#tupperware youre on thin fucking ice

[artemisbarnowl]

Not to be all aging userbase website but surely theres another practical good quality material for kitchen benchtops besides stone

[missmielyhoran]

Little Freak

in which Autumn likes her twin brother's best friend, and maybe he likes her too...

(BBF!Harry × reader)

A/N- This is my depressive episode writing, so if it's sad, you know why

[Warning- Angsty, dad went to bring milk, daddy issues, unrequited love?, Harry being his usual fuck boy flirt, depression, anxiety, shitty mental health, mention self harm, body dysmorphia, eating disorder]

Masterlist

*****

Yellow.

A color usually associated with happiness, sunshine, and youth is also a color of jealousy, envy, and deceit.

Sometimes, you felt like yellow.

A sunshine, happy next-door girl who everyone loved, had loads of friends but also a girl who feels gloomy, insecure, and cowardly inside.

He wasn't yellow. No, he was green. Color of nature, safe and happiness, but also jealousy, evil, and envy.

Harry Styles was neither bad nor good.

He was a charming, good-looking boy. He knew that everyone knew that. He was a great friend to have, would let you copy off his homework, let you smoke his weed when you're sad, and would even skip classes with you.

But you got to hate yourself if you ever fall in love with him.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, which was a rare occasion, but it was a rare occasion considering your mom had invited her boyfriend over to meet you and your brother and somehow your looking good was important.

Asher didn't care. If he could move in next door into Styles Family, he would. Mentally, you think he already had.

You did though.

Your mom was happy in a very long time, and you were happy for her. It was hard when your dad just up and left one night, and it was especially hard on her, but she kept herself together for you and your brother. Now she was living for herself, and you were happy for her.

You put your half of your hair up in a pigtails and then made a bubble braid out of it, your bangs you recently cut by yourself after a mental breakdown turned out kind of nice considering your eye were blurry from tears. You put on a oversize tshirt which you think would be oversized on your brother also from how wide it was and some baggs jeans and called it a day.

You deliberately went downstairs, knowing your mum will be mad for wearing something like this and not something nice.

"Sweet Jesus Autumn. Have I not bought you good clothes?" Your mum asked standing in kitchen with her hands on her hips.

"Asher is literally wearing tanktop right now," you pointed at your brother. Your mother's face twisted in borderline anger and digust and to be honest you were a bit too cause that tanktop looked like cumrag.

"Asher Bree, you have five minutes to go upstairs and get dressed." Your mum warned your brother who just chuckled. She held up her finger, counting one, two, and no one ever knew what happened after three cause he ran upstairs to his room.

You smiled and started helping your mum by setting up the table. Soft tunes from the radio were filling the room, and you and your mom hummed to the music. The main door opened, and your brother's girlfriend walked in, her blonde hair up in bun, dressed in a pretty dress.

Sometimes, you wondered if you could ever look like her. She would always tell you that it was nonsense and that you were way prettier than her, but you knew it was a lie.

"Hey, kid." She smiled at you and gave your mum a hug, passing her the Tupperware she had in her hand, "I will go see him" She said smiling.

"Yes, please dress him in something other than a tanktop and sweatpants." You mum groaned, making both you and Imani laugh.

You were back in the flow with your mum when Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac started playing. Your mum walked towards you, taking your hand in hers, and twirled you around in the kitchen.

For a second the world looked warm, soft, comforting like sunshine after a long cold winter first touches the thin layer of ice on grass then the door opened, you heard the distinct laugh and the world got a bit more warmer.

You turned around and saw Harry laughing with your brother, who was now dressed in a black shirt and loose jeans counterpart to Harry, who was in grey sweats and a band tee.

"Hey Otter," Harry teased, and your face flushed like always. It seemed like a drop of attention from him made you blush like a pre-teen girl.

"Hey Har," you greeted back. He gave you a smirk and got back to talking to your brother. The world around you seemed like sunshine and glitters. All you needed was a hint of his attention.

Maybe that should have been the first red flag, a single person being the sole reason for your happiness.

You got back to helping your mum when you heard the footsteps going upstairs. Harry was getting dragged up by your brother. You felt a bit sad knowing you wouldn't see him for hours now, at least not until Josh comes.

You were about to remove your eyes when he looked back and shot you a smile over his shoulder. A swarm of butterflies erupted your stomach, heart, everywhere, turning your brain to mush.

Imani, from beside you, nudged her shoulder with yours teasing you, obviously catching the little interaction. She was the only one who knew about your little (huge) crush on Harry. It was pathetic honestly, how a small thing like friendly hi and smile made you react like a mad woman.

*****

Josh was sweet, mostly cause he brought you your chocolates. Childish? maybe, but you loved chocolates, but god, he cracked some bad jokes, and your mum still laughed loudest like it was the funniest thing ever.

"His jokes are worse than mine." You heard him whisper near your ear, his breath causing goosebumps to erupt on your neck, traveling down to your whole body.

"Are they?" You teased keeping your eyes in front, but you could feel his on you for a second, like a flewting moment it was there, then it wasn't.

"My jokes are far better, Otter," He said back with pride. You laughed behind your hand. Everyone else on the table didn't notice your little interaction cause they emerged in their own, and you were thankful for that.

"Like the hola hoop one." You let out a breathy chuckle and looked at him beside you. He smiled and shook his head.

"You're mean Otter and Otters are not supposed to be mean they're cute." He flicked your nose and got back into the conversation with your others. Meanwhile, you sat there eyes wide staring at him. Your body was feeling like you were on cloud, flying on them over them under them.

Did he just flirted with you?

There have been multiple times he had talked to you but calling you cute? the tension? that had to be flirting. With giddy insides, you ate your dinner for the first time. You want to run around and squeal in happiness, but you contain yourself.

"So I wanted to ask you both something," your mum says suddenly, clearing her throat.

Both you and your brother looked up at her, waiting for her to continue. She looked beside her at Josh and then raised her eyebrows.

"You're not pregnant are you?" Your brother speaks first and you almost choke on your pasta. You start coughing and feel a large hand rubbing your back up and down. Your face grows red as you look up at Harry and give him a smile.

"What? No!" Your mum looks at your brother like he had two heads while he just shrugs and sits back.

"I was going to ask if you would like Josh moving in with us," She asks, shaking her head at Asher's bluntness.

"I don't mind," you speak first. Josh was a nice guy, even though this was first time you guys have officially sat down and met you have seen him around, exchanged casual hellos and what not and apart from his knees man didn't have one bad bone in his body.

"Me too. I like Josh he makes nice smoothies, " your brother said with his mouth full of food. You and your mum both roll their eyes while Josh laughs and promises to make him smoothies every day.

*****

Dinner went by nicely, and soon enough, Josh was on his way home. You cleaned all the plates and put them in the dishwasher while Asher cleaned the table and kitchen. Harry had gone back to your brother's room upstairs. You could hear the faint laughter of him and Imani and the sound of a video game going on.

Your brother walked in the kitchen after cleaning the table and sat up on the kitchen counter. He sighed loudly, trying to get your attention, which worked as you looked at him over your shoulder with raised eyebrows.

"Do you like Josh?" He whispers so mum couldn't hear. You closed the door of dishwasher and turned to him and leaned back on the counter.

"He's not bad." You shrugged, "I thought you liked him with all that smoothies, and what not. " You crooked an eyebrow at him teasing him.

"He does make good smoothie!" He said with nodding his head like he could taste it. You laughed and shook your head at his absurdity making him laigh also, "I just don't want what happened with Dad to happen again" He sighed and you did too.

It wasn't like you two were very young when it happened to have a hazy memory. No, you were 10, almost 11. The memory of your mum calling police department and every family member scared of not knowing where your dad left at night was still in front of both of our minds. It went on like that for two months. You and Asher saw your mum go down the rails and drink her mind off. She would never let you know that something was wrong. It was still Saturday pancakes and sunday pizza. It was still friday movie nights, but you could see the smile not reaching her eyes anymore.

She found your dad's new facebook account by accident one day and saw him living his life happily with his new girlfriend in Houston. it was hard, but it was also easy cause all of you were together. That doesn't mean you want to see your mum like that again.

"I don't think so. Surprisingly enough, I trust Josh." You gave your brother a smile while he scrunched up his face. It was no brainer that your dad leaving hurt him the most. They were best friends, doing everything together, going fishing, shopping, anything. You sometimes felt jealous of him getting your dad's affection more, but you had your mum. So, when dad left, it scarred him badly. Not only did he now have trouble trusting people, but he also became overprotective of both you and your mum but especially you.

You would say he was a typical overprotective brother, but it was more than that. It was primal instinct of not wanting to see you get hurt the same way you mum did.

"C'mon cut poor guy some slacks," you said, patting his back while he just rolled his eyes and flipped you off, which you answered back same.

You went up to your room and changed out of clothes. You put on your ratty old t-shirt you didn't know was your or Asher's and some basketball shorts, which were Asher's.

You put your hair in a braid and laid back in bed comfortably. You had a good day in a very long time. Yeah, it was gloomy a bit, but which day wasn't? As long as it was better than others and you didn't go down in the dark path of your mind, it was okay.

You had just gotten settled with your book when you heard Asher yell your name from his room. At first, you decided to ignore it. It was probably some dumb thing like calling you to switch off his lights or fetch him some water cause his bed was warm and he didn't want to leave the comfort. Then he yelled again and again, and you gave up.

You stomped towards his room groaning cause now you had to leave your warm bed for that little shit who could do his own work.

"What is it ya little shit?" You asked in an annoyed tone. He only rolled his eyes, "Call me that again turd face, and you will be grounded for a week," He said, and you huffed, knowing it was true.

"Anyways c'mere and sit on Harry's back" He said like it was a no big deal. You jaw hunged like a comic character looking between Harry who was laying on gound on his back beside your brother.

"Pardon me?" You said in disbelieve and huffed out a breathy chuckle.

"Pardon me," Asher mocked, "Get your little Shakespeare ass on his back. I want to see who can do more push-ups," He said, looking at Harry competitively, who just smirked up at him.

Both Asher and Harry were good looking everyone knew that even they. As much as it pained you, your brother did get the beauty which was annoying cause you two were twins. Harry and Asher both were of same height, built body with muscles and in same basketball team which your brother was captain of.

In school, you and your brother both were popular. The difference was that you were popular for your smartness and good grades, and Asher for his looks and being the captain, but Harry was both. He was a good player, good-looking and good in studies.

You blushed and walked in more inside the room, closing the door behind you. Harry finally looked at you for a second like he always does. It's always a fleeting look, making you wonder if he actually wanted to look or if you were just in his line of vision.

You sat down beside him, considering Asher was sitting near his bed with Imani on his lap, and Harry was lying down near him towards the door. Your hand fiddled with the end of your basketball shorts while Harry and Asher bicker about who would win.

Harry finally rolled onto his stomach and supported himself up on his elbows. He looked at you sideways, "Hop on Otter. Gotta show your brother we're best." He smirked, and your brother rolled his eyes booing from his place

We. He said we. We were perfect. You screamed internally. Whoever's face you saw when you first woke up that day and let you have this beautiful day you would probably see it every day.

You gently sat yourself on his back, which was sturdy as fuck. You put your hand down to cross your legs up when you felt his back muscles, contracting and twitching from your movement. You gripped his shoulder for balance, which again felt so sturdy and muscular.

You knew he was built. You have seen him in revealing tanktops and sometimes even shirtless when it's pool day, and it always leaves you hot and bothered, and it was never because of summer heat.

You were so busy in your daydreaming of his shirtless body that you missed the countdown, and he abruptly went down, which made you shriek and giggle. Under you, you felt Harry's shoulder and back rumble a bit. He was also laughing with you.

Imani was the same on your brother's back. She had more experience, which you really didn't want to think about. There have been many things you have walked in on you wished with all your breath you could wipe away.

You kept a strong grip on Harry's shoulder cause one, you were scared you were going to fall, and second, you didn't know if you would ever get the opportunity to hold him and feel his muscles like this again.

They probably did thirty push ups when your brother lost his balance and fell down, and in return, Harry also stopped without telling you which had you stumbling down beside him on the floor.

You shrieked again and rolled onto your side holding your stomach laughing. Your brother was also laughing with Imani sitting with him as back support.

Harry was sweaty all of you were. His hair sticked to his forehead, and some fanned on the floor like halo. His face had a flush from the workout and a dimpled smile on his face. He gave you a sideways glance and shook his head chuckling.

You were also sweaty, hot, and flushed, but for some completely other reasons, along with the summer heat.

"I won," Asher declared to which Imani swatted his chest. "What? I did an extra push-up than him. " He defended his case.

"Yeah, well, I had extra weight asshole give me my money," Harry said out of blue. You didn't know if he noticed or not. Your brother certainly didn't. You sat up straight and tugged down your already long t-shirt as if it would cover you up.

They were arguing now. It was playful, you could tell. A smile was evident on all three of their faces, but yours was wiped clean like a slate. You stood up and went to your room without being noticed by anyone.

Extra weight.

Those two words rang in your ears as you shut the door behind you. Were you really that heavy? Of course you were, and of course, he noticed it.

You tried so hard to make yourself look pretty, skinny, like other girls, but you could never be. Your thighs were chubby. Your lower tummy won't go in no matter how much you don't eat or work out.

You hated your body, yourself, and you had marks to prove it. There was not a sight of mirror in your room, except the one in the bathroom, which stays covered 90% of the time cause last time you saw yourself, you had a full-blown mental breakdown.

You dared to pull your t-shirt up a bit, curious yo see how your body looked. Shockingly enough, you had forgotten what it looked like, but before you could look down, your bedroom door pushed open. You hurriedly pulled your t-shirt down, scared that it was your mom or Asher and you had to explain now, but it wasn't.

It was Harry.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have knocked," he spoke, his hand covering his eyes. You were still in flight and fright mode, thinking he saw your marks, but then you realized he thought you were changing clothes and you sighed in relief.

"It's okay," you said, and he peeked through between his fingers and then removed his hand.

"I- um" He itched the back of his head, "After you left I kind of realized what I said" He cleared his throat, "It was dick of me to make joke like that- um- sorry?" He scrunched his nose.

The last bit came off as a question, but you didn't care. There he was, your brother's cute best friend you always had crush on apologizing. Was it bare minimum? lower than that, your bar was in Satan's ass. But you have never gotten it. No, boys always made fun of you or even girls subtly hinting at you eating a bit much or you gaining weight, and none of them ever apologized once.

You didn't know if it was cause he was standing few inches away from you and you could see his eyes shining from the moonlight or if it was the whole day of giggly flirting or the feelings you had for him whatever it was it made you make that stupid decision.

Before you could think and second guess the act, you stood on your tippy toes and pressed your lips on his.

It was like electricity, like they write in poems and books. Your hand was on his shoulder his holding your elbows. It was quick, and at first, he reciprocated the kiss. For a quick second, his lips were moving with yours, but then it stopped.

It was no more than thirty to forty seconds going by you realized what you have done and that Harry was literally rigid in front of you. Before you could pull back, Harry pushed you with his hands gripping your shoulder.

His eyes were wide, and so you were yours. Horror, pain, sadness, and panic all ran through your body at the same time. He didn't like you like that. All the flirting all the signs were just you in your brain, taking his friendliness for something else, and now you have ruined a good friendship.

You opened your mouth to apologize to say anything, but before that could happen, Harry stormed out of your room, shutting door loudly behind him.

*****

If you suffer from any trauma, eating disorders, body dysmorphia, anxiety, etc, please seek help or talk to your friends/loved ones about it. There are many people who are willing to listen to you, and that includes me also. I'm here whole day much willing to hear you.

I love you, stay hydrated, love yourself and others♡

You can talk to me here♡ REQUEST ARE CLOSED

Taglist- @tiaamberxx @harryspirate

[mmoxie]

Part 1 - Overnights

The apartment smelled a little strong tonight. While Dani slept the daylight hours away, she had beef and broccoli going in the crock pot. She had a few spoonfuls right away, added some black pepper, and filled a tupperware container with enough to keep her going.

Seebs yowled for some, and she crouched on the kitchen floor to let him sample a spoonful. He selectively pulled a beef tip away from the other ingredients, purred his approval, and retreated to the warm spot on the bed while Dani got ready.

No dress code on overnights. Nobody to impress, nobody looking for the performance of retail-as-art. Just boxes and bottles and a whole lot of time. She grabbed a pair of thin headphones- cheap ones, with their distinctive brown-orange padding and thin silver band- and clipped an honest-to-goodness walkman to her back pocket.

Tonight, Evil Dead was on the menu. An expanded novelization, on tape. She was starting to pay a premium for these things- the internet was such bullshit- but filling her head with visions of Bruce Campbell and gallons of inky black corn syrup for ten hours sounded like a blast.

After filling a thermos with coffee- her old landlord had gifted her a French press, and she treasured it now- it was a five minute drive up Stantz Ave. to the corner of North and Gilbert. And there she was.

Wilson Titlee.

You deserve it.

She parked her '89 Taurus around back and let herself into the employee door with a two-pronged key. The kind you see on security pegs in pharmacies, but here it was on the back door, acting as if it belonged there.

She clocked in and got herself a cheese biscuit from the markdown rack, along with a sweet tea out of the case. She'd pay over lunch, when the self-checkout was turned on by a night manager.

"Put your little hand in mine," the overhead radio called to her, "there ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb..."

Sonny and Cher. And here came Bill Murray, rushing to the front of her mind to beat the shit out of the clock.

"Okay campers, rise and shine! And don't forget your booties 'cause it's COOOOLD out there!"

God damn it, she almost said it out loud. That cheese biscuit had saved her life, plugging her mouth up like that.

There weren't many people to talk to on overnights. You might see Craig, the freezer case guy, working out the ice cream or the Hungry Man dinners. Occasionally Kathy would make an overhead announcement about the self-check being open, or about the security system resetting.

Tonight, her only company was the homeside overnight manager, Pete. Peter Josta. She was patching some holes in the homeside freight schedule for some extra hours on her paycheck, and Peter had assured her, he had a "different way of doing things" and "ran a pretty tight ship."

Whatever, man. It's boxes of post-its and the occasional immersion blender.

She was happy to ignore him, put on her Evil Dead tape, and put her head down to work out a nice, heavy box full of tenpenny nails. Hardware felt just right for these shifts- everything was just a little heavier than you'd expect, and after ten hours of hoisting hammers or shelving buckets of roofing tar, her arms burned good.

Tim Curry was narrating, which always made her grin, and they had even got Bruce himself in the recording booth for a few extra-authentic pops of dialogue. She didn't notice for a full five minutes that Pete was right beside her.

"Hey. Hey!" He waved his hand in front of her face. Strike one.

She pressed Stop and slid her headphones down to the back of her neck.

"Something the matter, Pete? We got an early truck?"

"You're not supposed to wear headphones on the floor. It's a safety issue! What if you run into somebody because you're not paying attention?"

Run into somebody? Who in the fuck-

Gotta argue like he argues. Appeal to authority. An authority he can't follow up with.

"Oh, yeah, uh- my doctor says that I ought to do this. Audio therapy. Whale sounds, pan flute, chimes. I keep it low, but these late nights, working all quiet... it helps keep the mind peaceful, y'know?"

She could see Pete turning that appeal over in his head. He didn't like it. He had come over just to disturb her, and she could tell. This was a guy who usually wasn't in charge of anybody, but he was the "lead." So he should lead, right? He should be in charge. To be told no, that was galling, but... told no by the doctor, well...

"Just... be careful," he said through gritted teeth. "These kinds of things, safety rules, they're uh... you know, they're written in blood. We only get them because someone got hurt."

Dani regarded him with an easy, lopsided smile.

"Thanks for looking out, Pete. I'll keep my head on a swivel."

"You better," he concluded with a firm nod- and then he was gone, disappearing under the dim after-hours light to, Dani prayed, unpack the densest fucking box of pens imaginable.

As soon as he was out of sight, she and her old pal Bruce both said, "Groovy."

And then it was back to nails, screws, and fasteners.

Three hours, one tupperware of beef & broccoli, and six pallets of heavy homeside freight later, Dani was smiling her way to the clock. Many-a deadite had been righteously sawn in half, and all was right with the world.

She raised a hand to the timeclock, then heard her name.

"Dani, could I talk to you for a moment?"

The opening manager, Paula Green, wore a beige vest covered in company-approved pens, and was holding a clipboard. A break schedule, printed on extra-long paper, dangled from it.

Dani nodded and turned away from the clock, and waited for Paula to speak.

"I understand there was a bit of a fight last night. Is everything alright?"

What the fuck is she talking about?

"I didn't hear anything about a fight, Paula. I had my head down in Fasteners & Lumber near about the whole time. I miss something good?"

Paula's expression soured, and she tapped the cap of her red pen against the clipboard. "Pete tells me that you were insubordinate toward him."

Huh?

"I only saw Pete a couple times all night. You know something I don't?"

"He said you wouldn't take off your headphones? You know those are against policy, right, Dani? It's a safety issue. You don't want to put yourself at risk by limiting any awareness of your surroundings."

Dani felt herself deflate a bit, and she held her lips tight together for a moment.

"There wasn't any fight," she replied after a moment. "You know that's not my style. I like to get on my own and do some heavy lifting, and that's all I did for my money this past evening."

"Well, just don't let anything like this happen again, okay?"

"You writing me up, Paula?"

"No, no, just- it's just a verbal, it's not, y'know, disciplinary."

"Alright, well, I'm headed home. Don't have too much fun without me."

Dani knew she didn't sound pleased, but she tried to turn her grit teeth into a forced smile. Who could say if it worked? But she didn't follow up, she punched that clock and got moving before some other bullshit could come up and blindside her. If that was a fight, who knew what else was a fight under that roof?

She rolled down the windows and turned up the radio for the short drive home. Elbow Grease and Sparky were talking cars, after which there'd be a chock-a-block-with-rock commercial-free run of the heaviest hits of the 80's.

The heaviest hits? They got Maiden or Motörhead?

She sighed as Van Halen's "Jump" started to play. At least she was already pulling into the driveway. Heavy. Jesus.

Her phone chirped shortly after she got through the door. It was her good pal- at least at ol' Wilson Titlee- Mark LaGrange.

"hey. u wearin headphones? cmon dani now i gotta be a hardass about it. cant let paula see that shit, she sucks. skip em tonight alright, lets get the heat off"

Shitting Christ she didn't even have her shoes off yet.

She left Mark's text unanswered. She sucked at texting anyway. If anyone asked, that was reason enough why she didn't get back to him.

She needed about an hour to fall asleep, and she needed about seven hours of sleep. That left...

She squinted at the clock. 8:40 am.

She had about five hours to herself. Enough time to make some breakfast-for-dinner, take an extra-hot shower, and watch something.

She crouched and looked into the cabinet under the TV. She was running through the good stuff- Scorsese, Broderick, Moranis- and it was time to get into the really good stuff.

Hercules in New York. Schwarzenegger, '70.

Hell yeah. This is gonna suck.

<-Prev Next->

[katsukikitten]

Part 10 of Irritated. Y'all thank Jo for this being updated lol.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ This is an 18+ Pro Hero AU, mentions of violence and death. Enjoy

The pungent smell of wet Earth and nose burning chemicals did not pair well with the harsh scent of rotting fruit. Sickeningly sweet as it rouses you, mind hazed as your eyelids refuse to open or even flutter. Weighted by lead and an endless sleep that tries to pull you under again. For once you submit.

More time passes, although you aren’t even sure you understand the concept any longer as that same smell stirs you again, a bang from an adjacent room pushes your eyes to flutter. Flashes of light against the start darkness before your eyes adjust to the low light of the room that seeps in from a few small rectangular windows. The panes are caked with dust while bricks are pressed into the seedy Earth, giving the room a natural coolness, there is only one set of stairs that lead up towards a door outlined in light. The sound of running water makes your throat constrict and your mouth dry, as if you swallowed cotton whole. Making you wonder just how long you had been pulled undertow. It takes your throbbing head a moment to catch up with your senses as a chill settles over your bare skin in goose flesh.

And then it all comes flooding back, the awful taste of his salty skin in your mouth, the fear gripping at your muscles as you finally realize that you are not in the safety of your apartment but somewhere forgein. Thrashing to get to your feet only to hit hard onto the icy concrete, wrists and ankles bound by white cuffs, a small whine escapes your raw throat. Your heart hammers in your chest before you feel a sharp prick in both of your wrists. A warm substance floods your system as your eyelids become heavy, mind trudging through abduction procedures before settling on blissful numb. A blurry figure comes from the only other door in the room that isn’t atop the staircase. You don’t need to fully focus on his face to know exactly what color his eyes are as they burn into your retinas before sleep hushes your frayed nerves. You dream of all consuming green that slowly fades to black.

Bakugou finds himself standing in the kitchen of his apartment, your spare key stares up at him from your paperwork. A sweating glass with melting ice and the reminisce of an amber liquid is his only company. He leers down at the address, wondering why the hell you were on such a seedy side of town, then he thinks of you shaking on the couch back at the hotel during the convention. His stomach churns, your final words and blow cause him to suck his teeth.

“Not my fucking problem.” He huffs to himself, refilling the glass before killing the light in the kitchen to settle on the couch. His grip is too tight on the crystal glass in his explosive palm, the glass threatens to shatter while an infomercial plays in the background. His mind is anywhere but the TV while indestructible pans are advertised across the large screen. Aggressively swirling the amber liquid as his thoughts become more and more loud. He swallows the whisky whole and with it the thought of you. Letting it all burn as it runs down his throat and heats his chest, a warm feeling flooding his veins as he sinks lower into the couch. Flipping channels as he forgets you.

Your key taped to your personal records, that Bakugou stole, do not sit on his fine counter much longer, soon it is swiped and shoved into a pocket. He slams the crystal glass on the counter as he reaches for his own apartment keys and his cellphone. Bakgou slams his apartment door, locking the deadbolt before he rushes down the stairs to catch the last train to you hellish part of the city.

The hour train ride sobers Bakugou and only sets him into further agitation. Glaring at anyone who thinks to look at him more than once, even going as far as baring his teeth. Before glaring at his own reflection, who sneers right back. His black tee is tight and a bit damp despite the cool air, the brim of his backwards cap pulls the hair away from his forehead as his faded sides breathe in the chill of the train. The hat, an excuse to hold in his hair, his hero gloves heating his hands as his fingers twitch, he hopes your apartment is hardwood throughout since he didn't have plastic bags to put his feet in while he looked for something. Anything. He was doing the best with what he had.

But the more he looks at himself the more he realizes he never really was doing his best. At least not when it came to you.

The address to your apartment complex is a few blocks away from the train station, his jaw clenched as he reaches the low lit building. Screaming comes from somewhere far off, his ears perk out of habit, but he was supposed to be off duty right now. Plus that wasn’t his current focus, not to mention should he help it would be suspicious as fuck as to why he was so far way from home tonight. He bounds up the stairs in the dank stairwell two at a time, huffing through his nose as he reaches the top floor. The carpet is worn threadbare and reeks of vomit and water damage. Silence envelopes the top floor compared to the yelling and crashing items on his way up. Slowly it dawns on him that you’re most likely renting out the entire fucking floor. He sucks his teeth, leaning in close to the door of the first apartment on the floor. Nothing comes from the other side of the thin cheap door, musty air flows from between the cracks as if the room had been closed for quite some time. It confirms what he’s been thinking. He finds your apartment door with ease, several bolts and locks lined up perfectly straight. He looks down at the one key and thinks about what happened in the short few years you started at the agency that you would need five, no six additional deadbolts on your door. He half wishes you hadn't made it so obvious as to which door was yours, thoughts creep into the forefront of his mind as he imagines someone else standing in his spot now. He thinks he will need a locksmith, but that would call attention to himself, he could attempt to pick them but he never really had time to practice the shady skill. Just as he is about to turn to brute force as the answer he notices that your door doesn't seem fully shut. He thinks of all the times that you bitched while on patrol about your damn door and how you had to literally slam it shut for it to actually lock. Gritting his teeth he gently pushes the door open with his gloved hand letting it swing open with an eerie creak.

Already things are out of place. Your suitcase stands alone, untouched and obviously unpacked from the clothes peeking out from beneath the zipper, by the front door. Your lanyard for your keys is on the floor instead of the table that is in the foyer and the converse you were wearing the day that you quit are missing. Faintly something gleems in the grainy light from the hallway from beneath the table in the foyer. Bakugou reaches for it tentatively, teeth gritting as he realizes what the glass rectangle is.

Your phone.

Specifically, your dead phone.

His hand hover over the unresponsive screen before deciding to leave it, this would be evidence they would need later but for now he knew he had to do something. Kamisama takes pity on the poor bastard and throws him a bone in the shape of a scrunchie. Your black scrunchie that seems to have been ripped from your arm. As he reaches for it he notices the faint residue smeared on the hardwood. His mind dredges up weeks ago of the guy trying to hide his quirk. Of the carpet by the hotel door in the hall just a touch darker.

He should have fucking killed him, he should not have listened to you. He snatches the scrunchie, heading towards your kitchen to look for a bag, tupperware, anything to trap the smell of you and possibly your assailant. He finds a plastic sandwich bag, shoving the broken hair tie into the baggie before sealing it shut. He heads for your door thinking better of slamming it shut in case he needs to return without the calvary. Pulling his phone from his pocket he dials an old number from memory, the other line picks up.

"Oi, it's time I cashed in on that favor you owe me."

After the short conversation and the long hour and a half in the cold a four door sudan pulls up to the train station by your house. Bakugou eagerly yanks open passenger side door, slamming it shut as he cranks of the heat in the car, giving the driver no room for questions let alone a greeting.

"Oi, I need you to find the owner of this." He flashes the scrunchie as the driver gives him a look, "Inu, you're hound's son aren't you? It's not impossible."

"It might as well be dude. What is this?" Inu snatches the bag from hot fingers, "Do you even know when the last time the owner wore this. And what exactly are we doing? Is this even fucking official?"

Bakugou narrows his eyes, mouth set in a harsh snarl as he leans in close to the driver's seat while Inu leans back.

"I dunno was your shit I helped you with official? Was it ethical for us to take out a mob boss for your now ex wife?"

Inu looks away into the rear view mirror, eyes boring holes into the glass and the blankets in the back seat. Bakugou doesn't notice, he takes it as admission before leaning away into the passenger seat.

"Now get to sniffing." Inu grits his teeth at the hot head's comments before sighing out. Opening the bag just a little to take a whiff. The smell was faint, indicating a large gap from the time it was last worn to now. Not to mention there was an odd smell, so unbelievably faint in the fabric that had Inu not already known what you smelt like he would have missed it. Just barely he could make out past the notes of your shampoo a salty harsh smell, almost like a preservative. Had it been any stronger it would have burned his nostrils. Sweat and...was that formaldehyde?

His stomach churns, slowly closing the baggie before cracking his window, catching the wind just right. He follows his nose, head halfway out the window as the car carries the men late into the night, all the way to the fringes of a suburb that was partly in the country. Inu parks the car on the wide street of the little neighborhood built to mimic an American suburb in the nineties. Homes of various sizes spread out and yet not too far from one another.

"This is it." Inu announces, throwing the car in park as it sits nestled between a beat to hell pick up truck and a dented sudan.

"You're sure?" Bakugou asks as he takes in the old home, it's upkeep is minimal at best, landscaping border line over grown as he can barely make out the small rectangular windows at the base of the house beneath the old dim street lamp.

"This is where both smells get stronger."

"Both?" A tic wounds tighter in Bakugou's jaw while a tremor runs through his arms. Inu nods as Bakugou reaches for the knob.

"Woah, woah!" Inu's large hand clamps down onto a broad shoulder, "Hold up man, if she really is involved then this is nothing like the sting we did bro. We need to call someone."

"Like fucking who?"

"I dunno Director Yami?"

"Yea so he can dismiss this again? Fuck that and fuck you. I'm going." He shoves Inu away reaching for the door again before the blankets in the back seat come to life. A mop of emerald curls with concern plastered across the giant's face appears to Bakugou's horror.

"Kaachan...you can't. We need to do this right, for her." And with that Bakugou snaps, lunging for his old friend, enemy. Climbing past the center console with his hands outstretched before they wrap around a thick column squeezing with all of his might. Deku doesn't do much to stop him, somehow knowing deep down that it isn't really him that the red eyed man wants to kill. He wraps broad hands around thick forearms giving them a gentle squeeze, he could snap them with One for All if he wanted. Instead Inu barks out a breathy "What the fuck?" as he wraps his arms around Bakugou's torso pulling him back into the passenger's seat. In the tussle either Bakugou or Inu hit the horn, causing Inu to panic as a light comes to life in the once darkened house. He forcefully shoves Bakugou into the front seat as he peels into the street, thankfully without burning rubber.

"Are you trying to blow our fucking cover?!" Inu shouts, "Like fuck! And what's killing Izuku-kun going to do?"

Bakugou turns to glare at the behemoth of a man in the back seat, he rubs his throat as red eyes watch bruises form.

"I'm not sorry Deku, fuck you." But Izuku can read between the lines, Bakugou saying he is sorry but still fuck you for trying to stop me while our friend is most likely on borrowed time.

"'S kay. We can help her."

A honk, rouses you before footsteps can be heard overhead rushing through the house before blinding light floods down into the basement.

"Finally you're awake." He flicks on all the lights, scrambling to put your feet under you so you can at least sit. Eyes flickering over the room as you try to give your throbbing, unresponsive mind to collect something, anything you can store away for later to aid your escape. Meanwhile the green eyed fucker monologues.

"It took some time for me to adjust your dose, I need you to be just under enough that you won't fight back, your heart rate spikes easily you know…." His words are lost to you as you glance over your shoulder only to wish you never did as your stomach churns in horror. Lined up against the wall behind you are women, women you had posed with.

But what haunts you is how it starts with your missing friend. Her eyes hollowed out, pitch black holes stare back at you as her skin looks paper thin, like a botched mummification or that whoever was trying to preserve her got lucky. She is still in her last scene clothes that are bloodied and torn. Your eyes struggling to follow the line as they progressively become more and more preserved, until your eyes finally land on your last instagram picture, you and that young girl. With the peace signs beneath your eyes.

She looks to still be alive, until you realize she is unblinking with glass eyes and a permanent smile with the help of a stich or two.

He notices your rigidness and frowns.

"Are you not happy? It's hard to save the eyes." He forces your face to meet him with his fingers on your skin, "I made them for you. They're your friends right? I wouldn't want my doll to be lonely."

Your breath comes in ragged huffs as rage consumes you, you were going to kill him. With whatever little power you had left, you were going to end him and savor it.

All these lives, twenty, that you could see, lost, because of you and you negligence. Your eyes glow before a prick comes at your wrist, the power dying in your fingers.

"No." You rasp out as your vision begins to fade.

"Ah come on, I just want you to be a wake for just a bit doll. Just a while longer before I make you mine."

Your world plunges into the depths of darkness.

Your dream of the girls behind you, of their scream as their preserved bodies animate, their glass eyes fixated on you as they crawl across the concrete. Their mouths smelling of formatihide and rot as they lean close to you, voices beneath water or worn by gravel.

"You did this. You killed us."

[bluegarners]

By popular demand, I have written a Part 2 for mainstay for @viceturtle. Thank you so much @newsical for being an immense help with this!!

Part 1.

This chapter was inspired by this conversation between @bigskydreaming and @fuyunoakegata

ao3

There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness. 

He thinks everyone has at least some degree of it within themselves. A refusal to move or consent to something. Sure, some don’t hesitate long. They give. They bend. They break. But the stubbornness is in that hesitation. That moment of ‘Am I really doing this? Should I be doing this? Why in the world should I do this?’. It’s about the pause, is what he’s trying to get at, that makes stubbornness so inherent to each individual. 

It breathes in the form of grudges. Arguments. Games of she-said-he-said-they-said. Right or wrong. I told you so’s and I’m not sorry’s. 

Jason does all of those things like it's second nature. He’s not going to pretend like he’s some saint who can understand the other side and reason with them. If he thinks he’s right, it’s not a matter of if the other person is actually right or wrong. He knows he’s right, so it doesn’t matter in the end. He knows what he knows, and if he doesn’t— whatever. Immovable object and all that.

So, yeah. There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness. 

He calls Red Robin anyway.

“He’s gone.”

“Sorry, what? I need context for this. There’s a lot of people this could apply to—”

“Dick. Dick is gone.”

“Oh. Like, just now he left?”

“I don’t know. Some guy came and took him.”

“As much as I love vague conversations, this isn’t helping me and I don’t understand why you’re calling in the first place.”

“Dick is fucking. Gone. What do you not understand about that.”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Jason. What, is he not supposed to be gone? He said he was going to leave again. He already said ‘hi’ to Damian, so I don’t see why he would stick around any longer.”

“Hm.”

“Fuck me, didn’t you know? This was all just- just some visit for him. Sure, he’ll be back eventually, but fuck knows if he’s actually—”

He hangs up. Pockets his phone. Listens as the rain continues to drench the world outside of his little apartment. His shoulders hurt. There’s a bruise on his chest. Right between his fifth and sixth ribs. He has a split lip. He put ointment on it earlier but it still stings. His knees ache. He has a distant memory of his mother complaining about her knees too. Something about the weather making them act up.

He’s twenty-three.

He’s getting old.

On the table next to him is a box of cigarettes. Low-tar. Filtered. In his right pocket, there’s a lighter he got from someone years ago. He doesn’t know. Maybe he stole it. Found it. 

He pulls it out. Shakes a cigarette out of the thin box. Holds the paper wrapped nicotine between his lips, lifting the lighter and thumbing the flink strike. 

Click. 

He shakes the lighter. Tries again.

Click.

Gotham hasn’t had this much rain in a long time. It’s nearing October. Maybe it’s in season or whatever weather does. He doesn’t know the term.

Click.

It’s raining outside. Jason can see it. There’s raindrops on his window. He can hear it clattering against the fire-escape. Gray and black and mixes of yellow from street lamps below. Jason is inside on the comfort of his couch. Sure, it’s not the best apartment, but it doesn’t leak. The ceiling is fine and he hasn’t had any problems with it before. His face is wet though. He doesn’t know why.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The cigarette falls from his lips and lands with a thud on the stained carpet. The T.V is on. Says the storm over Gotham will last for the next few days. An unprecedented seven inches of rain predicted. The GCPD is advising everyone to stay indoors. Crime is expected to rise with the water levels.

Click.

His clothes are still soaked. He’s probably ruining his couch. He can’t remember if he took his boots off or not. 

Click.

Jason sighs. His chest feels heavy, like someone is sitting on top of him. It’s just him though. Only him in his apartment. He likes having his own space. The neighbors get loud sometimes, but it’s not as if he’s a five star resident either. It’s always been like this. He is…. Alone.

Click.

Dick was gone. Came back. And now, Dick is gone again. Did he do that? Did he drive him away? Is this his fault? Jason doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t know if he doesn’t care at all, but at least the rain is nice to listen to. Yeah. The rain is really nice. Consistent. Steady.

Click.

He didn’t take off his boots.

 ~oOo~

One month is all it takes. 

One month and Nightwing is out spotted in Bludhaven, his photo splashed across every news outlet from Gotham to Metropolis. New Jersey missed its boy in blue and cheers at his return.

Nightwing stays in Bludhaven though. Red Hood stays in Gotham. Just as it used to be. Back to normal. Yeah.

The rain stopped a week ago.

Jason misses the noise.

 ~oOo~

“Won’t you come?”

“No.”

“Please, Master Jason? We would love to have you here. It has been too long.”

“I can’t.”

“I thought you loved turkey. There’ll be plenty of leftovers and I know you’ve been meaning to return the tupperware from last time. It’ll be good for you to leave that apartment of yours.”

“I have better things to do than play nice and talk politics in Brucie Wayne’s mansion. I’m not coming.”

“I know you have your own quarrels with Master Dick, but—”

“It’s not about him. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing or what stick Bruce has up his ass this time. I am not walking into the line of fire just to save everyone else an evening of beating around the bush. I. Am. Not. Going.”

“. . . Then won’t you at least visit? I miss you. I worry about you.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“I am too, my boy.”

  Click.

 Jason spends Thanksgiving out in the Narrows. He’s not rich, doesn’t want to be, but he has money. Plenty he doesn’t need to spend on himself. He goes grocery shopping. Fills two, three carts worth of canned food and rotisserie chickens. Goes home, carries the bags in all at once. Organizes them. 

Single. Partners. Family.

He leaves his apartment. He is not Jason Todd. He is not Red Hood. He’s just some guy out in the Narrows. 

He hands out the bags. Has the decency to look the people in the eyes, knowing he was that street kid once. Seeing his mother in each dirty, beaten face he comes across. Pitying the drunken men and the addicts. They accept his offerings. It would be stupid not to. No one says thank you. He doesn’t need them to.

He goes home. His arms are sore. The bruises have completely faded.

The apartment is empty.

  Click

 Sometimes, there are days where he doesn’t know why. 

That’s a big concept: why? 

He thinks it carries too much weight. Maybe if he had survived past tenth grade, he could’ve signed up for a philosophy or debate class, maybe shed some light on that particular question, but he didn’t. Survive. So, he only has his own mind to ponder the concept. He’s read a couple books. Never fully understood the words he read though. He would’ve liked to, but he didn’t. Understand. 

But it’s up to interpretation right? So, here’s where he’s at.

Jason doesn’t understand or know why sometimes, and it becomes a problem.

He doesn’t understand why he got such a bad hand for parents. Why Bruce didn’t grieve like Jason wanted him to (so desperately yearned for, screamed for, died for). Why someone thought it was a good idea for him to live out a second-still-the-same life. Why he came back so different. (Was he? Different? He doesn’t think he came back wrong but he doesn’t know a lot. Well, he does. But, if he came back wrong then that means he wasn’t right to begin with and he’s always right and if he’s wrong then—). 

He doesn’t know why he punched Dick. He didn’t want to. Not really. But he did. Want to. Badly so. Wanted proof, wanted penance, wanted forgiveness, wanted retribution, wanted that sting that comes with reality and the regret of a little something called mortality. Horse drawn carriage alongside Death, patting the seat next to it. 

Okay, he knows why .

He doesn’t understand why, though.

Jason doesn’t understand why he gets so angry sometimes. It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel right, like he’s supposed to be feeling something else but he’s just flipped upside down so there’s no point in trying to right himself. He’s always right anyway. Yeah. Yeah.

He doesn’t understand why he says things, why he opens his mouth at all when he regrets them so quickly after. He yells a lot. Raises his voice and spits mean words and cusses worse than anyone else he knows and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. But he doesn’t learn. Doesn’t rethink it, doesn’t look back and remember the lesson he taught himself. You can’t be taught if you’re always right anyway, so what’s the point? Why regret it when he’s just going to do it again? 

That’s a big word: why.

There are answers attached to the word. Reasons for the question being asked. Explanations and solutions and resolutions.

Jason is good at solving problems, is quick to work around it and get the job done. And a question is just a problem being asked, right? It’s verbal, that’s the only difference, so if he’s such a good problem solver, if he’s such a goddamn good thinker and understands things like philosophy and literature and great big concepts and words—

Why did he do that? Why did he say those things? Why can’t he make up his fucking mind? Why is he the way he is? Why does he just push and shove and drive away everyone and everything? Why did he come back different? Why did he come back wrong? Why didn’t Bruce love him enough to end things? Why was he worth a second chance when he screws up and regrets so much? Why do people still fucking try with him? Why can’t he get one goddamn thing right? Why is he always—

Click.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

Click.

Red Hood is in Gotham. Nightwing is too. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The air is cold and there’s ice in the wind. It’s a clear night. A quiet frost coats the rooftop and Jason can hear his brother’s footsteps.

“We missed you, you know. Here, Agent A wanted me to give you these.”

Jason turns. Dick is holding out a duffle-cooler. He stands six feet away.

“They’re just leftovers. Turkey, sweet potatoes, casserole, pie; the fixings.”

Jason doesn’t move. Neither does Dick. To anyone else, it would look like a stand-off between Nightwing and Red Hood, neutral ground tensions. They both know it’s not.

It is cold and there is ice in the wind and the rainy season is long past. When they breathe, it erupts out of them in the form of white vapor and Jason can only think of the fact that it looks like smoke. His lighter still doesn’t work. It sits in his right pocket. He wants to take it out. Hear the click. 

“There’s some beer too,” Dick adds softly, voice carried away and twisted in the sharp air. “I have a bottle opener.”

Nightwing walks a few paces away to sit against an A/C unit, shielding himself from the wind. He sets the cooler down beside him, unzipping the duffle and pulling out two bottles of a brand Jason doesn’t recognize, and pats the space next to him. Horse drawn carriage. 

Why is a big concept. A big word. Maybe one of the bigger questions in the repertoire. 

He doesn’t know nor understand why he takes the offered seat. He just does. It feels right to do so. Jason takes the offered bottle too and opens it himself. Hands back the blade. Takes a sip.

It’s cold. It warms him. 

He doesn’t understand:

“Why?”

Dick swirls the alcohol around, bubbles rising to the surface. “Why, what?” 

There’s a lot of things Jason could say. Could ask. He’s had two months to think about a question that would fit the answer he’s trying so hard to get; one that would satisfy the cavern that just keeps getting wider and wider, this empty presence that digs deeper inside him. He likes to think it would be a really intelligent question, one that would stump his all knowing brother; the one with all the answers in the world and a smile to accompany it. Dick had been on this pedestal for as long as Jason can remember. Had been placed so high above himself, even now, it’s impossible for him to reach, fingers a thousand miles away from ever grazing the top.

A lot of people would tell him he’s done this to himself. That the things he decides to do, his actions, what he says to other people and what they do as a consequence; all a product of his own creation. Even the cavern inside of him, filled with stalagmites and cobwebs and so many empty boxes, perhaps he did that to himself. He— He did that. To himself. 

But Jason doesn’t like being wrong. Doesn’t like the fear that invades every nerve in his body when faced with the possibility of being so far off from the mark that it comes back and strikes him in the face. He’s paid the price for being wrong, has the scars and the memories and the stories to prove it, but he’s also been right, over and over again, and it feels so good to be right.

It felt good to punch his brother.

It felt good to have a reason to do so. 

The anger, the fear, the possessive guilt that clung to him in those months where Dick was dead and he was at the wheel, knowing he was going to crash and burn eventually and probably take everyone with him. He played the long game and knew the end result. Jason had fooled himself with the thought of taking Dick’s place, thinking he could climb up that enormous pedestal he had placed there himself all those years ago. Torn down and resurrected today.

He doesn’t have a question though. Not a singular, all encompassing question that would piece together every missing hole inside of him and fill the void. His mother used to tell him he talked too much, that a big mouth like his would one day get him into trouble. She also told him that he was smart and curious and kind and so much more than anything she would ever be able to give him. Jason doesn’t understand why she said so many contrary things.  Wishes he could ask her, have the opportunity to finally get the answers he wanted from her when he left everything behind just for a chance to do so. He can’t though. She died. He died too.

Dick didn’t.

“Why did you leave?” 

His brother stops swirling the contents of his bottle, choosing instead to release a heavy sigh that travels into the air in a thick cloud of tired gray and remorse. “I wasn’t in a good place at the time. Leaving felt like the only good thing left I could do. Batman gave me the mission and I… I took it.”

“What part of letting us all think you were dead was ‘good’? How does that translate to ‘good’ in your world?”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision,” Dick says pointedly, setting down his beer and thunking his head back to rest against the unit. “I was still comatose by the time Batman had broken the news to everyone else. I told you, Hood, I had no choice. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was all that made sense to do.”

He pauses, a hand coming up to scrub at the sides of his face. “Robin had just… died. Protecting me. I got captured by people with faces I’ve known my entire life and couldn’t escape them. I let myself get hooked up to that- that machine and exposed my identity to the entire world. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to you all, had I stayed? Everyone knew who Nightwing was under the mask. It would’ve— People would have figured the rest out soon enough. When Batman offered me the opportunity to at least make something right, I took it.”

Something unsettles inside Jason’s chest. Leaking, fracturing. It feels wrong. He feels- “So, what? You left because you felt bad ? Gallivanted off as soon as the opportunity was presented? Oh, I’m sure you’d love to do that again. Hey, Nightwing, tell me, are you feeling bad right now? Would you like a one-way ticket to Spain? I bet that’d make you feel much better.”

Dick frowns, head swiveling to look at Jason. “If that’s how you’d like to picture it, then fine. Yeah, I felt bad about exposing my entire family’s identities. I felt bad about letting down Batman and getting myself taken. I felt bad about dying and not being—”

“Quit fucking saying you died! You didn’t. You put on a good show, I’ll give you that, but having a model that looks just like you being buried in the ground doesn’t qualify as you dying. Get the fuck over yourself.”

A sharp crack meets his words and Jason snaps his head over to see Dick’s bottle broken against the ground, the older man having knocked it over with his hand.

Nightwing’s white lenses are staring at him and Red Hood meets his gaze unflinchingly, if only for the reason that he can’t see his brother’s eyes. There was something to be said about clear eyes in a city full of smog and endless voids, and Jason has looked enough people in the eye to know when to blink and walk away. The dark does not have a gaze to collapse within and yet there is empty white surrounding them.

“Come with me.” 

Why is too big of a word.

 Jason follows anyway.

He’s at the end of his rope in asking questions he knows no one will be able to answer. Knows that the answer he wants is not one anyone is willing to give, or even can give. See, Jason knows why. Has an understanding with the concept in a personal way unlike anyone else will ever have. He knows, understands, gets exactly what the question demands with all of its little fallacies and conundrums and ever so many follow ups. If he could, Jason would shake hands with it, an agreement to never speak a word of its existence ever again. But, how could he ponder the question when he himself cannot bear to fathom his own existence?

Nightwing is already scaling down a fire-escape, duffle-cooler slung over his shoulder, and Jason watches his head disappear below the roof line. He stands up, feet numb and hands feeling bitten, and side glances the broken bottle and the one he’s leaving behind. Even with the bleak, gray weather, the glass twinkles and shimmers in the ice, and, just faintly, Jason can smell the alcohol in the wind. Gotham is a city filled with muck, grease, scum, and litter. There is no difference in adding their own to the ever increasing pile, and yet Jason cannot help amend himself with the thought that at least their trash is beautiful in the cold.

He walks over to the edge of the roof, peering down to where he can see Nightwing traveling up a different, rusted ladder, ready to seek a new vantage point for wherever it is he’s decided to lead Jason. He doesn’t have his helmet on tonight, just a plain domino to hide his face, and the frost cuts against his nose and lips. A shiver runs through his body and Jason slides down into the alleyway below, keeping his brother in eye-sight. Nightwing launches a grapple, clinging to another building about 200 meters away, and Red Hood follows suit, the chill buffering inside of his jacket.

They arrive at one of those motel looking buildings, the outward appearance completely abandoned. Bruce had built this many years ago, one of the first of several safe-houses, and for all intents and purposes, it served to only attract the kinds of people that knew how to keep their mouths shut. The “general office” is where Dick walks into, a separate facility from the boarding rooms. He waits for Jason to enter, having taken a back door of four inches of solid steel, and locks it behind them once the younger has entered as well.

Dick throws the duffle onto one of the chairs inside the room, and rolls his shoulders in a circular motion, a long sigh escaping him. Somewhere, Jason can hear the heater kicking on.

He thumbs his lighter.

Click.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing, waiting by the door for Dick to make the first move. His brother says nothing though, continuing to move his joints around and rub his hands furiously together. He doesn’t even glance at Jason as he leaves the main room, entering another side door and into, what Jason assumes is, a bathroom. Left alone, Jason keeps his boots on and sits down.

Click.

He waits. Peels off his mask and winces at the pull on his skin. Rubs at his eyes and forehead. Sighs.

Click. Click.

He stares at the domino in his lap, regretting having taken it off. Dick could look him in the eye now. He didn’t— He doesn’t like that. You only look people in the eye when you want to convey something, be it emotion, honesty, or purely how much you don’t give a shit. Jason doesn’t know what it meant when he looked at all those people in the Narrows a few days ago. Doesn’t know what it meant when they looked at him. Who was he, then? He was no one. No one. 

Click.

The bathroom door opens and Dick steps out wearing a thick tank top and a long pair of joggers. Just beyond the cracked doorway, Jason can see his Nightwing suit hung up against a rack. The remnants of irritated skin also pepper his brother’s face, red and splotchy. 

Dick looks up and meets his gaze.

Click.

“This the part where you try to argue yourself right?”

His older brother frowns. “No, it’s not.”

Jason looks away.

Click. Click. Click.

“What’s that in your pocket?”

“Just some old lighter. It doesn’t work.”

“Ah.”

The stiff silence reverberates between them. Normally, when conversation isn’t invited, Dick would go off somewhere and find something to do; something in his head urging him to seek out an offering. It was a tactic the older man used often, something to hold or something else to focus your attention on making an otherwise shaky atmosphere comfortable. When he was still Robin, it was a ploy Jason found himself enjoying sometimes, where Nightwing would meet him on some pre-designated roof carrying hot chocolate or donuts and Jason would gripe to the older man about Bruce’s latest restriction or Batman’s newest growl. Their conversations would last well into the night and it was their secret they kept together, a fall-back to go to when things were too uncertain or days were too long.

Those memories were nice. Fond, even. 

Dick does not have an offering this time.

“Did you believe I was dead?”

Jason sucks in a breath, fingers stilling against his lighter. “Yes.” Pause. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Jason fires back. “It was on live television for Christ’s sake, Dick! Half the world watched you die.”

“It’s not as if doctored film has never been done before, even if it was live. At some point, it cut off too. I’ve watched the video myself. My death wasn’t shown on screen.”

“There was audio. I could hear your heart stopping on the machine.”

“There was a lot of fighting going on. It was chaos.”

“Fine, I didn’t see you die and the video was shit. But Bruce told us you were dead. Batman told us you had died.”

“And Batman doesn’t lie.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick sighs, leaning back against one of the walls. “Look, I’m not trying to pick another fight with you. I don’t want to.”

“Then what. Do. You. Want,” Jason grounds out, rising from his chair. “I’m sick of this. I am so sick of not knowing what the fuck is going on with you and Bruce, with all of your little secrets and fake-deaths and—”

“It wasn’t fake,” Dick interrupts, standing his ground. “It may not have been for long, but my heart did stop. I died in that machine, Jason, and I’m upset you guys accepted that.”

“Well, what the fuck else were we supposed to do?” Jason erupts, flinging his arms wide. “Fucking poke at your body until you were alive again? Wait next to your corpse in the morgue with your suit on hand, just in case you decided to wake up?”

“You could’ve at least doubted, ” Dick hisses. Jason can hear the heater still humming. The room is cold though. Bitter. “At the very least, you guys could’ve looked into it. Bruce isn’t the perfect, untouchable beast we’ve made him into. He left a trail. A trail that would have led right to the fake body he created while I was comatose. A trail that would have shown the Batmobile needing repairs it shouldn’t have needed. A trail that would have shown the documents he forged to get me into Spyral. There were so many things, Jason! So many goddamn things that would have shown you guys I wasn’t dead!”

“If you wanted to be found so badly, why didn’t you tell us?” Jason snarls, that leaking fracture in his chest pooling into his lungs. “Why didn’t you say a single word if you were so desperate for someone to notice?”

“I already told you,” Dick says quietly. “I needed to make things right. Bruce offered a way to do it and I needed that; the space, away from everything, everyone, in my life that I knew I had failed. I don’t regret it, and I am sorry it caused so much pain, but—”

Click.

“—was it really so wrong to want someone to save me?”

The leak implodes and Jason stops breathing.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. I should be able to handle these things, but I— there was this moment where I convinced myself that none of what was happening was real and that it was all some nightmare I was watching.”

The blows had stung and burned in the way only rusted metal against bone and flesh could. His left eye was bleeding and his nose had been broken long ago. After the thirtieth strike, Jason had somehow convinced himself it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t there, in that old warehouse, and that he wasn’t some child-soldier-hero being beaten to death by a maniac who laughed and giggled at his pain. 

“When I woke up, I really believed that. I-I was so convinced and then Bruce showed up and gave me this mission and, god, Jason, how could I have ever said no? I had failed. Bruce told me I failed. ”

He remembers that sadistic clock in the corner. Silent up until the last ten seconds. It had its own little tick, a click, and it was the stupidest looking bomb Jason had ever seen, bright red and just any old alarm clock with a few extra wires. A nightmare. All just a nightmare and Jason had begged the universe for him to wake up. For someone, anyone, to save him. For Batman to come swooping in and rescue him from his stupid fucking mistakes but—

Click.

Dick breathes out, a shuttering exhale that rocks him to his core. “Spyral, the mission, everything after… It was my penance, I think. Bruce’s way of forgiving me for failing. There was just no other way, Jason. It was all I had left. I guess I had just hoped someone was still in my corner, even after fucking it all up, you know?”

He does. Jason does know with a clarity that haunts him every morning he wakes up and finds the events unchanged. There are cobwebs and old boxes inside his cavern, the place where his soul used to be, but he knows. He knows he came back wrong. That he came back different. That something inside of him was missing when he opened his eyes to mystic green and an emptiness that plagued him until he came back to Gotham; rage, fear, and a deep sadness taking up that empty space inside of him. He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked himself ‘why?’ only to ignore the answer given to him. Too many. 

And maybe Dick has asked that same question as well. Maybe he has his own cavern deep inside of him, filled with his own fragmented cobwebs and starved crates, ghosts that continue to follow his every step, and whispers that forever ring in his ears. Perhaps the dead carry memories and questions wherever they go, and perhaps that is their sole purpose. They only stay to recount and wish and want and only breach the word “if” and “maybe”. 

But they are alive now. They live. They breathe. 

Jason thought death connected himself to his elder brother, but perhaps it was the voids inside of them both that bound them together. The desperation that clung to their beings, seeking approval, seeking retribution, seeking out anything that’ll make them feel whole once more after having been stripped bare and left in the throes of Death's carriage. This was the tie that bound them together. It wasn’t Bruce. It wasn’t Robin. It wasn’t death.

It was simply the missing pieces inside of them. Brothers not by blood, but by the very nature of their search for meaning. And that was all.

“Yeah,” Jason says, the molten gravity of this answer leaving him boneless. “Okay.”

Dick stares at him with the same clear eyes he’s looked at his younger brother with since day one. Something passes behind those eyes, a shift in the monumental focus that is Dick Grayson’s ever present gaze, and the heater continues to thrum in the background, just as ubiquitous as Gotham always was and always will be for them. There was a fundamental alteration inside them both, something taken from them that can’t be replaced, and Jason feels as though he is not alone anymore. There is another presence, another existence, in his life full of betrayal that shares the same scars and the same emptiness that has captured him since the day Bruce stopped hoping for him.

“Okay?” Dick repeats quietly, and Jason can hear the echo inside his chest. “Is that all?” 

“No,” Jason murmurs, easing back into the chair he had left. “No, it’s not. But I… I can’t do more of this right now. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” Dick sighs, the exhaustion from his own ordeals weighing down his shoulders and causing him to slide down the wall. “It’s— I never wanted to, Jason. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I guess- We deal with it, right?”

Jason wants to laugh. Maybe give a little less weight on his back to the warm air around them, but it sounds like a lot to do. He exhales instead, something maybe interpretable as a tired grin lifting his mouth. “Another time, then?”

Perhaps that is a statement that can’t be guaranteed nor promised. Time is scarce in their world, more so than anyone else's, but it is a scarcity they are well accustomed to. Death had departed in Its carriage, the seat left warm by their presence, but for now, they had left and that was all that really mattered. Why they left, why they need time they don’t have, why the caverns inside of them exist. All questions that have been answered before. Maybe when the sky isn’t gray, or when the rain isn’t pounding against fractured ceilings, they can begin to make amends and go from there. But the safe-house is warm.

It is warm.

“Another time.”

[linorangge]

Falling | Friends to Lovers ! Felix AU

You had always seen Felix as your adorable friend. Now for some reason after years of dormant feelings, you realize maybe you have a tiny, crush on him. (CW: cursing, slight angst.) Word Count: 1896 | Part 2

You’ve known Felix for a hot minute. You were best friends and you were actually his first friend when he got to Korea. You were special to him in many ways and he wouldn’t want anyone else as his best friend. On days he wasn’t studying or at the library being a hardworking student, he was hanging out with you.

Which is what he was doing at this very moment. You were both out buying ingredients for him to use so he could bake brownies for Chan’s birthday. He’d bake the brownies at your place later and then bring them to Chan’s dorm.

You watched as he picked up some eggs, opening them a little to check if any were cracked, before he put them in the cart you were pushing.

“Do you have flour?” He asked as he walked next to you.

“I think so, you should bring some just in case.” You said before abruptly stopping. He made a confused face before following your line of vision. Ice cream. You speed walked towards the refrigerated section and you reached up to grab the neapolitan ice cream.

You were too short to reach and you turned to Felix for help. A small smile crept onto his face as he walked up behind you and reached the ice cream for you. You turned, and realized you were incredibly close to him. Your breath hitched the slightest bit, and you found yourself admiring his face.

That day, on that particularly warm October afternoon, you realized you had a crush on your best friend. Your best friend Felix, who giggled at everything you did. Your best friend Felix, who would watch movies with you, and would do face masks at 3am with you and cuddle you platonically. Your best friend Felix who you’d put makeup on and who was comfortable enough with you to poop with the door open. Your best friend Felix who told you all his secrets and his every desire and ambition.

Your best friend Felix, who you now, undoubtedly, inevitably had a crush on.

You didn’t completely acknowledge this though. And you refused to in order to keep the friendship pure.

So after he put the ice cream in the cart and you paid for the ingredients and got in the car, you ignored the adrenaline that filled your veins every time you thought of that moment.

That moment that made you wonder what he would’ve done if you’d just leaned in a little more to kiss him.

“What are you so quiet for Y/n?” Felix asked as he gently nudged your shoulder.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “I’m just thinking.”

“You’re finally using your brain for once.” Felix teased as you pushed him playfully.

“Shut up I’m trying to drive.” You said swerving the car to scare him.

He let out a small scream, holding onto the cieling handle. “Oh my god, you’re gonna kill us.”

“Keep manifesting and it just might come true.” You said, swerving the car again, making him yell.

“Y/n do that one more time and I’ll never let you drive again.” Felix said holding onto anything he could for dear life.

“Really? Promise?” You looked at him and let go of the steering wheel.

Felix was now screaming, “Please Y/n keep driving, no- PUT YOUR HANDS BACK ON THE WHEEL YOU IDIOT.”

You smirked at him before crossing your arms.

“Oh for fucks sake!” he grabbed the wheel himself before you put your hands back on the wheel.

He let out a sigh of relief.

“I hate you.” He said crossing his arms and turning his body towards the window.

His demeanor reminded you that of an angry girlfriend. When you got to your little apartment, he was still mad. He grabbed most of the groceries and went inside without a word. You followed after him in silence. As he walked in front of you, you realized his hair had gotten longer, and was almost long enough to put into a ponytail.

Lixie with a ponytail? A dream come true you’d say.

After you unlocked the door and let him in, he was still silent, as he took out the different ingredients and put them on the counter.

“You’re not really mad are you?” You said as you took the flour out of your pantry, considering you ended up not buying any.

He looked at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. Oh yeah, pixie lixie was annoyed.

He stayed quiet and shook his head before continuing to unpack what he’d bought.

You got closer to him and scratched under his chin, “Come onnn, you’re not really mad are you Lixie?”

Felix tried to keep his expression steady, but he quickly broke into a smile before leaning in to be nose to nose with you.

Your stomach turned, anticipating what would only ever occur in your dreams. He’d never kiss you.

“You know I could never be mad at you forever.” He leaned in closer for a moment, hesitating, before standing up straight.

You smiled nervously before grabbing your phone, “What music?”

Lixie took out some measuring cups as he thought carefully, “Sam Smith.” he finally answered.

You played Sam Smith’s earliest album before joining Felix in taking out utensils and ingredients. When you baked together, you didn’t talk much, mainly because Felix was too concentrated to say much.

When he did speak it was just him asking you to mix something or melt butter, or change the song. He’d sing along occasionally. You loved his voice when he sang, it was an effortless, sweet sound. You liked that he was comfortable enough to sing around you.

Soon, the brownies were baking and all that was left to do was wait. You and Felix settled onto your couch and turned on a movie after turning the music off.

“How old is Chan turning?” You asked turning to Felix.

“23 I think.”

“Oh he’s old compared to us.” You replied.

Felix laughed, a sound that made you feel warm and nervous. God were you whipped for this guy.

“He’s leaving soon to visit his family actually.”

Your eyes widened, “Really? You should go with him.”

Felix hesitated, “I don’t know, I feel like I’d be intruding.”

”Well you don’t have to stay with his family, you could take the plane together so neither of you would travel alone.”

He shrugged in response, it seemed like he didn’t want to talk about the subject much. You left the idea alone for the moment and decided it was better if you talked more about it later.

The timer went off and Felix stood to take the brownies out of the oven. You helped cut and divide them into squares before putting them into a small tupperware container.

“Can you help me wrap his gift?” You asked. Felix nodded in response and you asked him to take the wrapping paper out as you went to grab Chan’s gift.

You went into your room and took out a sealed cologne before making your way back to the kitchen.  

“Fancy,” Felix said as he eyed the box.

“You think he’ll like it?” You asked as you laid out the wrapping paper.

“Of course, he’ll like anything you give him.” He said, sounding a tad bit annoyed.

You turned to him, taken aback a bit, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He waved you away before putting the box in the middle of the wrapping paper before cutting it. He wrapped the box for you as you watched in silence.

What did he even mean by that? Chan wouldn’t have a crush on you right? Even if he did, you weren’t interested, you were too busy trying to figure out how to deal with your feelings towards Felix.

After he wrapped the gift, you both made your way back outside to your car. Felix drove considering he didn’t trust you, and he knew the way to Chan’s dorm.

He let the radio play as you both sat in silence.

The drive to Chan’s dorm was short lived but nonetheless, there was a sort of tension you couldn’t put your finger on. Felix had been especially quiet today, and you came to realize he wasn’t usually like this. You were worried for his well being, and what exactly was pestering his thoughts so much.

You got out of the car in silence, your gift in hand and Felix with his brownies.

“Is he on the east or west side?” You asked as you walked down the sidewalk.

“West, so he’s a bit closer to us.” He replied. You nodded in response and you continued your walk in silence. Soon, you were at Chan’s door, knocking.

You heard a muffled, “Coming!” along with footsteps. The doorknob shook a little before the door opened to reveal chan in a muscle shirt. He looked surprised to see the both of you.

“Hey guys, I wasn’t expecting you until later.” He said as he widened the door to let you in.

You walked inside and handed him the gift, “Happy birthday Chan.” You gave him a warm smile. He smiled back at you, his dimples seeing light.

“Thanks y/n,” He took the gift and closed the door behind Felix. Felix walked further into the dorm to set the brownies on the coffee table as you and Chan talked about cakes and birthday parties.

Meanwhile, Felix was a bit grumpy, despite it being one of his closest friend’s birthdays. Chan sat next to Felix as you continued your conversation. Felix wasn’t listening though, his grumpiness wasn't justified and even he questioned his sour mood. You hadn’t noticed the change in his demeanor yet, and that somehow fueled his attitude. When you had noticed though, it was because he’d scoffed at something you’d said.

Chan had lost your full attention, and now you realized Felix’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed. This surprised you considering Felix was almost never angry or sad. You understood that maybe perhaps the reason behind his mood was far deeper than you would’ve anticipated. Eventually, Chan left for the bathroom, leaving Felix and you alone.

“What’s wrong?” You asked scooting closer toward your friend.

He shook his head and looked at his hands.

“Lixie.” You used this nickname to your advantage, specifically the few times he wasn’t in a good mood.

He looked at you, “I should be happy, it’s Chan’s birthday, but I don't know.” A small frown formed on his adorable face. You sighed and held your arms out. He looked at you before closing the gap and hugging you. He rested his cheek on your shoulder as you rubbed his back

“Sometimes you just have an off day, and that’s okay.” You said.

“You’re right.” He mumbled.

You stayed like that for a moment before you tapped his back to gesture for him to raise his head. You stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before you cupped his cheek. You rubbed your thumb over his freckled cheek before giving him a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you Lixie.”

“I love you too Y/n.”

And this time when he said it, you felt different. Your ears burned red and your heart fluttered. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would’ve been like if you’d perhaps kissed him.

[eddiesfaerie]

Mirrorball (part 2)

Summary: The night you first met Flip, he asked you to meet him at the station the following day. You better come prepared. (5.4k words omg im sorry)

Warnings: NSFW!, mentions of police, f!reader, police station shenanigans, thigh riding, female orgasm, dirty talk, dirty THOUGHTS, brief mentions of male masturbation, light name calling, brat tamer!Flip, bratty!reader, dominant and submissive themes, smoking, part 1 was better and maybe this was unnecessary oop

Part 1

“I’m counting on it, Detective.”

Flip doesn’t know how many times he replayed those words you said to him in his mind. It was now the next day and he still couldn’t stop, couldn’t pause the loop that your voice was on in his brain; echoey, dreamy and ethereal.

To say he was nervous was an understatement. He told you to be here by 6pm, it was now 5:45 and Flip felt like his heart was about to beat straight out of his chest and onto the papers that sat untouched on his desk. He hadn’t done anything for the past thirty minutes besides swivel in his chair and click his pen over and over again; open, closed, open, closed.

His foot was tapping relentlessly against the tile floor as well, it had been going like that all day, and Ron wanted to say something about it, but he knew better than that. Especially since Flip would sass him extra hard seeing as how nervous he was about this meeting of yours.

LAST NIGHT - OUTSIDE THE DISCO

Ron and Patrice had more or less awkwardly stumbled upon the two of you after letting you two go off on your own for… how ever long all of that was. Trying to act as though nothing was going on, you jumped into Patrice’s arms and hugged her tightly before moving to hug Ron as well, seeing as you never actually met up with them tonight until now.

Flip shot daggers, shives, knives, hell he shot whatever was sharp enough at Ron and Patrice with his icy stare, fucking daring them to say something about the massive mark he’d left on your neck. This man was not to be intimidated, teased, or made fun of and almost everyone learned that the hard way. Ron and Patrice avoided the subject like the thin ice it was.

PRESENT - POLICE STATION

Flip had been fantasizing about that mark he left on you. All. Day. He wondered what it would look like when he saw you later. If it would be darker, if it would have started to change colour, he wondered if you’d dare to cover it up even though he specifically told you not to. He wondered if you'd listen to him. He really hopes you did, otherwise he was just as ready to wipe away whatever concealer you tried to hide it under.

It worked out well for him that it was a Saturday, the station would be much quieter than usual; just him, Ron, and a few newer guys he didn’t know that well. No familiar faces to tease and pull at his strings about him having a woman come by and see him. Flip never invited anyone to the station so it would have been a hot topic amongst his coworkers. He shuddered at the thought, glad he didn’t have to deal with the regular bullshit today - which is exactly why he decided to tell Ron that you were coming, told him extremely fucking reluctantly.

Ron’s face lit up at the sound of your name but fell slightly the moment Flip held out his finger in Ron’s face.

“Don’t make this into something it’s not, Rookie. She’s just... just coming by to say hi.” Even Flip didn’t sound too sure of himself but Ron didn’t push. He just knowingly smiled at him and nodded his head.

“No one’s making it into anything, partner. She’s a pretty little lady.” Ron shimmied his shoulders and then shimmied himself away down the corridor. Flip watching as Ron skipped away, seemingly happier about this than he was. He could feel a warmth spreading from his cheeks, across his face to the tip of his ears at the slight mention of you.

Pretty, little, lady.

He threw his head back and groaned, running a hand down his face and plucking himself down at his desk once again. Feet coming up to rest on top of his desk, Flip fished around in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, finding them quickly and lit one up between his lips. 

He had to fucking relax. He just saw you last night and you were putty in his hands. What did he have to be nervous about? Seeing your face in daylight? Seeing if you did cover the hickey? What would it mean if you did? Were you not interested in him, embarrassed maybe? What if you didn’t even show up? He didn’t have your number, you didn’t have his. Maybe he could look through the phone book-

Flip decided that waiting for you was going to be the most painful stakeout he’d ever endured, the longest fucking shift of his career.

//

You gripped the tupperware in your hands a little too tightly, so tight you actually thought you’d break through the plastic if you didn’t ease up on it soon.

Your feet had seemingly carried you across town without a conscious mind directing them, and you were now standing outside the police station, counting your breaths. You had never been inside one before and you weren’t exactly thrilled about it. Cops made you nervous, they made everyone you knew nervous. They weren’t friendly, they were pigs. They-

A slight cracking noise from the tupperware breaks you out of your thoughts. Fuck, you really were going to break it. 

You had made cookies for Flip and you were going to ruin them before he even had one.

Flip.

Your nerves eased slightly at the thought of him. He was nice. He was more than nice, and he was a cop. Detective, whatever. He would be in there. Maybe Ron would be too. And that made you feel better. You hoped he liked chocolate chip cookies.

A few more deep breaths and your feet were carrying up the steps and into the precinct. The clock above you on the wall read 6:10pm, not the first time your overthinking made you late. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying the thin flesh to the point where the familiar metallic taste filled your mouth. Fuck were you really bleeding? Now?

A familiar voice called your name. You looked up and found Ron smiling incredibly widley at you.

“Ron.” You smiled, a bit surprised, but mostly just flustered.

“I made cookies.” You said, handing the now open tupperware at him, offering him one.

“I’ve really got to get back to this damn file but thank you, Sweets. Flip’s just through those doors by the way, you’ll have no problem spotting him.” He chuckled with fake urgency, walking away to his desk in another part of the office, you guessed.

You could feel a heat crawl up your neck and bloom across your face, if you had been flustered when you came in, you were incredibly flustered now. What did Flip tell him? He surely couldn’t have told him that much, right?

You took tentative steps in the direction which Ron directed you, soon coming to see that dark head of hair sitting in the middle of a room, closed off by glass doors and windows. A smile crept up your face.

You opened one of the doors quietly so that he didn’t hear you. The room smelled of smoke and you could see a soft stream billowing above his head, his own halo. He wore another red flannel today, but you could tell it was different from the one he wore last night, this one didn’t hug him as tightly, it was roomier. Covering his shoulders and upper back was a holster and you fought to keep your eyes from rolling into your head at the sight. You forgot just how quickly he took your breath away. He wasn’t even facing you yet and you were already trembling.

Those eyes of his, you thought. You couldn’t wait to see them again and how they would shine in the daylight.

You felt like just quietly sitting down in the corner and observing him for the rest of his shift, suddenly curious about what he did all day, but you accidentally walked into the chair of the desk that was directly behind him, causing him to spin around and stand up quickly.

“Hi- oop. Sorry.” You stammered, embarrassing yourself already. Nearly tripping over the chair, Flip grabbed your elbow and helped you steady yourself, your skin igniting where he held you. That cool, untouchable iciness you had to yourself last night seems to have completely let you fend for yourself today, leaving you abandoned and a complete clumsy wreck without it.  

“I um, I brought you- I made you some cookies. I thought maybe-”

What you were not expecting, was Flip to cut you off with his lips. You knew at some point today that you both would eventually succumb to whatever tension (sexual or not) settled between the two of you, but you were not expecting it to quite literally hit you the moment you walked in the office room.

You cannot believe you had already forgotten how soft his lips were, how they molded to yours, devoured yours, how he tasted, how it felt to have his strong nose smush into your cheek. Fuck, this was bliss. He pulled away all too soon.

“Fuck, sorry.” He moved away from you a bit, maybe embarrassed at how quickly he had moved on you. His hands fell away from where he gripped you, a little indent remaining. Both of you seem to have lost your confidence from last night, the thought made you smile.

“For such a dancer I would have expected you to have a bit more coordination.” Already quick on his quips, he was trying to deflect from how his nerves were getting the best of him. Despite how his voice made your knees tremble, you could sense the waver in his voice as he ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous tick. He was nervous. You made him nervous. You found courage in that.

“You’d be surprised, Detective, at the predicaments I find myself in.” You huff unceremoniously trying to emulate that iciness from last night, handing the tupperware filled with cookies to him. He smirked down at the tupperware, his large fingers dancing over a few before tentatively picking one up and bringing it to his plump lips.

“Oh, I’m sure I would be.” He takes a bite, you both moan. Well, you moan internally at his suggestive tone, and he moans outwardly due to the sweet saltiness of the cookie.

“Good?”

“Sinful.” He said, taking another bite and then just shoving the rest of the cookie into his mouth. What seemed average sized to you, seemed so much smaller in his hands and in his mouth. He swallowed it with ease and you could feel sweat prickling at the bottom of your neck. Why was he so big? He’s already got you hot and you silently hated him for it. You rolled your eyes, whether at him or yourself, you weren’t too sure.

You looked away from him, breaking his menacing eye contact to look around the office where multiple desks sat in close proximity to each other before moving closer to his and plopping yourself down in his chair. You swivelled in it, not looking at one thing for too long.

His desk was neatly kept; two coffee mugs sat in one corner, a nice little lamp to illuminate his papers once it got dark, too many pens that had the ends chewed up, a rather beautiful glass ashtray where the cigarette he was smoking as you came in laid, an endless stream of smoke billowing out of it, and a pack of cigarettes thrown over the papers. 

You wondered how many late nights he spent here, you wondered what time he usually went home at. Was he exhausted when he returned home? Did he make himself supper? Eat leftovers? Did he just go straight to bed, or read something first? Or did he watch a movie? You found yourself wanting to know every little detail about him, not sure why sitting at his desk felt so intimate and personal.

A little piece of him. Everything he deemed absolutely essential to get through the long days laid here.

Flip leaned his butt against the top of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest as you ran your hands over the knobs to the drawers, silently wondering what was inside. He observed you.

Fuck you were so cute, he had almost forgotten it and he hated himself for it. How could he forget a face like that, a smile like yours? That was unforgettable and he hated how fucking corny he sounded even just thinking that. Your legs dangling off his chair, your hands lightly touching his stuff like you were too afraid you might disturb something, put it out of its place and make him have to fix it. 

He was so caught up in watching you that he almost didn’t register that you had stopped what you were doing and looked up at him from his chair, your neck straining from how tall he was in this position.

With a mind of its own, his hand reached out to touch your cheek, his thumb tracing so softly along the skin of your cheekbone. He saw your eyelids flutter, but you kept your eyes open, on him.

You were being so… obedient today, something Flip wasn’t necessarily expecting but something he thought about over the course of the last twenty hours since he last saw you, how you would act if you were being obedient. 

He thought about it as he bid you goodnight and on his drive back home from the disco, he thought about it as he walked through his house, as he put his stuff away, as he climbed into bed, he thought about it into the early hours of the morning where sleep couldn’t find him and he tossed and turned until his hand took care of something he had been trying to ignore, trying hard not to indulge in. He thought about it as his hand stroked himself over and over and over again until your name spilled out of his mouth pathetically and he-

“Want me to show you around?” His own mouth, cutting his derailed mind off and setting it back on track. You bit your lip and nodded your head quickly, standing up from his seat and waiting for him to lead the way. Flip let his hand fall from your cheek naturally, he grabbed another one of your cookies before he left the office room with you following behind him.

For such an unfamiliar building with absolute zero ease of navigation, Flip really seemed to know where he was taking you. You wondered how long he had worked here, how long he had been a detective. You even asked him which surprised the both of you for some reason. After taking a moment to think, trying to decide how much to tell you, he told you about how he was stationed in Vietnam before he came to work here as a detective. He talked a bit about his training, some past cases which were pretty minor or insignificant but still totally captivating to you.

Flip watched your face light up from the corner of his eyes as he told you some short stories about his time in Colorado Springs as a… detective and you found yourself much more intrigued than you thought you would have been. He laughed at your little gasps, your giggles, or when you tugged on his arm for him to keep going, to not leave you hanging. He really didn’t think about his job as interesting or worth all your intrigue, but seeing you so enthralled by his little stories, well that kind of made his heart skip a beat. Good thing no one he knew at the station was here to witness it.

“This is the final little corner of the station, the records room or file room, whatever. Lots of slightly different names for this hell hole.” Flip muttered, holding the door open for you as you walked into the record room.

It was like a little library, maybe six or seven iron shelved rows filled to the absolute brim with beige folder boxes, file drawers and even more cabinets near the wall in the back. You couldn’t imagine how many names, dates, incidents, trials and tribulations sat tucked away in those boxes. You wonder if he had read all of them, or at least most of them.

“Woah.” You said quietly, walking through the rows, running your hand along the edges of the boxes. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend how these were organized. Alphabetically? By date? Year? Incident type?

“Most boring room in the station, not much to say about this one.” Flip shrugged. He explained how newbies get shoved in here to acclimate to the workplace and get to know everyone, get to know the files, the records, all that mind numbing shit. He kept his eyes trained on you as you moved through the rows, visions of you from last night, twirling and moving through the colourful light of the disco flashing through his mind.

“Can’t tell you how much shit I’ve gotten into from leaving the tiniest coffee ring in the corner of a file sheet…” Flip shook his head, looking at the ground and remembering how some rookie who’s name is now long forgotten (Flip thinks that he got restationed because he couldn’t put up with his shit) tried to tell him off for leaving a stain, trying to tell him that it ruined... something about the file. He can’t even remember, that’s how useless it was. Everyone else at the station had just stared, mouths agape at the rookie who had too much fire for his own good. Flip was pretty amused, he let the rookie spit his words at him before he walked away laughing.

“Oh, I bet.” You giggled, watching him as he delved back into that memory in his mind. You wondered what he was holding back, all the stories about this place that you hoped you would get to hear one day. You hoped he would share more with you but he just looked back down at you with those dark, dark eyes.

You could drown in them.

You wanted to.

The two of you were leaning on adjacent iron shelves, Flip took a tentative step closer to you, his long legs and the narrow rows made it so your chests were nearly touching. Your breath hitched in your throat, scared to breathe.

Flip’s hand came to cradle your throat, letting his palm glide along the skin of your neck, coming to wrap around your jaw, tilting your head up and to the side.

“You didn’t cover it.” His voice, so deep and rich, like molasses. Your hand slid up to your neck, touching the incredibly sensitive skin at his words. The hickey.

“You told me not to.” You said, your voice so, so quiet, matching his. You brought your hand up to wrap around his wrist, his thumb now lazily running itself over the abused skin, feeling your pulse underneath.

You wanted him to bite it, make it hurt more. Leave more on you, you wanted to be covered in them, his kisses, his markings. You wanted everyone to know he did this to you.

How embarrassing.

“So you do listen.” You could see him smirking and you just stared back at him, under some sort of trance. Maybe it was the dusty air of the record room infecting your brain.

“When I want to, yeah.”

Flip clenched your jaw, pinching your cheeks between his two fingers like he had done so similarly last night only now you weren’t intoxicated, somehow that made his proximity and his grip on you all the more dizzying.

“Are you going to listen today?” He pinched your cheeks harder, you could feel the spit pooling in your mouth. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to drool on him. You looked down between the two of you to see Flip moving his legs so that one of his muscular thighs was resting in between both of your legs, dangerously close to your sex. Just like last night. You nodded your head, looking back up to meet his eyes.

“Use your words-”

“Yes! Yes I-I’ll listen.” You don’t know what possessed you to answer so quickly, Flip chuckled at that. 

Cute, he thought.

Flip was not expecting you to beg so quickly, to bend to his will and actually listen to him. Maybe he had left you just needy enough last night for it to carry over and actually grow into today to the point where you were willing. Willing and capable, all for him.

Looking between your eyes and your lips, Flip plunged. His tongue instantly lured its way into your mouth, and you took him in with no complaints or whines. He shoved you harder against the shelf and you moaned into his mouth, both of you breathing heavily through your noses onto the others cheek. 

Experimentally, you sunk your teeth into Flip’s bottom lip, causing him to growl and kiss you with more fervour, muttering a rough ‘fuck’ into your mouth. His body was pressed as close as possible to yours but it was like the two of you couldn’t get close enough, like each of your bodies was trying to inhale the other, to mold and become one.

You had no idea what he had planned for you but the sexual tension that had been building for the last twenty or so hours was blinding you, making you more than desperate for him to touch you or let you touch him. You unconsciously began to ground your hips into his thigh and coming up to graze his bulge as well.

His hand let go of your cheeks, coming down to join the other on your waist, pulling you up, up, up his thigh until your clit met with the rough fabric of his jeans. You gasped and your hands flew up to grab onto his shoulders, grabbing the leather of his holster to steady yourself.

What a day to wear a dress.

Flip stopped kissing you and that same look from earlier, his thinking face, washed over him. You stared, dumbfounded. Unsure of what he was thinking or why he was stopping this two nights in a row now. 

Maybe you did know, maybe you knew what he was thinking and you were playing dumb, or maybe you were just nervous. 

Maybe you just wanted him to push you. Break you even more. Your eyes pleaded with him to tell you, you wanted this to be good. You found yourself wanting to be good for him.

“Tell me.” You asked, lip trembling with want, with need. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what you need.

“I- I can’t tell you how badly I want this.”

“Then have this, have me.” You didn’t understand.

“No I, want to have you… the way you deserve. I wasn’t just going to fuck you at the disco and make you think that was it.”

“Then don’t let me think that was it.” He could have just given you his number? What ended up happening today clearly worked out in some way? He was seriously confusing you.

“You’re fucking difficult you know that?” He groaned, rutting his hips against yours and you sighed, just wanting him to give into this.

“I’m trying to tell you I want to take you out on a real date, okay? More than one in fact, I want to see you all the fucking time. And you’re sitting here fucking whining about it.”

His words leave you flustered, breathless, incredibly fucking stunned.

More than one date. You couldn’t help but smile, you felt giddy.

“I’m not- I’m not whining about that Flip, I want-” I want that too, you were going to say but Flip cuts you off, again.

“Are you going to listen to me? You said you would.” He asked once more, his voice firmer, deeper, rougher around the edges than the last time he spoke. Fuck, this man was moody. Your hands dug into the holsters that framed his impossibly broad shoulders, you nodded your head. Desperation lacing your movements. 

Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes.

“Words.”

“Yes, Flip I promise. I’ll be good, I’ll listen, I promise. I need to touch you, let me-” You hand reached from his shoulder to the bulge in his pants. You felt like you were having déjà vu, the resemblance of your situation to that of last night was strange.

“No.” What? He stopped your hand in its tracks, his grip was deadly.

“What?”

“You don’t get to touch me.”

“Did I do somethin-”

“You’ll take what I give you.” His grip on your waist was bruising, but you decided against complaining about it. You liked the pain, it felt good to have his fingers digging into your flesh from self-restraint. You wanted his bruises all over your body. 

You were quiet for a moment, letting a beat pass between the two of you, just breathing in the buzzing electricity between your bodies.

“I’ll take anything.” You near close to whine, your voice so, so quiet and your head lulling to the side from how much he was drawing this out. You were becoming dizzier by the second.

“Fuck, that’s what I like to hear.” He huffs, gripping your waist and beginning to grind you down onto his thigh. “You’re going to get off on my thigh, you’ll thank me for it and then I’m gonna take you on the best fucking date you’ve ever been on. Tell me you understand.”

You moaned, loud. The friction was already overwhelming and you brought your hands to his biceps for balance, squeezing the firm muscle there. His arms were massive. You wanted him to crush you with them. This was already becoming too much.

“I understand.”

His hand left your waist and tapped you on your cheek, less than a slap but enough for it to startle you and look up at him. He was waiting for something. Shit, how were you supposed to address him? You stopped undulating your hips as you thought, frozen. He tapped your cheek again, harder this time after no complaint from the first one.

“Did I say you could stop? Keep going and answer me properly this time.”

“Fuck- I understand, Detective.” You whined, your eyes screwing shut as you kept grinding your clit along his thigh.

You were near delirious already, the friction was delicious, the thin cotton of your underwear doing nothing to minimize the sensation and you shamelessly moaned as you kept working yourself closer to your release, which was much closer than you would have hoped for.

“I-I’m not gonna last long, Flip- Detective, fuck.” You cried, tears welling in your eyes. You felt so embarrassed, using his thigh to get off while he watched you in the back of the record room. You just hoped he locked the door and that everyone else was far, far away from your cries of pleasure.

Moving one of his hands from your hip up to the edge of your dress where it was rustling against your thigh, Flip grabbed the soft material and lifted it up to reveal your soaked underwear and your frantic little thrusts. You grew hot under his gaze, you wanted to hide from him, hide from those eyes but you couldn’t. Fucking Medusa, frozen rock solid in place, forever.

He was mumbling to himself, your cries were deafening inside your head, your blood pumping loud, you could only make out part of what he was saying.

“Pretty fucking pussy…. So good for me… that’s it.”

You wailed and tried to curl yourself forward, to hide in his warm chest, to cry against his flannel but he held you where you were with the hand that was holding the end of your dress, pushing your shoulders back into the iron frame. Your dress lifted with his hand to expose more of you to him, your cute little underwear, your stomach, clenching and unclenching, and the underside of your breasts.

You were perfect, he thought. He was completely mesmerized. He had never been so forthcoming with a woman before, especially not on the second fucking day of knowing her. But there was something about you that made him lose his fucking mind. He had to have you, he didn’t care which way, and he didn’t care that he was going to make himself wait longer to actually fuck you. He was going to do this properly, you deserved that. Flip had decided you deserved everything. 

The little noises you were making were the prettiest fucking noises Flip had ever heard; music, a symphony filled with his name and little cries, made just for him. He could lose himself in you, he already has. 

He was trying hard not think too much about what it would be like to fuck you for the first time, to get in that tight little pussy and have you cry on his cock. No, if he thought about it too much, he was sure he was going to pass out and he needed to stay focused on you, you were right in front of him, losing yourself on his thigh.

“Flip, I think… can I?”

He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t realize you were looking at him with pleading eyes, whining and on the edge of orgasm, tears begging to spill from the precipice. How could he deny you? Such a pretty crier.

“Cum for me.”

With a few more pathetic thrusts, your hips, legs and whole body convulsed, twitched and you came hard on his thigh. He let you fall towards his chest now as you moaned his name into the fabric, cradling the back of your head and pressing your body firm against him as you rode out your high, the tremors wracking your body. Your nails seemed to try to pierce the leather of his holsters as your body arched into his, trying to get closer, closer, closer.

“Good girl... you did so fucking good.” He shushed you, saying your name quietly. You rubbed your clit on his thigh until you bordered on overstimulation, your limbs tingling as they lost sensation and you gave into him completely, Flip was the only thing keeping you upright at this point.

“So good for me.” He whispered, lips brushing against your temple. You tried to thank him, like he had asked but words escaped you, your brain could not put two and two together besides Flipflipflipflipflipflip.

“Th… thank-”

“I know.” He chuckled, shushing you again. You managed to let out a tiny laugh as well, snuggling further into his chest for a moment before leaning back against the shelf, your feet seeming to make contact with the floor for the first time in ages. You sighed happily, breathing returning to normal, finally. You stared dopily up at him, his smile matching yours. You both looked high. You giggled at the thought.

Flip let you off of his thigh and patted your ass as you landed back on the floor, then ducked down, taking your lips into his to kiss you roughly. You moaned and grabbed the hair at the bottom of his head, tugging him down to you further.

“So how about dinner? Tuesday night?” He muttered against your lips, not wanting to pull away from you yet.

“Why not tonight?” Flip slapped your ass again, harder this time and you gasped into his open mouth. He was really about to rile you back up again. And you were already willing him to do so. Your bratty mouth never seemed to stop.

“Can’t, I have a lot of fucking work right now, doll. Tuesday I get off at three.”

“Then I’ll meet you at three on Tuesday?” Flip chuckled again, squeezing the skin on your hips into his hands, making you wince and shove him away but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him. Sometimes he looked like a giant puppy. A stupidly sexy, giant puppy.

“You’ll meet me here on Tuesday at three. Come here on foot like you did today, I’ve got a ride.” He instructed, you nodded your head.

“I understand.” You smiled up at him, hands wrapping around and tugging on his holsters.

Oh, Flip liked that.

[captainfile]

Baby, Don’t Tread

Words: 2225 

Ao3 link 

Andreil-centric. Warnings for Andrew being nonverbal for unspecified reasons and Neil practicing some negative self-talk! Title and summary from “Tread On Me” by Matt Maeson.

Summary: I could hardly sleep, so I don’t And I could hardly speak, so I won’t

Andrew hadn’t moved in a few hours. Neil had returned from class to find him on the couch, a heavy textbook propped up between his stomach and thighs, socked feet tucked between two cushions. One of his legs was wobbling every once in a while, as if burning off absent energy by habit instead of necessity. There was no answer to Neil’s greeting, but that was hardly surprising. He just couldn’t help but notice as the sun dipped lower and dinner came and went, but Andrew didn’t get up to join. Didn’t move a muscle, really, but for the one leg and an occasional page turn. He didn’t look up, not when anyone addressed him, not when Neil sat down at the far end of the couch with his own homework. 

“Hey,” Neil tried, and earned a glance. He didn’t hold back his grin, but Andrew didn’t snarl at him for it. “There’s leftover chicken, if you want some.” Andrew didn’t look at him a second time; didn’t look anywhere but his textbook. Kevin shuffled around in the kitchen, complaining just loud enough for Neil to hear about the dishes and the freshmen. 

“Andrew, you eating?” Nicky called out, and when Andrew didn’t respond, he leaned into view and held up a tupperware container half-full of oven-grilled chicken. “Are you hungry?” He pressed. Neil watched Andrew move his head slow, turning to face his cousin, eyes just this side of unfocused for a lingering moment before they caught on. Andrew blinked. His face didn’t show anything but his attention. Nicky gestured with the tupperware. “Dinner,” he said. 

Andrew didn’t answer. He looked down at the couch, head turning just as slowly back to his textbook, and blinked a few more times. His lips thinned. He would eat, Neil concluded then, but he probably hadn’t so much as opened his mouth since breakfast. Andrew closed his textbook and tucked it against his hip as he stood and made his way to Nicky. 

Secretly, Neil was a bit ashamed that he found Andrew’s actions strange, but Nicky seemed equally bewildered, so he vowed to take the afternoon in stride. 

“I want to run the drill from last night again.” 

“See, I don’t think it’s very useful,” Neil argued, thoroughly distracted for a moment by Kevin as he made his way to a dropped backpack in the corner. It seemed he was also inspired by Andrew’s studiousness. “They weren’t ready for it. Sub in Matt and Aaron so they can get comfortable with backliners who actually know what they’re doing.” 

“Are you insulting me right now?” 

“They won’t only learn by watching, Nicky.” 

“They won’t learn by being carried, either-“ 

“-do you want them to learn the drill, or not-“ 

“Fuck you,” Kevin snapped, then sat with a too-loud thud next to his backpack and got out a notebook. Neil rolled his eyes and sank further into the couch. He looked over the back, though, to check on Andrew, who seemed entirely unaware of the room and chowed down on the cooling leftovers as Nicky hovered and spoke in cut-off half-questions. “When you’re-“ 

Neil heard the rest of the sentence and cut Kevin off. “Fight your homework, not me, asshole; I don’t give a shit.” 

“You definitely give a shit,” Kevin grumbled, and Neil was about to gripe back at him when Nicky swooped in and leaned over the back of the couch. 

“Has he been like this all day?” 

Neil frowned. “Like what?” 

“All… I don’t know. He seems fine, but it’s like he isn’t there.” 

It was obvious who they were talking about, and Andrew appeared at Nicky’s side without a sound, looking at his cousin the same way as before. Attention, no tone to it. He didn’t speak. Nicky jumped only a little in surprise. 

Neil asked, “Andrew, how was your day?” 

Nicky looked at Andrew. Kevin, from the floor, looked at Andrew. Neil didn’t want to add any more pressure, so he looked at the textbook still in Andrew’s grip and watched his knuckles not change a shade in response to the situation. Andrew seemed entirely, genuinely, thoroughly, completely, absolutely disinterested. He stayed quiet. 

“Andrew?” Kevin piped up, head tilted curiously. It was likely fueled by some complicated Exy-centered logic, but he asked, “you alright?” 

How bizarre. Andrew didn’t react to that either, not for a long moment, and when Kevin sucked in a breath to continue it seemed like a mime had possessed Andrew’s body for a moment: his shoulder bumped up to his ear in an overly-exaggerated shrug and then he nodded once, head moving so forcefully that Neil could hear the bones in his jaw and collar thunk against each other. With no further explanation, Andrew returned to his previous pose on the couch. Neil was paralyzed. The sunset had made itself at home on the couch while Andrew ate, and cast a romantic glow to the ends of his blonde hair and the highlights of his face. Neil wasn’t close enough to appreciate how the light caught his eyes- he didn’t dare, even as his stomach dropped out at the relaxed slope of Andrew’s shoulders, at how he ducked his head a bit to hide from that light behind his textbook. Nicky’s hands curled over the back of the couch and squeezed until the fabric groaned. Andrew took a deep breath and- when the whole room leaned forward a bit to hear him- sighed. 

//

Aaron and Nicky were arguing about something only tangentially related to Exy, so Kevin didn’t have much reason to start ranting. He tried striking up a conversation with Andrew, which was fruitless, as per usual, and Neil was excited enough about escaping campus that he answered noncommittally when Kevin’s interest turned to him. With the background chaos of quick words from such similar voices that Neil could tune them out and pretend it was one idiot talking to himself, Neil watched the road contentedly. He relaxed against the passenger seat and glanced down at the center console; he imagined setting his hand palm-up on it and having Andrew hold onto him for the rest of the drive. It was a nice image. 

Andrew had been fairly quiet all day. They had chatted lazily over breakfast, and when everyone piled into the Maserati, he had grated out a confirmation for their activities. Neil had been confused at that more than the quiet- Andrew didn’t talk when he didn’t want to, didn’t say anything he didn’t mean, that was all well and good with Neil. But audibly, visibly struggling to speak? Holding onto his words like he’d been carved hollow and they were all he had left? Expression shuttering over some kind of pain? Neil was chilled by it. 

“Hey!” Roland shouted when Andrew and Neil inevitably found their way to him. Other customers were outright ignored, but lucky Neil, no one was too upset. The night was still young. “What can I get you all tonight?” 

A beat passed. 

Several, really, between Neil’s earlier worry and the deafening music. 

One too many. The moment lingered and still Andrew said nothing, attention very obviously divided between Roland and Neil and the people around them. The sooner they ordered, the sooner they could retreat to the booth, but Andrew did not order any drinks. Neil plastered on a smile as Roland’s began to waver. 

“I’ve got it,” he blurted, and rattled off some requests that he didn’t remember clearly enough. Roland was sufficiently distracted, and soon enough, they were carrying two trays to the table. Neil grimaced when the three already seated began to complain. Surely they’d care a little less after a few unpleasant gulps. Andrew seemed to settle in for a long night in his spot at the same time as the other three nearly vibrated with a want to dance, gazes darting to each other and out into the crowd and down to the drinks. 

When they were gone, Neil’s worry resurfaced. It wasn’t that something was explicitly wrong, not like Andrew had fought with his brother or heard from an old enemy, not like any of them were in danger at all. He seemed the opposite, really, except that one moment. Ice cream went down as quickly as it normally did, just as sickeningly sweet as Andrew liked it. His hands were at rest, armbands intact and untouched. For all Neil could tell, Andrew was having a normal day, but… Neil was still worried. He rambled to fill the space that was left in the absence of their nonsensical table conversation, gestured to iron out the curl building in his hands, kept Andrew in his sights but looked away as much as he could stand. Hadn’t Nicky said something, forever ago? It was like someone had hit mute on Andrew, but he simply didn’t care and lived on. Neil ignored the alcohol to keep himself from breaking and asking about it. 

Worse, breaking and asking. 

Fuck. 

“It’s like you don’t even care about Exy, you guys always make fun of me,” Kevin whined as he was dragged inside. Neil took care of everyone’s shoes and, when it seemed like Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin would all live to the morning, he made for the couch. 

Andrew’s supernatural ability to move faster and quieter than a ghost would probably never stop surprising Neil. He didn’t flinch, though, just turned when a light tug on his sleeve announced his presence. There was nothing to read in Andrew’s expression for a moment. The pair of them were left with the backdrop of a dark living room in Columbia, drunk stumbling audible from the bedrooms. Complaints, too, mostly Kevin’s, drifting through the walls and rattling hidden pipes. Neil waited and waited for something to happen; he could be patient, he could stand there for hours just looking at Andrew in the dark. He could wait for a car to drive by and light up Andrew’s jaw through the living room curtains, for both their eyes to burn until they passed out in the middle of the room, for the sun to rise and birds to sing and Andrew to speak. Neil knew stillness as a tool of life on the run, knew nonchalance and manners to cover panic and desperation. 

It was only a moment, though, before Andrew invited the question. His shoulder drifted just slightly, his grip lingered on Neil’s sleeve. “Yes or no?” Andrew nodded. “I-“ Neil didn’t want to doubt him. “Can you… say it?” Andrew’s lips thinned, and even in the dark, even in a nanosecond, Neil knew the answer without understanding the reason behind it. “I’m alright with that,” he said quickly, or as quickly as the laws of physics would let him. “Upstairs?” 

Andrew nodded again. They went upstairs. 

//

Now, Neil was stupid. Unbelievably so, inconceivably so. Neil had never learned a thing in his life, in his own humble opinion, and the things he was good at involved just the bare bones of brain activity. Obviously. Through this unfortunate reality, Neil had started to notice a pattern. He decided to draw it out to better understand it. The sketch was yet another example of Neil being generally unremarkable, but it didn’t have to be beautiful. 

He drew Andrew Minyard, dressed in all black for a night out at Eden’s Twilight. Shoulders sloped just so, hands relaxed and capable, mouth a single line. 

He drew Andrew Minyard, standing in the corner of the girls’ dorm on some accursed movie night, elbows loose. 

The day Nicky had commented on the silence, inhaling cooled-down chicken. 

In the middle of a late-night practice; no one was communicating, and someone pinned it on Andrew, and then Nicky got mad and they all only stopped yelling at each other because Kevin was an easier and more universal target than Andrew. 

Those moments felt different. It was like Andrew had something to say, but no words to use. He had powered through only the most necessary statements in those times. Usually when he was quiet it was because he meant to be. It was as surely a fact of life as Neil’s dumbfuckery that Andrew was a calculating sort of man. He never did anything he didn’t want to, never stayed put when he wanted to move. Always knew what he’d say before he said it. Andrew was powerful, really. 

The air shifted over Neil’s shoulder, but he didn’t look. Neil leaned back in the desk chair in some wishful thinking that he could lean on Andrew, who moved fluidly to sit on the desk and shake out a cigarette. 

A conversation passed between them in a glance. Andrew rolled his eyes. “What, I’m supposed to think you’re ugly?” Neil scoffed defensively, and cherished the brief push of calloused fingertips on his chin. It felt like… Neil didn’t have a word for what he’d never felt before Andrew. It didn’t matter. Neil was stupid. He just tossed his chin back in Andrew’s direction and blurted, “yes or no?” And grinned into the kiss Andrew gave him, leaning in slowly with a fine-tuned focus like Neil would never be in this spot again. He knew both their shoulders sagged from the way they shared breath more than any visual evidence or exploratory hands. 

He knew and cared that Andrew was comfortable.

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Reaction (19/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~7400 words, teen

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

AO3 | FF | TSP

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

James couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked hard, thinking his exhaustion had caught up with him. No, the blonde woman on his porch had to be the night-shift nurse who lived across the street—she often liked to indulge in late-night baking on her nights off, and there were times she would come to James for an ingredient she was missing, or to give him a small sampling of her confectionery creations.

(He had the sudden, jarring, embarrassing realization that she may have been flirting with him the whole time… Is that why she hasn’t come around in months?)

“Rose,” he said again when blinking stupidly for at least ten seconds didn’t transform Rose into anyone else.

“Hi,” she said quietly. She looked exhausted; there were prominent shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders drooped like a heavy weight sat upon them.

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder, and her face fell. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t realize you had company. I’ll just…” She thumbed behind herself to the dark road. How did she get here? “Sorry.”

Before he could protest, Jack clapped James on the shoulder and announced, “No, no. I was getting ready to head out. Come on, get in out of the cold.”

Jack pressed a smacking kiss to James’s cheek, then muttered, “Talk to her,” into his ear. He then stepped forward and gave Rose a loose hug and kiss on the cheek before he walked to his vehicle that was parked on the side of the street.

They turned to watch Jack start his car and drive off into the night. James looked at Rose, then at the squarish plastic Tupperware container she held. She was absently flicking her thumb nail across the tab on the lid.

“What’ve you got there?” he asked, nodding to the container.

Rose chewed on her bottom lip and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Well. We’ve been playing a game all month, haven’t we? Time to celebrate.”

She popped the lid off the container and handed it to him. In it were half a dozen large, muffin-sized chocolate cupcakes, frosted in vanilla icing and decorated with pink and yellow star sprinkles. The words “Happy Birthday” were written in small, neat, glossy red letters across each cupcake. His stomach sank.

“It… it’s your birthday?” he croaked. Of course—of fucking course—today had been her birthday.

Rose nodded. “I… I didn’t want to let my entire birthday pass without spending some time with my favorite person.”

James nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Hope you had fun.”

Rose raised an incredulous eyebrow, and the penny dropped.

“Me?” he squeaked, the knot in his chest loosening.

“Yes you, you numpty. Just because I’m angry with you doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. Do you not love me anymore because we fought?”

James’s knees weakened at the ‘l’ word. He took a step towards her, the arm not holding the cupcakes extended. Her face softened and she stepped into his proffered embrace. Her body was warm and solid against him. Heat prickled behind his eyes as he wrapped his arms as tightly around her as he could without upending the Tupperware container.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I…”

“Can we not do this on the front porch?” she asked, voice muffled. “S’cold.”

James was loath to let go of her, but he had to agree the night was getting frigid, especially for him, with his bare feet and thin pajama bottoms and t-shirt. With a sigh, he gave her a final squeeze and dropped his arms from around her waist, then stepped back to usher her into his home.

She toed off her shoes by the front door, and he could already predict her questions when she angled her head towards the hallway. “Did you paint something?”

James scratched the back of his neck. “Er. Yeah. Started repainting my bedroom.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the side of Rose’s mouth. “Needed something to keep your mind busy?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

A more genuine smile crossed her face as she gestured to the Tupperware container he was holding. “Y’know, stress baking would've been cheaper.”

James blinked, then gaped down at the cupcakes he was holding. The font of the words was perfect cursive, the spread of the icing uniform and even. He blurted, “You made these?”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” she drawled. “Yes, I made them. Well. Elsa helped. She came over to my flat this afternoon. Bit of a girl’s night. Had pizza and wine, then made cupcakes. She’s actually really good at decorating; she’s got this whole set of frosting tips to make fancy designs. She did the lettering.”

“They look lovely. Very professional,” he said. He jutted his head to his kitchen, motioning for her to follow. She did, her quiet, shuffling footsteps falling into rhythm with his.

Rather than go into the kitchen, Rose peeled off to the living room, where Merry and Pippin were lounging on the sofa together, half-asleep. James watched her squat down in front of the cats and give them a bit of love before she returned to him.

“Should Jack have driven himself home?”

James glanced at Rose and saw her pointing to the kitchen table, where the mostly-empty bottle of wine sat. It had a few mouthfuls left.

“It was only half-full when we started,” James answered, picking up the bottle and hurriedly drinking the last of the wine. “This was from last weekend, when you and I… Anyway, he had one glass. I drank most of it. He should be fine.”

“Tell him to let us know when he gets home safely,” Rose said.

James snapped off a lazy salute then sent Jack a text, passing along Rose’s request. He set the Tupperware container of cupcakes on the counter before grabbing two clean bowls from the dishwasher he hadn’t bothered to empty.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Rose said with a grimace. “I already had one after they came out of the oven. Plus pizza. M’gonna puff up like a balloon.”

She pinched her waist, and James frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flamed pink and she dropped her hand limply to her side. 

“I had a huge, greasy burger and chips for dinner. D’you think I’m gonna puff up like a balloon?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, no. But you’re…” She let her sentence dangle as she waved her hand vaguely up and down his body. 

“And you’re…” He mirrored her gesture. “Rose, I find you absolutely beautiful, and you losing or gaining weight won’t change my opinion. Not that my opinion should matter. If you don’t want a cupcake, or if you’re not hungry, that’s fine. And again, not that you need my approval.”

Rose sighed and twisted her hands in front of herself before she turned away from him and rooted in his freezer for ice cream he always made sure to have on hand.

“I had a minor eating disorder as a teen,” Rose said quietly, pulling out the ice cream and shutting the freezer. “Nothing too serious. I was obsessed with my weight, and was really careful with what I ate. I counted and logged calories. I grew out of it when I realized watching what I ate made me feel even worse about myself. Of course I still tried to eat healthy and to eat reasonably-sized portions, but I stopped being so strict with it. I obviously started putting on some weight, nothing too drastic, but Jimmy would often tease me and tell me to lay off the chips or whatever, because rock stars don’t date chubby girls.”

James’s ears were ringing with rage and heartbreak, and he was furious with himself for everything he had accused Rose of last night regarding Jimmy.

“Rose, I…”

“As I said, I’m fine now and I don’t really care about my weight or body image as much,” Rose interrupted, setting the ice cream on the counter in front of him. “But sometimes those thoughts pop up without me realizing it. Like they did just now.”

Unsure of how to respond, James instead took a cupcake out of the Tupperware container, unwrapped the paper from the bottom, and set it into the bowl. “Did I… did I say something wrong?”

“No. Quite the opposite, actually. You told me your opinion, but didn’t shove it in my face or try to force me to believe you. And like I said, I don’t often realize when I’m having these thoughts.”

He nodded and forced his lips into some semblance of a smile that he hoped looked supportive. He then returned his gaze to the bowl and the ice cream she’d retrieved.

“D’you want to share this with me?” he asked, gesturing to the bowl with a spoon.

Rose nodded. He scooped several large dollops of vanilla ice cream into the bowl then he went to his junk drawer. It overflowed with a random assortment of objects: scissors, several different types of batteries, notepads, pens, pencils, a ruler, a screwdriver, tape, glue, Band-Aids, rubber bands, paper clips, binder clips, thumbtacks, toothpicks, a ball of twine, a condom, a tampon, and so many other things James didn't remember throwing into the drawer.

He dug through the mishmash of objects until he found a small, half-empty box of birthday candles and a matchbook. He took out four candles and brought them and the matches over to where Rose stood at the counter.

“I would try to shove twenty-two of them into the cupcake, but firstly I don’t have twenty-two candles, and secondly, I’m pretty sure I would end up pulverizing the poor cupcake into a pile of crumbs. So use your imagination; two and two equates to twenty-two.”

He shoved two of the candles side by side into the left side of the cupcake, right before the H and B in “Happy Birthday”. The other two, he stuck into the right side of the cupcake, behind both Ys. Striking the match, he ignored the shaking in his hands as he lit the candles. He then promptly blew out the match and dropped it into the water-filled wine glass in the sink to let it stop smoking. However, Rose must have seen the tremor in his hands, because she reached over and threaded their fingers together.

“I don’t like fire,” he admitted. “For obvious reasons.”

“You didn’t have to light the candles then,” Rose said gently.

“Pfff. It’s your birthday. Can’t have a birthday without blowing out some candles. How else will you get a free wish?”

Rose cracked a small smile and squeezed his fingers. She leaned forward as though she were about to blow out her candles. James cried, “Wait!”

She pulled back with a start.

“It’s your twenty-second birthday. I would think you would remember how this goes by now,” he drawled. He then sucked in a deep breath and began to sing. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Ro-ooose. Happy Birthday to youuuuu.”

She was grinning by the end of it, especially when he intentionally sang off-key for the sole purpose of making her smile. He’d made her cry too much in the last twenty-four hours; a smile from her was a welcome sight.

“Right. Those candles are all charged up with birthday magic. Now you can make a wish and blow,” he said, bowing and gesturing to her cupcake.

Rolling her eyes at him, Rose closed her eyes and paused for about five seconds, before she blew out a short breath, extinguishing the candles with ease. He applauded her effort, then yanked the candles out of the cupcake and extended two of them to her. They licked off the cake crumbs and icing—cream cheese, he noted with delight—then dropped them into the trash.

“Let’s eat this before all the ice cream melts,” James said, gesturing to the table. “Want anything to drink? More wine?”

“Just water.”

He grabbed two glasses from the dishwasher and filled them with water from the pitcher in the fridge before plopping down at the table beside Rose. He noticed his phone had a new text notification; Jack had replied, letting him know he was home. James relayed the news to Rose, then gestured for her to take the first bite of her birthday cupcake.

For several long minutes, they sat silently together, trading off bites of cupcake and ice cream until the bowl was empty. 

“That was very good,” he praised, swiping his finger through the melted mess of ice cream and chocolate crumbs on the bottom of the bowl and licking the digit clean.

“Thanks. Elsa loves to bake but doesn't get the chance to do it as often as she likes because she lives in the dorms on campus.” Rose ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “When I invited her over to my flat, she said stress baking was a requirement. She didn’t know it was my birthday until we started decorating the cupcakes.”

“Do you have an aversion to people knowing it’s your birthday?”

She snorted. “No. But it just… it didn’t feel right to celebrate. Not when we’d…” She trailed off with a shrug. “All month I’d been looking forward to finally telling you it was my birthday. It didn’t feel right to tell anyone about my birthday if I couldn’t tell you.”

“I really buggered your birthday,” he sighed, chest tightening.

“Nah.” She pursed her lips. “Okay, well, yeah. But it wasn’t just you. I didn’t help. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate my birthday today, so I kept it to myself. Anyways. Elsa knocked a bit of sense into me this afternoon. Helped put some things into better perspective.”

“I’m glad you have a friend like that to share things with,” he said.

Rose hummed in agreement. “She also called me out for being an idiot.”

James snorted. “Jack did much the same for me.” He paused, fidgeting uncomfortably for a few seconds before he blurted, “I am so sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry for snooping through your mail and reading that letter, and I’m so sorry for jumping to a conclusion that was absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry for accusing you of not trusting me. I’m sorry I twisted the situation and your words and actions to put the blame all on you. I’m sorry I let my own insecurities warp my perceptions of you and our relationship, and I’m so, so sorry for ever insinuating that you would want to go back to Jimmy.”

Rose was dead silent. When James chanced a peek over at her, he was horrified to see tears welling in her eyes. She blinked and they fell down her cheeks.

Sniffling, she wiped at them and whispered, “That really hurt. I thought I had told you enough about Jimmy to show you he wasn’t a nice person to be in a relationship with. And I thought…” 

“You did,” James interrupted fervently. “You did Rose. You were absolutely correct in saying I had selective memory. You told me more about him than I realized. I was too caught up in my own head last night to remember everything you’d said. I’m so sorry about that.”

Rose waved him off. “Forget Jimmy for a minute. Even if he wasn’t a wanker… It hurt that you would think I would be tempted into a new relationship with someone else when we’ve been so happy together. At least, I’ve been happy.”

“I’ve been happy, too,” James said. He covered her hand with his. “I swear, Rose. I’ve been so happy with you.”

He wished he had better answers for her. He wished he could explain what had triggered him last night, explain how his brain had disregarded nearly seven months of a friendship and four months of a relationship stronger than he’d ever had before. Why had he thought Rose would be tempted by an ex-boyfriend who had treated her so horribly? Why did he have the anxiety that Rose would see through his facade and realize he wasn’t as exciting as she’d thought? Why was he so fearful she would leave?

Because everyone leaves.

The realization crashed over him with the force of a tidal wave, pushing his head beneath the water until he could barely breathe. He was drowning, fighting a losing battle against the current, about to be swept away into the sea when he was thrown a lifeline.

Rose squeezed his fingers hard, grounding him, pulling him back to the moment. His chest was tight and tears blurred his vision.

Everyone leaves.

His mother, who had thought it more prudent to attend to their dogs rather than get herself to safety with her husband and son.

His father, who had rescued him from their burning house only to leave him on the street to go back inside. James hadn’t been enough to keep his dad by his side, and so he had lost two parents that night.

His aunt, who had never wanted kids, had never expected to have kids. She pulled long hours and travelled incessantly, chasing big news stories while James pretended he was fine with being alone, while silently wishing his dad had never saved him from their house. He knew without a doubt that, if his aunt could do it all over again, if she knew then what she knew now, she never would have agreed to be his godmother when he was born. He loved his aunt, and knew his aunt loved him, but he wasn’t so naïve as to be ignorant of the fact that he had upheaved his aunt’s life, and not entirely for the better.

The friends he had left behind in the UK and never heard from again after he and his aunt moved to America. People he had known since childhood who hadn’t bothered putting in the effort to stay in touch, despite claiming they would.

His previous partners, many of whom finding ways to end their brief relationship after realizing he didn’t want to have sex with them. Time after time, he had to listen to them say it was fine that they weren’t being physically intimate—with an unspoken yet dangling between them—only to listen to them make up excuses for why they were ending the relationship. Granted, he had broken off a relationship himself a few times, but over half the time, his partner had been the one to end it.

Over and over, people came and people went, and at the heart of it, James was hardly more than a spectre, unable to be seen or heard as his heart was left broken. And yet when Rose had joined him, had taken his hand and made promises and vows that nobody ever had before, he had jumped at the first opportunity to assume she would leave him, too.

Chair legs scraped across the floor a moment before a warm, familiar arm wrapped around his waist. He turned into Rose and rested his cheek on her shoulder, breathing in her scent, the subtle tones of amber and citrus, of warmth and love and home.

Something deep in his chest cracked open, releasing the floodgates. For the past nine and a half years, he had been drifting, trying to make sense of how he could feel so alone when he was surrounded by people, able to make new friends and acquaintances at the drop of a hat. Yet there was always that disconnect, making him feel more like an outsider looking in. Like everyone else was aware of the punchline of a joke while he was left clueless.

Until Rose. With Rose it had been natural. Effortless. It was though his world had shifted into perfect focus, and at the heart of it was her. She had reminded him of what it felt like to belong, to feel perfectly at home with another person. And though he was desperate not to lose her and what they had together, part of him was holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yet in doing so, he had let his anxiety take control and had hurt Rose badly enough that he had nearly caused her to do exactly what he had been terrified of.

James’s shoulders shook as he wept quietly into Rose’s neck, dampening the collar of her shirt. She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she held him closer, rubbing her hand up and down the length of his spine as he sobbed and gasped for breath.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry for everything, Rose.”

Haltingly, through the juddering tears that cracked his voice, he explained his revelation to her. He hoped he didn’t sound like he was making excuses for himself, but he genuinely wanted her to understand the conclusion his big, stupid brain had come to.

“I let my fears take over,” he said, voice raw from crying and talking. “I didn’t realize what they were. And I didn’t realize how loud they’d gotten.”

“I understand,” Rose said quietly. “Believe me. I understand. Is there anything I can do to help you quiet them?”

James rubbed his hand beneath his clogged, stuffy nose and grimaced when it came away wet. He pulled away from Rose and stood, moving to the sink to wash his hands, then to grab a handful of tissues. He blotted his eyes then blew his nose before he sank into his seat beside her again.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I know this is a me problem, not a you problem. You’ve been wonderful, Rose. You and me… our relationship… it has all been wonderful. I don’t know why I was so quick to let ten minutes of screaming insecurities make me forget about half a year of loving you.”

Rose chewed on the inside of her cheek, contemplating. “If ever there’s a time those voices are getting too loud, I’d like you to tell me. Though I know sometimes they can go unnoticed. But if you realize you’re getting stuck in your head, let me know and I’ll try to help you out of it.”

James flashed her a grateful smile. “Same for you. If there’s ever a time I can help you with whatever’s on your mind…”

Rose sighed. “I need to get better about that. I’ve realized I have a bad habit of telling myself I will deal with something later, but later never actually comes.” She sucked in a big breath and blew it out again. “I’m sorry you saw that letter from Jimmy. Yeah, you were a bit of a twat for reading it and reacting like you did. But I’m sorry you were blindsided like that, and that I ignored how it made you feel. And I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t trust you. I’m sorry I made you self-conscious for everything you’ve shared with me and that you feel like I don’t share enough with you.” She let out a sad little laugh that twisted his heart. “This is going to sound lame, but I honestly didn’t realize I wasn’t being as open with you as I thought I was. It feels like you know me better than anyone ever has, so I didn’t think to change anything. But now that I know how you feel, I want to work to be better at that.”

James shook his head and covered her hand. “No, Rose. I got caught up in my own head and in my frustration. You’ve shared more with me than I wanted to admit last night.” Jack’s words clanged around in his head. “I shouldn’t have expected the exact same level of sharing from you as I am comfortable with giving.”

“That’s not fair. I am comfortable with you…”

James cringed. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not accusing you of anything, Rose. Merely stating a fact. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or upset, I swear. I want you to be comfortable talking with me, and forcing you to talk about things you aren’t comfortable with is counterproductive.”

“Thing is, I was always going to tell you everything about Jimmy,” Rose sighed. “When he first texted me, it sent me into a blind panic and I sorta… shut down. I wanted to take the time I needed to get into a better place before sharing it with you. But I guess I didn’t realize how long it was since he first texted me.”

James stayed silent, letting her get her thoughts together. He twined their fingers together, happy to be able to sit and touch her like this, when for many long, heartbreaking hours in the wee hours of that morning, he had been sure that he would never be able to do so again. Her hand fit perfectly in his, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to make their relationship whole again, to make sure he could hold her hand for the rest of their lives.

When Rose began speaking, he gave her his full attention and tried to keep his emotions in check. He listened to her explain how Jimmy had texted her out of the blue, having gotten her number from a “mutual friend”.

“M’still not sure who gave it to him,” Rose said with a sigh. “He never told me and none of my friends claim to have done it.”

James listened to her describe the early conversations she’d had with Jimmy, from telling him that she needed time, to working through her anxiety with the help of Elsa and a counselor, to coming to the decision to let Jimmy say his piece.

“He was very important to me at one time. He was the love of my life. He was my everything. He will always be important and special because I genuinely loved him, and like it or not, my experiences with him shaped me into the person I am today. I don’t love him anymore, and frankly don’t miss him or want what we used to have, but if this would help him and me move on, I really wanted to let him say what he needed to say.

“He apologized to me, and it wasn’t even a terrible apology. Though he did make it sound like we both were at fault, but you know what, it was better than I was expecting, so I sorta took it as a win. I figured we were done, but then he wanted to know if he could repay me for all the debts he’d left me with. I can’t remember if I told you before, but he stopped paying his part of the rent at the end of our relationship. I got so behind on those payments because I had other bills to focus on that by the time I moved out, I was six months behind.

“I refused Jimmy’s offer. Told him everything was paid off and he didn’t owe me anything.” Rose sniffled and smiled ruefully, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You know my money insecurities. I couldn’t stand the thought that he might use this as a way to control me again. So I shut him down.”

“Good for you,” James murmured, his first words in a while. “You don’t have to go on. It’s okay.”

But Rose shook her head. “I want you to know all of this. I want to come to you when—as Elsa puts it—shit ties up my brain. And my brain has been in knots for over a month. I want to be better with being okay about my thoughts sometimes getting tangled; I realized if I waited until my brain was calm to tell you everything, I would never tell you anything. I don’t want secrets between us, and I’m frustrated with myself that I unwittingly kept secrets from you. I can’t promise I will tell you immediately when something is on my mind, but I will make more of an effort to be more open with you. I wish I’d told you all of this sooner, but I can’t go back and change how I handled this, so let me tell you all of this now.”

James nodded and brought their clasped hands to his lips for a soft kiss.

“After I told Jimmy I didn’t want his money, I thought we were done. I didn’t hear from him for a few days, but then I got a text from him, a selfie with some of our old friends. A harmless group photo. Then he started sharing news from home. Or he would send me playlists. Stupid, innocent stuff we used to. He has really good taste in music and I’m always happy to have new songs or artists to listen to.

“We started chatting a little more regularly. Not daily, but a few times a week. A few messages at a time. He shared updates about his life, told me about going to drug and alcohol meetings, financial counseling, and so on. I told him about America and school. I didn’t tell him about you, though. It’s stupid, and I should have because I don’t think Jimmy realizes I’m not single, but you’re mine.” The word sent a thrill up James’s spine, and he couldn’t help but kiss her knuckles again. “You’re mine and I didn’t want to share you with him. I didn’t want anything of Jimmy to touch you. And I wasn’t trying to lead him on or anything. Or keep him a secret from you. But all of a sudden it’s been five weeks since he first texted.

“Then he sent me that letter. It came two days ago. I cried when I got it. I never gave him my address, so I panicked that he had somehow stalked me and found me, that he would be waiting at the university for me. And I was just… so defeated. I thought maybe he’d changed. Grown up or something. Stupidly, I thought maybe we could eventually be friends. But the only thing he wanted was for me to get back together with him.”

Rose’s tears dripped down her cheeks and her breathing hitched. James wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. She willingly leaned into him and sniffled quietly for a long moment.

“Did you really think that was a love letter?” Rose croaked.

“Pardon?”

“What Jimmy wrote to me. Did you think it read like a love letter?”

James sucked on the inside of his lower lip. He tried to remember the content of the letter, but his memories were all tainted with the pain of their argument.

“I don’t remember enough of it,” he confessed. “I’m sorry.”

Rose lifted her bum off of her chair, reaching into her back pocket to pull out a piece of paper that had been folded into eighths.

“Here,” she said, giving it to him.

Tentatively, he took it. Rose pulled herself out of his embrace and grabbed a tissue from the crumpled pile he had brought over. 

As he reread the letter, his stomach twisted into knots when he picked out several words and phrases.

I’ve found a piece of myself…

I’m not complete…

I hate the person I am without you… 

…happiest of my life… 

…nothing more I’ve wanted…

…(our life?)… 

You make me feel like I can do anything… 

I love how I feel when I’m with you… 

I was scared about how much I needed you… 

…something I always knew would be there for me… 

I know I can make it work this time… 

…enjoy your time there, while you can… 

…we can work harder together to make us work… 

I will do whatever it takes to make this work… 

Over and over, James read the letter, his mind picking up more of the tone and the sheer selfishness in it. Everything Jimmy said was about him, about how he needed Rose, without giving a thought about whether Rose wanted or needed him. He plainly admitted to taking her for granted, and still, after all this time, he acted as though he and Rose were equally at fault for how their relationship had ended.

How must it have sounded to Rose, for him to go off on her about the letter?

“Oh, Rose,” James breathed, “I’m so sorry. God, I was a twat, wasn’t I?”

She let out a watery giggle. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Can I ask…? How did Jimmy find your address? I mean. Do you even know how he found it?”

Rose’s eyes welled with tears again, even as she scoffed. “My mum.”

“Your… mum?” That had not been what James had expected. “But… why?”

Rose shook her head. “Apparently Jimmy went ‘round the estate. Found my mum and told her we’d been chatting. Said he wanted to send me money to help cover the bills I’d paid. He said exactly the right thing—when I moved back home, my mum kept telling me over and over that Jimmy should cough up the money to cover his half of the flat and the expenses that had built up. 

“A couple weeks ago, my mum asked me if I’d been chatting with Jimmy. When I said yes, I guess she assumed I knew Jimmy wanted to repay me but I was being unreasonable.” Rose’s face crumpled. “I know my mum didn’t know how badly Jimmy had treated me, and that's my fault for not telling her. But what if he’d been a murderous stalker? What if he’d physically or sexually abused me? What if he used that information and showed up alone at my flat one night and broke in and…?”

She coughed out a wracking sob and buried her face in her hands. James nearly began crying at the sight of her distress. “How dare my mum give out my address like that? I never thought she’d do something like that. My mum called to wish me a happy birthday and I told her a little bit about why you and I were fighting, and she told me she was the one who gave Jimmy my address. I got so angry with her, and she was gettin’ angry with me. I’ve spent the day crying ‘cos I was fighting with my two favorite people.”

James tossed the letter onto the table and wrapped his arms around Rose, holding her tightly to his chest. He had never been angrier with another person than he was right now with Jackie Tyler. Well. Jackie Tyler and Jimmy bloody Stone. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rose. I’m sorry.”

“Joke’s on Mum, though; Jimmy didn’t send a single quid with that letter.” Rose sniffled and scrubbed her hands across her eyes. “I hate this. I wish I’d blocked Jimmy from the start, I wish I’d told you when he texted, I wish I’d told my mum not to talk to Jimmy. I wish I’d handled everything differently, and I wish I hadn’t gotten so upset with you last night. I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry for it all.”

James tightened his hold around her, burying his face into her neck while she wept into his. “You have every right to handle situations however you think is best. I should have had more faith and trust in you and in our relationship. I was unreasonable. But I forgive you, love. Of course I forgive you. I love you. I love you more than you can imagine, and I’m so sorry I doubted it last night.”

Rose began crying harder into his shoulder. Her breaths came out in harsh gasps as she managed to reply, “I love you too. I’m sorry for putting the doubt in your head… when you asked if I was breaking up with you and I said I didn’t know. God, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean it at all. I got scared too, same as you, and my brain sort of shut down because it couldn’t stop thinking of everything Jimmy had said or done in the past, and twisting it to look like what you were saying and doing. That’s something I need to work on because that’s insulting for me to imply that you’re anything like him, but I didn’t know what to do, so I pushed you out, and I’m so sorry.”

James merely held her tighter, his heart breaking at her agony, yet filling with more love for her than he’d ever felt before.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, Rose,” he murmured into her hair. “The strongest. You’ve overcome so much, and you’re working to make yourself the best version of yourself that you can be, and that’s so admirable. I am here to listen to anything you want to tell me, but I am okay with not knowing everything. I trust your judgement, and I know you’ll tell me what you want me to know.”

He continued speaking quietly, a combination of reassurances, affirmations, and words of love. She shed more tears than he’d ever seen her shed, and he shed just as many. He was exhausted and overwhelmed, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for a very long time tangled with Rose.

When her tears finally dried, he pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head before sitting back in his chair. He grabbed a tissue for himself and passed one to her; they noisily blew their noses and wiped their eyes.

“Well. Wasn’t that cathartic?” he said cheerfully, holding his hand out for her tissue to throw in the rubbish bin.

She chuckled. Though her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were splotchy, he didn’t think there was a more beautiful person in the world than her.

He washed his hands after throwing away their used tissues, then he grabbed a few more, just in case. His nose was still a bit runny, and he was sure Rose’s had to be too. He plopped into his chair with a groan.

“First fight,” he mused. “Can tick that one off the list, I suppose.”

“Was it everything you expected it to be?” she drawled, rolling her eyes.

“Admittedly it was a lot more painful than I thought,” he said. “But now we can go back to how we were, right?”

Rose paused. In the silence, his heart sank into his stomach.

“I don’t know if we should,” she said carefully, and his lungs were suddenly out of air. Her eyes widened. “No, not like you’re thinking. It’s just… everything we fought about, everything we talked about, it changed us. It changed our relationship. Not in a bad way, but it’s different now. We’re more aware of some things that we weren’t before. I don’t want to go backwards with you. I want us to go forward. Together.”

James nodded, shoulders slumping in relief. He slid his hand across the table, slipping it beneath Rose’s so her palm rested against the back of his hand. He splayed his fingers, letting hers fall between the gaps. She curled her fingers around his hand.

“You’re right,” he said, caressing his thumb along the side of her pinkie. “Absolutely, you’re right. Guess this means the honeymoon period is over?”

“Probably.” She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Hopefully we’re not over the horny hump though.”

“You’re never gonna let me forget that I said that, are you?” he whined, grimacing.

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ as he often did. “It was such a dorky thing to call it.”

He pouted. “You never complained about my dorkiness before.”

“I love your dorkiness. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it though.” Her smile slipped until her face turned solemn. “I’m really glad we talked this out, James.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Me too.”

“Any time Jimmy and I had an argument, we never did this. We’d shout at each other, curse at each other, and then ignore each other and not speak for a day or so. Then we’d have angry make up sex and pretend everything was fine in the morning. I don’t want to ever do that again. I want to communicate with you and to compromise with you, then grow with you.

“Staying in love is a choice, and it takes work. It shouldn’t be hard, but it’s not easy either. We need to choose to stay in love, decide that our relationship is worth making an effort for. I want to wake up every day and choose you, to choose us, and I want to put in the work because I wanna enjoy the payoff. Because being in love with you, James… it’s the best I’ve ever felt. You make me feel like I can do anything, like pass a stupid chemistry class or tell my stupid ex-boyfriend to fuck off. I love the way you make me feel. I love feeling like I’m home whenever I’m with you. And though this home we’re building with each other might have a leaky roof every now and then, I wanna fix it with you.”

James’s eyes were burning again. How was anything even left in his tear ducts? “Oh, Rose. You make me feel the same way. And I feel so inadequate because you just waxed romantic poetry at me, but my brain has stopped working. But please know I love you with every cell in my body, and I want to keep loving you with every cell, all the way down to each little organelle contained within, every day for the rest of our long and beautiful life together.”

Rose grinned at him and leaned over to press a light kiss to his lips. They tingled at the contact, and he wanted to pull her close to kiss her again.

“You’re such a science geek,” she said.

“Well. I’ve already shown you I’m rather fabulous with many types of chemistry and anatomy,” he drawled, flashing her an over-the-top wink as he clicked his tongue lewdly.

She burst into a fit of laughter that he echoed, feeling at peace for the first time in twenty-four hours. The exhaustion of all those hours suddenly overwhelmed him. His laughter morphed into a yawn, which spread to Rose.

“I’m knackered,” he announced unnecessarily. “Will you come to bed with me? My bedroom’s a disaster, but the guest bed is made.”

Rose nodded and stood up from the kitchen table. She took their bowl to the sink and rinsed it out before leaving it there for them to clean properly in the morning. She then flicked off the light on top of the stove before she followed him through the rest of the house, locking up and turning lights off as they went.

“Can I see what you’ve done to your room?” Rose asked.

“Sure,” he said, continuing down the hall rather than peeling off into the guest room. When he got to his closed door, he warned, “It’s a mess.”

They were hit with the stench of paint fumes as soon as he opened the bedroom door. He flicked on the light, and the room was bathed in the yellow glow of his lamps.

“Love the color,” Rose said.

“Yeah?” he asked, pleased with himself that, even in his miserable, depressive state of trying to not think about Rose, he had managed to pick a color she would like.

“Mhm.”

“I have to put on the second coat. I’ll probably do that tomorrow—I’m not really feeling like going to my classes, so I’ll probably ditch ‘em again.”

“You rebel,” she teased. “If you want some help, I don’t have anything important going on tomorrow. And I don’t work this weekend. We can take a few days to finish up the painting and reorganize your furniture.”

James smiled. “I’d like that.”

“It’s a date.” She wrapped her arm around his waist and tucked her face against his shoulder. “Besides, it’ll go faster with two.”

Leaning down, James brushed a kiss to her crown then rested his cheek in her hair. “Faster with two. Better with two.” He gave her waist a tight squeeze as he kissed her again. “Better with you.”

[always-against-the-grain]

party favor

Summary: Teasing Negan has its consequences. Continuation of summmertime high

Pairing: AU Negan x reader (female, named Eddie)

Tags: AU Negan, Negan smut, Negan x reader, rough-ish smut

About an hour had passed since you spoke to Negan by the appetizer table, and you couldn’t stop replaying his words in your head: “Or maybe it’s my cum dripping down your legs” 

There were brief moments where you’d forget about him and this morning, but as soon as you’d catch eyes across the yard, it all came rushing back to you. How deep he had fucked you and how spilled inside you. Arousal bubbled inside you, snowballing with every cocky smile he gave you and lick of lips. 

Negan had been hanging out with your father and other neighborhood dads all night, talking football and home projects. Though he made sure to lock eyes with you every now and then, causing you to miss far too many shots in your beer pong game. 

Goddammit. You were frustrated how he had you twirled around his fingers from anywhere across the room. God, his fingers. 

Towards the end of your game, you noticed Negan was isolated in the corner of the yard - a beer in his hand, smoking a cigarette. He usually wore a leather jacket, but due to the festivities, he went with a navy blue flannel, unbuttoned all the way - exposing one of his endless crisp white tees. 

After losing the game and the twenty dollars you placed on it, you decided to confront him. You walked over with a masquerade of merely being a good hostess and saying hello. 

“Hey Eddie, you building a house with all those bricks you were shooting?” He joked.

“Stop it,” you gritted out with a fake smile smeared across your face, acting like you were making small talk. 

“Stop what hon?” Negan said playing dumb.

“You fucking know what,” you said softly, keeping your hostess act together. 

“Am I making you soak through those tight jeans?” He knew exactly what he’d been doing all night. 

Your heart rate skyrocketed. You were too easy for him, too fun to play with. You had had a mixture of sexual urges and irritability flowing through your blood, and you were desperate to make him feel the same way. 

You did the only thing that could even the playing field. A quick peripheral sweep of your surroundings and you palmed Negan through the front of his pants, using your body to block the view of your hands of any wandering eyes. 

“Jesus Christ Eddie” Negan was caught off guard, his body tensing. 

He gently swatted your hand and stepped away, “Unless you want me to drag your ass upstairs I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

“You won’t,” you said boldly before taking a sip of your red solo cup, maintaining eye contact over the rim. 

You causally pivoted away and walked inside, heading straight to the hallway bathroom. You were surprised at what you just did. You were a semi-reckless college kid, but not grab-my-hot-older-neighbors-dick reckless. 

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to relax and calm yourself down. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, chugged the remaining of your drink, and tossed it before stepping out. 

“Were you rubbing one out in here?” Negan was leaned against the wall closest to the door. 

He walked in, corralling you back into the bathroom and shut the door.

“Negan-“you started as you stepped backwards and saw him click the lock. 

“Relax, everyone’s outside. Fireworks are about to start”

His hands went straight to your hips to pull you close to him, as his mouth began attacking yours. You lustfully kissed him back. 

His hands roamed your sides and back under your red halter top. His ministrations included groping your ass before swiveling you to face the mirror. You extended your arms and braced yourself on the porcelain counter. His long arms and body caged you against the hard material, his center simultaneously rolling into you, trying to get more friction. 

“You feel what your clever little hands do to me?” He breathed out while nibbling on your ear. 

“Negan, my - ah fuck” you moaned out. 

“- my folks. The party..” you backtracked, your common sense telling you this wasn’t a good idea. 

He sucked lightly on your upper trap before planting kisses along your neck, instinctively you bent your neck over to the side to expose more of yourself to him. He stopped at the edge of your jaw and looked into your eyes through the mirror. His hazel colored orbs piercing your soul, flooding your gut and center with butterflies. 

“Best keep it down then” His entire persona oozed dominance. 

He found the front button of your jeans and undid them, pulling them down to half your thighs along with your thin undergarment. 

He ran two fingers along your slit, playing with your juices vertically. His index finger magically strummed your clit, you wanted to spread your legs, but the fabric rolled at your thighs didn’t allow such movement.

“You really were gonna soak your pants there huh hon?”

“I mean, would you look at that” he removed his fingers and brought them to your field of vision. 

You saw his shiny, glimmering fingers covered with your clear viscous fluids. He brought his fingers closer to your face. 

He coated your lower lip with your juices, your tongue slipping out to draw them in. He gently shoved them into your mouth, scissoring your tongue while you suckled on them.

“Fuck, you’re a dirty girl. You like tasting yourself, doll?” 

“Mmhmm” you affirmed with his digits in your mouth. 

He slipped them out and cupped his hand under your chin.

“Spit” he ordered 

You extracted as much saliva as you could and dripped it into his hand. 

“Remember you gotta stay quiet” he reminded you as you heard his belt click followed by his zipper, and the faint gushing sounds of him lubricating his cock with your spit. 

He held your hips in place with one hand while the other guided his member up and down your folds. He teasingly probed you with just the head several times before entering you completely with one smooth motion. 

“Aghh” You moaned out. White knuckling the edge of the counter. 

“What did I just say” Negan condemned you and immediately froze his motions. 

He slowly exited halfway and pumped himself back in, to the hilt. Your thighs bound together by your waist of your jeans made you tighter for him. He slowly and deeply fucked you, feeling his tip tickle your cervix. 

You continued to make audible moans. You couldn’t help it, his length, his girth, his angle. Him. 

“You gotta keep it down hon,” Negan warned you 

“Or am I gonna have to nuzzle you like the little whore you are?” His deep voice vibrating through your body. 

Holy fuck. His words bringing you closer to your release. You were never spoken to like this, and you didn’t expect yourself to be into it. 

He brought his hand to cover your mouth, his other arm wrapped tightly around your pelvis, and he shoved himself rougher into you. 

Your sounds were effectively muffled by Negan’s large callused hands. He kept his hard and deep motions, he increased and decreased his speed, building your orgasm for release. 

You tried to tell him you were close, but his palm blurred your words. 

“Are you gonna come?”

You looked at him through your reflections and nodded. 

He sped up, directing your release. 

“That its doll. You’re gonna come around my cock, with everyone outside, your parents, your friends - they don’t know what a dirty girl you are.”

The coil in your stomach tightened, and you withered beneath him. He shimmed the hand that was wrapped around your hip and rubbed your clit instead. 

You moaned louder into his hand, and you become undone, collapsing onto your elbows. Negan’s arms reflexively held you up. 

Negan continued to fuck your limp body, chasing his release. He stifled his grunt into the crook of your next. His stubble lightly pricking your skin. 

“Fuck” he whispered

He stayed inside you, emptying all of his milky seed until he softened. He pulled out and tucked his member back in and zipped himself up. 

Negan only brought your underwear up to its original position. Leaving your pants pulled down. 

Remaining on your elbows, he leaned over to whisper in your ear, his hand rubbing your center through the fabric, “Now, your gonna walk out of here with my spunk swimming in your panties.”

He turned around and wiped his forehead with the bathroom towel while you pulled your jeans up. 

Before exiting, he cupped both sides of your jaw with his hands, looking into your eyes, “Next time you wanna pull some shit like that just know I’ll call your bluff. I’ve been fucking longer and harder than you sweetheart”

He leaned down to meet you for one final sloppy rough kiss. He left first closing the door behind him. 

____________

You waited a few minutes before you exited the restroom. Luckily everyone was outside distracted by the fireworks. No one noticed your disappearance as you made it back by the end of the show. 

Towards the end of the night, or the next day considering it was well past midnight, people dwindled out. You and your mother were in the kitchen wrapping leftovers while your father and Negan were in-and-out bringing in the ice chests to organize the next morning. 

Negan walked toward the kitchen, and gave the island a soft slap, “Well, Frankie, I think Klaus and I are about done, is there anything else I can help with?”

“No, Negan, I think we’re all set. Thank you so much for your help, like always,” your mom answered.

“Like always, thank you for the hospitality” he smiled at your mom, and the instant she turned away he shot you a wink, causing you to drop the empty Tupperware in your hand. 

Fuck. you thought to yourself frustrated and flustered once more 

“You outta here Negan?” You’re dad asking walking in, closing the sliding door. 

“Looks like, the missus says everything is square”

“Alright then,” your dad and Negan shook hands. 

“Eddie, are you gonna say goodbye?” Your mom asked, a little embarrassed you forgot your manners. 

“Oh. Shit. Yeah. Goodbye Negan, have a nice night, or morning? Yeah...” your voice awkwardly fading out. 

“Thanks Ed. You too. And good luck with the whole senior year thing.” he smiled before making way toward the door, your dad walking him out. 

Bastard 

tagged accts:

@jamiekingofmen

[boymeetsweevil]

For Science 5/7

Grouping: Reader x Nerd!JK 

Word Count: 17.5k haha wtf (NSFW)

Warnings/Themes: omg okay swearing, Boobies, graphic-ish Cunnilingus, endangement of Hoseok’s chin, Spit :/, Masturbation, mentions of porn haha, Making out, (Hoseok’s) male gaze??? Idiot!Kook, Jealous!Kook, Violence? (lmao it was very mild violence and mention of blood but not graphic), gratuitous use of soap-opera level drama

Summary: Jungkook asks you to let him watch you get off. For science.

A/N: I’m tagging  @m-icdrop , @jiminslye , @ephemeral-mindset, @sugarandpoppy, @monstar95, @sweetestkth, @limitlesxxsxx, @simplyfinessin, @park-geemin to let you know that this is here! If any of you would like to stop being tagged with each FS update, let me know. And if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, also let me know :)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 6, part 7

Being a good friend, as you’re realizing now, is so terribly hard and you wish someone had told you earlier in life so you could make the informed choice of becoming a nun. Or maybe just a plain old hermit.

Either way, waking up in the middle of Yoori’s bedroom finds you feeling less rested than you would have liked. Probably because you dreamt that you had been transfigured into a dog by Hoseok wearing a witch’s costume and forced to be the family pet to Yoori and Jungkook’s 16 children. You end up waking with a jolt, still in Yoori’s bed and covered in cold sweat, wanting nothing more than to go home and leave everything at school behind. 

Still, you soldier through the rest of the night, staring at your laptop instead of doing work, only eating half of the pizza she ordered for you and numbly carrying a large Tupperware container that held the leftovers back to your apartment.

You end up eating the pizza for breakfast the following morning in some meagre effort to comfort yourself. Nothing helps, though. Not using the special body wash that you usually reserved for special occasions. Not putting on the velvet joggers you wore when you needed a pick-me-up. So, you try going in the opposite direction. Instead of putting in extra effort, you put in zero. You don’t bother stressing about putting your hair into an intricate style so you’ll look more put together. You don’t bother trying to buff your skin to a shining, baby glow. Instead you slather your face in moisturizer and throw your hair into a bun, which seems to do the trick. Giving up on some of the tinier details that would often gnaw at the edges of your collectedness improves your mood slightly. So does taking the rest of the pizza in with you for lunch.

The universe takes pity on you and the day goes by quickly. On Friday, It feels almost as though you only blinked but now the sun was setting around 4:30, as had become habit.

You wipe the drool that was pooling at the corner of your mouth while you tried some old number theory problem sets from a class you took freshman year. It had been difficult because you’d forgotten how shitty proofs can be, but it had also been just the time sink you needed.

Coming to the usual study spot you and Yoori established a few hours prior was bittersweet. Normally she would be there, perhaps with a steaming mug of something calming waiting for you, ready to work in companionable silence with gossip breaks sprinkled in between. Today, she wasn’t there, so you had the whole table to yourself. You sit in her chair to throw some novelty into the mix. And because you miss her. But now that your momentum is broken, you decide to turn to the window instead of people watching. Even though there’s none of the softly falling snow Yoori always raves about, the view is still nice.

The last few rays of the winter sun are stretching out, leaving the campus bathed in blood orange light and catching the reflective parts of the packed snow on the ground. There’s something picturesque about the way the campus pond, now frozen, sits in the center of the landscape and frames the sheet of mountains running in the distance. But it feels very lonely as well.  

You check your phone and find no text messages from Jungkook and only one from Yoori asking if you have plans for Saturday night. You tell her no and begin packing up.

Normally, you’re not a big going out person, but you find your lack of plans for this weekend a little bothersome. You know Jungkook and Yoori will obviously be busy that evening, and perhaps even the whole weekend. But that leaves you with Taehyung and Hoseok to have a good time and the prospects for that seem weak. You try sending a text to the two of them asking if a bar sounded like a fun idea but Hoseok messages back that he already bought drinks for tonight. You suppose you’ll have to try again next weekend.

Taehyung’s words of assurance about how Jungkook suddenly getting a girlfriend wouldn’t change the group dynamic float into you’re head. But you’re not so sure you believe them in this moment. Things don’t seem as fun and you’re not sure if it’s just because you’ve spent the whole day moping or if it’s because Jungkook has been carrying the group dynamic on his back the whole time and you never even noticed until now.

It’s a frightening thought and it’s also a little unfair to Hoseok and Taehyung. Although you’re not as close to them as you are to Jungkook, it’s not like they’re strangers. You’ve spent a great deal of time on your own with both of them, and even though you fight with Hoseok from time to time, you have made some nice memories with the both of them.

As you walk to Taehyung’s apartment for game night, you’re reminded of the times you’ve spent with the both of them. Like when you needed to fulfill your PE requirement for the year, so you and Hoseok took a snowboarding class together. You can admit, albeit reluctantly, that you bonded over many nights of numb toes and icing each other’s injuries. There’s also the time that you and Taehyung thought learning Russian would be a fun idea. You ended up leaving the Russian club after the first weekly meeting, but Taehyung still goes and is now the club Treasurer. It had been a fun hour of your life, though.

“Hey,” Taehyung chirps when you finally arrive at his apartment.

“Hey!” You fling yourself at him, full of emotion from the walk down memory lane you just took. He’s stiff in your arms for a moment, but settles into the hug after a beat.

“What’s this all about?” He chuckles, patting your back affectionately.

You extricate yourself from him and drop your things at the doorway before turning to Hoseok with a determined look. He snorts at you but doesn’t try to hide from your grabby hands, much to your surprise.

“I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m really glad we’re all friends. You mean a lot to me,” you mumble into the collar of Hoseok’s shirt as you press wrap him in a sincere hug.

“Are you not wearing a bra?”

“Except you,” you push him off you roughly. “Not you. I don’t like you.”

“Aw, come on!” He grins wryly at you from the floor. “You know you like me.”

You make a show of brushing the residue of your hug off the thin and oversized sweater you’re wearing. “No, sorry. I was a different person 20 seconds ago. I’ve changed. I’m better now.”

Hoseok hops up and chases you around Taehyung’s tiny dining room table until he manages to trap you in a corner by the kitchen entrance and wrangle you into a bear hug. You play dead to deter him, but instead he just laughs at the limp way your feet drag on the floor and waddles with you still in his grasp to the living room. Taehyung looks for the right game to play.

He chooses Wii Resort, which is not even remotely close to being your favorite, so you sit out and let the third controller lay unused on the ground. Instead you find yourself seated with your back against Hoseok’s chest in the La-Z boy, feet stretched out to rest in Taehyung’s lap as he sits on the matching ottoman.

“It’s fucking freezing in here,” you whine.

“I told you to wear layers. I’m trying to lower my utility bill,” is all Taehyung says as he moves his mii into yet another jungle setting for a mini game.

You pout. “This sucks.”

“It really doesn’t,” Hoseok interjects, “This is one of the better game nights we’ve had in a while.”

“You’re just saying that because this is the only time you’ve been able to win at a game.”

“Be nice to Hobi.” One of Taehyung’s hands drop down to dig into the arch of your foot as a warning. You squeal, knee kicking out wildly and without your permission, forcing your head to crack back against Hoseok’s chin.

“Ow! Fuck! What the hell is wrong with you, Tae?” Hoseok reaches up to clutch at his face, controller falling into your lap.

“Dude, I was defending you! How is this my fault?”

“You know it’s against the rules to tickle her when another person’s nearby unless it’s a tag-team.” He whines and taps you on the shoulder. You turn to face him sheepishly, knowing it’s partially your fault too. “Am I bleeding?”

“Thankfully, no,” you coo after a careful inspection. “But if that were any higher up on my leg, I don’t think you’d still have a face.”

“I know.” 

You pat his hair soothingly, but turn back around soon after Hoseok stops cradling his face. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

“We can’t! I’m not even buzzed yet. And we haven’t gone all the way around the board.”

“Tae, this game is trash. I don’t want to just sit and watch.”

He waves a hand dismissively, unpausing the game without even looking at you. “It’s not my fault you’re a fake Nintendo fan.”

“Ooh, are you gonna take that,” Hoseok’s eyes widen at Taehyung’s comment.

“I’m not even gonna dignify that with a response,” you sniff. Reaching out, you grab at the closest, non-empty beer bottle you can reach and take a swig. “But I am gonna get going so you can enjoy your shitty game by yourselves.”

“Come on!” Hoseok whines again from above you and from your vantage point it looks like his face is starting to swell. You silently hope that it doesn’t get bad until after you leave. “You can’t leave. Then it’ll just be two guys playing Wii resort.”

“Arriving in 13 minutes.” You burrow further into his chest to steal some warmth for a minute. You vow that the first thing you’re doing once you get home is taking a hot shower.

“Let her go, Hob. She’s not cool like us.”

Taehyung’s Mii reaches the top of the mountain at that moment. The victory cry he releases is entirely too loud and definitely not appropriate for someone only playing Wii Resort. He gets up from his chair and starts gyrating at the TV where Hoseok’s mii is crying large blue tears.

“Congrats on your victory. I’m out.”

The ride home turns out to be less relieving and more depressing as you get closer and closer to your apartment. Jungkook and Yoori are probably somewhere having an amazing date and will probably then go have amazing virginal sex in the backseat of Hoseok’s frat brothers’ car that Jungkook borrowed for the occasion. Taehyung and Hoseok actually like Wii Resort and will probably spend the rest of the night getting drunk off their asses playing that and having more fun than is objectively reasonable. Meanwhile you will probably stand naked and shivering in your bathroom for, like, 8 whole minutes waiting for hot water to make it through your plumbing.

Nothing like depressing thoughts to start your weekend off well.

Perhaps the universe decided to take pity on you once again because when you get home and disrobe, you only have to wait 6 minutes for the hot water. And it doesn’t run out after another 5. You also let yourself sing loudly to your Spotify ballad playlist titled ‘lady heartbreak’. Normally, you only cry to that playlist, so you think of it as personal growth.

Once you’re out the shower and your voice is hoarse from the ‘singing’, you change into light pajamas. Despite the fact that your heater is fixed, you still keep it firing at almost full blast because you prefer the heat to the cold.

Before you can flip back the covers on your bed when you hear a loud knock on your door. You figure its either Taehyung or Hoseok, or both of them, looking for something to do now that the game has lost its charm after a million rounds. But a quick glance at your phone shows no text messages from them saying that they’d be stopping by, which they usually do. The door thumps like someone’s body is slamming against it and you pray that its one of your stupid friends just being inconsiderate and disorderly.

You’re about to leave your room to see who’s at your door when another loud sound startles you. Its as if someone is carefully trying to rattle the window leading to your fire escape. All the while the loud knocking at your front door continues to ring through the apartment. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re certain you saw a news special about something like this. Pairs of burglars come to innocent women’s houses after they’ve stalked them long enough to learn their schedule and see if they live alone. Then they both show up to the house at different spots to distract the victim and break in more efficiently.

In this scenario, you’re certain they’re expecting you to go to the front door. But you’re smart, dammit. You decide to give them a surprise and approach the window first instead, phone clutched in your hand with the police a button-press away. You yank back the curtains and quickly activate your flashlight mode to see who is trying to break into your house. The pair of wide eyes that greet you back almost make your drop your phone.

“Jungkook,” you hiss incredulously.

Carefully, you unlock your window and slide it up so he can climb off the fire escape and collapse face first into your room. Clearly, he is slightly inebriated.

“What are you doing here?”

“Shh,” he sticks a finger into your face, “She’ll hear you.”

“Who’ll hear me?”

The apartment is eerily quiet when you realize that the loud knocking is replaced by jingling of keys and the sound of the front door being pushed open.

“Jeon Jungkook, who the hell is that in my house?”

“It’s Yoori,” he whispers with genuine fear in his eyes. “Crap!”

You can’t do much besides react on auto-pilot and pull back the many blankets and comforters lining your bed for him to dive under. The sound of Yoori’s slow, stumbling footsteps as they make their way into the heart of the apartment are better than any horror movie soundtrack. You find yourself diving into bed too, knees bent, hoping that you look casual and can hide Jungkook’s shape. He pokes his head out and grins at you from the shadows between your bare knees.

“Is anyone home,” Yoori calls from somewhere in the living room.

“I’m in my bedroom,” you respond. “It’s the last door on the right in the hallway.

A few moments later, Yoori is peering curiously from behind your door. You realize she still hasn’t seen your room despite the fact that she’s been to your apartment in passing a couple of times now.

“Hey, Yoori.”

“Hey. Wow,” she hiccups, “This is very you. I like the tapestries.” She turns in a circle to take in all of your room’s décor.

“Yep. So, uh, what brings you here?”

“I asked Jungkookie to drop me off here.”

“Oh, you did? Where is Jungkookie now,” you ask neutrally before casting a brief but discrete annoyed look down at Jungkook’s semi-visible face under the covers.

“I think he’s probably filling up the car’s tank. He has to return it to the fraternity before it gets too late.”

“He didn’t want to come in with you?”

“No. I told him I wanted to have some girl time with you to talk about the date. But then I got to your door and remembered that you don’t like to talk about romantic stuff like that.”

You shove your hands down into your lap and over his face so he can’t see the way yours heats up in embarrassment.

“W-well that’s just because he’s my good friend, you know. I didn’t mean much by that.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” She smiles down at you sleepily before walking over and moving like she’s going to sit with you in bed.

“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you shoot your hands out to keep her sitting.

“Why not?”

She pouts softly down at you. You wince knowing that her feet probably hurt from a night in heels and all she wants to do is sit to rest. But your loyalty lies elsewhere at the moment.

“Because…I have no pants on.”

“Really?” She grins and peeks down like she hopes to see through the blanket covering your lap. “That’s okay with me. You probably don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. And if you did, who cares?”

You decide that you won’t probe her about that and instead redirect the conversation.

“Yeah, but I’m kind of shy when it comes to that stuff.”

“That’s right. I forgot.” Yoori sighs sadly. “Maybe one day we’ll get there. That should be our next friendship goal. Getting you to feel less shy around me.”

“Y-yeah, okay.”

You watch as she swings her heels tiredly in her hand and searches for a nearby cab. She finds one relatively quickly and gives you a one-armed hug around your shoulders before scooping heading out. You wait a few more minutes, just in case she magically returns for something she left behind despite the fact that she left the spare key on your bedside desk and the front door locks from the inside automatically. Once you’re certain you won’t be found out, you rip the sheets back angrily.

“Explain yourself quickly, Jeon.”

Jungkook squints up at you now that the dark cover of your blankets isn’t shielding his eyes anymore. He’s lying on his stomach between your bent legs, propped up on his elbows. It’s a compromising position that you’re glad Yoori didn’t catch you in.

“I told her I needed to fill the tank, but I told her I was doing it at the gas station on 5th street instead of the one across the street from here.” He grins up at your cheekily like he’s done something extra clever.

“Yeah, I figured as much. But why did you do that? And then why did you risk falling 20 feet to climb up the fire escape and come in through the window.”

“I wanted to hang out. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while.” His hand reaches out to stroke at the expanse of your bare thigh.

“Jungkook, you’re dating Yoori,” you sigh and move your leg away. “The weekend stays are over now.”

“We’re taking it slow, though.”

“Not slow enough for this to still be a thing.”

“It is slow enough.” At your raised eyebrows, he stammers. “We-we haven’t even held hands yet.”

“Really,” you can’t help but ask. The pang of satisfaction you feel knowing that Jungkook still hasn’t taken things further with Yoori makes you feel a bit guilty. But you can’t help it.

“Really. So we can still do this, right?”

“I don’t know, Kook.” Your lip ends up tucked between your teeth in indecisiveness.

“Please? I missed you,” he whispers quietly. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear from him and you give a quick nod lest you start shrieking from joy if you open your mouth.

He shuffles until he can pull you closer by the hips. When you’re on a slight incline, your multiple pillows holding you up, Jungkook removes his glasses. You watch silently as he places them next to the spare keys before leaning into your space, eyes dropping closed.

You let your jaw relax in anticipation of his mouth. But you’re surprised when the first thing you feel is the dry press of his lips to your cheek. It’s sweeter than you were expecting, but you’re not complaining. Eventually he makes his way over to your mouth and begins kissing you in earnest. Small pecks transform into languid caresses of his lips over yours. Your tongue comes out to swipe at the seam of his lips and he immediately opens up to let you in, groaning at the feeling of you in his mouth.

He lets a sharp breath leave his nose and surges forward, pressing himself to you as close as he can after having shuffled you even closer so he could lean over you. When you suck on his bottom lip, he lets out a low snarling sound. His hands come down to clamp onto your waist like a warm vice. Carefully, you entangle the fingers of one hand in his hair, while the other smooths down the curve of his broad shoulders. The feeling of the muscles in his back flexing under your hand is a feeling you didn’t realize you could take for granted. But somehow you have because its amazing to have it back.

The two of you make out for a while. Jungkook tastes of dessert wine and cheesecake. Its not necessarily a combination that you find unpleasant, but it reminds you that he just came back from a date. And while he left that date and came straight to you, you still don’t like it. You kiss him harder with the hopes that it’ll take away the remnants of his time out with another girl. A girl who is your friend. He whines and lets you ravage his mouth. Little do you know that each swipe of your tongue against his own has his growing harder in his slacks.

“Wait a minute,” he gasps against your mouth before slowing down a bit by planting small kisses on the hinge of your jaw and the soft skin of your throat.

“Too fast?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles bashfully.

You’re content to let him come back down from his fast-approaching high by sucking lightly on the skin near the collar of your white tshirt. There will probably be some light bruising that you’ll have to cover up if you’re still going out with Yoori tomorrow, but you don’t care about that right now. Instead you’d rather revel in the sensation of Jungkook’s traveling kisses. Though they started at the hollow of your throat, they’ve collected on your clavicle and he’s now trailing them over the fabric of your shirt by your sternum. It’s sweet.

And then its suddenly not so sweet as you feel his heated breaths puff over your nipple.

Obviously, you’re turned on and you’re not wearing a bra because you thought you were going straight to sleep. So its completely understandable why your nipples would be hard, then. What you’re not certain of is what Jungkook is planning. He’s no longer continuously pressing kisses into the shirt and is now sporadically planting them around the stiff peak that is raising your shirt material slightly, just breathing heavily over it. The heat you feel doesn’t do anything to calm you down and instead it has you squirming in his hold.

One of his hands comes up to rest some of his weight on your shoulder, effectively keeping you flat to the bed. A quick glance at him has your breath hitching loudly in your throat. He’s staring intently down at your breast, like he’s trying to make a tough choice. The moment is so thick that you don’t dare move. Not to encourage him nor to inquire what he plans. Instead you lay with bated breath, watching him slowly descend the last few inches. You squeeze your eyes shut milliseconds before his mouth envelopes your covered nipple.

“Oh shit,” you curse quietly.

Despite the thin cotton barrier, you can feel very clearly the hot, wet pressure of his tongue swirling around your nipple. All of the movements so far are experimental, hesitant in their rhythm. He hollows his cheeks softly and sucks and all of the sudden a long, drawn out moan leaves you. It gives him the confidence he needs to take his free hand and pinch at the other side, fingers mimicking the rhythm his mouth is setting over you.

Quickly, though, the shirt becomes unbearable and you get annoyed at the thought that such a stupid barrier exists between you and Jungkook’s mouth. You wriggle resolutely under him until he huffs in annoyance and pulls away to see why you’re interrupting him. When he sees that you’re merely hiking the shirt’s hem up to your armpits and exposing your breasts to him, he hums contentedly. He swoops back in, this time to the other side, and begins laving at the tightened bud. Your hands scrabble for purchase and eventually make their way back to his neck again.

“Jungkook,” you breathe raggedly into the crown of his head.

“Hmm?”

“What’s the—mmh fuck—the occasion for all this?”

He comes up with a slick popping sound, looking up at you with dark and hooded eyes. The sight sends a bolt of arousal to your core.

“Just been wanting to.” With that, he returns to making a mess of your chest.

Somehow, in the series of achingly long minutes that follow, you manage to get his button down and undershirt off. The sight of the smooth planes of his skin make your hands itch to feel him. You try to pull him up so you can have better access, but he won’t budge as he begins to kiss lower once both of your breasts have been thoroughly marked. You give up and try to predict what he’ll do next as he digs his fingers into your waist appreciatively and kisses a ring around your belly button.

He proceeds lower, his destination becoming increasingly obvious as he playfully flicks at the tiny ribbon decorating the front of your panties before halting. Tentatively, he pushes an index finger underneath the elastic lining where your thigh meets groin. You can feel what you suppose is the puff of his breath across the crotch of your panties.

“Can I—”

“No,” you blurt, legs snapping closed. Jungkook scoots back just at the right time to save his head from being crushed. “S-sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” He runs a hand through his hair nervously. “Do you just…not like it?”

“I’ve actually, uh, never…” you trail off until the words are lost in the mounds of pillows surrounding your head.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve never really had anyone go down on me before.”

“Really?” His eyebrows shoot up behind his slightly damp bangs. “Not even with Yugyeom?”

You wince at the mention of your ex. Yugyeom had been your first and only boyfriend and you had a good run and even what most would call an amicable breakup. But one of the more bitter moments was the one time you’d attempted to get him to go down on you only for him to wrinkle his nose and tell you ‘he wasn’t into that sort of thing’.

“He just wasn’t interested.”

Jungkook nods understandingly for a minute before his gaze is drawn to the space at the apex of your clenched thighs again.

“Are you? Interested?” His tone is heavy with implication and the way he casually hovers over you while sitting back on his heels just makes you feel tiny.

“I-I mean, I guess I am,” you stutter.

“Okay.” He gets back onto his stomach, hands gently prying your knees apart until there’s enough room to accommodate his broad shoulders. “So can I?”

“Go for it.” Your words come out in a squeak.

“Thanks,” he smiles softly.

You can’t see anything because you’ve thrown an arm over your eyes self-consciously. Normally, these moments between the two of you have your stomach in knots for a different reason, but now you’re just plain nervous. You’re diligent about hygiene and you remind yourself that you just took a shower. But it had just been a normal shower and not a booty-call shower. What if he thought you smelled weird? Or that you tasted weird? For some reason, this felt more intimate than all the times before this where he was merely watching and you were the one doing the work down there.

Jungkook hooks his fingers into the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down with your help when you lift your butt. You bite your lip nervously and lift your arm slightly so you can watch his reaction.

He doesn’t have any sort of adverse reaction once you’re completely bare in front of him, though you suppose he’s familiar enough not to act surprised by anything. But you’re not expecting him to dive in suddenly until he’s less than an inch away from your sticky folds. You shouldn’t be embarrassed that you got turned on from making out, but it’s like everything has flipped and suddenly you know how he felt during those first few times together.

You can’t take the silence anymore. “What is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re so quiet.”

“I’m just trying to decide what to do first.”

“Oh. Sorry I can’t be of service.”

He smiles at how awkward you’re being before moving a tiny bit closer and taking a large inhale. Your eyes widen and you move to clamp your legs closed to shut him out, but he’s ready this time. One hand presses down on your pelvis while the other one presses on your hip, effectively pinning you to the bed.

“Calm down. It’s just me,” he whispers before inhaling deeply once. Twice. Three times more. All the while you can’t help but squirm. But he only increases the pressure of his hands with each antsy wiggle of your hips.

As soon as you decide to be still again, he releases your hip to spread you open with two fingers and presses a gentle kiss to your clit. You nearly jump off the bed at the foreign sensation.

“Jungkook, wait, I—” but you don’t manage to get the words out before he kisses you again.

This time his tongue flicks out to collect some of arousal that’s been steadily collecting despite your nerves. As soon as the flavor spreads on his tongue, he freezes. You wonder for a moment if he’s going to pull back and say he’s made a mistake. But then he surges forward again and begins licking broad stripes across you, catching your clit every so often.

He watches you carefully to gauge your reactions to what he’s doing. Taking in your heated face and dewy skin, he deduces he’s going in the right direction. And when he drags the flat of his tongue over your entrance as if to drink from you, your lip automatically gets stuck between your teeth and your eyes flutter shut. It’s a good series of reactions, but he wants more from you. He wants to get you to do that thing where your back curves up off the mattress or get your hands to scrabble at his arms to ground you while you shake under him.

“Oh god. Right there,” you gasp when he wraps his lips around your clit randomly and sucks.

Jungkook nods resolutely before re-wetting his lips and repeating the action. You moan loudly when his tongue brushes against you in the midst of the suction. Your hand finds its way to the back of his head and presses until the lower half of his face is almost entirely flush with you. You remove your hand almost immediately once you realize what you’re doing.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I got carried away.”

He pulls back with a wide grin and shining cheeks. “It’s okay. It’s good to know its going well.”

Your hand falls back down to rest tentatively near his head. You watch the shining brown mop of his hair return to bobbing between your legs and feel another rush of arousal gush forth. Even if you couldn’t feel it, Jungkook’s following groan of pleasant surprise and the wet sounds that follow have your eyes rolling to the ceiling partly out of acute pleasure and partly out of disbelief. Why couldn’t your life always be this nice and worry-free?

Jungkook’s gently circling fingers around your entrance have you snapping back to the present. You wonder if tonight is going to continue being a night of firsts when you remember that Jungkook probably hasn’t done much ‘internal’ work.

“Would it be too much?” Even though he doesn’t specify, you know what he’s asking.

“Just go slow.”

You’re already quickly approaching an orgasm, but hopefully this will get you there quicker. You feel almost sluggish with the fiery heat that’s seemingly been spreading from your core to the rest of your body in time with each pulse of his tongue. But when he inserts the first finger, you feel impossibly warmer.

His jaw drops open as your warm heat envelopes his digit immediately in a wet, vice-like grip. He can only imagine what it would feel like if he could be inside you the way he wanted to be, but even that pale phantom grip in the back of his mind is enough to have him bucking into the mattress. He leans in to press lingering kisses to your lower lips while twisting his wrist in matching time. Soon you’re clutching at his shoulders, gripping his hair, kicking your feet anxiously as your high approaches. You can almost taste it and stars are collecting in the corners of your vision as Jungkook continues to lap at your center messily. As if he can read your mind, he withdraws only to enter again with two fingers this time. It’s just enough thickness to stretch you the way you want, but the angle is off.

“Jungkook.”

“Hmm?”

“Bend your fingers back and press up.”

“Like this,” he asks while making some motion, concentration creasing his brows.

You quickly reach down and re-orient his wrist. With great care, he reproduces the motions at the new angle and delights in the fact that you’re now quaking above him. Broken variations of his name tumble from your lips as the waves of your orgasm take over. Your legs kicks out as they characteristically do and so he positions them to hang more safely over his shoulders, despite the fact that your ankles tickle at his sides. He presses a chaste kiss against the skin of your inner thigh and hopes you don’t notice the way he nuzzles into the skin to wipe his face off a bit.

When you’re limp and your breathing has returned back to normal, he crawls over your legs to lay beside you.

“Was that good?”

You turn to face him and take in his sweaty face and pleased expression. You roll your eyes and shove at his chest, but he just grabs your hand and squeezes it before releasing it.

“It was good. But don’t get a big head, you still have to climb back out the window later.”

“Am I banned from the door?”

“I’m still mad you decided it would be a good idea to climb the fire escape when you’d clearly been drinking.”

“Not a lot, though. I was still able to drive.”

“That’s not something you should advertise,” you laugh.

He shifts a little awkwardly next to you and you realize he might not have gotten the same thing you did from eating you out. He notices where your gaze travels and grins shyly, shoving a spare throw pillow over the tent in his slacks.

“Ah, sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I just wish I wasn’t so tired. Otherwise, I could—”

“Don’t feel like you have to. I was just gonna take care of it myself.”

“Oh. Like, right now?”

“Yeah? If that’s okay.”

“Okay.”

You sit back and watch as he slowly shirks off his dress pants and briefs in one go. His erection springs forward and from the almost angry red flush across the shaft, you figure he must have been pretty uncomfortable. He strokes it absent-mindedly and realizes that he doesn’t have any lube before turning to you.

“You wanna do the honors,” he asks with his palm out. It takes you a while to understand what he’s asking.

“Like, you want me to…?”

“Yeah.”

With all your remaining energy, you attempt to spit into his palm in an attractive manner. You’re not sure if you succeed, because as soon as you’re done he gets to business. The way he moves his hand over his length is rough and fast. Almost as if he’s trying to play catch up; not necessarily with you, but maybe with himself. With whatever thoughts had been plaguing him earlier while you came on his fingers and tongue. His breath leaves him in little punched gasps and the sounds are so pleasing that you lean forward and capture his lips with your own.

You wouldn’t quite call what you’re doing kissing. It’s more like a series of brushes of lips as his erratic hand movements cause him to move in and out of your space. Though he occasionally stops to steal a few kisses, they only seem to egg him on further until he can only touch his forehead to yours while he brings himself over the edge, spilling into his hand.

“Better?” You pull away to grab some wet wipes out of the side table drawer.

“Definitely,” he sighs. “I can put these sheets in the wash before I go, if you want.”

“Oh,” you blink up at him. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I have to get some sleep. I promised Yoori I’d take her to breakfast at Dreamies.”

“Wow. You’re taking her to Dreamies? Are you sure you’re not more serious than you’ve been letting on?”

“It’s not like that,” he laughs stiffly as he tugs on his clothes. “We’re getting food to-go and then going to a butterfly garden.”

“Well, that sounds fun too.”

You can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Dreamies is the diner you and the rest of the group frequent when you’ve all done too much drinking the night before and need good hangover food. It’s also open 24 hours, so sometimes it’s where you all go when you have nothing better to do or when you just want to have a wholesome time. A lot of good memories have been made in Dreamies, but its always been with the whole group. The idea of Jungkook bringing Yoori there for a private date doesn’t exactly sit well with you. Though it’s not like you can say anything because no one ever did establish that Dreamies was a group space exclusively. And even if someone had, who are you to make demands about where Jungkook and Yoori go out on dates?

Jungkook makes good on his promise and puts your sheets in the wash and even makes your bed while you wait for the washer to stop. He leaves when the dryer cycle finishes, pulling you in by the waist and kissing you deeply before strutting out the door with a flourish.

“I come bearing clothes,” you say as soon as Yoori opens the door.

She’d told you over the phone to bring some things to go out in after bugging you about firming up weekend plans. It still isn’t clear where you’re going, so you have brought a variety of outfits to cover the spectrum of possible events. You figured that you would get ready at her place as soon as you found out where you were going. But when she opens the door with makeup already done and her hair already curled, you’re a bit confused.

“Hello! How are you, my lovely?” She envelopes you tightly in a hug before taking the clothes out of your hands.

“I’m great. I got all excited on the way over because I thought we were gonna glam up together here, but it looks like you already did that.”

“I know,” she grimaces. “It’s just that Jungkook asked me if I wanted to go to the arcade out of the blue after we got brunch and I didn’t know what type of atmosphere that might be, so I just got as ready as possible. And then we went on a drive. We didn’t actually interact with any other humans. I could have worn my PJs.”

“That’s Jungkook for you,” you snort dryly. “So, uh, how was that drive?”

“You don’t have to ask me how our date went. I know it’s awkward to talk about dating your best friend. I’ll spare you.”

“Thank you.”

Yoori hands you a glass of your favorite wine, something she’s been keeping regularly stocked in her wine fridge since you became friends. You toe off your shoes before heading into the living room with her.

“Do you want tonight to be a surprise or do you want me to tell you where we’re going?” She reaches out to play with a loose string on the throw blanket adorning the couch, watching you with wide eyes as you drain your glass.

“Tell me. So I can pick out my outfit accordingly.”

“Okay. Just…promise me you won’t knock it before you try it.”

“I wouldn’t do that unless you said we were going somewhere ridiculous.” You tilt your head with a no nonsense stare. “And we wouldn’t do that, right? We’re not doing anything ridiculous?”

All she does is beam at you before pulling her phone out and scrolling through her photo album until she comes to the right image. She hands you the phone silently, lip bitten in anticipation.

“Hell no,” you say as soon as you see the flyer she’s taken a screenshot of. It’s advertising a Lady’s Night at a club with an open dance floor and drinks at a discounted rate. Immediately you hand the phone back and wish for more wine to magically appear in your glass.

“Please? I feel like it would be so fun, and it’s supposed to be a really great place. Pretty please?”

“Why can’t we just stay in and order Thai? I like your place, you don’t have to take me anywhere.”

“You make us sound like an old married couple. Besides, you never spend your weekends anywhere other than with those boys.” When you give her an unamused stare, she backpedals. “Charming as they are. Don’t get me wrong, I love them all. But don’t you think it would be fun to switch things up? Neither of us go out enough. We’re wasting our youth and beauty.”

“Excuse me. You’re dating my best friend, remember?”

“And by ‘we’, I meant not me.”

You roll your eyes and opt into searching for the wine bottle she used to pour your first drink. It catches your eye across the room where it sits at the long cherry dining table. You move to get up, but Yoori clamps down on your wrist with a pleading expression.

“Please?”

“I don’t want to spend the money.”

“I’ll pay for both our cover charges. Please?”

“The drinks will be shitty and I’ll need to be drunk to enjoy it.”

“We can drink here first and call a cab. Please?”

“I didn’t bring any makeup.”

“You left some over here from last time. Pleeease?”

“But the guys there will—“

“I’ll protect you,” you frown, unconvinced. “Please? I’ll even stay sober the whole night so nothing gets by me.”

“Fine. But only for an hour.”

“What? That’s too short, nothing good can happen in an hour. That’s too unrealistic. Two hours.”

“I’ll give you an hour and a half. After that, we’re coming back here and I’m sleeping over. Deal?”

She considers your conditions for a brief second before finally letting you get up. “You have to let me do your makeup and let me put pictures on my Instagram story.”

“Sure, but that will cost you another 15 minutes.”

Your back is turned to her as you fill up your glass, but you can practically see her writhing with indecision. Schooling your features into neutrality, you turn back to face her, and she straightens up.

“Deal.”

It takes much longer than it should have to get ready, but in the end, that’s a good thing because Yoori had originally wanted to show up to the event on time. Though you don’t get out much, even you know that arriving fashionably late means a better chance at getting there when everything is in full swing. Much better than getting there when there are 10 people in the whole club and no one is having any fun yet.

You let her apply your makeup, but you don’t let her pick your outfit much to Yoori’s chagrin. It doesn’t matter though because you’re no less miserable as she drags you into the bathroom to take a series of selfies.

That’s not to say that you hate selfies or that you never take them. You take them when you’re bored, when you’re texting the group chat, when you’re talking to your mom, when you’re home alone and feeling yourself. Next to Yoori, though, you can’t help but feel a little intimidated. Yoori doesn’t know your angles, Yoori doesn’t know your favorite filters and it’s not something you can just ask someone to change. Specific filters and angles are the bread and butter of anyone’s best selfies, and they’re not easily interchanged for someone else’s. As an engineering student, you can appreciate the complex science that is selfie-taking. And as much as you love Yoori, you don’t want to be the eyesore on her Instagram and cost her followers. Part of you hopes she gets drunk so you can take her phone and delete them later.

But she stays true to her word and doesn’t drink any more after leaving the apartment to go to the club. You stay true to your word as well and toss back another drink as soon as you get there, hoping that it will calm your nerves. In all honesty, you know there’s nothing to be nervous about, but you still order a second drink at the bar immediately after so you have something to do with your hands. You look good and you most likely won’t see any of the people at the club ever again, but you still feel out of place.

“You look terrified,” Yoori whispers in your ear. She’s been watching your expression carefully the whole time and has started to regret bugging you about coming.

“I am.”

“If you want, we can just go home now. I didn’t realize you hated going out this much.”

“It’s not that I hate going out,” you shout over the music. “It’s just that I can never let go off what other people might be thinking about me. And if I can’t do that, I can’t have fun.”

Yoori nods in sympathy. Although, she also doesn’t like the feeling of being scrutinized, she knows you’re coming from a different place. You’ve spoken candidly to her a few times about you feel like the two of you make an odd pairing. She remembers the way you spoke about her, all laudatory words, and then how you spoke about yourself. Yoori wants to compliment you the way you do her, but she knows that certain kind words only act as cold comfort for you.

“What can I do?”

You ponder the question for a bit. You figure, if you can manage to fake having the time of your life for 10 minutes, you can trick yourself into actually having fun for the rest of the night. With that thought, you finish your drink in a few large swallows before grabbing Yoori’s hand.

“Do you wanna dance with me?”

Yoori blinks down at you with wide eyes but nods somewhat shyly. You let her guide you into the throng of dancing bodies. As the song washes over you, you do a simple two-step while you decide what type of vibe to go for. Quickly the song grows on you, and you begin to put more energy into your dancing. At the sight of you enthusiastically swiveling your hips to the beat of the song with a smile on your face, Yoori beams.

The night unfolds like that. You manage to throw away your inhibitions in favor of dancing for hours. Yoori takes a couple videos of you when the right song comes on and puts you into a sexy musical trance. You take turns shooing random guys away who thinking they can casually fist pump their way into your sacred space. A few girls much drunker than you wander over to you and you welcome them with open arms and dance with them for a few songs, but they always float away after a while. Not without Yoori inquiring where their friends are and waiting until said friends come to collect them first, though. All in all, it’s more fun than almost all of your game nights combined. The thought makes you guilty for all of .3 seconds before you remember that none of the guys would ever go out dancing unless it was a means to an end of getting laid.

When the clock strikes 1:30—much later than you had originally promised to stay out—you collect your things and let Yoori guide you once more. This time she leads you outside to get a ride back to her place. She lays her pristine white leather jacket on your sweaty shoulders when she sees you shivering from the drastic temperature change that comes with leaving the balmy dance-floor.

“Tonight was so fun,” you drawl on the way over. Your head lolls onto her shoulder and she smooths the stray strands of hair off your forehead.

“It was. I was worried for a minute that you wouldn’t like it.”

“Mmm, me too. Yoori, this was great.”

“You never say my name.” She gets out of the car first before paying the driver and then goes back in to get you, slinging your arm over her slender shoulders.

“I know. Feels weird if I do.”

“I like it.”

“M’kay.”

As soon as the door opens, you race for the bathroom. One of the prices to pay for a good night out is dealing with a wine bladder and a hangover. The peeing, you could handle. The hangover, though, dwells in the back of your mind ominously as you brush your teeth and hastily remove your makeup. You’re pretty sure you haven’t taken all of it off when your face hits the cushion of the couch, but the couch is leather so you don’t care. Yoori, however, does care.

“Oh, no you don’t. Come here,” she grabs at you until she gets a hold and can walk you the remainder of the way to her room.

“I don’t wanna walk.”

“You don’t want to sleep on the couch either.”

“Where we goin’?”

“To bed, silly.”

You nod and let her escort you there. Immediately, you slide your skirt down and scramble to take off your crop top. As you fumble with your sleep shirt, Yoori respectfully turns away to change into her own pajamas, cheeks burning.

The covers feel pleasantly cool under your hands as you wait for her to finish changing. “Which side d’you want?”

“I usually sleep in the middle, actually. But I can sleep on whichever side you don’t pick tonight.”

“I sleep on this side.”

“Okay,” she nods agreeably.

“Tomorrow, do you wanna get Dream—oh wait. You went already. You probably don’t want it a second time. I’ll just go to Starbucks or something on my way back.”

“N-no! I’d love to go tomorrow. I was hoping to try their waffles at some point, anyway.”

“Okay, great. Goodnight, Yoori.”

“Goodnight,” she says quietly after the lights have been turned off.

Emotionally, the following week is fine, but it’s hard on your body. 

Your hangover takes over your whole Sunday, leaving you to slightly behind on work Monday. It creates a spiral of catching up on work that has you staying up further and further past your bedtime and unable to be as social as you’d like. Yoori lets you know via Snapchat that she misses you but that Jungkook has taken your spot at your usual study table. The two of them look adorable in the little puppy ear filter Yoori’s put over the short video. You watch with mixed feelings as Yoori blows a kiss and then remembers that Jungkook is there and ushers him into blowing a kiss as well. It’s not nearly as enthusiastic and stiffer than the one Yoori sent you but it still sends your heart into a fluttering tizzy.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough. But as soon as you wake up that morning, you feel jittery and off. All your warm clothes are in the hamper, none of them salvageable for one last wear. And all your motivation has been zapped after the week of constant working you just had. Classes prove to be no better despite the fact that they give you time to get out of your head. 

The rest of the day is syrupy, leaving you struggling through it even as you try to go with the flow of the sluggishly passing hours. Normally you aim for productivity, but as soon as your final lecture for the day ends, you find yourself unable to pass time with work. You take a walk through campus and even venture all the way over to the theatre department, on the other side of the common grounds. You try to sit on the frosted benches looking out over the man-made pond students often frequent, but your joggers aren’t prepared for the extreme cold and you realize maybe familiarity, instead of novelty, is what will make the time pass by quicker.

You decide to text Taehyung. His schedule is something that you’ve come to passively memorize after weeks of the information casually floating through past conversations.

You: Im bored

BigBoi: Where r u I’ll pick u up

You: @ Seemond’s pond…

BigBoi: ???

Taehyung arrives not ten minutes later, cheeks flushed with exertion from hustling over. He’s also not at all dressed for the weather, but doesn’t look bothered by it either in his university hoodie and thick knitted scarf. His beaten sneakers crunch loudly on the thin layer of white that’s collected since the last snowfall a few days ago.

“Oh my god, Tae, aren’t you freezing?”

Immediately you approach him and pull the hood laying limply along his shoulder blades over his colored hair. The roots have since started growing in and the color has faded enough to give him more of a coppery rose gold look. It’s a color so many Instagram influencers would have shit themselves over last summer trying to perfect at a professional salon, and here Taehyung stands with it after a bleach-happy accident in his dorm’s communal bathroom sink.

“Not really. I was actually nearby looking for a printer in BPD hall.”

“What for?”

“Financial aid forms,” he sighs. You grimace in sympathy before shirking your oversized black mittens.

“At least put these on if you’re not even going to pretend you checked the weather this morning.”

“What about you?” He gestures to the parts of your bare hands that he can see poking out from the sleeves of your own large puffy jacket.

“I’ll be fine. This has fleece-lined pockets. Meanwhile,” bending over, you peer into the front tummy pocket of his hoodie. “You only have a tootsie roll lining.” You dig your fist into the pocket and pull out the scraps of trash he’d been hiding in there with only mild disgust marring your features. “How do you live like that?”

“Dunno, just do. Maybe it’s because people like you can’t help but throw it out before I get the chance to get sick of it and do it myself.”

“Fair enough.”

“What should we do?”

“I don’t know. I’m cold and I don’t wanna do work.”

“How about a movie marathon?”

“Sure.”

* * *

“This isn’t what I thought you meant when you said movie,” you huff as the black opening credit scene dissolves and a French couple in a black and white colorscape whisper to one another in a moonlit alley.

“You said you didn’t care what we watched.”

“That was under the assumption that I would be able to understand it. There’s not even subtitles.”

“You don’t need them.”

“Yes, I do, because I don’t speak French. And neither do you.”

“That doesn’t really matter. You can read their body language and get all you need to from that.”

You try to fix your stare on the couple who is now running from the police with a pair of bloodied knives in their hands and smiles on their faces.

“This isn’t a horror movie, is it?”

“No,” he trails off suspiciously. When you whip your head to the side to glare at him, he cracks. “What? It’s not! It’s a thriller.”

“Anything that could give me nightmares is a horror movie, Taehyung.”

“It’s not even that scary,” he says right at the moment when the couple is seen carving into a police man’s face with the previously shown knives.

The cinematic effects are gross but clearly dated and if you were a reasonable person, you would find it laughable. But instead the dyed corn syrup dripping off the actor’s face just makes your stomach clench and you grab onto Taehyung’s arm out of disgust and anger.

“Why would you put me through this?”

“To get your mind off of Jungkook,” he says matter-of-factly.

Your mouth drops open when you realize partly that he’s right and partly you haven’t had a single moping thought about Jungkook and Yoori in the near hour it took to pick up snacks from the convenience store and walk over to Taehyung’s place from the pond while avoiding ice patches. It’s honestly a brilliant plan, but you hate him for it at the same time.

“You’re a dick.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp punch to the meat of his shoulder and revel in the bashful look he gives you while rubbing at the spot. “But thank you. If you wanted to get my mind off it, you didn’t have to use horror to do it.”

“True, but my options were limited since, one, I don’t have cable, and two, I don’t want to watch reality tv.”

“We could make fun of shitty rom-coms. That’s a good compromise.”

And that is how you end up watching a slightly watered down knock off of Fifty Shades with the TV remote in hand, rewinding, so you can point out where you can see the camera person’s reflection in the female lead’s pendant necklace.

“That’s a huge oversight. I can’t believe these people walk around like they’ve dedicated their lives to a certain level of craft only to do this”

“I mean, the fact that they used Papyrus font in their online movie poster should have clued you in,” you snort.

Both of you watch as the male lead swims up to his co-star where she stands at the foot of the pool he’s in. The grin he flashes her is blindingly white and his teeth resemble pearls in an unattractively artificial way.

“Why do people think veneers like that look good,” you sigh and shift so you can reach over and play with the faded pink strands of Taehyung’s hair. He leans in unconsciously and shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe they think people won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I suppose that’s fair. But with everything being filmed in high definition these days, there’s less wiggle room for that sort of thing.”

Male lead reaches for the slender ankle of his co-star and tugs her into the pool, soaking her dainty white eyelet dress. When she comes up for air, she pouts for a second before swiping at him and missing. She nearly falls face first back into the water but he reaches out with a condescending laugh and catches her with ease despite what physics would predict to be possible. The moment turns serious quickly as the pair stare into each other’s eyes. You don’t understand how she’s supposed to be the homely girl next door when she’s got what you know are the most expensive mink lash extensions on the market and the most symmetrical, albeit oddly familiar, face you’ve ever seen.

“Wow,” Taehyung scoffs as the actor pulls her in for a heated kiss. “They really think that’s what buildup looks like. It’s fifteen minutes in and we still don’t know his name. And didn’t they just meet for the first time the day before this?”

“Keep up, Tae. Don’t you know all women want in life is to get rawed in the pool of the mystery guy who cut them off in the supermarket 24 hours prior?”

“Ah. That must be why my sex life is so grim.”

“Look at that,” you gesture to the couple that is now stumbling out of the pool and into the man’s perfectly lit mansion in a race to get to the bedroom. “That could be you if you had decided to take your dad’s car this year and cut some random girl off in the parking lot of the Price Chopper.”

“Damn. Would I have his mansion too?” You nod gravely.

“Probably.” You finish plaiting the hair of his sideburns and leave him with a little inflexible pink braid poking out from his temple.

“How’s it look?” He gestures to the side of his head with your handiwork on it.

“You look really great. You might not even need to break the rules of parking etiquette to snag a hot date.”

You both return your attention to the TV only to find the movie couple in a fairly compromising position. The lead actress is bent over the arm of a sofa as the camera ‘artistically’ captures the rapid way the actor drills into her from behind. It catches both of you off guard and a nervous laugh bubbles its way out of you.

“This is ridiculous.” Taehyung rolls his eyes and turns to laugh at the display with you.

“Yeah,” you say half-heartedly.

Even though the movie is horribly done and nothing in its execution per se turns you on, it is Friday. And your body has gotten pretty used to your weekend schedule. Which, up until recently, would have meant that at this hour Taehyung and Hoseok would be out somewhere looking for a place to vape while you helped Jungkook out of his pants at his apartment.

But that’s not what’s happening right now because Jungkook is probably on his way in a rental car to pick Yoori up for their third official date. To the movies. Still, that doesn’t stop your body from revving up more than it should after watching such a stupid romance movie. If you close your eyes, you’re sure you could remember with scary accuracy the feel of Jungkook’s hands on you.

“Hey.” At your awkward silence, Taehyung’s voice lowers and he leans in to tease you, “You’re not actually enjoying this, are you?”

“N-no, of course not.”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “Holy crap, you are. You’re into this.”

“No, I’m not! Stop!”

“This is hilarious. I can’t believe you like this.” He stares at the screen with a baffled smile on his face, trying to see what could be so appealing about the affected look of arousal on the male lead’s face as he bites his lip with zero finesse. “Is it him?”

“It’s not him,” you scrabble for an answer, “I-it’s the actress.” At that his eyes widen and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. “I mean, I recognize her from a porno, that’s all.”

“No way,” he says before studying the woman’s face. When the actor pulls tightly on her ponytail and forces a whining moan out of her, his eyes light up with recognition. “Wait, yeah, you’re right.”

“Told you.”

“Hold on. You watch porn?” You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, I watch porn. Sometimes I need some visual stimuli too. And she’s been in a few of them.”

“Hmm,” he says finally, “Never would have thought you’d like her stuff.”

“You say that like you’ve thought about what I’d watch.”

“Well, you’re just so—“

A sharp sound comes from near the front door as Hoseok barges in hurriedly, nearly falling and spilling the grocery bags in his hands. He places them on the small table outside the entrance to the tiny kitchenette.

“Tae, I tried calling you like 5 different times about getting the door. Why didn’t you pick up your...phone,” Hoseok trails off as he takes in the fact that you’re in Taehyung’s apartment, very early to the Friday game night, seated very close to Taehyung with a flaming cheeks on the couch while what looks like soft-core porn plays in the background.

“My phone must have died from the cold. Bro, I’m really sor—“

“What the hell are you two doing,” he sneers.

“We were just watching a movie,” you pipe in when you sense a weird shift in the mood.

Obviously, you’re closer to Jungkook than you are to Taehyung or Hoseok, but you really don’t understand the strange energy in the room. Hoseok looks angrier than he should about Taehyung not helping him with carrying some snacks and Taehyung looks overly imploring. Perhaps this is just how they are when they’re annoyed, but it still strikes you as odd even from a slightly distant perspective. When no one says anything you get up slowly, like you would around wild animals in a territory death match, and move towards Hoseok to help him with the food.

“Here, I’ll help you put these away,” you say quietly with a soft hand on his back to get him to break his cold glare. “Don’t be mad at Tae, he didn’t do anything.”

The glare is only slightly softened as he turns to you, jaw clenched. “Well, what about you?”

“What are you talking about?”

The genuine confusion on your face seems to dissolve whatever’s left of the sudden rage that filled him, and he breaks down and lets you take the bags he’s still holding from him. While your back is turned, Hoseok looks suspiciously over at Taehyung, who is still staring back with large, nervous eyes.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly when you finish unpacking the first bag of chips and come over to him to take the next one.

“Whatever,” you huff good-naturedly. “As long as you leave me out of your little lovers’ quarrel, I’m fine. Go make up, I’ll finish with these.”

You watch Hoseok amble over to Taehyung and begin whispering frantically before they finally come to some sort of agreement and hug it out.

When you come back to the couch, Hoseok has taken your spot next to Taehyung and has man-spread all over the rest of the free space. Even the back of the couch is claimed by his outstretched arms. Both of them stop their whispered conversation and turn to see why you’re hovering.

“What’s up,” Hoseok inquires suspiciously.

“Are we gonna do anything tonight? I could be in bed right now, but instead I’m here.”

“We have to pick the game first. My vote is for poker.”

“No poker. You still owe me like 80 bucks from last time you thought you could bluff,” Taehyung crosses his arms in a huff.

“That’s in the past, I’m a new man now. This Hoseok doesn’t owe you anything.”

“You’re an ass.” Taehyung springs to the side and quickly locks Hoseok in a sloppy headlock.

You watch them struggle on the couch in mild interest until Taehyung loses his footing and Hoseok’s wiggling underneath him pitches them both onto the floor. Someone’s head hits the coffee table on the way down, and you wince in sympathy, but they carry on like nothing happened.

The idea of letting them tire themselves out seems appealing at first but when Hoseok sinks his teeth into Taehyung’s hoodie-clad bicep and draws out a yelp, you intervene as neutrally as possible.

“Why don’t we just start with Gin Rummy?”

“Okay.” Hoseok drops Taehyung’s arm from his mouth, suddenly content.

You give him a wide berth and wait until after he goes into the kitchen to hunt for a deck of cards to offer Taehyung a helping hand up off the ground. He doesn’t make eye contact with you as you make your way over to the table, so you can’t silently grill him.

“How many is it? 5 per person,” Hoseok asks while shuffling the cards.

Small Styrofoam bowls are neatly laid out across the center of the table, each one filled with the chips from earlier. You perch in the chair next to Hoseok so you’re close to the Cheetos.

“It’s 7, I think.”

“Cool,” is all he says before handing you your cards.

You go around the table for a few rounds, placing cards down that you don’t need, picking up cards that you do and the occasional chip. Halfway through the first round, Taehyung gets up to turn off the fluorescents and turn on the fairy lights Hoseok won’t stop teasing him for having. You sync your phone up to his speaker and play music in the background and revel in the fact that you’re getting back into the swing of having fun with them. Without Jungkook.

“You still got beer, right?” Hoseok doesn’t look up from his cards since he’s very close to winning the round and he needs only 1 more card.

“Yeah,” you say, slapping down another card. “We picked some up at the convenience store. I’ll go get a pack for the table.”

“Thanks. I think I’m gonna call out for food too. What do you guys want?”

“I want pancakes,” Taehyung smiles brightly at the prospect of something other than the sad deli meats in his fridge.

Opening the door to his fridge leaves you confused. “You have stuff for pancakes.”

“Yeah, but I have to cook it,” he pouts at you through the window in the kitchen wall.

“It’s your turn,” Hosoek informs you.

You load up with supplies for making pancakes and head over to the table to distribute the ingredients amongst yourselves. Taehyung cracks eggs when it’s not his turn, Hoseok levels out the dry ingredients. You’re pouring milk into a bowl when one of your favorite songs from high school starts blaring through the speakers.

“Oh shit! Do you guys remember when this came out?”

“They played it at my homecoming dance,” Hoseok grimaces at the memory while you gyrate and mix the ingredients in a large bowl. “And then they played it on the radio for, like, 3 months straight afterwards. It was fucking annoying.”

“Yeah, but it’s been so long now. It’s good again. Come on, get up.” You pass Taehyung the bowl and creep towards Hoseok.

“What are you doing?” He smiles up at you like you’re crazy. You lace your fingers together and pull him out of his chair.

“What does it look like? I’m making you dance with me.”

“But you can’t dance, though.”

“Don’t ruin the fun,” you whine.

At first he doesn’t dance with you. He just continues to stand and lets you mouth the words at him and occasionally wave your hands in his face or pinch his cheeks when the lyrics get good. He even lets you bump hips with him and pretend to grind on him from behind.

Despite himself, your good mood is infectious and when you scamper back in front of him for the chorus, he surprises you by taking you into waltz position. It doesn’t fit the song, but it’s funny because you end up doing a bouncy-looking two step that resembles a sped-up prom dance. Taehyung hoots supportively from where he stands in the kitchen, melting butter on the stove.

Hoseok bends you over into a theatrical dip, causing you to let out a shrieking laugh and clutch at him so he doesn’t drop you. The song ends, but he jokingly holds the pose until your thighs are burning and you’re yelling for him to pull you back up. The front door clicks open while you bicker lightly.

“Look who decided to show up,” Hoseok drawls and finally brings you back up slowly, so you don’t get a head rush.

You blink away the stars that were starting to form in the corners of your eyes and realize Jungkook is, in fact, back from his date. At 9:43, no less. With Yoori in tow.

In your opinion, it’s much too early for someone to be back from date night with the long-time love of their life, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. Instead you fiddle with the hem of your sweater nervously. Something about Yoori and Jungkook being present in the same room makes you a bit anxious. Perhaps its because it makes your policy about stopping your weekly rendezvous until things get physically serious between the two of them seem very flimsy.

Yoori and Jungkook are both clearly tipsy. You can tell from the way Jungkook hangs himself off her petite frame like he’s looking for support. You roll your eyes and go over to wrestle him from her and waddle him over to the dining room table where he can sit.

“How was your date,” you turn to Yoori who is hovering behind you with sleepy eyes.

“It was alright. The movie was a little boring,” she stage-whispers into your ear. “Don’t tell Kook.”

“You didn’t like the movie?” His head lolls back so he can look up at Yoori with doe eyes. Disappointment makes them look extra round and shiny.

She raises her brows guiltily. “I thought the new superhero movie would have been more your speed. I didn’t mind the idea of seeing it. I like action films.”

“Oh.”

You scamper out of the dining area as fast as you can to join Hoseok and Taehyung in the kitchen. The awkward couple moment they’re having isn’t something you think you should be privy to anyway.

Taehyung chuckles at the mortified expression on your face while Hoseok’s considers you stoically.

“Are they being too mushy in there?”

“No, not really.” You sigh. “It’s just weird realizing that I’ve never really been around them when they’re together. I don’t like the idea that I can’t get a read on the situation when they’re both good friends, you know?”

Hoseok snorts dryly. “Well, you know what they say. Dating changes people.”

“Yeah, but this is Kook we’re talking about,” Taehyung murmurs while stirring the hidden flour patches at the bottom of the bowl back into the batter. “Do you really think he’s changed that much?”

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you’ve changed,” Hoseok suggests.

And maybe you have. Not in the normal way, where you outgrow people. But maybe something about you has changed since you started being intimate with Jungkook in such a way where you can’t be just his gaming buddy or his companionable silence partner. Gone are the days where you could push down your infatuation long enough to sit pressed close to each other on the couch when the Iron Man movie series is marathoning on TV. You’re not sure if that’s made things easier or harder on you. Perhaps its been a little bit of both.

“What are you guys up to?”

Jungkook has managed to amble over to the kitchen while staying upright thanks to Yoori’s guiding hands. Now he’s peering into the entrance of the kitchen after the way you, Taehyung, and Hoseok whispering to one another piqued his interest. Yoori lays on the sofa, recovering from too many glasses of complimentary movie chardonnay.

You keep your head down and pretend watching Taehyung ladle batter onto the griddle is fascinating enough not to reply. Thoughts of whether or not something crucial has shifted occupy your mind too much for you to speak.

“Just playing cards and making pancakes,” Taehyung shouts over the crackling sound of the first pancake hitting the hot skillet.

“The usual,” Hoseok jokes before pitching his voice into a slyer register. “How was the date?”

“It was fine,” Jungkook answers shyly, eyes glued to your silent form. The button down he’s wearing suddenly feels too tight and he undoes the top button to give himself some air. “How was your night?”

“Here, I’ll take over,” you mumble.

You take the spatula from Taehyung’s hand and motion for the guys to leave  the kitchen while you flip the pancakes. It’ll give you something to do, and Taehyung’s thoughtful enough to go without asking questions. They don’t move far and instead Hosoek and Taehyung crowd Jungkook just outside the kitchen doorframe. Hopefully none of them notice how you turn the heat down so you can listen better. A masochistic part of you is curious to know how the date went even if you’re not sure if you can face him without combusting.

“Come on, tell us what happened. It’s just us guys,” Hoseok hisses before remembering that you’re you and you’re probably listening. Suddenly he feels like a douche. “We’re all friends,” he corrects himself. Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be aware of your eavesdropping and complies.

“I…what do you wanna know?”

“Where’d you go?”

“To the movies. To see Cloud Break.”

Taehyung whistles lowly. “That’s supposed to be the number one date movie of the year.”

“It was very romantic,” Jungkook cracks a small, shy smile. “But I don’t think she really liked it.”

“Stil. Sounds like our boy is a real Casanova, huh?” Hoseok pats him roughly on the back with a wide grin. “The movies, though. Did you make it to third base?”

“Jeez, don’t sound so excited when you ask that,” Taehyung says with a cringe.

“What? I just wanna know if he’s any closer to swiping that V card. So,” Hoseok turns to stare, “Did you?”

“We’re taking it slow,” is all Jungkook says, eyes shifting behind the guys, towards you.

“Pancakes are ready,” you call from the kitchen. You figure it’s safe for you go back out, so you load a plate up with a tall stack and turn the stove off. Yoori’s head pops up at the sound of fresh food and hops up to come join you.

After you put the plate down, you wait until everyone is seated. Oddly enough, Jungkook and Yoori both sit on either side of the head of the table, leaving you to sit in between them.

“Thanks for cooking,” Jungkook mutters as soon as you sit down.

“No need to thank me. I’m just doing my part to have a fun Friday,” you answer awkwardly.

“These look better than the ones at Dreamies,” Yoori beams over at you. She cuts her pancakes happily before shoving a large, syrup-laden bite in her mouth. She gives you a cute thumbs up that breaks your serious mood for a moment.

You give her a warm squeeze on the shoulder. “Thanks for the high praise.”

“So, uh, what else have you guys been doing,” Jungkook inquires politely.

“Well,” Hoseok mentions nonchalantly through a full mouth, gesturing towards you. “I caught these two watching porn earlier when I came in with groceries. And this one couldn’t keep her hands off me after that.”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s cheeks start to heat as he looks between you and Hoseok and then you and Taehyung.

You almost choke on your own food as Hoseok’s words register. “That is so inaccurate. How are you so comfortable lying like that?”

“Is it not the truth? Kook, you even saw her when you came in. Seems like she’s a real minx when she gets going. Who knew all it took was Fifty Shades.”

Taehyung tries to come to your rescue. “We weren’t even watching Fifty Shades—”

“So, it was actual porn,” Hoseok’s eyes narrow at him suspiciously.

“Oh my god,” you raise your hands in surrender and then push your plate back. “I can’t do this. I’m freezing and you’re annoying. Tae, I’m stealing some clothes. Yoori, you look cold. I’ll bring you something too.” You storm out of the dining room and make a beeline for Taehyung’s room. 

While you were used to Hoseok’s ribbing, today you were extra sensitive to it and you needed some air. But you are actually cold, so you do spend a few minutes rummaging through Taehyung’s immaculate wardrobe until you find a sweater that has you smiling widely at the memories it evokes.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” you remark with arms out to showcase the sweater when you come back. The four of them all turn to see the sweater you’re wearing.

It’s a run-of-the-mill sweater until you look at the picture that’s been screen-printed onto the front. It’s a picture of you and Taehyung in your freshman year that was taken minutes after the annual Mud Run. It had been a split-second decision the two of you made after a terrible set of midterms, but the smiles on both of your slightly rounder and muddied faces don’t indicate any inkling of regret. You give Yoori the only cashmere you could find that wasn’t on the floor.

“Of course he still has it,” Hoseok smiles proudly, “I put my blood, sweat, and tears into making it. And I was there to take the fricking picture at the end of the race at 9 am on a Saturday. Do you not still have yours?”

“Sadly no. I lost mine when I moved into the sophomore dorms.”

“I wish I had been there to watch the race. I should have stayed on campus,” Jungkook chimes in, cheeks full of pancake.

“Yeah,” Hoseok counters, “But if you had stayed, you wouldn’t have ever gotten Yoori’s number in the first place. So, it all worked out in the end, right?”

Suddenly, you’re not hungry and the lively mood that the night started with has disappeared. Taehyung must sense the subtle downward shift in your shoulders and runs to get the bottle of wine Hoseok bought for you that’s been chilling in the fridge.

“Why don’t we play another game,” he suggests once he’s back at the table and filling your glass.

Yoori perks up. “That’s a great idea! Let’s play something old-school. Do you have any board games?”

“I don’t think either of us has played a board game since before 2010. Much less owned one,” Jungkook winces.

“Really? Well, it doesn’t have to be a board game. Why don’t we do another old-fashioned one. Like Charades.”

Hoseok places his head in his hands elegantly, face the picture of innocence. But you know better.

“Yoori, how do you feel about Truth or Dare?” You squeeze your eyes shut and hope she says she’s never heard of it. Or that she hates it.

“I love Truth or Dare! Let’s play once everyone’s done eating.”

You curse under your breath, but return her excited smile when she turns to you and fills your cup once more. As a safety precaution, you finish the single pancake you’d served yourself earlier before taking another sip. Its not that you’re hungry, but you’d rather not be drinking on a completely empty stomach.

When everyone has had their fill of food, new bottles of booze get taken with you to the living room. There, you all rearrange the couch and the various upholstered chairs that Taehyung has collected until everyone is seated comfortably. Taehyung sits down last because he was in his room searching for his trusted 20 sided die.

“Okay, who’s who?”

“I call 3’s,” Hoseok calls with a hand raised straight in the air.

“No way,” you huff, “You’ll have way too many chances to be It. Pick multiples of at least four or I’m banning you from playing.”

“You can’t ban me from playing. Tae, can she ban me from playing?”

“I’m gonna go ahead and say yeah,” Taehyung says casually. You smile at Hosoek smugly.

“Fine. I pick 5’s.”

“I’ll take 3’s,” Yoori says once she understands the rules you all are operating under. No one goes to argue against her.

“I call even primes,” you say. You’re really not interested in playing this game.

Hoseok rolls his eyes at you. “Why even play if you’re gonna be like that?”

“You’re both wrong,” Taehyun grins. “Odd primes is where it’s at.”

“I guess I’ll take leftovers,” Jungkook sighs. He’s equally unenthused to be playing, but mainly because every previous time he’s played the game, Taehyung has dared him to smack Hoseok’s ass as hard as possible. It never ends well. “What is that? 3, 4, 5, 8 and what else?”

“14 through 16,” you supply automatically.

“Wow,” Yoori coos and latches onto your arm. “You’re so smart.”

“Alright! If everyone has a number, let’s play,” Hoseok shouts.

In the first few rolls, Taehyung and Yoori get the majority of the turns. Yoori is kind and sticks with truths for the most part, forcing Taehyung to bring up the strawberry shaped birthmark on his ass and Jungkook to talk about how he still doesn’t know how to ride a bike. Things pick up a bit when Hoseok manages a roll and Taehyung makes the mistake of choosing Dare. In response, Hoseok tells Taehyung to pull down his pants and show everyone the birthmark. You and Yoori exchange wide glances and giggle quietly as Taehyung downs the rest of his drink for some liquid courage.

“Taehyung,” Yoori giggles behind your hand as you attempt to cover her eyes. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” he grumbles before turning to face away from the group. He tugs his pants and boxers down a few inches before the pert curve of his butt. There, just south of the equator on the globe of his ass lies a very strawberry-shaped birthmark.

Immediately, Yoori chokes on her drink trying, and failing, to stifle her laughter at the pure ridiculousness of the mark. Meanwhile, you aren’t doing much better.

You pull your lip between your teeth as you hold back the cackle you desperately wish to let out. Instead, you opt for reaching out and pinching at the nearest cheek. The way he jumps slightly out of your reach while cupping his junk and glaring weakly at you sends you over the edge.

“Not bad,” Yoori snorts out between giggles.

“Yeah, wait a minute.” You gasp. “You have a cute little ass, Tae. I thought you said you didn’t have time for the gym.”

Taehyung’s face flushes, but he still smiles a self-depricating smile as he pulls up his pants finally. “I don’t. This baby is 100% homegrown.”

“I see. Must be all the tater tots,” you say with tears nearly rolling down your cheeks.

“And all the La-Z boy sitting.”

“Nice.”

Jungkook huffs audibly. He crosses his arms as he watches the game unfold, suddenly infinitely less interested in playing than he was a few minutes ago. “This is stupid.”

“Are you not having fun?”

He turns to Yoori quickly while remembering that he’s seated next to her. His own cheeks color with a bit of shame that he’d been caught being petulant.

“It’s not that. I mean…I just thought this would be a bit more mature.”

Yoori cocks her head to the side to appraise him and takes a sip of wine. “Is Truth or Dare known for its sophisticated gameplay?” A reserved and unreadable smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Not really,” he stammers. “I just figured you wouldn’t be interested in immature stuff like this.”

“Hmm. I’m actually having quite a lot of fun. Don’t worry about me and loosen up.”

Jungkook swallows roughly and mentally chides himself for being weird. Even he’s not sure where the pouting spell came from. Regardless, he smothers down the party pooper vibes and tries to enjoy the game as best he can.

Taehyung rolls a 10 and pouts at not be able to get back at Yoori. After all the laughter and the handful of swipes she’d made at his birthmark, he’s eager to pay her back somehow. But all he can do is turn to Hoseok with a bored expression.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare. Do you worst!” Hoseok sits excitedly at the edge of his seat while waiting for Taehyung to come up with a juicy truth or dare.

“Uh, I don’t know, bro. I dare you to do, like, 30 pushups or something.”

“That’s such a shitty dare.”

“I couldn’t think of anything. I was hoping Yoori would roll so I could give her a taste of her own medicine,” he says while locking eyes with Yoori. The two engage in a semi-serious staring competition for a while before they break into laughter.

“This is bullshit,” Hoseok mumbles as he rises from his chair and gets into position to do the pushups.

The room is quiet while everyone waits for him to finish. Sound of his exertion floats over from his section of the circle and you swipe through your twitter feed in the meantime. But you become so engrossed in a recipe for spinach dip that you don’t realize Hoseok has rolled a 2 and is calling out to you.

“What,” you say, distracted by the amount of leafy greens going into the dip.

“Put your phone away,” Hoseok whines, “It’s game night rules.”

You don’t look up from your screen. “Doesn’t count when we’re not playing video games.”

“You suck.”

“So do you.”

“Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” you say on autopilot before realizing the mistake you’ve made.

You let your phone clatter to the ground and prepare to take back what you said, but you can see that its too late from the smirk Hoseok is wearing. It’s the worst kind, too. The smarmy one that lets you know he’s thinking about doing something greasy. You’re willing to bet all the money left in your student account balance that he’s going to dare you to show him your boobs.

“Dare you to kiss Yoori,” he says smugly, like he’s got you cornered.

You’re only slightly surprised and let out a breath of relief. The idea that he might dare you to shed your layers to sit in Taehyung’s freezing living room in just your bra and bottoms was really worrying you.

“Really, Hoseok? What are we, 13?”

Taehyung chimes in with concern. “Yeah. They might not be comfortable with that.”

“I’m fine with it,” Yoori perks up slightly in her seat.

“Okay,” Taehyung hesitates, “But Jungkook—”

“Might not approve of it? Why don’t we ask him,” she supplies before turning to Jungkook. “Kook, what do you think?”

“Well, I—”

“Why the hell would he care,” Hoseok cuts him off. “Dude, you don’t care, right? It’s harmless and its 2018.”

“Y-yeah, I guess.” He pushes his glasses up with his ring finger, a nervous tick you’re familiar with. Your first instinct is to go over and see what’s wrong, but you quell the urge. 

“Holy shit,” Hoseok mumbles to himself when he realizes this is really happening. You get up to join Yoori in the love seat she’s occupying. Before you can change your minds he speaks up. “No pecks. It has to be real.”

“Figured as much,” you roll your eyes and gesture for Yoori to scooch closer to you. She sends you a smile that’s hidden from the others by the shiny curtain of her hair. You mirror it back automatically.

“For 60 seconds,” Hoseok shouts. Yoori’s eyes widen at the time condition but she doesn’t say anything.

“That’s too much.”

“30 seconds, but you have to use tongue.”

“Hoseok!” You and Taehyung yell simultaneously.

“Fine,” he says before thinking for a beat. “45 seconds but no lame stuff. Final offer.”

You check in with Yoori to see if she objects, but she merely rests her cheek on your shoulder and gives you a thumbs up.

“Deal, you damn pervert.”

Hoseok scrambles to get his phone timer launched while you and Yoori arrange yourselves accordingly once and then a second time when Hoseok says he can’t see. You whisper an apology on his behalf, but Yoori waves it off and pulls you in with a gentle hand resting at the base of your neck. You can’t help but notice that even from a few inches away, her skin is flawless. Its almost unfair.

“Alright. Start.”

Yoori swoops in and immediately parts your lips with her own. They’re soft and taste like the moscato she’s been drinking, and it’s honestly a very tantalizing sensory experience. You let her take over, let her press you closer until her nose brushes your cheek and she sucks your lip into her mouth. It takes you by surprise and when you gasp softly, she teases the border of your lips with her tongue ever so lightly. You let out an appreciative hum, surprising yourself. She smiles, nearly breaking the kiss, before nipping at you once. Tentatively, you brush your tongue against hers. She surges forward and works over your mouth until the soft chiming of Hoseok’s alarm alerts you that the dare has been completed.

You pull away first with hot cheeks and a slightly swollen mouth. Yoori looks pleased with herself as she looks over your flustered state. Neither of you see any of the guys’ shocked, wistful expressions. Yoori moves to smooth down the flyaways she created when she pressed you into the seat’s upholstery.

“You kiss just like Jungkook,” she laughs before pulling away slightly. The others murmur in the background as they strain to listen in.

“Wait, what?” Her words are slow to register at first. “You guys have kissed?”

“Yeah. Loads of times,” she snickers, “On the way to the restaurant, in the parking lot of Dreamies, in the back of his car. My apartment. We’ve even—” She takes in the mortified look on your face and grimaces. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like to hear about this stuff. I’ll stop.”

You make mental note of all the occasions she’s mentioned. One of which was their first date. But just yesterday Jungkook had told you that they hadn’t even started holding hands as a couple. And while he hadn’t made a comment about anything else, the implication behind the statement was that they definitely hadn’t done anything more than that. Something about his more daring behavior struck you as unusual. But if he’d been getting other practice elsewhere, it wouldn’t be odd at all.

He had lied to you. And you wonder what else he’d been lying about.

When you turn around to face Jungkook, he looks pale and scared. You’ve only ever seen him look like that a handful of times and it was when he was in deep shit and it was his own fault. During those times, you’d somehow managed to show him why he was wrong while also making him feel supported. This time, though, there was no way you could do that. Not without throwing away what little dignity you have left from getting into this heinous arrangement in the first place.

Taehyung, Yoori, and Hoseok look on silently as you and Jungkook exchange the long look. Jungkook’s chest rises and falls rapidly as adrenaline runs through his system. When you stand up, he stands up at the same time, a hand instinctively reaching out.

You ignore him in favor of grabbing your things without a word and pulling up the bus schedule app on your phone. You’re not going to force yourself to wait around for an uber to pick you up, but you’re also not going to subject yourself to further torture by walking home in the middle of winter. Once you see that the next bus is coming in 20 minutes, you put on your jacket.

“I’m heading out. I’ll see you guys around.” You wince as your voice cracks a little bit, but don’t bother lingering to see if people noticed. You hurry out with the hopes that you can find a place to hide and wait for the bus before Jungkook can follow you out. He calls your name, softly at first, but you don’t acknowledge him.

But you don’t get any further than a few meters away down Taehyung’s hallway before Jungkook’s catching up after having sprinted out after you.

“Jungkook, stop,” is all you can trust yourself to say as you stare at your shoes.

“I can explain.”

“Fine.” You look up at him, gaze sharp. “Explain.”

He seems taken aback like he didn’t think you’d let him speak. His demeanor turns sheepish. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. It just...happened.”

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe that? You made a choice, Jungkook. It didn’t just happen. I want to know why you chose to lie.”

“I just…wasn’t ready for the weekends to stop.”

“Look, I get it. You got used to getting your rocks off. But we had a deal. It shouldn’t have mattered that you didn’t want it to end. As soon as you and Yoori got physical, we were supposed to go back to normal.”

“That’s not why I decided to lie,” he hisses.

“Then why did you?”

“Because!”

“Because?” You scoff. “That’s not an answer.”

“Because I,” he stammers, not sure of what to  to say. “I didn’t feel comfortable detailing mine and Yoori’s intimacy to you.”

“You didn’t feel comfortable?” Your voice is carefully low, but raises as you continue. “You didn’t feel comfortable telling me, the girl who has been your best friend since we were kids, about you and your new girlfriend? The girl who you had spit into your palm yesterday so you could jerk off in her bed yesterday? You didn’t feel fucking uncomfortable then, Jungkook!”

“Well, you’re always talking about my comfort. Shouldn’t it matter when I’m uncomfortable? Even if its at a weird time?”

“Fine. Let’s say you were uncomfortable. You still should have told me.”

“Why is it your business?”

Your jaw drops open. “Maybe because yours and Yoori’s relationship is the reason this whole thing started? And maybe because if you’re going to be running between the two of us and swapping bodily fluids, I should know? For my own fucking health?”

He stammers when he realizes that reason never came to mind once. Its a losing argument, he knows. As a last ditch effort, he turns things around.

“Is that the only reason why you’re mad? Because you think I would have given you an STD?”

“Are you serious,” your voice cracks again as tears take hold of you. “You think that’s all I care about?”

“You haven’t made any other points,” Jungkook sniffs like he’s indifferent to your shimmering eyes. “What else am I supposed to think? Is there something else?”

“I can’t believe someone so smart can be so stupid. You really don’t get it? I can’t keep sneaking around with you like this because you’re dating a girl who’s my friend now. But even if she weren’t, I can’t keep doing this because I have feelings—”

The front door opens and Hoseok slides through and closes it softly. He takes in your bowed shoulders, watery eyes, and shaking hands before pinning Jungkook with a glare that’s so potent he steps back a bit.

“You okay,” he nods his chin at you subtly.

“Y-yeah, Hobi. I’m fine. Me and Kook were just talking.”

“Just talking, huh?”

“Hoseok,” Jungkook grits through clenched teeth, anxious for you to continue what you were about to say. “Go back inside. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, I think it does. I mean, she’s my friend and you’ve been screwing her over figuratively and literally for the past month now, haven’t you?”

Your eyes widen and tears of embarrassment slip over your waterline. “You knew?”

“Of fucking course, I knew. You were walking around like you were suddenly getting laid and Kook was showing up to TA sessions with hickies on his neck the week after we made a joke about you taking his V card off his hands. All at the same time that you magically have to start staying over after game night at his place for tutoring,” he spits the word out. “You’re the smartest girl I know. There’s no way you actually have that much to learn from Kook of all people.”

“Oh, come on,” Jungkook drawls and steps in between you and Hosoek. “Don’t pretend to care about her now.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re always picking fights with her. You don’t care what’s going here, you’re just trying to feed the flames.”

“Kook, stop,” you rasp from behind him, but he ignores you and shoves a hand into the center of Hoseok’s chest.

“Say more,” Hoseok smiles darkly, egging him on. The two of them stand inches apart, each one poised to attack the other at a moment’s notice.

“You’ve been itching to see things fall apart for me because you can’t handle being the oldest and the least accomplished in the group.” You try not to gasp but it’s hard because you’ve never heard him say something so nasty to anyone, let alone to someone you would both call a friend. “You’re just mad that your…your indifferent stoner, beta cool guy act hasn’t paid off and you’re still alone with your hand on the weekends. I can tell when someone wants what I have. You’re like every other stupid bully from high school, but with none of the popularity.”

Your mouth drops open, but you can’t find any words to stop the situation from escalating any further. Jungkook smirks at his silence. But Hoseok merely raises a casual eyebrow before turning to look down at you from over Jungkook’s shoulder.

“If you wanted sex that badly, you could have just come to me, you know. Offer still stands now, too.”

Before you can counter anything either of them has said, Jungkook’s fist collides with Hoseok’s jaw. The sound resonates in the empty hallway with a loud crunching sound followed by Hoseok tumbling to the floor and Jungkook yowling in pain at his damaged knuckles. Jungkook automatically turns to you, grimacing and cradling his hand, but you swerve past him to check on Hoseok.

He’s still very much conscious, but the blow took him by surprise and he lost his balance. There’s a little bit of blood when Jungkook’s fist split the skin on the side of Hoseok’s jawline and you can tell already that there will be swelling and bruising. But he should be fine and he doesn’t show any of the signs of concussion that you remember reading about a while ago.

You pull him up by the hand and sling his arm over your shoulder when he stumbles once upright. Together you hobble back into the apartment. Taehyung and Yoori are sitting stiffly at the dining room table when you come in and both rush forward to help you. Jungkook shuffles in after, at a loss for what’s going on.

Wrapping a bag of frozen vegetables from Taehyung’s freezer in a dish towel, you tend to Hoseok’s minor wounds. Taehyung looks tired and frantic as he looks at his friend in pain.

“I don’t get it. What happened out there?”

You hang your head in shame and to avoid both Taehyung and Hoseok’s watchful gazes. Thankfully Hoseok doesn’t say anything, but you’re so embarrassed and disoriented that nothing satisfying comes out.

“They were fighting. And Jungkook punched him.”

“But why would he do that? Hoseok, did you say something?”

“Don’t blame Hobi, he was trying to help me,” you whisper so Yoori can’t hear. You’re not sure you can handle breaking the news to everyone just yet. “Tae, I haven’t been honest with you a while now. Things have been going on between me and Kook and it hasn’t been right. All I can say is that I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t fix anything, but its been eating me up.” 

Jungkook watches as Yoori stands off to the side, looking lost and a little out of place as she tries to parse out where the boundaries for her are. She looks between you and him with uncertainty in her eyes before she finally comes over to check in with him first. He waves her off and watches her naturally gravitate towards you.

When Yoori comes asking you what’s happened with worry in her eyes, you look back at Jungkook for a moment before bawling your eyes out in the middle of the kitchen. Yoori envelopes you in a hug immediately, and you let her comfort you despite the fact that you’ve been secretly highjacking her relationship. Sobs wrack your body for a moment before your phone chimes to let you know your bus is coming soon.

You whisper in her ear that you’re sorry and you’ll explain when it’s the right time. You squeeze her soft hands to your cheek and stutter out that you don’t deserve a friend like her, but that you hope you can remedy that sooner rather than later. With that, you whisper a goodbye and head out, giving Jungkook a wide berth.

He turns around just in time for him to catch one last glimpse of you before the door swings shut behind you.

[whereisthecd]

Magnolia Riders: SuperM/Saddle Club AU ✨

CHAPTER TWO

Meet the Magnolia Riders, a high caliber Equestrian Club showcasing some of the best, albeit chaotic, talent in the region. As the winter rest is coming to a close, the high intensity training at Sunset Magnolia Equestrian Center resumes in preparation for the first hunter jumper show of the season. While the team of hardworking goofballs is hoping to get their first group win of the season, their competition seems to be internal with the It Rider™️ on their team creating one storm after another. And then there’s the new guy with a not-so-superstar horse, or so it seems. How will the Magnolia Riders do this season? Will the barn aisle drama subside enough for a win? What’s with this new guy and will he find his way as a Magnolia?

Chapter One

Chapter Two: Sugar and Spice

Mark pulled up to the gravel driveway of the Wong residence. Their house was small yet charming, two apple trees perched at the end of the driveway next to the family Mustang that Mark and Ten drove. Mark gave the routine honk which signaled Lucas to run out of the house, two grocery bags in hand. As he opened the door he tossed both bags in carelessly, letting them hit the opposing window.

“Hey thanks man! Dad and I still haven’t figured out what’s wrong with the truck. I love the classic look of an old Ford but man are they a pain to fix,” he said before patting the shoulders of Mark and Ten in the front seats. 

“No problem, dude,” Ten answered before taking a sip of his iced coffee. It wasn’t normal for the guys to be out before 9am on a Saturday, but today was the annual Magnolia Riders Bake Sale, and with high goals set for the season, they had no choice but to wake up early.

“Do y’all think we’ll make anything this year?” Lucas asked eagerly. His seatbelt was fastened, but being in the middle allowed for his giant frame to hang over the center console, arms still on the backs of the two front seats. Ten and Mark both looked at each other, unsure how to answer that question. 

“Well, I don’t know. I mean we barely made enough money last year to cover show registration fees. And we need new jackets. I just don’t want Taemin to have to pull to other funding sources, you know? Sunset Magnolia is a high caliber farm and I just want us to be able to prove that we can represent that,” Mark added, his voice soft. He didn’t look at either of them, attentive to the road. Ten, on the other hand, casually leaned back and looked at Lucas.

“Yeah, the short answer to that is if we don’t sell enough cookies our pride is fucked again this year, so I hope those scones you brought are worth every penny,” he sassed before taking another sip of his coffee. Lucas gasped before releasing a deep chuckle, his cheeks leaving their beautiful brown tone for a softer pink blush.

“Well they’re store-bought and masked in my mom’s tupperware, so I hope so too!” Lucas yelled before falling back into his seat. The boys all let out cracks of laughter, drowning out the music Mark had blasting from the radio. A few minutes past. The boys listened to the K-pop that Ten had selected for the remainder of the drive. For a moment it felt like last season, just the three of them against the world, and Baekhyun of course. It was by no means the best season, but it was one they couldn’t forget. This year was supposed to be better, it had to be. Before long, Mark perked up to the group.

“Hey do you think Taeyong will be there? I mean, someone texted him right?” Mark waited for a response. It had been almost a week since Taeyong and Flower moved into the barn. While it wasn’t easy to fit into the group, they all agreed he was better than Baekhyun. With high hopes for this season, they just needed a teammate more than anything. Ten pursed his lips for a few moments before answering.

“Well, as long as he doesn’t get in the way of Taemin and me, I don’t care how many cookies he sells,” Ten settled back into the seat, looking out the window as they slowly approached the shopping center where their mobile bakery would station itself. 

“Jesus, Ten, all you care about is getting in his pants,” Lucas said, half joking and half serious.

“No, it’s much deeper than that! You know that! Come on, do I have to explain this again -”

“No dude, you’re fine, trust me. I’m just kidding. Taeyong is going to be fine, he’s not coming for you. Do you see how soft he is? He named his horse Flower!” Lucas put his hand on Ten’s shoulder.

“Hey, you can’t pipe in with that when my horse is named Annabelle and I am proud of that,” Mark replied, looking at Lucas in the rearview while parking the oldsmobile one-handed in the shopping center.

“Hey hey, there is nothing wrong with being soft. Not at all, I’m just trying to calm our drama king over here,” Lucas knudged Ten before unbuckling his seatbelt. “Besides, the TaeTen Love Story is the least of our worries right now, we just need to sell some shit.”

Ten blushed and silenced any clapback he formed in his head. It wasn’t worth any further embarrassment. The boys got out of the Mustang and collected their faux homemade goods, then headed towards the sitting area of the shopping center. They always had their bake sale here. Kai would usually drop off their table and banner before sunrise, in between the Hal’s WorkWear and Lily Ray’s Smoothie Shop. Between the two, they always hoped they would find a few customers. As they approached the area they expected to find their supplies, usually up against the edge of a raised garden, full of ferns and a few tulips, they found a different sight. 

Taeyong sat at the thin metal table, the Magnolia Riders banner hanging perfectly off the edge. In front of him sat a smorgasbord of baked treats: cookies, cupcakes, tarts, macarons, muffins, and tea cakes. It looked like he had been up for days, buried in a sweatshirt and hair flying in every direction. The site was a surprise for the boys, and the boxes of goods sitting behind Taeyong was an even bigger shock. 

“Holy...what is all this? Did you do this?” Mark asked, walking up to Taeyong, who was now frantically trying to stand up out of his chair. 

“I, I - yeah, I did this. In my spare time I like to bake. I figured the least I could do was help out here. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know earlier. I have Lucas’s number but I didn’t know if it would be weird to reach out or not. I have like, 12 dozen items here. Do you think that’s a good start?” Taeyong spoke quietly, his arm resting on his other shoulder, trying to hide his heart racing under the pink sweatshirt he wore.

“Dude! This is better than okay. This is everything we could ask for!” Lucas yelled as he threw the scones he was carrying in the garbage. “Screw these! Yours are going to make us money!” The rest of the boys giggled and crowded around Taeyong, hoping to see some customers show up soon now that the shopping center was open for business. 

Within the hour, a slow herd of shoppers flowed through the line. Usually a measly three or four donations an hour felt like success, but with Taeyong’s pop-up bakery in the works, it felt like non-stop traffic. Taeyong spent most of his time informing each customer of the buttercreams and fruit fillings he made. Mark spent his time as the Magnolia cashier, doing quick math, while Lucas and Ten schmoozed with their wit into leaving extra donations. It felt like the first time in a while that the Riders were in sync, and thanks to Taeyong, they were making bank. 

As the next couple hours passed, their business slowed into a steady pace, giving the boys enough time to restock the table and chat between customers. The constant flow of donations was welcoming, but everyone was a bit relieved to catch their breaths. Lucas took a few moments to sneak into the smoothie shop and buy everyone drinks, a treat Taeyong was appreciative of. 

“Ah there was no need to do that, thank you,” Taeyong said, hesitantly taking the smoothie from Lucas. His arm grabbed onto Taeyong’s shoulder in a rough yet reassuring way.

“No man, we owe you. You saved our asses today with this bake sale. We usually don’t even make a third of this, seriously,” Lucas urged, keeping his hand on Taeyong for a few more moments. Taeyong stared down at the table, eyeing the metal box stuffed to the hinges with dollar bills, the only thing of value in front of them, aside from the last few cakes, and crumbs of those who were snatched up before. His thin eyebrows furrowed from deep thought. 

“Wait, but…” his voice cracked, “we have nearly 1100 bucks here. And that was with some huge donations. Show registrations alone cost like 40 bucks a person. How do you guys even make it past the spring show every year -” 

“Look we know,” Ten interrupted, not in anger but embarrassment, “there’s a reason things run the way they do around here.” Ten nostrils flared between breaths. Mark and Lucas lightly nodded their heads. There was an unspoken agreement that Taeyong would learn as his time with the Magnolia Riders continued. He stayed looking up at the boys, his eyes widened into a soft begging stare, knowing there was more info he needed. 

“Look,” Lucas said. “Did it strike you as odd that Baekhyun called us all teammates?” He sat down in the metal chair next to Taeyong, slouching deep into the seat in an attempt to avoid the frustration of the topic at hand. 

“Oh, yeah? That annoying blonde guy. He’s on our team? Well why wasn’t he at our lesson then? Isn’t he supposed -” Taeyong paused, seeing the rest of the boys begin to roll their eyes. “What did I say? Did I mess up?” 

“No, no it’s not you, we promise,” Mark began, leaning from his chair to see Taeyong’s face from the other end of the table. “There’s a reason for all this. Baekhyun gets his own lessons. It’s to return a favor. His parents are LOADED. Like, hella loaded.” Taeyong looked at the boys as if he was desperately trying to solve a math problem they threw at him. Ten was quickly growing impatient, desperately wanting Taeyong to connect the dots so he didn’t have to say the answer out loud.

“Come on, I know you are smart enough for this,” Ten sneered, now moving his hands hoping to roll out an answer from Taeyong. His eyes suddenly widened, eyebrows now stretched near the top of his widow’s peak.

“You’re not telling me….” He began to say, letting out a gasp once he connected the dots.

“That is EXACTLY what we are telling you, bro,” Lucas said before running his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends just above the back of his neck. 

“His family does the Riders a favor, suddenly we have registration and jacket funds, and then Taemin returns the favor back.” Mark mumbled, the straw of his smoothie hanging onto the ends of his lips, the other end tapping back and forth on the inside of his cup. Taeyong barely knew these boys, and certainly didn’t know Baekhyun, but it was clear where the battle lines were drawn. He tried his best to always keep an open mind and be free of judgement, but it was clear that this situation was much more complicated than his heart wanted it to be. 

“Shouldn’t he be here?” Taeyong asked, growing anxious about the politics of his new riding club. 

“Why show up and help a team you don’t give a shit about when your parents are just gonna donate their funds for your private lessons anyways,” Lucas huffed. 

“Trust me there is nothing I hate more than having to be a known competitor simply due to his parent’s money. It’s not like we don’t work our asses off outside of Sunset Magnolia for him to flaunt someone else’s money in our face. I spend the remainder of my free time scooping ice cream for minimum wage while he just uses mommy and daddy’s money to get the best of everything and I’m just expected to sit with it. God I hate him!”

“Sounds like someone is just upset he doesn’t get his own private lessons with Taemin,” Mark let out, immediately regretting his decision as Ten threw a half eaten cupcake at his chest.

“Fuck off, Mark. I know where you sleep,” Ten pouted before collecting himself. Taeyong stood up and started to pack the remaining treats. 

“No, you’re right. We all work too hard to let someone else just buy their way in. But that’s not happening this year, because we have the registration fees right here,” Taeyong began, chucking the box of cash into Ten’s hands. “It won’t cover everything, but at least he can’t take this credit from us. And it’ll be a nice surprise for him when he sees how we don’t need his money all the time,” Taeyong tried to affirm his team as best as he could. He was still the new guy, but this was who he had to fight for now. Ten looked back at Taeyong, he didn’t say anything, but Taeyong could feel the rage dissolving. The boys slowly packed up and walked towards the parking lot, satisfied with the best bake sale in Magnolia Rider’s history.

Taeyong followed the boys, who were all making random conversation about next week’s lesson plan and whether or not Baekhyun’s horse, Galina, was real or a robot, to the family Mustang. Before long they all stood in the empty parking space next to the car, kicking a pebble back and forth and continuing small talk, hoping to prolong getting into the car.

“Oh wait, did someone text Kai about coming to get the table? I don’t want someone to take it. God forbid our hard earned cash goes to table recovery,” Mark chimed in. 

“Oh I’ll just throw it in the back of my truck, I was gonna go see Flower anyway. It’s no big deal,” Taeyong offered, his hands now digging deep into his back pockets, pushing his scrawny yet broad shoulders forward through his sweatshirt. 

“Oh, no way! You and Lucas can be truck buddies now!” Mark exclaimed, “well, once he gets his fixed.” 

“Oh no way? You know I’ve had to fix mine plenty of times, gotta love a classic Chevy. If you want some help I’d be happy to take a look,” Taeyong offered, hoping he played his cards right. He was slowly growing more comfortable with these guys, but didn’t want to take any good moments for granted. Lucas stepped forward, right hand extending out. His arms were long but insanely muscular for such an agile equestrian. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, man!” he jokingly shook Taeyong’s hand before patting his shoulder and turning back to the car. “See you at the barn on Monday?”

Taeyong nodded, letting out a soft smile. Mark walked around towards the driver’s seat before hollering over the roof.

“Hey, Ten and I are gonna be working at the ice cream parlor down on 127th and Maple tomorrow if you want to stop by!” Ten walked up to Taeyong, trying to make conversation a bit more intimate. 

“Yeah man, stop by anytime. And….thanks for being on our team, you’re one of us now,” Ten said quietly, looking down at his feet and then back into Taeyong’s eyes. A few black strands of hair fell into Ten’s brow, softening the edgy front he originally put on earlier that morning. 

“And...I’m sorry for being so hard on you during our first lesson, you’re really good, and we might actually have a shot this year with you on board.” Taeyong let out a small half smile, his right dimple stretching down to his jawline.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m really thankful to be here,” Taeyong said. He began to turn back towards the shopping center for the table, but stopped a couple steps into his journey. He looked back over his shoulder, yelling out to Ten as he tucked into the passenger seat.

“And I haven’t seen him ride, but trust me, you’re no number two. I’ve never seen someone ride like that. You’re at least my number one,” he said. Ten smiled back at Taeyong before rolling up the window, watching as his friend slowly made his way to complete his favor. 

[cheeri0-queeri0]

(“And they were roommates” fic)

-

The universe had a twisted sense of humor, and it had decided Alex was it’s new punchline.

Her trip was...headache-inducing. To the extent that Alex had wanted to lose herself in the drive, she guesses that she succeeded. But, fuck. A flat from the construction on the nearest on-ramp, delaying her until right smack in the middle of rush hour? Being in a pissy mood to finally, finally, get out of the city only to immediately have the low fuel light come on? And then when she yanked her phone out of the center cup holder, to have her frayed charging cord snap?

Yeah, it was a long nine hours.

Alex lets out a weary sigh when the sign for Bensley Lake comes into view. In her chest is a tangle of emotions she doesn’t even try to unknot.

“It’s just a landing place,” she whispers, stopping at the familiar main intersection where on the other side the lake stretches into the horizon. A sharp pang needles her heart. Her grip around the steering wheel tightens, knuckles paling.

A landing place. Somewhere to get her head on straight.

Again.

“Fuck.” Alex flips on the radio, her phone dead in her backpack on the passenger seat. She doesn’t quite remember the stations, so she flips through at random. News, no; country, no; current top hits, no --

“--Lake’s Trudges, your favorite oldies-but-goodies station! Next up - ”

Her dad’s favorite. He had always had this station on, in his truck where he’d belt out whatever lyrics were on, or in the cabin, head bobbing along as he read a book in the living room, each page taking him a distracted five minutes.

Alex turns it over to static.

The wandering way to the cabin has her skirt the edge of town. Blue’s Scoops has gone out, replaced by a Starbucks. Stupid, Alex scoffs. Would she kill for an iced coffee right now? Sure, but what the hell does coffee have on Paulie’s homemade ice cream and his obnoxiously loud macaw?

Besides likely higher ratings on its health inspections.

The old park that marks their side street sits empty, the playground mulch overtaken by green. It’s roped off, some sign staked out that she passes too fast to read.

And then, impossibly, she’s here.

It’s like the place has sprung into being directly from her memory. The horseshoe gravel driveway curves towards the olive-green cottage style home. Maple trees dot the yard, while dogwoods stand flowering sentry closer to the cabin.

The only thing out of ordinary are the glaringly fuchsia planter boxes that hang from the front porch railing, marigolds and snapdragons poking their heads out.

Alex pulls into the driveway (she’s long since thrown away the garage remote) and shuts the car off, but it’s as if she’s been glued to her seat.

It’s dissonant. As a kid, this was her favorite spot in the world, a dreamy sanctuary with a never-ending yard to roam and trees tall as turrets to climb. As a teen, it was a backwater place she was dragged back to every other year for a happy family appearance for the neighbors.

Now - it’s just a house. Smaller than those right on the lake and even several on the block, with a sloping yard that must’ve taken her dad half a day to mow. It’s cute, perfect for a couple, but a two bedroom one bath with a thin-walled open concept and a rambunctious child? Yikes.

Our special place, her dad had called it one summer evening when they’d all been out having a picnic by the lake. One of the last times they had. You know I used to come here when I was your age, kiddo? It looked a lot different then -

Were there dinosaurs? Alex had impishly asked, and her dad had thrown his head back and laughed, her mom even chuckling --

Ugh.

Alex rakes a hand through her blonde hair, then shakes herself out of her stupor. Hoisting her backpack onto her shoulder, she gets out and treks up. The keys shake in her hands.

For one horrible second the key catches in the lock, unmoving, but then it turns.

Alex lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

The house smells fresh; her mother must have left a window open the last time she was here. It’s a weird first thing to notice, but it’s as if...as if she has to inhale it, to liven the breathless past she’d swept aside when she’d left home.

The layout is familiar - the door opens into a liminal space between the kitchen on the left and the living room on the right. Straight ahead is a hall that leads to the sliding glass door to the back porch, as well as her old bedroom. At the farthest right of the house is the bathroom and master bedroom.

Alex ignores her gurgling stomach and opts for the living room with a yawn.

Her mother has updated the furniture in the cabin. Alex shouldn’t be surprised - it has been ten damn years, after all. But it looks so… homey and eclectic and welcoming, with an overstuffed couch and evergreen fake plants and landscapes hung in bright bold frames.

Her mother’s dating someone new then. Someone she likes enough to let decorate.

Probably rich, Alex thinks as she shrugs of her bag and kicks of her shoes. Accidentally so, if his taste is anything to go on. Her mom wouldn’t date someone down to earth otherwise, god forbid.

She puts a hand on the back of the couch and leaps over, sinking into the cushions with a groan. Her muscles are tense from the drive, and it feels so good to just...relax.

Alex’s eyes droop, but her thoughts chase through her head too furiously to allow her to drift off.

Now that she’s slinked off to this far away corner, she starts to second guess herself. What was she thinking, coming here? Did it matter? Wasn’t it all pointless, anyway? It’s an embarrassment, really, running when all she needs to do is stand still and buck up.

Alex throws an arm over her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Her heart races relentlessly on.

She loses track of time lying there. Alex refuses to be so yuppie as to call it meditation - a forced chill out. Or something.

“Uhh...make yourself...comfortable…?”

Alex jolts at the voice, releasing a sound from the back of her throat that she definitely never wants to repeat. She’s on her feet in an instant, whirling as the blood rushes to her head and her vision fades back in.

A young woman stands in the hall entryway. She seems to be in the ballpark of Alex’s own age, dark hair in a sloppy high ponytail, a brow arched in bewilderment. She’s dressed in an orange sports bra and black leggings, a small towel slung over her shoulder, sweat beading on her skin. And she’s got a death grip on a sturdy-looking water bottle, holding it upside-down, ready to slug Alex’s head like a softball if she needs to.

Alex sure as hell isn’t gawking, but holy shit.

“Who the fuck are you?” she snarls, hands balling into fists.

The woman blinks slowly, frowning. “...I live here, robber extraordinaire.”

Alex’s stomach sinks, an icy chill settling in her veins. “This is my family’s cabin,” she protests heatedly. Her mother wouldn’t - would she? This had been her dad’s, for christ's sake!

“Listen,” the woman holds up her hands placatingly, eyeing Alex warily. “I’ve been renting this place from Mrs. Raisson for three years, I don’t know what to tell you --”

She would, then.

Alex grinds her teeth. “Mrs. Raisson, huh.”

The woman’s brows furrow, and then, suddenly, her blue eyes widen. “Wait…” Before Alex can react, she’s scampering around the corner into the kitchen. From over the half-wall bar top separating them, she watches as she takes a business card off the fridge, scrutinizing it and looking up to Alex. “Are you...shit, are you her daughter?”

Alex shrugs, on edge. “Technically.”

The woman just gazes at her for a drawn out moment, crossing her arms. Then, “That’s rough. She’s a bitch, dude.”

Alex is so startled that she can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out of her.

The woman cracks a smile, tossing the card on the counter and stepping up to the bar. “Mackenzie Jordan,” she greets, offering her hand.

Alex hesitates. “...Alexis Raisson. Alex.” She gives her hand a brief shake, dropping it quickly. The pit returns to her stomach, and she chews her lip nervously. “I’ll- I’ll get out of here.”

And go where? The campground, maybe, she can sleep in her car and figure out what she wants to do.

Mackenzie clicks her tongue, a glint in her eye that Alex can’t decipher. “Uh, you’re my hardass landlord’s daughter. I kind of have to grill you. Otherwise I’m passing up potential intel that could help convince her to allow me to have a dog. Stay for supper at least?”

Alex shakes her head. What kind of weirdo invites a trespasser over?

“I have beeeer,” Mackenzie offers with a lopsided, hopeful grin.

Well...shit. What can it hurt?

“Fine. One drink.”

Mackenzie pumps a fist in the air, grin growing. “Hell yeah! Just lemme…” she pivots, bounding over to the fridge and opening it with a flourish. She piles tupperware in her arms. “Meet me at the patio- you know your way around? I’ll grab everything.”

Alex watches her a second, then pulls herself away, shuffling down the hall.

What has she agreed to?

[vacantstudios]

“Somewhere Of Our Own” [1]

masterpost, next chapter

read it on ao3

Summary: Falling in love was easy, but maintaining that love was harder than expected. Eight years down the road, Keith and Lance are 26, working full time and enjoying their completely healthy relationship. Yet, when points of view clash and their relationship begin to fall apart, the crash landing of an alien girl with strange markings and even stranger powers might be the last thing that can save them.

Word count : 4,536

Warnings: major character death (SPOILERS but he’s resurrected, so it's ok)

Written for the Klance Reverse Bang 2018 (@klancereversebang ) Art created by @sadelionne Beta’d by @rileysweeto

angst/fluff (mostly fluff)

Lance didn't often get bored at work – who gets bored working at a school for astro-explorers? Yet here he was, trying to entertain himself with a rubber ball (and failing miserably). Lunch hour was boring as hell, most of the instructors at the Garrison remembered him from the years he actually attended, before he went 'AWOL'. The new instructors had formed their own 'clique', so to say, and the newbies stuck together. Lance was neither new nor old; Lance was lonely. So, he often sat in the cramped little office he had, where he marked student's papers or tried to make lesson plans for when his students weren't in the flight simulator.

When you were as lonely as he was, you found your own 'professional' ways to stay busy, which often including throwing his little, blue, rubber ball around the room. In space, he would have never been this bored, but Earth is different from space. A real adult job didn't have the same thrill as fighting an evil space empire every day.

He threw his ball towards the door, a metre-or-so away from his desk. As the ball bounced back into his hands the door opened – 'thank God they didn't walk in whilst I was messing around,' Lance thought as he scrambled to neaten himself up; professionalism in the workplace is fundamental, you know.

“You don't have to pretend you were working,” a familiar voice called out to him, followed by the dull thud of the door falling back into place. Keith. Lance rolled his eyes as his boyfriend moved to sit opposite him, putting down the small Tupperware container onto the crowded desk. “I know what you do during lunch,”

Lance didn't reply straight away, opting to pull to Tupperware container towards him – God, he was starving. “You aren't meant to be here, you know.”

“Yeah, I do.” Keith shrugged, leaning back in the uncomfortable, plastic seat. “But you forgot your lunch, and I couldn't let you go hungry... again.”

Lance hummed in response, pulling out an apple from the container and searching it with eagle eyes for a bruise – he hated apple bruises, they were gross and squidgy and ruined the whole fruit. “You know you can't come visit whenever,”

“Yes, I do know.” Keith's tone was agitated as he leaned forward, leaning on the desk. “But your husband is allowed to visit you, right?”

It took a few seconds to register what Keith said; Lance was too busy scanning the apple. In his defense, he didn't expect such an obscure remark for him. “Is this your awkward way of proposing? Because, honestly, I know you aren't super romantic but this is so sh-”

“What?” Keith seemed confused, his eyebrows furrowing and his expression growing defensive. “What – no, what the hell? It was a joke, Lance, you know, like... funny? Only spouses can visit at work, I lied to the receptionist.”

“Oh,” the reply was weak, barely audible. It might have been a rubbish marriage proposal but it was something nonetheless. Eight years and Keith still flinched at the idea of a permanent future. Lance was 100% sure (or at least 90%) that Keith didn't plan on breaking up with him in the near future, or at all; there was no reason for Keith's hesitance for a permanent relationship – you know, besides the whole being abandoned by his mother at an early age.

“You alright?” Keith asked, leaning over to reach for Lance's hand, barely brushing over the warm skin before his boyfriend drew his hand back with a certain disappointment. Lance was 'alright', in the sense that he was physically healthy, and happy most of the times. What was not alright, though, was Keith's refusal to even discuss marriage in a serious light – and, quite frankly, that pissed Lance off. He doesn't know why, but it did. And nothing is alright when Lance is pissed off.

When Lance is pissed off he just talks – unfiltered, angry, rambles.

“Yeah – I'm fine.” Loud and sarcastic – that's how it starts. “Just a bit annoyed, really.”

“The apple didn't have any bruises, I check-”

“It's not that!” The anger came in flooding waves, tall and mighty – a tsunami. “It's... You don't care about this relationship! Or not nearly as much as I do and, God, that is so frustrating! I try to make it permanent – marriage, engagement, promise rings – something, Keith, anything.” Lance's voice just kept growing in anger and volume and frustration; Keith was sure that everyone in the whole building could hear them. He didn't say anything – it was always best to let Lance shout through this.

“Really, you think it's alright to joke around and poke fun at it – guess what, samurai? It isn't funny. It hurts, knowing you think this relationship is going to end up as a joke; that's what marriage is to you, right?” Lance was wrong. Keith didn't tell him. “I give up. I don't want to try anymore – it's not like you care, right? No wonder everyone you know leaves -”

“That's enough!” Keith's voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and quick and, most of all, painful. “That's enough Lance – just shut the fuck up. God, after all these years I thought you'd know me, at least slightly. And you wonder why I don't want to settle down with you? Because of this; you blindly accuse, point fingers and shout. Just – just, shut up. Leave me alone.”

If Lance was a tsunami, then Keith was fire – warm and inviting, yet dangerous. You don't play with fire without getting burnt.

…..

Marriage, in all honesty, wouldn't even be that much different; they already lived together. Why was Lance so hung up on it? He wasn't even sure that he particularly cared. Marriage was a big commitment, and Lance wasn't sure he was even ready. He was barely 26, just scraping the barrel with his teacher's wage – he never asked Keith for money. There were so many reasons for Keith's hesitance, and Lance agreed with him. They should wait.

They couldn't afford a wedding right now. It was expensive to throw Lance's ideal wedding – floral bouquets, a grand hall with hundreds of family members and friends, the nicest suits money could buy and of course, the after party. Everything would cost so much. And Lance knew that, and he didn't care about waiting. They would save up for it, in due time. Maybe the anger stemmed from Jenny from the coffee shop getting married (finally) or overhearing one of his coworkers had just recently got engaged after being with their partner (now-fiancé) for a little over five years. Maybe it stung a little, just a little, that after so many years marriage didn't seem anywhere in the near future. What stung more, however, was walking home in the burning cold with nothing but a thin jacket to keep him warm. God, he would do anything to be sitting on the leather seats of Keith's car, with the seat warmers on full blast – that sounded like bliss. But, of course, Lance had to ruin all of that with being petty – he was so stupid, this was the stupidest thing ever.

These thoughts occupied Lance's mind as he made his way home, how much of a failure he was. No wonder Keith didn't want to marry him, all he did was ruin everything. Everything – his relationship with Keith, with his coworkers, with his acquaintances, with his friends. When was the last time he even talked to Hunk? Ages ago – that's when. What he would do right now, just for a few words of Hunk's relationship advice. And a cupcake. Lance would kill for one of Hunk's cupcakes, too (but mostly the advice). It took Lance a solid hour to get home on foot – why did they live in the middle of nowhere? Curse Keith and his hate for urban areas, curse Lance for loving him so much that he'd follow him anywhere, even the desert. Lance was only thankful that Keith upgraded from his little desert shack to a slightly bigger house. Despite being alone with his thoughts, for a whole hour, Lance still had no idea on how to apologize to Keith. He had really messed everything up.

The lights were off in the house, nothing surprising. Keith didn't care about the darkness much, his Galra capabilities meant he could see pretty well in the dark, but that also meant he was mad. Of course he was mad – Lance had messed up, big time, and now he didn't how to fix it. God, he was such a fuck up. Why did he need to say anything to Keith? Why did he have to be so needy, so desperate? Why could he not just be content?

“Lance?” Keith's voice broke through Lance's thoughts, like an anchor cutting through sharp waves, dragging him down to steady him. Lance didn't know if he was happy or not. “I'm sorry.” Blunt words. He couldn't help it, Lance had to apologize before one of them began shouting again, he couldn't handle that. “I'm sorry. I messed up, really bad, like super.. like so bad, I'm sorry Keith, I didn't-”

“Lance,” Once again, Keith's words steadied him. This time he was grateful, like he always was. for Keith. “It's ok, calm down. I overreacted, you're fine, Lance. I, uh... do you want to sit down and talk about it? That's what we're meant to do, you know, talk to each other when we feel troubled.”

“Yeah, I get it Keith,”

“Well,” Keith's took Lance's hand in his, ice cold meeting warmth. Lance would never get tired of Keith's warm hands, despite his stubby fingers barely encasing Lance's hands – Lance wouldn't have it any other way. “Come on then,”

Keith led him into their living room – it wasn't extravagant, or big, or tidy, but it was home. At that moment, Lance realized that was all he had wanted. A home, with Keith – a forever home. He didn't realize that was what he already had, he didn't need a white, church wedding to validate that. How could he have said all that to Keith, when he didn't even truly want that? All he wanted was sitting with Keith on this torn up sofa, just talking.

“I'm sorry,”

“I know.”

“But I really thought we would have been married by now,” Lance mumbled, lying on his side with Keith on the sofa. How the two of them fit on it, lying down, was beyond either of them. “Eight years is a long time.”

“Well, we spent most of it in space, so that doesn't count.”

“Of course it counts!” Lance grinned, hand still tightly held in Keith's. “Voltron was, like, the best thing that ever happened to us.”

“Are you sure? I would have thought the best thing was me asking you out, you know, not fighting random Galra fleets.” Conversation with Keith was easy, nice and calm. He had changed a lot since they had first met. He wasn't the hot-headed, angry 'loner' of Voltron anymore; he was a warm-headed, less angry, non-loner. Lance was still an over-worrier, goofball, loverboy.

“Oh please, Galra fleets were the best things about space.”

They eased into friendly silence, and Lance began to close his eyes, listen to the steady drum of Keith's heart. He didn't expect them to talk more, Keith wasn't much of a talker.

“Babe?” The sudden voice was a surprise, Lance thought the conversation was over.

“Hmm?”

“I'm sorry, too.” Lance went to interrupt. Keith didn't let him, instead, he carried on talking. “I know how much you want a steady relationship, something confirmed. I'm sorry I can't give that to you. You were right, surprisingly..”

“Hey! Don't ruin the moment.”

“Right, sorry.” There was a heavy silence between them until Keith drew a long breath and began speaking again. “You were right. About my mum,”

“Keith -”

“No, let me finish.” His voice wavered as he spoke. “She left, and since then I haven't really been close to anyone. And then you come along, and... You're the most important thing in my life, I don't want to lose you. I didn't want you to, you know, leave if we got married. It's a hard thing to go through and I -”

“Keith, I understand.” Lance smiled, a reassuring half-smile. He was hurting at Keith's words, it was the best he could do. “You don't have to apologize, it's not your fault, honestly. I don't blame you, what I said was harsh and -”

There was a bang outside.

It was loud and violent. They hadn't heard such a noise since, well, since the Galra. That's what terrified them – the Galra was defeated, gone, vanquished, whatever the hell else. Keith shot up, in an instant, hand reaching for something to use as a defense. Lance sat in disbelief after everything was thought to be over how could this happen again? Why would it happen again? Like always, Lance sat there with millions of stupid thoughts in his head as Keith did something – this could end well, or in a disaster. Knowing Keith's reckless behavior, probably a disaster.

Keith had stood up, rushing around to find one of his swords. The one his eyes first landed on was the Blade of Marmora knife, that sat on top of the shoe cabinet despite Lance's multiple rants about how it's not safe – and it wasn't, but it came in useful for situations like this. Well, this was the first situation like this, in all honesty, but it was still useful. Keith's flight-or-fight response kicked in, and he decided he had to fight whatever made that ungodly crashing noise and prevent any more damage. It wasn't long before Keith was out the door, and out into the garden. He was dumbfounded – in front of him was an alien ship, nothing as elaborate as the Galra's though. It had crashed, quite violently, into the ground. Crawling out was a figure, clearly armed and most-likely dangerous. Before Keith realized what was happening, he was charging towards the figure at full speed.

Lance knew Keith would fight whoever, or whatever, the figure was. It was what Keith did - fight before thinking, even if it would have ended poorly. Lance was thankful that he had a gun in the house, for once. He vowed never to use it unless it was emergency, and an alien invasion counted as an emergency in his book. He held it tight, standing at the entrance of the house, watching as Keith ran with full force at the figure. He held it tight, hand sweaty – God, when was the last time he fired a gun? It had to be Voltron, just the thought of shooting a gun again sent traumatic waves through him. He didn't even know if he was a good shot anymore, not like he was before anyway. He didn't want to hit Keith, what if he hit Keith? But if he didn't fire Keith would definitely be hurt, by whoever this sudden crash-lander was. So he fired.

The gun was loud. Louder than he remembered – perhaps his bayard was quieter (sound doesn't travel in space). It rang loud in his ears and he involuntarily shut his eyes. He didn't want to know if Keith was hit, he prayed Keith wasn't hit. This was such a dumb decision, oh God, this was so stupid; why did he think he still knew how to aim? Now... he had messed it all up and -

“Lance!”

Keith's voice drew him out of his thoughts and his eyes snapped open. Keith was okay. The figure, however, was not. They lay in a crumpled pile on the floor. What had he done? Keith motioned for Lance to follow as he ran to the figure, and Lance did. He probably killed hundreds of Galra soldiers in his Voltron days, but this, he consciously murdered someone who might not have even been a threat. He ran to the figure, falling to his knees next to Keith, next to the corpse.

“Lance, they're alive..” Keith's voice was soft, hand taking Lance's in his own. Lance noticed the soft rise and fall of their chest, it was obvious now that the figure was a girl, quite a young one at that too, probably no older than eleven or twelve. Lance's hand skimmed over the dent in the helmet, from his bullet, and regret surged over him – he hurt a child. Keith murmured next to him, “They're ok, Lance, don't worry. Don't worry.” Lance nodded as he placed his hands on the cold metal of the helmet, and lifted it off.

The figure was a girl, and now it was official they were an alien too. The most shocking thing was that the girl was Altean.

…

There was a lot of arguing over what to do with the girl. Keith insisted on leaving the girl out there, who knew if she was dangerous or not. Lance, on the other hand, knew he couldn't leave a little girl out here alone – even if they were in the middle of nowhere. Modern times were a horrible place to live in for a young girl. Modern times were also a horrible place to live in for a young, gay couple. But probably worse for an unarmed child, compared to two armed, ex-soldiers.

She was still passed out a few hours later, it had just struck midnight and it was dark inside and out. The entire house was dark, except the living room where a 'garden by the sea' candle was lit – Keith insisted that it wasn't a real scent, Lance argued that Keith had never even seen the sea, so what did he know? They were arguing a lot since the girl's appearance, who knew a child could cause a relationship to collapse?

(Quite a few parents on Earth, but Lance and Keith didn't know that.)

Lance wanted the Altean girl to feel safe, unthreatened; if space was reverting back into something like the Galra Empire, she would be incredibly scared. That's why the house was dark: she had probably been in space for ages and wasn't used to loud sounds and being close to such bright lights. That's why they sat in the living room, whispering under their breaths. Hushed, angry whispers that were bordering onto the verge of shouts and screams. Keith and Lance rarely argued over a lot of things, they were similar people: very few things they actually had disagreed on. The last time they had argued so much was during their Voltron times, and that was over strategies and minor details, not their relationship.

Keith was insistent that they shouldn't leave the girl alone, who knew what threats she posed? Lance didn't want to scare her, he wanted to create a good impression – he knew what it was like to be alone and scared.

“I just think she should be watched, at least,” Keith began, voice growing annoyed. It was clear that Lance wasn't going to budge, but he was going to try and convince him anyway. “Who knows what she's doing in that room?”

“Keith, shut your mouth for once, how is a kid going to do anything you're saying?”

“I mean, you don't know what alien kids are going to be like. Have you ever met one?”

“I'm talking to one right now.”

“Oh!” Keith's anger flared up and he stood. “I know what I'm doing, Lance! Why don't you understand?!”

Lance huffed, there was no convincing Keith when he was like this (not that Lance wanted to convince Keith anymore, it would only escalate the situation). That meant they had to do their own separate things. Keith could bother the alien girl all he liked, but Lance was going to respect her privacy.

“Fine, you win. Go watch her like some supervillain – I'm going to go to bed, and talk to her, like a civilized person, in the morning.” Lance left.

Keith didn't want to face the alien girl alone – he wasn't scared of her, why would he (a paladin of Voltron) be scared of her (a little alien girl). No, if anything he didn't want her to be scared of him. Maybe he should have listened to Lance... He was the diplomatic one, he knew how to talk to aliens, he was friendly. But, he'd be damned if he'd let Lance think he had bested him. So he did what he said he would, and he went into the room the alien girl was sleeping in; it was a guest room with light blue walls, they had it reserved when Lance's family came over. It wasn't big in the slightest, in fact, it might have been smaller than average. It was quite homely, with a single window on the back wall, with heavy, deep purple curtains drawn over it. Keith always liked this room, it was quiet in there. The room was modeled after a child's bedroom (at least Keith thought so), but Lance said it reminded him of a room in one of the seaside hotels he visited as a child. There was solid, white wood furnishing.

The bed was the best thing about the room.

It was a house-warming gift from Lance's grandparents, which seemed unusual to Keith, but Lance said that grandparents always brought you big gifts like this. Keith wouldn't have known. When he felt troubled he often came into this room and just stared at the measly glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. It felt comforting, for some reason: it's not like space was a particularly comforting place for him, it was quite traumatic in fact, but he just felt at peace, with the small reminder of his childhood. However, right now, he didn't feel at peace.

In the middle of the room, atop of the bed, was the little alien girl. She didn't seem threatening, in all truth, but who knew? Maybe she was a product of the new Galra Empire. Keith didn't trust her. But, right now, with Lance's fluffy white blanket over her, she seemed peaceful – cute, even.

Keith would never tell Lance.

He sat in the beanbag in the corner, waiting for the girl to wake up. Lance didn't hit her hard enough to cause her to pass out for too long, it was only a small bullet anyways, and she did have a helmet on. She wouldn't be too badly hurt. Keith continued to watch her. He wanted to go, talk to Lance about how scared he was; what they would do if this girl was a real threat; if something did actually happen. But he couldn't. Lance didn't believe in his fears, and he refused to listen, to talk to him – and Keith didn't really have anyone else to talk to.

Except...

Keith reached into his sweatpants pockets, reaching for the cool metal of his phone. He didn't remember the last time he had a decent conversation with Shiro, that wasn't composed of small-talk. He scrolled through his contacts, trying to find the once familiar robot emoji and 'Shiro'. Keith wasn't sure how to start 'hey dude, there's some random alien girl in my house right now; she kind of resembles your girlfriend'. The only way to know what to say to Shiro was to just talk to him. Keith called Shiro. It took a few tries, but Keith was adamant to wake Shiro up for some advice. After around four calls, Shiro finally picked up. “Go to sleep.”

“Well hello to you too,” Keith jeered quietly, in response. “I've got an issue,”

“Oh? Well, try again in the morning; I'm busy sleeping, like you should be – hasn't Lance dragged you to bed yet?” Shiro sounded annoyed, but Keith knew he was worried under all the irritation.

“Well, we had an argument...”

“Keith!”

Keith flinched at the volume, frowning, “Shut up!”

“Sorry. Keith...! What happened?”

“It's not important,” Keith mumbled, nestling further back into the chair, with a pouty look on his face. “What is, though, is that there's a little girl in the house, and she looks oddly like your girlfriend.”

In the opposite corner of the house, Lance lay under the covers of their bed. Their room smelt like rosemary and coconut, an odd combination of Keith and Lance's respective shampoos. This was the first time he had laid alone in a long while, normally they would wake up together and go to sleep, their lives were absolutely in sync. Now, he had no one to share his day with, talk and gossip with. Lance felt lonely. But he was never truly alone, was he? He had friends, albeit sparse. Lance would always have one friend that would never leave him. Hunk.

He sat up, duvet falling into his lap as he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The clock on the stand blinked wearily, displaying 12:24 am. Would Hunk still be awake? Probably not – Hunk had always had a precise sleeping schedule ever since he was a child. But it couldn't hurt to try. So, without any hesitance, Lance called his best friend.

The phone rang a few times, the sound echoing in the room before cutting off. Of course, Hunk wouldn't answer – he was asleep. Lance was stupid to expect he would be awake, everyone had fully functioning lives and they weren't going to revolve around Lance. They wouldn't stay awake, wondering if Lance was going to call – of course not, they probably wouldn't have answered even if they were awake. Suddenly, his phone started vibrating in his hands – why was Hunk awake at this time? Lance decided not to question it and answered the call.

“Hey, Hunk,”

“Dude, why are you awake?”

What was Lance supposed to say? 'Oh, this alien girl crashed outside my house and I've had multiple arguments with my boyfriend and now I can't sleep at all, what about you?' No. That was a bad decision, Hunk would stress out and probably rush over immediately.

“Oh, I just had an argument with Keith... Nothing big -”

“Are you alright? What happened?” Hunk began bombarding with questions and Lance sighed, of course, Hunk would worry over that too; Lance was grateful.

“No, it wasn't anything serious, just... He doesn't understand sometimes – we have different opinions.”

“Lance, buddy,” Hunk began, his tone relaxing. “You love this man, don't ya?”

“Are you quoting Shrek?”

Hunk ignored him, “Do you wanna hold her?” Lance sighed. “Yes.”

“Please her?”

“Yes,”

“Then ya gotta, gotta try a little tenderness!” Hunk began singing, Lance giggled and relaxed.

“I swear Hunk, you get all your advice from films.”

“Touché, but it works, does it not?”

“Yeah, alright,”

Lance could practically feel Hunk smile over the phone, as he spoke in a soft tone. “Hey dude, I'll call you tomorrow, yeah? Maybe come visit, or something, but now you need some sleep.”

“Ok, goodnight Hunk.”

“Goodnight Lance, love you.”

Lance laughed, “Love you too.”

Hunk hung up and, once again, Lance was alone.

[eternalsterekrecs]

A Life Less Ordinary by Jebiwonkenobi

It takes a few years but eventually they manage to agree on something; Derek Hale is an asshole, and Stiles Stilinski is in love with him.

Burn by night by thebrotherswinchester

Sheriff Stilinski has been kidnapped by Alpha werewolves. As bait. For his own son.

Cupboard Love by mklutz

He’s carefully balancing the sandwiches and the two biggest tupperware containers he could find that both had functioning lids when the front door opens and he almost drops everything right there in front of the stupid fountain.

If that’s Derek Hale, he’s definitely not a mountain man.

Daddy’s Do’s by apocryphal

“Hi Mr. Stilinski!” Lydia said pertly. “My name’s Lydia, and this is my daddy. His name is Derek Andrew Hale and he watches all of your videos on YouTube a lot, but he still can’t braid.”

[Stiles is a celebrity YouTube hairstylist. Derek may or may not have a crush. Lydia just wants a French braid for school picture day.]

Everything’s Better Under the Sea by tryslora

Everything changes when Derek goes under while surfing, hits his head on a board, and sees a man with a tail swimming away. He wants to know who that was, and what it has to do with Beacon Hills, the one place he never meant to come back to.

Five Times Stiles Apologized (and One Time He Didn’t Need To) by Analiena, QueenOfTheCute

Gravity’s Got Nothing on You by zosofi

“Three weeks,” Derek says.

“Still don’t want to,” Stiles says.

“I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so…

“How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“

“My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.”

“A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

Hold the Door by Hatteress, maichan808

When Derek is killed by a rival alpha, the pack will stop at nothing to get him back. Even if that means blackmailing the most dangerous hunter duo this side of hell. Whatever. That whole devil thing was probably totally exaggerated, anyway.

If galileo gave us good advice by proxydialogue

Stiles is glued together wrong. That’s the best that Derek can figure.

Jambalaya by SylvieW

Derek hasn’t had a job for years. Now that he’s decided to stay in Beacon Hills, he wants to put down roots. But making friends with his co-workers is a lot harder than he remembers.

Knot if You Don’t Knock by jsea, marguerite_26

Stiles never expects to present as an omega -- that's something that happens to people like Greenberg, not him. He is so wrong.

His life only gets stranger when Derek Hale mistakenly bursts through the door of his exam room during a doctor’s appointment. What happens next is a complicated series of events, including freshly baked cookies, book-carrying and surprise heats.

Like French Vanilla Ice Cream by GotTheSilver

Hale Sounds, Open 'til Midnight.

An Empire Records AU.

“Well, maybe you should sort out your own love life before looking at mine.”

“I don’t have a love life.”

“That’s the point I was making,” Erica responds in a tone of voice that suggests she thinks Derek is stupid.

Mǣnōn by MyBeth

Knotting. It’s a thing that exists. Like werewolves and weird lizard creatures. It’s just rated NC-17 so you don’t hear about it so much on TV. It exists and he gets it. Stiles. He’s the one that gets it.

Numbers by standinginanicedress

“I'm magic,” Stiles raises his hands in the air and puts on a serious facial expression. “I have the sixth sense.”

“The sixth sense, huh? Is that what they're calling bullshit these days?”

Stiles' lips purse down hard, but he still smirks. Derek wonders if there's any single facial expression that Stiles can make that isn't in some way at least slightly amused, whether at himself or the expense of others. “Non-believers aren't welcome at my table, Derek.”

Of Wolves and Doughnuts by Hatteress

When Derek was fifteen, circumstance and a goddamn doughnut had seen fit to Bond him to Stiles Stilinski.

In which Derek is more cunning than anyone gives him credit for, Stiles doesn't understand why the new Alphas in town are all up in his business and everyone gets a violent crash-course in what it means to be Pack, whether they're in it or not.

Pale Skin and Fragile Bones by lydiasbones

“I’m not going to do anything!” Lydia defended, looking far too affronted to be genuine. “It just seems that the universe has decided that the two of you will continue to run into each other at an improbable frequency for the foreseeable future. I’m banking on that.”

“You don’t bank on anything,” Stiles said grimly. “You make things happen.”

Lydia smirked. “That’s not entirely untrue.”

--

Or, the one in which Derek arrests one of Stiles' friends and Stiles holds a grudge. Also, Stiles wrote Derek's favorite book. But they don't know that.

Queer Your Coffee by alisvolatpropiis

Derek's just over the city line when he sees a sign for an independent drive-thru place, Full Spectrum Brew. There are three cars in line when he turns in, which annoys him but gives him hope. Not that he really trusts the people of Beacon Hills to have much taste when it comes to coffee (god, he is a snob), but the shop’s popularity does seem to bode well. The line of cars moves way more slowly than he’d like, each customer in front of him seeming to take way too long to order, and then lingering when they get their coffee. He’s irritable from lack of sleep and an even more detrimental lack of caffeine, anxious to get out of the car. Finally it’s his turn and he slowly rolls up to the window, turning the radio down.

For a second, he thinks he must have fallen asleep while he was waiting, because what he sees when he looks in the window surely must be a dream.

Stunning brown eyes like glowing honey and sweet little nose, slightly upturned; a shapely pink mouth, bottom-lip pierced by a thin black hoop that he's worrying with the tip of his tongue as he smiles a gorgeous hello.

He's the most beautiful man Derek's ever seen.

And he’s shirtless.

Running Down a Dream by tryslora

He wakes into an unknown room and without his memories. The name they give him tastes unfamiliar on his tongue, and he wonders if he'll ever find the memory-eating aliens that did this to him, or the magical spell to give him back his life.

Stacking Up by bravelittlesoldier

Stiles is working in the basement of the Library of Congress and is feeling his social skills quickly deteriorate. Then along comes a new librarian working at Circulation who is most definitely a male model. Maybe its time to start re-socializing.

The Pope Would Brag by Hatteress

The thing is, Derek’s really, really hot. Like, insane levels of attraction. What with the leather and the cheekbones and the stubble and the ass — oh god, that ass — Stiles can’t really be blamed, at all for freaking bragging.

Now if only his college friends actually believed Derek existed.

Up and Coming by Fanhag102

Stiles and Derek work in the same building and every day ride up in the elevator together.

That is pretty much the extent of their relationship—until one day the elevator breaks down, trapping the two of them inside and maybe forcing them to admit to each other that the attraction is mutual.

Voldemort and Jean Valjean (Walk into a Coffee Shop) by PsychicPineapple

So sue him, Stiles had a stupid habit of giving out goofy names at coffee joints.

**

‘Name?’ He stood with his sharpie at the ready.

‘Voldemort,’ Stiles answered without missing a beat.

With metal on our tongues (we’ll be dressed in rags) by Rena

Double-oh agents are a piece of work; Stiles knew that before he became MI6's new quartermaster. It's cool, he survived Lydia in college, he can deal with stubborn, reckless, trigger-happy operatives. Derek Hale, though, is definitely trying to live up to his predecessor's legacy and make Stiles' life more difficult.

AKA the one where Derek is 007 and Stiles is Q and they bitch and angst their way to a Happy Ending.

XXX by foxtricks

Stiles wears Xs on his hands, and Derek wants to know why.

You Can Cry Wolf, But Stop Running by iamursforevrmre

Derek Hale is the third baseman for the Los Angeles Dodgers. Stiles doesn’t know why he has an apparent thing for third basemen and he has no clue why he’s even watching the Dodgers. He’s a Mets fan.

Zoo Security by Inell

Derek gets a call to come pick up Stiles and their daughter from the zoo security office.

[lisacongo2-blog]

‘Shrill’ Shreds Hollywood Stereotypes About How Women of Size Eat

The first time you see Annie, the protagonist of the new Hulu show Shrill, eating, her meal doesn’t look particularly pleasant. Played by SNL cast member Aidy Bryant, Annie grabs a plastic container from the fridge, opening it to reveal three white disks — supposedly pancakes — from a Tupperware labeled “Thin Menu.” While standing in her kitchen, she tries to break off a slab, puts it in her mouth, and wrinkles her nose in disgust. Her roommate, Fran (played by Lolly Adefope), walks by to witness the three doughy pucks, and says, “Good God.”

It’s not the only time Annie eats in her kitchen. Later in the series, Bryant opens a sealed container of leftover spaghetti, standing alone over an island near the sink. She twirls noodles around her fork, grinning in anticipation. She looks confident, blissed out, holding her hand under her chin as a noodle inches toward her lips. She scrunches her eyebrows and crinkles her nose, the perfect opposite of her look of disgust eating the Thin Meal pancakes. She nods and smiles while chewing, enjoying the moment.

The annals of TV are full of stories where women change themselves, from Mad Men’s Peggy Olsen to Eleanor Shellstrop in The Good Place. But Shrill, the six-episode adaptation of writer Lindy West’s memoir of the same name, is a different kind of “transformation” story, starring a woman of size. The show tells the story of Annie, a Portland-based calendar editor for an alt-weekly newspaper, trying to jump start her career, earn the love of Ryan, a painfully oblivious loser, and become a more honest, self-assured person. What Shrill is not is a story of body transformation, of a fat woman getting thin. Although it shows Annie eating diet meals and exercising with her mother, her real goal goes beyond the universal challenge of self-acceptance — she wants to feel powerful, as a woman of size and simply as a woman. She wants to demand respect from the people around her.

Those people often fat-shame Annie, whether it’s her obsessive online troll, her perpetually sneering editor, or an invasive personal trainer who eventually devolves into calling her a “fat bitch.” Still, Annie’s relationship with her body is more nuanced. Her insecurities are more often portrayed in physical details or unspoken interpersonal choices she makes because she feels that, in her words, “there’s a certain way that your body’s supposed to be and I’m not that.”

In media where a woman’s relationship with her body plays its own role, the eating scenes are telling. There are countless movies in which women devour ice cream during break-ups or lonely moments. And for years, when a person of size ate on screen, it was portrayed as comic relief, from Melissa McCarthy consuming a napkin in Spy to a cross-dressing Chris Farley on Saturday Night Live inhaling his friend’s french fries while asking, “Can I have some?”

Even in shows and movies celebrated for their representations of non-normative bodies, eating is reserved for emotional distress. In HBO’s Girls, Hannah Horvath (played by Lena Dunham) is often caught eating during low moments, like when she eats cake with her hands after her purse is stolen on the train. In Real Women Have Curves, it takes a conflict with her mother to get the protagonist, Ana (America Ferrera), to eat a bite of flan in a moment of overall positive defiance. Rarely do women of size get the opportunity to eat happily on screen without some tumult, some churning emotional hang-ups or interpersonal conflict. The exception, of course, is when people of size are shot eating healthy foods, like when the contestants on The Biggest Loser marvel over turkey burgers. But if a not-thin character is caught eating a cupcake, the audience is meant to laugh or cry at their expense.

When Annie eats so-called “indulgent” foods in Shrill, she’s not considered a failure, and it’s not used as a comic device. Instead, it’s often tied to a moment of personal or thematic triumph completely unrelated to her weight. By simply showing Annie eating the foods countless people love in a way that’s empowering, Shrill reinforces the idea that people, regardless of size, have the right to enjoy food in its entirety — not just salads and apples and other pious things, but rather the foods that are seen as permissibly comforting and luxurious for people of a smaller size. Like last year’s hit culinary travel show Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, Hulu’s new series rewrites the rules for who gets to enjoy food on television.

Annie isn’t the only big millennial woman eating spaghetti on TV. In a scene on Girls, Hannah grabs handfuls of noodles from a takeout box, dangling them into her open mouth. There is an element of watching this scene that feels relatable, especially for anyone who lives alone, but nothing about that moment is sexy or empowering. At its best, it’s a moment of comic relief born out of universality; at its worst, it’s Dunham’s self-ridiculing humor shaming herself — and other women — for eating without control while not thin.

This is far from the only moment when a woman eating sugary, greasy, and otherwise “bad” foods on television works as a boiler-plate scene representing rock bottom. In her essay “Why is it sad and lonely women who turn to chocolate?” Telegraph culture writer Rebecca Hawkes recalls similar moments in romantic comedies, like when Renee Zellweger devours chocolates under a blanket in Bridget Jones’s Diary, or when Sandra Bullock turns to ice cream in Miss Congeniality. “When you look at the trope in more detail, the implication is that eating chocolate is something ‘naughty,’” she writes. “It’s something that (calorie-counting, figure-obsessed) women shouldn’t be doing, but can’t help resorting to in moments of extreme trauma — or simply due to a comedic lack of discipline.” In her essay, Hawkes also brings up another classic plus-sized person comically shamed and punished for their gluttony: Augustus Gloop, the rotund little boy in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, presumably killed for wanting to eat some of the chocolate in a literal river of chocolate — as if anyone wouldn’t.

Ryan (Luka Jones) and Annie (Aidy Bryant)

Photo: Allyson Riggs/Shrill

But still, beyond little boys, beyond thin ladies, it’s plus-size women whose eating is most often used as a thematic example of a psychological and/or personal failure, whether it’s comical or supposedly tragic. “With any overweight, unruly woman, there’s always a tendency to pathologize their relationship with food,” says Kathleen Rowe Karlyn, author of The Unruly Woman: Gender and the Genres of Laughter. “[For] women who dive in to the quart of ice cream or the box of chocolate, food is a source of comfort because life is not giving them other types of comfort.”

If women get fat as a plot device, they’re often shown eating something like pizza, ice cream, chocolate, or other sweets — take, for example, Goldie Hawn gorging herself on frosting post-breakup in Death Becomes Her. If a character appears to get them out of a slump, a chicken wing might be yanked out of their hands. And they won’t reach personal fulfillment until they’re skinny again. Meanwhile, women who are thin and confident — whether it’s Drew Barrymore in Charlie’s Angels, or the titular Gilmore Girls — are free to eat as much as they please, to the delight of all who watch them.

Annie didn’t originally eat the spaghetti. It was made by Fran’s brother, Lamar (Akemnji Ndifornyen), who spends the third episode, “Pencil,” visiting his sister and her roommate. For most of the first few episodes, Annie is busy obsessing over a man (Luka Jones) who is so embarrassed by her that he sends her out the back door of his apartment so his roommates can’t see her. On their first date, she eats a salad. When she arrives home after Ryan has stood her up, Lamar and Fran offer her the spaghetti. She turns it down.

Lamar, a chef, spends the episode quietly fawning over Annie. When he arrives, he gives her a box of chocolate turtles, an elaborate reference to a memory from their past. He lights up when she enters the room. And later, when she comes back after choosing not to see Ryan, he admits that he likes her, and that he always did. After they have sex, Annie tiptoes downstairs to the kitchen, where she finds the pasta he made. The scene is romantic and almost sexy, in a totally subtle, maybe even unintentional way. He didn’t make the pasta for her, specifically, but it was made by him.

But beyond the romantic arc of Annie and Lamar, the scene’s impact comes directly from what it means for her, in her path to self-respect: she’s giving herself what she wants and deserves, on her own terms. And the bewildered delight in her face as she eats is so contagiously joyful that the context of her weight becomes irrelevant.

Annie (Aidy Bryant) and Lamar (Akemnji Ndifornyen).

Photo by: Allyson Riggs/Shrill

Beyond the men in her life, one of Annie’s most fraught relationships is with her mother, Vera (played by Julia Sweeney), who’s responsible for the Thin Menu meals. During a pivotal rant, when Annie describes the ways the people around her have made her size seem like a moral failing, she says, “At this point, I could be a licensed fucking nutritionist because I’ve literally been training for it since the fourth grade, which is the first time that my mom said that I should just eat a bowl of Special K and not the dinner that she made for everyone else so I might be a little bit smaller.” One of Annie’s most significant plot developments with her mother, when she pushes back against her health policing, starts with a meal of meatball subs with her father. And when the season ends, we leave Vera lying on the ground with a bag of chips, suggesting that Annie’s number one advice giver also needs respite from controlling everything.

“Whether they’re very curvy like Mae West or they’re slender, I think what we haven’t seen in a long time is the ability of women just to be seen enjoying food,” Karlyn says. “Food is enjoyable (to women), not because they’re neurotic, not because they’re crazy, not because they’re sex-obsessed, just because food is a natural pleasure of life.” That’s how Shrill treats food, but also most of life’s joys: dancing at a party, swimming in a pool, having sex, being honest. Counter to the ways television and movies have previously presented plus-size women, as victims of their own lack of self-control, Shrill shows how restrictive life as a plus-size woman can be, and how often that’s a direct result of their self control. Shrill seems to be advocating for more self-designated freedom for women of size — the freedom to live with abandon. As Annie says, lying in bed and taking charge, “I’ve got big titties and a fat ass — I make the rules.”

Brooke Jackson-Glidden is the editor of Eater Portland. Edited by: Greg Morabito

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Source: https://www.eater.com/2019/3/28/18284128/shrill-hulu-aidy-bryant-food-eating