#they’ve come over to warn us about their parties twice now which I really appreciate

[gnomebee]

shout out to my college aged neighbors for coming over and warning me that they were going to have a rager for one of their birthdays

[xpeachesncream]

how many drinks? | one shot (jjk)

summary: the question is - how many drinks would it take for you to sleep with your bestfriend?

pairing: jjk x reader

genre: (18+) college au, dance group au, bestfriends/bestfriends with some benefits au | fluff, smut, sprinkle of angst

words: ~12.2k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, kind of crack-y, dancer!jk to fulfill my needs, unprotected sex, sprinkle of dirty talk, fingering, sprinkle of a handjob, slight biting, nails digging into skin, oc almost gets taken advantage of/forced into doing things she doesn’t wanna do, rough handling, song kang is in this too because i’m also a hooch for him but he’s an ass here, alcohol consumption, intoxication, mentions of blunts/smoking, house parties, cuddling, kissing/makeout sessions, straddling, breast/nipple play, hickeys, fucking on the edge of the bed, multiple orgasms, fingering, licking/neck kisses, oral (f. receiving)

note: one shot title is taken from miguel's song ‘how many drinks’ + a couple of things--

both hoseok and jimin’s piece mentioned below are inspired by real-life pieces my old dance mentor has choreographed and taught. this is the inspiration behind hoseok’s couple piece; this is the inspiration for jimin’s piece

i’m a hooch for all three of them in this video

enjoy imagining koo and oc dancing part of their couples piece like this 🥺

"Y/N." You picked up Jungkook's call as you sat at your desk in your dorm room. You had been finishing up your bio homework until the interruption came blaring through on your headphones.

"Yes?"

"Can I nap in your room?"

"The fuck I look like? A hotel?" You snorted.

"Yeah, a 5 star at that with how good you take care of me." He tries to butter you up, causing you to roll your eyes.

"You're lucky I like you."

"Yesssssssss!" You hear him faintly exclaim on the other line. "Be there in a sec."

"You know my doors are always unlocked." Which, it was true. So many of your friends had decided to live off campus that you and your other bestfriend [and beloved suitemate] were probably the only few left on campus. And that meant people were constantly in your room, hanging out or using both of your rooms, [with permission] or the couches in the shared living room space of your suite as a place to nap. College, amirite? Why the fuck would you lose your parking spot to go back to your apartment when you have friends who lived right on campus? You weren't just good for smuggling free food from the cafeteria to your broke ass, struggling off-campus friends.

Sooner or later, you're greeted by a fluffy, black-haired Jungkook, looking like his shit must have air-dried with how wavy and voluminous it was. He swings your door open so aggressively that you jump a bit in your seat, swinging off your headphones like you weren't even expecting him. You watch as he flings himself onto your neatly made bed like he hasn't felt a bed in years.

"Ugh, yes." He moans as he belly flops onto your bed and stays in that position.

"When's your next class, you little baby?"

"In like an hour or so, I don't know." He says sleepily. "Wake me up, please?"

"Sure." You realize it's Wednesday, and he definitely has Ecology lab later at 3:00PM. You figured you'd wake him up by 2:30 just to give him enough time to groggily walk his ass back over to the science building.

You and Jungkook weren't really close before college. It was moreso that you knew of each other since high school because of mutual friends. You'd see him at parties and he'd see you, but it was never more than the casual hi and bye and small talk. Maybe the occasional comments on facebook pages and the likes on pictures on instagram. But foreel, other than that, that's as real as your friendship got for awhile. You didn't mind it though, you were good with your set of friends and he was good with his. A lot of your friends attended the same university as you two and then your groups intertwined even more. 

But, it wasn't until the past couple of months or so where you both unexpectedly got really close - simply just by talking more and being around each other more. You both had similar interests and Jungkook wasn't the most vocal in his group, but with you, he seemed to talk endlessly. He loved comics and he loved raving to you about Marvel and DC superheroes. He loved to draw, and he'd draw you things every now and then - his most recent being you as a scientist superhero saving the world from overgrown malaria-infected mosquito monsters. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen, and you tacked it against your cork board near your desk. Then, small things like that turned to bringing you food or boba, being stuck at the hip where he'd only go to a certain place on campus if you were there; texting each other inside jokes and funny ass tweets all day turned to facetime sleepover calls and then late hangouts eventually turned to actual sleepovers in your bed, where he'd drape his arm around while you both slept but it never escalated into anything more than that in bed. Although he did fucking hate your medium-sized Olaf plushie that took shelter on your bed - he'd always hike it across the room and talk about how annoying he is and how he's always taking his spot. You never understood it, really.

And then soon, it turned to small displays of affection behind closed doors, where Jungkook would hold you close. Hold your hand if you two were in the room watching a show, or movie. Small kisses exchanged. Big kisses exchanged, making out sessions. But, that was literally it. Nothing else. No sex. No pressure. Lots of unspoken feelings, obviously, but you weren't gonna be the one to bring that up. Because you were comfortable, and if anything, you didn't wanna ruin what you guys already had going.

Like, is this a friends with benefits thing? Maybe? Maybe not? It was hard to label it because it's not like you both determined so, it kind of just fell together that way. And there was really no pressure to fuck every single time you got affectionate. It was cute, sweet. And no one really knew it was like that behind doors - possibly your suitemate Kass and her boyfriend, Jimin, but that's only because you shared the dorm suite with her. Jimin was also one of Jungkook's roommates and his really good friend, so whenever they had slept over on the same night, it was pure and utter chaos. But honestly, if Kass and Jimin hadn't been around you two much, they most certainly wouldn't have the idea.

Whatever it was, it was a comfortable closeness that you both experienced and appreciated. However, the both of you were afraid of discussing what this really was, afraid it'll ruin the dynamic. The atmosphere. Having to come to terms of what it might, or might not be. Neither of you can fully admit that you like the other. Although, it got hard. People did lightly tease you two because you both always looked for each other and were stuck by the hip out on campus.

Oh, well. Bottom line is that you liked your relationship where it was at, but it doesn't mean you haven't thought about the what if's. Jungkook was insanely attractive, and it's no lie that girls swarmed him left and right on campus, but he didn't give a shit [either he didn't give a shit or he was dumb as hell?]. Okay, rewind — to be fair, he would have a fling or two, flirt once or twice. He'd tell you so and so was cute and that they've hung out or texted, but that's it. He just wasn't necessarily looking for anything cause he too enjoyed where he was at with everything.

It doesn't take long before Sleeping Beauty is snoring face down on your bed, looking like Patrick Star with the way he's sprawled out. But, you continue to do your work until it was time to wake him. You gently shake him, his puppy eyes looking back at you after being face down all nap.

"Class time."

"No." He groans. "Can't I just stay here with you?"

"No, dude. Get to class." You chuckle. "You already skipped last week."

"Yeah, but this is a new week Y/N."

"Jungkook." You almost say in a scolding manner.

"Fiiiiiiine." He whines as he shoots up and hops off from your bed. "Are you going to our party on Friday?"

"I said I'd think about it right?"

"Yeah, like on Monday. It's Wednesday."

"And I'm still thinking about it." You snort, making him pout.

"Just come for a little bit."

"Why? You know parties aren't my thing and you'll be too drunk anyways. I'll end up wanting to go right the fuck back home as soon as I step outside."

"I'd like to be drunk and have you there. It'll be more fun!" He pouts as he holds your hand and swings it back and forth.

"I mean, to be completely honest, I'll probably end up going because of Kass anyways."

"Because of Kass." He rolls his eyes. "Oooookay. Not because of you, Jungkook, no." He says sarcastically, brows furrowed.

"Ew. You're such a fucking whiner. Leave." You laugh, throwing an empty water bottle at him.

"I'm kidding." He chuckles. "Wanna grab dinner with me after practice?"

"Sure. If you pay." He groans

"Fine. I'll see you later." He puckers up his lips to blow you a kiss, which you automatically reject by giving him a look before turning your attention back to your homework. You were hoping he'd offer to go to In-n-Out because you were craving that #2 with animal fries and a neapolitan shake, plus there was a Target in the same plaza that you wanted to drag him to for new pens and clearance sale shopping. And you wouldn't even warn him about it. He would tag along, no question.

Hoseok stands in front of the mirrors in the studio, pacing back and forth as your dance group learned a couple of 8-counts from this new piece he had been brewing up. Apparently, it was supposed to be a couples piece but he wasn't sure if he was going to keep it that way. He watched to see if this would be better as a group, or if he should stick to his original plans.

Your college dance group was a small group formed by people with pure, genuine interest and love for modern hip hop choreography. Hoseok was the dance lead, with Jimin being the back up lead. The group came together, taught each other pieces, taught workshops for those interested on campus and performed at the various talent shows and productions the school had throughout the year. It was just your group's way of showcasing your talents, something you all purely enjoyed, and it was nice to see the love and support given by the audiences.

"Okay, run that from the top one more time please. We'll take break after, swear." Hoseok chuckles and gives Jimin the cue to start the song back at the starting point. Jungkook makes a funny face at you as he huffs and puffs, trying to catch his breath from the last time you went through the counts.

"Ew." You giggle, slightly pushing him aside. Miguel's How Many Drinks begins to blast through the studio speakers, Jungkook doing his best to sing along and match his tone all while focusing on his steps. Once you're done going through the counts, the music continues to play, Jungkook twirling over to you just to sing—

"Cause I ain't leavin' aloneeee, I feel like I could be honest, babe." He spins to your other side. "We both know that we're grown, that's why I wanna knooooow - how many drinks will it take you to leave with meeeeEEeeeE?"

"You can give me all the drinks in the world and I swear I still wouldn't." You snort, making him frown and click his teeth.

"Too bad that's not really how you act when I ask to sleep over, though." Silence as you stick your tongue out at him. Cause, yeah. You really do tell him to sleep over without hesitation. You loved his company, you can’t lie. "Yeah, fraudulent as hell. I never taught you that." He jokes.

"Shut up, Jungkook—"

"Okay!" Hoseok says, clapping his hands. "This'll be a couple piece. I honestly think it'll work better that way, just like I envisioned it. I'll work with the couple to clean this up before the performance, but to whoever isn't casted for this, Jimin still has a piece to teach the rest of you, so don't feel discouraged!" Hoseok chuckles a bit, giving the rest of the group a small smile. "So with that being said - Y/N, Jungkook, I want you two to do this piece."

"Ouuuuuuuu." Jimin teases you from the sidelines, causing you to put up your middle finger.

"We won’t let you down, cap." Jungkook swings his arm around you.

"I'll teach you the rest of the piece next practice so we can start polishing it up and making it clean before the talent show."

"Sounds good with me." You flatly say, even though 100%, you're pretty excited for many reasons. One, you had been wanting to do a solo or couples piece for awhile, and two, your partner was Jungkook. Your best friend, your ride or die, the dude you've spent so much time with and gave your affection to behind closed doors. It made you giddy just thinking about it, even if you'd blatantly lie to his face later on when he'd tease you. And Jungkook felt the same. You missed the way he subtly bit on his bottom lip when you were named his partner, just so he wouldn't smile too big in front of you.

After practice, you egg him on enough to agree to take you to In-N-Out, without hinting at the plan you had drafted out in your head earlier.  The plan that says you're gonna drag his ass to Target afterwards and he had no choice but to come along.

"Y/N, you liar." He groans. "You said you weren't gonna go to Target." He pouts as you follows behind you anyway.

"Kook, I literally just need to get one thing."

"What's the one thing that you couldn't get on your own time?"

"I don't know, I'll have to find out when we get in there." You giggled, causing him to groan again. "Plus, we're here already. Killing two birds with one stone."

"Ah shit, I suppose I can get some bottles for the party."

"Yeah, make yourself useful Jungkook."

"Yeah, make yourself useful Jungkook, aheh." He mocks your tone and does that really weird and ugly ass laugh that dudes always do when they try to mock girls, however, you ignore it because you've just stepped into Target and bitch, this was Disneyland to you. Heaven. Paradise.

"Hm, what are we drinking on Friday?" He says his text outloud as he follows you around the dollar section where you begin to pick up really unnecessary items that you're probably just gonna store away in or around your desk somewhere.

"Should be holy water because you all need it."

"Mmm, I don't know, I don't think they have that but we can check." He responds ever so seriously, causing you to chuckle.

"How many people are you expecting?"

"Honestly, I don't even know. We said we'd keep it to close friends only. I don't really have any friends, so that's all on them."

"Ah, makes sense as to how the entire class was invited." You fire back sarcastically. "Your upstairs neighbors are really gonna have a blast."

"They're invited too."

"You guys are so dumb." He laughs when you hit him against the chest. After walking a bit, the two of you head towards the alcohol aisle, Jungkook grabbing what his arms will allow him to grab since alcohol is a little cheaper here than other grocery stores. "Isn't there a limit as to how much alcohol you can buy?"

"I don't see anything anywhere." He hauls about 4 big bottles back to the cashiers. "Besides, I'm giving them business compared to Safeway and those other grocery stores."

"Grab the coupon at least, genuis. It could save you some money." You take off the coupons from the three bottles.

He looks down at the coupon attached to the 4th bottle. "Sign up today and get 2% cash back on every bottle you buy." He snorts after reading the coupon outloud. "More like sign up today and get 2% cash back turnt." He looks at you. "This doesn't sound like a coupon, miss. Where's the ‘get 5 dollars off’ bullshit?"

"2% cash back turnt? Really?" You furrow your brows at him and hand the coupons to the cashier. "Here. God, maybe you shouldn't be hosting parties with your roommates."

"Maybe not." He holds his bags, even grabbing onto yours as you both walk out to his car. He turns up the radio, the both of you singing along to the songs coming through. When he pulls up to the lot of Edgehill Village, he parks in someone else's marked spot only because it's technically next to your door and he doesn't anticipate to stay long. But honestly, that never goes as planned. He grabs your bag from the trunk, silently following behind you as you unlock your door to an empty suite - just as you expected. Kass was most likely at Jungkook’s, spending the night with Jimin, and you'd be alone for the night. It didn't matter to you though, the peace and quiet was always nice.

"You sure you're gonna be okay here alone?" You nod.

"Yup. It's kind of nice actually." You lean forward onto your bed since it's raised a little higher than usual with bed risers, and open up your laptop. Jungkook sets your Target bag down and wraps his arms around you from behind, planting a kiss on your cheek and on your jawline.

"You sure you don't want me to sleep over? Cuddles sound nice."

"It sounds like you want to."

"Only if you want me to." He nuzzles his head against your neck, waiting for your response.

"Kook, please." You chuckle. "If you wanna sleepover, then go ahead."

"Yesssss! I do."

"Well you need to find parking, or else the person that owns that parking spot will be highly upset."

"You got it, captain. Pull up a movie!" He says, dashing out of your room to move his car. He's most likely going to come back in another 5 minutes, being that the only free parking at this time of night is probably on the other end in the gym's lot, or somewhere on the streets [if he got lucky].

And so that 5 minutes sure does go by before Jungkook is breathing heavily when he walks into your room, duffle bag swung over his shoulder with a big, dorky ass smile on his face.

"I'm back!"

"I see." You snort, still going through the movies.

"Hey, let's run through what Hobi taught us first."

"Ugh, I'm so tired though."

"Cooooome on, just once." He pulls you by the hand, his body pressed against yours as his his other arm wraps around your waist. "Please." His puppy dog eyes look down at you, causing you to push him away because fucking hell, that shit makes you weak. Makes the pussy throb just a lil, you know? Christ.

"Only if you watch 10 Things I Hate About You."

"Sure, I don't mind." He pulls up the song on your laptop. The both of you face the mirror in front of you, careful not to hit each other since you had such limited space to fully move around. Running through it once was a full blown lie, being that you both are doing it for almost 5-6 times before you're laughing at how out of breath you already are. You're so out of it and winded by the last time around that you accidentally hit Jungkook in the face, causing him to whine and stumble off to the side.

"Oh shit!" You laugh. "I'm so sorry, Kookie!" You run over to cup his face. "Are you okay? You good?"

"Shit, Y/N. You have a heavy hand." He keeps his hand against his cheek.

"I'm sorry." You lean in to plant a kiss on his cheek, but Jungkook being Jungkook, he looks to the side to have his lips meet yours instead. He picks you up in one swift motion, your legs wrapped around his torso as he sits you on your bed, your hands still cupping his face. And honestly, you really wanted him. You've always wanted him since this whole thing started. God, he was attractive to you - every little thing about Jungkook was a fucking weakness, but you weren't gonna let up first. Not tonight. The scar on his cheek, his soft, fluffy hair, his toned body, his muscular ass arms, the way he held onto you when you both slept, the way he kissed you.

Lord, he was truly going to be the death of you.

Before the kiss could get any deeper, you smile into it and back away, keeping your gaze on the small, dazed smile Jungkook has on his face.

"Can we watch now?" You ask, subtly biting onto your bottom lip.

"Yeah, good idea."

"Actually, after all that, I need to shower first."

"Can I join?" His eyes light up.

"Sit your ass down. You can go after." You laugh as you hop off the bed, grabbing your pajamas for a quick shower. You literally take 10 minutes, walking back into your room with wet hair and an oversized shirt and shorts underneath. Although you had been completely comfortable with Jungkook, the both of you have never really seen each other fully naked like that. Whenever he slept over, you were both always fully clothed. You've seen him hop out of the shower and come in shirtless, but that's probably about it. You start to brush your teeth as he rummages through his emergency duffle bag full of shit that he holds in the trunk of his car, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes to change into after his shower. You already know his ass is gonna use your shampoo for everything because he loves the smell of it and always talks about how good your hair smells.

While waiting for him, you slip yourself under your covers and pull the laptop closer to you, scrolling through your phone aimlessly to see what's new on instagram. Which, is absolutely nothing, so you let out a dissatisfied sigh.

"Ready!" He comes in, tossing his towel aside and shutting off the lights to crawl into your bed with you.

"You smell just like me." You chuckle.

"It's great, isn't it?"

"Your hair isn't bothering you?" You run your hand through his incredibly wet hair as he shakes his head.

"No, I'll be good."

"Okay." He wraps his arm around you to pull you onto his body, the movie already off to a start. As the movie goes on, you find yourself getting sleep as both of your bodies sink deeper into the sheets, Jungkook still not letting you go. The laptop rests on his belly, while your head is on his chest, his heartbeat the one thing putting you to sleep pretty quickly. He's comfortable, just as you are. He's warm, you're warm. He's content, you're content. You drift off to sleep while he continues to watch, knowing your bodies will be pressed tightly against each other in the morning.

"Kook there's so many fucking people here. The cops are gonna come and shut this down quick." Jungkook shrugs.

"Oh well, wasn't my idea." He snorts. "Shot?!" He hands you a shot that you take with ease, feeling like you aren't drunk enough for all this shit and all these people. "Atta girl."

"Yuck, though." You slightly make a sour face as you feel the warmth trickle down your throat and into your stomach.

"Heeeey, whyyyyy do you look so FaMiliaR?" This girl asks Jungkook in a weird, flirty tone, where every other consonant goes up and down. She's obviously really fucking drunk and out of her mind because for one, she definitely goes to the same school as you two, and she has definitely been in class with Jungkook before.

"Oh uh, my name's Justin Bieber. I used to sing from time to time." He says nonchalantly with you furrowing your forehead at him because what kind of response did he just give her?! What did he just tell her? You're so embarrassed that you slowly turn on your heel and walk out of the kitchen as you hear him sing One Less Lonely Girl hella out of tune, with the girl completely smitten over his drunk ass.

"Where's Jungkookie?" Kass asks as she sits on Jimin's lap.

"Over there, pretending to be Justin Bieber apparently."

"Oh, nice. You don't come across that often." Jimin says sarcastically. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"Yeah, stay here tonight, with Kookie." Kass wiggles her eyebrows, her cheek resting on top of Jimin's head. "It's not like that's anything new."

"Um, I'd rather much be back in the dorm."

"That cold, lonely place? When you could be here, in such a pretty apartment with such a pretty boy?" You shake your head at her.

"Unbelievable." You mutter. Suddenly, an incredibly tall man walks into the apartment, reaching about 6'1 and almost hitting the ceiling with his tall ass. You've never seen him before, but he walks in with Hoseok and Namjoon and for whatever reason, you can't peel your eyes off of him. "Woah, who's that?"

"Who's what?" Jungkook finally comes to your side after being Justin Bieber for a good minute or so, his eyes following yours. Who was he and why were you looking at him so intensely?

"That's Kang! You've never met him?" Jimin says, doing a slight nod to greet him as he passes by. Kang and his fine self looks up at you, a small smirk creeping up at the corner of his lips as he continues through to the kitchen behind Hoseok and Namjoon. "He's a transfer and on the basketball team."

"He's fiiiiine." You and Kass swoon over him a bit, Jungkook giving you a look.

"He's alriiiight. I've seen better."

"Shut up, no one asked you." You lightly punch him on the side, making him lightly groan while Jimin and Kass laugh. The rest of the party, you suddenly have a goal to find out more about Kang and see what he's about because you and Jungkook weren't official. You both didn't really know what this was, but one thing you knew for sure was that it wasn't anything exclusive. You wouldn't bring it up, so wouldn't Jungkook - so was this really something all that meaningful?

Whatever, you didn't wanna keep going in circles about it.

Jungkook fucking hates it though, and he's honestly really jealous that you're suddenly trying to be all cute and woo the new, tall, handsome [but he's not really that fucking handsome to Jungkook for christ's sake] basketball player. Jungkook almost wants to mock his every move and how suavé he is, almost looking like a try hard with the way he's leaning against the wall and talking to you.

Wait— he's talking to you?! You were literally right next to him 2 seconds ago.

"What the fuck?" He squints, trying to make sure he's actually looking at you.

"You're so full of shit." Jimin laughs.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why don't you just admit that you like her and stop being childish about it?"

"I don't like her. She's just my bestfriend."

"Um, okay?" Jimin snorts. "When you sleep at her place every chance you get and vice versa? When she has a ton of your shirts and hoodies in her own fucking closet? When you always get so affectionate with her in the dorm? Sure, you don't like her."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do, you've done it in front of me and Kass before but you both tried playing it off. I don't understand you two."

"Well, I don't like her. She obviously doesn't either with the way she's trying to be all up on him." Jungkook glares at you, his teeth biting the rim of the cup harshly as he brings it to his lips to take a sip.

"Whatever, I'm just saying dude. Probably better to be straight up about it than not."

"Kaaaaaaay." Jungkook responds sarcastically, trying to play off how butthurt he was right now. Cause yeah, he did fucking like you. He was just scared to admit it though because of reasons like this - the fact that you possibly didn't like him back killed him. The fact that you could possibly be using him to feel wanted, needed. It made his stomach turn.

He just really liked you, and god, did he want to be the one in your bed tonight. Whether or not that ended up in sex, whatever. He just wanted to be the one to touch you, be on you.

Meanwhile, Kang was attractive as hell and ouwee, were you feeling him tonight. You were, you really were - except, you could literally feel the holes Jungkook was burning through you from across the room. You'd occasionally glance over due to how distracting it was, Jungkook literally have no shame with eyeing you, almost glaring at you, from across the apartment.

"Is it too forward if I ask for your number already?" Kang licks his lips, his teeth lightly piercing his bottom lip as he looks down at you.

"No." You smirk at him, taking his phone to put your number in.

"We should kick it soon. I'd love to hang out with you and get to know you better."

"Yeah, just let me know when." You blush, until you're suddenly pulled out of your daze by a loud 'ahem,' the loudest throat-clearing you have ever heard in your life. You turn to see Jungkook making his way back over to the shots, knowing damn well he's calling you over. "See you around?" Kang winks before he tips his cup to you and gives you a single nod.

"Sure thing, cutiepie." You bite onto your bottom lip, making your way over to Jungkook at the shot station, instantly pinching his arm.

"What the fuck?"

"Nobody was calling you over." Jungkook smirks.

"Shut the fuck up, yes you were. I know that was you clearing your throat like that."

"I'm sorry, does it bother you?" He blinks cutely, tilting his head to the side. "Besides, why come over here when you're too busy with your man?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Why in the hell would I be jealous, Y/N? Do you." The words sting you, even though part of you still wants to believe that Jungkook may actually like you. All you can do is sigh and brush it off, placing your cup down in front of him as he pours himself another shot. "You sure?"

"Just give me the damn shot." You say, making it your 7th.

And the 7th turns into 8, 8 turns into 9, 9 turns into 10. And at 10, you're pretty fucking drunk even as the party is starting to die down by the time it's close to 2am. All 10 were a good combination of shots and mixed drinks.

10 drinks.

10 drinks is what it took for you to lay in Jungkook's bed at the end of the night, hands tangled in his fluffy hair as your makeout session intensifies by the minute - all due to this sexual tension, frustration, whatever the hell it was brewing between you two after all this time. The both of you are drunk as hell, and it's pretty evident with the way you can still taste the alcohol on his tongue, both sloppily touching up on each other, kisses getting wetter, clothes coming off like there's no tomorrow.

"Wait, are you sure?" Jungkook says, about to unhook your bra.

"Jungkook, god, just fuck me." You plead drunkily, the room spinning around you. He continues to unhook your bra, tossing it across the room where your other clothes lay, peppering kisses along your neck before licking up a stripe to meet your lips again. He hooks his fingers across the band of your panties, tugging them down and letting them get lost within his sheets. You take this as leverage to tug his boxer briefs down, already stroking his hardened member the moment you come into contact with it. The sad thing is that you both are so fucking drunk, you can't even appreciate the fact that you both are naked in front of each other for the first time ever.

You can't even come to terms with the fact that you both are about to fuck each other and cross that boundary completely.

But, hell, what do you care? You were drunk. You got a cute guy's number. You're getting dick at the end of the night.

"Oh shit, Y/N." He moans into your mouth as he feels you stroking him. "Need to feel you." He quickly runs his finger down your fold, slipping in two digits to pump them in and out, quickly prepping you for his dick.

"Hnnng--Kook." You bite onto your bottom lip as your eyes shut close momentarily, your head digging deeper into the pillow the more he tries to stretch you out. "Want you inside of me."

"I got you." He says. You almost whine at the loss of contact until you feel his tip poking at your entrance. He slowly continues to slip himself inside of you, Kook letting out a small groan while your mouth was left open, a soundless moan releasing before you hiss and take in all of him. He fills you up so well, so completely. He was so big that you felt full, bloated, with him being inside of you the way he was.

"Ohhhhhgod." You whimper as he starts to steady his pace, the lewd noises of his cock slipping in and out of your wet pussy filling his room - god forbid if Jimin or their other roommate Yoongi heard this right now. It would be nothing short of pornographic.

"You're so wet. Is that all for me?" He says, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head as he begins to aggressively thrust into you.

"Y-yes." You whine.

"Say it again."

"All for you, Kook."

"I fucking thought so." He drunkily responds as one hand grips onto your hips tightly, the other in your hair as he digs his head back into the crook of your neck, his tongue messily licking near your jaw before he nibbles onto your earlobe.

"Hmmmmgggh, Jungkook. Fuck." You moan as you start to work your hips upward into his, your clit rubbing against his pelvis, causing the pleasure to pool quickly within the pit of your stomach. It causes goosebumps to pierce through the surface of your skin, your hands gripping tighter on his hair. "You're-you're gonna make me cum. Faster." You plead. He does just so, hammering into you, the sound of his hips slamming into yours bouncing off of the walls.

"Ahhh—Y/N." He groans.

"Just like that, just like that, just like that!" You repeat, your clit feeling incredibly stimulated by the way it rubs against his skin while he fucks into you. "Oh shit! Jungkook!" You moan loudly, biting his shoulder as you feel yourself trembling hard in his grip, your orgasm taking over your entire body.

"Shit, shit, shit—Y/N, Shiiiit." He says into your neck, followed by more curses and groans as you feel him coat your walls warmly. He stays inside of you until the both of you come back down to normalcy, your breathing becoming more regulated. He slowly slips himself out, plopping next to you on the bed, but doesn't welcome you into his arms.

The night goes on, the both of you sleeping on your own sides of Jungkook's bed, not really saying a word to each other. Because the both of you, although still pretty drunk, are more aware by the time it's over and it's become so clear how fucked up this got.

You were hurt. Completely hurt. Because you didn't expect Jungkook to just fucking ghost you after that night. You wanted to talk about it, maybe come to the conclusion that you two should just distance yourselves from each other to figure this out, even if it would hurt you a lot to do so.

No.

That morning, Jimin and Kass had to take you back to campus because Jungkook had darted out of his room, nowhere to be seen until later that night. The next week or so, there were no texts, no calls. No visiting your dorm, no asking to sleepover.

Nothing.

Just radio silence, white noise, if you will.

The one thing he could come up with was a stupid response to your text when you finally caved and asked what you did wrong mid-week.

Something along the lines of 'what do you want me to say, Y/N? do you want me to force myself to feel a certain way?'

Followed by a 'i'm sorry, fuck. that came out really wrong' even though you thought it came out perfectly fine. You understood loud and clear.

Even though this wasn't really an exclusive thing, or even a 'thing' if we wanna be straight up, you still couldn't help but feel like Jungkook had just dumped your ass with no explanation and you were still waiting for that explanation to come, whether it would or not. And because of this, you started to see Kang, hangout with him more often. He even took you out on a dinner date and you really enjoyed his company. He seemed genuine, caring, supportive - even if a lot of the basketball boys were the complete opposite. He was different, you liked to think.

And so you stand in front of the mirrors in the dance studio, you and Jungkook awkwardly running through the piece with Hoseok watching, confused as to why all of a sudden the two of you have this weird tension going on. It hasn't entirely ruined the couple piece, but it hasn't brought it together, either. The both of you could barely look at each other, barely get into the movements, the emotions behind the motions. Hoseok had to correct a few things, his 'pah pah pah's' echoing in the room constantly with how many times you and Jungkook had to be set straight for your sloppy steps today.

"Okay, I'm not saying it's bad, cause it's not. But can you both please act like you at least like each other or something? What's going on with you two? You aren't normally like this." Hoseok says, coming down to a crouch in front of the mirrors.

"Nothing, we'll do better. Don't worry." You brush off the entire question with your quick response. Jungkook looks at you, his hands on his hips, lightly frowning at how much you're distancing yourself even though he knows its entirely his fault for running from his feelings and not being honest with you.

"Okay, let's do it from the top." The music starts, you getting into the piece without making any eye contact with Jungkook. Even the steps that cause you to be close and near Jungkook, you look anywhere but his eyes, and your touch is light, trying your hardest not to let any feelings pass through the motion. Hoseok is a little more pleased this time around, but it still doesn't sit right with him, so he lets you two take a break while he heads to the other studio to check on Jimin and the rest of the group.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

"Jungkook, you don't get to ask me that." He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, not sure if he should continue on or not.

"Y/N—"

"Save it, and let's just get this over with, okay? I don't wanna be here just as much as you." Your words cut him deep because dear, you have gotten him completely misunderstood and yet, he still can't speak. He still can't talk about his feelings. He still can't save this even though he wants to, even though he loathes seeing you the way you are with Kang.

"I never said—"

"Kay, ready? Let's run this full out and make it a good one so we can call it for today." Hoseok says, clapping his hands to hype you two up somehow. The music starts and you're finally able to get into the steps. The emotions. And god, it's only because you're so hurt by your own bestfriend. You're hurt that he fucked you so good, and then dipped. You're hurt that he couldn't even face you the day after. You're hurt that after all this time, he made it seem like you still didn't matter enough - at least enough for an explanation, for some kind of reasoning, conversation, behind what just went down between the both of you. Between what has been going down between the both of you.

Besides the stupid ass responses he gave you through text.

You get so into your feelings that you don't even realize you're tearing up by the time the piece is over, and Jungkook catches it even though you face away from him as soon as the music cuts out.

"Nice, okay! That was so much better! Let's pick it up next session, yeah? We'll keep cleaning it up. Thanks guys!" Hoseok says. You immediately head towards the wall, grabbing your things to avoid any confrontation from Jungkook, but he grabs your arm as soon as you slip through the door.

"Y/N, wait. Stop."

"Let me go." You yank your arm from his grip.

"Why are you crying?" He stops in front of you, his hands placed on your arms to prevent you from moving any further.

"I'm not." You blatantly lie while you aggressively wipe away the stragglers coming down.

"Really? Just gonna lie like that?"

"Why do you care? You haven't said shit to me all week." You snap back, and Jungkook is taken aback from the tone in your voice. You remove his hands from your arms, and take one last look at him before shaking your head and walking off.

Next mistake? He doesn't come after you.

This was a waste of fucking time. If he truly cared about you, he wouldn't let you hurt like this.

You let out a deep sigh before clutching onto your things and walking back to your dorm. The walk from the gym/fitness center was damn near on the other end of campus compared to your dorm. It would be a good 10 minute walk if you really took your time. A good 10 minutes to ponder on your thoughts.

Yes, you liked Jungkook. You really liked him. Having sex with him solidified those feelings even more. How could you not have feelings for your bestfriend after all the moments you've shared? Was it your fault for assuming that? Was it your fault for walking through that door when it seemed to be completely open for you?

"Sup." Kang comes out of nowhere, pulling you out of your thoughts. He swings his arm around your shoulder, gently pulling you closer to his body.  "Just got out of practice?"

"Sure did." You give him a toothless smile. Yes, he was attractive as hell. He always will be. But, even with the time you spent together, the date he took you on, he still couldn't make you feel the way Jungkook has been able to make you feel.

"How was it?"

"Um, it was alright. Nothing new really, just cleaning up the piece before the show. You're going right?"

"Why wouldn't I?" He smiles down at you. "Listen, I don't know if you've heard, but there's another party tonight."

"A party? It's Wednesday." You snort.

"Yeah, I mean, one of the boys on the Lacrosse team is throwing it at his family house because his parents will be gone. Wanna come? I'll pick you up. We don't have to stay for long." You looked at your watch.

"What time is it at?"

"Like 9ish?" Enough time for you to shower and get a quick dinner in your belly. Why the hell not? You were caught up for the week. You didn't have any pressing assignments that were due asap.

"Sure. I'll come."

"Cool. See you later then?" He says, about to part ways with you. You simply give him a nod before walking deeper into Edgehill village. You hoped you wouldn't regret this tonight, and you really hoped he meant it when he said you two didn't have to stay for long. You drag yourself into your room, seeing Kass' door wide open, revealing her packing up her duffle bag.

"Hey, where are you headed during the middle of the week?"

"My two classes got cancelled for tomorrow so me and Jiminie are heading out for a mini getaway for our anniversary." You cross your arms and smile. "He's just gonna catch up on shit when we get back I guess." She laughs.

"That sounds cute. I hope you have loads of fun this weekend, babe."

"What are you gonna do?" Kass and Jimin were obviously aware of everything happening between you and Jungkook being that they had to be the ones to take you home. They never pressed on it though, knowing you both were still pretty upset about how things were playing out. They figured you two would eventually work it out, but until then, they would just sit back and keep their mouths shut. You two were being completely stubborn, but it wasn't their relationship to fix.

"Well, there's this party Kang wants to take me to tonight."

"The Lacrosse party? Messy." She laughs. "Be careful, but also have fun, yeah? I still don’t know if I trust him.”

"Yeah I know."

"Tell me how it goes!"

"I will." You wave her off as you head into your room and shut the door. You figured you would just grab dinner on campus to avoid spending more money than you should; after all, dinner seemed to be pretty bomb tonight. You didn't mind going alone, sometimes Namjoon would join you, asking for you to bring him a plate of food while he does the hard job of sneaking inside the cafeteria through the back door. He usually waits for you at a free table and ends up staying there to have dinner with you, updating you on how life has been, how school has been. Sometimes Hoseok would join you, too. Either way, you didn't mind if no one joined. It was nice to have dinner by yourself from time to time.

You get there on time to be able to grab some food, eat quietly and head out before the cafeteria gets way too busy for your liking. You slip into the shower and throw on a mini skirt, a crop top and a denim jacket, lightly fluffing your hair in the mirror and adding a dab of lip gloss to your lips before Kang is calling you to tell you he's outside your dorm. He's wearing something similar to your color palette, however, you don't make much out of it since this also wasn't really an exclusive thing and you sure as hell weren't going around telling people you and Kang had a thing going on.

To him, you two might be a thing. You've definitely overheard people talking about you two in passing.

To you though, you two definitely weren't. And it was a big fuck you to Jungkook for that.

The house is packed from end to end already, and you're surprised being that it has barely hit 10 minutes since the party was expected to take off. Kang is having to park down the hill, allowing you to hop onto his back for a quick piggy back ride up until you reach the front of the house. There's people already fucked up out on the lawn [you figured they fucked themselves over during their pre-game session cause that shit really happens from time to time], either laying there drunkily or yacking on a free patch of grass.

Gross.

Messy, indeed.

Some people are posted, smoking blunts and offering it to people who were passing by. You and Kang both pass up on it, the idea of not knowing where it has been not sitting right with you. You both head straight to the bottles, taking shots and downing mixed drinks to chase it with so that you can catch up with majority of the crowd. Kang has his arm around your shoulder throughout the night, keeping you close to him, even when he's getting pretty drunk. You realize he's a little more handsy than usual, a little more touchy than you expected him to be. It doesn't bother you for a minute, until he really tries to hike up your skirt while you sit on his lap. You gently shoo his hand away, playing it off while he nuzzles his head against your neck.

"Let's go upstairs, babe." He says, the pet name sounding incredibly off coming from him. Maybe you were drunk, maybe you really just weren't in the mood. It just didn't sound cute, if that even makes sense?

"Okay." You respond stupidly, not wanting to cause a scene at a lacrosse party. You intertwine your fingers with his as he leads the way up the stairs, eyeing the doors as they come into view. He leans forward towards each door, making sure it's clear before opening it. You assume he finally finds one that he's satisfied with when you catch the small smirk that grows at the corner of his lips when he turns the door knob and brings you inside. He pulls you into a deep, rough kiss, one that doesn't even allow you to breathe and process what the fuck is even going on. You can't get into it for the life of you, no matter how hard you try to back away. "Wait, wait."

"What's wrong, baby? Isn't this what you wanted?" He says, kissing down your neck as he drops his jacket to the floor. He gently pushes you onto the bed, his hands traveling up your skirt as you lay there trying to push him off.

"Wait, stop." He doesn't listen. He continues until his hands are literally hooking onto your panties, his finger swiping down your clothed folds. You try fighting him off, but he's way stronger than you. He continues to be aggressive, forcefully trying to shove your panties down until you muster up all the energy you have to finally push him off of you completely. "Stop!"

"What the fuck? I thought you wanted this?"

"Who the hell said that?"

"Are you serious? The way that you're dressed and the way that you look at me. The way you approached me at your friend's party - isn't it all because of this? Because you wanted me? Why are you backing out now?"

"Jesus, get over yourself." You stand, fixing your skirt back down. He furrows his brows at you before his hand grips your arm tightly, shoving you against the wall.

"The fuck, you can't just leave without giving me anything. I brought you here to this party."

"Let me go! You're fucking sick. No one even told you I wanted this to go down. I don't know who you think you are, but you need to get yourself together and stop assuming every pussy is yours to take." He attempts to pin you, his hand holding up both of your hands against the wall while the other tries to pull up your skirt. Someone accidentally opens the door, distracting him and giving you leverage to shove him off and get the fuck away. You dart down the steps, fixing your skirt as you head outside and away from the house.

Fuck, you're far from campus. And Kass and Jimin aren't around.

God.

You groan and run your hand through your hair as you continue to walk down the hill and into the neighborhood to get as far away as possible from that house and that gross ass dude. He was literally just like the rest of the basketball team. You've heard stories and they weren't nice. Looks like he was trained well already, and that shit was sad. What a waste. A beautiful human being with such a nasty, sick mindset. You hoped other girls hadn't fallen for his shit.

Ugh, it sends shivers down your spine. Bad shivers.

"Hello? Y/N?"

"Kook, can you come pick me up please?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Where are you?"

"I'll drop my location. Please hurry." You say, looking back to make sure your coast was clear. You drop the pin into your text thread with Jungkook and sit on the curb until his arrival. It's getting pretty chilly out, and the denim jacket you're wearing fails to provide you with the warmth you're looking for. Sooner or later, Jungkook is pulling up, damn near hopping out before he can shift the gear into park.

"You okay? What happened?" He says, opening the door for you before rushing over to the driver's seat.

"Nothing, can we just go back to your place?" He nods silently, and doesn't press any further after hearing your tone. He watches from his peripherals how you fiddle with your fingers and constantly reach to pull your skirt down even though he doesn't think there's any other way you could pull it down even more. He watches as he parks the car on the curb in front of his apartment how you simply undo your seatbelt and hop out to walk straight into his apartment. He watches as you welcome yourself into his closet and pick out some clothes for you to change in.

You were hurt, and his blood boils thinking about who could've done this and what they could have possibly done.

I mean, no. He knows who did this, but the question was what exactly did he try?

He hears the shower turn on, then quickly get turned off after a good 5 minutes. You had stepped in for a quick body shower, using Jungkook's bodywash just to rid yourself of feeling gross. Feeling gross from being shoulder to shoulder all night long, people breathing down your neck. Kang touching you inappropriately. You slip into Jungkook's clothes, his scent wrapping around you entirely. When you head back into the room, Jungkook has his headset back on as he faces his computer, logging back onto his game of League of Legends. You silently toss your dirty clothes to the side of his room, making a mental note to grab it tomorrow morning and toss it straight into the laundry.

Straight into a fire, perhaps. But you loved those clothes so much, it was unfortunate it'd have such a horrible memory to go with it.

Jungkook slowly removes his headset again and removes himself from his game before he heads over and sits on the edge of his bed. You simply look at him, pursing your lips tightly together to prevent yourself from crying.

But he can tell.

"What happened Y/N?" The question triggers you, making you cry into your hands as he sits there, dumbfounded and worried at how he can fix this and make you feel better. "Look, you don't have to tell me all the details but please tell me how I can help. At least tell me if I need to beat Kang's ass." He says, pulling you into his arms.

"He tried to fucking take advantage of me." You mumble as you remove your face from your hands.

"He did what?" He manages to ask even though he has a hard time swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. He already assumed you had placed him in the same category as Kang even though he never intended to take advantage of you. He really took that night as something special [even drunk], and he never meant to make you feel like you were a used object. Not like Kang.

"He-he," You sniffed. "He tried to force me into having sex with him. He took me upstairs at that lacrosse guy's party or whoever the hell it even was, and he started to aggressively kiss me. And then he tried to force my panties down and touch me there, and—"

"Okay, please don't go on or else I'll literally go over there and tear his ass apart right now. I promise you." He says sternly, his jaw clenching tightly. "God, fuck. I'm so sorry Y/N. I can't apologize on his behalf but fuck, you didn't deserve that." He uses his sweater to wipe your tears.

"I don't even know why I'm crying, this shit isn't even worth it." You groaned. "It's just overwhelming to process, I guess."

"That's okay." He says, letting out a sigh as he brushes his hand through your hair and continues to wipe the stragglers falling from your eyes. "Anything I can get you right now?"

"No, I'm probably just gonna go to bed." He nods. "Thank you for picking me up."

"Of course. You know I'll always be there." He says. You slip yourself into his sheets, watching as he makes his way back to his desk. But fuck, the only thing you needed right now was him. You didn't want this distance anymore, and you just wanted to be comforted in true Jungkook fashion.

"Wait."

"Hm?" He hums as he has a hand placed on the  head of his chair while he turns to you.

"Can you just lay with me?"

"Yeah." He says, shutting off his computer before making his way over to you in the dark. You feel him slip in next to you, his arm snaking around your shoulders so he can pull you close and onto his chest. "Better?"

"Yeah." You say, shutting your eyes as you listen to his heart beat.

"Y/N."

"Yeah?"

"I never meant to take advantage of you, or make you feel like I used you that one night." Silence. "It was dumb of me, but I just— I had trouble coming to terms with my feelings. I was scared that you wouldn't feel the same way, but I thought fuck it, at least you would know, right?"

"What are you talking about, Kook?" You ask, close to a whisper.

"I'm saying that I really fucking like you, Y/N. No, that's not right." He curses himself. "I-I uh, I'm in love with you. And I don't know if I messed this up already with the way I acted, god I hope not, but you at least deserve to know that I truly do value you and that you mean alot to me. That night, even though we were pretty plastered, it meant a lot to me. It was more than just sex and I'm sure you felt that too." He waits for your response as his fingers rake through your hair. "Please say something, anything."

"I feel the same way, Jungkook. You're an idiot for running off, but I couldn't even stay mad at you. You just know how to hit my soft spots and I can never say no to it. Can never turn my back on it." He presses a kiss against the top of your head.

"Fuck, I'm really glad to hear that cause I don't know what I would have done besides cry if you rejected me." You playfully hit his chest.

"You're annoying." You jokingly say as you chuckle.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I never wanted to hurt you."

"It's okay." You look up to press your lips against his before laying back down.

"And Kang better be fucking glad you're pressed against my body right now because I'm still looking to beat his ass."

"He's not even worth it." Is the last thing you say before you find yourself drifting into a deep sleep, in the comfort of Jungkook's arms.

"You two feeling okay? Nervous?" You and Jungkook shake your heads. "Good, you guys got this. You've been looking amazing during practice, the audience will love you two, no doubt. Just remember to show emotions through expressions and hit every beat sharply." Hoseok nods in unison with the both of you.

"Got it, thanks Hobi." You smile at him toothlessly. You and Jungkook patiently waited for your turn backstage, the talent show already off to a wild and fun start. So many students came by to showcase their talents - from beatboxing, open mic, freestyling [like Yoongi did], dancing, singing, you name it. It was always a fun time at the talent show, and it was always nice to see people getting love for the shit they loved to do.

"You're up next." Hoseok says. "I'll be in the front row. Kick ass and have fun!" He says as he rushes off towards the opposite end to head back out to his seat in the theater.

"Ready?" Jungkook holds out his hand for you to take.

"I think so." You playfully respond as the backstage crew is rushing out the previous talent and rushing you two in to take your places on stage. The lights pick up as soon as the music starts, Kang's big ass head already in full view for you. He's definitely not smiling, no, he has a look of pure disgust because he simply couldn't get what he wanted from you.

And boy, who's fault was that? Not yours, no sir. It was his fault for thinking he had it like that.

But anyways, you're feeling the music, you're feeling the piece because you're dancing with your bestfriend and there wasn't this grey area anymore. It was easier to get into the motions, to get into the feeling, especially when things felt right between the two of you.

And God, what else is more attractive than Jeon Jungkook hitting his 8 counts so smoothly, with just enough umph to make it pop but make it pop cleanly.

Yo, please. I beg. Send some help. You could literally melt on stage.

The moments where Jungkook has to be close to you, where he has to touch you - you let him, and you touch him with meaning. You don't stray away this time because you have no reason to. The crowd is cheering, lots of 'ou's' and 'aw's' erupting from various places in the theater.

"Pretty lady." Jungkook whispers in your ear as the move requires his hands to be placed on your hips for a quick moment. You hear him slightly singing along to the song as he parts from you, causing you to blush.

Sooner or later, the couple piece is over and the song is transitioning to Jimin's piece, you and Jungkook rushing off the stage so the next group can take their positions. Jimin wanted to test his limits, creating a piece a little different than his usual taste - Chris Brown's Came to Do begins blaring through the theater speakers. You immediately jump into Jungkook's arms once you both reach backstage, the both of you immensely happy and pumped that you got through the piece without messing up one step or beat. It went so smoothly that Hoseok was standing in the front row, clapping and cheering in typical Hoseok fashion. You intertwine your fingers with his, slipping through the side door to catch Jimin's piece on stage. You and Jungkook are cheering them on, always impressed by the shit your friends can come up with. You both loved dancing, but you couldn't even imagine coming up with your own pieces to teach people.

That night after the show, everyone heads to a nearby restaurant for dinner with everyone. You all take up almost an entire section of the restaurant, splitting two long tables to accommodate the entire group with doubled the waitresses to take your orders. You settle for water, splitting an abnormally huge and filled deep dish pizza with Jimin, Kass and Jungkook. It was a good day, a good night, everyone at the table happily eating and chatting it up over dinner. You turn down any drinks because to be honest, drinks lowkey make you queasy just from the thought of how much you drank at Jungkook's apartment, plus the added bonus of that party Kang took you to. Jungkook declines as well, knowing he has to drive you back safely.

Jimin and Kass head back to the apartment because Yoongi says he's gonna hang out with Joon And Hoseok for a bit, and they warn you and Jungkook that things may get loud so the both of you decide to really stick to the plan of bringing you back to the dorm. Jungkook does his usual routine of dropping you off first before finding parking around campus. You hop in the shower and come out in Jungkook's oversized crewneck that he left in your closet, forgoing the shorts because you certainly thing that at this point, he'd love to see you in his sweater and panties.

And he does. He smiles as he pulls you close, his hands traveling up your sweater, only to find out that you literally don't have shit on besides some cute little boyshorts. He feels himself hardening in his pants quick because he's incredibly attracted to you and everything about you, always has been, always will be.

"You did amazing tonight." He says, gently kissing your forehead.

"You did too, partner." He gives you a slightly shocked look.

"Is that all I am to you? Your dance partner?"

"Yeah, why? Were you expecting more?" You joke as you smile up at him.

"Yeah, I was."

"Oh?" He gently swoops you up into his arms, your legs wrapped tightly around his torso as he sits you on the bed, his hands resting on your thighs while you continued to hold him around the neck. "Care to tell me what you were expecting?"

"Well, you know, my best friend—" He presses a kiss against your lips, thumbs gently rubbing circles against your hips. "My girlfriend."

"Hm, say that again?" Your fingers are gently playing with the ends of his hair, your lips barely grazing his.

"My girlfriend." He says closed to a whisper, kissing you softly. The kiss deepens quick, Jungkook's tongue lining your bottom lip as his way of asking for permission to take it further. You gladly take it and let him in, your tongues instantly fighting for dominance. Your fingers travel up his hair, tugging ever so slightly just to let him know you want more. That you need more.

And he gets that.

His fingers hook onto the band of your boyshorts, tugging them down and letting them fall down your legs and onto the floor. He breaks the kiss momentarily, his brown, puppy dog eyes looking straight into yours.

"Hey." He says, brushing the hair out of your face.

"Hm?"

"I know I said the last time was special, and it was. It is." He corrects himself. "But, I wanna do right by you this time around. So, is it okay if I keep going? Are you comfortable?" He asks properly, since the two of you are both sober and perfectly coherent, aware of your surroundings and the fact that you'll be seeing each other fully naked in a few minutes.

"Yes." You respond. "Yes, I want you to keep going. I want you. This." He simply nods, bringing his lips back onto yours. His hands climb up your sweater and gently gives your breasts a good squeeze, earning a small moan from the both of you. His other hand begins to travel down to your pussy, two long fingers slowly probing your entrance and causing your breathing to hitch.

"You okay?" He asks lowly. You nod, biting onto your bottom lip as you tilt your head back and rest on your hands, no longer able to keep up with the kiss due to all the pleasure starting to pile up deep in your core. Jungkook starts of slow, his head now buried into the crook of your neck as he works his digits upward, tickling at the right spot.

"Ohhhh, Kook." You mewl as his tongue swipes across the surface of your neck, biting gently beneath your jaw. He begins to pick up the pace, the sounds of him finger fucking you filling up the room entirely.

"Fuck, you're so wet baby." He groans into your neck.

"I'm gonna cum." You whine, teeth almost piercing through your bottom lip in between your whimpers.

"Need to taste you." He removes his fingers and sinks down in between your thighs, gripping onto them and pulling you just a teensy bit more off the edge of the bed so he can get a good angle. The sight of his eyes looking up at you in between your legs is to die for, and the sight alone is enough to make you cum. But, you hold on, you ride out for a little longer - feeling Jungkook's tongue swipe in and out of your folds before he's sucking endlessly on your clit.

"Ahhh, fuck, wait, Jungkook!" He slightly smiles while eating you out, signaling that he's not stopping even if you beg him to. "Hnnng—shit!" You moan loudly as you feel yourself toppling over the edge, your body shaking in Jungkook's grip. You twitch every time he continues to suck gently on your sensitive nub, letting you ride out the rest of your high. He comes back up to your lips, the taste of your own cum lingering on it as you kiss him deeply.

"You taste so good." He says, back to twirling your nipples in between his fingers.

"Wanna feel you." You fiddle with his jeans, undoing his belt and sliding the rest down as much as you could. Jungkook gets out of his shirt and tosses it aside before helping get the sweater above your head. His eyes glow at the sight of your bare body in front of him, wanting to do nothing but please you and please you well.

"God, you're so perfect." He places kisses down your collarbone, to the surface of your breasts before quickly swirling his tongue around your perked buds. You moan as you tug down onto his boxer briefs, immediately stroking his hardened member while he tended to you. Jungkook was a fucking beauty himself - his soft hair, his perfectly toned body, his long 'thick in all the right places' dick.

"Please." You plead. "I want you inside of me." You whimper, causing Jungkook's breathing to hitch when you slightly tighten your grip at the base of his shaft. He gently pushes your hand aside to take over, lining himself up at your entrance. He inserts the tip, watching your eyes roll to the back of the head as he slowly sinks into you.

"Mmmmmgod." He moans. "So tight for me, baby. So fucking wet and tight." He repeats, close to a growl. Your moaning begins to pick up, matching the pace of his thrusting. You're still on the edge of the bed, Jungkook keeping you steady by gripping your thighs tightly. He marvels at the sight of your titties bouncing up and down with every thrust, hissing and shutting his eyes momentarily to keep himself grounded and to prevent himself from coming too quickly. Cause god, he can literally blow any second now.

"Jungggggkooook, yessssss!" You moan loudly, whining even at this point with how good he feels fucking into you at such a fast pace. You're feeling slightly sore already from him hammering into you, but nonetheless, it builds more pleasure for you and you want nothing but to reach your high again. "I-I'm coming!" Jungkook moans in unison with you when he feels your walls pulsating against his cock.

"Such a good girl for me." He says, slowing his pace. The creamy sounds of Jungkook's cock slipping inside and out is music to the both of your ears. He finally gains the courage to remove himself, sitting next to your spot on the edge of the bed and pulling you onto his lap. You swing a leg over, your hands resting on the nape of his neck while you sink yourself lower onto his length. Your mouth opens to let out a moan, but the best you can do is let out a hiss. It feels too fucking good that you can't even process it thoroughly. Jungkook pushes your lips down onto his by grabbing your neck, his other hand guiding the movement of your hips as you roll into him.

"Mmmggg—Jungkook." You whimper in between kisses. "You feel so fucking good, god. You're gonna make me cum again."

"Yeah, cum for me. Cum all over me. It's yours." He grunts, his hands guiding you to work him faster. Your movements are getting sloppier, and you feel your wetness starting to coat his pelvis. He doesn't give a fuck though, and neither do you. This shit feels too good for you to worry about the mess you're making on him.

"Cum with me please." He moans at the sound of you whispering into his ear.

"Faster, baby." He says, almost making you cry at how awfully close you are to unraveling. You tug onto his hair, your head buried deep into his neck as you try and suck onto the surface, trying to find an outlet, some kind of release, until you let go. You suck harshly as you coat his cock with your cum, leaving a purple mark right at the base of his neck. You continue to ride out your high, rolling your hips sloppily as Jungkook finally lets himself go, his moan bouncing off of your walls as his seed fills you up warmly.

You stay in your position, slowly raising your head to cup his cheeks and kiss him deeply once more.

"Fuck, I love you." He says slightly pulling away.

"I love you too." You giggle.

"Didn't actually need any drinks to do this now, did we?" Jungkook jokes, softly pinching your hip.

"Shut up."

"Damn, you both couldn't even at least try to be quiet?!" Jimin yells from outside the door.

[phoenixyfriend]

Vader Tries to Help

People encouraged me to share the dead dove concept! Yay! It’s a horrible concept with an undertone of comedic absurdity in the sense that you keep waiting to see what awful, incredibly stupid thing Vader is going to do next. Like it’s horrifying but it’s also very dumb.

By moving forward into the fic, you acknowledge that this is intended to be dark and liable to be upsetting, and that you are taking responsibility for your own engagement with the material.

This AU was helped along on discord by several parties but tbh I’m not sure how many of them actually want to be named.

Warnings: Mutual Extremely Dubious Consent (forced by a third party), drugging, irrational behavior (Vader), nonconsensual body modification, forced pregnancy, imprisonment, threatened torture of a child (not followed through on)

----------

Vader captures Obi-Wan a few years into the Empire. Because Vader is Anakin, but even worse on the emotional bullshit, he decides that he needs to keep Obi-Wan safe but harmless. Vader also got Luke in the whole 'capturing Kenobi' situation, so part of what Vader's thinking about all this is that Obi-Wan tried to protect The Baby and so Vader kind of owes him, obviously.

Palpatine lets him keep Obi-Wan "safe," because threatening Obi-Wan is a convenient way to make Vader shut up and do what he's told. Palpatine can kind of tell that threatening the toddler would make Vader lose his shit and attempt to kill good ol' Palps, so threatening the middle-aged depressed alcoholic being kept in Vader's guest room with Force-nullifying cuffs is pretty good. It's an additional layer of emotional torture on top of the electrocution of Vader himself!

Vader has Obi-Wan taking care of Luke, mostly, because Vader has Obligations and A Job, and Obi-Wan wouldn't hurt Luke, duh. He might try to escape with the kid, but he won't be successful, and Obi-Wan will definitely put Luke's safety first, so that probably won't happen.

This is all fairly normal for a variety of AUs, granted, and not very dark.

But see, Obi-Wan behaves. He's aware of how tenuous the situation is for him and his charge, so he plays nice. And Vader decides to reward that.

By giving him Cody.

There's an implied thought process there that Obi-Wan was fond of Cody, and Cody was fond back, and now that the Jedi aren't around, they can follow through instead of worrying about some silly Code. Vader's nullified the orders to kill all the Jedi, of course, possibly dosed their food with an aphrodisiac so they don't try to talk themselves out of What They Obviously Want.

Now, we’re going to make it a little darker, because why not make things worse by having Vader try to make things better?

Vader somehow twisted himself around to encouraging them to have a baby. This is accomplished through a combination of Sith Magic and nonconsensual surgery, and lots of questionable drugs.

Obi-Wan just wakes up in a hospital bed with a womb one morning, and is informed of the surgery then and there, after it’s already happened. The droid telling him about it is just like "in the Lord Vader's infinite kindness--" and Obi-Wan just.

Anakin.

What the fuck.

What in the actual fuck made you think this was a good idea.

(The Sith Chemicals, probably.)

I feel like Palpatine would maybe even order the pregnancy induction just to torture them by proxy because that's like eight levels of Fuck No and he barely has to do anything except tell Vader that he'd like to see what kind of children a Jedi Master like Obi-Wan has.

Luke needs friends, doesn't he?

Obi-Wan is having some very complicated emotions about all of this because Vader is, in his own absolutely insane way, trying to help.

Anakin wanted babies and Padme wanted babies so clearly, if Obi-Wan and Cody are in love, then they also want babies!

Cody and Obi-Wan very well might not be in love. Anakin definitely could have misinterpreted. It’s probably more angsty if they're just friends who ended up in this bullshit together.

(He's taking baby fever to new and somewhat horrifying heights, because... he would adore Obi's kids.)

(His family button is suprisingly large for a mass murderer.)

Vader Kindly Informs Bail That Obi-Wan Is Alive And Unharmed. Bail was a friend of Obi-Wan's, telling him this is only helpful and will keep Alderaan from getting more rebellious out of personal insult. Obviously.

Vader is almost offended when Bail implies he might hurt Obi-Wan. He kept his son safe, he owes him. Speaking of, don’t you have a child? How old is she, again? It would be Good for her to make friends, wouldn’t it? :)

Palpatine is just like... sitting back and eating evil popcorn as Vader runs around, ruining people's lives by trying to be less of The Worst than before.

Palps barely has to do anything, Anakin's fucking it up on his own!

Could have been just a sly "Kenobi is so attached to young Luke, but now that you've been reunited with your son, perhaps he'd be happier with a child of his own?" Come at it from both "make Obi-Wan happy" and "protect your relationship with Luke" angles.

Vader: I can't have babies anymore due to what you did to me on Mustafar. Obi-Wan: So you're punishing me by forcing me to have them instead? Vader: No! Children are a gift that you have been cruelly denied by the Order that held us in its chains! Obi-Wan: ...oh, right, you're insane. Forgot about that. Somehow.

Big dramatic speech about how the Jedi Order spent so long making them take lives, he’s giving Obi-Wan a chance to create it! To put something good and bright into the world!

Poor Cody is like. "General, I am very fond of you but I'm having a million panic attacks at the same time because of the mind control, and also Vader is under the impression that we're in love and I need to be your stud? I wasn't aware you could have children--" "I can't. Or at least, I couldn't, but Anakin is... creative." "...what."

I don't want to actually objectify Cody in the narrative past the point that Obi-Wan himself is, because nnnnngh racism and clone stuff, so I'm going to say Cody was in love with Obi-Wan, and would have been okay with at least discussing the whole baby schtick if not for the absolutely horrible circumstances.

Like if the war had ended normally, and Obi-Wan had expressed a desire to retire, unlikely as that was, then Cody may have suggested a dinner, and they could have gotten married and then eventually adoption...

(Cody had a lot of fantasies he didn’t let himself think about too hard.)

But no. It's this... weird Vader-inspired bullshit.

I'm just so invested in Vader trying to help but making things legitimately a million times worse.

He wants to help :) Oh god, he wants to help.

Why aren't people more appreciative of how hard I'm helping them? - the Anakin Skywalker story

With less time to stew and also getting handed what he wants, Vader could absolutely flip on a dime the second he saw Luke being protected, and go from “I hate you” to remembering that Obi-Wan said he loved him, and now he must keep Obi-Wan safe out of debt and he just... he’s playing house. 

Vader throws Obi-Wan a baby shower after the pregnancy is confirmed. Bail is invited, because Obi-Wan doesn't have a lot of friends still alive. Vader decides Bail is top of the Obi-Wan’s Friends List.

This is the first time they've seen each other in two years. Obi-Wan is heavily pregnant despite Bail knowing full well he didn't have the plumbing for that before the Empire rose. Cody is there and emotionally exhausted but more lucid than most troopers. Luke is running up to Leia because New Friend!!!

....there may be MORE of the 212th and 501st at the baby shower, with “kill all Jedi” orders revoked, of course. But it will keep the children safe!! And Cody and Obi-Wan can see their surviving friends!!

Cody: I'd be much happier to see my surviving troopers if they didn't all still have chips in their heads. Obi-Wan: I feel much the same. Vader: [404 error]

Bail and his family might be there at blaster point, but aren't you happy to see them, Obi-Wan??

Obi-Wan's endless trauma is honestly somewhat curtailed by the incessant need to facepalm at Vader’s bullshit

Obi-Wan and Cody both outwardly have a very "there are much worse people I could be stuck with in this situation but obviously I wish I'd had a choice, no hard feelings" attitude at each other.

Internally, Cody is suffering because this is NOT how he wanted his crush to be realized, and Obi-Wan is just suffering, period.

Cody: How did he even choose which of us ends up pregnant? Obi-Wan: He thinks I need to be protected, and that he needs to keep me safe. Cody: ...he does realize that you're better at-- Obi-Wan: Cody, he's completely lost it. No! He doesn't realize!

I feel like over the course of the year or two this plot unravels towards Palpatine getting murder-deposed and Anakin getting locked down, part of the driving force to Vader not being Vader anymore is that Luke actually really loves Uncle Obi and always starts fussing and going "Ben's sad" whenever Vader dismisses what Obi-Wan wants in favor of what Vader thinks Obi-Wan wants, and Vader can't deny his child anything.

Luke cries because Palpatine Feels Wrong like, once or twice, and Anakin goes “oh, okay, assassination time.”

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part III

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of feelings, handcuffs, testosterone, quite a bit of sex, one surprise kiss (cause Erwin is a privileged dick), parents, domesticity A/N: I apparently did not write an author’s note for this originally, but uh, this is one of my favorite sections of the whole fic, so. 

Mike uses the rest of the break to relax, to get his head on straight so that when he gets back on campus he won’t be overbearing. He knows that’s the last thing you want from him.

 You text back and forth a few times a day, but most of it is dumb shit, and the conversation dies off pretty quickly—either Mike not knowing how to respond or you just growing bored. 

 He busies himself by spending time with his parents and playing with Scout who eats up all the attention. Family comes over for Christmas, and his mom and aunt get into an argument. It’s nothing new.

 He’s happy to get back to the school and back in classes just to stimulate his brain. More than that, he’s happy to see you again. Even if it means the two of you go back to friend-only status. 

 Things are awkward between him and Erwin, though. It isn’t the first time they’ve had a hiccup in their friendship, but this one has really rubbed Mike the wrong way. Erwin tries to apologize a few more times, but every time he does, all Mike can manage is an unconvincing, “It’s fine,” which the other man obviously doesn’t buy. 

 He tries not to be possessive when you start coming to the house again, but it’s fucking hard whenever he has to watch you and Erwin talk and joke around. Mike figured you’d be at least a little annoyed that he’d just walked in on the two of you like that, but you act like it never happened.

 Eventually, Mike has to ask about it, just can’t help himself. “Aren’t you, like, even a little mad that he did that? Don’t you think it was fucked up?”

 You’re sitting on Mike’s bed, a controller in your hand as you play Mario Kart, sound a little distracted when you respond, “I mean, yeah, it was fucked up, but I never really expected anything more from him.”

 “What do you mean?”

 You look at him from the corner of your eyes before staring at the screen again. “Erwin is a cocky motherfucker. I’ve seen the way he gets the girls on campus, probably thinks he can charm all of them which means he probably thinks he’s entitled to all of them. Us.”

 “Are you calling him a predator?”

 You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think he’d ever, like, rape anyone. He at least has enough class and common sense not to do that. But I think… He doesn’t care who he goes after. Single girls, girls in relationships, happy girls, damaged girls. He just has a one track mind when it comes to sex. That’s what I’ve gathered anyway.”

 Laying back on his bed, Mike laces his fingers behind his head and thinks on what you’ve said. “That just sounds like a drawn out way of saying he’s a flirt.”

 “A massive flirt. Without any real care about whose feelings he hurts in the process.”

 “Sounds about right.”

 “I don’t appreciate it,” you sigh, “But he’s your best friend, so I’m willing to put up with some shit from him.”

 “Even him perving on you?”

 “Not the first time it’s happened to me, probably won’t be the last. He’s curious, I can tell.”

 Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he is.”

 You stay quiet for several seconds, toggling over to another track on the game, then ask, “That make you uncomfortable?”

 Blinking up at the ceiling, Mike wonders what the right answer to this is. He doesn’t want to scare you away, but he doubts he’ll be able to act as aloof as you do. 

 “A little.”

 You hum, nodding in a thoughtful manner before suggesting, “I think we can keep hooking up through this semester.”

 Mike sits up on his elbow, looks at you with high eyebrows. “Wait, really?” He sounds too excited, he knows.

 “Yeah. I have mostly easy classes, or really, I have interesting ones which makes studying for them easier. Plus, it might teach Erwin a lesson.”

 He falls back flat, scoffing. “I don’t want you to fuck me to prove a point to Erwin. I want you to fuck me because you want to.”

 The game music stops when you pause it, and then you’re straddling Mike, hands on his chest as you smirk at him. 

 “Don’t let this go to your head, Zacharias, but no one has ever fucked me the way you do.”

 Mike tries not to grin, triumph blooming inside of him, and he grips your hips a little too tightly. “Oh, that’s definitely going to my head.” 

 You grind your covered pussy over his denim-clad cock, and Mike feels all his blood flow south.

 Laughing, you lean down to ghost your lips over his and murmur, “Both heads, apparently.”

 That day, the two of you start a routine that leaves Mike falling harder and harder with every passing day.

 *

 “Come on, please just be my date,” Mike begs, thinks about getting to his knees if it’ll help convince you.

 “Why?” You ask, looking up from your textbook.

 You and Mike are sitting in the library—you studying, him bothering you. “I’m honestly so tired of parties at this point.

 “It’s not like the big parties we throw, though,” he tells you. “It’s just the brothers and their girlfriends.”

 “That makes it even worse,” you push one little laugh through your nose. “What makes you think I wanna spend an entire night with a bunch of frat boys and their matching sorority girls?”

 Mike rolls his eyes. “They’re not all sorority girls, just like, eighty-five percent of them.”

 Your head lolls, an expression that reads nothing but apathy aimed at Mike, and he gives you a hopeful smile and adds, “On the bright side, we get to stay together all night…?”

 “Oh god, it's a cuff party, isn't it?" 

 All he can do at this point is beg because the more he explains it, the more he realizes how not appealing this is to you. “Please.”

 Sitting back in your chair, you cross your arms over your chest and puff your cheeks out as you exhale heavily. “What’s in it for me?”

 Fuck yes. Half the battle is won. 

 “Uhh,” obviously sex is the first thing that comes to Mike’s mind, so the first offer he makes is, “I’ll go down on you ‘til you cry.”

 You snort. “Try again.”

 “Fuck you ‘til you pass out?”

 “Jesus—why do you want to hurt me? Try again. Third time’s a charm.”

 Mike brainstorms for a solid thirty seconds, thinks about what you’ve mentioned to him over the past couple of weeks, sex and school and—

 “I’ll help you study for your geochemistry exam.”

 You finally look interested. “I’d actually really appreciate that. You took the course?”

 “Yeah, environmental geochemistry was sort of my jam last year. Final grade was a ninety-seven.”

 “Holy shit.”

 Mike shoots you a satisfied smile, but before you can tell him to wipe it from his face, he asks, “So, you’re in?”

 “I guess.”

 This is how you both end up in the frat house handcuffed together. No one seems to be surprised at the fact that you’ve come with him, all the brothers used to you hanging around the frat house.

 Most couples are walking around holding hands just because it takes some of the pressure off of everyone's wrists, but Mike doesn't dare try it with you. Too cute. Too comfortable. 

 These types of get togethers are Mike's favorite, though, always more relaxed than the open parties. There’s still drinking and music, but the energy is different since it’s a tighter knit group. 

 It takes about an hour for Erwin and his date to approach the two of you, fingers laced together, drinks in their free hands. 

 “Looking good,” Erwin greets with a smile. "Very… trapped." 

 “Yeah, you too,” Mike says, trying to ignore the subtext of Erwin's comment.  

 Blue eyes flick to you, and you’re questioned, “How’d he end up talking you into this?”

 You don’t miss a beat as you reply cooly, “Bribed me with sex and study help.”

 “Ah, of course he did.”

 Mike’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything, just reaches his pinky out to link with yours, a subtle claim. When you rest your head on his arm, he looks down at you and smirks. 

 “Anyway,” Erwin pushes on. “You remember Maddie, don’t you?”

 Mike lies, “Yeah. How are you?”

 The girl’s voice reminds him of who she is, “Well. How are you, Mike?” It’s a little high pitched and nasally with a northern accent. He especially remembers what she sounded like moaning for Erwin through the wall, obnoxious but Mike can’t really judge since he’s subjected the rest of the house to the same thing once or twice (or a dozen times) before.  

 “Glad to hear it.”

 The group stands together for a few more awkward seconds before Erwin clears his throat and asks his date, “Another drink?” then makes his exit. 

 “You have got to get over this grudge, dude,” you take your head from his shoulder, and Mike immediately misses the warmth. “Like, it’s cute that you’re trying to defend my honor or whatever, but it’s time to move on. You guys are friends. Just talk it out.”

 He sucks his teeth, almost tells you about the way he and Erwin had nearly thrown punches at the ranch house, the way the blond had basically admitted to wanting to try you out, but Mike decides against it, doesn’t want to talk too much shit only to end up making up with him.

 “Guys don’t really talk it out. We usually fight it out.”

 “That’s fucking primitive. You should learn to communicate like mature humans.”

 “Probably,” Mike hums. “But not right now.”

 Being connected to each other means every activity is a partner activity. The most interesting is playing beer pong against Nile and his on-again off-again girlfriend, Marie, house rule for the night being whoever is throwing has to use their cuffed hand. It’s like a twisted three-legged race and requires an amount of teamwork and coordination Mike has never had to deal with before. 

 It’s also the first time he manages to beat Nile. Mike had no doubt that the other man would have crushed you by himself, but it turns out the actual couple does not work together very well. All their shots are clumsy, and Nile gets frustrated right off the bat which only makes things worse. Meanwhile, you and Mike come up with a strategy after the first terrible throw and use it for the rest of the game. 

 You’re both challenged by a few other teams and end up winning every time which has Mike feeling smug about the victories and giddy at how in-tune the two of you are. Gelgar even tells you both, “You guys are good together,” which makes Mike cough as you wave him off.

 You drink a little more, converse a little more, and then—as always—end up in Mike’s bedroom. 

 “You want me to get the key and take these off?” He asks between kisses.

 You smile into him, let out a little laugh and play, “You don’t think it’d be kinda fun to fuck with ‘em on?”

 “It’ll be harder,” Mike snorts. “But, we can. Won’t be able to take shirts off, though.”

 “Good thing we just need to take our pants off.”

 It’s clumsy and silly, and you both tug in opposite directions more than a few times. Mike laces his fingers with yours when he goes down on you, relishing in the way you arch off his bed and squeeze his hand. On the floor, you give him head in the same fashion, and fuck, Mike can hardly focus on you sucking him off while your fingers are woven together, even if it is just for the sake of convenience. 

 He fucks you from behind that night, your face buried in his pillow as he’s buried in you. Both of your arms are stretched behind your back, held at the wrists by Mike’s much, much larger hand. He uses his free one to grip your hip, pushing and pulling you on his cock to his heart’s desire. 

 You’re so pretty, damp with sweat and moaning his name when your head is turned only to shove it back into his pillow when he makes you scream. Your dripping cunt opens up for him perfectly, making Mike feel more inebriated than alcohol ever could, but as his balls tighten and that warmth spreads in his gut, he has a single moment of clarity, assess the position he has you in and pants, “Shit, I can’t pull out.” Not without ripping your god damn arm out of socket or fracturing his dick. 

 “Mmm—fuck, just come inside, come inside me, Mike.”

 That alone makes him lose it, shooting a fucking copious amount of cum into your pussy, so much that it drips from your hole and runs down your thighs. 

 “Fucking C-Christ,” he laughs a little hysterically, gathering thick white and slipping it back inside you. Transfixed by the way his added finger pushes more of his cum out of you, he asks in a daze, “You on birth control?”

 “Yeah,” you answer in a breathy voice.

 Mike hums. “Good. Just gonna sit here for a while then.”

 You let out a whimper that turns to a whine when he rubs his slick finger over your clit. Twitching around him, you tease, “F-finger painting again?”

 He chuckles, “You know it.” 

 Honestly, if he could cover you in cum, he would—admire your body painted in white strings, watch it drip down your ribs and thighs. If Mike hadn’t just gotten off, he would be hard again at the mere thought, but for now his focus is rubbing your little clit. Still face down, you spread your legs more and more, and Mike has to curl over you, breathing heavily on your neck as you wriggle and buck, overstimulating him as he keeps his cock nestled inside of you.

 He groans just as loud as you do as you start pulsing around him, pussy clenching in a way that actually pulls a few more drops of cum from Mike, then you both pant for a little while until Mike straightens up and pulls you with him, your back to his chest as you hang your head. 

 “You good?” He questions, brushing his lips over your neck as lightly as possible.

 “Yeah,” you tell him. “Just… Full.”

 Mike’s body heats all over again as he rests his forehead on your uppermost vertebrae. “Can’t just say stuff like that,” he warns, sinking his teeth into your shoulder.

 “Hmm.” He can see the little smile on your face without even looking up. “You did offer to fuck me until I pass out.”

 “I have a refractory period, you know.”

 You glance over your shoulder, and now Mike gets a good look at your smirk and twinkling eyes. “I can wait.”

 Both of you emerge from the room in the early hours of the morning, still stuck together as you quietly make your way downstairs to find the key to the handcuffs. You’re wearing a pair of Mike’s gym shorts, the mesh falling far past your knees and barely staying up around your waist. He knows you’re still messy and can tell by the way you’re walking that you’re sore, but he has every intention of cleaning you up and taking care of all your aches and pains in the shower. 

 *

It’s party after god damn party with classes and studying and fucking in between. You have never had this much sex in your life, but you’re not complaining. It takes the edge off, and Mike isn’t the worst company. Far from it, actually. The more you get to know him, the more he falls into what you think is his real personality. 

 The brash frat boy is a front, you come to find out, a mask to fit in with everyone else, one he wears very well. 

 But, when it’s just the two of you in his room playing video games or watching TV, he actually relaxes, gets quieter and much more reflective. The pastels and khakis and Hawaiian shirts stay hung up in his closet, both of you lounging in t-shirts and joggers more often than not.

 He more or less tutors you in geochemistry, and between that and all the nerd shit in his room, you realize… Mike is kind of extremely smart. And, it’s kind of extremely hot.

 “I still don’t understand why you hide it,” you tell him one afternoon as you watch him play Ocarina of Time. 

 He shrugs, green eyes wide and focused on the screen, gives you the same answer he did last semester when you’d asked a similar question: “People are more interested in other things.”

 “So you adopted the obnoxious frat boy persona?”

 “I guess. It makes the college experience a lot easier.”

 You cock your head to the side, genuinely curious when you ask, “Doesn’t it wear you out? Seems like you’re just an introvert in hiding.”

 Mike laughs, pauses the game, and looks at you. “It used to. Some days it still does. But, it’s easier than taking shit from the guys.”

 Squinting at him, you mumble, “I will beat up anyone who gives you shit about being a nerd.”

 It makes him laugh. Loudly. And, you see a certain curiosity glimmering in his eyes, unasked questions—probably something along the lines of when you started caring and getting protective over him. 

 You’re not. Not exactly. You just don’t like the idea of anyone giving him a hard time. 

 “No offense, babe, but I don’t know how much damage you could inflict on anyone. You’re, like, two feet tall.”

 You straighten up, chest puffing up as you pull your fists up to your chin and rock back and forth like a Street Fighter character. “You wanna fuckin’ go, Zacharias? I’ll show you how much damage I can inflict.”

 He grins in that boyish way that always makes you look away. It’s too cute and too charming and makes you feel too many things. 

 Mike hangs his long legs over the side of the bed and pulls you on top of him with no problem whatsoever. You’re eye level with him now, heart beating too fast as you hold his shoulders, eyes flicking to his lips. 

 “We can go if you want. We can do whatever you want.”

 He has feelings for you. You know he does, can see it in his eyes, can feel it in the way he fucks you, and you really should cut things off, but… You don’t want to. He’s the most tolerable person you’ve met on campus, much less annoying than Hitch. You have things in common and joke around until you’re both rolling in laughter. And, of course, the sex is incredible. 

 It’s just casual, you keep telling yourself. Mike is smart enough not to push things. He knows better, knows you’ll just turn him down, and though it’s hard to admit, that wouldn’t just hurt him; it’d hurt you too.

 In his lap now, you don’t encourage him to take things further, mostly because you’re still sore from the night before, and he understands that. Instead, you lock your arms around his neck and change the subject to something that’s still bothering you even after several weeks.

 “Have you and Erwin made up yet?”

 Mike makes a face, answers, “Not exactly.”

 “The hell does that mean?”

 “It means we’re talking a little more, but it’s always short conversations and the problem still hasn’t been addressed.”

 You let out a little, “Ugh,” then state, “You guys are impossible.”

 It really doesn’t make sense that he’s so upset about it, especially since you’ve gotten over it. It was a shitty thing for Erwin to do—walking in like that—but you don’t think it’s anything to end a friendship over.

 And, with that thought in mind, you spend the rest of the afternoon devising a plan. It’s not in your nature to meddle, but it seems, in this case, you’re gonna have to.

 *

 Mike is in his fancy ecology class when you walk into the Pike house, nodding at everyone in the den as you step further inside. You learned a few months ago that it’s much safer to keep your shoes on, less jarring to step on a sticky floor the first years didn’t do a good job cleaning. 

 Nile is reclining sideways on the couch with Marie between his legs, an action movie playing on the ridiculously big TV mounted on the wall. 

 “Is Erwin here?” You ask.

 Nile looks at you with a frown, one that’s completely warranted since you’ve literally never asked this before. 

 “Uh, yeah.” He points up at the ceiling. “In his room.”

 “Cool, thanks.”

 “You know which one it is?”

 Squeezing one eye shut, you’re honest when you tell him, “I think so.”

 The way Marie is quick to pipe up, “Second furthest to the left, right next to the bathroom,” is very amusing, especially when Nile clicks his tongue, clearly irritated.

 You make your way upstairs, following Marie’s directions, then take a deep breath before knocking on Erwin’s door, clueless as to what his lock code might be.

 It takes a few seconds, but the door opens, revealing a very tired-looking Erwin. His eyes widen a bit when he sees you, craning his neck back like he’s shocked that you’re standing outside of his room. That’s fair.

 “Uh, hey?”

 “Hey,” you greet shortly. “Can we talk for a sec?”

 Erwin blinks a few times then steps to the side, murmuring, “Yeah, of course.”

 His space is very different from Mike’s, more organized, framed pictures, bed completely made. Even his desk is clean, papers and books all stacked neatly on one side of his open laptop.

 “Studying?” You question.

 “Yeah. Would you like to sit down?” His voice is deep—not as deep as Mike’s—and always so proper, like he spent his childhood in country clubs (he did). 

 “Not really,” you answer without any hesitation.

 Unsurprisingly, Erwin leans against his desk instead of taking a seat himself, arms on either side, fingers hanging off the edge of the polished wood. It makes the muscles in his forearms become more prominent, veins popping against his skin. You have to give it to him, it’s a good move. 

 “So, what’s going on?”

 Running your tongue over your teeth, you recall what you planned to say—cut to the chase, stay firm, don’t get caught up in any of his tricks. 

 “You need to make up with Mike.”

 Erwin immediately snorts. “You don’t think I’ve tried?”

 “Half-assed apologies aren’t gonna work, dude. Actually sit down with him and hash things out.”

 “Yeeeah,” he drawls. “That didn’t work very well the first time.”

 “Maybe try again? You guys are, like, best friends.”

 “Levi is my best friend,” Erwin corrects, “And, I’m pretty sure that you’re Mike’s at this point.”

 “Don’t say that.”

 “It’s true,” he smirks.

 You wave him off, getting back to your original point. “At the very least, you guys should make up just because you have to live in the same house.”

 Erwin crosses his arms over his chest, blue eyes deviating upward as if he’s thinking hard. You doubt he is.

 “So, you’re not mad about what happened?” He asks after a few seconds. 

 You're blunt when you respond, “It was a shitty thing to do. Wouldn’t advise trying it with anyone else, but honestly, I’m not super surprised you’d pull something like that.”

 His facial expression turns to one of true offense, blond eyebrows furrowing enough for a little wrinkle to form between them. “Excuse me?”

 You take a step toward him, almost jab a finger in his chest but resist. “No no no. You don’t get to be pissed. You’re the one who fucked up here. I’m just telling you the truth.”

 Eyes narrowing, he pushes himself off the desk, standing to his full height to loom over you. It’s obviously an intimidation tactic, one he’s probably used before on many people, and it makes your blood boil. 

 In a futile attempt to make yourself look bigger, you straighten your spine and tilt your head to look up at him, lips pursed, eyes narrow. You remember what Mike said about you being too small to hurt anyone, but you can be scrappy. You’re not above slapping a face or kneeing someone in the balls. 

 Erwin peers down at you, jaw setting for a moment as he really studies you, then breaks into an infuriating smile. 

 “You’re cute, you know that?” He moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you swat his hand away. 

 “Jesus, what is wrong with you?”

 This close to him, seeing the way he acts behind closed doors, you wonder how Mike ever even got close with him. They’re so incredibly different. For the last semester and a half, you've only known Erwin as Mike's somewhat obnoxious, spoiled friend. Now, it seems he's showing his true colors.

 “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’m feeling pretty great right now.”

 Oh, you wanna hit him. You wanna hit him so badly, but honestly, Erwin kind of seems like the type to call the fucking police if you did. 

 “You don’t have any reason whatsoever to be feeling good.”

 He’s still grinning, eyes bright and wide as his pupils dilate. 

 Are you calling him a predator?

 He sure looks like one now, a lion with his sights set on an antelope, and as you stare at him, it dawns on you that this was a bad idea. 

 “You know what? Nevermind,” you shake your head. “You don’t deserve to be Mike’s friend anyway.”

 The laugh that pours from his lips is not at all humorous. His voice drops when he challenges, “You think so?”

 You need to leave, need to get out of here before this argument goes any further, but as you make a move toward the closed door, he slides in front of you. You shouldn’t have walked so far into his room.

 “Erwin,” you grit through your teeth. “Don’t do this.”

 “Just tell me—because I need to know—” he breathes, still staring down at you with that unnerving gaze. “What does Mike have that you like so much?”

 Both your hands flex by your sides. There are so many ways to answer this question, all of which will evoke a different response. 

 But being who you are, you speak before you think, spitting the first thing that comes to mind: "You want me to make you a list, Smith? 'Cause I sure fucking can."

 He makes a little circle with his hand, a 'go on' motion, and prompts, "Please, enlighten me."

 And, so you do. 

 "Warmth, sincerity, class, depth, understanding—"

 "So, it isn't just about the sex," he cuts you off, sounding more sure than curious. 

 You pinch the bridge of your nose, tired of these god damn frat boys and their obsession with getting their dicks wet.  

 "I mean, it started out that way—not that it's any of your business."

 "I can give you more, you know. Satisfy you better—"

 "Please shut the fuck up," you beg, getting madder by the second. The confidence, the entitlement, is making you sick. 

 "You don't believe me?" He steps toward you again, and you back up. 

 "No, I don't." Because how could he? Whether it's stimulating conversation or sex, there's no way Erwin could compare. 

 And now you realize just how much you appreciate Mike. 

 Erwin is closing the distance between you, moving slowly but purposefully. "This is how it started with you and him, right? You made him chase you?" 

 "Get out of my way," you demand, trying to shoulder past him—

 And, you should have seen it coming, should have been prepared for the way he grabs you, strong hand closing around your upper arm to pull you to his body. Thick fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back, face tilted up, and all you can really do is shove at his chest with your free hand, growling in your throat as Erwin crushes his lips against yours. 

 Adrenaline courses through your body. You try to shake the hand on your head, try to jerk your arm from his grip, but he's too fucking strong, and it terrifies you. 

 Your voice is muffled as you plead, "Er—mmf—shtp—"

 You lift your hand higher and manage to hit him just beside his eye with the side of your palm, and it makes him break the "kiss" (you refuse to actually call it that).

 He breathes a heavy, "Just let me—"

 "No." You push his chest again, and he lets go of your arm. Quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you tell him, "You're a shitty friend and a little fucked in the head, but you're not low enough to force yourself on someone," you pant, shaking with nerves and rage, "So don't."

 Hopefully, you're not giving him too much credit. Despite the overflowing fury and fear, you still think there's a little hope for him. Not with you, of course, just in general.

 He stares at you, expression changing from confusion to understanding to regret, and before you know it, he's scrubbing his hands down his face and muttering, "Fuck, I'm sorry. You're right I—I got carried away. I've been jealous of Mike and curious and—"

 "Why?" You blurt because you do not get it. "Both of you are, like, top athletes and in a fraternity, could get literally anyone you wanted, so what is it? Is it because I'm a nobody? Because you're bored of the sorority girls? Am I the one chick on your list you haven't screwed?" 

 "I… I don't know. You just—"

 "Is it because Mike has a toy he doesn't wanna share?"

 "Maybe." Erwin is frowning again, like he's stumped. He doesn't even know what he's feeling. It's honestly a little pathetic. 

 "Well, pick someone else. I know you have Maddie wrapped around your finger, so take advantage of that or whatever. Just leave me out of it."

 Ocean eyes are wide and troubled. He really does look remorseful, but that doesn't change what he just fucking did. God, you're disgusted. And a little hurt. 

 "Don't ever try that shit on me again—or anyone else—'cause I swear to God, I will break your fucking nose."

 "Yeah, okay," he nods.

 You go to walk past him again, voice loud and unforgiving when you tell him, "Move," and then you're out of his room, slamming the door, and getting as far from Pike house as possible.

 That did not go the way you had planned it to, but you should have been ready for the worst case scenario. That's on you, you guess. 

 Because Erwin Smith may not be a predator by definition, but he's certainly something—something you want to stay away from. 

*

"Why are you acting weird?" Mike's voice pulls you from your empty head, and you take your eyes off the loose string of your hoodie—his hoodie—and look up at him. 

 "What are you talking about? 'm not acting weird."

 He moves from his place at the edge of his bed and crawls to prop himself up next to you on his pillows. 

 "Uh, yeah you are. Have been for the past week or so."

 He isn't wrong. You've kept to yourself a little more since your "conversation" with Erwin. It had just been so uncomfortable and jarring, and you don't want to tell Mike because you know he'll just get pissed all over again which would be very annoying since he and Erwin finally made up. Just like you wanted them to. 

 Except now you know Erwin a little better, and you're not sure you want him having any more influence over Mike. 

 Rubbing your face, you shrug and easily lie, "I've just been tired."

 And, of course, Mike is too smart for that. 

 "Tired? That's the go-to answer for anyone who actually feels shitty."

 "I mean, yeah, but I'm actually tired in this case." It isn't a complete lie considering how fucking late he kept you up last night. 

 Mike hums. "Wanna take a nap before the party?" 

 The acid in your stomach churns. The party. The one you do not have any desire to go to. The one that will push you over the ledge of annoyance and into the realm of genuine discomfort. You don't want to go. You don't want to hang out. You don't want to see Erwin. 

 Sliding your legs under the covers, you lay down in Mike's bed, turning on your side so that your back is facing him. You've told him on numerous occasions that you don't have any interest in certain events, but he always talks you into going to them anyway. So, what'll be different this time? You're just gonna end up downstairs huddled in a corner refusing to drink as your eyes scan over everyone, ready to make a quick exit if you have to. 

 Mike settles in closer behind you, the heat of his chest pouring across your back, and you can feel the pillow dip when he rests his head on it. He waits for a while before letting his arm fall over your waist. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut, makes something crawl into your throat, trying to scratch its way out. 

 "I really don't wanna go tonight," you murmur.

 You expect some form of protest, a convincing argument in the form of a well thought out fucking speech while he kisses down the back of your neck, but instead, a low rumble of, "Okay," spills from his mouth, and you hate how it makes you feel—how grateful you are for him. 

 He's getting to know you. Has gotten to know you after spending so much time together. He can read your ups and downs now, can tell when you're joking or serious, take the hint when you want him with a single look (that one might be the most irritating), but it just goes to show how perceptive he is, how much of himself he's been hiding while in college. 

 The shallow jock you thought you knew is no comparison for this. 

 "Spring break's coming up," he speaks into your hair, inhaling deeply and whispering to himself, "Citrus kills me," like you can't hear him. 

 You pretend not to because it's soft and personal and would probably make him adorably self-conscious, and you can't deal with Mike blushing. 

  "Yeah, it is. Couple more weeks." 

 "What're your plans?" 

 You shrug against him, trying not to get too wrapped up in the way his body feels over yours, longer legs tangling between yours, his draped hand nearly covering your entire stomach, his stubble scratching your neck and cheek. 

 When did you get this close? When did you decide it was okay to be this intimate? This is what couples do. This is comfort. 

 And, you didn't think you needed it, but fuck—

 "Nothing, really. Go see Mom, I guess."

 "Come stay with me," he says quickly. "Just for a few days."

 You wriggle to turn on your back and frown up at him as a myriad of questions fill your mind. 

 Mike takes a deep breath, somehow reading every one of them. 

 "I know that sounds like a 'come meet my parents' thing, but I promise it's not. I just thought it'd be cool to hang out not at school and not at a party. Plus," he shows a broad grin. "You can meet Scout."

 "Mm, tempting," you laugh. "I do like dogs."

 "And, you'll love her! She's so sweet and so goofy and—"

 "I'll think about it," you stop him. 

 Mike bites his lip, looking hopeful, but tries to play it off with a, "Okay, cool," then leans down to kiss you as if you've already said yes. 

 Honestly, you have, just not out loud. He had you at 'hanging out'. 

 *

Studying sucks. Midterms suck. Avoiding parties, however, does not suck. Mike still goes to most of them, kind of has to considering they're usually thrown at the PKA house, but sometimes he just shows his face then comes to your dorm. You try to convince him to stay, hang out with his friends, but he usually just shrugs and digs through your stash of movies until he finds something he wants to watch. 

 It's fine with you, makes passing geochem a lot fucking easier, but it also means little sleep and a perpetual soreness between your legs. 

 You just… Can't get enough of each other. And, you think that's how it's always been since that first party. Afterward, you had denied him in the courtyard and then broke as soon as he got into your room to get his stupid shirt. Denied him at the bar then broke as soon as he leaned over you at the pool table. Denied him at the after-game party and broke after… Seeing his room? Watching movies? Acting like friends for the first time? Whatever it is, you're always falling into bed together, some kind of unstoppable force against your obviously very movable object. 

 It's something you think about too much now, always somewhere in the back of your head. At this point, you should probably just be with him, don't know who you're kidding with that lie about focusing on school (your grades have never been better actually), but you're scared. That's really what's been hard to admit to yourself, not the fact that you're attracted to him or the fact that your irritation has bloomed into genuine fondness and admiration. It's that's you're fucking terrified. You can feel it in your bones. 

 Don't get too attached because people leave. All the time. People let you down. People disappoint. 

 You don't want Mike to disappoint you, so you won't give him the chance to. 

 Of course, all of that is easier said than done as you look over at him in the Wrangler, one huge hand pn the wheel as his other arm hangs out of the open window, catching the wind that batters against it like he's trying to push back. You hate it when he does that, too many horror stories of car crashes that end in traumatic amputations, but it's one of Mike's strange simple pleasures, makes him grin as if it's his head hanging out instead. At his core, Mike Zacharias is just a huge fucking puppy dog. 

 A dubstep song from too long ago is blasting through his speakers, the vibrations hitting you square in the chest as you bounce your leg and bob your head. It's beautiful outside, winter's bite melting away into sunny springtime days. Some of them still bring a chill to the air, but it doesn't matter since you basically live in one of Mike's hoodies, dark green with the school's lacrosse logo stamped in the middle. It's faded and worn out and far too big on you, but it's quite possibly the most comfortable article of clothing you've acquired. 

 The drive to his parents' house is a good three hours, but between the playlist he's made (stellar, not that you'd admit it), the road games you play, and the road head you give him ("Oh, Jesus Christ, this isn't safe—this isn't safe—fuck—") you make it there in one piece and in good spirits, though you have take a few drinks of the soda you got at the convenience store to wash the residue of cum out of your mouth before meeting his god damn family. 

 He grabs both your bags from the backseat, slinging them over his shoulders, then starts up the path to a… surprisingly small home. It isn't a shack by any means, but after what you saw of Erwin's stupid ranch house and some of the pictures and stories Nile and Gelgar have subjected you to, you just kind of figured all of them had ridiculous amounts of money. 

 Then again, you know Mike got a full ride to college with a sports scholarship, and he rarely talks about his family and their lifestyle aside from Scout and little tales from his childhood—trips to the zoo, the one time he rode a dirt bike and broke his collarbone, he and his dad rescuing an injured bunny from the park. 

 You should've known back then that you'd get in too deep. 

 The small garden that lines the house is well-kempt and full of blooming flowers, and the porch is home to a wire table and matching chairs with an unsavory gnome sitting on top.  

 "What in the world…"

 Mike doesn't even glance to see what you're looking at, just opens the screen door and informs you, "That's Leonidas," so casually that it makes you snort and push him into his own house. 

 It opens up to a living room, long couch, recliner, coffee table and all. A TV sits right in the middle of a beige entertainment center, DVDs stacked on one side, blu-ray discs on the other. It smells clean—like the lemon wipes you use in your dorm—but even stronger than that is the smell of food. 

 "Must already be cooking," Mike muses, then calls out in a different fucking language that has you turning to him in confusion. 

 Before you can ask about it, a plump woman a couple inches taller than you comes rushing out of what you assume to be the kitchen. Her graying hair is tied into a loose bun, cheeks rosy from the heat, and she's still in her apron and a single oven mitt. 

 "Miche, γλυκό μου αγόρι!" 

 She stops in front of him and reaches up to grab his face, peppering it with little kisses and babbling words you do not understand in the slightest. 

 Mike is laughing, speaking to her in the same fashion, possibly answering questions or defending himself judging by the way he holds his hands up. You think you have an inkling about why when his mother turns to you, puts her hands on your shoulders to look at you, then pulls you into a tight hug. 

 You squeeze her right back, rocking to and fro as she does, then look up at Mike from the corner of your eyes in a panic. 

 What do you do, what is happening, what hasn't he told you? 

 It’s about this time that a large dog runs into the room and actually jumps into Mike’s arms. He grunts as he hoists Scout up, nuzzling into her beautiful coat as she tries to lick his face.

 "Mamá, let her get settled first," Mike laughs from where he’s getting attacked. His mother lets go of you, but it’s only for Mike to set the dog back down, and Scout takes the opportunity to sniff and paw at you. “Be nice,” he warns her, pulling you in front of him and pushing you toward the hallway.

 That need to snoop around is ever present as you enter his room, but the much more pressing issue is, "You could've prepared me, ya' know. Given me a little heads up that you're…"

 "Greek?" He snorts, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. "My last name is Zacharias. That's a pretty good indicator."

 "I—..." You pause, pout, then mumble, "I'm not a genealogy expert."

 "Obviously not."

 He dumps the bags on his bed, a queen size, thank god, because he had told you last week they didn't have a guest room (and had seemed pretty happy about it at the time). 

 "I'll get mom and dad to speak in English for the next few days." 

 "I mean," you shake your head. "It's their house. I don't wanna intrude on that. Let 'em do what they're most comfortable with."

 He steps over to you, makes his classic move of staring down at you and smoothing his hand over your hair to make you tilt your head up. "That's sweet, but I know they're dying to talk with you, so actually being able to understand what they’re saying is kinda necessary."

 Humming, you stand on your tip-toes just as he begins to stoop lower. Before you can meet in a kiss, though, you smirk, "And, just why do they wanna get to know me, Miche? Is that a secret Greek name too?”

 He licks his lips, voice husky when he replies, "I've mentioned you a few times--”

 “Uh huh,” you smirk, too close for him to actually see.

 “And no, I think it’s Hebrew or something.” 

 You snicker before your mouths meet, breaths grow heavy, and the only time you break apart is so that you can look him in his light eyes and tell him, "By the way, the whole speaking a different language thing you can do?" He grunts, encouraging you to continue. "Very hot."

 You feel him smile against you, a self-satisfied, "Yeah?" making you burn against him. 

 "Yeah."

 It's hard to leave the room, but you both know you have to, hoping neither of you look too kiss-swollen when you walk back into the living room, and when Mike's mom is no longer there, he brings you to the kitchen instead. 

 "Smells good," he tells her, leaning over the stove and taking a whiff of the prepared dish that’s been set on top--stuffed tomatoes and peppers that make your mouth water.

 She says something, and Mike lets her finish before asking, "Can we speak in English while she's here? It's kinda hard to add to a conversation when you, like, don't know what's being said."

 "Oh, I'm so sorry!" She immediately gushes, turning to you with a worried look. Her accent is thick and charming, but she doesn't ever stutter, clearly fluent, just more comfortable in her apparently native language. "I just get so caught up when my Miche comes home, I—"

 And, she's hugging you again. 

 "I'm Maia! Christopher—Miche's father—should be home soon."

 You rub Maia's back until she lets go and turns back to the stove, but even as she does, she's asking you, "How is school? What are you studying? Miche's told me very few things."

 He shouldn't have told you anything at all, you want to say. 

 "Um, it's good. I'm an earth sciences major, geology specifically, so Mike—uh—Miche's been helping me study a lot."

 He leans down to speak so only you can hear, "Not necessary to call me that. She's gonna know who you're talking about when you say Mike."

 Not that you'll tell him, but you kind of like the way 'Miche' feels, the way it rolls from your lips to the back of your mouth, and for just one second, you think about how you'd like to moan it in his ear. 

 "So, uh," you shake your head in an attempt to get it back on straight. "Yeah, it's going good, I think."

 "It is nice that you study together," Maia hums, slicing into the dish to portion it out. "Miche probably enjoys the break from his fraternity life." 

 Mike makes an unsure noise, but you grin and lean on the counter, eyes shining as you look at the middle-aged woman, "You know, speaking of that, I need to know what he was like before the whole frat thing 'cause—"

 "Uhh, we don't need to talk about that," Mike quickly cuts you off. 

 Maia, however, catches your eye and winks, a silent promise that she'll fill you in later. 

 Mike sees it, whines a dramatic, "Mamá, please."

 You laugh, glancing over at him with a devious smile that makes him roll his eyes and grumble something. 

 The creak of a door opening followed by the sound of a screen slamming back against the frame signals the arrival of Mike's father. It takes him a couple minutes to join everyone in the kitchen, probably taking the time to get more comfortable after what you assume to be a long day. 

 When he does walk in, once styled hair fallen out of place, top two buttons of his shirt undone, you see exactly where Mike gets most of his looks. He may have gotten his fucking mane from his mother, but he definitely got his height and his eyes from his father. 

 "Oh!" He stops short when he sees you, looks at his wife, then at you, then at Mike. "Is this the girl?" 

 "Dad!" 

 Both of his parents snicker as he turns to you, pleading more than telling, "Just ignore them, they don't know what they're talking about."

 You don't pay him any mind, join in on the fun when you lift an eyebrow and tease, "Am I, Mike? Am I the girl?"

 "Oh my god, this is gonna be a nightmare," he groans, the tips of his ears growing red. Still, he tries to put on a stern face as he points at his parents, speaks in beautiful, rolling words that are beyond you, then turns his flashing gaze to you and commands, "And you, don't encourage them."

 "Mm, no promises." You stick the tip of your tongue between your teeth and wink at his mom the way she had at you earlier. 

 All of you sit at an actual table for dinner, something you haven't done in at least a decade, as you talk and laugh between bites of food. Scout is laying underneath, waiting for someone to drop a piece of food, and every once in a while, you feel her wet nose nudge against your calf.

 Maia and Chris are very kind and very funny, and it isn't just because they pick on their son all the time. Chris talks about his day in the office, complaining about coworkers the same way Mike complains about his brothers—"I just don't understand why you would eat sardines in the break room! Someone explain it to me!" Maia tells everyone about the three hour phone call with her mother—"My god that woman can talk. Every time we said goodbye, she would just start on something new!"

 "Explains where you get it from," Chris says with a chuckle. 

 Maia scoffs then stabs a piece of his food with her fork, eating it with purpose as her husband watches. 

 You lean over to Mike and murmur, "They're cute. I like 'em."

 He grunts. "That makes one of us."

 Sucking your teeth, you mimic his mother's actions and dig your fork into the meat of his pepper, stealing a bite and scraping your teeth over the utensil in a way you know drives him crazy. 

 You immediately regret it when you realize how big the piece is, filling your mouth so that it's hard to chew, and you grab a napkin to cover yourself while Mike snorts and smugly says, "Yeah, bet you feel real smart right now. How does thievery taste?" 

 Shoving his arm, you manage to swallow down enough of the food to talk and tell him, "Tastes delicious."

 When you look back across the table, you find Maia and Chris staring at you and Mike with shining eyes and matching grins. 

*

You get along well with Mike's parents. A little too well in his opinion. There are a couple mornings you wake up earlier than he does and share coffee with his mother. He'll walk in to hear her sharing terrible stories about how, "He was such a sensitive little boy," and, "I miss the days he and his friends would spend afternoons here playing their little games."

 She even breaks out the photo albums one evening after dinner, leaving Mike mortified as you laugh and 'aww' at the pictures of past birthdays, Boy Scout outings, and the horrors of middle and high school. 

 "Look how cute you are with braces!"

 "Please stop."

 "All dressed up for Easter, oh my god, are those bunny ears?" 

 "Mom made me."

 "You were so skinny. What happened?" 

 "Are you calling me fat?" 

 "No, I'm calling you buff. Dummy."

 Less embarrassing are the long walks the two of you take with Scout (who also loves you, of course). She stays close to your hip as you wander around the park, only leaving your side when you throw her favorite ball. At the house, she noses at you until you shift to let her lay either at your feet or on the couch with her big head in your lap. 

 It's the cutest fucking thing Mike has ever seen, and he hates it because he can't do anything about it. He can't tell you how much he likes seeing you walk around in his house. He can't tell you how much joy it brings him to hear your laugh ring out alongside his parents'. He can't tell you how much he loves seeing you slide into his old bed in nothing but one of his shirts, making yourself comfortable against his chest and weaving your legs between his. 

 He can't tell you, but he can do his best to show you. 

 Late at night when his parents are asleep, when the buzzing TV is the only thing lighting the room, Mike moves inside of you with deep, slow thrusts. He hikes your legs up to lock around his waist or pulls you up against himself if he's taking you from behind. No matter the position, it leaves you clawing at him, breathing heavily, jaw dropping open in a silent scream. 

 You feel so good, so tight around him even after he gets you ready for his cock. Your silken walls squeeze and milk him, pulling every drop of cum from him to soak into you. Fuck, he's so glad you're letting him do that now, fill you up until you can't take any more, until white is dribbling from your messy pussy. The way you look at him all fucked out is intoxicating, eyes droopy, smile lazy, body twitching with aftershocks as he sucks on your neck and kisses down your shoulders. 

 You have to know. You have to. Mike knows his feelings are written all over his face when he looks at you, may as well be carved into his skin. The words are on the tip of his tongue every night, but he muffles them with kisses, with burying his face between your legs, with sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. 

 He can't say it because saying it makes it real. Saying it will make it hurt more. 

 So Mike keeps his mouth shut, watches you every day as you converse with his parents and play with Scout. You poke around his bedroom in your usual nosy fashion, finding the rest of his Magic cards, old D&D books and privacy screens. The dusty record player he'd inherited from his grandfather interests you above all else, vinyls stacked around it, some old, some new, and as you flip through them now, cross-legged on the floor and swimming in his hoodie, you tell him the little things you talked about with his mom earlier in the day. 

 "She showed me your baby teeth," you say with a snort. "Why do parents keep those? My mom did too."

 "Black Magic, obviously," Mike says seriously, but when you glance up at him, he chuckles. "I don't know, babe. It's fuckin' weird, though."

 You grin and look back down at The Alan Parsons Project vinyl in your lap. You're quiet for a moment, but when you do speak up, it's in a quiet voice. "I'm pretty sure they think I'm your girlfriend."

 Mike cringes on the bed, shutting his eyes and sighing. "Yeah, that's probably 'cause I told them you were." 

 "What?" You turn your whole body to face him, eyes wide and incredulous. 

 Sitting up, Mike holds his hands out and questions, "What was I supposed to tell them? Hey, mom and dad, I'm bringing home this girl I fuck at school all the time."

 "We don't just fuck," you scoff. "You could've said friend or… Study buddy."

 "Study buddies with benefits," he lets out a humorless laugh. "How many of those study sessions end with your mouth around my cock?" 

 "That's beside the point." You stand up and walk over to the bed, hands on your hips as you glare at him in an unconvincing manner. You're not actually upset, Mike realizes. A little annoyed maybe but more surprised than anything. "The point is they expect us to do couple-y things."

 "We do do couple-y things." Mike reminds you, rolling his eyes when you snicker and murmur 'ha, do do'. "Oh my god, you're a dork."

 "So are you. And, a dumb one. What happens when they find out we're not actually together? Are we gonna have to stage a break up somewhere down the line?" 

 "Stop worrying about it," Mike tries, reaching out for one of your arms to pull you on top of him. You must be very used to straddling him at this point. It seems like you're in his lap more often than you're not these days, even if the two of you are just talking. "Just chill and fake it for a little while longer."

 You pout, glancing to the wall for a second before you mutter, "Might be tough. I've never had to fake anything for you before."

 Mike groans and traces his fingers up your sides, stopping at your shoulders and using them to guide you closer to him. With your face only millimeters from his, he barely even has to whisper when he presses, "Fake it just this once."

 You nod, lips brushing his, and from there you both devolve into sloppy kisses and desperate hands. As always.

[ next ]

[winterscaptain]

immovable object.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: happy birthday aaron hotchner!! here’s a little something i cooked up, just for y’all who wanted to see something from aaron’s point of view. i figured a birthday would be as good a time as any to share a little bit of aaron’s head, even if it’s not his (actual) age this year. as always, i love to hear what you think! takes place au!november 2018

words: 2.3k warnings: language, implication of sex, light drinking/alcohol use

summary: “the years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. you are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down.” - t.s. elliot

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

Fifty. 

Aaron wasn’t sure where he’d be by fifty. He’d only had loose examples over the course of his life, as his father kicked it before he got to that point. But then again…

His father never appreciated what he had. Two sons, different to the point of extremity, a wife who loved him even through all his (many) shortcomings, and a big house in northern Virginia that he could afford with his very plush salary working on The Hill as a prosecutor. Nevertheless, he drank himself to death at forty-seven. 

So…

Where am I at fifty? 

He looks down into his lap, finding Caroline tucked into the crook of his elbow with a hand in her mouth while they sit in his armchair. She’s teething now, but she isn’t half as unbearable about it as Isaac. 

Isaac. 

Aaron scans the room, finding his son with Spencer and Hank at the formal dining room table. Spence has them both in his lap and reads aloud from whatever Russian novel he’s flying through. As Aaron listens closer, he realizes Spencer is translating as he goes, reading the book in English. 

Tolstoy should be fine for toddlers...right?

Another scan sends him to you, sitting on the floor with a bottle and a spit-up rag, Sophia snarfing down her afternoon snack like it’s her job. 

You find his eyes, double-taking a little. What?

Nothing. Aaron’s mouth presses into an amused little line. 

With a fond roll of your eyes, you turn back into the conversation with Sean and Derek. 

And that’s another thing. 

Aaron never expected to really have his brother in his life as an adult. To his surprise, it's a rather pleasant change of circumstance. Once he moved out of New York and back to Virginia, Sean really got his act together. The arrival of his second nephew didn’t hurt. At your behest, Aaron called him in Isaac’s first weeks, inviting him over to meet the new addition. He feels silly now, for starting a spat with you about it in the moment. It’s not easy, but it’s good. 

He’s the first one to admit that you did most of the heavy lifting, leveraging your similar age and propensity to draw flocks of the struggling and confused. 

Your Honor, I’d like to present Exhibit A in regard to struggling and confused - Aaron Benjamin Hotchner - before the court. 

He laughs down his nose at his own train of thought. Caroline fusses, but once she’s sitting up in his lap, one of his hands across the entirety of her chest and little belly, she’s happy. 

Will she continue to insist on seeing everything? Will she always be so quiet? 

There’s something about Caroline’s eyes, even as they continue to settle into their permanent color, that is inherently wise. He knows, logically, that Caroline and Sophia are near-identical, but neither of you have ever had any trouble telling them apart. 

If someone asked, he wouldn’t be able to articulate the differences. He just knows. 

Aaron almost startles when you appear at his side, Sophia freshly burped and smooshed against your shoulder. 

“You look pensive.” It’s a gentle accusation. 

Aaron snorts. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be pensive.” He holds Caroline up for a minute and you accept the invitation, planting yourself in his lap. Sophia’s still in your arms, so it’s a bit crowded, but nevertheless, you swing your legs over the arm of the chair and melt against Aaron’s chest. 

The girls, of course, are delighted to see each other and make a happy, babbling pair sitting on your abdomen and thighs, watching all the action in the living room. 

Aaron presses a kiss to your head and just for another second wonders how he got so lucky. 

“Hey. Quit.”

He looks down, meeting your eyes. “What?”

You look at him, soft and affectionate. “You’ll never stop, will you?” 

“Probably not.” He adjusts again so he can cradle you in his arm while he keeps the girls stable with his free hand. “But that’s why I’ve got you.” 

“Unstoppable force meets immovable object?”

Aaron squints, making play at thinking. “Wasn’t that on our wedding announcements?” 

You huff a laugh and pat his chest twice. “Maybe it should have been.” 

Realistically, he knows he should be out socializing with everyone there to celebrate him and the fifty years he’s lived (only a couple of them in dog years), but he can’t bring himself to care. His cheek rests against your head, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm. Caroline has the other one of his hands, playing with his fingers (and putting those in her mouth, too) while Sophia sits back against him, threatening sleep. 

But really, nobody minds. They’re all having too much fun off the clock, with children of their own. Derek and Savannah lounge in the rec room, watching Tara, Sean, Will, Jack, and Henry play Mario Kart. Not far off is Kristy, wiping illicit frosting off her oldest son’s cheek before he rejoins the boys on the makeshift tournament arena. 

Matt, Dave, and Emily are gathered around the kitchen island, their wine glasses never far from their hands. JJ flits between the groups, her puttering instincts inescapable even outside of her domain. 

Luke and Penelope pretend they aren’t following each other from room to room, activity to activity. They are horrible actors, and Aaron wonders if the kid will ever pluck up the guts to do something about it. 

You didn’t. 

That doesn’t count. 

Yes, it does. 

JJ finally comes to rest beside Emily, propping herself up by her elbows as she sits backward on one of the barstools. “I’d never thought I’d see Hotch so happy.” 

Emily looks over her shoulder. What does she see?

She sees a man she’s known her entire career at the bureau, a man who hand-picked her to replace him when it was time for him to leave his post as unit chief, a man who lost almost everything and somehow found it again. 

She watches as Aaron says something to you, a wicked kind of humorous glint in his eye. She watches as you let out a loud laugh, accidentally startling your daughters in your lap. She watches as the girls process and pick up on their mother’s joy and start to shriek and clap. 

She watches Aaron live. 

“I dunno,” Emily says, finally. “I always thought those two might make it if they faced themselves.”

JJ humphs in the irony of it. “That’s a lot to ask.” 

“And yet -”

“- Somehow, they’ve managed.” JJ looks to her own family just in time to see Will taking advantage of the high ceiling, throwing Michael into the air and catching him. “It’s kind of funny, how things work out.” 

“I can’t believe he’s fifty.” Emily’s non-sequitur drops into JJ’s thoughts, which were rapidly devolving into the abstract. “It doesn’t seem right.” 

Dave taps Emily on the shoulder, reminding her he’s been there the whole time. “You’re in your late forties, I might remind you.” 

A kind of dissatisfied noise leaves her throat. “Thanks.” She turns, looking at him with a glare that could cut glass, but all in play. “Thanks for that.” 

“Just doing my civic duty.” 

Emily rolls her eyes and stands, wandering farther into the kitchen to pilfer a bag of animal crackers from the snack drawer. 

“Alright!” Penelope calls from the kitchen archway. “It’s time for cake!” 

That gets the attention of all the children in the vicinity who have experienced the unadulterated joy of Aunt Penelope’s buttercream frosting. 

Aaron tolerates the attention as you and the girls get shuffled (or in your case, shuffle yourself) off his lap. Emily takes Caroline while Savannah has Sophia. A quick glance finds Isaac on Dave's hip. With a little bit of a start, he realizes just how big his family is. They’re all here. 

For each other. 

For him. 

Soon enough, Penelope brings the cake - candles all lit (and no, there are not fifty of them - that was a hard no from the birthday boy) and places it in front of Aaron at the head of the dining room table. 

You kiss him on the cheek, distracting him while you put a ridiculous party hat on his head. You can almost feel his eye roll and you hear a few phone cameras click. Of course, shortly after, everyone starts singing at him - horrifically out of pace and key, but it’s perfect. 

He’s confronted with the back of a few more phones as parents and friends snap pictures out of habit. He reaches out to snag you around the waist and you end up half-sitting on the arm of his chair. 

You loop your arms around his neck, leaning into his side. “Make a wish.”

After one slow blink and a deep breath, he blows out the candles to whoops and hollers and baby shrieks. 

Your eyes snap up out of instinct, finding Isaac covering his ears and looking more and more alarmed by the minute. You toss another kiss onto Aaron’s forehead and quickly take Isaac from Dave, traveling down the hall with practiced haste. 

If he’s honest, Aaron forgot. He should have grabbed Isaac’s headphones from your office, but he didn’t. He should have warned his son about the loud noises and all the people before they overwhelmed him, but he didn’t. He should have remembered that his son needed more thought and attention than the others, but he didn’t. 

He hides his self-directed frustration well, but it doesn’t take long for him to make a quick and subtle escape. He knows the girls are just fine. Emily has Caro well in-hand and Savannah is always looking for an excuse to practice with the girls. She’s due in February, looking radiant and lovely. 

In a near-whisper, he calls for you and Isaac as he tracks down the hall on light feet. He hears you murmur, then Isaac’s voice: “Here, Dad,” guides him into your office, where you’re stationed on the floor under your desk. 

Isaac’s playing with the soft carpet chosen especially for him, his little fingers getting lost in the plush fabric. Aaron kneels down and rests his forearms on the ground, searching for Isaac’s eyes. 

“Hey, little man.” 

He hums. 

That’s a good thing. 

Aaron puts his hand on the carpet, about three inches away from Isaac’s. He can see it, but it’s not touching him, communicating his presence without sensation. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes over Isaac’s head. Not your fault. 

He shoots you a withering look. 

I’m serious, Aaron. You raise your eyebrows and shake your head. Not your fault. We’re okay. Your eyes flicker to Isaac before returning to Aaron. He’s okay. 

Aaron watches as you arc your body around him, getting close but not too close, running your fingers through the carpet on either side of him. Aaron wiggles his own fingers, sinking deeper into the blue shag. To his surprise, it calms him a little. 

Little Man might be onto something here. 

Eventually, Isaac leans back into you, and you slowly bring your hands to his hair, massaging his scalp with the tips of your fingers. You look at Aaron and nod once. 

He takes his cue. As always, he’s in awe of your command over Isaac’s needs. With a breath, and very quietly, he asks. “Are you feeling better, little man?”

His eyes still on the carpet, he nods. “Just loud.” 

“Yeah. It was pretty loud.” He looks up to the bookshelf, spotting his headphones on their charger. “Do you want to go back to the living room, maybe with your ears on? Or do you want to stay in here?”

The boy stills, thinking. In the two years he’s known his son, the turning of gears in Isaac’s little head enamors and amazes him. He can almost see their spokes behind his eyes. After a minute or so - 

“Living room, but only for a little while.” 

You kiss him lightly on the top of his head, where the band of the headphones rests. “Do you want your ears?”

He nods and Aaron rises, bringing the headphones back down. Isaac puts them on and wiggles a little where he sits. Aaron likes to imagine it’s his way of settling back into his body. 

Much to the surprise of everyone present, Isaac reaches out to Aaron. With soft eyes, he takes his son in his arms, letting him wrap like a koala around his neck and chest. 

The three of you return, finding everyone still milling about, eating cake, and sharing space together. Jack, catching sight of you, jogs over. “Is Isaac okay?”

You nod, brushing the hair off Jack’s forehead. “Yeah, bud. It just got a little overwhelming for a minute.”

It’s been eleven years of you and Jack, but it never gets old for Aaron. The way you are with each other - somehow balancing a parent-child relationship with a steadfast best-friendship - constantly surprises and warms him. 

Jack nods, circling around so he can get into Isaac’s eye line. He waves a little, and Isaac waves back, lifting his hand briefly from Aaron’s collar. Jack offers a fist, and Isaac reaches out to tap it with three of his fingers. 

Aaron closes his eyes, taking it in. 

+++

“So,” you say, tucking into bed beside him. “Fifty.” 

“So,” He doesn’t pull his eyes from his book. “Thirty-six.” He throws you a side-eye, immediately noticing the playful glint in your eye. “Don’t start.” 

You raise your eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Start what? I’m just appreciating my loving and handsome and thoughtful and distinguished husband on his birthday.” You scoot and shift, straddling him. “Are you gonna let me?”

That gets his attention. Keeping his eyes on you, he markes his place and sets the book on his bedside table. “I might.” 

You lean down, pressing your lips to his, speaking quietly against his mouth, like a secret. “Happy Birthday, my love.” 

If anyone asked, Aaron loved his present. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @cevanswhre @joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101

[smaidjor]

i know they're losing (chapter 2)

Hello everyone! Since the last chapter received such a positive response (well, if screaming could be called a positive response), I've decided to not make you all wait long for the second chapter of this fic. Also, I have no self-control. Anyways!

Once again obligatory disclaimer this is characters not people, don't ship real people, etc.

Chapter Title: over snow and winter's morn

Chapter Wordcount: 3203

Content warnings: more discussion of death, also quite a bit of Scott being a bit of a dick. He's going through it, besties.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Actual fic under the cut:

Jimmy doesn’t get a chance to return the ring any time in the next few weeks. Scott must have told Katherine that he visited, since she doesn’t come to bother him about it, and every time Jimmy tries to go to Rivendell, something gets in the way. Demon attacks, urgent business in his empire, once even Scott’s own guards turning him away. Apparently Scott is a ‘busy elf’. Jimmy doesn’t doubt he is, but he also doesn’t doubt that Scott’s actively trying to avoid him. Scott is a petty man, ultimately, and Jimmy knows this, used to love it like he loved all his husband’s flaws, all his imperfections that were perfect to Jimmy. Now, though, it just hurts that Scott’s turning that pettiness on him.

Finally, something changes. Jimmy gets an invitation (in person!) from one of his closest allies; Lizzie wants to hold a ball, and she wants as many people as possible to come. It will be fancy and formal, with dancing and politics and all the things Jimmy’s just a bit awkward with, but he is an extrovert at heart, and well...Scott will be there, as Lizzie warns him.

“I know you and him don’t really get on, so I get if you don’t want to come. I really hope you will, though, it’s going to be a fun night!”

Jimmy nods. “I’ll be there! I need to talk to Scott anyways, actually, got to return this ring to him. It’s important, I think.”

“Gotcha! See you there,” Lizzie says with a broad smile. Jimmy appreciates that she doesn’t ask any questions about the ring, especially given that it’s the one thing holding together his emotional state right now.

And that’s how he finds himself frantically searching for something fancy enough to wear to a formal ball, wishing he’d had the forethought to plan for this a bit better. Scott would have planned, he thinks, would have had an outfit laid out for each of them and the time it would take them to get there exactly calculated.

He shakes that thought off, settling for a green tunic with copper accents. It’s not the most elegant thing in the world, especially when you take into account the slime that’s dripped onto it, but it’ll have to do. It’s representative of his empire for sure, and the copper is a nod to his ally. It’s good enough, and that’s what matters, Jimmy thinks.

Lizzie greets him when he enters the ballroom, smiling widely with her new fiance by her side. “Jimmy! Glad you could make it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I did make it! Here I am!” The smile he gives her is genuine; he likes Lizzie. She's fierce and kind all at once, the best kind of ally.

Joel offers him a brief wave, which Jimmy happily returns before Lizzie drags him off to chat.

“So, heard from a little birdy you’ve actually been visiting Scott,” Lizzie says, a grin like the cat that got the bird on her face.

“As a favor to Katherine,” Jimmy quickly clarifies.

She nods. “She did say that, yes. She also said she heard about the visit from Scott himself.”

Jimmy hates himself a little for being pathetic enough to ask “What did- did she say what he said? Was he talking about me?”

“She didn’t say exactly, but he seemed ‘shaken up’, apparently...and a little wistful.”

“Oh, no. Lizzie, no.”

“Say, why did you have his ring?” She’s still grinning, a little more evil this time.

“It’s a long story!” Jimmy blurts, and flees. How’s he supposed to say ‘oh we were married on a server where we thought we were going to permanently die and then we respawned here and now Scott’s refusing to talk to me because the grief over my last death is slowly killing him’ tactfully? There’s just no way to do it! Nice one, Jimmy, now she thinks you’re in love with him or something, he thinks ruefully. Not that he isn’t- wasn’t. Wasn’t. Scott’s made it very clear that he and Jimmy are through.

Still, even with his depressing thoughts, the ball is pretty okay. No one’s gotten assassinated, there haven’t been any demonic appearances, Lizzie’s already showing off her engagement ring, and he’s pretty sure Joey’s going off about how hot demons are. It’s a decent party, by empires standards.

Scott makes an appearance some twenty minutes or so later, stepping into the ballroom with typical elven grace. He’s not a very elven elf, as he once told Jimmy, short and sarcastic with a love for mortals, but he still looks twice as elegant as everyone else in the ballroom. The shakiness in his step from a few weeks ago seems entirely gone, and for a minute, Jimmy’s heart leaps in hope. Maybe he’s getting better?

Well, only one way to find out. Jimmy swallows the complicated knot of emotion in his chest as he crosses the ballroom, coming to an ungraceful stop in front of Scott. Up close, the elf looks worryingly pale, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like a strong breeze might sweep him away.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy returns, dipping his head a little. Look, Scott, he can be formal too, alright? “Care for a dance?”

Scott stares for a long moment before giving a single nod. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind.” He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Now, Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and he’s not too proud to admit it. He steps on Scott’s feet, gets off-rhythm once or twice, and nearly crashes them straight into Lizzie and Joel. But despite their current status as enemies(ex-spouses?), Scott says nothing about it. He’s silent, in fact, seemingly caught up in the music. There’s something wistful about his expression, something soft and gentle hidden under his icy facade. If Jimmy tries hard enough, he can almost pretend that the two of them are back in 3rd life, dancing under the stars, and Scott is looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

The illusion is shattered, however, by how heavily Scott is leaning on him by the end of the dance. He’s unsteady on his feet, grip like iron on Jimmy’s hand and shoulder. Though Jimmy can’t feel his hands though the gloves, when he brushes against Scott’s arm, it’s still a little too cold to be entirely right.

The music slows and then pauses before the next song, and they head for the edge of the dance floor.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He steps away, face falling back into the emotionless facade so quickly it’s hard to be sure the tender expression of a moment before wasn’t a dream.

That’s the final straw for Jimmy’s fragile self-control. “Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?”

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

“Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I’m still in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says, a little softer, a little bitter. “I know, trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

“Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf!” They’ve kept their voices low enough, but people nearby are still starting to stare at them. Jimmy can’t bring himself to care. “You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

Scott’s expression is pained for a moment before he covers it with a glare. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

“I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.”

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy protests. “I want you.”

“You can’t have me.”

“But why? Why, Scott?” His voice breaks, embarrassingly enough. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.”

“I can’t give you that!” Scott snaps. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.”

“Enough for me? For ME? All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existance once in a while!”

“And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?” Scott counters.

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

In the silence that follows, he realizes that most of the ballroom must have heard the end of their little lovers’ quarrel. In fact, Lizzie’s somehow appeared next to him, laying a hand on his arm.

“Is everything alright, boys?” Her tight smile says that they will most certainly get kicked out of the ball if they continue this, and Jimmy can’t blame her.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” Scott says, switching to a formal tone with ease that Jimmy envies. He dips his head in respect, and only Jimmy sees how his hands tremble. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.”

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and sweeps away.

“Coward!” Jimmy shouts after him, anger making him bold. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

“Stop it,” Lizzie scolds. “You’ve already made quite the scene, and I did essentially kick him out. I’m not sure how much further you really want to carry it.”

“He is though, Lizzie, he’s a coward! Doesn’t want to face me because that means facing- well, facing everything that’s happened!”

“What do you mean, everything that’s happened?” Lizzie turns to the gathered audience of people who have been watching the spat, shooing them off as best as possible. They slowly disperse, thank goodness. “You and he are enemies, right?”

Jimmy almost winces. “It’s a bit- it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“I can see that. Jimmy, that looked like a messy breakup!”

“It, um, well, it was. Sort of.”

“Oh, Jimmy.” Lizzie’s giving him a sympathetic look, which she follows up with a tight hug. “Next time, how about we don’t invite him?”

He nods against her shoulder, rage leaving him as quickly as it came. Instead, he just feels...tired. “Thanks, Lizzie.”

“Of course. We look after each other, yeah?’

“Yeah.”

Jimmy leaves the ball exhausted, still reeling from everything that happened. The few lingering bits of anger are what gets him home, a bitter taste in his mouth from the bitter words he spat. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott! He refuses to regret them.

Scott’s ring nearly ends up in the swamp again, but Jimmy’s cooled down enough by the time he gets back that he can’t bear to throw it away. Instead, it goes in a box which he tucks into his old storage chest, somewhere he’ll never have to see it again. Scott can go to hell if he wants the ring back after all that.

-

For a while, Jimmy’s plan to tuck the ring and never think about Scott again seems to be working. Lizzie visits a few times to check on him, but she never asks specifically about Scott, and Jimmy doesn’t say anything about him. He receives radio silence from Rivendell, and he tells himself that it’s good, that he doesn’t want to hear from Scott.

So yes, his plan is working, up until he gets a knock on his door and opens it to find Scott there.

The elf looks terrible, frankly, almost worse than he did at the ball. His hair, which is usually so nicely done, is a mess, cyan strands falling all across his face. His clothes are wrinkled and have swamp mud on them, his eyes have dark circles as violent as bruises, and he’s swaying a tiny bit. In short, he looks like he didn’t sleep for a week, chugged coffee, and fought god in a denny’s parking lot.

Jimmy thinks he’s kinda hot.

No, he doesn’t. Fake news, brain.

“Hi,” Scott says.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy’s voice rises, in shock or outrage even he doesn’t know.

“I came to apologize.” Though he looks like he’s going to pass out at any second, Scott’s voice is steady. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps, but there’s little real rage behind it.

“I know. I- uh- fuck.” Scott’s hands are shaking as he pulls out a little box from some hidden pocket. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy takes it, curious despite himself, and finds that what’s inside is a silver bracelet with little crystals embedded in it. Flowers are the predominant design; he recognizes roses, hyacinths, irises, anemone, and poppies. On the underside, there’s elven lettering, though Jimmy has no clue what it says. The whole thing is a little clumsy, not quite as professionally made as the ring Scott once gave him, and Jimmy looks up at Scott. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.”

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says.

Scott’s shoulders slump with relief. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts again, a tremble in his voice that wasn’t there before. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.”

“Is it that- that dire?”

The barest nod. “This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, Jimmy staring down at the bracelet.

Scott breaks it. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am yours still, if you’ll have me.”

A part of Jimmy is very tempted to throw both Scott’s gift and his love back in his face. He can’t bring himself to stay mad, though, not when Scott’s looking at him like that, with so much raw vulnerability. So much devotion, like Jimmy’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. It would be so, so easy to break that last strand of fragile hope in his expression; he’s offering up his heart on a silver platter, ready to shatter. Jimmy could- should- yell at him, reject his gift, tell him that he’s ruined any chance he has at Jimmy’s love.

Jimmy kisses him instead. It’s messy and it’s sudden and he very nearly drops Scott’s gift in the swamp in his haste to tangle his hands in Scott’s hair and press their lips together, but it’s real.

The little startled noise Scott makes gets cut off by Jimmy’s mouth on his. Scott’s lips are chapped and taste a little of glowberries, but Jimmy doesn’t care. He’s going to kiss his damn husband, something he thought he was never going to get to do again.

When they finally have to separate, Scott’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed. It’s a good look on him, Jimmy thinks, much more alive than his pale, rigid expression from before.

“So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?” Scott’s voice is wry, collected, but his blush ruins the smooth effect.

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

“Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again, just to shut him up. Scott goes with it easily, leaning into Jimmy’s embrace without complaint.

They pull apart quicker this time, and Jimmy holds the bracelet out. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott nods. His hands are cold against the skin of Jimmy’s wrist when he fastens the clasp, but Jimmy grabs them and holds them in his own warm ones until they don’t feel quite so much like ice. It’s something. It’s a beginning.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he doesn’t let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk about a lot of things. Empires, 3rd life, nightmares. Pufferfish, cake, flowers. They talk about the trials and tribulations of ruling; really, Jimmy complains that people keep attacking him and Scott nods in sympathy.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please,” he adds, feeling his face flush at how desperate he sounds.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep.”

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

“No, no.” Scott kneels back down, peering at him like Jimmy’s a puzzle that needs solving. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Jimmy.”

“I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts, and immediately flushes again. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

“Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me,” he manages. “It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!”

Scott’s frowning, worry wrinkling his brow. “Alright. How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.”

Jimmy nods, feeling especially pitiful as Scott helps him to his feet. “Thank you.”

“Always. Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just….give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Scott doesn’t elaborate, and Jimmy is too distracted looking for the ring to ask what he means.

Scott’s offer of protection feels flimsier when he has to lean on Jimmy as they travel back to Rivendell, but even then, it’s impossible to feel quite so afraid now that Jimmy isn’t alone anymore. And it’s even harder to fear anything that could happen when he’s safe in a warm bed, his head tucked against his husband’s chest. They’ll be okay, Jimmy thinks. They’ve been given another chance, and this time they’re going to get it right.

[deepphantomstarfish]

Starting a Tumblr

I stared at the screen in dumbfound shock, realizing, lost in an abyss of wondering why, that I had been brushed off. From friendship, from life, from a girl who I thought was my friend and wanted to see me grow. My thumb hovered over the list of followers on instagram, wondering why. I thought this girl was my friend.

I’ve been on an up and down spiral these past few days locked inside my house and room, the cold whispering in spiraling snowflakes outside my window, leaving me and my family to remain in our own little bubbles once again. I’m surprised I don’t consider myself a ballerina in a snow globe by now, just waiting to be turned to the enjoyment of those around me.

I can’t remember what ‘triggered’ it, what set me off on deciding I was going to go through my instagram followers and those I was following and start trimming off any emotional baggage or weight preventing me from growing. I think I was already considering it for a long time as I’d been getting signs, thoughts, and just thinking in general about leaving instagram for a while due to the toxicity its had on my life and others as a whole. So that’s what I’ve been doing these past couple of days - considering leaving I decided before I did anything too drastic and just pulled a plug all together perhaps following a guide to reduce the amount of people I follow and following smartly might help my negativity surrounding it. But, that’s when I stumbled across something that I never expected and I wasn’t prepared for;

A girl, who I thought I was pretty good friends with, had unfollowed me and I didn’t even know when. I hadn’t even considered it a possibility that she would have, especially because I went to her birthday party just a few weeks ago and had a absolutely great time. I had even spent all day gathering her a gift, a gift I knew I would have loved, of cute trinkets such as a candle, body exfoliator, some super soft soap, and a picture frame with recently developed some pictures I took on my phone when we were still in high school. I even included more thinking that, since it was her 21st I wanted to get her a nice gift as I did with all my friends I appreciated in the past. 

But I had to leave the party early, which I told her before I left why I had to leave. Maybe I should have told her before I came to her party but anyway I had to leave early. However, she seemed fine before I left.

Yet, here I am. I don’t know what led me to look under her following list. I’ve felt like a bit superficial in the past few days unfollowing anybody who doesn’t or hasn’t followed me back but if I’m going to be honest I don’t judge anyone too harshly for it. But it does feel so liberating especially considering this isn’t a new thing for me; ever since I was little... I was always the friend put second. And I’d always put up with that. I’d always taken whatever anyone would give thinking the best of everybody. I was always the one no one ever invited not because I was negative I assume... honestly I don’t know why. I never complained though because well I’m gonna be blunt... No one wants to hear the woes of a girl who has ‘it all’ on the outside, living with a/c, electricity, and a bed to comfort her. However, it has always bothered me even though it wasn’t something I could really complain about - being the second girl. The one no one really took the time to remember. Being on the outside I always wanted friends, lots of them. I just wanted what anyone else did - to be happy. 

And yet, why couldn’t anybody see? Why was everyone so willing to put me second? To live as though I was fine with being forgotten?

So if I’m going to be honest, going through my social media followings in order to reduce the negativity in my life felt so liberating as the more I just thought - well why not? Let’s just reduce our platform so we don’t have to spend so much time on it, the more I felt like I was starting to put myself first. It was a feeling I... it made me happier, feel freer the more I went on. The rules were twofold- don’t go out searching like some crazed number psychopath. Just next time you get on, the first few people who pop up in your feed see if they’ve been following you, ask yourself what are they contributing to your life or if they are even in your day to day, week to week life. If they aren’t in your life and they haven’t followed you back, you don’t have to keep following them. You aren’t under any obligation, you don’t owe them a thing. Apologies if I sound so shallow and childish. This should be common sense but I guess it took me a while to learn to start taking care of myself.

Anyway, I’ve actually... been enjoying this process of growth I guess. Oh boy, does that make me a sociopath? Who knows, I don’t know. All I know is every time I stopped giving my energy to people who seemingly were on my feed, I was following out of some social obligation, out of hope they might turn around one day and say ‘hey you you’re worthy of my time and attention too! Even though I don’t follow you’, even though in the grand scheme of things this might all be baloney... I still felt. Lighter, I guess. It was so relieving. 

But then when I was out last night with my family to celebrate my little sister’s birthday, and decided to text the girl I’m referring to, a girl I assumed I was friends with, if she wanted to celebrate with us at our house later, I didn’t get an answer. I was confused as I’d seen her story the past few days. I’d replied to a few of them to no response. Which wasn’t odd - I don’t blame her, we can’t all reply to people 24/7. Not to mention this is something she’s asked me before and I have always been so delighted every time she’d invite me over, I thought it was time to return the offer. But the longer I continued to check for a response, or to see the usual ‘read’ receipt on the text, the longer I began to suspect something was up. 

Could she... have just ignored me? I thought.

No. 

No, she wouldn't; I don’t think she’s that kind of person. She wouldn’t just get upset about something and not tell me right? She wouldn’t just drop me from our life?

The thought hit me; check her following. 

No, how childish can I be right? It’s just instagram, it’s not like she’d literally drop me without telling me. It doesn’t mean anything. But if that’s the case, then... what’s the harm, right?

I went to check. Low and behold. She was following everyone in our circle but me.

Once again, sorry if this sounds so arrogant. The world isn’t only mine. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt.

No warning. No confrontation. I even gave her a card I’d taken the time to write just for her and our friendship. Not even a reply to my text. To this moment, even though it was last night I still haven’t gotten a response and I’m just going to assume I’m not going to because this girl is, whenever she’s not at work, literally on her phone 24/7 and it’s the running joke we have in our circle. 

Stunned, I refreshed the page over and over again. Days of finding out who I thought was just stringing me along as a digit in their follower count, of finding out who it was that actually wanted to watch me grow, or maybe this doesn’t mean anything at all and she just doesn’t want to follow me anymore it’s possible... even though I know to her that’s unlikely - instagram means something to girls like this. And, honestly. To girls like me too. No, not the follow count. Not the superficial lies of it all. 

Just the truth echoing behind the screens. And this lie was all I needed to see to understand a truth I thought didn’t extend to her -- I was excess. A photographer for her pretty lies. This surprised me because I just, I guess I thought she was better than the other girls who’d come and gone so easily in my life; from grade school to high school, I could tell the ones who reciprocated the energy I gave to them and I thought she cared about our friendship. So, if our exchanges meant so little to her when I thought we were close... if I was the second piece, not someone to support her in everything she did like I try to be in all my friendships,

I was done.

Days of realizing who treated the instagram machine like their own personal game and their actual social circle, I was done trying to pretend like this didn’t hurt me anymore. I won’t lie- this did kind of hurt. 

But if she wants to show up and pretend like I didn’t notice, just know; I’m done trying to pretend like people put me second. I am worthy of having people in my life who care about me in my circle, and actually care. If anyone actually reads this, feel free to make fun of me but just know don’t pretend like instagram doesn’t mean anything to some people. I’m learning to downsize mine so it means less. But you know as well as I do there are those out there treating it like their personal wealth machine, dragging their ‘friends’ along like spare bodies to hold the camera instead of actual support systems.

So anyway. Learning to put myself first isn’t going to be easy. Especially when I've been grading myself morally for so long on putting up with others, taking whatever comes my way and going the extra mile for everyone. I still will. But now, as someone who is starting to learn how to have healthy relationships with herself and others for her own happiness, someone who is prioritizing growing in this weird time of my life, I’m going to say fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. But drop me three times, I’m going to be kind to everyone and learn to forgive, but it’s time I start taking care of myself and knowing where my happiness really is.

This Tumblr is my journey. Of life, and my career. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know where I’ll be, but if you like this is going to be my journey. In writing, trying to become a successful author hopefully or wherever my thoughts and life takes me. This is my first step in choosing how to show up for myself.

As a reminder, it’s okay to still love other people, forgive and support them. But the moment it becomes at the expense of yourself is the moment you need to take a step back. I hope whoever is reading this knows they are worthy of true happiness, no matter who they might offend. A clean and kind one. This Tumblr is my journey to a healthy life (not a professional guide. Just me, a girl trying to find her way in her own little world), a better me conducive to the mindset and future I’ve always not dreamt of, but needed. If you want to tag along, thank you. I guess the first step to learning how to enjoy life is to let go of all that no longer carries you and to just know that, it’s okay to put yourself first on the road too healing.

I’m not going to pretend like I know it all- I’m just an ordinary 20 year old girl in an odd 21st century. Who overthinks all the time, loves sea creatures and wild orca/killer whale pics, loves books and writing even though her ADDD can be hard to manage still she tries, who wants to write a book even though she has writer’s block most of the time, but is always observing. Always hoping to learn more. A girl who loves God, but  has also unfortunately seen the downsides of religion. A girl who for most of her life has wanted happiness, has wanted just for once not to be second place in her own life. This blog, these are my thoughts and this is just my ordinary journey to finding out where I want to be. A place where I can be me, happy and loved in my own life. Tag along if you like!  

Thank you for reading this. Even if it literally seems like the silliest most emotionally overblown post about social media (lol), thank you.

[ofvindictc]

tagging:  @ofisolaticn & @ofprinciples location:  levi’s  apartment. description:  the  game  comes  to  an  end.  there’s  defeat,  there’s  victory,  and  a  few  twists  you  might  not  have  seen  coming.  

levi stone / daniel warren

when  disaster  strikes,  there  are  always  warning  signs.   alarm  bells  before  a  hurricane,  or  little  shocks  before  a  devastating  earthquake.   little  signals,  little  hints,  that  your  world  is  about  to  turn  upside  down.   he'd  always  thought  he'd  see  the  end  coming  when  it  inevitably came,  would  see  the  threads  of  his  plan  start  to  unravel  before  they  went  nuclear.    none  of  that  happens  though.     he  doesn't  see  the  bracelet  on  henrik's  wrist  (  after  months  together,  he's  never  worn  one  before;   so  of  course,  he  stopped  looking  )   and  doesn't  notice  the  confusion  on  his  face  when  the  compulsion  doesn't  connect.    he's  distracted,  thoughts  on  amelia,  or  the  horseman's  insatiable  hunger  that  throbs  like  a  migraine  you  can't  kick,  so  he  misses  it. (  do  you  want  to  talk  about  your  day?  henrik  asks,  twice,  though  levi's  told  him  to  leave  it  alone.  no,  he  bites  back,  eyes  flashing  golden  with  irritation  before  he  realizes  the  error  of  his  ways.   forget  you  saw  that.   it  was  a  trick  of  the  light.  i'm  just  a  vampire.  ) if  he  was  thinking  as  logically  as  he  once  had,  before  amelia,  maybe  he  would  have  seen  henrik  pulling  away;   would  have  suspected  that  something  was  up.   he  never  does  though,  too  caught  up  in  the  never-ending   fight  to  keep  famine  nourished,  covering  up  his  murders,  and  ensuring  his  wife,  his  family,  will  make  it  through  the  horrors  that  they've  suffered.   the  divide  between  levi  and  daniel  is  so  wide,  so  blatant,  that  sometimes  when  he  looks  in  the  mirror  he  isn't  sure  who's  staring  back.   (  it's  a  problem.   he  knows  this.  )    it's  because  his  guard  is  down,  defences  lowered,  that  he  doesn't  see  the  attack  coming  before  it's  too  late.(edited)

henrik mikaelson 

it was a blissful ignorance, henrik realized later. with little signs, little breaks in the perfect image, ones that he saw and made the choice to ignore. it was easier to ignore. a amazing boyfriend, someone who loved him fully for who he was, someone who he put his heart in the hands of. someone who made him feel loved. someone so perfect they couldn't possibly be anything other than a manipulated figment of a dream. he'd just been a fool. thinking everything is going to be okay. pure fool. the bracelet was something he appreciated. he liked arlo. it was nice making friends, even if he was a bit on the younger side. henrik didn't feel the need to console him like he did his students, arlo was an old soul. someone who understood him in a way henrik was a bit shocked at, if he were being honest. he underestimated the younger man, completely. and then, when offered a small charm of a bracelet, he appreciated it. he said yes because it was NICE and there was no reason for a no. he asked levi about his day, twice. because he wanted to know, because he felt a distance, because he loved and he cared and maybe that'd been wrong. because levi's eyes flashed GOLDEN in anger ( he angered him that much?? ) and he looked him in the eyes like a vampire did and he tried to compel. and henrik was too starstruck to say a damn thing. he'd spoken to arlo and asked, nee, begged. for the compulsion to be erased, to be undone. and then--- it was. it was an agony, and it was heartbreak and henrik hated it for making him feel like a fool. and then, he also didn't. because as foolish as he felt, that kind of love was something he cherished. he'd never felt it before and despite the fury... there was gratefulness. it was arlo's idea to orb them and henrik couldn't help but agree. orb them in and watch the spell unfold. "hey," he greeted, awkwardly.

finn mikaelson

always  and  forever  is  a  pesky  mantra.   it  means  standing  by  the  sides  of  your  siblings  when   they  needed  you,  even  if  it  risked  exposure.  he'd  planned  on  just  keeping  an  eye  on  his  more  vulnerable  siblings,  make  sure  they  were  safe,  but  it  had  turned  out  that  his  youngest  brother  was  anything  but.    the  compelled  memories  tell  a  story  that  mystified  even  him  but  he's  not  in  a  position  to  give  henrik  grief,  only  solutions.   it's  why  they've  orbed  into  the  man's  living  room,  magical  binds  summoned  with  a  spell  to  knock  the  man  (  no,  the  hybrid  )   to  his  knees.

"  someone's  been  naughty. "   his  words  are  dry,  a  vial  of  truth  serum,  home  brewed,  gripped  in  his  free  hand.    the  man  struggles  against  the  restraints  as  he  approaches,  the  vial  poured  down  his  throat  once  he's  close  enough  to  keep  him  still.     the  restraints  might  not  hold  him  forever,  but  the  aneurysm  inducing  spell  that  can  split  a  vampire's  head  wide  open  with  a  powerful  migraine  will  be  equally  as  effective.

the  hybrid's  chest  is  heaving,  fangs  distended  as  his  eyes  glow  golden.    he's  exposed  himself  for  what  he  really  is  now;   there'll  be  no  denying  it  now.    "  who  the  hell  are  you ?"    this  is  directed  at  finn,   smirking  in  the  body  of  arlo  park.    "  henrik,  what  the  hell  is  this?   don't  let  him  do  this. "    the  original  considers  intervening,  telling  him  to  shut  up,  but  this  isn't  his  place;   this  is  henrik's  fight,  he's  just  here  to  ensure  it's  a  fair  one.

henrik mikaelson 

the memories were both like a romantic comedy and a horror movie played out through his eyes. they picked apples, they had romantic evenings, and henrik fell in love. and as much as it was fake, it also wasn't. not all of it. being aware of the facade didn't take back those whole feelings of love he felt. it didn't erase every wanting moment. every kiss, hug, comfort. what it did was on a level, worse. leaving a dark poisoned shroud over them. it was funny thing, when the thing you love most was a detriment. he remembered all those compulsions, every single one. from the ones to tell him to shut up, to go away, to not care when levi took bites out of him. god, he'd been a human blood bag for so so long and he thought it was OKAY. so yes, as much as there was love remaining there was also fire building. or maybe gasoline. the fire had yet to ignite. he'd spoken to arlo more then he planned to. confessed all the emotions that hurt so fucking much. he'd bee surprised at the man's sympathy as henrik went on and on and on. he considered a lot of things. telling a friend, boarding himself up at magic school, even telling his family, begging klaus to rip him to shreds. that idea had been appealing until he realized how much it would hurt. because his seething betrayal didn't shatter his LOVE. henrik sort of fucking hated that bit, admittedly. it'd be easier if he could straight up hate levi. he remembered the utter terror of running from the man, of him killing his own neighbor and compelling henrik that dreaded night. that... wasn't easy ( he kept flinching at loud noises now and he'd defeated THAT response at 19. he would need to defeat again, he would. )

. but, as much as he knew he didn't want to see levi die. some things did change. he used to be one of them, one of the most important people, one of the people henrik would do most anything for. from ignoring the wrongness of something, to helping commit atrocities if it meant keeping them safe and happy. that didn't apply anymore. he couldn't erase his feelings but he could erase that. he couldn't choose to not love, but he could choose not to care. he'd never heard arlo speak with such dryness. not that henrik could blame him all too much. golden eyes glow and henrik is... unsurprised. he knows what he knows, and he feels TIRED. he wants this over with, but he knows it's not that simple. the truth serum, arlo guaranteed it would work. which was why it was easy to ask such blunt questions. "do you love me?" he asked the words gently--- weakly, both dreading and expecting the answer all too well. "and..." better to rip off the band aid, right? "whats your name?"

levi stone / daniel warren 

tw: suicidal ideation

he  doesn't  bother  pulling  at  the  restraints  once  his  knees  hit  the  floor.   he  squirms  away  from  the  witch  that's  prying  his  mouth  open,  tries  to  growl  but  simply  ends  up  choking  on  whatever  they  pour  down  his  throat.    the  restraints  burn  his  wrists,  likely  some  kind  of  vervain  derivative  cooked  up  to  keep  him  down.    he  thinks  maybe  he  could  break  them  but  not  without  great  sacrifice.   (  famine's  already  weak.   he  hasn't  fed  today,   he  won't  be  able  to  help;    he  has  no  get  out  of  jail  free  card.  ) there's  a quiet  desperation  in  his  voice  as  he  pleads  for  henrik  to  stop  this,   for  him  to  free  him,  but  when  he  starts  asking  questions  —  that  mask  slips.    he  knows  now;   henrik  knows  the  truth.    there's  no  sense  arguing,  or  begging  for  mercy  --  for  compassion.     he's  been  found  out,   there's  no  absolution  here.    "  no. "    the  words  come  out  through  clenched  teeth,   one  last  attempt  at  keeping  this  charade  from  imploding.   he  fails,    like  maybe  he  always  knew  he  would,  and  hammers  the  final  nail  into  his  coffin.  "  i  never  did.   i've  only  loved  one  person   and  she's  not  you. "   it's  not  said  maliciously,  just  honestly.    maybe  the  most  honest  he's  ever  been  with  him. the  second  question  is  more  complicated.   it  draws  a  laugh,  wrists  tugging  against  the  restraints  and  inhaling  sharply  when  they  burn.   (  he  tugs  again  —  maybe  he  deserves  this  )    "  that  depends.   it's  getting  a  little  crowded  in  here  these  days. "    he  feels  compelled  to  tell  the  truth  but  he's  been  running  from  it  for  so  long  ...   it  feels  like  he's  poking  something  fractured;   something  damaged.   "  my  name  was  daniel.   then,  it  was  levi.    oh,  and   famine.   it's  a  regular  party  in  here. "(edited)

henrik mikaelson

despite it all, despite every single thing levi had done. from gaslighting him, to sinking his teeth into his skin, it still pained henrik to see him in this state. to see him held down with chains, his jaw pried open, he had too look away as arlo poured the truth serum down his throat. he felt guilt, guilt he knew was unwarranted considering the situation but still, horribly, there.  he never heard his boyfrie--- no he couldn't call him that. calling him that would only make him feel even more of a fool then he already did. henrik had too much self respect for that. a slip, he could manage. but he wouldn't willingly say the words or think them. there it goes. expression changing so easily, it broke henrik's heart to watch the man he loved dying right before his eyes. a metaphorical death, but death nonetheless. lips pressed together because it was easier then letting out the shaky raw breath gathering in his throat from the confirmation of such a thing. he was so sure, that levi was the first person who loved him. no obligation, no strings tying them together beyond their hearts. and now? it was all a lie. and yeah, it hurt like hell. henrik knew the man would be able to see it all over his face, levi obviously knew him well by now. even if the man himself was a stranger to henrik. he hadn't been the one with the mask on the whole time, after all. he nodded his head, expression betraying him. it was irrational heartbreak, he knew. rationality and emotions ran parallels, lines that never met. "you didn't even care, not for a moment." it was silly threads he was holding onto, but he wanted to hear it from levi. maybe then, it would be easier.

. the laugh sent shivers down his spine. so unlike the man he thought he had known. his face brittles with confusion because DANIEL he remembered from his memories. but famine? "like the horseman?" yeah, he knew some mythology. not all of it, but enough. it was practically courses in magic school, henrik did pick up some things.March 24, 2020

levi stone / daniel warren 

maybe  he's  not  a  complete  monster.  maybe  somewhere,  buried  deep  under  layers  of  anger,  or  resentment,  of  hate,  he  can  find  an  inch  of  compassion  for  this  person  he's  hurt;   he's  wrecked.   maybe  he's  capable,  but  even  in  the  end,  in  the  revelations  of  his  own  failures,  he  doesn't  regret  his  choices.  his  plan  was  good,  it  was  flawless  even  —  and  maybe  if  he'd  been  less  human,  more  monster,  it  would  have  worked.   (  he's  not  sure  if  he's  angry  or  relieved  about  that.   maybe  some  mix  of  the  two.   it's  complicated.  ) "  i  didn't. "   he  agrees,  mostly  because  he  has  to.   whatever  they've  given  him,  it  won't  let  him  say  anything  but  the  truth.  (  ironic,  given,  he's  not  sure  even  he  knew  some  of  these  truths.  )  "  you  weren't  a  person  to  me.  you  were  a  chess  piece.   the  mikaelsons  are  a  fortress  and  i  needed  an  in. "   henrik,  human  henrik,  was  an  easy  mark  and  he'd  exploited  that.   "  —  but  don't  take  it  personally,  i  didn't  care  about  anyone.  i  just  wanted  revenge. "   he  still  does,   he  still  feels  that  undercurrent  of  anger  that  runs  through  him,  but  it's  diluted;   he  feels  other  things,  too.   has,  ever  since  amelia  came  back.   "  my  switch  was  flipped.   mostly,  anyway. "   it's  —  not  something  he  considered,  not  really.   he  felt  anger,   felt  vindictive,  but  never  considered  a  world  where  you  could  blot  out  half  and  focus  on  the  others.   it  was  ...  a  surprise,  even  to  him.

* "  yeah,  him. "   his  smile  dies  on  his  lips,  feels  the  horseman  restless  in  his  head.  like  a  siren's  song,  mere  mention  of  him  has  him  stirring.   "  i  was  out  on  patrol  when  a  mysterious  fog  rolled  in.   it  was  him,  and  he  needed  help. "  his  visage  cracks,  exhaustion  bleeding  through.   "  he  said  we  needed  each  other. "    maybe  they  had,  maybe  he  wouldn't  have  gotten  this  far  without  him,  but  right  now  he  just  feels  tired.    tired,  angry,  and  caged.    (  he  pulls  hard  on  the  restraints  again,  just  to  feel  something  else  ) 

henrik mikaelson 

he felt used. and it hurt. he was so sure everything was going so well. he had his family, he had his friends, he had his boyfriend. it'd been so perfect, so flawless. henrik should have known better. a life of hardship didn't seamlessly disappear like that in favor of being happy. and now here he was. broken hearted for so many things, so many losses. the loss of love, the loss of trust, the loss of faith in his very self. the loss of the person that made him so so happy... it hurt. a nod of his head, glassy eyes and fragile expression. "i... i figured that." still needed to hear, still painful to hear, to know. but then levi--- daniel, he went on. and oh. henrik didn't know it could get worse but then there it was. getting worse. daniel hadn't felt a thing for him, because you can't feel things for pawns. and that's all henrik had been to him. all those late night movies, apple picking, candle lit dinners, the way he made him feel--- none of it was real. and fuck. there was a desire to ask arlo to change the plan. hold him down while henrik got out a piece of wood. he could stab levi right in the heart, the same place levi stabbed him. watch the man fall apart before henrik's eyes, like henrik was falling apart in front of his. but no. because it'd be a second later in which he'd realize what he'd done. and that love he felt for levi stone would become even more of a burden then it already was. and trust him, it was plenty of a burden. "that's sad." he didn't say it with judgement, with empathy or sympathy. there was sorrow in his tone, not for levi. but for himself. for his hopes, his dreams, his future which was now something he never expected or would have dreamed of. finally, his eyes met levi's and henrik spoke. words he hadn't expected to admit, let alone feel. "i almost feel sorry for you. you spent so much time on revenge, so much time using me and... and it was a waste." it wasn't even gloating. just a melancholy statement.

. there was no interest in his life story or even why levi wanted revenge. henrik couldn't bring himself to care. what's done was done and what scarred him would never be erased. well, it could be. but he wouldn't want it to. as much as it hurt, it'd remain as a reminder. a reminder to be smarter, a reminder to be stronger, a reminder of how much he loved his family, a reminder of how stupid he had been. and to never be so stupid again. at least, not anytime soon. he bit his lip, because the horseman did change things. the plan had been simple enough but this was a new factor. he had planned not to tell his siblings of what happened, not have them condemn him or pity him. it would have been easier that way. but what if his plan wasn't enough? this was a horseman. and if not telling his family could put them in danger--- he couldn't do that. fuck. "and he wants to help you with your vengeance." the confirmation was needed, if only purely for henrik himself.

finn mikaelson

there's  an  amount  of  pride  that  finn  feels  as  henrik  stares  down  the  hybrid.   he  didn't  know  him  very  long,  or  very  well,  in  the  short  period  of  time  he'd  been  back  but  his  restraint  is  remarkable.   by  mikaelson  standards.    his  other  siblings,  save  maybe  freya,  would  have  painted  the  walls  with  this  creature's  blood  if  they'd  have  deigned  to  be  played  as  such.   (  this  speaks  to  his  humanity.  something  the  whole  family  is  sorely  lacking.  )

he  only  intervenes  when  the  hybrid  snaps  forward,  the  restraints  pulling  and  crackling.   they're  powerful;  he  figures,  if  push  ever  came  to  shove,  they  could  even  hold  one  of  his  siblings.    all  the  same,  he  tightens  his  hand  into  a  fist.  hybrids  might  have  accelerated  healing  but  those  pesky  little  blood  vessels  popping  in  his  head  ?  it'll  hurt  like  a  bitch.    "  don't  interrupt. "   he  says  simply,   eyes  on  levi.   "  let  him  speak. "   after  all,  doesn't  henrik  deserve  his  moment  in  the  sun  ?   he  sure  thinks  so.

levi stone / daniel warren 

* the  pain  rocks  through  levi's  skull,  forcing  his  eyes  shut  as  he  growls.  his  eyes  are  blown  wide,  pupils  bright  yellow  as  he  snaps  at  nothing.   he's  unable  to  break  free,  to  do  anything  but  fight,  and  what  was  once  apathy  is  now  pure  rage.    (  he  thinks  this  is  famine's  doing;   he  has  the  reigns  now,  is  pushing  daniel  down.   so  far  down,  all  he  can  feel,  all  he  knows,  is  the  horseman's  anger.  ) "  tha fios agam dè a th 'annad. no an àite, cò. "   the  horseman  spits  the  words  at  the  witch,  using  gaelic  to  mask  his  words.   "  tha thu a ’coimhead nas fheàrr na nuair a chunnaic mi mu dheireadh thu. "  he  knows  the  witch  understands,  sees  the  recognition  and  the  fury  pass  over  his  features.    i  know  you,  i  know  what  you  are.   you  look  better  than  when  i  last  saw  you.   (  he  wonders,  idly,  if  the  youngest  mikaelson  knows  about  the  imposter  masquerading  as  this  witch.   he  bets  no,  but  decides  to  keep  that  to  himself;   a  bargaining  chip.  ) "  you'll  have  to  forgive  your  boyfriend. "   famine's  eyes  flutter  back  to  their  natural  hues,  look  up  at  henrik  with  interest.  "  he  can't  come  out  and  play right  now.   i'll  let  him  know  you  feel  pity  for  him  though.  * GREAT*  stuff. "   lips  twitch,  a  hint  of  a  smirk  at  play.    he  doesn't  bother  tugging  at  the  restraints;   he  knows  he's  too  weak  to  break  through  them.   he's  a  pragmatist.   "  when  his  interests  and  mine  aligned,  yes,  i  helped  him. "   which  is  true,  for  the  record.   "  —  but  he's proven his  WEAKNESS.    he  deviated  from  his  plan,  got  sloppy  and  that's  not  really  how  i  play  the  game. "   the  horseman  shrugs,  cavalier  twist  in  his tone.    "   just  consider  me  a  silent  partner.   or  a  gatekeeper,  if  need  be. "

henrik mikaelson 

the hybrid snapped forward and henrik didn't even flinch. he didn't know where such bravery came from, or if it was bravery at all even. perhaps, it was foolishness. regardless of what it was, he didn't back down. eyes connected to daniel's, and staring him down with strength henrik needed to dig into. ( he didn't typically have it, only stored on behalf of other's. this was the first time, in a long time, he was using that streangth on behalf of himself ). "thank you arlo." he spoke, tone even but kind nonetheless. watching levi, daniel was something of an experience. in his memories held few times with those golden hues faced at him. but to see him and be aware, not be running or on the verge of being compelled, it was something else entirely. there was chanting, and henrik was lost. he didn't enjoy the feeling, not after all that had happened. he lacked so much control for so long without having known it. he wasn't keen on staying locked out of the loop for so long. "he's not my boyfriend anymore." and he said the words so fast without hesitation because if not for famine's sake, but his own, he needed to remember that. " a gatekeeper." henrik echoed, not quite convinced. he read about the horseman with a student once. they were having troubles with their studies and henrik volunteered to give a helping hand. he read about the horseman bringing forth the end of days, each bearing a ring upon their finger. a source of their power. famine, not the most powerful but powerful nonetheless. no, henrik couldn't take the risk of a changed mind and such power in the hand's of a man who hated his family. brazen, he crossed forward and wasted no time in sliding the ring off daniel's hand. eyes set on him, seeing how such a loss would effect him and hoping it'd be the right response.March 30, 2020

levi stone / daniel warren

it's  as  the  ring's  twisted  from  his  finger  that  levi  feels  one  last  surge  of  overwhelming  anger  from  his  passenger  as  its  ripped  from  him.   it  feels  like  someone's  sliced  open  his  sternum,  reckless  fingers  ripping  famine  from  his  psyche  as  he  screams.   (  he  has  a  high  pain  threshold.  he  thought  he'd  known  pain,  thought  he'd  known  suffering,  but  this  is  somehow  WORSE.  ) he  loses  consciousness  at  some  point,  likely  his  body's  way  of  protecting  the  fragility  of  his  mind  from  the  abrupt  splintering.   the  last  thing  he  feels  is  anguish  mixed  with  revulsion  as  the  black  seeps  in  and  sucks  him  under.

finn mikaelson

 with  more  warning,  perhaps  finn  would  have  cautioned  his  brother  from  angering  a  horseman.  it's  inevitable  that the  ring  find  its  way  back,  the  essence  of  famine  returning  to  whatever  withered  husk  it  had  left  behind  when  it  chose this  body.   he  doesn't  though,  simply  makes  one  of  those  'yikes'  faces  teenagers  constantly  make  before  turning  back  to  henrik.   "  with  the  ring  off,  he  won't  be  able  to  access  famine's  powers. "   he  smiles,  because  to  henrik  this  is  a  victory  --  even  if  it's  likely  only  temporary.    "  i  can  take  it  if  you  want,  for  safekeeping. "   this  face  looks  innocent,  looks  trustworthy.   "  we've  got  this  thing  that  traps  powerful  cursed  objects.  i  can  put  it  in  there  and  lock  it  away.  it'll  be  safe. " behind  him,  he  hears  the  hybrid  start  to  stir.   he  debates  whammying  him  again  but  knows  this  is  a  fight  henrik  needs  to  finish,  no  matter  what  he  chooses.

henrik mikaelson 

the sight of levi, daniel, before him--- bellowing in such pain and agony. henrik couldn't help but FLINCH at the sight. even now, after all he'd done. it made him feel something to see him in such pain. he felt guilty for that. he should be able to ravish his enemy's wildering pain ( enemy, the world felt wrong in his mind. unfamiliar and uncomfortable ). and yet, watching him in pain, henrik needed to look away. there was no regret. even if it made him feel some type of way to see daniel in pain, henrik didn't regret a single thing. a firm nod of his head, relieved at the loss of power's. the last thing he needed was daniel enraged and coming after his family. ( yeah, a very loud FUCK THAT in the back of his mind. ) "actually that'd b great." he wouldn't have known what to do with it anyhow, probably would have given it to niklaus or magic school. both of which options would demand explanation, which he wasn't keen to give. he didn't want klaus to know how he'd been duped, nor magic school to think he was a liability. maybe it was selfish, probably was. but he wouldn't risk it. so yes, letting arlo have the ring was his best option. "thank you." daniel begin to stir, and henrik had some words left. harsh words, that would not be easy to say. but he would do them anyway, he needed to. "after we finish how long could you keep him down?" he couldn't stay in that apartment. and he wouldn't risk getting everything in case of running into daniel or daniel finding wherever he lived next. wherever that would be. ( he'd figure it out ).

finn mikaelson

he  takes  the  ring  when  its  offered,  securely  tucking  it  into  his  pocket.  he  might  not  be  as  consumed  with  a  thirst  for  power,  for  status  as  some  of  his  siblings,  but  he  knows  not  to  underestimate  an  opportunity  when  it  falls  into  his  lap.   (  better  in  his  hands  than  someone  else's.  ) he  watches  as  the  hybrid  stirs,  glancing  over  at  henrik  when  he  asks  the  question.   "  that  depends.  i  can  keep  him   down  for  a  few  hours,  put  him  in  a  suspended  state,  or  we  can  put  him  down  for  good. "  it  certainly  wouldn't  be  any  skin  off  his  back  to  eliminate  the  hybrid  from  the  world.  it's  beyond  an  abomination;  a  bastardized  creation  from  niklaus'  bloodline  that  should  never  have  existed.     "  whichever  you'd  prefer. 

henrik mikaelson 

"we aren't putting him down for good." it was said in a more demanding tone than henrik was used to using, but he couldn't help it. the idea of it, despite everything, made him sad. for all the bad memories daniel (as levi) had given. he also had given kind ones, warm ones. it didn't make his actions lessen or null. but it did change some things. "a few hours would work, thank you." his tone switched to something far kinder, and more appreciative. arlo was doing a lot for him, after all. a deep breath as he watched levi--- no, daniel, begin to open his eyes. "i have some things to say to you," he preempted. "and you... you're gonna listen." a deep breath. "anyone else in my family would slaughter you. they would make you hurt in ways you wouldn't dream and make you regret every single thing you've ever done." he stood straighter, with more conviction. "but i'm not my family. if you'd done this to one of them... maybe. but you did this to me, your life... it's mine." he took a step forward and knelt closer. eye level with daniel. "i'm letting you keep it. no more death, no more manipulation, no more anything. i'm letting you live." he emphasized. "this time, that is." more somber, he said. "there will be no next time. what saved you, was the happiness you brought me. lies or not, compulsion or not, i still remember it." and a spiteful part of him hoped daniel would hate that. you live by the grace of my will. "but... if you so much as go near my family, go near me... i'll tell them everything. and i know my brother's reputation, i know you do too. and my older sisters, my other brothers, all of them. my family, if they know what you attempted. they'd end you. there would be no place for you to hide. and this time, i won't stand in the way." it felt like a threat. henrik didn't know if he wanted it to be one, how he wanted daniel to feel. but he felt strong. and that was all that mattered in the end, in this moment.

[fanficimagery]

Tops Dogs

#144 "Well that's pretty rude of you to say."

Summary: When the Alexandrians are on their knees and waiting to see which one of them is to be sentenced to death by Negan, an entirely new group steps in and changes everyone's view on just who the true top dogs are out in the new world. SEASON 7 AU. Modern!100 AU.

Fear.

Pure, unadulterated fear courses through his veins and all Rick can think about is how this is all his fault. As his friends and family are forced to their knees, all he can really pray for is that his son lives and everything's done and over with soon so they can get Maggie the help she needs before it's too late.

"All right!" One of the people who’s captured them gloats. "We got a full boat. Lets meet the man." The same man walks up to a dusty RV and knocks twice on the door.

The seconds seem to stretch on as they wait, many of Rick's group shivering in either fear or pain. He knows now that they're in way over their head, that Gregory had led them to believe they actually had a chance against Negan. But boy were they wrong.

So, so wrong.

The RV door creaks open and a man steps out. It's too dark to really see him, but Rick can make out that the man is gripping a bat in hand while letting it lean against his shoulder. "Pissing our pants yet?" He asks. No one utters a word and the man starts walking forward into the light. Fitted jeans, a black leather jacket, and a red scarf wrapping around his neck is what makes up the man that supposedly everyone fears. "Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close." He walks towards Eugene, smiling all the while and starts walking down the line of kneeling individuals. "Yep. It's gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon. Which one of you pricks is the leader?"

Lexa's leaning against the door to the cafeteria, watching on as her people are served up their rations for dinner. It's been a peaceful week so far, so it's not really a surprise when one of her best scavengers comes up to her with news.

"Negan's men are hunting," Octavia murmurs quietly as she sidles up to Lexa's side. She makes sure to keep her gaze straight ahead, all weapons sheathed and arms at ease at her sides. "They've crossed the perimeter into our territory and appear to be circling a smaller group from the Alexandria community."

Lexa's jaw clenches, but makes no move to look at the younger girl. "Is Negan with them?"

"We're not sure, but that ugly RV of his was spotted driving around. It's parked now. In our territory as well."

Lexa finally glances at the younger girl, taking in her coal smeared eyes and leather jacket adorned with buckles and straps. Her hair is pulled back in what everyone started to call grounder!fashion, the sides braided back to a certain point and then tied off to hang loosely down her back. "Give me five minutes. Go and gather a group, and then tell Indra she's in charge while I'm away. We're going to crash a party."

Octavia can only grin in response, she tersely nodding once while rushing off to do what she was told.

In her room, Lexa merely pulls on a jacket over her shirt since the rest of her attire is appropriate for an outing. Then above the jacket, she pulls on a one-shoulder shoulder pad that straps across her chest and then clasps a red sash from the right side of her chest to droop down to her left hip. Her hair is already pulled back and after sheathing a sword at the right side of her hip, she paints coal across her eyes and then smears a few lines down her cheeks. A little metal, gear-like decal is placed between her brows and she's ready- ready to break up Negan's little hunting party and remind the man that he's not all he tries to be.

     - X - X - X - 

Hidden in the shadows with half her fighters hidden high up in the trees, Lexa watches on in disgust as an utterly exhausted group of men and women, and what appears to be one teenager, are forced to their knees in a semi-circle. Negan's men are crowded behind the group's back, all armed with long rifles and smaller handguns holstered at their waists, and holding either pipes or crowbars. Vehicles circle the entirety of the group, their headlights turned on and spotlighting the group from Alexandria.

Negan does make his grand entrance, complete in his leather jacket, red scarf and barbed wire wrapped bat, he ranting on and on about how he does not appreciate Rick killing his people or that Rick and his people killed more of Negan's people when Negan sent in more men to kill Rick's people for killing his people. It's all one big cluster-fuck and Lexa nearly feels bad for the people that earned Negan's ire.

One woman in Rick's group looks to be in dire need of help and it grates on Lexa's nerves when Negan promises that they're going to regret crossing him in a few minutes. She knows how the man works, knows how cowardly he truly is, but they've set their borders on their own claimed territory and stayed off each other's toes.

Until now, that is.

Not only has Negan trespassed, but he's trespassed with the intent to kill. And while Lexa does not know a single face in Rick's group, she's not about to sit back and let Negan slaughter someone in her own backyard.

Negan, of course, demands that Rick and his people give him their shit. This is another thing that grates on her nerves, this self-proclaimed bad ass scavenging from other communities by threatening to kill them if they don't cough up what they fought for. For being a very capable man with very capable men and women at his compound, they choose to take food and other necessary items from groups who worked hard to get it themselves, and that is not okay with Lexa. It's cowardly and pathetic, and she's nearly salivating at the idea of putting the man in his place in front of his current victims.

"I don't want to kill you people. Just want to make that clear from the get-go," Negan says. "I want you to work for me. You can't do that if you're dead, now, can you?"

Rick violently shivers, from both the cooling sweat on his skin and the fear gripping his entire being as he listens to what their lives are going to be like now.

"But you killed my people, a whole damn lot of them," Negan seethes. "More than I'm comfortable with. And for that, for that you're gonna pay." He pauses in his overly long speech and Rick bristles as he hears Maggie whimper. He looks down the line to Daryl and watches as his brother bravely glares up at the one threatening them. "So now... I'm gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you," Negan says as if it were no big deal to take a life.

And if the stories were to be believed, which they are, then Negan was the ultimate big bad and what he's just said was no bluff. 

The gathered Alexandrian's can only watch on as the man taunts them, beaten and utterly exhausted, a bat wrapped with barbed wire leaning against his shoulder as Negan slowly paces before them.

Crickets continue chirp, twigs snap, and leaves rustle, but no one seems to pay it any attention. Negan continues to take his time to size up Rick and his people, and then..

"I'm sorry, but what was that?" A new voice, feminine from the sounds of it, asks. Rick and a few of his people's gazes are immediately drawn to the decent sized group that's crept up on them, a woman with war paint across her eyes and apparently dressed for a battle of sorts now standing just to the left of Negan’s RV. Even the group of men behind her are dressed similar, some of their faces painted as an intimidation tactic. "Who are you going to beat the holy hell out of?"

Negan freezes for a brief second, anger suddenly blazing in his eyes as his grip tightens around his bat. A false smile stretches from ear to ear as he whirls around. "Lexa, my girl, how are you on this wondrous night?"

"Cut the shit, Negan," she says. "You're in my territory and you know how I feel about you and your little merry band of cowards playing this bullshit game."

Negan's men all bristle, muttering swear words as the one Negan called Lexa smirks, and Negan narrows his eyes in anger. “Well that’s pretty rude of you to say.” 

Several guns can be heard being cocked, but all Lexa has to do is whistle and then another group- this one at least thirty or so large- is stepping forward from the shadows on the other side of the RV. The female leading the second group is all swagger and nonchalance, and the men behind her are covered in furs, paint and masks which makes them at least 10X scarier than Negan and his own men. 

"You and I already know how this is going to end, Negan. You're in my territory now and my people greatly outnumber you and yours." He scoffs at Lexa's words, eyeing those standing with her. Even to Rick's gaze Negan's group still looks just a little bit larger, but Lexa whistles again and Negan's back to scowling. Because not only does Lexa have men and women on the ground, but if the little fires suddenly dotting up high in the trees is anything to go by, then she also has people waiting to strike from up high. "Leave now," she threatens, "or I'll drive my sword through your heart and string up your corpse as a warning to those left at the Sanctuary."

Negan's lip curls, but as the seconds slowly tick by he eventually glances over his shoulder and nods tersely to his men. Surprisingly, the wall of men at Rick and his people's backs step away, drop the weapons they had stripped from the Alexandrians, and start climbing back into and onto their modes of transportation. Then glancing back at Lexa, Negan mockingly curtsies. "As you wish, Commander."

Negan shoulders his bat once more and then casts a glare at Rick. "Remember. You work for me now."

Rick gulps, but it's Lexa who pipes up. "Actually, they don't. If you want food, clothing, furniture and medicine, then why don't you put on your big boy pants and fetch it yourself like the rest of us."

"You're skating on thin ice, girl," he chuckles darkly while slowly turning back towards her. "They owe me. You clearly missed my speech about the crimes they've committed against me and since I'm not bashin' in any skulls tonight.." He trails off, shrugging.

"Oh, no. I heard," she assures him. "I just don't care. Alexandria is neutral ground, but since you brought your hunting party into my lands, I'm stepping in now. You will leave them alone or you'll deal with the Coalition."

Negan's lips twist into a snarl as his face darkens. "This isn't over."

"I didn't expect it to be."

As Negan barks at his men to roll out, he stomps back towards his RV and slams the door behind him. It takes a couple of minutes for the RV, trucks and motorcycles to finally leave the woods, but they eventually do and everyone just kind of breathes in relief. But having been left with a far larger and more intimidating group, Rick remains on his knees, watching cautiously as Lexa starts to make her way towards them.

Glenn scrambles over to Maggie who's looking far worse than she did earlier, and Rick mentally scolds him for the action because he's not sure how this new group is going to react to them.

"I am not a monster nor royalty," Lexa says calmly with a small grin. "You can get off your knees now." She holds a hand out to him and Rick hesitantly takes it as she pulls him to his feet. She tries to help up Sasha, but the dark skinned woman refuses and climbs up on her own.

Lexa's attention then turns to Maggie and Glenn huddled on the forest ground, he mumbling soothing words in her ear. Rick watches as the woman frowns and crouches in front of them. Abraham, the surly redhead, tries to intervene, but Rick shakes his head at his friend. "What's the problem?" Lexa asks.

Glenn glances at her, worry glinting in his eyes. "S-she's pregnant," he blurts, "and in an extreme amount of pain. We don't know what's wrong."

Lexa reaches forward and places a hand on Maggie's damp forehead, she shushing and cooing when Maggie tries to pull away. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." Maggie continues to whimper and tremble, and Lexa's frown deepens. "She needs immediate attention."

Rick clears his throat as his group gathers around, casting cautionary glances towards Lexa's people still lingering by the treeline. "We were on our way to Hilltop when Negan's men started to corral us here. Hilltop has a doctor there that's helped Maggie before."

"I know the community in which you speak of," she tells him. "Unfortunately, if you wish to save the baby, she won't make it as far as Hilltop."

Glenn looks absolutely torn and terrified as Maggie starts to sob, he looking up at Lexa. "Please help us. I'll do- I'll do anything."

Rick's gut clenches at the obvious desperation, but is quite surprised to see Lexa nod. "Polis, our community, is a lot closer. You all," she says, glancing briefly at everyone lingering around, "look like you need some aide in one form or another." Then glancing back at Glenn, she says, "If you will permit it, one of my men will carry her. We are not injured nor are we exhausted, so there's little to no chance of us jostling her too much or putting her in further pain."

"Y-yeah. That's fine." He glances down at Maggie, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "You hear that, Maggie? We're gonna get you some help, but they're going to have to carry you. It's going to be alright."

She weakly nods and mumbles out a thank you between cries, and then Lexa's standing and facing her people. "Lincoln. We're in need of your strength." A dark skinned man steps forward from behind the only other woman, at least Rick thinks there's only two women since everyone else is covered up, his clothing covered in mud as two dark streaks of war paint are painted down over his eyes from his forehead to his cheeks. Once he's standing next to Lexa, she gestures downward and says, "This is Maggie. She's with child and needs immediate attention from our home."

Lincoln nods before crouching down, but doesn't make a move towards Maggie since Glenn's staring at him in awe and/or fear. "Don't worry," Lexa grins. "Lincoln's a gentle giant. Your lady friend will be perfectly safe with him."

"S-she's my wife," Glenn automatically corrects, he then hesitantly and cautiously handing Maggie over to Lincoln. The painted man gets her situated fairly easy in his arms, he standing and then turning to stride back towards his people.

"Come," Lexa tells them. "To Polis we go."

[hayleysstark]

The Twenty-First Night of September

Chapter 1

Words: 4654 Warnings: None Summary: The Giver is just the sweetest, nicest, most thoughtful, most considerate troll in the entire village, because Poppy says so, and Poppy is never wrong. She just kind of didn't think maybe the Giver might be Branch. // The AU no one asked for. Pre-film. Multi-chapter. Eventual Branch/Poppy. Dual POV. Extremely slow burn. 

Notes: This idea has come an incredibly long way to tell you guys the truth. I initially thought up the plot right after S1 dropped LAST January ((dfghgfrhgfgb can you BELIEVE this series has survived an entire year)) but I didn't actually do anything with it - I typed up a couple rough drafts here and there, but none of them felt right, and at one point, it even got turned into an RP ((with my buddy @etheriumart, they have an account on here and Fanfiction, check them out u cowards)) and I was pretty much on the verge of abandoning it completely, but I decided to give it one more go. 

Fun fact, this is actually only my third time writing from Poppy's perspective ever (Just Friends and One Night being the first two) so I'm very much still learning. How have I been in this fandom for a solid two years now and only written twice from Poppy's POV? blasphemy. she deserves my respect. Anyway, though, the next chapter should be from Branch's point of view, so I'll get back to my regularly scheduled programming then lmao. Honest feedback's very very appreciated! I know I got lots of room to improve, and outsiders' opinions usually help with that.

Set several years before the movie, by the way, so Branch and Poppy are both in their teens for now!

Read on Fanfiction or AO3 

"Are you sure about all this, Poppy?" Smidge asked, for what had to be the thousandth time, big, deceptively soft-looking baby-blue eyes wide as they could go, apprehension and uncertainty plain on her little face. "Just think about what you're missing!" She swept a small hand through the air, fingers spread, and gestured loosely to the crowd of colorful trolls below, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, bodies swaying energetically to DJ's latest mix—which was amazing, by the way, as always, Poppy was going to absolutely shower the girl in hugs and compliments the minute the party wound down—

Oh. Right. Reassure Smidge. Gotta reassure Smidge. Focus, Poppy. This is too important for distractions.

She pulled her lips up in the brightest smile she could manage, and nodded enthusiastically. "I know, I know, it's all so super-amazing-tastic, I love it, but—but I—" if she let herself close her eyes she knew she'd see the lonely little figure in her mind, as dark and mysterious and unreachable as they always were, lingering nervously on the edge of the village with hungry, unseen eyes fixed on the dancing trolls below, watching and watching and watching and never joining—Poppy felt the grin on her face begin to falter. "—I can't," there was no way anyone but Smidge could hear her over the deafening pound of DJ's music, but she dropped her voice to a whisper anyway—no need to drag the whole party down with her, "I—I can't stand the thought that there's a troll out there somewhere who's not having fun like the rest of us. They deserve to be happy as much as we do, they deserve to be as happy as they've made us."

The words bolstered Poppy, even if they were her own—she even mustered the strength to hitch her smile back on her face. Somewhere out there, creeping unseen and unknown and, worst of all, unthanked, through the gloom of the village was a troll who cared, who cared so much they sacrificed their every Harvest Moon to bring the rest of the town a night full of wonder and laughter and love and happiness—somewhere out there was a troll who cared, who wanted with everything in them to make people happy, and Poppy would spend her whole life, if she had to, making sure they got some of that happiness back.

"But that's just it, Poppy," Smidge spread her hands out helplessly, "what if they're happy the way they are? And even if they aren't, it's not like we can do anything about it! We have no idea who they are!"

"I know," Poppy admitted—God, did she know. The music-playing, confetti-spraying thank-you cards obviously hadn't been special enough for the mystery gift-giver to reveal themselves—she'd even rigged up one to sing a song she'd written herself! Specifically for the Giver! Maybe the title had been too on the nose? "The Gratitude Song" didn't leave much room for imagination, she had to admit.

But the anonymous troll had even snubbed the parties! How many crazy-loud recognition parties had she promised to throw them if only they'd come forward?! Flashing lights! A minimum five pounds of glitter! Disco balls! A special thank-you mix from DJ Suki herself! What more could any troll in their right mind even want?!

Well—Poppy hastily fought off the giggle bubbling in the back of her throat—Branch probably would have snubbed the parties. Would have called them a "safety hazard", or something like that. He was really funny that way. Ooh, just wait 'til she got to tell Branch she'd found out who the Giver was! Of course, she still had to do the actual finding-out part, but when she did, ooh! She couldn't wait to rub his smirking face in it. He was so infuriatingly confident that no one would ever, ever know, and always asked annoyingly pointed questions that made her wonder—"If this 'Gifter' weirdo wants to remain anonymous, shouldn't you respect that?"—and shot her that snarky little half-smile at the end of it. Yeah, she was gonna have some serious fun with Branch, just as soon as she'd unmasked the Giver.

She threw her shoulders back and stood up a little straighter at the thought. If nothing else, she could at least have the satisfaction of giving Branch a big, fat I told you so.

"I'm gonna head out," she told Smidge, and bounced to the edge of the giant flat-topped orange mushroom. "See you later!" She threw herself straight down into the heart of the wildly-dancing crowd, laughing out loud into the breeze rushing past her face, and ripping all the breath from her lungs—countless pairs of gentle hands caught her, seized her by the arms or legs or dress, passing her smoothly from troll to troll—she surfed easily all the way to the back of the crowd, slid neatly from Moxie Dewdrop's arms, shot her a quick smile of thanks, and made her way out of the pod.

She didn't let her feet stop moving until she'd gotten a good way away from it all, pausing to adjust from the bright lights and blaring noise of the party to the sudden darkness and silence of the forest staring back at her—the air, when it hit her lungs, tasted uniquely of autumn, sweet and spicy and a touch smoky, too, like the amazing cider Biggie always made special for the Harvest Moon—ooh, she wanted another glass already—

No. No, this was too important to let herself get distracted. Eyes on the prize.

Right. The "prize" being the absolutely ginormous, record-breaking thank-you she'd finally finally finally get to give when she found out the mystery troll's true identity—ooh, she'd planned it all down to the last detail—the Giver would smile, of course they'd smile, who didn't smile when someone thanked them? Ooh, and she'd bet her flower crown that their smile would be the really nice kind that made their whole entire face light up like the sun and—!

There!

Poppy's heart nearly ripped itself out of her chest at the sight of the dark, hooded figure, smaller than even Smidge at this distance, darting nimbly from one pod to the next, enormous sack slung over one shoulder, cutting an awkward and lurching and hunchbacked figure in the ivory moonlight.

Oh, my God! It's happening!

Okay, okay, okay, stay calm, stay calm, she just needed to stay calm and catch up to them and convince them to tell her who they really were and then she could thank them and together, they could go back to the party and tell the village and everyone would swarm the Giver in hugs and thank-yous and the Giver would never ever have to be sad or alone on the Harvest Moon again, and everything would be all cupcakes and rainbows for everyone! Easy!

Focus. Poppy dragged in a breath, and shook out her hair to its fullest length—she wrapped the bubblegum-pink tips around the nearest tree limb, and swung herself up into the sky, swathed momentarily in a blanket of rich sapphire studded with a hundred thousand sparkling stars, landing lightly in the tree with the rough bark scratching painfully at the bottoms of her bare feet. She winced, and lifted her legs to rub at her stinging toes—no, no, no time for that! Poppy gave herself a shake. She had a Giver to thank!

For what felt like hours she flew, weightless, through the all-encompassing dark, with her heart in her mouth and the blood pounding in her ears—the wood sped by beneath her, moon-dusted, leafless trees gleaming faintly silver under the faint light—one branch, then another, then the next—nearly there now—nearly there—

There, that was it! That was the pod the Giver had disappeared into! Only just up ahead! Poppy shimmied across the last limb on her stomach and leapt, like a cat, through the open window—the impact jolted her a bit, reverberating up her legs—she wobbled lightly where she stood, and smothered a swear—Smidge could have pulled it off better—

Oh. Oh, God. Oh, God, the Giver was right there!

Ooh, she could scream—no, no, she couldn't scream, she couldn't! She didn't want to scare them! The Giver hadn't seen her yet—standing with their back to her, and hood pulled up to hide their hair—ugh, unfair, how was she supposed to try and guess who it was if she couldn't see their hair?

Nope, it'd just be more fun this way! She wanted to look the Giver in the eye when she finally unmasked them!

They'd ditched their sack right by the window—already half-empty? This troll worked fast. Respect!—and without the weight, their motions had become quicker, more fluid, actually kind of graceful—

—bet they're a good dancer, then—

The Giver knelt by the bed to put down the poorly-wrapped present in their hand, reached to reposition the bright yellow bow so it sprang up, arching cheerfully toward the pod's low ceiling, and took a little step back, as if to admire the effect—

A sudden, fierce swell of affection flooded up in Poppy's chest—if the gifts themselves weren't telling enough, the tender way this troll touched them certainly was—the half-second they took to spruce them up, make sure they looked their absolute best for their recipient—ooh, she just wanted to hug them! Right now!

No, no, not right now—plenty of time for hugging later—first she had to find out who they were—

Poppy couldn't keep from bouncing a little, up and down, on her toes, fluffy purple carpet muffling the sound. Finally finally finally! The moment was here! The moment had come! After years and years and years of getting the nicest, sweetest, most considerate and thoughtful gifts ever, and getting to see the rest of the village so happy, she finally got to say—

"Thank you!"

The Giver actually screamed out loud—Poppy really felt a bit bad about it, to be honest. They jumped a mile in the air—they'd even put on boots, she noted in the back of her mind when their feet left the floor—they must be seriously into this whole anonymity thing. She could only assume the dancer's elegance of only a minute ago had completely deserted them, because after a long minute of stumbling and tottering and flailing and just generally tripping all over themselves, they landed in a messy heap of dark cloth on the carpet.

Oops.

"I—I'm sorry!" Poppy barreled from her spot by the window and over to the crumpled form of the fallen Giver, hand rising on instinct to help them back to their feet. "Are you okay?"

"Amazing," The Giver grunted out, in a way that didn't sound like they meant it at all—which didn't make sense, why would anyone say something they didn't mean?

The Giver rolled over on the floor, rudely ignored her outstretched hand, and pushed themselves to their feet—no, his feet, she corrected herself, his feet—the thick hood of the black jacket and the dark glasses completely obscured their face, but what little she could see—broad nose, sharp jaw, hollow cheeks—what little she could see belonged to a man, that voice belonged to a man—no—no, not a man—a boy—definitely a boy, she decided, after a second glance, and a boy not much older than her—it took her a second to wrap her mind around the thought—she'd sort of imagined the Giver as an old man, to tell the truth, with grey-streaked hair and wrinkles, like her dad, but even in the shadows, she could see the dull skin was smooth—dull skin—the revelation jolted her—oh, no, oh, no, no, no! Oh, the poor troll, oh, no, his colors must be dimmed, oh, the poor thing—and his voice, it wasn't a voice she'd ever imagined for the Giver at all, even when she got past the way it had cracked right in the middle.

The Giver's voice was gentle, she'd decided, a long time ago, very gentle and soft and benevolent, like ocean waves lapping at the shore, the kind of voice that sounded nice all the time, the kind of voice that was just made for singing and telling stories and reciting poetry and lulling little children to sleep—the kind of voice that just made you want to keep listening—angelic, almost, she'd told herself, but this—this didn't sound like that sort of voice at all—no offense to the Giver, no, no, she didn't mean that in a bad way, just—well, it was all—rough and uneven and—

—and familiar—

The Giver tugged lightly at the edges of his hood and stepped past her, head down, face carefully averted—no, no, he was—he was leaving, no, he couldn't be leaving—

"Wait!" Poppy pushed her whirling thoughts to the back of her mind, and scrambled after him. "Wait, wait, wait!" She didn't really pause to think about the rest of it—she just sort of. Well. She threw herself at him, wrapped her arms as tight as she could around his black-clad legs, and hauled him back down to the floor. "I don't even know who you are!"

"Poppy—!"

Oh. Oh, God. Her name left his lips, and she froze. There was only one troll in the whole entire village who talked to her like that, with all that—that annoyance, and that exasperation, and that frustration, and—

The glasses slipped off the bridge of his wide nose, and he actually chose to press his face to the carpet before he'd let himself look at her, but—God, but it didn't matter anymore, did it, she didn't need to see his face, she knew, she knew and there was no going back—the dull skin, the dimmed colors, it should have been a giveaway, how had it not been a giveaway?!

The Giver was—the Giver—he—he was—

"Branch?!"

He stiffened and went still beneath her, gloved hands clenching up in fists against the vibrant violet floor. "I—" For half a second, it sounded like he was about to start yelling at her. "—I'm sorry, Princess," he said instead, in a very, very Not-Branch voice, "I think you must be hearing things, because I can assure you, I am not—"

"Branch," Poppy cut him off, and pushed herself up on her palms, swinging her legs over his sides to sit on him more comfortably, "give it up." In spite of the disbelief still roiling through her like a storm at sea, she felt a giggle bubbling up in the back of her throat at her choice of words. "Should be easy for you, huh?" She couldn't suppress the laugh anymore, and it erupted uncontrollably out of her, mirth merging with her shock to make the sound more than a little bit hysterical. "Guess you're pretty good at giving."

And Branch—Branch hissed at her! Actually hissed at her! Between his teeth! Like a snake! Ooh, she wished she could see his face! He always made the funniest faces when he was flustered. "Shut up."

"'Shut up'?" Poppy clamped her hand over her mouth, but the snort made its way out anyway. "A-and here I thought you had a—gift—for language!"

"Poppy, I swear to God—!"

Another loud shout of half-incredulity and half-amusement ripped its way out of her mouth, and she threw back her head—there was no way she could swallow it back anymore—her sides were already beginning to ache in protest, and she clutched weakly for her heaving ribs. Oh, God. Oh, God, Branch was the Giver. Did not see that coming. At all.

It was just—well, it was just—well, Branch didn't care. About anyone, or anything, except his bunker, but that—that didn't count, Poppy didn't count that, because the bunker wasn't real, it didn't have feelings, so it couldn't care about Branch back and—look. Look. The point. The point was this. Branch didn't care about things.

And that didn't mean he didn't have his good qualities, because he did! Sure, if it came down to it, he'd probably leave the village for dead, but he was funny, and he had lots of interesting things to say about the forest if she only waited him out or wore him down, and he was so fun to argue with, he always had a comeback for everything, and just because he didn't care about things didn't mean those weren't all good qualities, so there!

But—but if Branch was the Giver, then that would mean—

—that would mean—

"Branch," Poppy said, and the sound of her own voice in her ears startled her, far more than it should have, and she had to swallow and start again, "Branch, why are you doing all this?"

"God, Poppy," Branch's hands fisted against the floor again, and he shifted a little underneath her, "I don't have time for this. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of in a hurry."

"No, why?" Poppy finally had the Giver in her grasp, and she didn't care anymore that it was Branch, she didn't care that he was grumpy and snarky and hated her parties and didn't like glitter and wouldn't let her hug him at Hug-Time and didn't care, she finally had the Giver in her grasp, and she wasn't letting him go, not until he'd told her everything there was to tell. "I mean, if you want to give us presents, why don't you just—give us presents? Without all—this?"

"I don't," Branch growled, "want to give any of you anything."

"Or—or better yet," Poppy decided to ignore that last part—obviously a blatant lie, right? Right? "Better yet, why don't you just—I don't know, not act like you can't stand us? I-I mean, if you care, why don't you act like it?"

"Okay, fine," Branch pushed himself up on his palms, and twisted over onto his back to look at her—she slipped a little with the sudden movement, but grabbed at his shoulder and held on, "I guess I have to break it down for you, huh? Okay. Here we go. I hate every single goddamn one of you."

"But," Poppy knew well the signs of a full-on Branch bitch-rant, and she needed to head it off like, ten minutes ago. The guy could really just go for hours if you were dumb enough to let him get started. "But you don't. Because you're the Giver."

"Oh, my God, Poppy!" He lifted an arm, and shoved her to the floor in one swift motion. "Okay, fine! I admit it! I'm the Giver! Now let me go! I still have about seven dozen of these left to deliver, the party could end any minute, I really don't have time for—!"

"The party!" Oh! Oh, God! Ooh, this was going to be even more fun than chasing the Giver! "Oh, my gosh, Branch, the party! Come on, come on, come on!" She jumped to her feet, and yanked on his arm. "Come on! Up! We gotta get back before it ends!"

"Um." Branch flicked at her knuckles until she let go. "Right. Yeah. Have fun with that." He got to his feet, and dusted off the front of his dark jacket.

"What? No, no, no," Poppy giggled—right, right, her bad! She kind of hadn't really explained that too well, had she? Oh. Well. Fixing! "We gotta tell the village, my man!"

"What?!" Branch tried to spin around to face her, but he really just did that thing again where he tripped all over himself and flailed. "No! No no no no no no no! No!" He clumsily regained his balance, and shook his head wildly back and forth, so hard he looked like he was gonna give himself whiplash.

"Yes!" Poppy countered, and nodded vigorously to prove her point. "Just wait until they hear about you, Branch! Oh, buddy, they're gonna love you!"

"If I did everything so the village would love me, I'd never have done a useful thing in my entire life."

"I didn't hear that!" Poppy clapped her hands over her ears. "Come on!" She motioned, with her elbow, to the open window. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

"No," Branch repeated, so firmly she could read the word as it formed on his lips. "The village is never going to know."

"But—" Poppy deflated a little. Her hands slipped off her ears. But didn't he—didn't he want—? "But Branch, how are they supposed to thank you if they don't know it's you?"

"I—I don't—" the pale purple flush crawling up Branch's cheeks glowed like a beacon in the dim light of the empty pod, "—I don't want—" He dragged in a breath, and it sounded painful, like it snagged somewhere in the back of his throat and for half a second, Poppy thought he was going to say—something, she didn't—she didn't know what, but something important, something that mattered, something that meant something and she knew if he did, all the barriers behind his eyes would finally fall and she'd see—

His hands clenched back up in fists. "I don't need," he lifted his head, and stuck out his chin, "I don't need your stupid gratitude."

Branch turned sharply on his heel, and stomped over to the dark, half-empty sack still waiting for him by the window. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I—"

"Wait!" Poppy edged forward as far as she dared, as far as she thought he'd let her get before he stepped back. "Wait! Let me help!"

Branch dropped the sack again. "What?"

"You said it yourself! The party could end any minute!" Poppy jerked her thumb in the direction of the glowing pod, even though she knew it couldn't be seen from here. "If we split the gifts between us, we can get done with the delivery way before anyone comes home!"

Branch snorted. "Right. Yeah. Like I'm gonna do that." He swung the sack back on his shoulder.

Stubborn ass. Poppy was seriously about to stamp her foot. "Why not?! No, don't answer that," she added, when he opened his mouth, because that snarky half-smile was already curling up his lip, and she really just could not deal with one of his smart remarks right about now, "don't. This is, like, super important to the village! It makes 'em all really happy, Branch! I wanna help with that! Let me help with that!"

And—oh, God, here was officially the craziest part of the entire night—Branch looked at her. Just—just looked at her. It wasn't a glare, it wasn't a scowl, it wasn't even one of those tired, dead-eyed glances. It wasn't even a smirk, like when he'd just got in a really good jab at her, and had to show off how insufferably cocky he could be. He didn't do any of that. He just looked at her. Like—oh, God, like he was seriously considering—

"No."

What?!

Okay. Fine. That was fine! Time to bring out the big guns, Poppy supposed. All was fair in love and war, and all of that. Hmm. No. Gifts and war? Giftery and war? Giftery. Was giftery a word? It should be.

Oops. Sidetracked. She shook her head, and lifted her chin.

"If you don't let me help," she jammed her hands on her hips, and tried to look as intimidating as possible, "I guess I'll just—" she lifted one shoulder, and dropped it an instant later in a half-shrug, "—have to tell the village."

Every last ounce of color drained from Branch's face.

"Mm. Well." She headed for the window straight past him, and smothered a smile when he reflexively stumbled out of her way. Ha! She never made him step aside! She should try this intimidation thing more often. It was fun. "Nice talkin' to you! See ya, Branch!" She stepped to the edge of the window, and shook out her hair for good measure. "Ooh," she added, on impulse, "I'll have to help the kids with their thank-you cards tomorrow, that'll be super-fun!" Okay, now she got why Branch smirked all the time when he said something snarky! Ooh, this was so fun! Why had no one ever told her it was this fun to mess with him?

"W-wait!" Right on cue. Branch bolted toward her, stumbling over the clunky, awkward boots, and threw out a frantic hand. His fingers, warm even through the thick gloves, latched onto her wrist.

Poppy arched her eyebrows. Ooh, she was not gonna make this easy on him! Not in the slightest. "Yes?"

"You—you—" He looked anywhere but at her, purple flush returning to his face with a vengeance, "—you can help, okay? Th-there. I said it. Happy?"

"Yes!" Poppy bounced backward into the pod. "Oh, my gosh, this is gonna be so so so so much fun—!"

"Ground rules," Branch said coolly, and jabbed a finger at her, "no singing. No dancing. No running off and telling the village anyway."

"Branch, do you really think I'd break my word?"

"Yes. Without hesitation." He opened up the sack, pulled out a few brightly-colored boxes, and thrust them at her. "Now let's get this over with."

[allourheroes]

Sterek 7, please and thank you! =D

7. fake relationship au | meme | ask

This got totally out of hand. It was supposed to be quick and short and… instead it’s 4500 words of Stiles pretending to be Derek’s mate. Or “pretending.” ;) Teen and Up.

{ ao3: a satellite beside me }

The meeting is going well, everyone is agreeing to the terms, but then the female Alpha decides she’s waited long enough.

“So, a handsome, single Alpha,” Stacy says and she’s appraising Derek like she wants to devour him.

They’re here to make treaties, he reminds himself. That’s why it’s him and Stiles. It’s just that he’s very bad at not reacting negatively to unwanted attention.

He needs to do something. Quickly.

He looks to Stiles and it’s way too close to the truth, but Stiles communicates silently back—which is why Derek knows this is a really bad idea, Stiles is way too perfect—and they come to an agreement.

“He’s flattered,” Stiles says, “but he’s taken.” Stiles slips his hand into Derek’s and Derek does his best to suppress his heartbeat. Elevated is fine, but for his heart to sound like it’s ready to give out at a single touch from someone he’s supposedly dating is a little too much.

“Your emissary is your mate?” Stacy looks skeptical. “He’s so…human.”

Stiles bristles. “I don’t have time to get into it, but yeah, I’m human. What of it?”

Derek squeezes Stiles’s hand. Again, the treaty. They’ve gotta pretend to be nice for just a little while longer. “I would advise you don’t come into our territory and talk badly of my mate,” Derek warns, flashing his eyes for effect.

“You’re lucky you’ve got that reputation,” the other Alpha, Minho, says, but he looks more amused than anything, eyes Stiles appreciatively. Derek lets out a low growl, glad that this one hasn’t insulted Stiles but unwilling to let Stiles be treated as an object or a prize either.

Stiles has been his fake mate for all of five minutes and already Derek is ready to fight for his honor. It might have something to do with the fact that Derek’s wolf has recognized Stiles as his mate for at least four years and he’s just been too scared to do anything about it.

“Can you really do a full shift?” Stacy asks. She’s itching for a real reason to call him out.

“Yes,” Stiles answers for him. “And I don’t know about you, but it’s more than a little disconcerting to wake up with a wolf after sex with a man. Werewolf. Werewolf in man form.” The intention is there, even if the execution needs work.

Derek winces, but when Stacy raises an eyebrow at him, he tries to go for sheepish. Stiles is way better at selling them than he is and he’s the one who’s actually in love.

Minho ignores the tension. “Alright. I say we all get together and seal this thing up right. I’ve got a few bottle of were whiskey and two fine betas vying for my attention, you’ve got your mate. Stacy’s got…high hopes.” He grins as she glares him down. “Tomorrow, night before a full moon, should be a good time. We can meet in my penthouse hotel room.” His pride at his lodgings should really be lessened by the face that the Hale pack paid for it, but it makes the part of Derek that wants to revel in superiority glory at the thought.

This is, however, going to be more difficult than just saying Stiles is his mate to throw another Alpha off track.

Before Derek can think of a good lie, Stiles says, “Great. We’ll be there.”

Stacy, too, mumbles her acquiescence and Derek has to nod, for lack of anything else to do.

~

The next morning, Derek hears a noise down below, listens only a second before he’s certain it’s Stiles.

He tries to just go about his business, but he also sets about making a pot of coffee because he knows Stiles will be pleased by it.

Derek has been doing a lot of things to please Stiles. It’s only now that Stiles has to play the role of his mate that he realizes how much of it has already been mating behavior. Realizing it, however, doesn’t make him want to stop.

Stiles opens the door to the loft and Derek has already set his favorite mug with three sugar cubes in it next to the coffee pot. Stiles likes sugar cubes. Derek hides his smile as Stiles is drawn to the smell of coffee and pours it into his cup, the tinkling of the spoon an obnoxious sound were it not Stiles doing it. Well, it’s still obnoxious, but at least it’s in an endearing way.

“Can you try to not be the noisiest person in existence?” Derek greets. He’s good at romance.

Stiles points his spoon, which drips coffee on the floor, and says, “Hey, that’s no way to talk to your mate. Where are the flowers and chocolates? Where are the disgusting offerings of dead things I don’t want?”

“I made you coffee,” Derek protests, and it feels like he’s said too much even though he’s done it a hundred times.

Stiles slurps from his mug, glaring at Derek over the rim as he does so.

Derek glares back.

It’s one of their things.

Then Stiles turns thoughtful. “So this thing tonight shouldn’t be a big deal…” he starts, but Derek knows Stiles has already gone through about fifty different scenarios in his head. It’s what makes him a great emissary. “We don’t want anyone questioning you and we know Minho’s got at least two thirsty betas, and there’s whatever Stacy’s going to get up to.” He sighs. “I get it. But you hurt an Alpha’s pride twice over by making me your excuse.”

Twice over, Derek hears all too clearly. “She shouldn’t have said that.”

Stiles cocks his head. “It’s true though. I’m human.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Derek adds quickly.

Stiles looks like he’s going to take offense and, yeah, Derek can see why, but then Stiles goes into emissary mode. “Given the situation and the massive lie we’ve told, we’re going to need to play it up a little so that we can maintain a good relationship with their packs. Minho shouldn’t know we’ve lied and if his betas catch a whiff of you,” and Stiles makes a face Derek doesn’t quite understand, “well, we might have more problems. While Stacy…” He shakes his head, scrubs a hand through his hair. “We’ll see what happens there.”

“I’m guessing you have a plan?”

Stiles grins and Derek has sense enough to know that no matter what way this is about to go, he’s going to hurt. That’s okay though. He’s used to hurting.

“What is it?” he prompts, with all the false bravado and annoyance Stiles is used to.

It works, because Stiles loves feeling like he’s doing something just a little bit tricky. “I think you should sit down.”

Real concern bleeds in. “Why?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just do it.” When Derek starts to move toward a chair, Stiles makes a considering sound. “Maybe we should start with the couch.”

Derek pauses, but he does as he’s told. A second later, Stiles is sitting beside him. Close. Way too close.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, wanting to pull away and desperately wanting to pull Stiles in even closer.

Stiles is only touching him with his side, shoulder to Derek’s shoulder, elbow cocked in enough so he’s not poking Derek, but his thigh is a searing line of heat against Derek’s. “We might’ve gotten away with it yesterday, but if I’m your fake mate, you’re going to have to scent me.”

Derek opens his mouth, closes it. It makes sense. “Why did you say ‘start with the couch’?”

“Oh, if you sat in a chair, I’d have to jump straight to sitting in your lap and I figured we could save that for the party.”

“Sitting in my lap?” Derek wants to scoff at him, but they’re so close, he’s not sure that he can.

Stiles nudges Derek’s arm until it’s slung around his neck. “Yeah. I mean, unless you want me to do it now.” He makes to swing his leg over Derek’s in a straddle, but Derek is apparently radiating enough panic to keep him from going through with it. Instead, Stiles cozies himself into Derek’s side. “We don’t have to do anything,” Stiles tells him. “But we have to do something.”

“Stiles, that doesn’t make any sense.” Against his instincts for self-preservation—which are bad enough as it is—he settles around Stiles. His inner wolf whines in happiness.

They’re oddly quiet for a moment before Stiles says, “It’s weird how nice this is, right?”

Derek swallows thickly. “Yeah,” he says.

Stiles squirms to look at him. “You’re totally freaking out.”

“Look,” Derek says, and he closes his eyes so he can’t see Stiles, but it only serves to heighten his sense of touch, of smell, of sound. Stiles’s heartbeat is a staccato rhythm that wonderfully mismatches with his own. “It’s…fine. What else?” He blinks his eyes open but keeps his gaze trained on the window.

Stiles shrugs against Derek’s arm and…chest? Wait. How far cuddled in is he? “Mostly just the scenting. But then we’ve got to act the part. Your protective act seemed to work, but we should probably also show some kind of affection. Like you like me.”

“I do like you.”

Stiles makes a disbelieving sound. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve said that. Ever.”

Derek would be able to pull off a better bitch face to ward off the implication if Stiles could actually see him; his eyebrows usually do a lot of the talking for him. In this position, it’s words or actions and he’s terrible at both. “You’re my mate,” he says, quickly clearing his throat. “For tonight.” He finds his hand, the one draped over Stiles idly, scratching at Stiles’s arm, a familiar little gesture from the past when he had people who wanted to be close to him. “What do you have in mind?”

“Not much,” Stiles admits, and Derek can feel the slight rumble of his voice. “Just, like, normal stuff but a little wolfier.”

They talk a little more and Derek watches Stiles frown at his phone for the next two hours, because Derek is scared to break the spell of Stiles gradually sprawling more and more over him. Derek hears Stiles’s stomach growl and gets up to make lunch and Stiles follows him.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Again.

“Buddy, since we’re not actually fucking, constant contact is the best way to permeate me with your scent.”

Derek tries not to imagine what Stiles would smell like if they really were fucking. He pushes the thought away and says, “‘Permeate’?”

“Yeah, you know,” and Stiles drapes himself over Derek’s back as Derek goes about gathering things, mixing things, frying things. “‘Permeate,’ verb, spread throughout. Let’s get some deep permeation going on. Not to be confused with penetration. Which would make the permeation easier.”

“Stiles.” Derek has to move or lunch will be ruined, but this train of thought is not helping him.

Stiles hums. “Smells good.”

Derek tamps down the urge to preen. Even if it is all an act, his wolf is having the time of its life.

~

An hour before they’re supposed to be at the party, Stiles finally detaches from him. “Alright,” he says, “take off your shirt.” He seems to think this might be a rude thing to demand so he follows it with, “Please.”

“What? Why?” Derek was right. He’s in pain from the things this day is doing to him. How’s he going to feel in another few hours after making other people believe it’s actually true?

Stiles is already stripping off his own shirt and Derek has never seen Stiles shirtless before. Which seems impossible, but somehow true. He had known, in the back of his mind, that Stiles was in better shape than his demeanor might suggest, but seeing now the expanse of his shoulders and the definition of his abs and—

“Okay. Look at me like that in front of the others. But look happy about it.”

Derek blinks and Stiles is holding out a hand, waiting for something. Uncertain, Derek pulls off his own shirt and hands it over. He watches Stiles shuck it on easily and the possessive part of his wolf brain nearly short-circuits.

Stiles tugs at the shirt until it falls right. Suddenly, he’s a bit less certain. “You can wear mine, if you want.”

Derek stares dumbly at the shirt Stiles is holding out. It smells like Stiles with a layer of Derek and he knows his own shirt must smell similarly. He takes it, swallows. “Yeah. Good idea.”

Stiles grins. “That’s why I’m the best emissary ever.”

And Derek rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know it was possible for you to get more full of himself.”

Something ticks in Stiles’s expression and Derek can hear it before Stiles even says it and he wants to die. “I think the point would be for me to be full of you.”

Derek has no idea what his face looks like but Stiles’s touches his shoulder gently, tentatively, like he does when Derek is in immense emotional turmoil. Like no one else does.

“Hey. I’m just kidding around.” His smile is softer. “Don’t get me wrong, getting you flustered is pretty much the most fun I can possibly have, but…I can make an excuse to the Alphas if you really can’t do this. I know a mate is a special thing and you don’t want to fake it. Especially not with me.”

Even though words won’t come, Derek shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says. He pulls on Stiles’s shirt and tries not to breathe too deeply. He can’t even tell which emotions he can scent are his and which are Stiles’s because he’s such a wreck.

“Alright. If you’re sure, we just gotta fake it for a few hours before we duck out.” He winces. “I was going to use sex as an excuse. Should I not? I mean, I’m sure I can think of something else.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says again, like it’s the only response he can manage.

~

The whole way up to the suite, Derek and Stiles don’t say anything that could out them. This is actually easy as they revert to their normal bickering now that they’re not alone in the loft together and all over each other—literally.

“I know you know how to smile,” Stiles is saying. “I’ve seen you do it. Like, like when you flirted with that deputy. Or when something terrible happens to Scott and he totally deserves it. Or when I tripped on nothing.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I smile when I want to smile,” he says, then forces something akin to a smile but more like a grimace onto his face.

“You’re lucky,” Stiles says as they get to the door, “you’re just so—”

And then the door is opening.

Minho pushes a glass into Derek’s hand as soon as they’re in. “Welcome, welcome,” he says, and it’s obvious he’s already been hitting the were whiskey. “For you, Alpha Hale,” and it’s filled with over-the-top mock formality.

Stiles grins so Derek decides it’s all in good fun. “I drove here so I can’t,” he tells Minho, who stares at him like he’s grown another head.

“I can drive home,” Stiles butts in. “If you want.”

Derek mentally debates it and he remembers Stiles saying once that he can see Derek’s inner conflicts being determined through his eyebrows. “I trust you,” Derek tells Stiles, and Stiles’s smile isn’t really a grin, it’s softer. Derek doesn’t know what to do with it. He eyes the drink dubiously, gives it a sniff before he takes a sip.

Stiles pats him on the arm.

“You’re adorable together,” Minho slurs, but he seems caught off-guard. “I thought so yesterday but for some reason you didn’t smell so,” and he gestures in lieu of explaining.

Stiles clears his throat. “Yeah, well, we try to keep it all professional for official business.”

Minho nods in understanding, but neither Derek nor Stiles is sure how much he understands. He runs off to flirt with one of the betas he must’ve been talking about before, because she fawns over him even as he makes a stupid joke.

“Not so bad, huh?” Stiles murmurs, well-aware that anyone could hear him.

“Maybe,” Derek whispers back, but then Stacy appears and he wraps an arm protectively around Stiles. It’s supposed to be for show, but it was all instinct. “Stacy,” he says, and this is accompanied by something more like a baring of teeth. “Nice to see you.”

Stiles elbows him. “Don’t be rude, babe,” he admonishes. Stiles is faking it, too, but he’s better at it as he compliments her outfit.

Stacy is cordial at best, but she downs her drink and walks off before too much interaction can take place.

“That may or may not be the end of it, but we might as well have fun while we’re here.” Stiles gives Derek’s ass a smack before he runs off to cavort with Minho and the betas. There are a few others in the suite, at least one more of Minho’s besides the two aforementioned and then maybe a couple of Stacy’s. They’re all staying in the hotel so it makes sense that they’re all here even though it’s just him and Stiles from his pack. It could’ve been Scott, too, if he had shown up to the treaty talks, but it’s too late now.

He should’ve thought of Scott.

Suddenly, however, Derek is worried. Minho and Stacy haven’t established emissaries yet, so it’s all wolves wandering the suite. All wolves…and Stiles.

It’s like Stiles senses his worry, because Stiles glances back at him, whispers, “It’s okay.”

Just like that, he feels a little bit better. Slowly, he sips his drink, but then what must be Stacy’s favorite beta comes to chat him up and he finds his drink empty—although not for long as Minho makes a round with the bottle.

Derek doesn’t know how this guy can keep talking to him when he gives him so little to work with.

But then something the beta—Evan? Andrew?—is saying hits Derek.

“Is that dude really your mate?”

And it’s the tone, like Stacy’s the day before, that claws down Derek’s spine. He drops his glass to a shelf. “Yes,” and the Alpha voice reverberates, making the beta, even though he’s not Derek’s, cow. “Stiles is my mate. Do you have a problem with that?” Derek knows his eyebrows are doing that menacing thing that they do, but he can’t be bothered to hide his anger. His wolf is pleased of his defense, but the human part of Derek’s mind is screaming at him for getting caught up in the lie. He blames the whiskey, takes his posturing down a notch so as to not draw unnecessary attention.

Then, this basic beta has the gall to say, “Then why haven’t you claimed him properly?”

Although no one else approaches, Derek feels everyone’s eyes on him. “He’s my emissary,” Derek tries, “and even a mating bite holds a risk. I couldn’t lose him as an asset.”

“Or you just don’t care enough about him,” maybe-Evan suggests. “Which I get.”

This time, Derek hoists him by the throat, his eyes glowing red, his fangs out, and his claws lengthening, beginning to puncture the skin and fill the air with the coppery tang of blood.

He feels Stiles next to him, but all he can see is the idiot who would dare question an Alpha’s mate.

“Der— Derek,” and Stiles’s voice is too high, panicked, and Derek’s instincts shift priority. “Put him down, alright? Everything is fine.” He swallows. “I’m fine. But he might not be if you don’t put him down. And that’ll ruin the treaty. We want the treaty.”

Eyes falling closed, Derek listens to the sound of Stiles’s voice, his heart, remembers why he chose Stiles as his anchor all those years ago. He lets down the beta, who has sense enough this time to back off. He lets go of the shift and settles back into human form.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing to my beta, Hale?” Stacy demands, and she hasn’t shifted but she’s readying for a fight.

Minho steps in, steps up for Derek. “What’s your beta doing over here talking shit? I know who he gets it from, but we gotta be better than that. We’re Alphas.” He raises his eyebrows at her, a significant look passing between them.

“It’s fine,” Derek says, for what feels like the millionth time. He thinks about apologizing but doesn’t see any need to actually do it.

Stacy huffs out a breath through her nose. “Fine.”

Minho waves Derek over to one of the plush couches and this time Stiles sticks to Derek’s side.

Without asking, Minho has retrieved Derek’s glass and is pouring him another drink. “Here.”

This time, Derek just takes it, takes a large gulp before Stiles pries it from his hand and sets it on the coffee table. “Thanks.” Derek is talking to both Stiles and Minho. He feels eyes on him, can smell anger and fear now over everything else, but he’s calm. He’s actually starting to feel good. Maybe there’s something to letting his wolf have some fun, inhibitions lowered by the drinks.

Stiles seems to know he’s more relaxed because he takes the opportunity to crawl into Derek’s lap. Just like he said he would.

It forces Derek to wrap an arm around him for balance and Derek stops smelling the fear, starts smelling something more intoxicating than the laced alcohol.

It’s the danger, he knows. The sense of adventure and the aftermath of fear.

Stiles likes that.

He inhales deeply, wants to unabashedly hold on to that scent, but he shakes his head enough to focus.

Minho seems to have noticed anyway, his gaze is softer now, but somehow more assessing than it had been when they arrived. “When’d you know?”

Stiles glances from Minho to Derek, interest piqued, and Derek should bite his tongue, but he’s too loose right now, too happy with having fought for Stiles’s honor, having gained an ally, having Stiles’s warm weight on him. “I was out,” Derek starts. “I was left behind when there were other things, more important, that needed to be dealt with, but,” and Derek remembers it like it’s still happening, opening his eyes and seeing for the first time, “he came back for me.” He turns amused, fond. “And he slapped me in the face because I wasn’t waking up. But then it snapped. And I— I knew.” He goes quiet, thinks Stiles has gone tense in his lap, but he can’t let go or Stiles will slip.

Then Stiles hums. “I think I had an idea when we were trapped in the pool. And the dozen other times Derek tried to get me out of danger, like, well, the pool. The police station. The hospital.” He shrugs. “Or maybe I knew when I trespassed on his property looking for Scott’s inhaler.”

“That was the first time we met. You accused me of murder at least six times after that.”

Stiles laughs. “Because you totally seemed like a murderer. A hot, fascinating murderer, but a murderer. And also I thought you were dead, one of the times.”

“You two, saving each other and shit. That’s really nice,” Minho comments, bringing awareness back to his presence. “Sounds like quite the love story.”

“It’s not—” Derek starts reflexively, but then he stops. He gets caught up on how quickly Stiles had answered and his head spins.

“Yeah,” Stiles tells Minho. “It sure does.”

They let Minho take the lead, but Stiles leans further and further into Derek’s space, slipping his arm around Derek and lightly scratching the nape of Derek’s neck. Derek glances at Stiles to see if Stiles is doing it on purpose, is messing with him, but Stiles is making that face that says he’s actually listening to Minho.

Eventually, Stiles yawns, gives Derek a fond, meaningful look—and Derek, Derek just doesn’t know if it’s for show or not anymore, everything in his head is fuzzy and just Stiles, Stiles—then back at Minho, who now has a beta sitting beside him. “I think it’s time to get this big guy home,” Stiles says, and he shifts, making Derek grip him tighter before letting go, embarrassed.

Stiles stands, but he takes Derek’s hand and gives him a tug, and Derek follows easily.

“We’re pleased to have made the treaty,” Stiles says, and he grins at Minho. “If you ever need anything, our pack can help you out. If she needs anything,” and Stiles glances back toward Stacy, “well, we’ll, uh. We’ll try.”

Minho laughs and they’re lucky that Stacy is making out with someone in the bedroom or there’d likely be hell to pay.

Derek and Stiles say their goodbyes and Derek is scared to speak as they make their wake back to the car. “Thanks,” he murmurs, and Stiles bumps their shoulders together.

“No problem.”

Stiles jangles the keys a couple of times as they stand outside the car, glancing up at the hotel uncomfortably like he wants to say something but doesn’t know if they’re far enough out.

Derek watches him, hoping that he isn’t the reason Stiles is nervous.

“Let’s go,” is all Stiles says before they get in the car, and Derek feels the tension radiating off of him until they get back to the loft.

Derek wonders why Stiles comes all the way back up with him, but then Stiles says, “Do you want your shirt back?”

For some reason, Derek has no idea what to say, just stands there dumbly as Stiles tilts his head.

“Derek—”

And it’s the tone that gives him away, too serious. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m your mate,” Stiles says. It’s not a question. Not a joke.

“You don’t have to—” But he stops when Stiles holds up a hand.

Stiles crowds into his space, but he doesn’t kiss him, just stares at Derek like he’s seen God. “I’m your mate,” he says again, and he cups Derek’s face in his palms.

Jaw still in Stiles’s hands, Derek nods, watching the expression that spreads over Stiles’s face. It’s an expression he’s never seen before but one he wants to remember forever.

“God, we have a lot to talk about.” Stiles lets out a disbelieving puff of laughter. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Derek brings his hands up to grab Stiles’s, although he leans into the touch. “So you meant it? Back with Minho?”

Tears are welling in Stiles’s eyes as he nods, sputters, “Y-yeah.”

And Derek kisses him, an almost-chaste press of their lips. He pulls back and Stiles’s expression has changed. “What?”

“You’re smiling. I knew you could do it, babe,” he teases.

Derek shoves him, lightly. “Shut up.”

Stiles grins harder. “Never.”

Derek sighs, but his heart is full and his wolf is happier than it’s ever been. He’s happier than he’s ever been.

For the first time, he gets to fall asleep in the arms of his mate.

[sxchae]

Contemporary Polaroids

Chapter One: Rejection Kinda Hurts-- It’s Not Really Recommended

Photographer!loki x Dancer!reader

Warnings: Just some language ;) oh wait and spoiler alert they’re all human and everyone’s in college and no one has any powers. Also it’s an art college.

Word Count: 1.5K words

Chapter Summary: You are a college student at a university dedicated to the arts, pursuing a career as a dancer. You are the pride of the institute; your talent has attracted so many agencies, trying to recruit you as the new face of their company. Loki, on the other hand, is the sarcastic and witty photographer from the photography department. He needs to quickly assemble an art portfolio to be presented to the four modeling agencies that have sought him out as a potential new photographer. Rejection, however, is right around the corner.

For @after-avenging-hours August AU Writing Challenge!

GUYS SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY AND NOW ITS A SERIES EVEN THOUGH IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT WHOOPS also i tried to do the “continue reading under the cut” thing but i dunno if it worked ? Also feedback is much appreciated ;))))))

_ _ _ _ _

Click.

Flash.

Click.

Flash.

Loki paused, eyes focusing on the red glint of the sun as it set, and the falling, drifting crimson leaves. This was perfect. The perfect landscape shot to act as the closing piece in his portfolio.

He squinted into the viewfinder, adjusting his position so that he could capture his brother, Thor, as well. Loki had ordered Thor to lean against the strong birch tree, looking out onto the campus as he sipped at the half-finished coffee, with the sunset just to his right.

Click.

Flash.

Satisfied with the end result, Loki called out to his brother, waving him over to look at the final photo. 

The setting sun glistened, taking up much of the center of the photograph, its soft glow resting on Thor’s side profile and aiding in the softening of his handsome yet rugged edges. Loki had also managed to capture the exact moment in which the wind had rifled the birch tree’s leaves, allowing for several leaves to dance and twirl towards the ground. 

“It’s good, brother. I look heavenly, wow. Correction, it’s actually better than good. It’s absolutely mesmerizing,” Thor said, a smile gracing his lips as he grabbed at the camera to see better. “I’m proud of you. I’m sure the agencies will take you after seeing this breathtaking shot of me! Maybe they’ll take me as a model as well, who knows?”

Loki rolled his eyes at that, before stating, “Yes, sure, of course.”

Thor chuckled, and then bid his brother goodbye.

Sighing, the photographer let the camera rest against his chest, heart pounding ridiculously at the prospect of the interview with the agencies. Loki had been extremely lucky, as his professor was fascinated with his style of photography. His mentor, Professor Starchevskiy, also had many connections, which allowed for a few chances at being accepted into top companies. And each agency required an art portfolio to be sent for evaluation, so that they could see what kind of photography the newcomer brought to the table.

And Loki’s portfolio was finally finished.

Filled with a sense of pride, Loki smiled, gripping his camera tightly before running towards the campus building and towards the photo lab to submit his photos.

_ _ _ _ _

“Yes, starfire, that’s my girl!” Wanda, one of your fellow dance mates and one of your closest friends shouted as you finished your routine. 

Your left arm was raised, hip jutted to the side in a moment of sass, breathing heavy after the five minute long song. You smiled at the mention of her nickname for you. “Jeez, sunshine, it’s just been so long since I’ve done this dance style. Thank you for bringing me back here!”

Wanda Maximoff was an incredible dancer, who specialized in a form of dance called ‘waaking,’ otherwise known in history as ‘punking.’ It involved intense, sharp movements of the arms and incredibly abrupt flicks of the wrist, in a dance move known as the ‘whack’. It had been two years since Wanda had last dragged you off to her dance studio to teach you how to ‘whack,’ so today had been both exhilarating and exhausting, your body’s muscle memory taking over. 

You turned to the window, realization dawning on you as you realized that the sun had just set, leaving a mixture of pinks and purples in the sky. You collapsed on the dance floor, fatigue taking over you after the intense three hours that you had spent in the quiet studio with your best friend.

The redhead sat down next to you, much more gracefully, giggling. “I can’t believe you still could keep up with me though! Are you sure you don’t wanna join the waaking team? You’re so much better than my other teammates, and you’ve only been practicing for a mere three hours. Some of the members still aren’t as posh and perfected as you, and they’ve been practicing for weeks!”

You laughed, breath still uneven from the workout, and reached out to Wanda, lacing your fingers together. “Oh come on, sunshine, give them some credit! I got to learn from the best teacher in the world; they were taught by Professor I-Don’t-Know-What-I-Teach!” You punched her arm with your free hand, before sitting up to tie your hair back into a low ponytail as she rolled her eyes. 

“Hmm... I agree, I am a great teacher...” Wanda trailed off, eyebrows raising. “Actually, about that, I was thinking about how I could take over for Professor Owenburg when I graduate. Teach at the school, yanno? Maybe co-teach at our old dance studio. I’d be close to my family, and I could be there for Pietro for the Olympic Qualifiers.”

You blinked twice, before cracking a huge smile. “That... Wanda that’s brilliant!” Wanda smiled back to you in appreciation before you tackled her to the floor again in a koala hug. “I support you! This is so good, oh my god this is the perfect job for you!” 

She put two thumbs up at you. “I know, that’s what Pietro thought too! He was ecstatic at the idea of me being home for his Olympic Trials. You know how secretly devastated he was when I was offered that chance to be a teacher in Seoul, Korea during his try out period.” Wanda’s smile deepened. “And, of course, Vis was overjoyed when I told him I’d be close to him. Now he just has to make sure he doesn’t get an architectural job too far from me!”

“God,” you groaned. “I wish I had that kinda support from my family. Instead I’ve got Parker following me around like a puppy.”

Wanda faked disgust, before saying, “Peter is the sweetest bean ever! And who said puppies were bad? They’re the best things the world has been blessed with ever since fruit roll-ups!” You chuckled. Wanda and her fruit roll-ups. 

“He’s great. Intelligent, cute, the whole bit. But he’s also a freshman, sunshine, and I would not like to be the senior that deflowers him,” you replied in a matter-of-fact attitude. 

“Oh starfire...” your best friend rolled her eyes, but she let go of the topic. You swore her eyeballs were going to get stuck back in her head one day. “Let’s get going before Rogers decides to send out a search party for us again.”

_ _ _ _ _

Loki had gotten an almost immediate response from three companies, and was now waiting on the last company’s verdict.

Professor Starchevskiy, on Loki’s request, had kept all the envelopes containing the information that could change his life in a sealed file. He wanted to open all four envelopes together, and she had understood this desire of his. 

When he got an email from his mentor at 6 AM, five days after his portfolio submission, Loki scrambled to get dressed, rushing to the photo lab once more. 

He was nervous, to say the least.

He blindly reached for the door handle, whipping it open as his ears rang. His piercingly green-blue eyes were frantic, looking for Starchevskiy in the dimly lit room.

“Here, Loki. Turn to your left, I’m in the closet,” came his teachers voice. 

He let out a breathe he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding in. He pressed his hand into his chest, feeling the soft thump-thump of his heartbeat. “Yes, professor, right behind you,” he muttered, feet careful as to not step on any equipment on the way to the closet.

Professor Starchevskiy’s neon green head popped out from the closet door. She held a manila folder in her heavily manicured hand, and a large Starbucks's coffee in the other. “I haven’t seen the contents inside either, so this will be a first for you and me.”

Shakily, Loki extended his hand out for the folder. 

This was it. The chance of a lifetime to become one of the great photographers of this century.

He let out wavering breath. Fingers trembling, he opened the folder. He found four letters, all addressed to him. Eyes narrowing, he began to read, muttering the words to himself.

“Incredible photography... however, there’s a lack of subject within the photos itself... clear infatuation with the background rather than the foreground... otherwise, fascinating use of light... great use of bokeh, but still lacking a human subject... complete disregard for the model...” Loki looked up from reading the pieces in front of him, eyes watering and knees becoming jelly. 

His professor steadied him, holding him upright. “What... what’d they say?”

He gulped, before stating in a detached voice;

“They all said no.”

_ _ _ _ _

Next Chapter

[hannahindie]

Breathe - Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Reader Series Warnings: Fatal illness, character death, blood, canon violence, language, eventual smut, kidnapping. Word Count: 2,083 Square Filled: Fatal Illness Summary: A year earlier, the reader finds out exactly what’s going on and has to make a difficult decision. That decision affects her present day life with Sam and Dean, and she has to decide what to do; keep herself at arm’s length, or let Dean in. A/N: This is the second part of my SPN Angst Bingo Card, hosted by @spnangstbingo. It will be seven parts, and the schedule has already been posted. It will post twice a week (Monday and Friday) until it wraps up. **Disclaimer for this particular chapter: I don’t know much about cancer. My life has been affected by it way too often, but the information I wrote here I got from the Mayo clinic website. I may be taking some liberty with it, simply because I don’t have super in depth experience. I apologize ahead of time if it isn’t 100% accurate.

It was beta’d by the ever fantastic and my writing soulmate @trexrambling: “This ending was damn straight perfection, Han.”

My beautiful twinny, @pinknerdpanda: “I need MORE!”

And my dear, sweet angel baby @masksandtruths: “ Damn it, you are breaking my heart....again.”

Thanks to all three for helping a girl out so that her words make sense. I owe a lot to all of you.

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know.

One Year Earlier…

Growing up, I watched my parents hunt. Their parents were hunters, and their parents’ parents were hunters...it is just what my family does. Well, what it did. I don’t have a large family, and hunting doesn’t really promote a flourishing family tree.

I saw my parents die. I watched the larger than life werewolf tear them apart, I heard my father scream for me and watched as he threw his gun as close to me as he could get it before its yellowed teeth clamped down on his throat. I stared at my hands as they grabbed the gun, as if they belonged to another person while they wrapped around the cool metal and pearl handle and squeezed the trigger. I remember being carried from the woods and placed in the backseat of a stranger’s car, the fear that had wrapped around my heart turning into a numbness that lingered for years after the fact.

So the feeling that is coursing through me now in this too sterile room, the rubbing alcohol burning my nostrils, is familiar. It’s familiar and terrifying and I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of; the fear itself, or the numbness that I know is coming.

“You have what is called small cell lung cancer, or SCLC.” She pulls an x-ray from a manila envelope and places it on the display. I don’t know much about human anatomy, but I’m pretty sure my chest shouldn’t look like it does. “As you can see, you have a pretty significant tumor in your right lung, and it has grown into the space between your lungs and your heart. If you look here-” she points to two darker areas- “there are separate parts to the tumor, in two different lobes.”

I know she’s speaking English, and that so far she’s keeping it pretty simple, but I can’t help but look at her like she just babbled at me in Ancient Greek. “So...what...what does that mean?”

She turns off the light to the display and pulls a stool over next to me, “It means that, out of the four stages that you can possibly have, yours is a IIIB. Each stage has different features that qualify it...right now, yours meets all three features. It has also spread to the lymph nodes near the carina, which is where your windpipe splits into the left and right bronchi and in the space between your lungs.”

This sounds bad, and of course it’s bad, it’s lung cancer, but I’m only thirty. How does this happen? I take a shaky breath in an attempt to steady my voice, “Is there any good news at all? Because right now it feels like you basically just handed me my death certificate.”

“Honestly, I don’t have much, and I’m sorry. The good part of all of this is that it’s in the limited stage, which means it’s only in the one lung and the lymph nodes affected are on the same side. It also hasn’t spread to any other organs. That is incredibly lucky, because only about one out of three people catch it this early.” Her small smile falters, and I brace myself for the other side of this shit sandwich. “However, the five year survival rate of small cell lung cancer compared to non-small cell...it’s drastically lower.”

“How much lower?”

“Ms. Y/LN, I need you to keep in mind that these survival rates are only an estimate, they can’t predict what will happen to any individual person-”

“How much lower?”

“The five year relative survival rate for stage III SCLC is about eight percent. But we can treat it, we have options. They are limited, but they are options, and there has been some success.”

The rest of the conversation is a blur. She hands me pamphlets and offers me a glass of water, displaying a kindness I'm sure she's gotten down to a science in this line of work. I know what she’s saying is important, she’s listing medicines and writing scripts and explaining that we can get chemotherapy started right away, but I don’t hear it. There is talk of procedures that will make it easier to breathe, but right now it’s taking everything I have to force myself to keep going, to focus on the air coming in and going out. Her words are fading into the background as the same thought keeps screaming, drowning out everything else.

I am dying.

Now…

Every so often, Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror. They don’t linger; it’s almost as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still in the back of the car. He hasn’t mentioned what happened back at the hotel, and I’m hoping he forgets about it. However, as I watch his eyes flick up to the mirror again, I know he won’t.

I scoot up and lean on the back of the seat, “So, uh, Sam, what’s up with this ghost, anyway?”

I see Sam’s massive shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, “It’s pretty straight forward. The hotel actually used to be a mansion owned by a doctor, who was married with eight children. The doctor was well known and seemed to be liked by everyone in town, and honestly his life was pretty normal until his children started dying suddenly. Like clockwork, the children became horribly sick, in order from youngest to oldest, and within three weeks all eight of them had died. Rumor was that the wife had something to do with it, but at the time there was no way to prove it. Shortly after the last funeral, the doctor didn’t show up to open his practice, which was very unusual. His nurse called the police, and when they arrived, the front door was open. The doctor had been killed, and his wife was nowhere to be found. To this day, no one knows what prompted the deaths of the children, or why the doctor was killed. No one ever found her.”

I settle back into the seat and look out the window at the scenery passing in a blur, “That’s uplifting.”

“Well, you asked.”

I don't answer, and the car falls silent aside from the rock music playing softly in the background. I quietly flip my bag open and shuffle through the books and papers, searching for the little box that so far has given me life. My fingertips rest on the Altoid can and I flip it open, grabbing a pill and a mint at the same time. Can't be too careful when it comes to covering up my lies.

“Hey, can I get one of those mints?” Dean's hand pops over the back of the seat and I lock eyes with him in the mirror. He's testing me; like Sam, he's catching on.

“Sure.” I drop one in his hand, popping the actual pill into my mouth as I smile and snap the tin closed. His eyes narrow for just a second, then his gaze drops back to the road.

I'm tired. My head drops back onto the cool leather seat and I let my eyes slip shut. My chest hurts, and it feels like someone is sitting on my sternum. I concentrate on breathing, careful to make it sound normal, like I'm not struggling to get enough air. I wonder how long this is going to drag on, how much more time I have.

The car begins to slow and I open my eyes as we pull into a gas station. Dean immediately goes for the gas pump so, before he has a chance to settle his sights back on me, I walk quickly into the convenience store.

“What's going on?” I jump and nearly drop the bag of Combos I am contemplating, then glare at the guilty party.

“Jesus, Sam! Can you not? And what do you mean, ‘What’s going on’?”

He crosses his arms and tilts his head, “You and Dean have been weird. What happened before we left the motel?”

I roll my eyes as I make my way towards the drinks, “Nothing happened. And could you define weird? Because the only interaction we've had since we left the hotel was him asking me for a mint.”

“Exactly!” Sam gestures wildly, his voice still loud even though I can tell he's trying to whisper. “You guys talk all the time. Music, movies, food. You're like the female version of Dean. You guys haven't spoken the entire time. It's weird.”

I grab a Coke, then turn to face Sam. He's looking at me expectantly, and I sigh, “Nothing happened. I'm just tired, and I'm sure he's tired, and that's it. We left the room like ten seconds after you, there wasn't time for anything to happen. Cool your jets, would you? It's fine.” I walk towards the counter, “They've got some organic snacks over by the chips, make sure you get some so you aren't cranky later.”

I grab a couple other snacks as I make my way to the counter, pay, then walk outside and toss Dean one of my last-second purchases.

“Oooo, teriyaki lime jerky. Someone knows the way to my heart.” He pulls the nozzle from the tank and it clunks into place on the pump. “What did I do to deserve you?”

I shrug and lean against the car, “I am truly a gift. You should probably appreciate me more.”

Suddenly, he's directly in front of me, his moss green eyes burning into mine, and then his hand is on my waist. He's close, so close I can smell the shampoo he used this morning and the faint mix of toothpaste and the motel coffee he called breakfast. “I would like very much to show that appreciation.” He smiles, and for a second I am tempted. Oh, am I tempted.

“Dean, we’ve talked about this-”

He tilts his head, and his eyes do that squinty thing he does when he’s thinking about what to say. What I want to do is reach up and smooth the worry wrinkle between his brows, trace the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but instead I hold my ground. Barely, but it’s held.

“No, you talked about this...and I let it go, because I mean...you’re right. Our lives,” he scoffs, “our lives are fucked up. People like us die young and we die bloody. And if we are lucky enough to live to the ripe old age of sixty, we also live long enough to see everyone we love killed. And it sucks, God, it sucks, but it is what it is. But I’m tired of that, alright? This-” he gestures between us- “this is worth it. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. You can’t tell me that you haven’t felt it since Omaha.”

Omaha. Low blow, Winchester.

“Is this really the time to discuss this? As lovely as this gas pump is, this isn’t exactly a romantic way to bring it up.” He is still staring at me, his mouth set in a determined line, and for a moment I want to tell him to quit making that face, that his lips look better when he smiles because they’re full and pink and beautiful, but that would not help this situation. Instead, I sigh, “Omaha was a mistake, Dean. It was fun, but...it was a mistake.” His hand drops from my waist and I would take all the cancer in the world if it meant I never had to see that look on his face again. If I thought my chest hurt before, it is nothing compared to what it feels like now.

His tongue darts out and wets his lips, the bottom one catching between his teeth as he stares at me. It looks like he’s going to argue with me, and there’s a little part of me that is begging him to fight for it, for us, to convince me that my plan is garbage, but instead he walks away. He’s opening the driver’s side door by the time Sam gets to the car and looks at me quizzically.

“You okay?”

I clear my throat, “Oh, yea, I’m fine.” I climb into the backseat and settle in against the door. The car starts with an echoing roar, and he accelerates out of the lot faster than is necessary.

For the rest of the drive, his eyes never look up into the rearview mirror.

Read part 3 HERE.

Like what you see? Would you like to see more? My Masterlist is here!

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SPN Angst Bingo: @thekarliwinchester @emptywithout @winchesterxtwo @aubreystilinksi @castianityislife02

[imagine-that-one-thing]

The Christmas Party.

Authors note: Hi! So, shout out to @harrywavycurly  for pitching me an idea that ended up leading to this… it was meant to be clean, but I couldn’t help myself.

Warning: Smut. You can find my Harry Master List, HERE

You smile to yourself and shake your head as you witness Harry adjusting the tie around his neck, his eyes flickering over towards you through the mirror, "What ye' shakin' your head at, love?" He questions as he arches a sly brow, his hands leisurely knotting the godforsaken thing, you love the tie but you also hate it, mainly because you can't keep your hands off of him when he wears it.

"You," you point to him as you step closer, dropping your bag on the bed as he turns around and steps away from the mirror, "Styles, of all the ugly Christmas sweaters you have, you decide not to wear them." Your hands benevolently draw at his tie and he leans down to kiss you sweetly, a simple 'hello' becoming one you don't want to part ways with.

He draws pulls away from the kiss with a smirk before he clears his throat, "Is there a problem with my attire? I always wear a black suit to your cooperate parties and you always wear a black dress or a navy blue one, it's our thing." Harry gestures between the two of you and stifle a small laugh.

"Sweetheart, it is a Christmas sweater party, didn't I tell you?" you ask as you force yourself to put away all your scandalous thoughts and desires.

He shakes his head, "you failed to tell me that," he mutters, "I'll change."

"No, we don't have time," you shake your head, "You'll get lost and spend an hour trying to figure out which hideous sweater you want to wear and we are already off schedule." You gesture towards the time, reaching for your bag you previously left on the bed.

"You and your schedules," he shakes his head teasingly, "You're the one who put us off schedule, 'I really need Krispy Kremes.'" He mocks your tone of voice and the fact that there was no way you were going to go home without a Krispy Kreme, it just wasn't going to happen.

You pout your lips and roll your eyes at him as he slides his jacket up his lengthy arms, "Shut up," you impishly mumble, "Come on, let's go. You know I hate being late... It's bad enough we aren't dressed right," you mutter as you usher him out of the bedroom.

"Are you grumpy again?" His voice is delicate and somewhat playful as the inquiry leaves his lips. He knows better than to ask the question, but he is too much of an antagonist sometimes and enjoys pestering you. He gets a thrill out of it.

You let out a heavy huff and disregard him as you step down the stairs, "You did it on purpose," you comment while he affectionately seizes your coat off of its resting place in the hallway and helps slide it up your arms.

"What did I do?" His voice is laced with innocence as you rotate on your heel to face him.

"The bloody suit and tie." You bitterly spit out the words, forcing your heels to hammer against the floorboards as you make your way closer to the front door.

"Hold on," his hand benevolently encloses around your wrist, tenderly luring you back to face him. You glance up at him, his eyes glimmering and his lips pursed into a smug grin that you want to wipe from his face with sweet kisses. "Sweetheart," he chuckles, "are you sexually frustrated with me, is that what this is?"

"No, let's go."

"Oh, no. We aren't leaving until you tell me," he shakes his head with that damn grin still painted across his luscious lips. You roll your eyes and turn to open the door, surprised when it refuses to open, Harry's arm perching over you to hold it shut. You turn around and press your back against the door, his hand still weighted firmly to hold the door shut.

"Are you holding me against my own will?" You ask as he stands with a tall erect posture, having no intentions of the door opening just yet.

He gives you a subtle wink, "Wouldn't dream of it, darlin'. I have the keys to the car, so you're not going anywhere until you admit you're sexually frustrated." His voice is soft but laced with so much teasing that you're ready to get on your knees for him, but you know you can't, at least not right now.

"We need to go," you groan with a slight whine urged to your tone of voice while you bounce slightly on your heels, eager to get tonight's event over with for many reasons.

"Say it, just a few little words and we can go."

You bite your lip and glance away before inhaling a deep breath and blowing out moderately, "Fine, I am sexually frustrated," you mutter between the two of you quietly as if there are people around to hear.

He chuckles and you tenderly swat his chest, "Have been all day," you confess composedly.

"Oh, I know," ... "Okay, let's go." He kisses your cheek, removing his hand from the door....

*** ***

He always does his best to stay near you at your business events, although he knows the ins and outs of the lawyer utterance, he doesn't appreciate flying solo with your work colleagues. But tonight, he was cornered when your boss offered him free drinks at the bar and you nudged Harry to go with him, purely because you're striving to crawl your way higher up in the firm. At first he quietly allows your boss and colleagues to talk amongst themselves as he sips his drink and takes note of the Christmas decorations that are adorned everywhere. He snickers to himself as he sees you across the room rolling your eyes at only god knows what. He smiles to himself, finding you to be the most beautiful thing in the room. The decorations have nothing on you in his eyes.

The second your name is mentioned, Harry’s smile grows wider and his cheek blush slightly with endearment, “You’re a lucky man. Y/N is quite the woman, and I don’t say that lightly. Honestly, words don’t describe her worth ethic.”

Harry grins at your Boss, “yes, Sir,” he nods, “she’s amazing, I’m so lucky… couldn’t imagine life without her… jus’ a very lucky man I am.” Harry can’t help himself when he continues the conversation to revolve around you, he’s too damn proud to let it dwindle.

*** ***

You suddenly feel a familiar arm curl around you and pull you into his side, “finally managed to catch ye’ alone.”

“Uh-huh, I see you’ve been quite busy talking,” you gesture over towards the small group of men Harry was talking with. You move to face him and he tenderly places his hands to your waists.

“Darling, I spent thirty minutes talking to them about you. You know, I forgot to tell you earlier, you look absolutely gorgeous today.”

“Thank you, but I should get back to mingling.” You lean up and kiss him in an attempt to part ways, but he squeezes your waist gently to take your attention.

"All these Christmas lights and still you're the prettiest,"

"You're cheesy," you chuckle, “but I need to mingle.”

He shakes his head, not wanting you to mingle. For a moment your frown before raising a brow. "Okay look, we need to go, I don't have time to butter you up." Harry mutters, his eyes undressing you as he licks his lips subtly.

"Excuse me?"

"The lights aren't the only thing turned on.”

“Harry.” Your eyes grow wide and you gently hit his arm.

He leans closer and brushes his lips against your ear, “they’ve been talking all about you and it’s such a turn on… don’t make me beg.”

“Harry, we can’t go home, we haven’t done the Placement is the angel of the giving tree.”

He ignores your comment and places a kiss to your neck, “I know you want to leave,”

*** ***

You both sneak off and leave to find some privacy, you smile at Harry as he opens your office door and gestures for you to enter first. Always a gentleman. He closes the door behind him and before you can think twice, he pins you against the door in a careful and sexy way. You take possession of his mouth, your lips syncing with his, tongues colliding while your shameless hands investigate his body, one hand pressed to the back of his neck, the other travelling up and down his body, undecided on what part it wants to devour more. Oh, how you’ve been waiting so damn long to press your hands all over his body and to feel the tips of your fingers gliding over his shirt. You waste no time with your desires and cravings. You know what you want and there’s no way you want to wait. While your tongue feels the wall of his mouth and you both get lost in sloppy kisses, your hand trails up the front of his shirt before your fingers wrap themselves around his tie. You tug at it mildly and pull away from his lips as you slowly allow the tie to drop to the floor and waddle up. You cock your head to the side, your eyes glued to his with a come-hither grin painted across your face. He pulls you back in and you collide with him, his firm male hands pressing into the small of your back, pulling you closer and cushioning his arousal against you. He presses against you before pulling you to hoist upon his body, your legs wrap around his torso while his hands press to the back of your thighs as he guides you to your desk. He presses you down to sit on the edge of your desk, decided to disregard the items and the Christmas display on it. In the midst of sloppy kisses and audacious hands striving to seize every inch he concedes, his own hands push the fabric of your dress further up your thighs and delicately glides his warm hand up the side of your leg, his fingers resting when he touches the lace hidden under your dress. Instantly you feel the rise of emotion and rush through your body. He doesn’t tease you or take his time, no. He draws your panties down, letting them slide down your legs to rest on your heels. He pushes inside you, circling inside you at ease, his fingers coax you to abandon the sloppy kisses, beginning to take your breath away. You tilt your head back, your mouth allowing a small groan to escape as you’re enthralled with the circular touch and rhythm he’s presenting you with. he slides upwards, relentlessly moving, dipping, swirling and circling around, adding pressure and trying to find the one spot.A familiar hot longing squeezes inside you, his motions already spinning your raging emotions into a chaotic mess. There’s nothing this man can’t do to cause a chaotic mess. You let out a breath as you arch your back slightly, allowing him easier access with a small moan escaping your lips. “That’s better.” He mutters while delighted with your excited anticipation. He slides in another finger, your toes curling into your heeled stilettos, another groan escaping from you as you allow your hand to clutch fistfuls of his shirt, “oh,” you breathe out, “fuck,” you huff, feeling the aching desire through your body, the sensations radiating through every nerve possible. His fingers twist in a circular motion and flick lightly, his thumb brushing against your nub, another groan falling from your lips. “Hold on, Hold it.” He instructs, torturing you with his moves. “I’m close,” you whisper, squeezing his shoulders with shaky hands. You feel the pressure thrusting inside you with every long and slow motion that closes you tighter around him. Your eyes narrow to half mast, and your head tilts back, your nails digging into his shirt as he continues his head swirling motions. Suddenly, he hits the right spot, causing to your moan harsher than before. He grins proudly and presses his lips to yours as he slides fingers out of you, leaving you with damp and quivering thighs. You attack his lips with your kisses, and you allow your hand to glide itself down to encircle itself around his arousal. Dragging his mouth from yours, he takes a breath, “Christmas party, darling.” 
You give him a shrug, your body pressing against his, benevolently moving against his package. You look up at him, his teeth sinking into his lips before your hands reach for his pants, your hands dipping down and tampering with his sanity. You decide not to tamper with him too much before pushing his pants down. He gently moves and pushes you so you’re lying down on your desk. He gets on the desk and hovers over you with a smile. His hands gather your dress again before his fingers glide against your wet inner thigh. He tenderly kisses the slender column of your neck, lowering himself down and moulding your body’s intimately against each others. He suddenly stops kissing you and you look up at him, a little confused, “what’s the matter?” You clear your throat, unsure of what caused him to suddenly stop. “I can’t make love to you with frosty staring me down... fucking creepy.” “What?” You half sit up, your eyes following his to rest on the snowman in the very corner of your extensive desk. “He’s eyeing me, he’s gotta go.” “For fucks sake,” you mutter, “push it to the floor.” You instruct firmly. He leans over and pushes the snowman off the desk allowing it to crash to the floor. He gets back to kissing you as he eases your knees apart and he crowns his thighs at your hips. His package, plumb and swollen bumps against you before he’s at your entrance, sliding in slowly. He circles his hard length inside you, your fingers gripping the material of his shirt while your legs wrap around him. Probing in a slow repetitive rhythm he takes your breath away, for the second time in minutes. He groans, “Fuck, you’re tight, relax sweetheart.” He breathes, your body tightening around him as he thrusts and you raise your body to press into his. You arch my back to better accept him, tensing as he goes deeper, your head spinning with the climax coming at you in drugging waves. You utter his name through a groan and tense around him as he goes deeper, getting you closer and closer to your barrier of resistance. You hold back more vocal groans as a passionate tide overtakes the onslaught of raw physical desire. A keening sound echoes as you throw back your head and he thrusts once more before you take his fill. You take a deep breath and so does Harry before he presses a sweet few kisses to your lips. He carefully gets off the desk and clears his throat while he grabs his pants. You carefully sit up and swing your legs to dangle over the edge of your desk and you take the moment to adjust your dress as you catch your breath and do your best to ignore your quivering thighs. “You might need these.” Harry bends down before he dangles your panties in front of you on his index finger. “Thanks.” You mutter, taking them from him as he gives you a wink. You carefully get off your desk and slide your heels back on while pulling down your dress. “I uh, I think we should get back to that Christmas party,” Harry informs you as he tenderly pushes a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, we probably should,” you chuckle, taking a quick look around your office, “thanks for destroying my Christmas set up,” “Sorry ‘bout that, darling... I’ll uh... I’ll fix it.” He assures you, kissing the corner of your mouth before beginning to pick up the decorations he previously forced to the floor....

[enterprisetrampstamp]

and on and on

also on ao3

carol's world has just fallen apart. her dad tried to start an intergalactic war, a supervillain from the 1990s viciously broke her knee, and she almost died, twice. jim kirk- a tentative ally, a future friend- did.

(and then he didn't.)

so it goes.

she's not sure what she signed up for, except maybe her apparently-callously-evil father's approval, but she doesn't think it was this. she should've...

carol wanted to be a biologist, once upon a time; she'd even double majored in her undergrad before turning down a path she's regretted ever since. she could go back to school, couldn't she? it's not like she has anyone to impress with her proficiency in weaponry any longer.

this is the thought behind her humorless snort as she tosses back some of scotty's mystery liquor; it's the thought nyota, with a tired whisp of something approximating a smile, doesn't ask about as she raises her glass in sarcastic toast.

"amen to that, sister."

carol asks, "does it ever get easier?"

and nyota lies, "of course it does."

they lean into each other, tipsily trusting, as they abandon the officer's lounge later that night. still later, carol doesn't ship out on the five year mission.

before they leave, she clings to jim, a friend turned family in the intervening months of rummy played over hospital sidetables and old movies watched in sweats and old tshirts, and she tries to shake dr. mccoy's legendary hand before he tugs her in with a curmudgeonly scoff and soft eyes, his tall frame bowed to fit around hers.

nyota is already aboard the shuttle.

carol waves goodbye, receiving a soft smile and a flutter of fingertips in return, and this should, by all rights, be the end of their acquaintance. other than one slightly drunken night of conversation and assorted pleasantries exchanged as they passed in the halls of starfleet, they don't really know each other.

yet--

it's nyota she calls when she grows frustrated with the world of academia once more. "I already have a doctorate," she bemoans. she's not even really so old as to be out of place among the other grad students, and yet she feels it.

"should've just gone for a masters," nyota mocks.

"bite me."

"only if you ask nicely," comes the prim response, and carol's startled into laughter.

nyota comms her, too; carol listens dutifully to complaints about jim, complaints about spock, complaints about the two of them together and also the rest of the bridge crew and, more sparingly, the officers under nyota's command in the communications division.

sometimes, nyota calls with nothing to say in particular; on these nights, her smile is soft, her eyeliner removed, her lipstick smudged on the rim of the mug jim recently bought her as a joke--Number One Dad.

(dr. mccoy, of course, had received one labelled "Number One Mom", and spock's had been edited to simply read "Number One".)

carol isn't sure when her calls with nyota had become a part of her routine, but she can't deny how off kilter she feels when the enterprise finally passes out of easy range of earth. nyota had warned her when they last spoke several days before, but that doesn't change the way carol's smile slides from her face when her comm attempt results in an error message.

(in the days following, she does not mope, and anyone suggesting otherwise should remember that at this point in time, her knowledge of the anatomy of terran vertebrates is still secondary to her understanding of the design, construction, and operation of advanced weaponry.)

life, as it always does, moves on.

carol graduates, the enterprise swings back into the quadrant on a diplomatic mission, and jim, somehow, remembers her birthday, after one offhand comment made a third of the way into a gallon of mint chocolate ice cream.

"come visit; we can have a party," he says, but he's using his captain voice.

"you can't sit around and wait for one woman to catch up to you," she scoffs.

"we're about to be on shore leave," he insists. "c’mon, carol, bones misses you." he leans in, eyebrows raised. “nyota misses you.”

and that is... apparently the end of that.

of course, jim has a little more in mind than a simple visit. carol's greeted by him down on one knee, a party hat set jauntily atop his head and a set of science blues held forward on a throw cushion she definitely recognizes from that time jim "broke" them into dr. mccoy's apartment to "borrow" the good booze. "I know you've already gotten a couple other offers, so if you aren’t interested, then no hard--"

"are you kidding me? fork them over."

carol immediately pulls the dress over her head before shedding her shirt and shorts with the ease of a girl who played club football for years and often had to change into her uniform and boots in the back of a hovercar.

who in their right mind would turn down a posting on the flagship? she's positively gleeful as she cancels her passage home and requests her roommates pack her things into storage.

"told you she couldn't resist my charm," jim boasts.

"this is in spite of your 'charm', not because of it," carol shoots back.

nyota slings an arm around her shoulders as jim gasps in mock betrayal. "oh, you'll fit in just fine," carol's told, nyota's voice thick with laughter, and it's strange how the world fell to pieces years ago and yet carol's never felt more complete.

there's no time limit on their conversations now, no impending termination of communication; if carol had thought nyota a part of her routine before, it's only because she hadn’t been able to imagine brown toes tucked under her thigh as their owner waves around a gag gift of a mug and tries out the sounds of a new language. carol smiles to herself and idly scours the mission brief for the familiar--anatomy, hostility, and societal faux pas the likes of which she's known since she was a child at her mother's knee.

a jack of all trades, jim calls her sometimes.

(carol appreciates the look in nyota's eye when he does, given how often she finds herself swooning over nyota's vast array of musical, linguistical, and physical skill sets.)

their first kiss feels--inevitable.

and yet neither of them is willing to take that step, to admit they've long since passed from acquaintances to friends to something else altogether. carol considers, briefly, asking jim for advice--

but, well.

there’s spock.

he's something of an enigma to carol; an adversary turned ally turned good friends' good friend turned workplace supervisor. she both knows him and doesn't, stories she's been told by nyota and jim and dr. mccoy at odds with their lightly antagonistic start. his deadpan sort of sarcasm is both familiar from her british youth and utterly alien in its delivery; the professionalism with which he addresses her, at once soothing and unsettling.

she straightens her shoulders, chin lifted defiantly, as she regards him. this new year's party is a battle ground, and one from which carol intends to walk away the winner.

"how did you do it?" is both an innocuous question, and a highly inappropriate thing to ask of a man she barely knows, given the implied meaning behind it.

spock is very tall, and his eyes are very dark as he watches her right back. "I did nothing," he admits, because there's no point in pretending he doesn't know what she means. "what nyota wants, she chases."

this is, of course, not the answer carol is looking for, given that nyota has had- and forsaken- ample opportunity to chase her.

carol bites her lip and asks, "shall I just give up then?"

spock doesn’t hesitate: "I should think not."

carol nods her agreement, and then, because she's had just enough alcohol to think it’s the best way to thank him for his candor, she asks him to dance. at midnight, spock obligingly leans down to allow her to press a chaste kiss to his forehead, and on the other side of the room nyota laughs as mr. scott and keenser- standing on the back of the couch- kiss her cheeks simultaneously.

they’re adrift in space, no world turning beneath their feet, and still they celebrate the passage of 365 days as if there is:

life. goes. on.

carol locks herself in her room on the anniversary of the night her father died; the night jim died; the night her life shattered along with the bones in her knee. tomorrow, she’ll scrub her cheeks, replicate some ice cream, and celebrate that most of those things aren’t relevant any more.

tonight, she mourns that they ever had to happen to her at all.

is it getting any easier? nyota asks, the words small and black on the screen of carol’s padd.

not really.

yeah. me either.

wanna talk?

gonna open the door?

for you, maybe.

this isn’t the night that carol finally kisses nyota, but it is the night that she falls asleep upright on the couch, nyota’s cheek against her thigh and gently musical snores curling through her quarters. it’s the night that carol listens because she’s not yet ready to speak, and it’s the night that carol realizes nyota isn’t sure what to do when the chase is over before it’s even begun.

their first kiss is--inevitable.

their first kiss is just the first of many.

[larksinging]

alright im not super happy with this but i think this is as good as its going to get, so. this exist in @rorykillmore‘s deserves better au (for lack of a better name). she also suggested i write this, because i doubt canon is ever gonna examine this parallel, and i would die for black siren at this point. (i also considered adding wally, but that seemed too complicated for the time being. maybe another fic) 

brief references to alcoholism and also trauma i guess? 

“What, like…” Kendra stares at Ray in vague horror. “Like he was human once?”

“Yeah,” Ray replies, and mimes a shiver.  “Seems like a horrible fate.”

“Maybe he deserved it,” Laurels adds, and hopes nobody reads anything into it besides her usual cynicism.

“Doesn’t it ruin the point of a surprise party if you tell me about it?” Kendra asks. She has to look up from the laundry she’s folding when the other two, having taken over her bed to play cards on, only give her a shrug in response.

“Would you rather we didn’t?” Zari shoots back. Kendra hums uncertainty, but Zari ignores her to frown at her cards while Laurel watches her impatiently.

Honestly, Kendra should be thanking them for warning her, as far as Laurel’s concerned. Her “hangouts” with Zari are becoming a regular thing, usually when Nate and Amaya are off being intolerable and Sara’s off pretending she’s not flirting with Ava and they’re the only two cynical enough on the ship to appreciate each other’s complaining.

So the fact they ended up sitting on Kendra’s bed, playing cards, is one half coincidence and one half Kendra not knowing any better. And the newbies have to stick together, even if Kendra’s not technically a newbie. It’s only right that they warn her.

“Besides, it’s less of a surprise party and more a chance for everyone to get drunk and brag about the stuff they’ve done under the guise of catching you up,” Zari continues.  

Kendra pauses and turns to look at them. She seems caught between amusement and vague bafflement. She looks at Laurel. “They do this for everyone now?”

“Don’t ask me,” Laurel responded dryly, “I managed to avoid it.”

“The boys didn’t want to spook you,” Zari adds, though it’s a little hard to tell if it’s teasing or not.

“If you imply I’m skittish again, I’ll break your Xcube.”

“Seriously?” Zari puts down her cards. “It’s called an Xbox on this Earth. Xcube doesn’t even make sense.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway,” Kendra interrupts with an awkward cough, “This party sounds almost restrained by Legends standards. Because I really doubt that any of them had chilled out at all.”

“It’s more… terrible and awkward,” Zari says.

“It’d be more fun if it was up to Legends standard of destruction,” Laurel grumbles.

“Not when it’s on the ship,” Zari grumbles in return. Then she shrugs at Kendra.  “Anyway, most of it is Nate rambling. You’ll probably hate it.” She glances at Laurel. “And you will definitely hate it.”

Frustratingly, Kendra adores the party. Earlier she even caught up a few of them with her stories. And she listens to Ray’s ramblings with a certain lightness in her laugh. The only thing that’s not completely saccharine about it is the way Laurel notices Sara keeping a worried eye on Kendra. There’s history there, Laurel figures. Too much history.

They’re all gathered in the Gallery and listening to Nate ramble on about the team’s reality-bending adventure last... whenever. Personally, she thinks it’d feel more like a history lesson if it was in the library, but Gideon had cryptically said “No more parties in the library. Captain’s orders”.

Zari wasn’t wrong. Laurel hates this. Then again, it’s probably more enjoyable when you’re drunk, and Laurel’s not that eager to drink anymore. It’s a side effect of finding out her doppelganger and the doppelganger of her father both had drinking problems, she figures. Kind of makes you think twice about hitting the bottle.

Speaking of, Nate is clearly too drunk to be telling this story anymore.

“And so there’s Thawne, just standin’ there, and we- we…. Hm.” Nate pauses and thinks very hard. “Hey, Sara. You tell the rest of this story better. C’moon.”

There’s some brief cheering as Sara steps up, and even more when she takes the drink out of Nate’s hand and sets it aside. He half-stumbles into his seat with a disappointed grumble.

“So there I am,” Sara begins, sweeping her gaze over the crowd, “Everyone’s knocked on their ass, so it’s just me, Thawne, and the Holy Lance.”

“Spear of Destiny,” Nate corrects.

“Whatever. So I have it in my hands, and-” There’s a hint of hesitation. None of the others seem to notice it, but Laurel watches Sara a little more closely. Sara catches her eyes, and then quickly looks away.

“-And he snatches it from me. But joke’s on him, I made one tiny change. And that’s when he realizes it’s just a  powerless hunk of wood.” Sara soaks in the approving cheer from the crowd. Even Laurel’s more impressed than she’d like to admit.

“He’s just about to try and kill me, keyword try, when that… thing shows up. That, um…” Sara searches for the words for a moment. “The Black Flash.”

Laurel’s blood runs cold.

“He had one of those silly speedster suits, but all black and red,” Sara adds. She gestures to her face. “But all torn up and…. Grr.”

“It, er, he? He was some kind of time wraith chasing Eobard down,” Ray explains to the newbies. “Like a twisted version of a speedster.”

“What, like…” Kendra stares at Ray in vague horror. “Like he was human once?”

“Yeah,” Ray replies, and mimes a shiver.  “Seems like a horrible fate.”

“Maybe he deserved it,” Laurels adds, and hopes nobody reads anything into it besides her usual cynicism.

Ray and Amaya give her a horrified look, while Kendra looks more confused than anything. Zari seems uncertain, Nate’s too drunk to care, and Mick snorts in amusement. Sara pauses. Laurel shrugs to try and brush it off, but she feels strangely fragile.

“...Anyway,” Sara says, “He just sticks his hand in Thawne’s chest and boom, suddenly him and his stupid yellow suit are disappearing. And-”

“Oh, I remember this!” Nate interrupts. “Then-”

But Laurel doesn’t hear the rest of what he said. Even now, she can still remember the sound of that little execution trick. Just a bit too low to sound like a fly. She’d always wondered what it felt like, not that she ever wanted to find out. It didn’t seem like it should have hurt, but it also seemed like Zoom would have found a way to make it hurt a lot. The metas always screamed before they died, so it must have.

Laurel startles and snaps back to attention when the room bursts into laughter. She quickly covers herself by giving Nate a vaguely unimpressed look, but in the corner of her eye she catches Sara watching her closely.

Nate makes another sweeping gesture and knocks his glass over. As it shattered on the ground, Laurel rolls her eyes with extra amounts of dramatic scorn. If she makes herself seem annoyed at Nate, nobody will question why she needs to leave the room that’s suddenly way too loud. Everyone seems to buy it, because when she rises from her seat they just wave her off. They all think she’s prickly and mean and cultivating suits her well for moments like this.

“Enjoy brooding!” Nate calls as he leaves. Sara doesn’t say anything.

Her room is too quiet, so Laurel runs her finger along the rim of the half-empty glass and listen to the high pitched humming. It’s silly and a little cliche, but it makes her feel a little bit better.

The door slides open and Laurel stops abruptly. She’d told Gideon not to let anyone in, which means it must be Sara. Gideon would ignore her command for Sara. Sure enough, Sara enters carefully and looks her over. She doesn't even do Laurel the honor of not looking openly worried.

“It’s just water,” Laurel grumbles when she catches Sara eyeing her glass.

As much as she doesn’t really want to do this right now, she’d rather not have to deal with this later either. So she slides over a fraction of an inch from where she’s sitting on her bed. Sara takes the invitation and takes a seat next to her.

“...Look,” Sara begins gently, “I know you well enough to know that you don’t scare easily. But whatever happened in there really spooked you.”

“What, you think I got scared?” Laurel sneers in return. She doesn’t have to look at Sara to know that her (sort-of) sister is skeptical.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” Sara’s voice has a kind of careful, even quality to it, like she’s expecting Laurel to startle. Her Captain voice. “I just.... You can talk to us. If you need to.”

The idea of opening up feels gross and vulnerable. Maybe the Legends have warmed her up to being nice, or not mean, or whatever, but that’s a completely different hurtle. And yet, when Sara rises with a little nod and heads for the door, Laurel’s chest constricts.

“Wait-” She says. Sara pauses. “Wait.”

It’s not until Sara sits back down on the bed that Laurel finds her voice. “I… know that thing,” She says after a moment. “It’s… my old boss.”

“...Prometheus?” Sara seems to be struggling with this. Not that Laurel’s told her that many details.

“No.” There’s a nervous part of her that feels like if she says it, he’ll suddenly appear. Even now. “Zoom.”

When she glances at Sara, it’s clear that Sara’s not fully following this. So she goes on. “He wasn’t like that before. It must be… Speed Force bullshit, or something.” She shakes her head. “S.T.A.R. labs never told me what happened to him. I just assumed he was dead, because everyone was still in one piece.”

“Let me get this straight,” Sara says. “The evil speedster from Earth-2 you used to work for became the time wraith that killed Eobard Thawne?”

“I guess,” Laurel says, because thinking too hard is not what she wants to do. There’s a slightly awkward moment of silence between them.

“Time wraiths don’t come after us,” Sara says gently, as if that’s what’s gotten under her skin. It rubs up against her all the wrong ways. “We have a different kind of time travel. It’s not going to come looking for-”

Laurel pushes herself off the bed and begins to pace. She wants to scream that no, that’s not it. Zoom’s probably less of a monster as a time wraith. She has to grit her teeth to stop the nervous energy rising that makes her want to break something.

“Laurel-”

“Forget it,” She snaps, and turns for the door. At this point, she doesn’t care how silly it is to storm out of her own room. But Sara catches up and just stands in her way.

“Okay,” Sara holds up her hands, as if that’ll calm Laurel down. “Okay. I get it, I’m... jumping to conclusions.” Sara puts her hands on Laurel’s shoulders when it’s clear she’s cooled down, and then gently guides her until they’re both sitting on the bed again. Laurel’s feeling a bit too hollowed out to resist.

“You didn’t know Zoom,” is all she manages to say. Sara starts to say something, but Laurel interrupts her.

“You know...” She dips into that sickly sweet mocking tone that she doesn’t use around the Legends much anymore, “When he’d drop metas off on your Earth, some of them would go and track down their doppelgangers to kill them to take their place. As if that would let them get away.” She smiles bitterly and looks at Sara. “I didn’t exactly have that option.”

The silence that hangs between them is more tense. Laurel’s smile fades when she notices how tightly Sara has clenched her fists in her lap. Sara doesn’t say anything, but Laurel suspects she’s trying to hold herself back from lashing out. Maybe she wouldn’t with anyone else. The jab suddenly doesn’t feel as satisfying.

“...That was a low blow,” Laurel admits, because she’s not quite to a point where she can apologize. But Sara deserves something.

There’s a long moment, and Sara sighs a little. Laurel wishes she could hate herself more for the misstep, but it’s hard when Sara somehow finds a way to move past it.

“...Anyway,” Sara begins a little tensely, but then evens out, “I’ve had some experience with  murder-happy megalomaniacs. And if the one you dealt with was also a speedster, then I think that being afraid is a normal response.” She looks at Laurel, and her voice is softer. Less Captain-y, more vulnerable. “These things linger.”

Laurel wants to argue that she’s not afraid. Being afraid of Zoom was the kind of thing the lesser metas did, or ones who’d done something to disappoint him. She’d always found some safety in putting on the impression that she could even openly question him. A little bit.

And, sure, sometimes she has nightmares, but the usual one is of being choked. Sometimes it’s Chase, and sometimes it’s Oliver, sometimes it’s Cayden, and even every once and a while it’s Sara. But never Zoom. Not that she doesn’t have nightmares, but it’s different. Maybe that’s because her subconscious mind knows he wouldn’t need to choke her. That’s not fear, is it?

Is it?

“Laurel?” Sara sounds concerned, and Laurel realizes she hasn’t responded.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” She snaps. “Just like you don’t want to talk about the Spear.” From the way Sara almost winces, Laurel can tell she didn’t expect anyone to notice. A hurt silence hangs over them for a moment, and then she relents. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” Sara says quietly, but it sounds like an agreement.

Instead Sara puts her hand on Laurel’s shoulder. Laurel shifts to move a touch closer, and Sara takes the invitation to pull her into a gentle hug. It’s a careful system they’ve worked out, since Laurel can’t quite herself to initiate this kind of affection and Sara doesn’t want to crowd her.

“If you tell anyone I let you hug me, there won’t be a Captain anymore,” Laurel teases.

“So you’re recording this, right, Gideon?”

“I hate you,” Laurel sighs, but hugs her back a little more tightly than she intended. It helps, just a little.