks underneath him, trying to get more of him. He pushes her hips down on the bed.

“Wait for it,” he says.

She whines again, like a bitch in heat this time, and he knows it’s time to barrel toward the end of this thing he’s found himself doing. He enters her with one punishing thrust and she scratches his back raw as he fucks himself to completion.

“Come in me, Daddy,” she says. “Please.”

He ignores it because he really does want to, and instead he opts for something messier. He pulls out, tosses the rubber on the already jizz-stained carpet, and says, “Finish me, princess.”

And she does, with her hands and her mouth and those tiny tits that can’t wrap around his girth. All the while she’s telling him how she wants to taste Daddy’s cum, and before he can stop himself he’s got one hand on her jaw and the other in her hair and he’s grunting and huffing his way over the edge.

He hits her in the eye, the hair, the back of the throat, and before he’s blown the last drop he already feels dead inside. He is seized by a dark emptiness the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long time. She says, “Thank you, Daddy,” and he can feel the whiskey rising, and when she tries to give him a kiss he jolts away from her, bolts to the bathroom, and vomits in the sink.

After a while he hears a timid knock on the door.

“Are you OK, John?”

It takes all the strength he can muster to put some power into his voice.

He barks, “Get the fuck out,” and he can hear her start to cry before the door slams behind her.

When she’s gone and there’s nothing left in his stomach but bile, he lays down on the filthy bathroom tile and weeps. He whispers to himself, “I’m sorry, Sara,” like a twisted lullaby, hoping somehow it will reach Her.

DEVIANCE PART 3

[quokkacore]

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee​ for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday. 

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00. 

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak. 

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM] 

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY 

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM] 

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear 

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late 

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid. 

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me. 

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range. 

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life. 

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly. 

[7:57 AM] 

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took. 

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School. 

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.” 

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation. 

  A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.” 

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement. 

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.” 

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon. 

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking. 

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored. 

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him. 

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you. 

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry. 

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.” 

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front. 

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since. 

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her. 

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today. 

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

 “I don’t like her, Yeeun.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark,  Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken. 

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it’s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.” 

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club. 

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you. 

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice. 

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?” 

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” 

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled. 

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately. 

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?” 

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?” 

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’. 

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.” 

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch. 

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy. 

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time. 

 Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord. 

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends. 

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?" 

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

 The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!” 

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me 

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving 

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months. 

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung. 

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung. 

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history. 

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since. 

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything. 

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration. 

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to. 

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel. 

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face. 

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also. 

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college. 

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing. 

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!” 

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss. 

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either. 

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only. 

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters. 

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked. 

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—” 

 The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit. 

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here." 

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things. 

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious. 

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there’s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together. 

“Perfect.” 

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things. 

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed. 

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?” 

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!” 

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.” 

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?” 

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.” 

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out. 

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry." 

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me." 

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change." 

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult.  You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?" 

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year." 

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal." 

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist. 

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether. 

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly. 

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed. 

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

 “Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.” 

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them. 

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was. 

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before. 

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped. 

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him. 

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered. 

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came. 

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground. 

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!” 

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault. 

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station. 

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could. 

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up. 

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs​ @crescentjen​

[captainseaweedbrains]

Prompt: this bag said it would keep my food cold for 3 hours, it lied.

Thanks for the prompt, friend! I hope you like it. It was a lot of fun to write! :D 

Can be read on Ao3: x

Katniss and the No Good, Lousy Rotten Day

Katniss was having a no good, lousy rotten day and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed with three bottles of wine and pretend that she didn’t get chewed out in front of her whole department and had her budget threatened. That her car didn’t die in the left-hand turn lane on the busiest intersection in town. And that she most definitely didn’t catch her no good, lousy rotten boyfriend cheating on her in the supply closet with one of the interns. Nope. None of it happened. Today was fine.

“Rough day?” Peeta asked when she limped in through the door, her hair disheveled and her pants soaked because—oh yeah, she fell in a puddle when her heel broke stepping out of her Lyft, twisting her ankle in the process. Such a great day all around.

Grunting, Katniss hobbled over to the kitchen table, the closest piece of furniture near her, and collapsed into a chair. Her ankle throbbed. Her ass was sore and wet. But most hurt was her pride. It had taken a beating like no other today.

No good, lousy rotten day.

“Rough day?” Peeta asked again from the couch, watching TV. From the sounds of it, he was watching some cooking challenge show. She threw her broken shoe at him because he sounded way too smug for someone who clearly had eyes. To make her day even worse, she missed him by a lot and hit the sole lamp in their living room, causing it to fall off the side table and crack in half. “Waita go, Everdeen,” he chuckled, shaking his head. She groaned in darkness now, the only light now coming from their TV. She couldn’t even aim right today, her one natural gift gone. Destroyed by the day’s shittiness.

No good, lousy rotten day. 

Peeta patted the spot next to him on the couch, his smile welcoming under the TV’s light. She considered hobbling off to her bed and telling him not to disturb her, but she really needed her best friend’s comfort after this hellhole day. His arms were open and she hobbled right into them, resting her head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing circles up and down her arm, like he always did when holding her like this. Her eyes closed at the touch, his hand bringing on a familiar warmth only Peeta seemed to emulate. He didn’t ask why she was wet or why she threw a shoe at him. Years of friendship didn’t require instant explanation. He knew she’d spill once she had calmed down enough to explain without getting super worked up again. Sometimes that took minutes, other times hours, but she always told him everything eventually. 

She was so lucky to have him here.

They sat together in darkness, their bodies pressed together as they watched TV. Katniss was right. He was watching a cooking show. It wasn’t the type of thing she’d pick for herself to watch, but watching Peeta watch it was something else entirely. He always denied doing it, but he liked to list back the recipes the contestants spoke of, like saying them aloud will help him commit it to memory, and critique certain techniques he didn’t agree with. Peeta was an intense Food TV junkie and it amused her to no end how seriously he took it.

Tonight as he parroted back the recipes, she focused on the way his deep voice reverberated, the way his free hand would motion to the TV in exasperation because a contestant thought it wise to use the microwave instead of setting a low flame. Her arms tightened around him, content. Nothing was better than familiarity on a no good, lousy rotten day and next to her family, she knew Peeta best. He was a constant in her life and she was so grateful for it. At least some men could be depended on. 

The show switched to commercials and he looked down at her at last, his eyes asking if she’s ready to talk. 

She was.   

Katniss extracted herself from his embrace, a bit reluctantly because her damp clothes caused a chill and Peeta was her infinite amount of warmth. “Why waste money on a heater when I have a Peeta?” she used to tease in college when they were living together in the world’s shittiest apartment, barely scraping by. Everything used to break down and both their families were tight on money to just loan out a couple hundred for repairs. They had to make do with what they had and most times in the winter, it meant huddling together in the same sleeping bag for warmth.

“So today…” Peeta started for her, twirling a bit of her braid around his fingers.

“...was the shittiest of shitty days to have ever shitted,” she finished sourly, always one with her words. 

His eyebrows knit together in concern, a frown tugging at his lips. His silent concern was enough to break the dam and she went on to explain how both Snow and Coin chewed her out in front of the whole department, questioning if she was even qualified to lead a group of its size. Then when she tried defending her reasoning, they casually mentioned budget restraints and perhaps cuts would have to be made for next fiscal year in order for the company to stay afloat. 

“And then my car died at Six Corner on my way back from their office,” Katniss continued, feeling more lousy as she went on. “I know you kept telling me it was a death trap on wheels and that I should have gotten a new car years ago, but please don’t tell me ‘I told you so’ because I don’t think I can handle that right now.” At this point, Peeta had retrieved her emergency stash of Ben & Jerry from the freezer and she was stuffing her face into the double-chocolate brownie goodness with agusto. 

“It was the worst,” she continued, mouth full of ice cream. “All these cars were blaring at me and flipping me the bird, like I purposely let my car die in the left-hand turn lane! Don’t say anything!” she snapped, pressing a sticky finger to his lips. His eyes widened at the touch, but he remained the good listener he always was, letting her blow off steam and stuff her sorrows with ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.

“But that’s not even the worst of it,” she sighed, blowing at her bangs that desperately needed a trim. “Cato cheated on me.” It was hard looking at him for that. Peeta warned her from day one not to get involved with Cato, saying he wreaked of sleazebag and booze, but she just shrugged his concerns off, wanting something entirely different from her failed relationship with Gale, and she was far too into the crazy sex they had to pull the plug. Cato was the rebound mistake she let linger for too long. And now she got hurt because of her own stubborn stupidity. 

“Katniss, I’m so sorry.” Much to her relief, it sounded like he truly meant it. His deep voice didn’t seem to carry any contempt toward her and he reached over for a hug, pulling her close. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him, her face pressing into the crook of his neck. Peeta gave the best hugs. His warm, strong arms easily encased her, reminding her of being wrapped in a really soft blanket, and he always smelled faintly of foods—sweet sugars or savory spices, it didn’t matter. He always smelled of it and she loved that about him. A little taste of home. 

His large hand rubbed circles on her back now, not saying anything else as she sat there in his arms, the cold from the ice cream container numbing her still damp pants. They sat like that for a while, his TV show returning and ending. Another episode started up, but Peeta didn’t push her away. He never did. Even when she dug her own grave, Peeta was climbing in next to her, offering a hand of support.

“It’s stupid,” she mumbled dejectedly into his shoulder, his shirt soft against her cheek. “I knew he was a jerk, but I didn’t think I’d care this much, you know? Why do I care this much?” 

“I think we naturally expect the good from people,” he said quietly, still rubbing her back. “It sucks when we’re proven wrong about them.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe she subconsciously expected Cato to be a semi-decent guy and not cheat on her. Was the bar really that low for her now? She tucked her head back into his neck, needing another moment of this before facing the reality that yeah, her standards in the past few years have really gone down.

“Hey, Katniss?” he asked after sitting like this for a while.

“Hm?” 

“Can we move your ice cream? I’m all here for your sweet fix and hugs, but it’s getting a bit cold down there.” And in true Peeta Mellark fashion, he was able to get her to laugh on one of the worst days she’s seen since moving back after her bad breakup with Gale. Teasing if he wanted her heating pad to warm him back up, she moved the melting ice cream on the coffee table and smiled at him. 

She was so lucky having him in her life. He’d been such a constant in her life, always caring about what was going on, offering his advice where he could. She’d done a lot of shitty things in the past, some even toward him, but Peeta never held it against her. Even when she rightfully deserved his anger, he was still there. After all these years. Ready to lend a helping hand.

This was why she loved him.

Wait, what? Her eyes widened in surprise. The thought had come so quickly, but it felt natural to think. Like it’d been sitting there, deep in her head, for a while. Of course she loved him. He was her best friend! She’d told him “I love you” countless times over the years, most being when she had food coming her way, but this felt different, staring at his white bluish face. This felt like the other love. That love. The one she remembered feeling with Gale and before him, Thom. 

She chewed at her thumbnail, her eyes darting away. 

This was bad. Really bad. This was how her and Gale had started and that went south fast. They weren’t friends anymore, the breakup was so bad. If something like that happened to her and Peeta… She wouldn’t know what she’d do without him. Without his kind words and affectionate gestures. The idea was hard to swallow. 

“Feeling better?” he asked, smiling a little, unbeknownst to the world shaking revelation happening in her head. His hand squeezed hers in good spirit.

Katniss looked at how his hand rested over hers, her tiny fingers peeking out. Her pulse quickened. Like the dam he helped open earlier, it felt like something else had broken inside her, flooding her with emotions she didn’t even realize she’d been feeling. His hand felt so nice resting over hers like that, and a small part of her wished he’d take it and press his lips to it. Like the gentlemen did in those silly period dramas he was always having her watch when it was his turn to pick a movie out. Would he be weirded out if she did that to him? Just picked up his hand and kissed it? 

Stop it! her mind screamed, resisting any urges of kissing her chapped lips over his hands. Friends are off limits. These things never end well. 

“Katniss?” he asked, that concern back in his voice and—okay, yeah. He really needed to stop talking so she could process this flood of emotions.

“Hmmm?” She looked up at him, her eyes still wide.

“Are you feeling better? Do you want me to order a pizza? I’ll even order your nasty pineapple pizza, if that will cheer you up.” God, could he please stop? He never let her put pineapple on their shared pizza unless she really needed the pick-me-up. He really was too much. 

“Mhm,” she smiled a bit too brightly. “Sounds good. Love pizza. You know how pizza makes me horny—I mean happy! Pizza makes me happy!” Now he was looking at her like she’d grown another head. “Pineapple pizza is perfect, Peeta,” she breathed. “Thank you.” 

He still looked at her strangely, but shook his head in amusement at her weirdness and shoved at her playfully before getting up to go order the pizza.

“Mind if I talk about the betrayal I felt today?” he asked from the kitchen, the sounds of drawers opening as he looked for a pizza coupon. 

“Bold word to use on a girl who found her boyfriend in the supply closet with the barely legal intern,” she said, her voice sounding high-pitched. “Can it top that?” 

“Absolutely.” His head popped out from the small service window dividing the kitchen from the living room, his phone pressed to his ear. “This bag”—He held up a purple lunch bag she recognized from his many online purchases—“said it would keep my food cold for three hours. It lied. It wasn’t even two hours and my smoothie felt like it’d been baking in the car. You can bet I gave them a strongly worded review and—hi! Yes, I’m calling to place an order.” He smiled that charming smile he always wore whenever they went out to eat somewhere, despite being on the phone, and god. She knew he was handsome, but how had she not noticed the dimples in his round stupid face before?  

Katniss leaned forward on the couch, her hands pressed to her forehead, and groaned. She was totally screwed.    

Stupid, no good, lousy rotten day.

[stareiiez]

Mephistophelian Summer

Chapter 1.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟚.𝟡𝕜

𝔸/ℕ: Hello, Hello! <3 Tonight at 1:11 am I bring you the first chapter of my horror au! There’s no horror going on right now, it’s just setting up the basis for the reason why and where the horror of this fic takes place. 

Warnings: Cursing and Foul words, that’s about it! 

𝑀𝑒𝑝𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑛: adj: showing the cunning or ingenuity or                                       wickedness typical of a devil; also see:                                                                  devilish; diabolic; diabolical; mephistophelean; evil.

The ticking of the bell that hit 11:30 am, it seemed the clock's noise rang in Tucker's mind louder than the students' chatter and laughter that rang in his classroom. His head was propped up on both of the palms of his hands as his dark brown eyes narrowed in on the white clock's face. It seemed like the large and small hand of the clock seemed to move slower than normal, just because it was prolonging the students of Vallahala High. Summer would begin right when the clock would strike noon, and the early release would grant sweet sweet freedom for the next three months of blissful vacation. Tucker couldn't help but grin at the plan that was forming in his head-on just how he would spend his summertime. Unlike most of his peers would get summer jobs to save up money, Tucker would be wasting his time with his group of friends doing everything and going anywhere he wanted without a care in his world.

A  smooth grin spread over his lips as his eyes got a little hazy from his daydreams. It wasn't until his summer daydreams were ruined by the vibrating phone in his jeans back pocket. The bright cellphone screen lit up with multiple messages from the group chat him and his friends had created a few years back. In this chat, conversations ranged from absolute chaotic mindnumbing interactions to the dissecting every little thing about their lives and beyond their home planet. Usually, Grif would insinuate these conversations when he would smoke two or three joints and spam the group chat with his otherworldly conversations.

His phone screen lit up from already ten or more messages from the said group chat. Without care, Tucker settled back into his seat and unlocked his phone. The teacher didn't care, it was the last day of school and they too might be counting down the minutes for summer vacation. Until next week when they would go back to teaching some poor sorry sap of students that didn't manage to pass both fall and spring semester with the best grades in the world. Thank god his future goal major wasn't education.

Fellow Delinquiants, and Dick and Carolina.

11:37 am Dickhead 1: So what's this about some big summer plans?

11:37 am David: Summer plans? I was applying for that summer job you know-

11:39 am Stoner McGee: Work? During freedom? You make me tired.

11: 39 am David: Well... Carolina is getting a summer job with me too-

11:40 am Tucker: BOOOOO you both suck ass

11: 40 am Tucker: Listen assholes, there's no work this summer; because we are going camping.

11:41 am Redhead: We are doing what?

11:43 am Tucker: Relax, I'll let you all in on my plan when we get out of this hellhole.

11:46 am Dick: The outdoors seems fun!

11:48 am Sis: Camping? Are you on crack Tucker?

11:49 am Donut: If we're camping I vote on bringing food!

Well, at least some people were on board with the idea. Before he could read any more group text messages Tucker slipped his phone back into his pocket and sighed contently. This summer was going to be the best thing to happen to him in a while. Ever since he concluded that he was for sure graduating next year, and a few of his friends had already planned their future that didn't seem to involve him, it was starting to sound shitty. Call him a pussy, or bully him but he had abandonment issues. He hated being alone or being left behind, that's why most of his time was at least spent with at least his group of friends or at least one of his friends. He needed to feel secure and safe, and by god did they make him feel like he had a second family. This summer was the last summer he could spend normally without the stress of college looming over his shoulder, or friends coming and going. He wanted to have fun and take charge of the rest of his youth before it was forever locked away in the state of some four-year hell of education so he can get a job.

Once the clock finally hit 12, Tucker had sprung up from his seat like something struck him. His backpack was slung over his right shoulder and he all but ran out of the classroom along with the other excited students. Papers were flung in the air, and screams and chatter filled the air. Notebooks were flung, textbooks were thrown in the trash and homework filled binders were torn apart. The papers scattered and fluttered through the air in a victorious motion. Tucker jogged through the halls, his body weaving through bodies and moving fluidly with the masses of people who were making their escape through the school's front doors.

The large wooden doors were flung open and the ruckus filled the open air, classmates ran all over. Some made their ways to their cars, some stuck around to say goodbye to their friends, or others sprinted into the aligned school buses that awaited to take them home for the last time in the school year. The bright sunny, noon air shined upon Tucker as he inhaled his first noseful of fresh air. 'Ah freedom, so that's what it smells like.'

A content sigh slipped past his lips while he leaned back against the school statue of its mascot. One large puma that has it's back arched and teeth bare. They just changed to the Pumas after some big back and forth argument in the school district of Blood Gulch High should accept and appreciate their mascot if it was a warthog. The school cringed as well as the student body when they first found out that their school teams were about to be known as the Blood Gulch Warthogs. They wanted to be feared and at least have some kind of ring to it, so the school board decided on naming Blood Gulch, The Blood Gulch Pumas. It was pretty stupid to argue over some type of animal that resembles their school if it was up to Tucker. This highschool reminded him of chihuahuas. All talk and not enough bite.

"Hey man." A male voice spoke up before Tucker could bask in his summer freedom for a little longer. The male tilted his head to greet the new presence, and couldn't help but grin.

David 'Washington.' stood before him. All dark brown hair, with the blonde dye that was accenting the tips of his spiky hair. The blonde dyed tips were part of a half tipsy dare at the beginning of the junior year and Carolina had managed to do a decent job in dying his hair correctly. Wash, at first nearly died at the sight of his new hair. Then slowly for a week he slowly accepted the blonde accenting the dark brown of his natural hair color. Even his parents thought it looked nice and even joked that he should go full blonde, something that Wash had somewhat considered but never went through with it yet. He casually slipped the second strap of his backpack over his left shoulder, and his large palms grasped the two straps contently.

"Where's the rest of the guys?" Tucker asked once he reciprocated his greeting to one of his best friends.

"Carolina is dragging Church here since I'm sure Allison is trying to shove her tongue down his throat by now. Grif is going to drive his little sister home and then meet up with us with Simmons, Donut, and Frank."

"Why exclude Sis? She's always the life of the party." Tucker frowned.

A small scoff as a shy grin slipped over David's lips, "Please? Her? She's that and a whole ass hurricane."

"Exactly why she's invited with us to these summer plans of mine." Tucker grinned, a little more cooly than needed.

"Right, what kind of plans are we-"

"Hey! I said I'm going goddamnit!" Another voice cut in, this one pitched up higher in distress as a few grunts left his lips.

Both males tore their attention away from each other to watch a fiery redheaded girl grab a dark-haired male by the back of his shirt towards the two. The dark-haired male's arms were flailing about as he fought to keep up with the long-legged strides that the redheaded female took to meet the two boys.

"I can walk on my own, you know?! You're embarrassing me." The male hissed as the female finally unhanded him, her long pale arms crossed over her chest as her nose lifted slightly in the air with a huff.

"Really? Seems like you couldn't walk straight after you seemed to be having your soul sucked out of you by the blonde bitch." The girl growled back, anger set in her bright green eyes.

"Told you," Wash whispered to Tucker, making the other snort with amusement. It was cut short when the green-eyed gaze was sliced over to the two instead, silencing any ore commentary about her little brother.

"Just because you're only 30 minutes older than me, does not mean you can just drag me anywhere." The dark-haired male huffed more, he stood up straight and fixed the black-framed glasses on his nose. His duller green eyes were narrowed in a glare at his sibling.

"Church always glad to see you," Tucker commented, his eyes swept over the pasty-skinned male. A shit-eating smile took over his features as he caught the smear of dark red covering his entire mouth and one place on his neck. 'My man.' Tucker thought slimly.

"Hey, Leonard you got a little.." Wash spoke up, his finger pointing to his mouth. A small blush adorned his freckle splattered cheekbones and nose, his eyes quickly averting when realization dawned on the other's face.

The smear of the lipstick only colored the redhead's face in a little more irritation than necessary. The tension hung over the four heads, and with Carolina nearly on verge of bringing all hell loose to her little brother and his girlfriend. Wash cleared his throat and shot Tucker a look, one that had Tucker shoving his hand in his back pocket and fishing his car keys out

“Let's get some lunch fuckers." He said, returning Wash's look, and lead the three to his car.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Slim's Pickens, a dinner that has better food than its cursed name, had the best food in probably the whole town. The radio station lulled in the background of the diner. Chatter, silverware clinking against plates was comforting in a way, this one diner had the aura of 'Welcome Home.' and that was one of the reasons why it was the group's favorite spot to hang out at. Tucker had his feet propped up on the chair next to him as he scrolled on his phone, his eyes scouring through a few text messages he sent to Grif. He had been pestering and frankly pissing off his friend, to get the rest of his friend group to the diner. He was too impatient to lay down his big summer plan. With a groan, Tucker shut his phone screen off and tossed his head back over the chair's back.

"What is it with you today? You're so jumpy and you practically shoved us into your car." Wash commented, his gaze was on Tucker for a while now. He was watching the impatience grow more and more on Tucker's features, and it only made him snort in amusement.

"You nearly hit seven cars on your way here, and nearly ran through two red lights," Carolina added, her head was propped up on her hand and a single eyebrow rose in judgment.

"You will know when the other idiots are here." Tucker huffed, his eyes roamed over to Carolina. The once pissed off look on her face from her little brother was far gone, thanks to her practically forcing him to clean off the marks and lipstick stains Tex had left on his face.

"Well if you're going to play the waiting game, I am going to order something to eat." Carolina hummed, before picking up the menu and leaned over the table to David. Their chatter over what sounded better to eat, or certain prices.

20 minutes later, a clean Church, and plates of fries and other items of food that was placed before the four; Grif, Sister, Simmons, Donut, and Frank Dufrense had joined them. Finally.

"Alright, asshole tell me why you nearly made me get in a car crash from all your stupid texts," Grif said as he plopped down in the chair in front of Tucker. He didn't hesitate to steal a curly fry from Wash's plate and shove it in his mouth. His dark eyebrow rose as he chewed.

Tucker frowned before answering. "I already figured out what we are going to do this summer."

"If you're bringing up that camping trip-"

"Yes I am bringing it up, come on! It'll be so fucking great. Us, a private lake, privacy, alcohol. All the works!"

"Woo! Par-tay! Let's get it!" Sis cheered, her hands flinging up in the air as an excited grin split across her lips. Her eyes sparkled at the thought of getting shit-faced and puking her guts out in the crystal clear lake; then go skinny dipping in the waters at the dead of night.

"Oh no, the hell you aren't! No parties! You're three years younger and so underage." Grif bit out, his gaze fixed on his sibling that was sitting at the far end of the table right in front of Carolina. His voice ruining the enthusiastic expression on Sister's face.

"You're not my mom! Don't tell me what to do!"

"I'll kick your ass like our mom, I'll break my lazy rule of not doing shit just for you."

"Where exactly are we going to go do this if we agree?" Simmons pipped up from beside Grif.

"A place I always camped at with my Dad during the summer. It's called Tahoe Wood but I call it paradise."

"Tahoe Wood? You mean as in that endless fucking woods that most people get lost in Tahoe Wood?" Church commented, his voice sounding not too pleased in the slightest.

"You have me as a guide, come on I know that place like the back of my hand." Tucker scoffed.

"I am just brimming with confidence that nothing shitty will happen to us."

"Hey! Fuck you man!"

"Tucker, how long are we going to stay there?" Frank "Doc" cut in before Tucker or Church could further curse each other out in the diner.

It's happened at least once or twice, and each time the two were escorted outside by the waiters and left outside to cool off. They were allowed back inside once they at least said sorry to each other. They were treated like little kids for being in high school, but it came from a place of fondness. The employees all came to know the friend group well since they used the diner to hang out and eat almost once or twice every week.

"One week tops, think of it as a 'fuck you school' getaway." Tucker shrugged, his eyes watched as Grif stole a few more fries from Wash's plate. How the dyed blonde male didn't scold the other from stealing his food away more than once was a shock. "When are you and Carolina getting those summer jobs?" Tucker asked Wash.

"Sometime in the second week of June." Wash glanced at Carolina for confirmation.

"Since it is the last week of May, let's do this shit! Come on! Start the summer with a fucking bang!" Tucker pleaded, the palms of his hands smacking the table in the emphasis of his words. Plates clanged and silverware rattled from the vibrations, the noise drew several eyes of customers that were contently eating to glance over at the group.

"If we agree to this stupid trip will you shut up?" Church hissed, his eyes darting to the customers in the diner then back to Tucker. His pale green eyes were sharp and slightly cold as a wave of annoyance washed over his features.

Only when Church was pissed, annoyed, or just slightly miffed he looked like Carolina. He was the spitting image of their father, just like Carolina was a spitting image of their mother. Except Carolina had dyed her naturally blonde hair a fire engine red when she turned 16 and kept it red from since then on.

"Yes," Tucker said, rather smugly.

"Then yes! Now shut up."

"Hey! You don't speak for the rest of us. Camping sounds boring, and tiring work." Grif complained.

"Grif, shut up! I'm not going to hear Tucker complain for another hour about this trip. You go, or my sister is kicking your ass to Tahoe Wood and back!" Church hissed under his breath.

Well at least Tucker was satisfied, he would simply grin to himself as Grif bickered with Church. The two were bent over Carolina and Simmons that were sitting next to them. Donut and "Doc" were frankly content on conversating and adding in friendly banter to the swelling argument between the two males. It didn't help that both Grif and Church would yell at Donut or Doc to 'shut up and butt the fuck out' before going back to their argument.

This is going to be the best vacation ever.

[spicymishtii]

HE(ART) • Victuuri

Prelude

Victor Nikivorov x Katsuki Yuuri

Parallel universe AU

Belief.

Ignorance is a bliss and a bitch, a generally popular universal truth, but hey, if that bitch has aided you to slap a quarter of your life with a big bold try me placard by your inner self-uplifter and has made you immune to this oh-so-evil humankind, you would believe the power of ignorance is not just a bliss but a fucking blessing. Unfortunately which, it seems only a chosen few possess.

Hence by laws of the hypothetically giving-a-fuck universe, Katsuki Yuuri just so happens to be one of the few elites. Though his ability is not that of intentional ignorance but plain old oblivion.

At the most recent occasion—that is right now—his ignorance can also be replaced with the fact that he’s running so he doesn’t really have much fuck to give to peers turning around from all directions to look at him.

And while that on a calmer day might reassure his questionable fashion choices, today he knows, he knows he smells dangerous enough to cause an epidemic merely by existing.

 You see it was not his fault that his naïve (motherfucking) juniors tried moving an entire rack of chemicals that had just so happened to consist of all variants of Thioacetone.

Of course, the idea couldn't be any worse and by the end of screams, flailings, glass breakings, and trickling of the solutions to any and every corner of the room the lab had come to smell like diarrhea at a super level. He hates college.

After picking his nails while half-heartedly listening to the threats and scolding the ultimate seniors (those crazy Einstein-haired Ph.D. ones) had given to those juniors (who resembled a group of terrified hamsters by then), he reckoned it okay for him to slip out quietly.

He’s sneaky, sue him.

 Cue his professor’s email.

 He has special ding-ring-ring! notification in his baby to clearly inform him of the demise he acquires from his soul-suckers every now and then. Not that he doesn’t like his professors (he loves and respects them thank you very much), it’s just he’s so tired. Almost fourth year into college and he has given up on his personal and social life.

He has even forgotten the last time he masturbated. Rimming his textbooks (plus internet), mating his chemicals and blowing his assignments are on the verge of making him question his sexuality. But then he remembers, how he has always known what he was signing up for all those years back.

 And if he wants to reach the finale, he gotta ace this final. And if he wants to ace the final, submitting his paper on Organic synthesis via Enolates before midnight is a nice starting point.

So he continues to torture his suppressed Usain Bolt gene while eloquently cursing his very respectable prof to be traditional as fuck and not utilize the normal idea of e-mailing.

For the total amount of time and energy his legs have flown him by, he thinks he deserves to be all the way across Iceland, instead, he makes peace with reality whilst reaching the dorms. He’s humble, you’re welcome.

One day, one day, he’s going to go on strike and petition to the admins for a goddamn lift. He has no care about learning to be punctual or money which he knows they won’t have any problem with; he and he’s sure every single living creature in college needs one elevator in their dorms just as badly as Romeo might have all those years back.

But he'll think about it later when his whole third year is not on the line. He needs to get to the most crucial year and graduate the fuck out of this hellhole.

 The stairs squeezed out whatever hope was left within his knees until he’s left banging on the door akin to a lunatic with both of his hands. It’s a bad day—the chronicle since this sunny morning is proof enough—so he wasn’t surprised when halfway through his journey he had realized his dorm keys have been forgotten in his lab coat. Why he had even bothered to flick it out of his bag he doesn’t know but life is all about learning through mistakes so.

He can hear the shrill tone of his platonic soulmate/roommate shouting Who the fuck is this?! from inside but he’s too breathless to answer. The door snaps open only seconds later revealing a fuming owner of three hamsters that are perched on different heights of his body.

The person’s expression morphs into that of confusion then concern then suspicion then understanding and lastly deadpan. Yuuri flings his body on the said hamster-father who accepts him with a squeak and almost imbalance.

Subsequently closing the door and carrying the skeleton, Phichit Chulanot has once again proved himself to be The Best Friend™, something he’s going to rub on Yuuri’s face later.

 As soon as Phichit sits both of them down on their excuse of a couch, Yuuri shoots up hitting Phichit’s jaw in the process.

“You—,”

“Later Chu!” he cuts the upcoming verbal splash fast and sprints inside his room, snatches the file and he’s out the door screaming bye. He loves Phichit for not barbequing him or offering him up to an asylum and staying by his side loyally.

He has been honestly touched since the time Phichit got so used to unearthly smells on his body that he doesn’t even ask or get mildly uncomfortable now, and readily accepts hugs and cuddles from the human equivalent of a drain. He could never thank the universe enough.

He could faintly hear his platonic soulmate’s voice above his head so he looks up while continuing to dash down the stairs and finds Phichit leaning dangerously down the railing of their floor and shouting something he can’t really make sense of.

 “What?!” shouts Yuuri, faltering a little in his pace.

“I said come back home at human hours we gotta be somewhere tonight!” yells back Phichit.

Not again.

“Ugh I’ll try!” he huffs out, almost slipping on the latest step.

“Bitch I’m going to murder you if you don’t get your nasty ass inside before nine it’s important!” screeches Phichit.

“I’ll hecking try I promise!”

“Yuuri it’s really important I have people you need to meet!”

“And I have a year I need to pass I’ll try my absolute best Chi, have faith!” yells back Yuuri and jumps over the last three steps hurrying out the building screaming outta ma way! to everyone around.

 Then, he runs.

 Their campus is a beautiful place with all the ponds and cherry blossoms that bloom at this point of the year. There are a few benches scattered around along with some intricately designed bushes and trees beaming at him from wherever eyes could reach.

Though the inside of their college buildings are technologically advanced, the outer environment gives off an early Japanese town vibe. He isn’t shy to admit his practice of favoritism regarding one particular pond and cherry blossom tree on his way to the library (where his professor probably is doing his own research).

His lungs are quite significantly burning from whatever the fuck adrenaline did to his conscience but he is one obdurate masochist so his voluntary muscles abide by his brain. His throat is all dried up and his breath keeps getting caught, he doesn’t understand why he is torturing himself this way but then a voice in his head answers he doesn’t have enough money to repeat a year so.

At one point his vision blurs but he supposes it’s because of his lack of sleep. Well, he is pretty exhausted.

Nearing the pleasant scenery, naturally, he glances towards his favorite chilling spot but what he sees effectively makes him stop.

 The cherry blossoms, which were supposed to be all fresh and full and thick and brimming with life… is barren. Not a single petal could be seen even beneath the tree, only the desolate brown of winding branches doing little to nothing in shading the newly painted bench underneath it.

It’s detached, the way the bare tree and the empty bench overlook the clear water of the small pond in front; it’s so cold, so lonely, it has never been lonely around it.

A breeze blows by, weakly stroking the skin of his neck and fingers that are exposed. He shivers; it's cold.

It’s spring. He wonders if temperatures can drop so much in the afternoon because he definitely remembers the morning to be all warm and sunny and most importantly, he remembers seeing the tree, the full-thick-jovial tree only yesterday on his way to class.

He, on every molecular level, doesn’t know how what he is seeing right now is even possible. Surely he shouldn’t be the only one right?

His eyes rake over the students running or just walking by around him but none of them look mildly uncomfortable with this situation. He wonders if there has been an experiment or an artificial situation that caused his pretty little blossoms to leave without a farewell.

He wouldn't be surprised if it is so, after all, what he learns on a daily basis about the expertise of this century, he’s sure if there’s something other than criticism that doesn’t faze him anymore, it’s human intelligence. His only discomfort is how and why he hasn’t heard about it of all people.

  There is a buzz on his upper thigh through the thin fabric of his ash-colored pajamas. He slips out his phone and stares at the notification of a text from his classmate informing him of his presence being required asap in the library.

Yuuri mutters a shit and pockets the phone, breathing in to keep the formation of lactic acid at a bare minimum for the rest of his way. He peeks back one last time at his beloved, ready to depart, but once again what he sees effectively freezes him.

 Because they’re full. The fucking cherry blossoms are full.

Yuuri opens and closes his mouth like a fish in the middle of the street to try and explain whatever happened just now to himself.

He fails.

He’s about to start pointing accusingly at the tree to every passerby and shout in their face if they too saw what he did but surprisingly stops himself before making another rash decision in his life.

He keeps standing quietly before he decides that yes he needs to go sleep before he goes mad for real and maybe get his eyesight checked as well.

He turns around, shakes his head to pull himself out from whatever trance he is in and notes to allow himself to rest. As he has only this assignment to submit, he doesn't think anything can stop him from going dead this weekend, so he pushes himself one last time and promises himself a while of tranquility later.

 But this time, he jogs.

 Jogs are quite neat, rhythmic and luckily good for health—he will say if you ask him. Considering the number of times he has jogged to reach his lecture halls or played around with Phichit, he can probably say it’s what that has kept him from wilting away like the autumn leaves after inhaling those oil and grease that comes with the college life.  

If we ignore the biologically healthy benefits of the kind, he appreciates jogs much more because of his bestie, as all things considered, these are the only moments when they both could goof and run around like they're meant to do without having the weight of both their majors hovering over them like a depressing gray cloud. Phichit misses him, he knows. But Yuuri will go down arguing he misses him more and he rarely lies.

  Yuuri stares at the ceiling mutely, a pencil flicking in his hand every now and then.

Phichit glances at him just as quietly while continuing his essay on medieval era music from where he’s sprawled on Yuuri’s bed.

He takes a quick peek at the ceiling then at Yuuri then at the ceiling and then Yuuri. He sums up nothing.

“What are you thinking about? Don’t you have a test tomorrow?”

Yuuri’s gaze doesn’t waver. The pencil between his fingers stops spinning.

“Us.”

 Phichit snorts. “You fell in love with me?”

“No, I have standards,” Yuuri replies seriously (“Hey—”) “I just—don’t you sometimes think we were meant to meet, meant to be best friends—be together till now and years to come—and even if we weren’t, we were meant to die together as complete strangers—if that would’ve gone off—as an apology or like, a tribute from the universe for the friendship that we have today that wouldn’t have existed then.

Like there’s this fate, which decides everything for everyone and time which, like you are to me, is the same to fate and both map and plan out everything for everyone from their beginning till end and all the coincidences in between. People say all those quotes about how we write our own fate but in reality, we don’t write shit.

Time makes us do what we do and fate then gives us whatever our actions have earned—good or bad. We both earned to meet each other—time pushed us to the right point and fate just did its magic in return.

They always leave a door open for what-ifs to be guesstimated; they give us doors to go through—most of the time they pull through whichever door we eventually stand across and sometimes they push ’cause they need to. We were pushed Phichit—we were pushed in that lake together to drown—we were pushed to be saved and then, we were pulled to be friends, slowly, at our own pace.

But what if we would have drowned? What if you wouldn’t have jumped in naively to save me when you didn’t know a cent about swimming? What if it had gotten too late? What if the ambulance had got caught up? What if the doctors failed to push out the water from our lungs? What if we had died, together?

They tend to leave these what-ifs a lot so we reflect. We reflect and either we grow better or worse, unlike itself.  The universe is so stable, isn't it? With all the dark matter and the little white ones in it—quite like human personality yet it’s us who keep changing; we’re irregular, varying.

Besides that, I wonder if any more pushes are left, any more pushes to land me somewhere crucial yet, because at this point I think I’ve utilized all my pulls. Don’t you, Chi? Don’t you think about the universe?”

 Yuuri stares back at Phichit who has gone silent.

Yuuri raises a brow; Phichit closes his mouth.

 “Exactly what’s going on in that head of yours? Yuuri are you… are you okay? Why are you talking like this? Just half an hour ago we were having a debate on Teletubbies—you—what, why?” Phichit asks in disbelief.

 Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“Just because.”

 Phichit looks like he is about to go big bro mode and ask whatever the hell he meant just now but he cannot find a head or tail of how to begin so he shuts up and heaves a breath aggressively.

 “We must, shouldn’t we? we’re not even at quarter to our lives. There must still be something, something big, something extravagant—something that push worthy. They should’ve planned it by now. Fate must be waiting; time is slow. Will you be ready for another ‘Kimi no Na wa’-level change in your life?” Yuuri wiggles his eyebrows.

Phichit sighs and decides to go along even though he’s still one hundred percent blank.

“I’ll learn if not,”

 "Hmm… we always do I guess.”

   Yuuri pushes the door slowly that opens with a haunted creak, the sound pretty much deafening in what it seems a deserted library if not for the clear clicks of keyboard keys from somewhere deep inside. He closes the door as silently as he can with the inevitable old wood creaks.

His slippers tap loudly on the polished marble of fused colors whilst he tries to follow the echo of keys. The library feels odd, this being the first time for him witnessing it so solitary, bleak. He wonders if the students are hidden in corners for their own space. His eyes scan through the shelves to search for anyone, or preferably his teacher. He passes by an aisle quickly noticing motion from his peripheral vision before he backtracks.

There sits his teacher, typing away on his laptop with as much concentration as he narrates his golden days during a substitute class. The volume and number of books sprawled across the table is no joke. Yuuri knows he doesn't want Ph.D. and definitely not Research but the scenes of pure mental torture still cultivates a shudder within him.

 He clears his throat. He is ignored.

He sighs and makes way to his teacher’s chair.

“Sir?” he knocks on the table. His professor flinches hard at the interruption.

“Oh… oh you. Don’t scare an old man that way, you imbecile,” he huffs.

Yuuri ignores the comment (he’s used to it) and retrieves the file from his bag.

“Here, sir. By the way, did you ask for me?” he places the file beside a book lying open.

“Oh yes, yes. I need your help young man. I hope it’s not a bother,” he gives Yuuri a quick look and goes back to typing.

“Sure, no problem,” there goes my tranquility, “What for, if I may ask?”

“Thank you very much Yuuri, it’s really appreciated. You just have to type the rest of this document from this paper I have already written and save it. You can leave after that, just shoot me a quick text,”

“Are you leaving Professor Cialdini?”

"Oh yes. I have a meeting with the other professors in the Science department that I couldn't miss for my life. It’s about you lot after all,” the professor teases, “And I need to get this shithead done and published before I die. I refuse to leave earth without doing it so I’ll be very thankful if you just type out the last page. You’re the most reliable regarding this affair, although a little inelegant but it’s just typing and I couldn’t choose anyone else.”

 Was that a compliment or insult?

“So I’ll be leaving the rest to you,” his professor pats his shoulder to which he offers his trademark smile and nods.

Professor Cialdini takes his file and disappears around the shelf, the echo of his boots fading. Yuuri heaves a long, long sigh and hopes the writing on this one page is at least eligible. He shrugs off his bag and pushes the chair back to sit down following the faint sound of the door closing.

He checks the page closely from where he’s been told to copy and cracks his knuckles. His professor’s handwriting is shit as expected. Floating his fingers above the keys, his elbow knocks out the spectacles case his professor must have forgotten about. He presses his lips in judgment.

  He bends down, folding his body, to retrieve the case and lean back up after getting a hold. Except in the process, his head hits brutally at the table’s edge and he groans, immediately messaging the throbbing area. He tries opening his eyes but everything surprisingly goes into a blur for such a simple hit, it’s as if the blur from a while ago has increased tenfold.

His head hurts not only from the impact but the sides and all over, his head pounds. He senses a feeling similar to being clogged by water. He feels as if he is drowning all over again the way he had those years ago. He can’t speak and his throat indulges to emit only whimpers which are way too cryptic and way too hushed.

He is practically thrashing around in his seat causing the chair to go off-balance several times yet his legs can't find any stored glucose to provide for the use of them.

 There’s a shrill sharp beak of sound in his ears which is raucous and increases the hurting of his skull intensively. He wants to shout but he can’t. He bangs his head down on the keyboard, holding it and tugging his hair roughly. He feels so, so exhausted. Grey dots in a vast plain of blackness keep appearing without fail and it is probably what he sees, feels before his body gives up in place of his fortitude.

End prelude.

[softest-cinnamon-roll]

“Looks like you’re having some trouble there, can I help?” + Best friend- Lovers AU for reddie???

Prompt taken from this list that I created!

12. “Looks like you’re having some trouble there, can I help?”

8. Best friend- Lovers AU for reddie???

AO3

* * * * *

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Eddie groaned and slammed the hood of his car down harshly, wincing at his resounding bang. He was so sure that he had managed to fix the car up, but of course it had to break down when he was only a few miles away from home. Next time he’d be taking it to a damn garage.

The sky above him grumbled and Eddie swore once more as a few drops of rain landed on his shoulder. Quickly he made a beeline for the passenger side and slipped in before the heavens opened the rain began hammering off of the car as well as the ground around him.

“Today really is my lucky day isn’t it?” He hissed to himself, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, at least not until the rain stopped so he made himself comfortable and ran over the days events in his head once more.

He had traveled a few towns over from Derry for a job interview at a magazine. The interview had gone rather well, at least Eddie had thought so, until the interviewers had brought up a phone call they had received from his mother prior to the interview. Apparently, she had told them Eddie wasn’t suitable for the job as the hour would intercede with him helping her as he, according to her, was her full time carer.

That statement alone was the last straw, and Eddie decided as he stormed out of the building and back to his car, that he was going to move out of the house, and probably Derry as soon as he could. In all honesty, he would have been gone years ago if it wasn’t for one soul reason. Or person for that matter. His best friend, Richie.

Richie, the one person who had been by his side since they were little kids. Richie, the smartest, bravest, most amazing person Eddie knew. Richie, the person Eddie was completely and hopelessly in love with but too scared to make a move.

He wasn’t entirely sure when his feelings for Richie changed from best friend to…oh my god I want to kiss you on your stupid mouth, but at some point that’s what happened. One minute Eddie was telling Richie to shut up after another failed impersonation, and the next he was giving Richie heart eyes whenever he walked into the room. According to his friends, it was a little sickening.

There had been a few times that the words were on the tip of Eddie’s tongue, but he had always pushed them away, too scared that Richie wouldn’t feel the same way, even if Stan was insistent that he did.

As senior year flew passed, everyone went off to college, all accept Eddie and Richie. Richie had been accepted into a one year apprenticeship at the radio station a few towns over and Eddie decided to apply for a one year course in literature at Derry Community College. He didn’t want to leave Richie alone in that hellhole, and when Richie asked him why he didn’t run away, Eddie had come up with some bullshit excuse about not being ready.

Yes, Richie was the sole reason he was still living at home, in Derry, with his mother. However, in two days, Richie’s apprenticeship would be up, and Eddie was more than ready to take him by the hand and drag him away, whether that be as best friends or…more was to be decided.

Letting out another groan, Eddie pulled out his phone and dialled Richie’s number, knowing that he was the only person who would be insane enough to come out in this weather and rescue him. The phone only rang twice before Richie’s voice filled the speakers, “Well if it’s isn’t the light of my life. How’d the interview go, Eds” He asked and Eddie could just tell he was laying back in bed, all relaxed.

“Shit,” Eddie sighed, the bitter feeling returning. “My mother called them, told them not to give me the job as I am her full time carer. Full time carer my ass.”

Richie inhaled sharply and then exhaled, “Eds…I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie shook his head, even though he knew Richie couldn’t see him and he closed his eyes once more. “I’m actually glad, because if I had gotten the job then I’d be stuck here. I don’t want to be stuck here Richie.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, until, “Me neither,” Richie whispered. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Eddie laughed and he bit his lip, “You read my mind.” He paused. “Actually, there’s a reason I called. My car broke down just outside of Derry and I’m sitting in a layby. Would you-”

He was cut off by the sound of what was clearly Richie jumping off of his bed. “Don’t you worry Eddie Spaghetti! Help is on the way!”

A giggle escaped Eddie’s lips as Richie hung up the phone, and of course, no less than ten minutes later a familiar red truck was pulling into the driveway in front of him. The rain had somewhat ceased, only a few drips here and there, but Eddie knew it was only a matter of time before it started up again.

Richie got out of his car and sauntered over to the passenger side window, a grin on his face and Eddie knew that there was an impression coming. Deciding to play along, Eddie rolled down the window just as Richie reached him, grinning as he placed his hands on the door. “Looks like you’re having some trouble there, need some help?”

“Well if you’re offering,” Eddie laughed and rolled up the window, slipping out of the passenger side and locking the door. “I had a look, but I can’t seem to find out what’s wrong with it. I’ll just call a mechanic in the morning.”

With a nod, Richie looked inside the car, as though checking that Eddie had collected everything since they were going to leave the car there until morning. “I’m sorry about the job, Eds.”

“It’s really okay, Richie.” Eddie smiled, lacing their fingers together. It was something they had done for years and no-one ever questioned it, not even themselves. “I meant what I said on the phone. I need to get the hell out of here. I can’t take it anymore.”

Richie frowned at that, tilting his head to the side. “Eds…if you’re so ready to leave, why haven’t you already?” He asked. “And don’t give me the whole ‘I wasn’t ready’ crap because it’s clear you are more than ready to flee the nest.”

A flush took over Eddie’s cheeks and he realised that his cover was blown. Not able to come up with a valid excuse, he sighed and looked at Richie with a serious expression on his face. “Did you really believe that’s why I stayed?”

Silence.

Eddie took a step closer to Richie and squeezed their joint hands a little tighter. “Of course I was ready to leave but…but I didn’t want to. I couldn’t.”

“W-why?” Richie stammered and Eddie gave him a pointed look. He bit down on his lip and stared right into Richie’s eyes, pouring his heart out without the use of words.

“Richie…” Eddie whispered eventually and he watched as realisation settled in and Richie’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“Oh…oh Eds…” He breathed and for a moment, Eddie thought that Richie was going to turn him down. Except he didn’t. Richie stepped closer, closing the distance and taking Eddie’s face into his hands, caressing his cheeks. “You- you stayed here for me?”

A laugh, soft and disbelieving left Eddie’s lips and he nodded his head, leaning up on his toes and pressing their foreheads together. “Of course I stayed here for you, Richie. I- I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for years.” As the words left his lips, Eddie felt a heavy drop of rain land on his face as well as the rumble of thunder above him. However, he ignored it, too lost in Richie’s eyes to care.

Their lips were now mere inches from one another, one more move and they would be kissing. One little jolt forward and Eddie would be feeling Richie’s lips on his, lips that he has dreamt about for years. He didn’t want to wait any longer, so he took that final leap, pushing up on his toes and sealing his lips with Richie’s in a first, long awaited, kiss.

Richie didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, moving his hands down to wrap around Eddie’s waist, tugging him closer as the heavens opened once more and the rain came crashing down, soaking them through to the bone. Even though he was now soaking wet, it still wasn’t enough to force Eddie to part from Richie. It actually was Richie that pulled away, laughing loudly over the sound of the rain.

“I love you too, Eds,” He yelled and Eddie grinned back at him, happiness filling him to his very core. “But if we don’t get inside we’ll catch pneumonia.”

Eddie wanted to say he didn’t care, but he actually did and nodded his head, running with Richie back to his truck and climbing inside. They were both still grinning like idiots, happy that they had finally taken that next step with each other after so long. “I love you,” Eddie whispered, biting his lip.

“I love you, Eds.” Richie whispered back, his glasses steaming up with the change in temperature. “Let’s get home and have a shower before we do catch the cold.”

And that’s what they did…but they still caught the cold anyway.

* * * * * 

@richietoaster @tozier-boy @eds-kas @eds-trashmouth @strange-reddie-loser @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @tinyarmedtrex @liliemm @inthebreadbinwrites @lo-v-ers @studpuffin @aizeninlefox @reddie-for-anything @richietoizer @girasol-eddie @bi-bi-richie @honeybeehanlon @hawkinsbabe @mrs-vh

[cruezins]

       ☣  ;  (  KIM TAEHYUNG  ,  24  ,  HE/HIM  )  coming up next on rebel radio is OPAUL by FREDDIE DREDD  .  this tune goes out to SIWON RYU  .  rumor has it they just rolled into town and are fightin’ for the GHOULS  .  they’re AFFABLE  ,  INQUISITIVE but also AIMLESS  ,  MERCURIAL so watch your backs out there  .  we wish them the best of luck here in our golded city of light  .  stay vigilant  ,  stay dirty rock ‘n rollers and we’ll catch you for the next one  .

𝐎𝐎𝐂  :  hello  !  i’m deni and i don’t know what editing is  .  i use she/her pronouns and live in the gmt+9 timezone  .   i’m terrible with ooc chats and half the time just want to vibe a connection or plot idea  ,  so please don’t hesitate to throw a half-formed thought at me because i swear i’ll do the same  .  my discord is gay fairy#6371  .  anyway  ,  here is siwon  ,  someone i’ve been work-shopping for a while  !  looking forward to writing with you  ♡

                     ☣  ;  𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇  .

cw  :  drug mentions  ;  stop me if you’ve heard this one before------

       his dad’s a junkie and he hasn’t seen his mom since some fatcats bought their restaurant for a steal a few years before  ,  but that’s the way of life for a lot of people in the underground  .  young  ,  bored  ,  and desperate to hear and smell anything that wasn’t the rottenness of his own childhood home  ,  siwon found himself on the streets more nights than not  ,  spray paint in one hand   ,  painting nights in greens and purples until reds and blues chased him away  .  makes his first steal before he can tie his shoes  .  creates alliances with the neighborhood kids  ,  sneaks around to watch how the haves live with their pretty  ,  pretty screens and their ugly  ,  ugly words  .  school isn’t anything special  ,  either  ,  and while siwon can’t remember shit that he reads from a page he can work with his hands  .  fast and efficient  ,  nimble fingers whether they’re flying across a keyboard or fucking around with some screws  .  you can make something of yourself  ,  some of his teachers tell him while others can’t stop bitching about homework or tardiness or the way he falls asleep in the middle of class  .  but what’s siwon supposed to make  ?  he and his ragtag group of weirdos he calls friends  .  when he gets older and nights get hungrier  ,  siwon learns to stop relying on the benevolence of neighbors and finds a job  ---  he’s fast  ,  after all  ,  with a sweet face and wide eyes  ,  makes a helluva getaway after years and years of running  .  

       thieving’s a natural grift  .  he’d been training for this his whole life  .  then he catches the eyes of a boss man who isn’t nearly as mad as he should be catching some kid with his wallet in his hands  .  courier comes next  ,  ferrying messages from a bunch of suits all over the city  .  siwon never opened the packages  ,  never second guesses the credits that start bloating his account  .  desperate  ,  he does what he’s told and does it well ------ and that’s the real kicker  ,  isn’t it  ?  that after a year and some-odd months of dedicated service they leave him high and dry with some bullshit he doesn’t have any involvement with  .  after years of running  ,  boys in blue finally catch him and he’s left to take the fall of some dumb fuckery  ,  man  ,  and he’s pissed  .  steaming in jail  ,  it’s a wonder some other gang didn’t get to him first  .  the longer he sat and talked with that ghoul member  ,  the more he grew to despise the rich  ,  the ones who left him to rot after all the shit he did for them  .  what was even the point anymore  ?  dog eat dog kind of bullshit  ,  no sense of loyalty or shit anywhere  .  the law and all that money was out to get him from the beginning and siwon had enough of it  .  a few months locked up but he learned and leaned and learned  ,  only able to get out on a technicality  .  the second he stepped back out into the sun  ,  siwon followed the map given to him and signed up for the ghouls  .  city of light be damned  .  the only lights he wants to see are flames eating this hellhole alive  .

                    ☣  ;  𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  .

➤  full name.  ryu si-won ➤  date of birth.  january 29th ➤  hometown.  city of light ➤  gender.  cis male ➤  affiliation.  ghouls  ➤  primary occupation.  drug runner  ,  pickpocket  ➤  secondary occupation.  network manager at an internet cafe 

➤  sexual attraction.  pansexual ➤  romantic attraction.  panromantic ➤  character alignment.  chaotic neutral ➤  personality type.  enfp ➤  temperament.  sanguine ➤  wants.  power  ,  family

       stands around 5′11  .  broad shoulders  ,  slim hips  .  floppy  ,  messy hair and sun browned skin  .  half legs  .  a few pieces of silver in his ears and a small hoop on his bottom lip  .  dresses somewhere between a washed up rockstar  ,  your college weed dealer  ,  and a miami vice reject  .  style’s a whim with a closet’s chaotic mix of anything he thrifts or patches together  .  most of the time he’s sporting cuffed jeans  ,  vintage blouse  ,  a denim jacket or tweed blazer and thick ass boots  .  keeps all that hair back with a bandanna or a headband  ,  hair ties on his wrist  .  nothing in his closet’s technically new and he loves looking for a bargain steal —— or simply just a steal  .  likes colors just as much as he likes his neutrals  .  wears a black air filtration mask and fingerless gloves  .  considers his floral button-up shirts fancy material and his trousers cut off at the ankles  .  likes the smell of old leather and the breathing of fringe on a jacket  ,  the weight of heavy rings on his fingers and sunglasses swooped low on his nose  .  wears a monocle because he can’t be fucked with reading glasses  .   his hair’s been every color of the rainbow and he’s always changing it up thanks to temporary dye  .

                                    ☣  ;  𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 ��𝐍𝐄  .

       hustles at arcade halls  ,  scarfs down ramen and burritos like they’re gonna disappear  ,  looks as comfortable in a dark  ,  dirty alley as he does standing under all those lights in the neon district  .  pockets full of candy and a lollipop between his lips  .  likes cheap beer and cigarettes  ,  fast talking and smooth smiles  .  gets up when the sun goes down  .  who knows if he ever gets a full night’s sleep  ,  but you can find him taking a nap just about anywhere  .  seems to live for the dark hours and stays busy as a bee  ,  at the internet cafe one moment and grabbing fried cheese sticks in the next before crossing the bridge to watch the street races and venturing to the tunnels for the fighting rings  .  complains about being broke but puts down bets faster than anyone  .  lives for the feeling of wind in his hair so the window of his top-floor one bedroom shit hole stays open all the time  .  feels the rain on his skin  ,  plays with matches  .   learned how to assemble a gun in less than sixty seconds and stays packing nowadays though he can’t really shoot for shit  .  spray paints boobs on the sides of government buildings and dicks on malls  .  looks like an angel under all those holographic lights  .

       rides a motorbike and his skateboard  .  can do crazy math in his head and spot fake bills with incredible accuracy  .  can barely stand to sit still  ,  always moving except when there’s a computer screen in front of him  .  gets addicted to things so easily it’s scary  ---  people  ,  food  ,  liquor  ,  feelings  .  craves that intimacy  ,  craves that closeness that’s always been denied to him  .  has a loud as fuck laugh and a love for sneaking into places where he doesn’t belong  .  catches extra cash on the side by fixing up broken-down machines and can figure his way around a motor with a bit of elbow grease  .  still sees his family  .  not as much as a good son would  ,  but he sends cash when he can and looks after his younger sister  ,  makes sure she stays well and clean  .  they don’t know half of what he’s gotten up to since he was let out of prison  ,  but they might have some idea --- after all  ,  who’d pay a crooked boy with a record as well as he seems to be  ?  when the sun starts to come up and he crashes into bed  ,  siwon stares out the window and thinks about how in another world  ,  or in another time he probably could’ve been something  .  could’ve made something great  .  but for now he’s just got a whole lot of anger  ,  raw like a fresh wound he can’t stop picking at  .  

                           ☣  ;  𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔  ?

➤  bonds.  my loyalty to my friends is unwavering  ;   i owe everything to my mentor --- a horrible person who’s rotting in jail somewhere  ;  i fleeced the wrong person and must work to ensure this individual never crosses paths with me  . ➤  flaws.  once i pick a goal  ,  i become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life  ;  when I see something valuable  ,  i can't think about anything but how to steal it  ;  i have a weakness for the vices of the city  . 

       he’s friendly  ,  but he doesn’t make friends easily --- the ones that he has made  ,  he’d do anything for  .  because that’s how he’s gotten this far  ,  right  ?  all those people who looked after him when others tried to stomp him out  .  he’s still close with his teen friends who threw a few grifts with him  ,  gaming buddies that he knows only through a screen  .  little escapes from all the other bullshit going on in the world  .  even though he isn’t a club guy  ,  he runs into more than a few faces on his rounds  .  maybe they’re bad influences or sweethearts who help that touch starved affliction that comes from living in a city so wired  .  on the flip side  ,  there’s some enemies --- competitors in the runner world  ,  antagonists he meets at the races or rings for whatever reason  (  insane bets make tempers run hot  ,  who knows when they’ll flare for good and siwon’s learning the hard way how to keep his mouth shut  )  .  he’s fixed up a few cars or weapons for people recently because he misses working with his hands  .  y’know  ,  making nice  .  then there’s people he’s caught in a crossfire with  ,  where they’ve met something nasty one too many times before over turf  ,  territory and clients  .  a newer face to the ghouls  ,  he’s bugged someone into mentoring him  ,  and gone on a few runs with someone he loves to call a coworker  .  

       eager to prove himself as more than a green kid with a keyboard and an eye for detail  ,  find him cutting deals and making trades in smokey barbecue houses  ,  hole-in-the wall ramen shops or by taco tents  .  a full bellied class of clients are happy clients in his opinion  ,  and siwon isn’t above not making deals with the other groups who’s names aren’t violent delights  .  speaking of which  ---  there are definitely some skeletons there he aims to confront  ,  some old demons to fight from that class of people that fucked him over  .  there’s an ex lover in there somewhere  ,  probably met in that pre-prison childhood phase when he mingled past class lines more  ( ~1.5-2 years ago )  .  someone he’s healthily fearful of for whatever reason  ,  and maybe a vendetta against the family that scammed his parents out of their business and basically sent his life spiraling  .  there’s someone who isn’t what they seem  --- he doesn’t know who they really are  ,  and maybe they don’t know who he is  ,  either  .  they’ll learn eventually  .  someone he’s protective over  ,  someone who protects him in ways he doesn’t even know  ,  and those he looks after because they grew up on the same side  .  desperate for connection  ,  desperate for a place  ,  he finds it all in heaven and hell  .

[brickeens]

hey guys I have a rather big life update I’ve been meaning to share for weeks

extremely short version: I took a wild gamble at the start of this year and for better or worse, I have moved out of home for the first time in my life, and have re-entered education for the first time in 7 years, and am now in college

long version:

when my sleep was improving a bit last december I got a combination of optimism and frustration and decided I couldn’t bear watching another year of my life slip away and that I’d do everything I could to have my sleep fixed in time to start a college course in september

in feb/march applied for a film & photography production level 5 course. now really I already know what I’m doing with photography but the course covers scriptwriting, an introduction to 3D modeling and animation, work experience and filmmaking, so although it covers old territory for me when it comes to photography the rest of it is new. anyway I went for the interview in march and took a small portfolio of my pictures just to show I had relevant experience and the teacher looked at them for like 10 seconds and confirmed a place for me on the spot so that was a self esteem boost

I spent the next 6 months absolutely busting my ass trying to improve my physical health as much as possible with some results, but not as much as I had hoped. the sad truth is that despite putting every last bit of myself into getting out of this hellhole of a situation I’ve started college in a suboptimal state and while I think I have a chance of turning things around yet I really don’t know what’s gonna happen. currently I flip flop between days of feeling okay and wanting to die really hard

so here I am: 3 weeks ago I moved out of home for the first time. I’m in a nice town about an hour from home going to a small college. my class is pretty small, just like 12 people. I’m living in a semi detached house with two guys I don’t know but can get along with okay. I have a 15 minute walk to the college every day which is pretty neat. doing any of this a few years ago would have been inconceivable

there’s been a lot of positives and negatives so far. the first positive is that actually went through with it which is big enough in and of itself. I’ve also been really shocked at how well the social side of it has gone because I thought I was going to really struggle re-entering social life but I’ve actually been very comfortable in the classroom and with classmates and the college in general, and apparently I come off so well in the class that people suggested I be the class rep which is kind of hysterical. also several people have asked me to help teach them how their camera works because I explain it in more beginner friendly ways than the teacher does lmao

the bad news is that after all this effort and all this time, I still cannot breathe properly in my goddamn sleep, and I need further improvements or I’m going to disintegrate. the first full week the first two nights were so bad I literally sobbed my eyes out in private before going down to the college. I have no stability and really I feel like once actual work and assignments come in I’m gonna be badly screwed because I do not have creative energy and have bad executive dysfunction most of the time

the sleep situation is as follows: I’m confident that the reason my CPAP treatment started failing spectacularly is because my condition is so bad it needs precise humidity conditions to be controlled properly, but the second half is that when it failed really hard I wound up putting on a lot of weight out of nowhere because I was so unprepared. the problem is that extra weight then makes the already bad breathing problems even worse, and bad sleep then makes losing weight really hard so reversing this car crash of a situation has been a nightmare. I've been doing everything I can to lose weight for well over a year but the results have just been so slow. I spent the last 6 months absolutely pushing myself to my limits and got myself up to running a kilometre in one go 5 days a week which is cool but I’m just still not there. I have lost a good deal of weight and my sleep has seen improvements from it but it’s still not enough

desperate times call for desperate measures so in another week I’m actually seeing a surgeon to discuss the viability of there being a permanent surgical solution to all of this. even at my thinnest I have horrible breathing problems and need a device to breathe properly at night so really this should have been looked at a long time ago. I wish I wasn’t trying to figure this out in the middle of college but that’s my life babey!!!! I can’t believe any of this is happening

[breathinginthevapor]

Hellhole

Summary: Ashton is the only good thing in your life, shining bright like a star in a black hole, but you know he’s meant for something better. struggling/poor!Ashton AU

A/N: Honestly, this is really weird and definetely different from anything I’ve ever read or wrote on here, but I thinks you should give it a read and let me know what you think. I kinda wanted to portray something not as sugar-coated as I usually do, but I haven’t ever been that struggling as I describe in here, so you’re very welcome to further educate me! I thought it was a blurb when I wrote it on my phone but apparently, it’s about 1400 words... enjoy!

TW: language, mentions of drugs, sex and alcohol

Masterlist

I don’t own the picture, it’s from Ashton’s instagram (but seriously look how pretty he is!!)

He’s panting, laying naked on his back beside you, staring at the ceiling. 

“You really should paint that, ya know? Looks awful,” he comments, lips spread in a wide and tired grin.

You look at the cracks in the white paint, how it matches everything else in your shitty apartment and you feel your stomach churning. Because it matches you, as well.

You turn your head, admiring his profile. The curve of his nose, the gentle swell of his lips and the bronze coloured curls that’s spread out on your thin excuse for a pillow. He looks beautiful, like a statue or a painting or some nice artsy photograph in a museum you don’t even have enough money to visit.

He’s so out of place in this hellhole, always have been. 

It’s different with you. No one ever questions where you belong or if you’re meant for something better, but it’s clear, even to strangers, that Ashton is destined for something else. Something more. 

“Don’t got the money,” you shrug, and he turns and looks at you, too.

His smile fades a little, and there’s a small drop of sweat running down his forehead as he speaks, “Ya’ll just have to work a little longer at Marley’s and then ya’ll go to college and get some fancy degree and earn a shit ton of money.”

You shoot him a half-assed smile, not even bothering dreaming with him anymore. You used to, once, before you realised that you’d never get a chance to go to college or become something more. And those dreams, they aren’t even a happy getaway anymore, they just make your heart break.

Because you’ll be just like your mum, waitressing all your life and dying because of the things that keeps you sane: smokes or alcohol or even drugs if things go really downhill.

Right now, you don’t really need any of these things, don’t need to dull the pain with anything but the taste of Ashton’s lips, but without him being here and distracting you from everything, you fear you’ll go crazy. 

“Yeah, maybe,” you lie, once again looking up, not wanting to meet his gaze. You might do something stupid, like tearing up, if you do.

Your eyes fixate on a small yellow spot you haven’t noticed before, and you wonder how it got there. Perhaps someone once thought it’d be a good idea to paint the ceiling with piss. You wouldn’t be surprised. 

“One day, we’ll buy a nice house together and get a dog or somethin’,“ he promises, eyes glazed with a dream-like glow. “Far away from here and we’ll be happy.”

“’m too old for fairytales,” you point out, not noticing the way his eyes turn glossy at the harsh tone of your voice. 

“Don’t say that, don’t say it like it won’t happen,” he begs.

He grabs your hand and squeezes it. You squeeze back. But then you let go and roll to your side, supporting your head with a hand under your chin. 

“Don’t wanna lie to ya, Ash.” You hope he understands what it means that you’re honest with him: that you trust him and don’t want to hurt him.

Before he can answer, you get up, shaking the duvet off so you’re standing completely bare before him. 

Sex usually doesn’t mean anything to you, no, you’re the kind of girl who likes having no strings attached and sleeping in a new bed every night, but with Ashton, you sometimes catch yourself thinking something terribly cliché like that your bodies work perfectly or that you feel loved and cherished and happy. Like there’s no place you’d rather be. 

Because Ashton’s special to you, of course he is. He’s been your best friend for all your life, cleaning and stitching up your wounds when you got into fights defending him, having your back when you felt pressed up in a corner, listening to you rant for hours about getting away from this sick place, and lately, appreciating your body like you’re the piece of art instead of him. He loves you, you know that, although it’s never been said out loud.

Sometimes, in your weak moments, you wish he would. You wish he would climb a mountain or at least walk up a hill or something and just yell that he’s in love with you, that he loves you and that he’s never going to stop. That he’ll never leave you. But then you remember that you don’t even really want that.

Because you love him, too, more than you’ve ever loved anything.

You search through piles of not-clean-enough-for-closet-not-dirty-enough-to-be-washed and find your work uniform, the ugly polo which green colour looks like puke and the black pants that’s way too tight on your ass (because that’s how your creepy boss wants it).

You quickly shimmy into the pants, pull the shirt over your head and grab a pair of worn-out sneakers, turning around to say goodbye to Ashton who’s still laying in your bed with a post-sex glory surrounding him.

“Gotta work now, see ya around.”

“I’ll call you!” He shouts just before you close the door, and you feel a warmth spreading in your stomach. 

“I know you will,” you whisper to yourself as you run down the stairs, hating the fact that you ever have to leave his side.

And you hate it even more when you fill a white envelope with stacks of dollar bills, leaving it in his mailbox along with a short letter from an ‘anonymous sponsor who wants him to go out and pursue his music career’, watching all of your hard-earned savings disappear.

And you curse the universe far away when you stand at the bus station, saying goodbye to him.

“I’ll come back for ya, I promise.” 

“No, no, don’t ya dare come back. Once you’re out of this hell hole, never return,” you argue, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. His cheeks are already wet, and the mix of the weed you smoked earlier and the recent tears have made his auburn eyes red and puffy. “Just write me a song someday so I know you haven’t forgotten me.”

“I won’t leave you here to rot, Y/N!” he hisses, gripping your cheek with clammy hands.

“Go, Ash, your bus is leaving!” you order, debating whether to hug or kiss him goodbye before deciding on a quick embrace, and then you push him away, taking a few steps back yourself.

The further you get from him, the worse you feel, but you know it’s for the best.

He shoots you one last glance before entering the full bus, taking off to meet his future. A future that’s way too bright for you and the shabby life you’re destined. 

When you get home and lay on the shitty old mattress, you prepare yourself for a waterfall of tears, but your eyes stay dry. 

Not even tears will keep you company now that he’s left.

And a couple years later, your mum calls and tells you he asked for you and that she just told him you’d married and moved.

Not that you only moved a few blocks away, but then again, he didn’t ask. 

You just thank her and hang up.

But one day, you turn up the radio in your shitty old car with the crackling radio and hear his voice coming out of the speaker, singing of the girl with the sad eyes, the girl he girl he grew up with, the girl he never got to tell that he loved her, the girl who was too stubborn to save herself, the girl who saved him. 

And you cry. For the first time since he left, you cry. You cry so hard you have to pull over because you can’t see through the blurriness of your vision, and you scream. 

You scream because you’re angry that he didn’t look harder for you, because it took him so long and you scream because it’s so unfair that you never got out of this stupid place. 

But then an expensive car, you think it’s a Mercedes or something, pull over too and out comes a beautiful man with bronze coloured curls, familiar auburn eyes and a smile that could light the sun on fire and your heart skips a beat.

You’re home.

[purplesurveys]

608

1. What did you do in 2019 that you’d never done before? Lots of different things! I had an Actual™ photoshoot :o, I celebrated my girlfriend’s dad’s birthday with their family, I touched an Adobe app and learned that I’m pretty decent at it, I had a tooth extraction, I did shisha and vape (and found out I liked them, giving me an identity crisis for a while HAHAHA), I had my internship, I was fined by a traffic officer, etc. I had lots of grownup stuff to face this year, and it was all fun.

2. Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don’t make New Year’s resolutions... if I wanted to do something I’d plan them any time of the year. Plus making them at New Year’s just gives me a whole chunk of pressure, and I’d rather not live with that pressure.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? I had a high school classmate give birth this year but I wasn’t close to her; Gabie was, though. Other than her, I don’t think there’s been anybody who had a kid in 2019.

4. Did anyone close to you die? Nacho. I still see him in everything, everyday.

5. What countries did you visit? Didn’t get to go out of the country this year. Hopefully that’ll change next year when I graduate!

6. What would you like to have in 2020 that you lacked in 2019? I dunno, this year was already suuuuper hectic enough. I’d ask for more time to rest, but I’m literally graduating in 2020 and it will only get busier from there. The two things I’d ask for is to get to go to a different country again, and to have a road trip that isn’t going to Nasugbu for once (I’ve only had two long drives ever since I was allowed to have em, and both trips were to the same beach in Nasugbu).

7. What date from 2019 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? Evening of September 28; it was when everybody was notified of Nacho’s passing. Toughest pill to swallow in my entire fucking life. My social media had never seemed so angry, so scared, so chaotic, so bleak, all at the same time. 8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? If we’re gonna be serious about ‘biggest,’ then probably not killing myself. Other than that, I was pretty proud of the way I handled and performed at my internship! I was never late to get to their ORTIGAS office (a tiny traffic hellhole in Metro Manila), I had a good relationship with everyone, and on my evaluations I saw that my supervisor wrote a lot of nice things :)

9. What was your biggest failure? I was a bad girlfriend on significant occasions. I also have two classes this sem in which my final grades are going to be held back because of supposed ‘deficiencies’ – but honestly I blame that on the prof because I think she held back final grades FROM EVERYONE ON ALL HER CLASSES this semester. Seriously, if you do that as a prof, don’t you think the problem is you and not us? I won’t call it a failure on my end, but I am pissed about it and needed a space to vent.

Another failure would be never getting to take out Gab’s mom out on a date. I already took her dad to an MMA pay-per-view and we had a lot of fun, but have never been able to do the same for her mom just yet. I really need to step up next year.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? I had a bad slip in school early this year and I sprained my ankle. There was also one day I felt bad enough to have to skip class but it never became a full-blown fever, so I don’t know what that was.

11. What was the best thing you bought? I bought tooooooons of new tops this year and totally upgraded my wardrobe, so I was really happy about that. The other is a day pass to a beach resort in Nasugbu that I went to with Gab, Angela, and Sofie.

12. Where did most of your money go? Food to keep myself in school. That and gas.

13. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Lots of things...I mean 2019 was a long-ass year. There was turning into a senior, doing my internship, getting invited to Gabie’s dad’s birthday dinner, going to my first few events to get me accustomed to the PR world, seeing my senior friends graduate college, I also went back to the National Museum this year so that was great, the aforementioned Nasugbu trip, etc etc blahblah.

14. What song will always remind you of 2019? Wonderwall by Oasis or Buwan by Juan Karlos, both because of Nacho. 15. Compared to this time last year, are you: Happier or sadder? Older or wiser? Thinner or fatter? Richer or poorer? (I don’t earn money yet, lol)

16. What do you wish you’d done more of? Seeing Angela. I probably saw her a grand total of 10 times this year, which is pretty fucking tragic.

17. What do you wish you’d done less of? [trigger warning: self-harm] Hurting myself. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my skin clean for a full year.

18. How did you spend Christmas? We will be spending Christmas Eve with one of my grand-aunts’ family. My mom is very close with her cousins on that side plus family from Vietnam is also coming over, so a get-together is certainly happening. On Christmas Day, we’d be spending the day with my mom’s sister-in-law’s family. They have a giant house and host the best party games which is why we like hanging out there. We’d spend the day with ALL of these people, but my grand-aunt and my tita (mom’s sister-in-law) have some weird friction going on so they can’t ever be in the same gathering lmfao.

19. What was your favorite TV program? I resurrected my love for Breaking Bad mostly because El Camino came out this year, but I definitely watched Friends the most. I have it on autoplay on Netflix 12-14 hours at a time these days because Netflix is taking it out on the 31st.

22. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? Yes, the aforementioned professor who gave me two Incomplete marks this semester. Last year, she was just my enlistment adviser; now she’s a witch who is keeping me from having a decent Christmas.

I also stopped talking to my younger brother around February or March after he slapped me in the face, so there’s that. No plans to forgive him or talk to him any time soon whatsoever.

23. What was the best book you read? I didn’t read a lot this year :( 2019 was all about readings for my classes.

24. What was your greatest musical discovery? THE JAPANESE HOUSE. Without a shadow of a doubt.

25. What did you want and get? My dog living another year, my relationship still healthy and intact, good grades, my teeth finally treated hahaha, new members in my org!

26. What did you want and not get? Courage on my end to go to a therapist or psychiatrist. More travel.

27. What was your favorite film of this year? Portrait of a Lady on Fire will easily take the cake. That was just breathtaking.

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I spent it internally disappointed in Gab for not making it. Outwardly, my mom took us out for sushi (my request) for lunch, then we went home and in the evening, Angela and I went to Feliz so we can have Yabu for dinner then played at Timezone until the mall closed. Not a birthday I want to remember but Angela went above and beyond to give me a good time, and that I’ll always appreciate.

29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? More opportunities and time to travel. I mean we did go out of town a lot, but I just can’t get enough of travelling to different places.

30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2019? Chic with a hint of haggard.

31. What kept you sane? My dog, my orgmates, my best friends, and good food.

32. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Kristen Stewart.

33. What issue stirred you the most? Duterte as a person is just one big fucking issue that riles everybody up in this country. I’m just waiting for him to die.

34. Who did you miss? Nacho.

35. Who was the best new person you met? My social history professor, Ma’am Luisa. I had always wanted to take a class that she handled, and she went above and beyond my expectations. I’m taking another class of hers next sem – history of women in the Philippines – so that ought to be fun. :)

36. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2019: Call-out culture is bullshit. I haven’t done it much since Nacho passed, but I wish it did not take me this long to realize how bad of a strategy it is. 

People who mourned him went back to their old habits soon enough and are again publicly shaming people whenever they make a misstep on social media, and it’s embarrassing and infuriating.

[yueqqi]

Lost Requiem - Chapter 1

Summary: A man from New York seeks a new life after a terrible mistake that locked him in eight years of imprisonment, only for him to be greeted again by the gates of Hell.

A/N: Since I’m a broke-ass tryna get by as a computer science student juggling a part time job, I can’t donate to the Kickstarter. BUT, I’m going to try and help with the social media goals as per the RE:H Kickstarter page, so I guess here’s a new fic serial.

New York City, New York, August 2nd, 1995

Pain exploded like a spilt pot of hot chowder against his cheek. He stumbled back, barely catching himself against the table where other inmates had long abandoned since the fight broke out.

A chant. “Oh, fuck! Fight, fight, fight!”

Another fist swung out, tattooed with gentle black strokes forming lilies, and he ducked before it could connect with his face again. With a grunt, he threw all of his weight forward and latched onto the taller man’s waist.

The other man swayed from the sudden force. Success?

He found himself winded with the sudden loss of altitude as he was slammed into the hard, cold floor with a massive block of muscle on top of him.

A disappointed voice yelled into his ear, “Dammit, you weak-ass lawyer boy! I woulda thought you get better at this shit after eight years!”

He snapped, “Maybe I woulda if I got a degree in sumo wrestling like your dumbass self, Brandt.”

The weight lifted from his back, and a fresh breath of air entered his lungs. The man sat up, reaching a hand up to test the swelling that rose on his cheek. He let out a hiss.

“Yo, ‘zekiel, sorry ‘bout that bruise,” the same gruff voice apologized. A large hand offered itself for him to take. As he took the hand, the crowd of people dispersed as everyone returned to their lunches.

“Thanks. And it’s not much of a problem.”

Brandt was a tall, buff man with a shaved head at least five inches taller than Ezekiel’s six feet. A terrifying man with a terrifying stature and a terrifying gaze, he was the most feared inmate at the Lincoln Correctional Facility. Like Ezekiel, he wasn’t in prison for the right reasons.

In fact, most of them weren’t in prison for the right reasons.

If Ezekiel could legally take a look at every inmate’s profiles, he was sure they’d all have the same background. A poor kid of a minority, born and raised in the ghetto part of town. Could be the Bronx, like him, or other areas in lower-town Manhattan, or immigrated from an even poorer town outside the States ridden with war, drugs, and grime. A family of a single parent and a couple kids; sometimes both parents were in the picture, but rarely could they climb above the vice of poverty because of the poor pay and the cost of surviving.

Like him, they were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time—that, or they were forced into the life of crime just to feed their families.

Like Karael.

Brandt’s boisterous voice interrupted his thoughts, “So, how’s it feelin’, bein’ the nasty dealer finally gettin’ out today?”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “Eight years late, but I can’t complain; coulda been a full twenty-five. It’s just about damn time.”

Ezekiel was grateful, though the taste of ashes still lingered on his tongue at the thought of it; just eight months ago, his case was appealed to the judge again, and it was by a stroke of luck that the first judge who gave him a sentencing had been transferred to another court so he had a chance, however slim, to crawl out of this hellhole. After weeks of looking over the court transcriptions from his case file, the new judge was sympathetic enough to see that an all-white jury plus the original judge’s spoken words all led to an unfavorable outcome: as Ezekiel figured, bias outweighed the evidence supporting his case in the end.

A simple, formal apology was made and the judge gave the prison’s executive director the order for his release; of course, the paperwork was an “issue” and his release was postponed for eight months. Seven years turned to eight, and both Ezekiel’s and his family’s patience was wearing thin until finally: the long-awaited release date.

Still, an apology wasn’t much compensation for the stolen eight years, nor was his quiet release later in the day in which he silently bid the others farewell and only hoped that they would stumble upon luck as he did.

The dusty silver sedan waited for him the second he stepped into broad daylight in fresh clothes: a pair of jeans, a white cotton shirt, and a cheap, black zipped hoodie. He didn’t know what happened to the leather motorcycle jacket he wore when he was arrested, but as much as his heart ached for it, it was a remnant of the past he had to leave behind.

A young woman no more than twenty-five with her once curly hair braided in cornrows long ago now straightened and shoulder-length stood leaning against the car hood in a pinstriped button-up shirt with navy trousers, the passenger door left open as an older woman in her late forties sat in the seat in a familiar sweater and pants. Upon hearing the barbed wire fence buzz as the prison guard opened it for Ezekiel, both women looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, the same viridescent as his own.

The younger of the two bounded up to him with wide strides—Ezekiel didn’t remember her being this tall—and embraced him tightly with a tearful eyes. She whispered, “Welcome home, Ezekiel.”

He laughed, reaching up a hand to ruffle her hair. “Easy there, Duma, we ain’t home quite just yet. You’re not so short anymore—ouch!”

Duma punched him in the arm none-too-lightly, but grabbed him by the hand to pull him to the sedan. The older woman, Hasielle, grinned at the two as she stood, latching onto the car to balance herself so she didn’t sway, and waited for Ezekiel to approach before she pulled him in for a hug.

Ezekiel smiled warmly as he wrapped his arms around the shorter woman. He greeted softly, “Hey, Ma.”

Hasielle pulled back for just to moment to reach up and pat Ezekiel’s cheek, where the bruise had already formed from earlier. Eyebrows knitted together, she said, “They haven’t been treatin’ you nicely here, huh? You need to eat more too, you’ve gotten so skinny!”

“Well, I’m always lookin’ forward to your chicken and rice; I’ll even help cook.”

Hasielle smirked, “Well, I’m supposin’ you need practice after awhile. Let’s make it a competition tonight. You in, Duma?”

His sister paled at the mention of cooking. “You want me to burn down the house?”

“Chemistry, cookin’, all the same thing, aren’t they?” Ezekiel challenged, eyebrow raised.

“It’s chemical engineering, Ezekiel. And I’m not doing anything with cooking for the program I’m in, anyways. I’d burn the whole city down on accident!”

“Well, you better find someone who can cook for you, Duma,” Ezekiel chuckled. Duma’s cheeks reddened.

“Shut up, you.”

Their mother’s eyebrows rose, “My, my! Has my daughter found someone?”

“No, Ma! Not yet! The next person I’m gettin’ married to is science herself.”

Amidst the warm laughter, a hollow ache still pervaded a part in his chest. Once, they were a family of five, then four when he turned seven many years ago. And again, one was missing.

They all stepped into the car; Duma was driving since Ezekiel needed to reapply for a driver’s license and Hasielle’s condition had worsened over the years: after years of fighting through her anemia to juggle three jobs to support the three of her children, she finally took a break from working once Duma was able to help support them both after getting through college at MIT on a scholarship.

Once the chuckles died down and Duma turned down the road toward the city graveyard, Hasielle glanced in the side mirror at Ezekiel, where he sat in the back, and commented, “Hon, your hair’s so short.”

“Is it?” Ezekiel reached up to rub at his head, feeling the prickliness of his cropped curly hair between his fingers. He supposed it was a lot shorter compared to how he kept it years ago, but he had gotten used to his hair being this length.

“I miss your old hair, but I’ve been seein’ them old-style movies, like Victorian-era and older. Just a thought, but maybe you should try growin’ out your hair longer. I remember you tellin’ me awhile ago in a letter that you’re workin’ on a novel as a new start to your life, so maybe gettin’ a new start in style might help too.”

A new start, huh? A new life… Sounds nice.

“Maybe I will.”

The car pulled into a parking space at the mausoleum some miles away. In spite of the sun that beat down on them, the place still seemed awfully dim and quiet—as expected, Ezekiel supposed, yet it was unsettling not unlike the prison at night.

As Duma pulled out the wheelchair from the trunk of the car for Hasielle, Hasielle spoke, “Ezekiel, Duma and I are goin’ to see Pops in the yard. Why don’t you go on ahead to the mausoleum first and we’ll see you soon?”

He was speechless for a moment, before given his mother a quiet nod. Ezekiel left the two and walked in long, slow strides toward the large, Grecian-style mausoleum, steps ginger and uncertain. The place was eerily quiet when he entered, the door shutting silently behind him, though the sunlight filtering through the skylights and brightening the marble floors created some imitation of a welcoming aura. To his left was a small alcove with a sign hanging above it, Flowers.

Ezekiel shuffled into the small shop, where a short old woman waved at him from behind the counter. He smiled, a bit stiff, and waved back before he turned to observe the array of flowers sprawled through the expanse of the shop.

He had no idea what to buy for his brother. In fact, he didn’t even know if his brother ever liked flowers—they were never that close especially during their last few years spent together before Ezekiel ended up behind bars.

In the end, Ezekiel settled for white lilies and baby’s breath. White for purity, but also white for a blank sheet, for possibilities. Paying for the flowers, he left the shop and ducked into the nearest corridoer while keeping an eye out for the signs designating alphabetical order.

Q-T. Thomas. Timmison. Torvald.

Travis.

A framed photo of a young man with a smiling face, a mustache forming on his upper lip, stared back with similar verdant, yet faintly honey-colored eyes at Ezekiel. Ezekiel let out a soft breath as he placed the flowers in the vase attached by iron-wrought wire to the wall beside the box of ashes set into the marble wall, engraved in a delicate font.

Karael Travis, December 22nd, 1969-February 17th, 1991

Loving son and brother who always did his best

A whisper, deafening in the echoing silence, “Long time, no see, you poor bastard. Just what did you get yourself into when I couldn’t be there to catch your fall?”

[thiswouldntsurvivemydeath]

I rly not sure the reason but I have a razor blade taped to my fat ass side.... & eryone can see it, pink tape, lol, nvm.. this is for me. ,,,, hahahahqha... like that'd happen. I gotta force feed myself this cheese smashed ass sandwich... 4 bread, 3 cheeses.. like a dumb fat bitch would.

Oh yeas.. I know why. I had to actually cut a fucking rapist. But not for raping me. For stealing my binoculars..... -_-

I'm getting used to headphones again. Which may or may not be nice.... for me......

Riding on this 21 back to my hellhole called kitchen with nasty spilled all over mattress.......

I rly wanna smoke a blunt but... not enough weed

Not like it would help

At this point.... I'm just looking at getting this sexy speaker in the mail so I'm loud. Louder. Lol. I already have 2, except they already getting ... worn out?

I think I do too much.

Lol, DUH-!

Anyways. I have my baby Dash with me still. Didn't realize what i was doing when I painted the necklace with black nail polish... then it won't rly irritate me. Cuz it's happened. Pretty sure I lost her first because of either fucker or rapist. Not funny tho. I want3d to laugh because inappropriate is my fucking shit. At least that dude didn't get all pissy when I kept saying nigger. I act racist. Homophobic. Etc. I'm not. Like. That.

Damn..girl.. huh?

I'm just going for the freak show @ this point.

They fucking stare and fucking react anyways so.... idfk.

This is pretty gay.

Not in a happy way.

Like , why the fuck hate on a mentally ill, drug addicted, psychologically damaged girl with a death wish..... who's scared of death?

Well......... I guess that's funny.

..........

Anyways. Ima make sure to bite and swallow......

Lma0.

My fucking sandwich.

My mom lucky I still can care.

I don't rly love her anymore but I really can't stand seeing people suffer.

Been there too much myself.

I'm glad I went out tonight.

Practice for wehn I hopefully go to school. College.. again.

This gonna hate me.

I hat3 m3.

Shot. Vodka. Eat. And go home.

Sleeeeeeeeep

Lmao

[timeisacephalopod]

Optioned

Um, random Peter/ Bucky AU in which they both work a shitty job at a movie theater. I don’t know what this is but its definitely crack lmao. I just wanted to write the pairing tbh.

Ok so Peter had aspirations- once upon a time that was a thing but now all his dreams are dead and he stuffs bags full of pop corn for a living. Its not exactly that he hates his job at the local movie theater, its just that he’d rather kill himself than speak to an actual live human being at a till. People are assholes for one, and also he’s discovered that the ‘ice vs no ice’ controversy is real and people are passionate about it. His preference? He doesn’t have one because he can’t be assed to care about trivial shit like that.

The only good thing to come out of his shitty job making surprisingly good popcorn is that he met Bucky. Sure he’s like ninety percent sure Bucky never actually does any work mostly because he’s way too fucking anxious to handle being on till but he’s funny and that’s all Peter cares about. Plus he’s awesome enough that no one else seems to notice that he doesn’t do much. Either that or everyone likes him too much to care.

“I hate closing shifts,” Kamala mumbles and Peter snorts.

“That makes two of us but fuck getting up in the morning,” he says, shaking his head. Morning shifts are slow as shit too so not only would he be up early but he’d have nothing to do. Fuck morning shifts. Actually no, fuck working in general, he misses stealing shit to get by but Bucky thinks its immoral to steal or whatever. Personally Peter likes to think of himself as Robin Hood except he’s only taking money for himself- if the public wants more of it they can steal their own shit.

“I already have school so you know, I’m used to it,” Kamala says.

Peter wrinkles his nose, “I’d say drop out but then I’d be a bad influence.”

Kamala laughs, “I’m pretty sure my parents would skin you if you told me to drop out and I listened.”

“Has anyone done the butter yet?” Bucky asks and Peter turns.

“No, not that I- why are you in the vat of pop corn?” he asks, frowning at Bucky sitting in the pop corn machine. Its not even empty either, he’s sitting in a giant ass vat of popcorn with food surrounding him.

“Monkey brain,” he says like that’s some kind of explanation.

Peter sighs. “When I was nine my mother died, I got kidnapped shortly thereafter, became a fucking conspiracy theory-” which he hadn’t even known about until he met Bucky. The guy reads way too many conspiracies. “-Ended up leading a life of crime so I could accumulate enough money to go to film school and also assimilate into the group of criminals I was kidnapped by. Went to film school with big dreams of being a director and writer that got sucked out by this shit place, and all for it to end with my boyfriend in a vat of popcorn explained away by ‘monkey brain’. I can’t even write that shit.” But then most of Bucky’s life is such a level of bizarre that he couldn’t write it. If he did he’d deem it unrealistic because Bucky attracts weird like nobody’s business. “Kamala, can you do the butter?” he asks her.

She sighs grumpily but agrees until Bucky interrupts, “I asked because I was gunna do it,” he says.

“You can clean out the popcorn vat,” Peter tells him and Bucky sulks, eating some of the popcorn that surrounds him. Kalama laughs as she pulls the butter from its warmer. Knowing how long those things sit there makes Peter feel almost bad for feeding it to people. But then he remembers half the customers shriek at him if he puts ice in their drinks and feels less bad.

“Can I go home? I hate it here,” Bucky says and Peter snorts.

“If I have to suffer so do you. Kamala, you go home, you have school tomorrow,” he says.

Kamala frowns, “I mean I’m leaving but we don’t have school on Saturdays, Peter.”

Bucky lets out a long whine, “how come she gets to go home? I’m the one dating you, give me special treatment.”

“Yeah, I also happen to know you pay half the rent and need the hours, Kamala’s only here to save money for college so she’s not missing out on much,” he says. “Now clean the vat.” Bucky sighs and mumbles something about Peter sucking the fun out of everything but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t like rent either but Bucky’s the one who insists they work shitty jobs for a living instead of just selling meth or robbing homes in rich areas.

“You’re the best,” Kamala tells him before she takes off. Man Peter wishes he could follow and leave this stupid job behind. Why couldn’t he have dated someone with no moral compass so he could avoid this hellhole?

“Do I still have to clean the vat?” Bucky asks and Peter nods.

“I’m not cleaning that shit,” he says.

“I thought you wanted weird experiences for your writing or whatever,” Bucky says and Peter frowns.

“I hope you know finding my boyfriend in a vat of popcorn is far weirder than cleaning it out,” he says. “Also I don’t feel like cleaning it out when I have to count literally everything in this damn place. Save me some of that popcorn,” he adds, earning a look from Clint like he has the right to issue out looks given his eating habits. Peter watched him eat an Oreo off the lobby floor once.

“His ass as been in there,” he says.

“Clint, I’ve ate is ass, why do you think that matters to me?” he asks, earning a gag from America across the room. “Oh hush, I’m sure you and Kate get up to worse,” he says to her. She gives him a doubtful look but he damn well knows Kate is probably into weird shit, she hangs out with Clint.

“Please don’t tell our coworkers about our sex life, I have to look them in the eye,” Bucky says, climbing out of the popcorn.

“Does he actually do anything around here or does he mostly just talk to you?” Clint asks.

Peter shrugs, “probably the latter but I mean are you complaining? Could you imagine this guy at a till? Dude is a human chihuahua.” He shakes at everything and sometimes has a lot of anger in unexpected places though Peter has to admit if he were Jewish and spotted a Nazi near him he’d punch the Nazi too. Except Bucky acted totally on instinct and went Full Human Chihuahua right after so it was a weird situation to be in and if Peter ever writes a comedy that is so going in it.

Clint snorts, “one time when he was on floor I watched this guy try to walk up to him and he basically ran away and left Loki to deal with it. I’m sure it went horribly wrong.”

“Actually I think Loki solved his problem and that reaffirms that I’m not fit to deal with people,” Bucky says, dumping popcorn into the trash.

“How do you date him?” Clint asks and Peter shrugs.

“Dude is so weird he inspires a crap ton of stories that no one will ever option,” he says and Bucky snorts.

“I’m sure it’ll happen eventually,” he says and yeah, maybe, but Peter is bored of writing for no audience. And also of serving ungrateful dipshits who scream about ice. Once he found a cockroach in the ice and he hopes some jackass customer has eaten one.

“Well when you hit it big remember that time I took your shift,” Clint tells him.

Peter squints, “you’ve never taken anyone’s shift ever. I know this because I help make the schedule.” Its a horrible job and he hates it.

“What I’m saying is that I want your money,” Clint tells him bluntly.

“Uh, I get his money first, you get it later,” Bucky says. “Also you want to scoop the rest of this popcorn?”

*

Peter considers the last year and a half of his life. “Do you ever think about the fact that Tony Stark basically paid you five million dollars to make him a drink?” Bucky asks.

“All the time because literally what the fuck.” He’d been closing, as usual, and then out of nowhere actual Tony fucking Stark walks up and practically begs for a drink. Peter had made a joke that he’d make it if Tony gave him the money to make a movie and the guy must have been some desperate for coke because he agreed. Peter is ninety percent sure the only reason people even went to see it is because Tony was the one who funded it but what the fuck ever man, he’s got a whole new project in the works and his last movie went over surprisingly well.

“I can’t believe real people are funding your space opera about your daddy issues,” Bucky says, shaking his head.

Peter snorts, “you get all the benefits so shush.”

Bucky grins, “well yeah, but a space opera about your daddy issues? That’s also a musical? That’s got to be a niche market.”

Not if Tony Stark is funding it but Peter has long known the guy was genius at marketing. Dude makes a shit ton of money, as evidenced by his paying a stupid amount of dollars over a joke Peter made. But like hell he was backing down from that. “It’ll sell. I mean people loved my weird sci-fi comedy that had a really odd sense of Millennial humor with an absurd amount of conspiracy theories in it,” he points out.

“Yeah, you’re officially in the Illuminati now. Tony invited you and now you’re trying to control the masses,” Bucky says, dead ass serious because he’s probably read whole Reddit threads on it or something. 

He considers that for a moment before looking back to Bucky. “First, please stop reading weird conspiracies about me. Two, do you have any idea how tempted I am to steal all of Tony’s shit always? You should be lucky I love you because he has some nice stuff and I could probably sell it for a lot of money.” He stared at that stupid expensive Rolex for so long Tony probably got suspicious at some point but Peter let him fuck around on set so he didn’t seem to care too much. Turns out Pepper Potts is terrifying though and for a hot second she took everything over to shoo Tony out.

“Actually I don’t really care if you steal from the rich but maybe not the rich guy who’s funding your shit. Steal from all his friends,” Bucky says and Peter blinks.

“Wait, what? I thought you had a thing against stealing!”

Buck shrugs, “I don’t count it if its from rich people who can replace it right away. Its like Robin Hood but selfish,” he says.

Peter stares at him for a long few moments before letting out a long string of swear words. “I’ve been avoiding stealing shit for three damn years and you didn’t even care the whole time? I’m robbing Betsy DeVos so blind she’s going to have to get laser eye surgery to correct it!” he says. He’s got plans.

Bucky throws his head back and laughs, “save that line, its funny.”

[vennilavee]

Avalanche Part III

avalanche masterlist

Pairing: Lance Tucker X POC Reader

Chapter Summary: You can’t seem to avoid seeing Lance and you find yourself not wanting to.

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 2559

A/N: I know this took forever! I’m sorry, life just got in the way. Hope you enjoy and thank you for reading-as always, suggestions are welcome xoxo

You’re really starting to regret coming back to your hometown. It took everything inside of you not to run back to Philly to be among your like-minded friends. Your mother is starting to drive you up the wall, with her incessant questions about your own lack of a ring on your finger. The thought of spending another month in this godforsaken hellhole made your stomach twist unpleasantly.

It seemed like everything and everyone was the same, except for you. This was supposed to be a happy, joyous affair and yet your mind was thousands of miles away. Maybe it was because you were being forced to face people and feelings that you hadn’t properly processed over the years. After all, your specialty was ignoring your issues until you seemingly forgot about them.

Lily had told you off for the way you behaved with Lance the other night, after he had attempted to walk you home and you had screamed at him in the middle of the street and stomped off dramatically-

“You can’t just talk to people like that!” Lily had almost spat in your face. You almost rolled your eyes- of course Lance had gone and told on you. 

“Whatever, he’s a dickhead anyways,” You mumbled. That just seem to fuel Lily’s fire even more.

“You know what- I know you’ve always been stubborn but you are an adult. Stop running away from whatever it is that makes you think you’re better than him,” Her sharp features softened when she saw the stunned look on your face, “You’re better than this. I know you are.”

That had struck something within in you, and you felt the familiar tendrils of guilt seeping into your blood. She was right- you weren’t usually the one to lash out like that. Because you usually had a lid on your emotions. Usually.

Lance clearly brings out the best in you, you think dryly. You decide to apologize to him the next time you’re in the same vicinity as him, because that would be right thing to do.

It seemed that every time you saw Lance, it was at a place that served alcohol. Maybe it was a sign from the universe, giving you a metaphorical heads up that you would need to be inebriated to deal with Lance Tucker. Any excuse to drink, right? Right.

It was probably unhealthy, the way you used alcohol to cope. But you enjoyed the way it burned, the temporary release it gave you. The temporary feeling of flying that you got whenever you drank. You craved it.

This time, you were with Mel and Lily’s best friend from college, Daisy. When you first met Daisy, you had laughed because of course the pair of them were named after flowers. Of course they got along swimmingly. Two flowers from the same stem, you had commented all those years ago. 

You spot Lance before he sees you and you duck your head a little bit, sinking in your seat. He looks good, you observe- he’s wearing that red track jacket that has USA on the back of it and dark jeans that hug his hips deliciously. You would have rolled your eyes at the track jacket if anyone else was wearing it, but he pulls it off. He can pull anything off, you think. Mel notices you duck your head and she turns her head, sighing when she sees Lance walk towards the bar with Ben. Mel quirks an eyebrow at you, waiting for an explanation. 

“Ooooh, who is that? He’s fine as hell,” Daisy turns her head as well, her eyes on his perky ass and smirks.

“Lance Tucker,” You mumble with a shrug, “We all went to high school together.”

“As in Lance Tucker the Olympian?” Daisy all but squeals, “Maybe I’ll hit that before I leave.” She waggles her eyebrows and you laugh.

“The one and only,” Mel says wryly, “Why do you look so nervous?” You curse internally. Of course Mel knows all your tells.

“I-uh... I told him off the other day. I was really mean,” You admit sheepishly, “I should apologize. I’m just working up the nerve to, I guess.”

“What did you say to him?” Daisy asks curiously. You chug your drink quickly, eager to feel that familiar, comforting buzz floating around in your stomach.

“A bunch of not so nice things,” You shrug, not wanting to explain yourself, “I guess my head has been stuck up my ass for a while and I need to move the fuck on from a few things. Coming back here always just... makes me into this person that I know I’m not.” You already feel foolish enough and don’t want them to scold you as well. 

“Personal growth and shit,” Mel echoes Lily’s words from the other day with an encouraging smile.

“Personal growth and shit.”

Lance sees you the second he walks into the bar with Ben. His heart raced when he recognized your curly hair and heard your laugh. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous to run into you. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to see you again, since the last time he had seen you, you screamed at him. Your eyes had been alight with a fire he had never seen in you, your tongue spitting venom at him. He didn’t recognize your tenacity, and he knew you were right- you were both different people. So much time had passed, of course you were different people.

He didn’t know what to do with this information, so he just went on with his days. Ben leaves the stool he’s sitting at when he sees you walking towards them with an unsure smile on your face. Lance curses under his breath and gives himself a pep-talk before facing you.

“This seat taken?” You say meekly, meeting his bright, blue eyes. He gestures for you to sit and you try to ease your mind. 

“Can’t get enough, huh?” Lance smirks at you. You laugh and feel your tension start to dissipate.

“Yup, you got me, Tucker,” You grin. You clear your throat and swirl the straw in your drink before plucking up some courage and saying, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“You’re talking to me now, aren’t you?” He can’t help the smartass answer that tumbles out of his mouth. You ignore it and bite your lip in hesitation. You don’t know why this is so hard for you to do, to admit that you were wrong to Lance Fuckin’ Tucker. Maybe it’s because he never properly apologized to you all those years ago. But it was all water under the bridge- or it should have been. Grudges were exhausting to hold on to, after all.

“I just... I’m sorry for the way I went off on you the other day. You didn’t deserve that and I... I had no right to say any of that to you,” You say clearly, your eyes are boring into his and he has to look away from the intensity you’re watching him with. He doesn’t really know what to say. He knows he deserved at least some of that.

“Don’t worry about it, babygirl,” He says with a smirk, “You’re forgiven.” You can’t help your face from feeling warm at his pet name but you keep your face passive. You also want to say that you didn’t need or want his forgiveness, that you were only apologizing because it was the right thing to do, but you keep your mouth shut because you also know that that’s a lie. He watches the tips of your ears turn slightly red and he smirks even wider. But you don’t notice.

You smile widely at him, wide enough that he can see your small dimples. You offer for him to sit with you and Mel and Daisy at your booth and he agrees, signaling for Ben to join them as well. You discover that Lance Tucker is actually quite funny and his opinions and perspectives on things like March Madness, the weather, and beer are opinions and perspectives that you want to continue hearing about. His voice is soothing like velvet or honey- maybe a combination of both. You find yourself hanging onto every word that comes out of his pretty, pink mouth. Mel is concealing the giggle she desperately wants to let out at your behavior and Daisy is busy making eyes at Lance, but you don’t really notice. You don’t really notice much of anything- all you’re aware of his how intensely he’s looking at you while he speaks. A thought flits around in your head- I want him to always look at me like that. 

You ignore the internal tug-of-war going on inside of you and take a sip of your beer.

The next time you see Lance is when you go out to dinner with your mother and your brother. The three of you settle on going to a nice Thai restaurant- Thai food had always been a favorite for the three of you even before you moved from the east coast to Ohio. You and your brother insisted that all of you would dress up and be as fancy as you possibly could. Your mother rolled her eyes fondly at the pair of you, but complied anyway. Your mother somehow looked more polished and refined compared to the last time you saw her. Despite your frequent arguments and heated words, she was still your mom and you’d never forget all the sacrifices she made to make sure that you and your brother could have the future you both wanted.

You decided to wear a button up blouse, a pastel pink skirt, a statement necklace and pair it with black heels. Your curly hair fell comfortably over your shoulders. 

“So we still getting the same thing we always get, or are we going to surprise ourselves and try something new?” Your brother asks pointedly with a teasing grin.

“Well,” Your mother laughs, “I should know better than to get either of you to try anything new.”

“That’s just rude,” You say, ordering a bottle of wine for your table. Your mother quirks an eyebrow at you but says nothing. She used to be extremely wary of your drinking habits, especially in college but she has eased up. Ever since your father left the three of you. She’s even developed her own wine palate, favoring white wines over red wines. 

You’re proud of your mother, for taking something that absolutely broke her and spinning it into something beautiful for herself.

The three of you bicker as if no time has passed, with your brother teasing you about getting old and you teasing him about the same thing. You ask your brother about the lack of a lady in his life and your mother rises to his defense quickly- “And what about you? You’re no better! You both are going to leave me without grandkids, aren’t you?”

You resist the urge to say something sarcastic, instead stuffing your pad see ew noodles into your mouth. Before your brother can change the subject, your eye catches Lance Tucker walk in from the entrance with his mother. You almost choke on your food, disguising it with an awkward cough. Your mother and brother follow your line of vision to Lance and his mother. You ignore the wide smirk that your brother is giving you. 

You feel slightly starstruck and you physically shake your head to rid yourself of the feeling. He looks good, you note. He’s wearing a dark dress shirt and khakis and somehow you know he smells like sweet sin. He hasn’t used as much product as he usually does in his hair and you want to run your hands through the perfectly styled fluffiness and tell him that it looks good like this.

You barely recognize the thoughts floating around in your head. You groan audibly and your mother turns to you with a questioning look on her all-knowing face. Her lips quirk up and mirror your brother’s lips and you’re suddenly filled with the urge to sink into the floor.

“Stop looking at me like that,” You mumble after taking a long swig of your wine.

“Like what?” Your brother asks innocently. But they are silent and keep their quips to themselves. You’re internally debating whether you should go over there and say hello, before you chug your glass of wine and think fuck it. After all, your mother and Ms. Tucker are both friendly with each other. It would be rude of you to not say hello, right? You vaguely wonder if your mother and Ms. Tucker have planned this, and the sly look on your mother’s face doesn’t help quell your suspicions.

You nervously make your way to the table that they are seated at and you feel your courage beginning to wane as your heart thumps in your ears. You awkwardly wave at Ms. Tucker.

“Hi, Ms. Tucker, I saw you and Lance here and just wanted to say hello,” You say meekly, feeling Lance’s curious eyes on you. She jumps up eagerly from her seat and is fawning over you, telling you how it’s been so long, how beautiful you have become and asking you about Philly. You missed her, you realize. Ms. Tucker had always been a genuinely nice woman, treating you like a daughter and feeding you peanut butter cookies that you could never have at home because of your brother’s peanut allergy. She had even been there for your mother during her darkest days, when you had no idea how to console her at the age of fifteen when your dad left.

You tell her how much you’ve missed her and she gives you a watery smile. Lance stands up as well and gives you a brief hug. I was right, you think, He smells so fuckin’ good. You think you can get lost in his scent.

“You’re definitely following me around,” Lance grins at you. 

“Yeah, right,” You roll your eyes with a laugh. You briefly wonder if it would be too much to ask him to hang out with you and your brother at Griff’s after dinner, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

He’s surprised at your invitation. Maybe this was you trying to mend things, trying to be civil. Either way, he takes your proposal whole-heartedly and you both miss the triumphant look his mother sends your mother from across the restaurant. He misses it because he’s trying his hardest not to stare at you- to stare at the way your skirt makes your brown skin glow, the way your top button of your blouse is casually undone and all he can think about his how that particular patch of skin tastes against his tongue, the way your legs look in those heels, or the way your ass looks in that skirt.

You smile obliviously at him, your hand resting on his forearm, before bidding your goodbyes and giving Ms.Tucker a hug and a promise that she’ll visit soon. 

You walk back to your table with a wide smile on your face and refuse to give your brother or your mother the satisfaction of telling them that they were right.

Tag List: @valynsia

[cheollies]

Rent A Boyfriend!Joshua

the gentleman types. the boy you’d bring to your family gatherings to show off just how sweet he is to you. extra services include him performing a little acoustic guitar or even playing the cute clueless American foreigner.

this wasn’t his ideal job but what can he do,he was a broke college student and decided why not

sure, it wasn’t the ideal job but heck, he’s

come to enjoy free food, free gaming, and making money

But most of all, he enjoyed his new coworkers and friends.

Joshua has become to be known as the ‘sweetheart’ of the company

he helps clean up, helps organize clothing, buys round of coffees and take out on busy holidays, bought everyone amazing and personal Christmas gifts

everyone in the building just adores this man

he’s really just the sweetest thing ever

his whole profile and persona doesn’t stray from his own personality which is probably why he’s one of the most popular and busiest of all the boys

his schedule is often packed from breakfast dates to brunch outings to family dinners and sometimes to some late-night clubbing

It’s safe to say that he makes bank

sometimes it gets to the point where people must actually be put on a waiting list

valentine’s week is a struggle for the company because suddenly everyone wants a piece of Joshua

‘wow look at you mister popular. Stealing all our clients’ hisses Jiangshan who’s been off work for two days now because he hasn’t gotten request in a while

‘I’m positive you’ll get clients soon, keep

your head up.’

‘STOP BEING SO POSITIVE. IT’S HARD TO BE MEAN TO YOU WHEN YOU’RE NICE’

Joshua prefers simple dates, like maybe a park date or something cute like window shopping

but he never gets those dates, nah he’s so high profile that he gets the fancier jobs

ones where people are in suits and ties, and there’s small talk, and champagne

he really thinks these jobs would be better for Jeonghan, but he doesn’t really like turning clients down, so he sticks through it

he also travels a lot

because he gets clients from the high end of the spectrum, sometimes his dates insist on traveling to foreign countries

brings back souvenirs for the guys

they all get so damn excited like

Hansol: I GOT A SNOWGLOBE FROM NORWAY

Soonyoung: LOOK AT THIS KEYCHAIN

Jihoon: wow I got a postcard

They always wait for Joshua with big eyes when he comes back from trips (who’s the real dad of this group)

Met you on the job

you were actually one of his clients

you see, you actually found out about this from your one self proclaimed best guy friend Seungkwan

and he’s always like ‘if you ever just want a fake date, just call this number and request for me.’

you kind of laugh because when would you ever need a fake date

cue to weeks later when you’re invited to a huge family gathering and lo and behold, remember that ass of a boyfriend you had months ago, looks like he’s snagged a new partner that just happens to be your cousins

what an ass indeed

you knew it would be utterly embarrassing for you to see him again without some person attached to your hip

you spent hours literally stressing over the entire thing until you rammed into your desk corner by accident and in the midst of cursing and screaming in pain, you spot Seungkwan’s work card on the ground

‘um, hi, I’m calling to request Boo Seungkwan for a date next Saturday afternoon’

It was so painfully awkward requesting your own friend for a fake date, but you really had no other choice

cue a week later, on the day of the family event, you get a very hasty call from Seungkwan apologizing about how his work decided to switch around the schedules

‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M GETTING SOMEONE ELSE. BOO SEUNGKWAN’

‘IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY. I’M NOT IN CHARGE OF SCHEDULING I PROMISE I’LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU’

‘I CAN’T JUST GO ON A DATE WITH A RANDOM GUY. SEUNGKWAN!’

‘I have to go now, I have work but trust me, you’ll love Joshua. He’s a professional’

‘SEUNGKWAN’

At about half passed noon is when your door bell rings. You’re adjusting your earring when you open the door to greet this mystery man

and when you open the door, your hand lets go of the earring because damn this boy was beautiful

‘you dropped your earring’

Even his voice sounded like heaven is what you think before you sheepishly pick up the earring

Joshua was so pretty, you couldn’t stop staring. Even in the cab you kept taking glances at him.

Even though the whole event was casual, he dressed in a blue and white stripped button up tucked into black jeans with a nice jacket on his shoulders, and damn he still looked so good

‘Seungkwan says you and him are friends’ Joshua initiates conversation

In the thirty-minute ride, it began with small talk, to stories of seungkwan, to work, then school, and suddenly laughter and smiles began to build between you two

‘well, time to enter the hellhole’ you say with your arm linked around Joshua’s

But while you were talking you know what he was doing, he was staring at you, at your lips moving, the cute tip of your nose, the light blush on your cheeks, he was marveled by your soft touch, your voice

Everyone, and I mean everyone is so captivated by Joshua the moment he steps into the large home.

All the aunts, grandmas, and mothers become attracted to the sweet boy that they all end up telling you what a catch of a guy he is

Everyone is literally swooning seeing Joshua fix your hair, or seeing him feed you some fruits he had gotten, and it really makes people’s hearts melt when they see Joshua taking his jacket off to drape over the front of your dress when you sit down

The best part of it all, seeing your ex get infuriated when Joshua comes over and pecks your cheeks, his hand on your shoulder with a big smile on his face while he holds out his other hand at your ex ‘hi, I’m Joshua.’

‘did you see his face. He looked like he was going to kill you’ you were laughing into the night air

Joshua couldn’t help but laugh along with your contagious laughter

You and Joshua ended up walking around before ending the night

‘also, I think your aunt might have hit on me in front of her husband’

You broke out into more laughter, your palm pressed against your mouth, your other hand clenched onto the fabric of Joshua’s shirt

‘cute’ that’s what Joshua thinks when he’s with you

‘did you just call me cute’

‘DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD’

you begin to laugh even more than ever, and Joshua can’t help but laugh with you once again because now he’s so embarrassed

after a while, your shoulders are bumping against Joshua’s in the night air, a shy smile on your lips before you whisper, ‘I think you’re cute too’

boom, now you and Joshua are a thing and cue Seungkwan saying it was his plan all along because he wants to be called a matchmaker

Joshua’s the ‘sweetheart’ of the company, well now you two are the ‘sweetheart’ couple because when you meet Joshua at his work, you always bring snacks or freshly baked cookies for everyone working and everyone’s just like

‘Joshua’s literally dating an angel’

Also, it was like three months into the relationship that you discovered Joshua was a giant weeb and he got all embarrassed and blushy like ‘nah no that’s not mine’ but then you come out as a giant weeb and now you two have weeb nights together

When he goes on trips, he tries to take you on with so you two can spend some couple time together

It took him two months to move passed the hand holding and onto the kiss because he’s so shy about it and didn’t want to do it without your permission

so, when he was going to kiss you he asked if he could kiss you and you didn’t say anything because you close the distance for him

you’re so sweet like Joshua that the guys don’t have the heart to tease you since you’re so nice

also, you’re parents and extended family, still believe the fake meeting story you guys told at the party so you two basically must keep up the lie because it’ll be really awkward now

‘it isn’t fair that your birthday is five days after Christmas’

Joshua chuckles into your neck while you two are lying in bed, ‘I can’t change my birthday’

‘what do you want for your birthday’

‘anything from you is fine’

You pout ‘you said that about your Christmas gift!’

So, you spent weeks planning the surprise, it was going to be a huge party

Okay it wasn’t your planning, it was more of the boys wanting a really big party that combined Christmas, Joshua’s birthday, and a new year’s theme

And the result, the entire company building of floor one was covered in balloons, someone had gotten a live DJ, there was a large banner with Joshua’s face on it, it really was over the top

‘where are we going’ Joshua holds onto your hands as you led the blindfolded man into the building

‘alright, you can take it off now’

‘SURPRISE’ screams friends, family, and coworkers

A cake is brought out in the process of Joshua trying to comprehend everything, especially the large banner with his picture on it

His face is lit up the entire time he listens to the whole building sing Happy birthday

And he squeezes your hand when he blows out his candles, he looks at you with such fondness that you know just means that he’s so thankful for everything

Then suddenly everyone begins to cheer, ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’

Joshua’s blushing so much when you lean up into him, pressing your soft lips onto his in front of everyone

Everyone cheers, the DJ starts up and the partying begins

But Joshua stays connect to you, nose touching as he whispers, ‘I love you so much’ against your lips.