#those cakes have Nosy's name on them

[kiwiplaetzchen]

Remind me again as to why this is of utmost importance?

The Hybridean Black pressed amusedly unto Euphemia’s mind. They often talked whenever she made such treks down Hogwart’s exceedingly convoluted halls, but today’s daily update was…a bit less mundane.

He’s positively everywhere, Eleazar! I was taking out my curlers just this morning, and there’s his grubby little paws going for my jewelry box. I spoke with Bassie about those notes he needed for History of Magic and he’s yanking at our blasted laces under the desk. I tried to have a cinnamon roll Felix baked for me between classes and oh, would you never have guessed! Beady peepers staring into my soul as if I’m the second coming of Christ.

Mmm, mhm. And- you said the minuscule speck of fur with rabbit palpitations is called…?

Nosey, I believe. Why?

…You are fretting over a minuscule speck of fur with rabbit palpitations. Named…Nosey. I am going to assume this is even more human frivolity of which I understand very little.

Zar.

Euphie.

The Ravenclaw audibly huffed, tossing her hair rather sassily. Having finally made it to her destination (evidenced by the impressive trail of shiny baubles and pastry crumbs)- Euphemia sat with her legs folded off to the side, cradling a pile of fresh honeycakes atop her lap dressed in wicker and cloth.

Well in any case, I’m going to take this gift basket to his den and properly introduce myself. We might as well be acquainted if he insists on trailing me better than my own shadow.

I am going to return to the stag you interrupted me from feasting upon.

That…sounds wonderfully revolting. You do that.

Cheers.

(This is in response to a certain nosey Niffler always trying to steal my heart with their like-spams. Cameos for Ask-Sebastian and Ask-Felix-Åberg, too! <3)

While the Ravenclaw seemed entirely absorbed in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed that, amid the bustling students and echoing footsteps of Hogwarts' winding halls, the very teal menace she sought was already hot on her heels.

Nosy had been trailing her for quite some time now, slipping between legs and darting under robes like an expert. She may have been eager to introduce herself, but the little Niffler was well ahead of her plans.

Nosy's eyes sparkled with mischievous delight as he watched his chosen victim for the day - the girl had been a particularly amusing target lately. And he certainly wasn't done yet. If anything, he was even more intrigued now, for a new, sweet smell wafted enticingly from the basket in her arms. The little Niffler sniffed the air, mesmerised by the aroma, and felt his mouth start to water. There was no way he would give up on that!

Blimey, if anything, Nosy absolutely deserved whatever delicious treat she was hiding inside of that basket! Not only has he been following the girl the whole day - no, being the diligent Niffler he was, Nosy had even cleaned up after the clumsy thing!

Each time Euphemia dropped a shiny bauble, he would swoop down, scoop it up, and pop it into his belly pouch with a self-satisfied little giggle. What an attentive little menace was!

But his devotion to this pursuit wasn't just about shinies. There were, of course, the crumbs that fell from her basket and dotted the path with irresistible treats. How was a little Niffler like himself supposed to resist those? Sebastian might have tried lecturing him about not eating everything he found on the floor, but Nosy saw no harm in a few extra nibbles here and there. To Nosy, each crumb was a gift, surely meant just for him!

As Euphemia finally stopped and sat down, the basket of honeycakes balanced delicately on her lap, Nosy paused, tilting his head as he watched her closely. There was something... odd about this human. Nosy had an uncanny sense that she wasn't entirely alone. But, for the life of him, the little Niffler couldn't figure out precisely what it was. Shrugging off the strange feeling, he settled his gaze firmly back on the basket. The sweetness wafting up to him was irresistible, and his little nose twitched eagerly. It was time for his next move!

With a determined flick of his tail, he quietly crept closer, eyes locked on the basket. This was going to be a very profitable day indeed, thought Nosy with a satisfied honk.

With the girl still blissfully unaware, Nosy Stealthily climbed up onto the bench behind her. The Niffler paused a few times, scanning the area for any prying eyes and ensuring that the coast was clear. Satisfied, he reached into his belly pouch and slowly, centimetre by centimetre, pulled out a shiny fork, his gaze never once leaving Euphie.

Finally armed and ready, Nosy leaned over the edge of the basket, balancing his weight as he fidgeted with the fork, aiming to spear at least two honeycakes in one go. If luck was on his side, this would be the heist of the day. His nose twitched with excitement as he poised the fork just right.

[megamindsecretlair]

Sit Still (Look Pretty), Part 1

Cross posted on @megamindssecretlair

Pairing: Nomad Steve x Black!Fem!reader/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. There is some unresolved tension, mutual voyeurism, cursing, mentions of female and male parts, Part 1 of ? Not sure how long this will take to resolve. Age gap, reader is mid 20s, Nomad Steve is mid 30s.

Summary: AU where Steve was born in modern times but still received a serum in the Army to make him a super soldier. He's moved in next door and has noticed you watching him. You and your mom have gone over to introduce yourselves.

Word Count: 1,857k

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3

A/N: I've been reading a lot of age gap fics so decided to try my hand at another. Apologies if I miss any warnings or this is super corny. But this was fun. While likes are awesome, please consider commenting and reblogging to help writers!

Fuck, your neighbor was hot as hell. You sat on your window seat gawking at the tall, sexy neighbor as he picked up huge boxes and carried them in the house as if it weighed no more than feathers. 

Muscles rippled in a dark blue muscle shirt as he moved and bent over. And that ass. You bit your lip as the neighbor bent further down to lift a chair. Oh and those thighs. You sighed. The Lord took His time with this one. 

The man was at least six foot tall, dark blond hair and a full trimmed beard. He wore a pair of dark jeans and boots. All week, you had watched him go in and out of the newly bought house next door. He carried lots of boxes but none of them gave any clue to his story.

Was he married? Was he expecting? Surely someone that damn fine had a wife heavenly pregnant and ordering him about. You weren’t sure how he didn’t have eleven rugrats running around. There were no other movers and the neighbor had rented a small truck for his sofa and dressers. 

You also saw the neighborhood crones using any excuse in the book to talk to him and be nosy. If he thought someone that looked like him was going to move here without raising any alarms, he was sorely mistaken.

You gasped as he stopped to stretch, moving his body beyond his limit. You just wanted to lick him. Just once. You fanned yourself as you watched him. You imagined all kinds of filthy things when it came to him. 

You imagined him grabbing your fleshy thighs and shaking them before slapping them. You imagined him in between your legs coating that full beard with your juices. You imagined him breaking your back. Like, literally breaking your back. Because he could put you in the hospital and you’d say thank you.

He disappeared into the house. His curtains were thrown open so you could still watch him moving around the house. The downfall to stock houses was that they were lined up just so. The houses were nearly identical. Your bedroom window faced his bedroom window on the second floor. The angle you had was just enough to see his kitchen sink. It’d be possible to see his arms and hands as he washed. 

You spent plenty of nights this week just watching his hands work over his meager dishes. If he was married, she didn’t live with him. You never saw anyone coming or going from his place. He didn’t have a second car. 

Your mom called your name. “I’ve got this cake for the neighbor, let’s go introduce ourselves,” she called. 

You rolled your eyes. Yes, your mom was very much just as gossipy as the neighborhood crones. Everything you’ve heard of the neighbor was through her and probably had twisted from its original message. 

You weren’t dressed yet. You had made watching him your dirty hobby. But you couldn’t summon the energy to care. Sometimes, you got the eerie feeling as if he were watching you too. You had taken to keeping your curtains open and your light on. 

You never saw him look over here. The random times he was in his room and moving around, he never gave any indication that he knew you were looking. Still, you pranced around in your bra and panties every morning or before hanging with your friends as you decided what to wear.

Sometimes, you even faced the window as you decided between two shirts or two skirts. You pretended that he was picking your outfits, telling you what he likes seeing you in. That he would imagine ripping it off of your body all day and it would drive him crazy. Knowing you’d be capable of making him hard and uncomfortable all day turned you on so badly. 

You stood and did just that. You faced his bedroom window even though he was probably still on the first floor. You held up a red, frilly shirt and a light ocean blue plain shirt. You flipped back and forth, imagining what he’d like.

You put the shirts on your bed and then flipped between jeans and white shorts. You held up the red shirt and white shorts. If you were going to meet him, you might as well show him what you’re working with. You turned around and imagined him at the window, getting dressed for him. 

You bent low and shimmied into the white shorts as slow as you could. Then you slipped on the red babydoll tee. It made your breasts look good. Plus it was hot as sin outside. 

You ran down the stairs and sat on the steps as you slipped on your shoes. Your mom floated into the room holding a small box. “I went with chocolate,” your mom said. “Everybody likes chocolate and those who don’t are lying to get attention.”

You laughed as you shook your head. Your mom was gorgeous, with flowing locs and a great figure. She wore loose tan pants and a cream shirt. 

“Isn’t this a little Southern of us?” You asked. You lived in Suburbia with the white picket fences and neighbors who’d gone to high school together. It was capital boredom and should be labeled as a torture method.

“Best way to meet your neighbors. They associate you with good food and are less likely to be rude to you by throwing loud parties and orgies,” your mother said.

You snorted. Your mom never had a filter and would often say the first thing that comes to mind. Your dad hated it but you caught him smiling more than a few times. 

You trudged over the manicured lawn, over the small concrete divider, and onto his property. The door was closed. He was probably taking a break from moving things. Your mom rang the doorbell and you waited.

The door finally opened and you gasped silently. He was even more gorgeous in person. Fuck, it had to be illegal to carry those arms. They looked big enough to crush a coconut in one grip. His hands were large and his fingers were long, like a musician's fingers.

He smirked at you and your mother. Your mom stepped forward. “We wanted to introduce ourselves, we’re your neighbors on that side,” she said and pointed to your house. 

She told him your names and all about the chocolate cake, including her joke about people lying. He threw his head back as he laughed as if it were that funny.

“I’m Steve,” he said. He shook your mom’s hand and then moved to yours. His grip was firm but not crushing.  

You looked down at your combined hands, loving the way that your copper skin contrasted with his creamy skin. He held on a second too long before turning his attention to your mom who asked him a million questions.

“If I heard all of those, I’d say I moved here for work, not married, and I work for the military. Did I get it all?” He asked.

He had a bit of an accent. You guessed somewhere on the East Coast. Your mom giggled. You looked at her as if she grew a third head. She widened her eyes at you and then smiled back at Steve. She prattled on about her career, that fact that you were in college for your master’s, and that you were always available if he needed you. 

Since his attention was on your mom, you took the opportunity to study him up close. His blue eyes were sharp, giving one hundred percent of his focus on the person speaking. He had a prominent vein on the side of his neck and you imagined licking it. 

“Oh, I have to take this, excuse me,” your mom said. She answered her phone and stepped off of the porch. 

You turned to Steve who had his eyes trained on you. He barely blinked and did not look away. 

“So, military huh? That explains that,” you said. You waved at his figure and he laughed. It was deep and made you tingle.

“Thank you. I’m not active duty anymore, I’ve transitioned to the state side and do boring office work now. You home for the summer?” He asked.

“Yes, I am. Taking a break so no work, no homework, just time to decompress. Usually in the pool. This is one of the worst summers ever,” you said and fanned yourself.

Steve slowly perused your body. There was no mistaking that look in his eyes. He faintly smirked as he took in your outfit, your wide curves, your generous hips, and your thick thighs. 

He slowly dragged that gaze back up until he reached your face. “Make sure you stay cool, then. Dehydration is nothing to play with,” he said. 

Your mouth went dry under the intense heat of his gaze. You were aware. You were aware of him and aware of his focus. You bit your lips and his eyes zeroed in on it. His eyes narrowed.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You shifted your footing, trying to find some relief. The heat outside had nothing on his face. 

Your mom’s scuffling shoes took you out of the moment. He winked at you before your mom joined you. Though it was Saturday, her job needed her to come in and solve an emergency. She waved goodbye to Steve and told him not to be a stranger.

You waved bye, unable to speak at the moment. As you turned to leave, Steve grabbed your hand. He ran his fingers over your wrist as he leaned in.

“My favorite color is light blue. And you should get more of those garter things. They look divine on you,” he said. Gravel skated over ‘divine’ and you whimpered. You hoped he didn’t catch that. Your eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes and his eyes narrowed again. 

Your heart thundered in your chest. He knew what you had been doing all along. Your skin heated for entirely different reasons as you thought of all the different lingerie combinations you tried on in front of the window. It somehow made it filthier that he was getting naughty glimpses of you. It made you horny all day thinking of wearing the lingerie and that he didn’t know it was for him. 

It had gotten so bad, that you didn’t care if your parents were home. You had to get off on thinking that he helped select the combos. And those were some of the best orgasms you ever gave yourself. 

“Yes, sir,” you whispered and licked your lips. He smiled and nodded his head as if he were dismissing you. As if he had any right to order you around. 

Yet you left the porch and nearly skipped across the lawn like he told you. Before getting in the house, you looked back. He stood on the porch, facing you, with his hands in his pockets. You smiled and went inside, thinking of how many blue outfits you owned.

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3

[boiledbasil]

All for sumire

i have literally no idea if you were serious about this so i'ma just get through as many as I can before I get tired and uhh also some that I wanted to answer in general :D

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

I'd say that yea, she is, she will start crying, sobbing on the fucking floor and 5 mins later she just gets up like "alr time to make dinner"

if you want to know how she's lying, you'd probably tell by her tone of voice or how she's smiling

👻 GHOST - do they believe in ghosts? what are their "ghostly experiences", if any?

nah she doesn't but she thinks it a cool concept

💥 COLLISON - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

anger and frustration, sumire my girl you gotta get better coping mechanisms for your bottled up anger and sadness smh

😭 CRYING - what makes them cry? do they cry easily?

I think she just, barely does, anymore- it'd only happen if she was VERY sad and stressed

👊 PUNCH - are they quick to violence?

violence is a big no-no

unless they like. actually deserve it (cough cough wd kenshin COUGH)

💢 ANGER - what are some habits they have that will take some getting used to?

she's prone to falling asleep during the day, and sometimes can be a little nosy when it comes to peoples personal lives, even if she tries her best not to cross boundries

👪 FAMILY - what is their family like? what is your ocs relationship to them? does your oc have any siblings?

she actually has a rly good relationship with her parents in all au's! no siblings but she does love her parents, they just work a little too much for her to talk to them that often.

😨 FEARFUL - when scared, do they go into "flight" or "fight"?

probably fight I'd say, maybeeee on the verge of freeze

💤 SLEEPING - do they fall asleep easily? what helps them sleep?

I think this one's pretty obvious

🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?

random fruit that's in the fridge or fried eggs

🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE - when is their birthday? do they like celebrating it?

her birthday is on july 11th! she likes her birthday and celebrating it with small gatherings :)

🍩 DONUT - favourite sweet treat?

donuts or muffins

🍟 FRIES - do they order food often? or they prefer to cook their own food?

she usually cooks her own meals, but she's kinda bad at cooking anything than isn't a quick simple recipe

🍓 STRAWBERRY - do they eat their fruit & veg? what is their favourite fruit or vegetable?

indeed she does :3 also she likes bananas

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

nothing of too much importance, just some small trinkets from her family, they're special to her but they don't hold a ton of value to her.

💐 BOUQUET - create a bouqet for them! what do those flowers mean? are any of the flowers their particular favourite?

when I was thinking of flower symbolism for sumire I picked zinna's and petunias, petunias mean perseverance and hope along with anger/resentment, and zinna's mean friendship and lasting affection!

I think she just likes all flowers though, they're all pretty to her :D

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or a instant explosion?

slow boil, she doesn't like getting angry or upset at people

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

actually, i've had a TON of oc's over the years, Sumire was just the only one that I actually finished and have a sort of story for- everyone else was pretty much a self-insert- most of my inspo though just came from other oc's and generally what colours/clothes i liked

the first thing I decided about her though was probably the name! liked it since childhood, and I didn't like using my own name as a kid for self inserts, so sumire it was!

⚾ BASEBALL - can they play sports? what is their best position if they play a team sport? what's their strong suit (speed, power etc.)?

haha no.

she's a decent runner though!

📣 MEGAPHONE - how loud are they? what do they speak like? got a voice claim?

she has a clear voice, but it's on the softer side and low pitched, no voice claim tho :(

🪤 MOUSE TRAP - what will always lure them into certain danger? a loved one in danger? a promise of something they are always searching for?

loved ones.

and sleeping on the side of the road that probably lures her into danger too ig

📸 CAMERA - do they enjoy having their picture taken? what's their go-to pose? do they like taking photos? what do they take photos of?

she likes photos, but doesn't take any of herself, also her go to pose is usually just ✌️

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people?

lmao no anyone bad in her life probably still has some way to text her, she just doesn't talk to them like, at all anymore

the last straw would have to be something really terrible that she'd cut them out-

💎 DIAMOND - how rich are they? can they live the lifestyle they want to?

slight upper middle class, gives her the chance to do stuff she likes :3

🍼 BABY BOTTLE - what are their thoughts on children?

she likes talking with them, often treating them as more of someone her own age rather than a child

🎤 MICROPHONE - are they good at singing? what is their go-to karaoke song?

she doesn't sing a lot, but her voice is pretty good! not great, but good.

📚 BOOKS - how were they at school? what is their best subject? what is their worst subject? do they have a favourite subject?

she gets good grades because she does a lot of self studying so it's pretty average, the problem is that she doesn't understand jack shit because she sleeps during class

🎡 FERRIS WHEEL - are they someone who wants to kiss at the top of the ferris wheel?

classic romance scene, yes, but she wouldn't be the one initiating it

⏳ HOURGLASS - are they usually late or on-time?

on time, usually gets there around 5-10 minutes early

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

Trusts people a tiny bit too easily i'd say- uhh hold on ima speed through this one-

no she wouldn't turn her back on someone if possible, yes (sort of idk if it counts), anddd no.

🎀 RIBBON - how would they fit into other worlds / aus? what aus would you like to try out? what fictional world would they fit / not fit into?

I've done the wd au so far, but I do have some thoughts for other au's that could've been cool:

a timekeeper, a merchant, a traveller, stuff with a sort of royal au that isn't the wd au? and cyberpunk :DD

📎 PAPERCLIP - a random fact.

do you think sumire's hair is fluffy? dw it is it's just fucking tangled as hell

💧 DROPLET - random angst headcanon

(does it count as a hc if it comes from the creator?? ehh idk)

she's heard a lot of people scream and cry in pain over the phone

🌪️ TORNADO - what is the biggest change you've ever made to them? how have they changed from their original version?

biggest change was probably her personatlity, I didn't know what kind of personatlity she'd have so sometimes it could feel more like a self insert-

she's still rly inconsistent a lot, but I think I actually kind of know how I want her character to be :3

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

to her middle school self:

"it's alright if you don't always like yourself, and it's alright to tell someone about it, there will always be people around you who care just as much as you do."

💓 BEATING HEART - what gets their heart racing?

small forms of physical affection other than hugs (like just a lil hand hold) and words of reassurance

💗 GROWING HEART - if they have a crush, is it noticable? what changes when they're in love?

lmao no she's burying that crush till the day she dies

probably the least likely person to confess in BM (or just in general-)

nothing rly changes tho she still tries to treat them as normal without changing anything

❤️ RED HEART - their love language(s)?

usually words of affirmation or physical touch

💚 GREEN HEART - what things make your oc feel comforted? hugs, kisses, food?

HUGS!! (nicer if other person initiates) and also small gifts

💔 BROKEN HEART - what could their partner do that would absolutely break their heart?

major distrust

wow holy shit that took WAY longer than i thought it would XD

I did skip a few cus either I didn't feel like it or don't have an answer-

gonna actually tag this tho so I can use it for later but uhhh I need food and a nap gn chat <3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ari this is a THREAT ‼️⚠️ i am cornering u with a knife… that i will use to cut out a slice of carrot cake for u to enjoy while you tell me more of your thoughts on the stsg reincarnation au u mentioned in your tags 🍰 >:3 bc i am nothing if not NOSY !!

i feel like i’d heard abt an au like that before too but the only one that comes to mind rn is this one where suguru’s a barista.. n satoru is soooo starstruck just instantly like he even waits outside in the rain for suguru to clock out 😖😖 in love with how op drew them too the pouty look on satoru’s face in the second one kills me every time like aaaahhh they’re so pretty </33 prettiest boys ever….

LOGAN I GOT SO SCARED 😥😥 ty for the carrot cake i am munching on it happily :33

BUT OKOK i think i’ve figured it out …. i’ve ALSO seen that specific reincarnation au (i love it sm it hurts OUR PRETTY BOYS…..) and i think i’ve also seen some other art for another series entirely where the reincarnated characters met in a museum… so my brain probably just . mashed those two together PHDJDH 😭😭 but ok we ball I’M SO GLAD UR CURIOUS i thought abt it a bit more before going to bed yesterday and my thoughts spiralled into a whole plot PHDJDGB LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINK…….. (warning!! this got long ALSO tagging mickey obv i need stsg nation approval for this @softgirlgonehaywire)

ok so !!!! first of all. satoru is a stem boy in this au. that’s simply how he is. he has literally no interest in The Fine Arts, and just so happens to get dragged to a museum for a school trip. he doesn’t really see the appeal yk?? just a bunch of stuffy rich people (he’s rich too but he’s not like the others he’s down w the poor <33) walking around like zombies….. he just hates the atmosphere bc he sincerely loves interacting w people and everyone in the museum is just staring at the paintings and sculptures and so on w/o even talking abt them :/// yeah. he does Not like art. (he just doesn’t Get It yet!!)

then we have suguru. our beloved. suguru is an art student <3 a bit pretentious about it <33 goes to a prestigious art school and lives and breathes art. he LOVES going to museums and exhibits and galleries just to dissect the pieces, think about their meaning, study them up close…. similarly to satoru i think his feelings about art have a lot to do with his yearning for connection and companionship; satoru doesn’t like art because he sees it as an isolated activity (average stem boy smh he just doesn’t Get it), suguru loves art because it gives him the chance to connect with painters new and old. he’s sooo enamored with the idea that he can forge a kind of connection with someone long dead, just by looking at something they made with their hands and mind. it’s so dear to him. (this is important for the Themes ok bear with me </3)

so!!! basically!!!! satoru is a stem boy, suguru is an art girl, and they happen to be in the same art museum at the same time. one of them is bored out of his mind, dragging his friends around and generally being a disturbance to the peace, the other is delicately and thoughtfully going from painting to painting. lost in his own little world.

they stumble upon one particular painting at the same time.

it depicts a man with long, black hair, clad in robes and smiling with the sun sinking behind him. his face is partially obscured, a little blurry, but his smile is framed almost as the center of the piece. it’s beautiful. the colours are warm, the brushstrokes are delicate, and there’s a tenderness to it that neither of them can quite put their finger on. but it’s so fervent. when they look down in search of the name of the piece and its painter, they see the following:

my one and only — unknown artist. (this is pure love starts playing in the bg)

satoru, for whatever reason, can’t take his eyes of this particular painting. he’s mesmerized. he’s never felt like this before — never felt so moved by a piece of art. suguru can’t turn away, either, but he thinks to himself that he feels a little sick. he’s never looked at a painting and felt as if it was looking right back at him. and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get a sense of the artist’s intent. he feels like he should be able to, but it’s too out of reach.

finally, suguru notices satoru standing only a couple steps away, and asks what he thinks. smiling politely. satoru is completely entranced, but meets suguru’s gaze, and all he can verbalize is that it’s pretty.

suguru loves to be a contrarian — but this time, he genuinely can’t bring himself to agree.

ok so here i’m thinking they fight a bit <33 it’s how they get to know each other (in typical stsg fashion)!! suguru really doesn't like this painting for some reason, while satoru really loves this painting (for some reason), and feels oddly protective over it. so suguru makes a throwaway comment that pisses satoru off, he gets a little hissy, they bicker a bit, that’s all. suguru offhandedly mentions that he goes to an art school. satoru ends up remembering this.

aaaaand here is where the Plot begins <33 i hope u are still with me logan & mickey here is a treat and a snack for u to munch on while reading because tbh i dont think im stopping anytime soon (you did this 😞😞): 🍨🧋 🍧🍵

satoru, as previously stated, is a stem boy. he’s never cared about art. but this painting makes him feel something, something that he’s never felt before. he’s never felt so fulfilled, and after some contemplation he realizes that must be because he’s an art boy at heart. he’s found his true calling.(<- his own assumption lol) he’s just so!! excited!!! he buys a big canvas and expensive brushes and sits down to make his Masterpiece, certain that it’ll end up mending the hole in his heart, the feeling he’s been plagued by for as long as he can recall — that something is missing from his life. (satoru assumes that this something is art.) (it’s actually suguru.)

after a very eventful evening, satoru discovers that he can’t fucking paint.

and he’s horrified by this revelation bc he’s a GENIUS. he can literally do Anything if he just tries. but he sucks at art. he just can’t do it. he sits down and tries his best to paint but nothing comes out well. there’s a gap between his imagination and reality and that just irks him. he doesn’t know what to do. he’s so used to never needing anybody’s help, but it sure would be nice if he had an art student to help him out a bit…..

……………………

satoru ends up hunting suguru down <33 by going to every single art gallery he can find in tokyo. suguru calls him a stalker. satoru asks suguru to tutor him. suguru thinks he’s insane. (but obv ends up agreeing bc no one can resist the allure of a stem boy finding his true calling) (mickey this wasnt even an intentional parallel to the vamp fic we’re just connected through the hivemind i swear)

and!! while we’re on the topic of suguru — he’s currently having a bit of a crisis because he’s never truly encountered a piece of art that’s made him feel as uncomfortable as my one and only did, and even though he knows it’s a good thing he can’t help but suddenly feel a tiny bit afraid of art. something about the smile of the man in the painting makes him feel a little nauseous, a little guilty. he can’t focus as much when he’s painting anymore, and it bothers him.

he also can’t stop thinking about the white haired little freak in the museum, who seemed so out of place, but looked so sincerely captivated by this one single painting. what does he see in it that suguru doesn’t? he just doesn’t get it.

he figures tutoring said freak will give him some answers.

aaaaand that’s the plot!!! they end up bonding through art and both take their time trying to figure out why they’re so fixated on my one and only. which obv happens to be the final work of satoru gojo, dedicated to suguru geto to keep his memory alive <333 nobody knows exactly where the painting came from, but it’s said to be a symbol of true love. a connection that transcends time. etc etc etc. u get me. satoru and suguru can’t help but feel drawn to it, and it helps them find each other again. they have this feeling towards the painting, towards each other, that they can’t quite put their finger on. something out of reach.

(one time, satoru dreams of a man with a severed arm, framed by the sunset, and wakes up with tears in his eyes.

he feels as if he’s forgotten something important.)

[megamindslair]

Sit Still (Look Pretty), Part 1

Moving my fics to @megamindsecretlair

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. There is some unresolved tension, mutual voyeurism, cursing, mentions of female and male parts, Nomad Steve x Black!reader. Nomad Steve x plus size reader. Part 1 of ? Not sure how long this will take to resolve. Age gap, reader is mid 20s, Nomad Steve is mid 30s.

Summary: AU where Steve was born in modern times but still received a serum in the Army to make him more efficient. He's moved in next door and has noticed you watching him. You and your mom have gone over to introduce yourselves.

Word Count: 1,857k

A/N: I've been reading a lot of age gap fics so decided to try my hand at another. Apologies if I miss any warnings or this is super corny. But this was fun. While likes are awesome, please consider reblogging to help writers!

Fuck, your neighbor was hot as hell. You sat on your window seat gawking at the tall, sexy neighbor as he picked up huge boxes and carried them in the house as if it weighed no more than feathers. 

Muscles rippled in a dark blue muscle shirt as he moved and bent over. And that ass. You bit your lip as the neighbor bent further down to lift a chair. Oh and those thighs. You sighed. The Lord took His time with this one. 

The man was at least six foot tall, dark blond hair and a full trimmed beard. He wore a pair of dark jeans and boots. All week, you had watched him go in and out of the newly bought house next door. He carried lots of boxes but none of them gave any clue to his story.

Was he married? Was he expecting? Surely someone that damn fine had a wife heavenly pregnant and ordering him about. You weren’t sure how he didn’t have eleven rugrats running around. There were no other movers and the neighbor had rented a small truck for his sofa and dressers. 

You also saw the neighborhood crones using any excuse in the book to talk to him and be nosy. If he thought someone that looked like him was going to move here without raising any alarms, he was sorely mistaken.

You gasped as he stopped to stretch, moving his body beyond his limit. You just wanted to lick him. Just once. You fanned yourself as you watched him. You imagined all kinds of filthy things when it came to him. 

You imagined him grabbing your fleshy thighs and shaking them before slapping them. You imagined him in between your legs coating that full beard with your juices. You imagined him breaking your back. Like, literally breaking your back. Because he could put you in the hospital and you’d say thank you.

He disappeared into the house. His curtains were thrown open so you could still watch him moving around the house. The downfall to stock houses was that they were lined up just so. The houses were nearly identical. Your bedroom window faced his bedroom window on the second floor. The angle you had was just enough to see his kitchen sink. It’d be possible to see his arms and hands as he washed. 

You spent plenty of nights this week just watching his hands work over his meager dishes. If he was married, she didn’t live with him. You never saw anyone coming or going from his place. He didn’t have a second car. 

Your mom called your name. “I’ve got this cake for the neighbor, let’s go introduce ourselves,” she called. 

You rolled your eyes. Yes, your mom was very much just as gossipy as the neighborhood crones. Everything you’ve heard of the neighbor was through her and probably had twisted from its original message. 

You weren’t dressed yet. You had made watching him your dirty hobby. But you couldn’t summon the energy to care. Sometimes, you got the eerie feeling as if he were watching you too. You had taken to keeping your curtains open and your light on. 

You never saw him look over here. The random times he was in his room and moving around, he never gave any indication that he knew you were looking. Still, you pranced around in your bra and panties every morning or before hanging with your friends as you decided what to wear.

Sometimes, you even faced the window as you decided between two shirts or two skirts. You pretended that he was picking your outfits, telling you what he likes seeing you in. That he would imagine ripping it off of your body all day and it would drive him crazy. Knowing you’d be capable of making him hard and uncomfortable all day turned you on so badly. 

You stood and did just that. You faced his bedroom window even though he was probably still on the first floor. You held up a red, frilly shirt and a light ocean blue plain shirt. You flipped back and forth, imagining what he’d like.

You put the shirts on your bed and then flipped between jeans and white shorts. You held up the red shirt and white shorts. If you were going to meet him, you might as well show him what you’re working with. You turned around and imagined him at the window, getting dressed for him. 

You bent low and shimmied into the white shorts as slow as you could. Then you slipped on the red babydoll tee. It made your breasts look good. Plus it was hot as sin outside. 

You ran down the stairs and sat on the steps as you slipped on your shoes. Your mom floated into the room holding a small box. “I went with chocolate,” your mom said. “Everybody likes chocolate and those who don’t are lying to get attention.”

You laughed as you shook your head. Your mom was gorgeous, with flowing locs and a great figure. She wore loose tan pants and a cream shirt. 

“Isn’t this a little Southern of us?” You asked. You lived in Suburbia with the white picket fences and neighbors who’d gone to high school together. It was capital boredom and should be labeled as a torture method.

“Best way to meet your neighbors. They associate you with good food and are less likely to be rude to you by throwing loud parties and orgies,” your mother said.

You snorted. Your mom never had a filter and would often say the first thing that comes to mind. Your dad hated it but you caught him smiling more than a few times. 

You trudged over the manicured lawn, over the small concrete divider, and onto his property. The door was closed. He was probably taking a break from moving things. Your mom rang the doorbell and you waited.

The door finally opened and you gasped silently. He was even more gorgeous in person. Fuck, it had to be illegal to carry those arms. They looked big enough to crush a coconut in one grip. His hands were large and his fingers were long, like a musician's fingers.

He smirked at you and your mother. Your mom stepped forward. “We wanted to introduce ourselves, we’re your neighbors on that side,” she said and pointed to your house. 

She told him your names and all about the chocolate cake, including her joke about people lying. He threw his head back as he laughed as if it were that funny.

“I’m Steve,” he said. He shook your mom’s hand and then moved to yours. His grip was firm but not crushing.  

You looked down at your combined hands, loving the way that your copper skin contrasted with his creamy skin. He held on a second too long before turning his attention to your mom who asked him a million questions.

“If I heard all of those, I’d say I moved here for work, not married, and I work for the military. Did I get it all?” He asked.

He had a bit of an accent. You guessed somewhere on the East Coast. Your mom giggled. You looked at her as if she grew a third head. She widened her eyes at you and then smiled back at Steve. She prattled on about her career, that fact that you were in college for your master’s, and that you were always available if he needed you. 

Since his attention was on your mom, you took the opportunity to study him up close. His blue eyes were sharp, giving one hundred percent of his focus on the person speaking. He had a prominent vein on the side of his neck and you imagined licking it. 

“Oh, I have to take this, excuse me,” your mom said. She answered her phone and stepped off of the porch. 

You turned to Steve who had his eyes trained on you. He barely blinked and did not look away. 

“So, military huh? That explains that,” you said. You waved at his figure and he laughed. It was deep and made you tingle.

“Thank you. I’m not active duty anymore, I’ve transitioned to the state side and do boring office work now. You home for the summer?” He asked.

“Yes, I am. Taking a break so no work, no homework, just time to decompress. Usually in the pool. This is one of the worst summers ever,” you said and fanned yourself.

Steve slowly perused your body. There was no mistaking that look in his eyes. He faintly smirked as he took in your outfit, your wide curves, your generous hips, and your thick thighs. 

He slowly dragged that gaze back up until he reached your face. “Make sure you stay cool, then. Dehydration is nothing to play with,” he said. 

Your mouth went dry under the intense heat of his gaze. You were aware. You were aware of him and aware of his focus. You bit your lips and his eyes zeroed in on it. His eyes narrowed.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You shifted your footing, trying to find some relief. The heat outside had nothing on his face. 

Your mom’s scuffling shoes took you out of the moment. He winked at you before your mom joined you. Though it was Saturday, her job needed her to come in and solve an emergency. She waved goodbye to Steve and told him not to be a stranger.

You waved bye, unable to speak at the moment. As you turned to leave, Steve grabbed your hand. He ran his fingers over your wrist as he leaned in.

“My favorite color is light blue. And you should get more of those garter things. They look divine on you,” he said. Gravel skated over ‘divine’ and you whimpered. You hoped he didn’t catch that. Your eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes and his eyes narrowed again. 

Your heart thundered in your chest. He knew what you had been doing all along. Your skin heated for entirely different reasons as you thought of all the different lingerie combinations you tried on in front of the window. It somehow made it filthier that he was getting naughty glimpses of you. It made you horny all day thinking of wearing the lingerie and that he didn’t know it was for him. 

It had gotten so bad, that you didn’t care if your parents were home. You had to get off on thinking that he helped select the combos. And those were some of the best orgasms you ever gave yourself. 

“Yes, sir,” you whispered and licked your lips. He smiled and nodded his head as if he were dismissing you. As if he had any right to order you around. 

Yet you left the porch and nearly skipped across the lawn like he told you. Before getting in the house, you looked back. He stood on the porch, facing you, with his hands in his pockets. You smiled and went inside, thinking of how many blue outfits you owned.

[scryptids]

meg donnelly / she/they  ———  no way is that AUDEN LANGDON.. they’re a 24-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being UNCOOPERATIVE  &  NOSY but there are some people who have seen them being EXTROVERTED  &  INDUSTRIOUS.  if you ask me, they remind me a lot of treks through the park to look for anything extra cool, dirt caked under her fingernails from being a little too hands-on, a collection of old animal bones decorating her shelves, and old combat boots, but that could just be because they’re considered the FREAK around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..

full name: auden maeve langdon birthdate: july 25th age: 24 height: 5’3” occupation: caretaker at the cemetery ship status: closed bio:

auden langdon’s existence took everyone by surprise

her parents hadn’t been trying for a baby; if anything they were trying to wait a few years

they were both young and freshly out of college, ready to take on new career paths and plan a wedding for a few years down the road

but then those two little pink lines showed up on a pregnancy test, and they quickly had to readjust their future plans

they managed to buy a small house with only two bedrooms and a little backyard; it was the perfect starter home for a new family

the couple married in a small ceremony as well, figuring it was already part of their plans and that waiting was a moot point now that they had a baby on the way

when july rolled around and auden made her way into the world, everyone was ready to greet her with big smiles and full hearts

their life was comfortable and easy, an army of people behind them to help with whatever was needed

before she learned how to be mobile, auden was an angel of a child

she was an easy baby, never really causing a fuss and charming almost everyone that came into contact with her

but then she learned how to crawl, and it was like all hell broke loose

auden liked to get into everything she possibly could, always reaching for things that weren’t meant for her

her parents knew that she was just trying to quell her curiosities, but it never made them worry any less

auden was about three years old when her brother, oberon, made his way into the world, and somehow that granted her more freedom to explore

her parents still kept a close eye on her, but working full-time while trying to raise two small children meant they couldn’t always give her the attention they thought she needed

the backyard and park became her favorite exploring grounds, and auden always seemed to want to be outside so she could discover new things

auden was just five years old when she found her first bird skull, and thus began her weird little obsession

her parents watched as their daughter took on morbid interests, always digging around for creepy new things that she could display in her room

the kids in the neighborhood labeled her as the freak, giving her a ten-foot-radius whenever they saw her coming

but this never bothered auden and it never changed her attitude

she was still a very friendly kid, and on the off chance that a kid wanted to befriend her, she would happily show off her animal skull collection to them

as she got older, auden’s interests only got more freaky, but in the most impressive way

she spent a lot of time in the cemetery, making friends with the headstones while she dug around for new things to fill her space with

she did well enough in school, but had no interest in continuing her education after high school

this didn’t make her parents very happy, but they were always incredibly supportive of her, and so they sat back and let their daughter carve her own path

graduation saw auden immediately applying for a job at the cemetery, eager to spend time in her favorite place every single day

within days she was starting her position as a gravedigger, something that felt almost too fitting for her

she was also able to get her own apartment, happy to have a space of her own that she could decorate with her morbid little collections

her social life also grew with her independence; she began visiting dive bars and sketchy areas, but at least the people there didn’t think she was a total freak

auden has always been an incredibly talkative person; once you get her on a rant, it’s impossible to get her to shut up

she’s still very close to her family, but finds that living on her own helps her maintain a positive relationship with them

she is still very much a freak, but she finds it funny that she looks like the opposite of her personality

[mistydeyes]

hey, i wanted to ask for a cod mw2 pairing if possible

I’m black (dark skinned) and around 5’7. I am plus sized but do try to be active in the pool. I normally wear glasses since that’s what i’m used to but I will wear contacts depending on what im doing that day or if i want to be extra with my makeup. My natural hair is either braided back or in twists so i can have a break from long braids or twists. I do have a decent collection of wigs which i try to take care of.

I am very smiley to the point where it’s stuck on my face. I care deeply for those im close with and my family. I am trying to build self confidence but I never let someone random try and ruin my day. I really like reading, listening to music, cooking/baking, and learning about anything (chemistry, embroidery, music production, etc).

For my future, i am hoping to become a foreign service officer or work for the cia as i study international relations and my current foreign language i’m taking is Chinese. I want to do that for a while and then transition to teaching as a way to inspire kids and help them understand intersectionality in daily life.

For my ideal partner, I would like someone who can just understand me. I love quality time and just enjoying each other’s company. I also have a huge habit of spoiling others and wanting to be spoiled almost every month. I also prefer talking in person as that feels more intimate than texting (unless we’ve been together for a while then texting is fine)

thank you for when ever you get to this!!!!

Phillip Graves (a/n BRO this man has such husband potential if he wasn't an absolute asshole but anon you sound like the coolest person ever and I hope that everything goes well with your major!)

How you met: Government "Morning, agent," the front guard greeted as you underwent security, "got a new wig I see." "You know it, have to use my government salary for something," you joked before entering the elevator. Working for the CIA had its perks, while you enjoyed a cushy salary, the amazing health insurance, and loan forgiveness, you were never able to have a great relationship outside of work. People got a little too nosy when on dates you told them you worked in the "private sector." The doors of the elevator began to close before a hand reached out to stop it. A blonde man who looked like he was more fit to be on a modeling shoot stepped in with a smile. "Looks like we're going to the same floor," he commented and stood next to you as the elevator ascended. You stood in the peaceful silence before he spoke up again. "Didn't know the government hired such gorgeous employees," he flirted and you smiled a little bit wider. "I'm sure they looked at my resume and not my face," you replied as you looked up at him. You couldn't deny he was handsome but you had been down this road before with other DC boys that weren't worth your time. "Well with a face like yours, I'm sure you come highly decorated." God this man was a smooth talker. As you came closer to your destination, he sighed dreamily. "The name's Phillip, hope to see you around, doll face," he winked at you before exiting. It wasn't until later that day when you entered a debrief with your superiors that you saw Phillip's blue eyes light up as you sat down and return his gaze.

A peek into your relationship: Anniversaries were the gift giving Olympics for you and Phillip. Every year you tried to one-up the other. Last year, you took the cake by giving him a sports car that he dreamed of ever since he became the CEO of the Shadow Company. You knew this year, he would be trying to outdo you. What you weren't expecting was being showered with gifts the day before your 5th anniversary. After a long day analyzing some Chinese intel, you entered your Georgetown apartment to the scent of thousands of roses. "Surprise, sweetheart," your boyfriend greeted as he kissed you gently. "Philip I thought our anniversary was tomorrow," you exclaimed as he pulled you into his arms. "Doesn't mean I can't spoil you today," he replied, "Now get dressed, I have something special prepared for you." Your laughter echoes through the hallway as you entered your bedroom. On the bed lay a dress that looked like it was spun from pure gold. You gasped as you put the silky fabric on and saw how it complimented your skin. Underneath the dress was a matching purse, an expensive brand you had only dreamed of owning. You opened it as you exited the hallway and saw a small white box on the inside. You delicately opened it as you made your way back to Graves. You could only hold a hand over your mouth as you saw a beautiful gold ring, adorned with crystals in an extravagant baguette shape. "Surprise gorgeous," Phillip replied before getting down on one knee. You hand to hand it to him, he gave you the best gift you could ever want.

[legacyoftheogres]

13. The Envelope

[set longer into Izura and Thalanthe's relationship]

                The small flat was a bit dated, but it had many amenities. It was more than fitting for hosting a boyar such as Thalanthe. It was gracious of the Pantherine house to allow her to stay in it whenever she traveled to Durong for work, though, she supposed most of the work she did here benefitted them. A draft from the window eased some of the stifling heat of the city but could not provide much more aid. Kuotay’s heat was lessened by the sea wind, but Durong, at its center, often felt stagnant. Thalanthe had changed out of her ceremonial garb and wore a simple kimono that she had tied up the sleeves on.

Thalanthe eyed the sitting table in the main room, the two cups sat waiting and undisturbed. Perhaps not tonight, then. A low whistle came from the balcony, she turned, it was rare of Izura to alert her. When she saw him, though, she realized why. He was caked in dried blood.

“Not mine.” He answered before she could ask.

“Go wash up, and don’t make a mess.” She chided, hiding the relief in her voice.

“Good evening to you too, Thalanthe.” Izura chuckled, crossing the threshold and walking with silent steps toward the washroom.

Thalanthe finished the simple meal she had been preparing, it was far too hot to cook anything too involved, and brought it to the table along with a bottle of sake. Izura joined her a few minutes later, his long hair damp and unbound, and notably lacking his shirt, as it was hung up to dry. He sat down at the table and poured the sake.

“Thank you for the food.”

“It’s nothing special.”

“True, but most nobles don’t know how to cook at all.” Izura took a long draft of his drink and sighed, easing his posture and finally relaxing.

“Most of them were nobles for their entire lives. I was not.” Thalanthe replied simply.

“Where did you learn to cook, then?”

“I cooked for my family, when we lived in Illumaten. My parents were often away late because of their work. It was a skill I was glad to have when I made the voyage here from Quatansk all those years ago.” It felt like a long time, a few more decades and she would have lived on Materia longer than she had ever lived on Marza. She wondered if she would ever return.

“What was Illumaten like?” Izura asked, refilling her cup. Thalanthe raised a brow. Izura often asked her questions about her past, long ago she’d just thought him nosy, but she had since realized that with no memories of his own, he seemed to enjoy hearing about the memories of hers. Her eyes traced the myriads of scars that lined his torso, some were new, most weren’t. He did not know how he had gotten them; he did not even know his own age or original name. She often wondered who he had been before he turned up in the Needle, she wondered if he wanted to know. He certainly threw himself into the work for his clan wholeheartedly. Perhaps what was unknown was best left in the past.

“Illumaten wasn’t too different from Kuotay, it was lush and green, rolling hills terraced with rice paddies. It was often quiet, even though we were at war.” She continued, and Izura drank in the description in quiet contemplation. What he didn’t tell her was that he had seen such a place in his trances. A place not of his memories, but of hers. 

“And its people?” He asked.

 “It was… filled with elves, orcs, and all the mixes between. Far less diverse than here.” Sometimes it stung to remember what it was like to be among her own people, she wondered how they fared.

“Were there elves like me there?” It was the first time he had ever asked such a thing; it gave her pause. Finally, she shook her head.

“I have never seen an elf like you. Neither on Materia nor Marza.” She replied quietly. It was something she had wondered about, too. Where could he have come from? Surely someone out there knew. Izura nodded, seeming unsurprised. He seemed to let his thoughts wander, before suddenly remembering something. He crossed the room and pulled a small scroll from his bag.

“A gift. I wasn’t able to find all the information you were after, but this will be a start. Do promise to be judicious with how you use it.” He handed it to her.

“When am I not?” Thalanthe scoffed, placing it on the table.

“A thank you would suffice; it wasn’t easy to get my hands on that.”

“I have something better than thanks.” From her pocket, Thalanthe extracted a small black envelope. “The names you asked for. The nobles who were far too interested in what Pantherine pulled from the bay.” Izura’s eyes darkened as he saw the envelope, his brows furrowing slightly. She handed it over, the little envelope felt heavy in her hands, she knew what happened to many of the names Izura received.

 Much of what they did together would have been frowned upon by both of their clans, and they kept many secrets. Yet, these exchanges had been a great help to both clans in the past years. It was a dangerous game they played.

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Unlikely Places - Chapter 20 - Part 1

*Warning - Adult Content*

Chapter: 20 - Chicken

I re-entered the numbers into the spreadsheet and sighed in relief when it finally gave me the numbers I wanted.

I placed my elbows on my desk and leaned my forehead against my palms.

That was the third mistake I had made in less than an hour.

That wasn't like me at all.

I closed my eyes and let my mind drift.

I should have known where it would take me.

**********

I was once again back at the wedding, sitting at the round table surrounded by well-intentioned friends.

Well-intentioned, incredibly nosy, overly concerned friends.

Their faces when I had said Pierce's name had almost been comical.

Other than Archer and Percy, the other three could not hide their initial show of dislike and frustration, even though they had known what I was going to say.

They had tried, for my sake, to swiftly disguise that show of distaste but I had already seen it.

Had already expected it.

In truth, after their initial response, they had mostly shown worry and concern.

There had been warnings voiced and caution advised and there had been pep talks galore.

Those had pretty much added up to 'don't worry there are plenty of fish in the sea' like anecdotes.

Then there had come the big whispered question by none other than Branson.

Blue eyed, blonde haired, all American boy Branson had asked the question I guess they had all discussed at one time or other about me.

'Are you gay?'

I have to be honest and say the question caught me off guard.

I guess I should have expected it and I definitely shouldn't have been surprised Branson had the audacity to actually voice it and at the wedding no less.

Archer and Percy had reacted with affronted frowns and scolded him immediately.

He had looked shame faced but I could tell he was curious and I could tell Noah's and Mick's thoughts and question were on par with his.

After a moment's thought I didn't think they were being unreasonable.

I did think Branson could have been more circumspect and picked a better time to ask but I didn't resent him asking.

All of us had shared openly over the years, though I was more reserved than them.

Also, I simply had less to confess?

As I had never dated, never shown interest, it wasn't surprising nor wrong for them to be curious about me especially as I had just admitted to them that Pierce was having some sort of effect on me and considering Pierce was who he was and had acted the way he had, my friend's concerns couldn't be seen as invalid either.

Thankfully though I hadn't had to say a word because in the next moment Archer and Percy were being called for as it was time to cut the cake.

I had watched as Percy crammed a huge chunk of cake into Archer's mouth while Archer had followed that up with smearing mostly frosting across Percy's lips.

A pretty heated kiss had followed.

Needless to say, in the end Percy hadn't needed a napkin.

After the cake cutting I had decided to kill time at the buffet and had tried to circumnavigate our table for the rest of the reception.

It had meant I had to talk more, which didn't exactly make it my best plan ever but it had allowed me to avoid any more personal inquiries.

The moment that stood out for me most though was towards the end. It is what had been lingering in my mind ever since.

All of the single females had first been lined up and Archer had thrown them his boutonnière in their own variation of the bride throwing the bouquet.

Many giggles were exchanged as a feisty curly haired girl had snatched it out of the air, her towering height giving her an edge.

Then unexpectedly, all of the single males had been called up. Evidently, in their continuous fight for everything equal, Percy had decided he would throw his boutonnière for all single males.

I hadn't gone, choosing instead to linger somewhat hidden by a tall white pillar.

Unfortunately for me, Archer hadn't agreed.

He had started calling my name and searching for me.

My unsuspecting self never felt Noah's approach.

He had snuck up behind me, wrapped his arm around my neck in an affectionate choke hold, and that was what it had been, and pulled me up along with him.

He hadn't hurt me but it was clear he had no intentions of letting go either.

He had applied not so subtle pressure to get me moving to join the others.

To make it worse, he had led me straight to the front and stopped me dead center.

Before anything else could get said, Archer had literally pitched the boutonnière straight at me.

To my chagrin, I caught it.

The person who never ever caught anything, caught the blasted thing.

There had been a lot of laughter and good-natured ribbing.

Percy had winked at me while Archer flashed his big toothy smile.

I could see how pleased he was with himself and I didn't have the heart, on his wedding day no less, to glare.

Instead I had saved that for Branson when he had tried to tease me.

**********

Lifting my head from its leaning position I glanced over at the boutonnière that now lay on my desk.

My first instinct had been to throw it away but a second instinct had kicked in out of the blue.

An instinct created by the melancholy individual I had become yesterday as I watched two of my closest friends dance as they shared a union that had never once enticed me.

The individual was a little enticed.

I was a little enticed.

Thoughts of not being alone, no longer attending stag, sharing my life were starting to become more commonplace.

Out of the blue and after one chance encounter my solitary life style seemed less enjoyable.

Being alone had never felt lonely.

At least it hadn't.

[who-is-sunny-d]

When I was young, a psychiatrist at a mental rehabilitation facility once told me that my problem is that I try to go through life without stepping on any toes, and that I can’t.

I always remembered this because I thought, “why not? And why is it a problem for me to try?” Shouldn’t everyone try their best not to hurt others?

This found its way back into my mind today as I read someone’s Facebook post that called me (and Matt, probably) out without directly stating names, and nosy that I am, I read the comments too, and went from feeling like maybe I’ll actually get something done today, to “maybe I’ll crawl back into bed and be depressed again because no matter what I do, I can’t seem to help stepping on everyone’s toes.”

So I realized a lot of things.

Number One: Some people just want to be pissed off and nothing you do will ever make them happy because if you try to do what they want, it will directly conflict with something else they want, and they can’t have their cake and eat it too. So for those people, you have to just not feed them at all. They don’t get any cake because they’re party poopers who just want to have a pity party for themselves and eat all the cake while telling everyone around them why they suck.

Number Two: Trying to go through life without any toe-stepping is called people pleasing, and it’s a type of conditioning caused by people of the sort I just mentioned. It’s typically a product of growing up in an abusive household, and later in life you end up in similar relationships because your people-pleasing nature gives off certain vibes that attract predators. Human predators. Takers, looking for givers to latch onto and drain of everything. And once they’ve drained you, they leave you for dead and go on the hunt for someone else to destroy.

Number Three: Here is why it’s a problem. In trying to avoid toe-stepping, you fail to create boundaries, preferring to just sacrifice your feelings to save someone else’s. Why? Because you’ve been conditioned to believe that you don’t matter. And what’s worse is, those who drain you and abandon you over and over again in your life just reinforce that ideology.

Furthermore, the more you internalize, the more you drive yourself crazy. And then maybe one day, you feel that you’ve got some unhealthy feelings you want off your chest, so you write it all down on an abandoned blog somewhere just to get it gone without having to break the news to someone that maybe they’re being kind of an ass, because who wants to hear that? Not you, that’s for sure, because you’ll spiral into a depression feeling like “who am I? Do I even know myself? How could I have hurt someone I loved and not even known??”

And you know that by telling the person directly, that’s how they’ll feel and then they’ll probably call YOU a jerk, and so to save the relationship and avoid any problems at all costs, you opt for the blog and everyone wins…

Except when they find the blog and see what you said when you were hurting and either ghost you without explaining why, or confront you directly, making you feel trapped and won’t drop it until you end up saying the worst possible thing you can think of just to make it stop. But you think you’re just postponing it until you can process it, and then it turns out it’s just over. Forever.

And THAT’S when you finally let it all come spilling out because you’re angry that your attempts to avoid conflict caused the very worst conflict, and you don’t feel like you deserve to be thrown away forever just because you dared to feel things you couldn’t control and chose to let those feelings out somewhere you thought they couldn’t see, so they could just dissolve into the void and disappear.

But they don’t. And your friend does. And the feeling that you’re shit and not allowed to feel and all you do is hurt people and drive them away sends you spiraling into an even worse depression that you’ll probably never end up getting back out of.

You’re left wondering why you didn’t just keep your mouth shut, even online, and whether things would’ve gone worse if you’d just told them, or if they’re the type that you can’t please no matter what you do, and then you destroy yourself, constantly reliving the fight that ended it, and everything that led up to it, and wondering what you should have done instead, and it never occurs to you that maybe they’re just a shitty friend and can’t face that fact. But that can’t be right, because you’re the dumped one, not them.

But maybe they dumped you because they were afraid of their other friends finding out how they handled the situation and they want to make sure your side never comes out, so no one else will know that they were, indeed, a shitty friend/partner/etc. People like this very carefully craft a persona for their friends to believe in by hiding details about themselves, playing up other details, and acting in a way that doesn’t reflect who they really are. They tend to be very private, but act on the surface like they’re super friendly and outgoing.

And when they have one of these rows, they cancel the other person so their side never comes out, meanwhile all they do is tell everyone their side, playing up how hurt they were and what an ass you were and deliberately leaving out EVERYTHING they put you through. Some even go as far as to smear you as crazy and use reactive abuse to catch you in fight or flight mode as a means to reinforce this smear campaign.

Which type of person are you?

If you’ve apologized even once, and they haven’t and refuse to talk to you ever again, you’re a giver and they’re a taker.

If you ghost someone over one fight, or really just at all for any reason, you’re a taker.

If all you want is for your friend to understand that you never meant to hurt them, and aren’t interested in telling the world that they’re an asshole, you’re a giver.

If you never fully recover from losing a friend and will always feel like it was your fault, even when you can logically deduce that it’s not, you’re a giver.

If your friendship consisted mostly of you dropping everything to be there for them when they were hurting, sending them anything that made you think of them, and giving little gifts to help them through hard times, but not really getting any of these things in return, they’re a taker.

And if they take your feelings as a personal attack, rather than respecting that you feel things too, and maybe evaluating themselves to figure out how to be better, they’re a taker.

Don’t be a taker. You don’t have to be a taker. This world is too cruel and this life is too short to make it all about you. Let bygones be bygones. Bury some hatchets. Become human before it’s too late for someone else. The things you put others through when you trash them… those become the fuel for their self-worth issues. It keeps the cycle going, rather than breaking it at last.

You can be the change someone needs in their life before it’s too late. You can be a giver if you choose to be. You can give life to someone who doesn’t feel any reasons to live anymore. You can be the person you pretend to be. Why pretend when you can actually be that person?

[heart-bones]

Here are my nosy questions!! Sorry I am late to the party!!

3,5,8,9,10 to start (theyre my favorite numbers!!)

15,21,24,29

AAANND 38,41,42,43,44!!!

I'm finally answering these!!! thank u @fujoneshi ilu bb

3 do I smoke : nope, I grew up around cigarettes and weed and I dislike both. (certain cigarettes can smell good but marijuana almost activates my fight or flight response I don't know why I just fucking hate it so much)

5 do I take drugs: alas, no again! I come from a family of addicts and drug dependent depressive messes (I love them all so much) so I just kind of avoided everything. the downside is I'm also a depressive mess and am just rawdogging it

8 want any tattoos : I cry every day that I'm not covered in tattoos, yes I want so many. I sometimes feel that I missed my window of opportunity to start because they're so much more expensive now and exclusive too (like in a good way because the quality is better its safer now a lot of the artists now are more respectful and aren't like. scuzzy dudes giving shitty blowouts to girls and making them get unnecessarily naked and uncomfortable BUT also in a bad way because everything is 500$ or more and you have to get on a waiting list or enter raffles lol )

9 got any piercings? : just my stretched earlobes and I had one lip piercing on the bottom left in my late teens early 20s that I closed up.

10 want any piercings? : oh yes also eternally. Septum, nostrils, bridge, philtrum, more up the shell of my ear. I also want to stretch my earlobes more, maybe up to 1inch. (they're at 1/2 ! )

15 favorite movie : oh so hard!!!!! here's a random list in no order - interview w the vampire, it, candyman, beauty & the beast, hunchback of notre dame, the little mermaid, mask of the phantasm, batman returns but also batman forever, crimson peak, the producers, the silence of the lambs, red dragon, like I can go on forever but I think the first six are really always on rotation.

21 what I love most about myself - I just keep Doing It, even when I really really want to d*e. And cats like me.

24 my relationship with my parents - SO MUCH BETTER now that I don't live at home. it's nice to like have that distance that lets you see each other more as people. I wish often that they could have let themselves do better things for their own lives instead of shelving a lot in the name of the family but you can't go back or shoulder that burden since they made the choices, you know? I was closer to my mom like against my will and she was often super emotionally volatile & combative. my dad and I are super similar (literally almost the same) and I think we're closer now even though we don't live together anymore.

29 a reason I lied to a friend: I really think a lot of times it was to shield them or spare their feelings? in my later teens after a while I stopped going to our core groups' house parties, often saying I had to go to work, because after a certain point it was just everyone getting so drunk they'd fuck around or pass out by the toilet and it made me super uncomfortable but I was embarrassed to say that to them ? 🙃

38 my childhood career choice : a librarian or a teacher, but also a vampire. Later teens I wanted to be a writer, then a professional madame lol I think I still sometimes want to be all those things

41 where I want to be right now : 4digit minimum in my bank account with my passport getting ready to go to Japan. Or the first part and just at a bookstore with a milk tea and a cute girl to hold hands with. But also in bed with my cat is fine too.

42 last thing I ate : a strawberry princess cake from feng cha with a tall tumbler of ice water and a milk tea

43 sexiest person that comes to mind immediately : ooo this is also kind of hard? Sam Reid because Shoulder to Waist Ratio 👀 but not because I want to have sex with him its because I want to Look Like That.

44 random fact about anything : did you know that Mariska Hargitay was 35yrs old when she started working on SVU ? Because I definitely thought she was middle 20s (u look at those season 1 episodes from 99 and she's a baby. but she's literally my age?)

[axailslink]

Hey I was wondering if you would be able to do mom Shuri x Mom y/n where they meet their child’s bf/gf for the first time?

No

Mom Shuri Udaku x poc mom FEM reader

Warning: ⚠️ light jokes about white people (this is a poc page if this hurts you you seriously should get a sense of humor.)

Summary: you and Shuri feared your kids growing up not because of the world and how it could weigh on them but you feared when they started to love.

Shuri is constantly watching out the window as you ice the cake "baby stop" she sighs "I can't stop we agreed I get to be nosy" you laugh and bring the cake to the table carefully "after years they have finally allowed us to meet their partners let's be happy for them." Shuri nods as she takes deep breaths but she stops for a moment "what if they're white?" You burst into laughter and slap her shoulder "their mother is the black panther...if they're white you treat them how you would treat the others. With kindness" She paces the room and shakes her head "what if they're terrible people? What if they take my little babies for granted? What if they use them?" You shake your head and slap your hand against the wall "Shuri we raised our children right now sit down and calm down you're making me nervous with all that damned pacing." Shuri quickly sits on the couch but jumps up when the door is opened and reveals your first daughter the youngest she just turned seventeen so of course she's still in the house. You named her Zuri as a tribute to... a dear friend. Zuri comes in slowly hand in hand with a rather nice looking young man he's well groomed and wearing sandals he kind of reminds Shuri of a young T'Challa. You look around the corner and smile "oh it just you Caron love come here" you hug the young man and Shuri looks him up and down "you know him?" You nod as he hugs you back "yes this is Caron he helps me with those kids remember?" Shuri thinks momentarily as Caron smiles at her you can read the nervousness in his eyes. She lifts her hand out to shake and he takes it immediately but she squeezes as she smiles causing Caron to yelp and Zuri to slap Shuri's shoulder "mother!" Shuri lets go and Caron gasps as he holds his hand "you remember that pain when you decide to hurt my little girl" Caron nods and you just shake your head "mama you could have broken his hand!" Shuri shrugs "I didn't and I didn't plan to I simply gave him a preview of what might be to come when he breaks your heart." If you ask Shuri she'll quickly tell you she doesn't play favorites but everyone knows Zuri has been her favorite since she came out of the womb. She was and still is spoiled rotten but she's also too smart for her own good just like her mother.

Your middle child Kabi is 19 he walks in the room he's always been confident and cocky so when he strides in with a man taller than him you aren't surprised however Shuri's face tells it all "my love" you hum as you slowly walk over to her sitting on the edge of the couch "this is my boyfriend Unjo he's in the border tribe" Shuri whispers to you "did you know our son was gay?" You hold back your laugh "we told them they should never feel like they have to come out...so I didn't know but I'm not surprised." Shuri nods as she stands up and looks Unjo up and down "how old are you son?" You laugh as she lowers her voice purposely she probably feels threatened. "Twenty" Shuri gasps and turns around "twenty!" You slap your face "how long have you been dating my son?" Unjo answers quickly "for two years" Shuri nods "so when he was 17 you wer-" you push Shuri to the couch and bring Unjo in for a hug. "Nice to meet you son I'm sorry she's a bit rude today" Shuri groans and Zuri just sighs at Shuri's acting out.

Finally your oldest Kiya (22) walks in but she stops and closes her partner outside "mamas please don't freak he's really nice and he treats me lovely" this catches everyone's attention Shuri immediately jumps up and so do you "Kiya if you bring a non person of color into my home" Kiya shyly smiles "mama please I'm going to open the door say nothing" Kiya opens the door and Shuri gasps as she reveals a white man you can see the tear forming in her eye as she starts to laugh uncontrollably. "I'm going to k-" you shush her "hi honey I'm Y/n Kiya's mother" he gently takes your hand and kisses it causing Shuri to make an unrecognizable sound in her throat. "I'm Marquis" you hold back your laugh he's a white man with a black man's name oh Bast save him you gently smile "who wants cake?" You don't give anyone else time to say anything if you did Kiya would very much be the talk of the night.

You find yourself in the kitchen with your children and they're all quiet "mama remember when you said I'd be the one to bring home a white chick?" You smack Kabi's arm with the wooden spoon but Kiya replies "he's really nice he knows how to cook and he feeds me and we plan on having children one day." As if Kiya has said the forbidden word Shuri dramatically falls into the fridge "no oh good Bast" you slap your hand over her mouth as she starts yelling curses. Dating a white person wasn't bad it never was but in this household it was always talked about as some joke when they were growing teens but seeing it as a reality made it all too real. "Baby baby stop you're acting a fool it's not that big of a deal" Shuri shakes her head and points at Kiya as she mumbles into your hand. You slowly uncover her mouth "Kiya I'm not upset with you it's just" she laughs as she shakes her head "there's going to be a lot of eyes on you and I would never wish that on you I would have hoped you would have made it easier for yourself. He seems nice... Just run away with him do you know what happened when we brought Bucky down here? He was like white Jesus to the women he's going to collect them like that" she snaps her fingers "if you want to keep your man don't bring him to Wakanda" you laugh and Kiya smiles at Shuri as she hugs "thank you mama" Shuri groans and hugs her back. "I was serious" Kiya nods "I know"

A/n: I enjoyed this also some of the children's names relate to some of the characters can you guess who?

[tchallasbabymama]

Don't Forget About Us

Hello, my lovelies. Here’s my contribution to @nahimjustfeelingit-writes smut challenge (the prompt is in bold!) Let’s see what Erik’s up to now, shall we?

Don’t forget to check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots. Your comments and reblogs mean the world to me, so make sure to let me know what you think! And let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my writing. Enjoy😘

Word count: 5,595

CW: smut...duh.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

Kayla sighed internally at the question and took a sip of her Pinot Grigio. She hated first dates with a burning passion, but unfortunately, that was the only way to find a man around here. She went through the motions of politely answering his questions, barely asking any of her own. She didn’t care. Even just fifteen minutes in, Kayla could tell he didn’t excite her, and she lamented the waste of a good outfit as she listened to him drone on about his life. Every now and then, he’d stop and ask a question about her, but she could tell he was only asking so he could talk more about himself.

How many siblings do you have?

What’s your sign?

Why did your last relationship end?

Her mind traveled to her ex-boyfriend, Erik Stevens. They had spent six blissful years together, and Kayla thought he was the one. She wanted them to get married and start a family, and she thought he did, too, but every time she brought it up, he’d find some excuse to change the subject. At thirty years old, Kayla wasn’t getting any younger, so she grew tired of his avoidance and eventually cut him loose. She needed more out of life, but the guy currently sitting across from her certainly wasn’t it.

“We wanted different things,” she answered vaguely and took another sip. It would be a long night with what’s-his-name. David? Devon? Whatever. At least he had money and took her to a nice restaurant.

Darryl took the opportunity to bore her with the details of his job, which Kayla already knew. He was a colleague of her best friend, Carina’s husband. They worked at the same law firm, and Carina decided to hook them up after tiring of hearing Kayla complain about dating apps. As much as Kayla hated Tinder, she would’ve much rather been at home on her couch swiping left on the cesspool of single men Oakland had to offer. Every few dozen swipes or so, she’d find a cutie, but his bio would be abysmal, or his conversation skills would fall flat.

Despite the fact that their relationship just couldn’t make it, Kayla still thought of Erik as the gold standard. Just thinking about his dimples and his struggle beard made her smile dreamily. His big, strong arms would wrap around her and hold her tight at night, and she’d trace her fingers over the intentionally placed keloid scars that held his darkest secrets. She missed retwisting his locs and the way he always smelled like sandalwood and warm vanilla. Kayla didn’t want to admit it, but she still loved him. No man could compare to her Erik.

“Hello? Kayla?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. Can you repeat that last part?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What’s got you so distracted, babygirl?”

Kayla fought the bile rising in her throat. She wasn’t his babygirl. It didn’t even sound right coming from his mouth. Maybe it was the thinness of his lips. They weren’t “white man” thin, but they couldn’t hold a candle to the juicy pussy pleasers she had grown accustomed to.

“Nothing, just thought I saw somebody I know. You were saying?”

“Just that you look beautiful tonight,” Damon attempted to flirt with her.

Kayla wanted to roll her eyes but thanked him instead and smiled politely again. Of course she looked beautiful; she had pulled out all the stops for what she had hoped would be a good night out. Kayla had squeezed her thickness into a lavender satin dress. The way the dress’s skirt cinched on the side kept it snug around her plush waist, but the high slit that traveled up her thigh was the main attraction. The strappy silver heels on her feet showed off her matching pedicure that contrasted beautifully with her glistening brown skin, and her makeup was flawless. Her outerwear for the night, a cropped fur jacket that had found its way to the coat check when they arrived, was the icing on the cake. Her outfit deserved the appreciation, just not from Deshawn.

The waiter saved her from having to focus on her date when she brought out the food they had ordered. Since Kayla knew Derek had money, she had ordered the whole lobster, and she fought her mouth from drooling too much as the waiter set it down in front of her. It laid on a bed of forbidden rice, and the side of roasted brussels sprouts and cremini mushrooms looked heavenly. The ramekin of drawn butter off to the side tempted her as it sat next to the minuscule seafood fork. She may not enjoy her company for the evening, but Kayla damn sure was going to enjoy her meal.

“Looks good,” Dominic called from the other side of the table, breaking Kayla from her trance as he cut into his wagyu beef.

“Sure does.” Kayla wasted no time before digging into her meal. Not only was it the perfect excuse to avoid conversation, but it was perfect, period.

A slight chill permeated the air as the door swung open and the crisp January air entered the small restaurant. Kayla shivered as she complained internally about being forced to sit near the door, but that shiver intensified as she heard a voice. His voice.

“Reservation for Stevens, please.”

Kayla stilled.

“Of course. Right this way, sir,” the maitre d’ responded, and Kayla heard three sets of footsteps coming her way.

--------

“Babe, let’s go!”

“Yell at me one more time, woman,” Erik warned as he came around the corner into the living room, fastening his watch.

“I swear, you take more time getting ready than I do.”

“Whatever, Mo. You ready?”

“Nigga, I been ready!”

Erik rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys. It would be a rough night, and things were already starting off on a bad foot. He and Monique had been seeing each other for the better part of a year, and he’d finally reached his limit. She was overbearing, rude, and just after him for his money, but he hated being alone, so he put up with her bullshit. His cousin, T’Challa, had tried to hook him up with a few ladies back in Wakanda when he went to visit after his breakup, but nothing stuck. Almost immediately after coming back to the states, Erik met Monique at a charity event for the Outreach Center. She had the singing voice of an angel and had been booked as the entertainment for the evening. Erik was drawn to her like a sailor to a siren, and she immediately sank her teeth into him. Past her vocal talents, Monique wasn’t really anything special. Her personality left a lot to be desired, she wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, and she just wasn’t her.

The moment Kayla ended their relationship a year ago, Erik’s whole world shattered. He had lived a life full of pain and loss, but Kayla had been his lifeline. She pulled him out of the dark and made him revel in the sunshine. Hell, she was the sunshine, but now he had settled for a UV lamp at best. Kayla had wanted a life that Erik was too scared to give her, but that fear became his downfall. He still missed her most nights. He was lonely, and Monique was there to keep him company, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore. Erik craved a connection that Monique just couldn’t provide. So he decided he had to break it off and figured that doing so in a public place would probably be best. She had a tendency to throw things when she got angry.

The car ride to Chez Martine was tense. Monique had been angry all day because Erik had taken back his credit card even though she wanted to buy a new dress for their date. Her lousy mood almost made him dump her back at his condo, but Erik kept a cool head and stayed focused on the plan. He ignored the way Monique complained the entire time she got ready, reluctantly putting on a dress he had seen her wear before. It didn’t matter to him; he knew what the night held.

When they walked into the restaurant, Erik’s heart dropped into his stomach. He’d recognize that shoulder blade tattoo anywhere. She had cut off all her hair and lost a few pounds, but he knew for sure that he was looking at Kayla. His Kayla. He forced himself to look straight ahead as they passed her table and prayed that the maitre d’ didn’t sit them where she could see him. Unfortunately, he had no such luck because the only open table for two was directly within her line of sight. He prayed again that Monique would sit on the far side of the table, but Bast ignored his pleas once more. He had to sit facing her, and as soon as he got comfortable in his chair, her gaze slyly trailed over to him. They locked eyes across the room, and Erik’s heart stopped. She was just as beautiful as the last time he saw her all those months ago, but who the fuck was that sitting across from her?

“What are you looking at?” Monique’s abrasive voice cut through his eardrums.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I know, that’s all.”

She cut her eyes at him and turned around to look as he buried his face in the menu.

“Quit being nosy,” he complained.

“I just wanna see who’s got your attention, that’s all.” Monique turned back around with a sour look on her face. “It’s probably that fat girl with her cleavage all out.”

“Mo, just look at the fucking menu and act like you got some sense.”

“Fine.”

Monique pouted until the waiter showed up, but she plastered a fake smile on her face as he took their order. As usual, she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, and it bothered him to no end that she was hellbent on spending all of his money. Of course, he had plenty, but she felt entitled to it. Kayla never cared about him being rich. Hell, when they got together, she didn’t even know he was a prince, but he loved to spoil her nonetheless. He loved the look on her face when he’d buy her things or take her on the expensive trips that she more than deserved. Kayla appreciated everything he did for her with all her heart, but she’d say the same thing every time.

“Thank you, baby, but you’re all I need.”

Erik smiled fondly at the memory of when he bought her a diamond tennis bracelet from Wakanda for their second anniversary. She was so excited to have diamonds that weren’t marred by exploited labor that she damn near dropped the box when she saw what was inside. It had been a rough year for them, what with him disappearing for a couple of months to seize the Wakandan throne and all. She certainly had plenty of colorful words for him when he came back. He’ll never forget the look on her face when he showed up at her door. He had brought T’Challa for backup just in case, but she looked right past the king as tears welled up in her eyes at seeing her Erik, alive and well.

Erik’s eyes started to get misty as he thought about the way she kissed him with so much emotion...then slapped him across the face for leaving. His gaze wandered back over to Kayla and he noticed the light bounce off of something on her arm. She was wearing the bracelet.

As if she felt his glare, Kayla shifted uncomfortably in her seat, so he averted his eyes back to Monique, who had caught him staring again.

“Why don’t you go say hi?” she asked sarcastically, making him roll his eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

--------

Erik Stevens. Here, of all places. He just had to be here.

Kayla noticed that he didn’t seem to be enjoying his modelesque date’s company any more than she was enjoying Darwin’s, and the pang of jealousy she felt at seeing him with another woman went away. She knew she had no right to feel any kind of way about it, especially since she was the one that broke things off. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

Dylan was too wrapped up in his steak to notice her wandering eye, but it seemed that Erik’s food was as uninteresting as the woman across from him. Kayla watched as he half-heartedly pushed it around his plate, but he certainly kept his favorite whiskey coming. She wanted to chuckle but didn’t want Daniel to think he had anything to do with her levity. They were both drowning their dissatisfactions in their alcohols of choice, and Kayla got a phantom taste of Uncle Nearest 1856 on her lips as she watched him take a sip. When he set the glass down and licked his lips, Kayla felt flush. She missed those lips…

“So, how about dessert?” Damien asked as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “I hear their creme brulee is amazing.”

“Uh, sure, why not?”

“You know,” he began as he leaned in and reached for her hands. She allowed him to take them, but the softness of his hands disgusted her. No callouses, no roughness, not even a firm grip. “I’ve had a great night. I’d love to see you again.”

Kayla chuckled nervously, unsure of how to proceed.

“What are you doing next-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

A shrill voice pierced the air as Erik’s date bolted up from her seat. Desmond, and the whole restaurant, turned around to see what was going on, and Kayla took the opportunity to remove her hands from his.

“Keep your voice down,” Erik sneered through his teeth. “We’re in public.”

“So?! You bring me out here just to dump me? To dump this?!” she gestured at her slim figure, and he rolled his eyes.

“You ain’t even all that,” he waved her off. He was tired of playing nice, and Kayla could see the exasperation written all over his face.

“Excuse me, miss-” the waiter attempted to calm her down, but the crazed woman cut him off.

“Stay out of this!”

“I’m so sorry,” Erik mouthed to the poor man who would absolutely be getting a monstrous tip later.

“Oh, you’re sorry for him, but not for me?”

“Mo, just sit down. We can finish our meal like adults-”

“Fuck you, Erik.” She threw her dirty martini at him, soaking the front of his all-black ensemble.

Kayla could damn near see the steam coming out of his ears as his apparent ex stormed out of the restaurant. Erik locked eyes with her across the room, and when he saw the concern written all over her face, his softened.

“Whew, poor fella,” Dexter commented as he turned back around. “Where was I? Oh-”

“Excuse me, where’s your restroom?” Kayla interrupted him as their waiter walked by.

“Right down there.” She pointed at a set of stairs off to the side, and Kayla thanked her as she slid out of her seat.

“I’ll be back, Darius.”

“It’s Denzel.” He deflated.

“Fuck,” she froze. She had been sure it was Darius. “Still, I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” he responded, obviously upset by her slip-up.

Kayla hurried off down the stairs and leaned against the wall as she waited for either of the single-use restrooms to open up. She took a deep breath and opened her clutch, reaching in to pull out her phone with a shaky hand and typing in his number. It was one of the few she had memorized, just in case.

“You ok?”

Her thumb hovered over the send button, but she couldn’t press it. Her heart nearly thumped out of her chest at the thought of starting a conversation with him, but something within her said that she should. It would be weird not to say anything after all that, right?

“Hey-”

“Shit!” Kayla dropped her phone when his silky baritone graced her ears.

“My fault, ma.” Erik leaned over and picked the phone off the floor, checking it for cracks. He saw she had typed a message out to him and smirked before handing it back to her.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem. And, yeah, I’m ok.”

“Huh?”

Erik pointed at her phone screen.

“Oh! Right. Um, well, that’s good to hear.” Kayla attempted to push her hair behind her ear out of habit, forgetting she had just cut it all off a week ago.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ok? You don’t seem to into ole dude out there.”

Kayla sighed and rolled her eyes, “Oh, him.”

“Damn, it’s like that?” Erik laughed, and she slapped his arm. That slight contact was enough to spark a flame in them both, and Erik’s face turned serious. “For real, though, not going well?”

“Better than you, it seems,” she quipped as she eyed his wet shirt. That was a bad idea because his first three buttons were undone, and she caught a peek of the raised scars that she missed so much. And that broad chest, and the chain with his father’s ring that he always wore. He’d let her wear it from time to time, and she always felt like it was such an honor. He trusted her enough to let her wear it. He loved her enough to-

Kayla pried her eyes away and made yet another mistake: she looked up at him. Those eyes still looked like sweet, sweet molasses, and even though his locs were braided back, she could tell he was letting them grow out. She momentarily wondered who was retwisting them nowadays, but her train of thought was cut short by the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. Kayla’s mind went blank as she inhaled slowly.

“Heh, yeah. That was...that was pretty embarrassing. Not even gonna lie.” Erik looked away shyly, unable to hold her gaze.

“I guess you’ll need to find a new date spot, huh?”

“Nah, I think I’m good on dating for a while.”

“Same,” Kayla sighed. “Dating sucks.”

“Yeah…”

One of the bathroom doors unlocked, and a middle-aged white man stepped out and passed them on the way up the stairs.

“Well, I should-”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Kayla walked towards the bathroom, but before she could reach the door, she felt a light tug on her wrist. His touch still gave her goosebumps, and he noticed her raised skin as she turned to face him.

“I just, uh...it was nice seeing you, Kay-kay.” Erik smiled at her, and she nearly melted. She missed when he called her that, too. “You look good.”

“Thanks, E.” She smiled back. “So do you.”

He let her go, and Kayla disappeared into the bathroom. When she closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath to center herself. After all these months, Erik still took her breath away. He clouded her senses and scrambled her mind. Even as she took care of business, her brain replayed their short interaction on a loop.

Kayla locked eyes with her reflection as she dried her hands. How could she go back up there to- what’s his name? Oh, yeah, Da- Denzel. That’s it, Denzel. How could she go back up there to his mediocre company when the man she still loved had made her feel so alive with just one touch. That was the magic of Erik, his magnetism. When they were together, she couldn’t help but be drawn to him, even when she wanted to slap him across his beautiful face. Those were some of the best times, though. If she was angry at him, he knew exactly what to do to calm her down. To put her in her place. To remind her-

Kayla’s daydreaming was cut short by a knock at the door.

“Occupied!”

It came again.

“I’ll be out in a minute!”

She reached for another paper towel to dab off the sweat that had started to pool on her skin at the thought of Erik’s dominance when the door opened.

“What the f- Erik?!”

He pushed inside the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

“You need to start locking doors, Kay.”

“I- what do you want?”

“I want to talk to you,” he spoke as he moved closer to her.

“Here?!”

“Yeah, here,” he chuckled.

Kayla rolled her eyes and tried to push past him.

“Now is not the time or place-”

“When is?” he blocked her exit, and she crossed her arms in defeat, looking up at him through her lashes as she leaned against the sink. “Look, I just need to say something real quick.”

“Fine,” Kayla sighed and gestured for him to continue. She knew there was no use fighting him. She wasn’t leaving that bathroom until he was good and ready.

“Kay,” his voice softened, and she looked away only to have her face pulled back in his direction. “Kay-kay, look at me.”

She made the mistake of doing just that, getting lost in his eyes again.

“I miss you,” Erik murmured.

“Erik-”

“Look, I know, ok? I know. And I’m sorry, Kay. I really am- no, look at me. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you...but I miss you, girl.”

Kayla’s eyes welled up with tears that she tried her hardest to blink away, but one had the nerve to fall. Erik wiped it away, and the next one, and the next one. A sob wracked Kayla’s body, and he wrapped his arms around her body.

“Don’t cry, babygirl. I know you worked hard on your makeup.”

Kayla laughed through her tears, but the emotions washed back over her, and she buried her face into his chest. It was already soaked with gin, so what harm would a few tears do?

He held her and rocked her softly from side to side as she cried, and after a couple of minutes, she found the will to look up at him again. His cheeks were wet, so she reached up and swiped her thumbs over them as she held his face in her small hands. He nuzzled into them and kissed her wrists.

“I miss you, too, E,” she croaked.

“I know, babygirl.”

He leaned in to kiss her forehead, and she closed her eyes as his soft lips caressed her skin. They stayed intertwined for who knows how long until Erik felt Kayla begin to pull back. He looked down at her, and the two of them locked eyes. Before they knew it, their lips had met in the middle in a passionate embrace. They got lost in each other for a moment until common sense returned to Kayla, and she pushed him off.

“We can’t-”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because what, Kay?” Erik’s voice rumbled as he closed what little gap was between their bodies. He left soft kisses on her temples before working down to her cheeks, then her jawline, and eventually the column of her neck. She let out a soft whimper when his teeth grazed the crook of her neck but pushed him back again before he could continue any further.

“Erik, I...I still love you, and-”

He attacked her lips with his, hands feverishly gripping her waist as he pushed her further into the sink. She had nowhere to go, and she was ok with that.

“I...love you...too...babygirl,” he whispered between kisses.

Kayla’s mind went blank as he lifted her up on the counter and pressed himself between her legs. She could feel him, all of him, and damn did she miss that monster between his legs.

“Erik,” she moaned as he nipped at her earlobe. He still knew how to play her body like a violin.

“Mmm, say it again.”

“Erik!” she squeaked as she felt his strong hands grip her thighs.

“Just like that,” he groaned, and she flooded her already wet panties.

“Baby-”

He connected his forehead to hers and stared deep into her eyes. “You miss me?”

“Mhm,” Kayla nodded with her lip between her teeth.

“I miss you, too, baby. I think about you all the time. Every day,” he pecked her lips, “every night. I miss everything about you, Kay-kay. Your off-key singing, your horrible cooking-”

“Shut up,” Kayla giggled as his hands traveled up her dress.

“Your body…fuck I miss this body. I miss how you smell, how you taste...how that tight little pussy feels wrapped around my dick.”

Kayla widened her legs for him as his fingers found their way to the seat of her panties, stroking up and down her slit. Erik kissed his way back down her face and over to her ear, his warm breath sending chills down her spine.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself? Because I do. You’re all I see when I stroke my dick...wishing it was your hand...your lips...this fucking pussy.”

Erik pushed her panties to the side, and his nimble fingers circled her clit. Kayla let out a small moan that was music to his ears, making fingers move faster and her breath grow shallower with each rotation.

“Answer me.”

“Mhm.”

“Come on, babygirl, you can do better than that. You think about me when you play in your pussy? This pussy right here?” he asked as he slapped her vulva, her wetness sticking to his hand.

“Y-yes, baby-”

“Uh-uh, you know who I am. Say it,” Erik commanded as he snuck three fingers inside her wetness, making her moan loudly in his ear. “Shhh, you gotta be quiet, babygirl. You don’t want people out there knowing how much of a slut you are, right?”

Kayla shook her head no.

“That’s what I thought. Now, I asked you a question, Kayla,” he reminded her. His gruff voice made her weak, and the fingers that were steadily speeding up inside her certainly didn’t help. “Answer me. Who am I, babygirl?”

Kayla tried to hold out as much as she could. She didn’t want to say it, too proud to give in, but the way he was currently stretching out her pussy and curling his fingers inside her made her cling to his shoulders. The bastard knew what he was doing, and she didn’t want to let him win. But then, he played dirty and bit down on her neck. She cried out, and when he pulled back to look at her, the ferocity in his eyes drove her up the wall.

“I said, who the fuck am I, Kayla?” Erik growled. His hand sped up, making her weak with every thrust. She couldn’t hold it anymore and came undone around him, her mouth betraying her as his name fell from her lips.

“Daddy!” she gasped as her pussy spasmed, and he chuckled darkly.

“Damn right I am,” he kissed her lips, “now gimme that pussy. Daddy missed his pussy.”

Kayla heard a rip and felt the cool air between her legs as he tore through her panties to get to her treasure trove. She reached down between them and grabbed his clothed erection in her hand, making him groan as he bit down on his luscious bottom lip. She undid his belt buckle and slowly unzipped his pants before reaching in and pulling out his throbbing dick.

The longing in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, so he pushed her legs back and tapped his head on her clit.

“You want daddy’s dick in you?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered.

“Good.”

He pushed in and groaned at the feeling of her pussy walls gripping him as he sheathed himself inside her.

“Fuck, you feel like home.”

Kayla moaned into his neck in response and wound her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he stroked into her slow and deep. She couldn’t form words. He felt so damn good inside her that Kayla’s brain had short-circuited. Erik’s dick hit spots that she could never find herself no matter how hard she tried. Even in her dreams, he drove her body wild. She had spent the last year trying to find somebody, anybody who could make her feel that way, but nobody could compare to Erik Stevens.

Erik and Kayla panted heavily into each others’ mouths as he made love to her body, and as soon as Kayla started to tense up, his thrusts grew harder.

“I-I-”

“I know, babygirl. Daddy feels it,” he groaned as he nipped at her bottom lip. “Cum on my dick like a good girl.”

His words sent Kayla into overdrive, and her body shook as she spilled over him. Her spasming walls hugged him tight, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, begging him with her eyes.

“You feel amazing,” she moaned.

“Mhm. I know them other niggas wasn’t hitting it like this. I just know it. Look at you, cumming all over daddy’s dick. Look at it!” He grabbed her chin and made her look down at her throbbing pussy as his dick slid in and out of her.

“We look so good, daddy!”

Erik slammed into her, and she bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming. He gave her his all over and over, rocking the countertop in the process.

“We’ll look even better if you let me cum in this pussy. Mix my cum with yours-”

“Yes!”

“Yes?” He chuckled. “You want it that bad, huh? Nasty ass, in here getting fucked while that bum ass nigga’s waiting for you upstairs.”

“Mmm, I want it.”

“Want what, babygirl?” Erik teased as he brought his thumb to her clit, strumming it slowly as he thrust into her.

“You. I want you to cum deep in me.”

“Shit,” Erik groaned. “You want it deep in there?”

“Mhm. Put it where it belongs, daddy.” Kayla licked up the side of his neck, making his knees buckle. “Cum in your pussy.”

Erik lost all sense of control and pounded into her tight pussy, somehow getting even deeper in preparation for his release. Kayla held on tight as she felt him begin to spasm inside her, and she released around him again as his deep moans tickled her ear. Erik thrust extra deep and held his dick in place as he emptied his balls into her warmth, whimpering lightly as she rubbed his back to soothe him and bring him back down.

“I missed you, babygirl.”

“I missed you, too, daddy.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other until their breathing slowed. Erik was the first to move, slowly pulling himself out of Kayla as she whined at the loss of contact. He kissed all over her face before planting a slow, sweet kiss on her lips.

“I can’t let you go again, Kay-kay,” his voice cracked as tears threatened to fall from his eyes again.

Kayla pulled him back in and kissed him so deeply that she nearly lost herself in him again, but he pulled away and looked her in her eyes.

“I’m serious, girl. I’ll do anything. I’ll marry you, give you as many big-headed babies as you want. Just, please, Kay-” she cut him off with another kiss to shut him up.

“We should go back to my place and talk,” she whispered, and Erik’s face lit up. Something about the way she said it, the way she kissed him, the way her body still responded to his...it gave him hope. Kayla smiled at him and pecked his lips once more before hopping off of the sink. He had to catch her because her legs were wobbly, and she stumbled a little in her heels.

“You aight?” he laughed.

“No, nigga,” she slapped his chest, and the two of them got caught in a laughing fit. They had really just fucked in the bathroom at Chez Martine. Kayla was on cloud nine until a thought occurred to her, and her face fell flat. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Erik’s face turned serious, and his eyes scanned over her body, looking for whatever the problem was.

Kayla started giggling again, and he looked confused.

“What is it?” he asked, barely able to keep a straight face. Her laugh was always so infectious…

“Demetrius.”

“Who?!”

“My date.”

“Girl, don’t worry about him. He probably thinks you dipped out anyway.”

Kayla shrugged and fixed her dress as Erik stuffed his shirt back in his pants. They checked their reflections in the mirror, and Kayla was pleasantly surprised that her makeup was still intact thanks to that setting spray she had splurged on the other day.

“Ready?” Erik asked as he admired her beauty. Kayla nodded, and he unlocked the door, opening it to find Duncan leaning against the wall with a sour look on his face. Kayla’s eyes blew wide as she tried to figure out what to say to her date for the evening.

“Heyyy, um…”

“Denzel,” he seethed.

“Yeah, sorry. So, um, we’re-”

“Sorry, bruh,” Erik clapped him on the shoulder, “but we heading out. Bathroom’s all yours, though.”

Erik pulled Kayla along, and she sent Deion an apologetic glance before following Erik up the stairs. It seemed the whole restaurant knew what had occurred, but neither one of them cared. They were just happy to be around each other again. It had been entirely too long.

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me,@toni9, @bribrisback, @impremenior, @blacklytical, @uzumaki-rebellion, @honeyandpeaches, @cecereads209, @wakandama2,

[elenatria]

"Intimacy", chapter two: Name-calling.

“You’re staring.”

It was more of a mumbled bundle of words than an actual sentence; Chris didn’t even bother to look up, his fingers were too busy plink plonking away at the keyboard, his gaze lost in an electronic riddle of keys, pushbutton switches and slider knobs that was only his to solve.

“What?...” Neil managed to say from across the room, his breath hitching as if he had just been caught smoking behind the dusty shelves and century-old volumes of the Lit and Phil.

He straightened his back against Chris’ mouse grey futon, the floor under his hips suddenly feeling a bit too stiff.

“You’re sta-ring,” Chris sang with eyes firmly trained on his precious Fairlight - his baby, his passion, his morning cake and afternoon sandwiches. “I saw you. You did it again yesterday.”

He can’t have noticed, Neil thought as he felt the colour flood his face. Can’t. When music took over Chris Lowe’s senses, a nuclear bomb exploding in his own living room could not make him take his eyes and ears off the synth.

“Staring at what?”

Hurray for parasite sentences, Neil pondered. That should buy him some time to think of a proper ans--

“…Me, are ya daft?” Chris sniggered. “I get all tingly when you do tha’.”

Neil’s eyes blinked behind thick square frames.

Normally he would have taken offense at Chris’ insult. Normally he would have made a suitably cutting retort; but there was nothing normal about the Synth Shaman at the other end of the room suddenly noticing eyes that had spent the last quarter of an hour trying not to stare at his forehead, at the loose strands brushing over it.

The truth was that Neil wasn’t quite used to them - the insults. Not from Chris. It was no secret that his musical soulmate was always taking the piss out of his little habits and pet phrases (at the top of his form he would even encourage Neil to use them as album titles). Still, Chris seldom resorted to such provocations. Name-calling was meant for those who had a chip on their shoulder. It was for those who cared.

And yet there it was, a slight change in the man-child’s behaviour that Neil had failed to notice – maybe because this whole hellish week he had been too tired, too stressed, too overwhelmed by phone calls and interviews and TV appearances to notice anything.

-Try ‘too busy counting Julian’s stubs and used condoms’, came the shrieky jab from the Critic in his ear.

There she was again, that nosy old hag, twenty-four hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year. Measuring his every step, doubting his every decision. Neil had even given his little imaginary tormentor the name Luella. He had killed the Priest inside his head ages ago (stabbed him through the heart with a wooden stake and danced naked on his grave) but the Critic was still there, triumphant, tireless, ever waiting for his next mistake, his next regret.

 “I’m working on some old song of mine,” he explained with a shrug. “I’m trying to come up with lyrics is all.” He chewed on the tip of his pencil, his gaze seeking refuge in the notebook on his knees before the flush on his cheeks could get any more embarrassing.

“Wha’, and you ‘ave to look a’ me?” Chris taunted with a cheeky grin, his eyes flashing with delight, the dimples of his smile deepening with every word.

“Well,” Neil looked left and right. “You’re the only one in the room…?” he stated with such fake indifference that his one-year-old niece way back in Newcastle could see how full of shit he was.

“Don’ do it,” Chris slurred returning to his Fairlight. “Makes me jumpy.”

Neil’s knuckles turned ashen-white as they silently stiffened around the pencil.

Please, God, let me hate him, just this once? Just for a day? Please?

Nope, no answer. God had left the building.

Luella tee-heed in his ear.

-perhaps you shouldn’t have killed the Priest after all

--Shut the fuck up, you don’t exist--

There were days when loving Christopher Sean Lowe was hard work. There were days when Neil would be begging him to simply get out of bed, leaving multiple messages on his answering machine to call him back (“…sometime within the month, if you’d be so kind”) because decisions had to be made, because he had come up with lyrics he desperately needed Chris to hear. Because real friends return your calls. Days when he’d spend hours trying to convince him to do this or that interview and getting the same old “Do I really ‘ave to do tha’?”

There were days – Neil counted those among the worst - when Chris wouldn’t show up at the filming location because he had misheard (or most likely forgotten) the time of the shooting. Showing up instead when no one was there, waiting for hours at the station and then getting all pissed at Neil, the crew, the whole bloody world for misinforming him, for “not treating him fairly”.

“Screw you, Neil.”

“No, screw YOU first.”

In the end, after all the yelling and the blaming and slamming phones down, Neil would call first. Chris would never call, it always had to be Neil, and he always completely, absolutely hated it.

He raised his eyes on his Blackpool Boy who was still lost in his improvisation, showing his new synthesiser more devotion than he ever would a human being.

“What are you working on?” Neil forced himself to ask as he tapped the pencil on his tattered notebook.

He despised making small talk while his heart was sinking over this petty comment or that random thought, and yet it was better than this dreadful silence. Anything was better than putting up with Luella’s voice in his ear.

-he knows

he knows and he hates you

he completely flat-out hates you

Neil would make a song – or at least a haiku - out of the voices in his head if only he could convince Chris that they were someone else’s demons.

“Nothing really, juss’ trying some new sounds,” Chris replied. “I can multitask, look at tha’!” he enthused poking a finger on the Fairlight’s green-screen monitor. “I can run a sequence while loading samples, or altering MIDI allocations. And what’s more, no sloppy lightpen for this beauty - it has a keyboard now, like a computer. Much more effective.”

Neil gave a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

He was never big on tech stuff when it came to synthesisers: he knew how to plug them in, switch them on and that was it. But when Christopher Sean Lowe was gabbering on about his shiny new toy, best shut up and listen.

 “I was thinking,” Chris continued, “tha’ old song we wrote, ‘Where you’ve been, who’ve you seen’, there’s so much drama to it, needs a showbusiness finale, doesn’t it? Maybe some orchestral samples in the outro. And with Fairlight you can ‘ave so many of ‘em, it’s bonkers!”

Neil put the pencil down; trying to concentrate when Chris was in a chatty mood was pointless. “Yes, your ‘Fair-Lady’ is pure perfection, isn’t she…” he said with something of a sigh. “Trained to imitate any sound you teach her, sing at your command. Can’t beat that. Perhaps you should program her to write lyrics too,” he added icily returning to the unfinished song on his lap.

For the first time in the three hours he had spent in Chris’ flat there was absolute silence. No plink plonking, no orchestral samples, barking samples, crunching leaves samples, nothing. Curiosity was burning Neil from the inside out but it would take a whole legion of temptation demons to make him look at the boy-wonder who had suddenly fallen silent.

It wasn’t long until Chris was giving out one of his shamelessly loud yawns, abandoning the keys and buttons that had stolen his heart to finally notice the stranger in the blue hoodie who had spent the better part of their Sunday morning sitting on his floor, choosing the hardness of it over the futon behind him that was now covered with sheets of paper.

“Aw’right. What are you working on?” he asked as he picked up an issue of Vogue from a sealed white box that served as a coffee table – a mysterious addition to his recently furnished studio flat that Neil hadn’t noticed before.

“No, no, it’s okay, you’re busy,” Neil tried to force some conviction into his words, his eyes dancing nervously over meandering sentences and crossed-out lyrics that no longer seemed to have purpose or meaning.

-awwww look at him, he’s about to cry

--I said fuck off--

Chris cocked his head to the side. “Neil,” he said softly. “Come on. Don’ be like tha’.”

“Like what?”

“All sour-like,” Chris huffed out a laugh, the sincere awkwardness of it making Neil feel like he had just killed Chris’ little sister and taken all her candy.

“I’m not!” Neil objected. “I don’t want to interrupt you when you have that face on,” he explained jerking his pencil in Chris’ direction.

-that’s it, blame it on the other guy

“What face?”

Neil raised his head, the glasses that had slid down his nose making him look like an Oxford don. “The Scowl from Hell,” he stated in his best Henry Higgins voice.

Chris burst out laughing. “Ha, it’s no’ a scowl, I’m juss’ concentrating on these new sounds.”

“Exactly,” said Neil as he felt his lips softening into a forgiving smile. “And I don’t want to be interrupting you when you’re so absorbed in your music that you put on your end-of-the-world frown.”

“Aw c’mon, what are you working on?” Chris persisted as he rolled up the magazine and looked through it like a telescope. “Some old lyrics, you said?”

“Yes…” Neil grumbled, scratching off his last sentence with such passion that the pen tore through the paper. “Not quite finished yet…”

“Read me a line,” Chris stifled a yawn. “Read before I fall asleep.”

“All right…,” Neil cleared his throat, “but it’s not finished, you have to promise not to laugh. You always get the giggles when I read new lyrics to you.”

“Aw for God’s sake,” Chris said impatiently, his gaze caught by Tatjana Patitz’s husky-like eyes staring at him from the cover of Vogue, “it’s juss’ me nerves, you know tha’. Get on with it.”

 Neil opened his mouth before closing it again. “Whatever remarks you have to make, keep them until I’m done, all right?”

“Aw’right, aw’right…” said Chris, already bored, rifling through the magazine until his eyes settled on the photos of a mighty big steel tower and a rollercoaster by a beach that stretched for miles and miles. “Oh look, Vogue has a reportage on Blackpool,” he exclaimed. “The Newest Pleasure Beach Attractions.”

Neil rolled his eyes; Chris being distracted while he was telling him something of paramount importance was as predictable as snails after the rain.  

“Ugh, will they ever stop changing it?” Chris complained as he flipped through the reportage. “Each time I go back to Blackpool I ‘ardly recognize the place.”

“Perhaps you should have never left,” said Neil with a challenging twinkle in his eyes. “An accomplished architect like yourself could teach them a thing or two about the joys of minimalism,” he gestured around the room whose furniture consisted of a television, a record player, a couple of foam rubber chairs and a wastebin - the only things this bedroom nerdhad bothered buying.

And the big white box.

A wicked gleam flickered across Chris’ face as he glanced over the magazine: reacting to veiled compliments and snarky remarks was not a game he was willing to play. “I don’ think they’d evah lissen to tragic old me juss because I ‘ave a degree,” he quipped as he turned page after page.

“Why not?” objected Neil. “I can already see the title of your interview in the Blackpool Gazette: ‘Putting The Fun In FUNctional – Ar. Chris Lowe’s Groundbreaking Plans for a Brand New Pleasure Beach Experience.’”

Chris gave a gurgle of laughter. “You’re a nob you are.”

There it was at last, the spark in Chris’ eyes, the light melting away the frown, the smile of a thousand burning suns. Neil let out a sigh. Maybe they could be friends again, cracking jokes again. Maybe Chris didn’t hate him after all.

“So,” Chris slammed the magazine closed, placing it back on top of the white box with the big red logo on its side. “You were saying?”

Neil stood on two feet straightening his jeans, his worn notebook in hand. He wished he had more time to work on the lyrics, make this old song of his less personal, less raw. He always found ways to sweeten the pill for his listeners, tone down his sarcasm, rage and heartbreak with unusually long words and elaborate sentences. He would even pretend that the lyrics were spoken by someone else even if the songs talked of universal truths, even if those were his truths as well.

This time it was different though, this time he felt naked, exposed. Despite Chris’ constant state of carefree indifference, Neil could tell that this Peter Pan of a man understood much more than he let on.

He straightened the glasses on his nose drawing in a deep breath:

“A nervous boy in several ways I never knew the world could operate this way I was nervous when we stopped to speak And the world came crashing around my feet

We don't talk of love We're much too shy But nervously we wonder when and why.”

He paused for a second flicking a quick glance in Chris’ direction: there was not a single trace of sentiment on his face, his eyes devoid of judgement. Only the notorious Focused Frown had settled on his features, giving Neil some comfort that he finally had his full attention.

He turned to his notes again, this time with more confidence.

“A nervous boy, in spite of which I never thought I could tremble as much as this Your flashing eyes and sudden smiles Are never quite at ease, and neither am I

Oh, we'll talk about it all some night But nervously we never get it right.”

He stopped when he realised that his cheeks were burning.

--Sudden smiles--

What was he even thinking putting those words on paper, reading them out loud? What would Chris think? Would he burst out into his usual fit of roaring laughter? Would he up and leave the moment he realised what this song was about? Embarrassed, betrayed, never wanting to see this sorry excuse of a poet again.

This sorry excuse of a friend.

Neil looked up at him, yearning for a single word of praise to help him carry on, searching for a glimpse of acknowledgement in that sphinxlike face that could light up a whole stadium with his smile alone.

With his magical fingers.

With his big brown eyes.

oh God

There was a long silence. It was great and terrible, and it was thick, so thick that Neil swore he could wrap himself in it. He stood frozen, waiting, desperate for air.

Chris nodded emphatically, his mouth twisted into a quasi-comical pout that was half horror, half despair: “…Thass’ the cringiest thing I’ve ever ‘eard in mah entire life, that is.”

Neil let his hand drop, the notebook thumping helplessly against his thigh. That was it then, that was the verdict. That was the culmination of three long hours of his precious Sunday morning and the seven years of crumpled-and-tossed-in-the-bin drafts that preceded it.

“I thought I’d write something romantic for once,” he said glumly.

“Romantic, why?” Chris demanded. “Write songs abou’ clubbin’ and sex and one-night-stands. And parties,” he gave it a little thought, “and sex. ‘Cause we don’t ‘ave enough of those, I don’ think.”

Neil blinked up at him, trying to discern in that poker face of his whether he was pulling his leg or not.

“Thass’ our life,” Chris rationalized spreading his knees lazily, his chair tilted back against the wall, “why lie abou’ it? And why bore your audience with excessive sentimentalism tha’ no one will understand?”. He put both hands behind his head swinging his legs in the air, his mouth hanging open for a long bottomless yawn.

Neil let out a sigh so loud and theatrical that could be easily heard over the rumble and music from The Horatia across the street. “Breaking up with Julian got me all mushy and sentimental, I suppose,” he moaned giving his fingers a good rub after hours of scratching off sentence after sentence.

A loud thud made him look up: Chris’ chair had landed abruptly on the floor, his epic yawn cut short, his eyes snapping open, wide and shining and relentlessly awake.

“…You broke up with Julian? When?”

“A week ago.”

Chris perked his head up with the alertness of a hound dog, scanning Neil’s face with unblinking, inscrutable eyes. “You didn’ tell me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you again,” apologised Neil. 

“You don’ bother me,” Chris said curtly, his voice tinted with the slightest hint of reprimand. “You nevah’ bother me.”

Neil dragged a hand through tousled hair. “Yes. Sorry,” he said guiltily. “It was a mess, really. Lots of sobbing, lots of blaming. I was stifling him, he said. And then I was too miserable to even pick up the phone and call you.”

He glanced at the man behind the keyboard - there it was again, the poker face. Nothing to read there. Only Chris’ piercing eyes fixed on him, on every single inch of him.

“You were ‘ere yesterday,” Chris reminded him. “You didn’ tell me a thing.”

“I… wasn’t ready,” Neil objected weakly. “The point is, I’m glad it’s over. I had been thinking a lot about what you told me at Jubilee Gardens that day,” he gave an appreciative nod. “Not the first time you helped me get rid of a bad habit, you know.”

“…Glad I could be of service,” Chris snarled.

Neil made his best attempt to smile. “Anyway,” he swiftly went back to his notes, sneaking glances at his partner who remained as still as a statue, “I didn’t read you the whole thing, there’s more. Do you want to hear it?”

There was a long pause.

“Go on,” grumbled Chris at last.

Neil adjusted the glasses on his nose as if nothing had happened, as if no earth-shuttering revelation had just taken place in that room.

“… And nervously we never get it - Right - from the start I approved of you” (‘There’s anadiplosis there, did you notice?’, he said with some pride.)

“Right from the moment you turned to face me.

A nervous boy from anothe—”

Chris cut him off with a choked giggle, breaking into an uncontrollable, almost hysterical fit of laughter.

Neil shot him a glare. “You promised not to laugh,” he scowled. “You promised you’d let me finish.”

“Well, no’ if you turn our songs into cringe fests, I won’t…!” Chris shot back, coughing and laughing and choking on his own spit, and then coughing some more. “I approved of you?... Seriously?”

“’Our’ songs…” Neil glowered at him. “Sometimes it could be a Neil song. Or a Chris song. Why does everything have to be about us?”

“Nothing evah’ is about ‘us’!” Chris snapped, all hilarity wiped off his face. “Bu’ it is made by us.”

“So you’re saying we shouldn’t include this song in the next album?” Neil said with flaring nostrils, his cheeks flushing red. “That it’s not a Pet Shop Boys song?”

“I didn’ say tha’,” Chris said furiously. “I juss’ said… this is no’ you. This is no’ the Neil I know.”

“And what do you know?”

“No’ much, as it turns out,” Chris spat pressing his lips together.

Neil removed his glasses and tossed them on the duvet behind him; there was no reasoning with this boy, not today. Today he should be celebrating his liberation from unappreciative people and toxic relationships, not fighting with his best friend over some stupid old song.

He turned his back on Chris, glancing out of the window; there was a man in a brown coat walking down Holloway Road, a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Neil wished he could be that stranger, drinking his favourite blend as hot aromatic steam filled his nostrils, walking away from it all without a care in the world.

The silence dragged on and on, and just as he found the perfect excuse to leave, he heard Chris say: “What is this song abou’ anyway?”

He took a sharp breath in, his eyes staring into nothing. “Oh, it’s about a boy I once loved,” he murmured clutching his notebook, his casual tone doing nothing to mask its own coldness. “He liked Italo disco, hated cigarettes.” He paused. “Made me give up smoking.”

“He did? Good lad,” Chris mumbled as he started leafing through Vogue again. “I always said smoking was bad for ya.”

Neil let the air fill his lungs, his face reddening with anger.

“Where did ya meet?” Chris asked absent-mindedly biting his nails. “‘Eaven? The White Swan?”

“No. A shop,” muttered Neil pushing the curtain aside, his eyes following the dance of grey clouds as they gathered over the rooftops of Highbury Hill. “It was very hot that day. Insanely hot. He was standing in line behind me, asked me where the guy was because there was no one at the counter. He made a joke, said now was the time to run off with some equipment since no one was there.” The ghost of a smile flitted over his lips.  “He was really funny,” he added with a nostalgic chuckle. “Funniest person I had ever met.”

Chris let out a snigger. “Not a smoker and funny,” he said, “a lad after me own ‘eart. Did you do anything with ‘im?”

“No,” Neil said under his breath. “I was too shy to ask him out. And he was—”

“Mmm…?” Chris was hardly listening anymore, his gaze fixed on an article on Sigmund Freud’s daughter. “He was what?”

“—not interested,” Neil said crisply.

“Turned ya down?” Chris clicked his tongue disapprovingly flicking through the glossy pages. “What a tosser.”

“No. I didn’t ask him.”

 “Didn’t ask ‘im?!” Chris exclaimed. “Why no’? He sounds like a nice bloke.”

Neil shook his head. “It wouldn’t work out.”

“How do you know?”

“He was… not the type to have a steady relationship,” Neil replied, his voice cracking with regret. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not with him…”

Chris’ smile reached both his ears as he rose from behind the magazine. “So in love tha’ you wanted to have ‘im all to yerself,” he teased. “Not even a shag. No wondah this song of yours doesn’t sound like you.”

Neil huffed out a sigh. “Yes, imagine me being in love, huh? In love and not wanting to share the man I love. The idea.”

“I can’t imagine. Howevah we do ‘ave to work on those lyrics of yours,” Chris changed the subject. “I can’t ‘ave you sounding like Maria Von Trapp, with all tha’ retrospective self-pity at the beginning of a bloody love song. Perhaps I had a wicked childhoooood…” he mimicked Julie Andrews’ voice, tossing Vogue up in the air and catching it with the readiness of a juggler.

“That’s enough,” Neil said darkly walking over to him.

 “Perhaps I had a miserable youuuuth,” Chris giggled louder as he threw up the magazine again.

“ENOUGH.” Neil grabbed the issue mid-air and hurled it against the wall.

Tatjana and her husky eyes and her glossy sepia glamour landed unceremoniously next to the wastebin.

Chris’ eyes flew up in shock. “What’s the matter with you?!” he blared out, springing from his chair and nearly knocking over the synthesiser that had cost him an arm and a leg.

“I should have never read those lyrics to you,” Neil boomed.

“Well, it’s no’ my fault if you sound like Maria VonTrapp!”

“Care to find new jokes, Chrissy boy?” Neil spat, his voice raising to a shriek. “ ‘Cause this one is getting really boring, even for you.”

There must have been something exceptionally mean and heartless in the way Neil uttered those words because Chris was finally standing still, his jaw slacking open as if he had just realised that Dr Jekyll was gone and he was having tea and sandwiches with Mister Hyde instead.

Neil couldn’t recognise himself either. Even the Critic had fallen silent.

Chris held out his palm. “Can I see tha’ song, the whole of it?” he offered, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. “Maybe we can do something to improve it.”

Neil shook his head. “There’s no improving it,” he pursed his lips. “Let’s move on.”

“Give it to me, c’mon,” Chris insisted, his hand getting closer to the notebook that Neil was fiercely clenching against his chest. “I’ll tell ya wha’ changes to make, I’m sure it’s salvageable.”

“NO,” Neil snatched the notebook away, almost slapping Chris’ fingers.

“C’mon, Neil,” Chris moaned. “Don’ be a baby! Bloody ‘ell!”

“Forget it, it’s too soppy to be rescued,” sputtered Neil as he ripped out the controversial page, rolled it into a ball and tossed it into the bin.

He gave a sharp exhale, unable to decide if he should go left or right, his head too heavy to remember even where his coat was. All he knew was that he had seen clouds outside the window but there was no umbrella to be found in that annoyingly spartan studio flat, his was back in Chelsea and you know what, fuck it, he just didn’t care anymore. All he wanted was to get out of that room. Get out. Get some air.

He lifted the blue hoodie over his head and turned the knob so fiercely that he almost pulled it out.

“W-where are ya going?” stuttered Chris, his feet stuck in the middle of the floor.

“To get a cup of coffee,” Neil growled as he flung the door open and stormed out.

It took Chris quite a few seconds to realise that this was not a dream, this was actually happening. He hurled himself at the door only to find out that Neil had already walked down the stairs, his footsteps slowly drowning in the noises from the busy street.

“…Bu’… Bu’ we ‘ave a cafetiere right ‘ere, whats-its-bloody-name!” he gave a hopeless cry picking up the box from the floor with the red MOULINEX logo on its side. “I juss’ bought it for ya…! NEIL!!!”

***

This can’t be happening.

“This”, all of this, was new to Chris. “This” was surreal.

He placed the box back on the floor.

Neil had never walked out on him before. Neil had never called him Chrissy boy. Chris hadn’t heard that annoying nickname since childhood.

He threw an idle look at the magazine that had fallen next to the bin, its pages sprawled out like the wings of a dead bird.

“Thass’ no way to treat the Husky Queen,” he raised his voice to an empty room, barely smothering the beginning of a sob.

He walked over to the bin and squatted down to pick up Vogue.

“I’m sorry, Tatjana,” he apologised to the magazine sweeping the dust off the supermodel’s face, “dunno what got into ‘im today. He’s gone off his rocker, he has.”

He blinked away the familiar sting of tears that came, like the tide, each time he found himself alone in a room. Tatjana looked him square in the eye, a veil rippling over her face with endless shades of sepia, her stillness scornful and firm and terrifying.

Chris almost flinched at the wordless rebuke. “Wha’ do you mean I was harsh to ‘im?” he objected. “He was harsh to me. Look at ‘im, he walked off!”

Tatjana kept staring, her paper eyes (a merciless sandy brown instead of her usual husky blue) drilling holes through him.

“Really? And wha’ do you want me to do, Tati, chase after ‘im? He’s a big boy, he’s not gonna get loss’t.”

The light in the Husky Queen’s gaze went out, her lips giving in to a stubborn silence.

Chris’ fingers let the issue slip back on the floor. The quiet was worse than the queen’s harsh judgmental stare - without it there was no one there, no one left to talk to.

He sat down with his back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut; crossing the entire room and lying down on his beloved duvet sounded like a most alluring idea if only he could muster the courage to get on his feet first.

This had never happened to him before. It was bad enough that he had to put up with Neil’s hysteria with cleanliness and punctuality, his bossiness, his obnoxious boyfriends. It was bad enough that he desperately wanted to fuck Neil since the moment he saw him standing at the counter all those years ago, waiting for the employee to make him a patch cord for his KORG MS-10. Chris was not the type to talk to complete strangers but there was something special about that tall booky guy with the funny glasses and the broad radiant smile.

“Speshul,” Chris chuckled to himself.

Oh, Neil was speshul all right; how else would you call someone who hated driving, someone who had never taken the car to work in his entire life? How would you describe a guy who would call his parents every bleedin’ Sunday of every bleedin’ week even as he neared his thirties? What other word would you use for a person who had read so many books, whose house was full of them, piles and piles that reached the ceiling, reached the skies?

Neil knew all the kings and queens of England by heart and their order of succession. Neil spoke Russian, French, occasionally throwing in some Latin and Greek. Neil’s memory skills were unreal - he remembered past events, future appointments, release dates, birthdays and anniversaries like an organiser, like a fucking human calendar. Not that birthdays were important to them, they never exchanged gifts, but waking up to Neil’s soft “Happy birthday, Chris” over the phone, or seeing his name mentioned in print by “Neil Tennant, assistant editor for Smash Hits” every fourth of October was the most beautiful gift Chris could ever get.

And yet, for all his disdain for birthdays and anniversaries, there was one number Chris never failed to remember, one date Neil wouldn’t let him forget: August the nineteenth, nineteen eighty-one. The day Chris had nothing better to do than stand in line behind a bespectacled nerd in a Hi-Fi shop on King’s Road. On that same day he met his best friend and the one man he couldn’t have. Because Neil was too important to mess around with. Because “musical partnership”, because “bright future together”. Because Neil, to put it plainly, was not interested.

Chris had a hard time remembering names and numbers but the day they met was special to him. “Speshul”, like Neil.

He threw a glance at the waste bin next to him. What was so bloody important about those lyrics anyway? Neil had never been so touchy, so protective of his ideas before. What’s more, Neil had never thrown his precious drafts in the trash before. Normally he would keep all his notes in folders. Folders upon folders upon folders arranged in files in an alphabetical order, with dates and everything.

Chris scratched behind his ear; he had no idea who the “nervous boy” was either. Not the narrator, that was obviously a younger version of Neil, an angsty, insecure, hilariously inexperienced Neil. But the other guy, Nervous Boy Number Two, with the “flashing eyes and the sudden smiles”? Neil had never mentioned him those seven years they had known each other.

Chris felt the Husky Queen’s eyes fixed on him again; when he looked they were bigger, more intense, more frightful than ever.

“Aw’right aw’right!” he lifted his hands in protest. “I’ll have a look at it, okay? I’ll see wha’ I can do. Juss’ stop screaming, Jesus.”

He pulled the bin towards him and buried his hand in the trash. Thank God the torn page had remained on top otherwise he would have to dig through shopping lists, various colours of chewing gum and paper pails from the Chinese food they had the day before.

“Less’ see if we can work a bi’ on those sodding lyrics,” he mumbled flattening the crumpled sheet against the floor. “Maybe they’re no’ so rubbish after all.”  

There they were, the “flashing eyes and sudden smiles”. For starters, why so many adjectives, Neil? He crossed out both words, keeping a mental note to work on that phrase later, and continued reading until he reached a point where there was more scratching than writing, where most sentences were nothing but a blot. He lifted the paper against the lamp, trying to discern some of the words that hadn’t been completely scratched out.

At the bottom of the page there was no ferocious scratching anymore, just verses that had been crossed out in a milder, more civilised way. One sentence was almost readable even.

“A nervous boy from another town, with a nervous laugh and a concentrated frown”

A nervous boy from another—

Chris creased his brow reading the whole sentence again, his eyes shifting feverishly over the last phrase.

“…A concentrated frown.”

His face turned whiter than the paper in his hands.

“Oh my God. Oh my fookin’—”

God.

Words and phrases and memories and desires crossed his mind all at once, exploding into space like sparks from a dying brain: music, Belgian chocolate, war, his new pair of trainers, Tchaikovsky, the guy he met at the club last Saturday, the taxi they took together, meercats. The waste bin, the unused cafetiere on the floor, the curtains, the noise from the street, the food he and Neil had shared last night.

There was now complete emptiness where his chest used to be, like a black hole sucking in every thought he ever had, every memory, every sensation. The blots jumped out of the paper, getting bigger and bigger like black balloons, expanding, swallowing everything.

 The only thing that was emerging intact from the chaos, that finally made sense, was what Neil had told him while he was too busy browsing through articles about Pleasure Beach and Freud’s daughter and bloody Paris Cou-toore.

“…He liked Italo disco, hated cigarettes..”

“…Funniest person I had ever met...”

“…It was very hot that day. Insanely hot...”

Of course.

Of course it was hot, Neil. It was August when you met that guy.

It was August nineteenth, nineteen eighty-one, you little secretive, gutless piece of shit.

[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[milqueandsugar]

🏵 Where the sun meets the Sea 🏵

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, injury/violence

| Caged Bird |

Philza remembered his time under house arrest the same was you remember your first memories. It felt like it was just yesterday, yet he couldn’t recall close to anything. It was strange, each memory was just like the other, the same routine, the same activities, everything was the same. It had been like that for the first week, however something out of all of the days stuck out to him. The only memory he held onto, well the only memories. 

He was sat on the creaky floorboards of his old home, a book in his right hand and a cup of tea in his left. It was the third time he had reread this book, yet he couldn’t recal a smidge of the plot if someone had asked. A knocking at his door made him tense. Had the Butcher gang returned? Only to harass him some more, maybe to break even more of his windows. Placing his book down he approached his door, fixing his robe as he moved to twist the dornob, only for someone on the other side to hold it shut. “Hello, You’re Phil, right?” a quiet voice spoke up, muffled by the door but certainly still audible. A voice he didn’t recognize. “Yes, who am I speaking too?” He took a step back from the door, deciding to instead peer through the window. 

“It doesn’t matter, I heard you were under house arrest and I got you something. I got it from that Niki girl, she’s real nice, do you know her?” 

Peering through the window he caught a glimpse of.. nothing, whoever was there was hidden by the angle. What he could see is that they appeared to still be holding the door knob. They didn’t want him to know who they were, maybe they were apart of the Butcher Gang and didn’t want to be caught? His silence must have made them a little uneasy, as he could see a bit of movement of what looked to be them shifting back and forth maybe? God they really messed up his windows. 

“Yes, I know of her, If I were to ask her about you would she know who you are?” He called back, deciding to break the silence. “You’re very nosy” “You’re very mysterious, would she?” He asked once more returning to the door. “Yes, but not the way I think you mean.” 

“What way do you think I mean”

“My name, that’s what you want I think. Unless I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am” 

“What makes you think that?”

“Because everyone wants to know”

“It’s a fair question, don’t you think?” his words must’ve been rather amusing to the stranger as soft laughter sounded out. “Not to someone who doesn’t want to be known, I’m not someone you need to worry about though I’m not apart of L’manburg”. His eyebrows rose at those words, they weren’t apart of L’manburg, it seemed that no one knew who they were. How did they know so much?

 “I have to go”

Panic was clear in their voice, it must have been contagious as he felt his muscles tense. “What? Where, what’s going on” His questions went unanswered and he hesitantly reached for the door nob. Twisting it open he swung the door open, but no one was there. Glancing downward he noticed a small cake, it was carrot, his favourite. How could they have... maybe it was a lucky guess. But with how much they seemed to already know, he couldn’t trust that theory no matter how much he’d like too. Picking up the dish he stared down at the baked good, as though it were hiding all the answers to his questions. 

“Hey! Get back into your house!” Quackity’s voice caught the man’s attention, turning to his left he noticed the man drawing his sword. Rolling his eyes he retreated back into his home, just as a small note fell from the bottom of the tray. Stepping around it he placed the cake on his counter before retrieving the letter. 

‘ Hey! Hope you like the cake :) Stay out of trouble! ‘ 

A simple note but, effectively heart warming. Tucking the letter into the pocket of his robe he let his hand fall to his grumbling stomach. Good timing on the strangers part, he was starving. 

The stranger had come quite often after that, every other day when it was most frequent. Filling him in on the goings on of L’manburg, even on the shenanigans Tommy and Techno had gotten into. After his escape he had come back to his home to retrieve his things, but he had stayed far after he was done. Waiting patiently for the stranger to visit once more. Maybe they had heard of his escape? Had they been caught? What turned into a curousity grew into a sick worry, a worry that only grew after the destruction of L’manburg. 

Phil let his feet dangle off the pier, well what was left of the pier. Cool water lapped around his ankles, sending chills up his spine. Reaching into the pocket of his robe he pulled out the little note, running his thumb over the beautiful cursive. He hoped they were safe, at the very least still alive. With a long sigh he pulled his feet back up to his chest, standing up he fixed his robes. Tucking away the letter once more, he’ll visit once more tomorrow, to fill them in on his most recent endeavors. Even if they were gone for good, at least he was keeping the fish company.